#from now on ill write him with allergies

[skydrag0n]

I need to give Tim Drake all of my issues, this includes my allergies

Tim being allergic to shrimp?❌

Tim being allergic to bananas and citrus✅

I need him to suffer like I do, I need restaurants to put a lime on his plate as garnish even when he said he was allergic (literally happened to me 2 days ago)

I need him to forget to tell people about his allergies bc he forgot he had any. I need him to discover that lemonade isn’t supposed to burn when you drink it.

I need yj freaking out when Tim is having an allergic reaction and accidentally injecting themselves with the epipen instead of Tim

I might write some more abt this

[mirmidones]

3.40 i woke up bc i was cold and needed to pee and now i can't fall back asleep i keep thinking of the people i accidentally ghosted. is it ghosted if there was no intent to ghost? i feel so bad and it's not even like i don't think about them i often do think "i should really reply to them... once this is over ill properly sit down and write them... " and then i don't bc something else happens and im dealing with that and the longer i leave it unanswered the more difficult it becomes because i feel so guilty and therefore want to do things properly not half assed but bc i feel so guilty a part of me also tends to avoid it even more. if i do this to you just know i'm really sorry and ill get back to you i swear

[carmenized-onions]

Don't Say It. | Closing Out

logline; just say it in every way but the one way that makes it weird.

[!!!] series history; did y'all notice the banner rebrands? tell me you think they look nice and good and cool or i'll. start crying.

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. how is it more than 7 hours. my god.

portion; 14k was hoping we'd reenter our single digits era but we ball

possible allergies; two mentally ills battle it out (romantic).

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader almost certain there are gendered bits/pronouns but can't honestly completely remember.

(new!) kofi; I have one now! if you've enjoyed the series, perhaps you wanna tip!

moving into a new place literally in two days!! high stress. so thank you for waitin' as always pwease enjoy and pwease tell me what you think!

You take a good long breath, sitting on the counter in the bathroom. Right. Time is linear and you’re in New York again— Never left. Right. Carmen’s sitting across from you, it’s kind of a shock this floating sink counter hasn’t collapsed under the two of you yet. How long have you been here? Swapping stories took a long fucking time, and there’s still, disgustingly, a lot to unpack. 

“Any shoes left undropped?” You drum your hands against your knees, the question is as much for yourself as it is for him.

Carmen opts to open with a soft ball. “You called me Carmy?” Before you knew me, you called me Carmy?

“I called you a lot of things.”

“Like virgin Michelin Star chef?” He’s failing to hide the upturned corners of his mouth, when he says it. 

You snort and nod, “Like virgin Michelin Star chef, or Carmy, or Carm, or baby boy, baby bear, mister New York— Basically all Mikey’s, I think the only one I coined was Charmin.”

“Charmin?”

“Like the—” He finishes with you, “—Toilet paper bears.” and whether he should be or not, he cannot stop laughing, when you confess this. 

“I thought it was a good bit!” “Cause I’m a piece of shit?” “Bitch—Cause you clean up, and you’re a bear, and Carmen sounds like Charmin, and Charmin sounds like charming and I—”

You pause, cringing, parasocial relationship coming to a head now. When your best friend wants you to get with his hot talented brother living in the Big Apple, it’s hard not to fantasize about, alright? “...I found you very charming.”

God, it’s just far too easy for you to render him completely speechless. It’s really not fucking fair. Carmen looks like a deer in headlights, he looks how he did in your car, a month or so ago, when he bit the bullet and asked you out. Well, promised to ask you out. He swallows, no more glass in his throat, but it does feel a little scratchy, kinda like, like pop rocks?

Pop rocks, yeah. Sweet, salivating. “Do you still?”

You squint, like he’s a moron. He is. “Of course I do.” Cherry pop rocks. Yeah, that sort of spritz feeling, on the tongue, and the way it continues to simmer all the way down. “I don’t want you to stop being you, by the way, Carm.”

“Huh?” What’s that supposed to mean? Of course you want him to change, he sucks.

“I—” You’re quick to clarify, straightening your posture. “I think it’s great to— to do the work, and therapy and reading and self-care— That’s all— That’s very good, and you should do it— For you, not me, but I— One bad night is not how I’ll think of you— You’re— You’re not a bad person, is I guess all I’m trying to fuckin’ say.”

You’re sweet. Sweet but with depth, slowly developed, caramelized, tart. Maybe a fruity molasses.

Carmen swallows, it’s hard to digest the sweet. “I— I’m not a bad person, but I could be better.” Pomegranate molasses. It’s got an acidic kick. Sort of like balsamic.

“I could be better, too.” Could you? Please God, don’t try, he can’t compete. No, shit, hold on, stop pedestaling. “You kinda got my ass, with peoples’ princess.”

Carmen cringes, there’s the acid. “I should not have said—”

“I have a fucking saviour complex, Carm. And it’s just as bad for everyone else as it is for me.”

Bite, yet tender. You continue on. “I do need to work on that. And I should’ve explained more when we first met, it was just— You know… I know you know.” Medium rare, steak medallion— No— rectangle. 

Pomegranate molasses, thick—Nearly sorbet thick. Poured onto the plate, centered, perfect circle. Medium rare wagyu steak— A3, maybe; too much fat would ruin the composition. Rectangular, off center. Dust with cherry pop rocks. Bizarre, but it might actually be something. Bad, but something. Not tired or overdone, that’s for sure. Anything but dusty.

Carmen missed you for a lot of reasons this week, but it’s almost annoying how merely being in your presence for a few hours has given him more inspiration to work with than he has had in the last one-hundred and sixty-eight hours, without you. But who’s counting?

It’s easy to make things, when they’re for you. When they’re about you.

“I should’ve listened, when you were ready, but I got defensive and—I— I do that a lot, clearly, I just—” Carmen tries not to bite at his nails and fingers, because his therapist, Sara, said not to do that. What the fuck does she know? A lot, actually.

“That’s just kinda how— we’d do things. Like that’s how we—” Carmen frowns, memories dawning on him. “…I guess maybe we never really talked.”

You don’t need to ask who we is. His family didn’t particularly set Carmen up for success. And every figure after his family didn’t really lighten the load. There’s not much for you to say or do beyond, “I like talking to you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re allowed to still be mad at me.” Carmen reassures, he’s not sure why he feels the need to do so. “You can— You can tell me to go fuck myself.” 

You shake your head, shrugging. “You can tell me to go fuck myself.”

He shakes his head, immediately, squinting, like you’re a moron; you are. “I would never tell you to go fuck yourself.”

It’s a silent moment of exchanging hard stares and trying to glean something from the other. Once you gather your findings, you finally return to your era of speaking in sync again, with, “I don’t hate you.”

It's a hellish realization, that you thought it was possible, let alone certain, to hate you. He could cry again. “Why would you ever think I hate you?”

You raise your brows, because how could you not think Carmen hates you? “Because you said—”

“I didn’t mean a fucking word.”  He says it differently than he did before. Like it’s a final warning. He immediately recoils at his own voice and its aggression.

“I’m sorry.” Carmen scratches his nose, continuing for the both of you. What more can he say? He’s already said it a million times, so what’s one more? When you try to speak, he doesn’t let you. Because he knows you. He knows you’ll brush it off. “I don’t want you to forgive me, right now. I want to prove I earned it.”

“You don’t have to prove yourself to me.”

“Yeah, Sara said that, too. You’re both wrong.”

“Yeah, I don’t think your therapist can be wrong, in this scenario.”

“Please.” Carmen props his knee up on the counter, his hands, in some way, mimic a prayer. He holds eye contact, he thanks whoever is in charge that you’re holding it again, too. “Let me earn it.”

Carmen will learn that he doesn’t need to earn anything or prove anything to anyone eventually. He’ll need more than six therapy sessions crammed in during his lunch breaks, for that. But right now, he needs to prove this. Needs to earn you. For now, you'll give it to him. For now, you just nod. 

Carmen chews his bottom lip, he doesn’t want to say it but he has to. “When I said—” You failed Mikey. “—What I said— I didn’t mean it how I said it.”

You bring your legs up, criss crossing them. “How’d you mean it?” How else could he possibly mean it?

“I meant it like— Like— Of course he died.”

They’re Berzatto men, they’re doomed. “Nothing you could have done would have stopped him from dying— And I— It hurt cause it felt like— In—In that moment— In my head—” He puts a hand up, pausing to reassure, “Nothing you did. But I felt like I was ‘Round Two’ for you. Charity. I—”

Carmen swallows, looking down, can’t meet your eyes for the moment, but he points at you. “You didn’t fail Mikey— He failed to know he was worth saving.”

A wound closes up, a little bit, somewhere in your head and heart.  “I think in some ways, I was trying to make up for something—”

You’re quick to clarify, too. “But not cause you’re you— Cause I’m me.” Have to do it all. Have to fix it all. Have to save it all. “Like— I think I might have that edge of paranoia for like, like a long time, if not… forever?”

 You frown; what a bleak idea. “Fuck, I may need to go back to therapy, too.”

“You want Sara’s card?” “Sliding scale?” “Sliding scale.” “Is it weird to have the same therapist?” “Probably.” “I’ll look into it.”

You both laugh, the weighted blanket of tension over you both is finally lifting. Carmen’s capable of looking you in the eyes again. “You did literally everything someone could think of.”

You kiss your teeth, you could’ve done a couple more things. “I mean, location—”

“He never would’ve given it to you.” “That’s exactly it, though— I should’ve put my foot down more. I was never as strict as I was supposed to be.” “But if you were strict he wouldn’t let you help him.” “Sponsors are meant to be strict.” “Then he wouldn’t’ve let you be his sponsor.” “Then I shouldn’t have been his sponsor!” “Then he would’ve never joined the program!” “Well—” “It’s not your fucking fault!”

Carmen doesn’t hate you, Carmen doesn’t think you killed his brother. Heavy exhale of too many emotions and a touch of relief. But you can see yourself in his expression. You can see Richie in his expression. The guilt. The haunting. You swallow, “Not yours, either.”

“I could’ve called more.” “He wouldn’t have answered.” “I could’ve realized why.” “And how exactly could you have done that?” “...I dunno, could’ve— Could’ve been the guy, for him.” “Carmen you were the guy, for him.”

Carmen shakes his head. “You were the guy, for Mikey.”

“I— Okay—” You click your tongue, this is hard to explain. You shift on the sink counter, trying to get more comfortable. You won’t. It’s a fucking sink. “I was the guy, but the guy to another guy isn’t much— you—” You snap your fingers, pointing at him. “You’re not the guy, Carmen. Never will be.”

“Ouch.”

“No— You’re something much more important than the guy. You’re— You’re the, the cat.”

He can’t help but smile, confused. He’s so used to bear comparisons. “I’m the cat?”

“You’re—” You keep pointing at him, thinking the metaphor in your head through. “...The guy is— Is like the host of the house party. He keeps the jokes going, the room light, the drinks and food stocked— He talks people through panic attacks while they sit in the bathtub, he loses at beer pong on purpose to make the other team feel better, the guy makes everyone feel like they’re the center of the universe.”

“And the cat?”

“The cat is upstairs, locked in his room, because the cat will get all jittery if he’s around all that yelling and all those people. The cat doesn’t even like those people. And the guy doesn’t want his cat to go through that. But then, when the guy finally gets all jittery and can’t handle all those people himself—” You sigh, honestly stressed by your own metaphor, thinking of all the moments in your life you needed the cat and didn’t call.

“He’ll go upstairs, to his room, and the cat will be there, and he can talk to the cat— Because the cat likes him. And nothing will be solved, but it’ll still feel good and the cat will still think his guy’s perfect and wonderful even when the guy is just— just him— And the cat asks literally nothing of the guy— Unlike everyone else downstairs— and that’s exactly why the guy wants to give the cat everything over anyone else.”

God, you’ve been talking about cats and guys too much. “Not everyone needs a cat, but the guys that do, really do. And you’re… You’re the cat— Mikey’s and mine.”

Carmen can’t say I love you, because that would be an insane response. That would be weird and bad and too soon and stupid. But it’s the only thing he can think of. The only thing he can say besides that, is, “You’re very good to me.”

You’re not exclusively for Carmen, he knows that. You’re not made for him— You’re made for many things. But maybe you’re curated. The Bear wouldn’t exist without your advocacy. And it’s hard to believe, but there might’ve been even more broken shit at The Beef, if you hadn’t been there before Carmen got there. Mikey got to be your friend, before Carmen did. And you got to be Mikey’s friend, when Carmen didn’t. But you both kept him in mind, you told Mikey to text, you drew schematics for his restaurant, you said you’d talk to him. You thought he was charming. You still do. You’re Mikey’s pick, for Carmen. And it’s not like Mikey’s opinion matters that much, but it’s nice to have approval. Though he didn’t fucking ask for it.

“Such a cat response.” “Is that like being a Leo or some shit?” 

You both laugh. Ah, thank fuck, it’s you two, again. There’s a comfortable silence while you think for a second, before asking, “Can I add another thing to your non-negotiables?”

“Always.”

“I don’t want you to be different for me.” You think back to being in his kitchen, the way he tried to hold back, when you were around. “I get you, work you, home you— If you want me to be your fuckin’ mixologist, you’re gonna have to get comfortable working with me.”

“You still want to work for me?”

“I shook on it, didn’t I?”

He laughs through a deep sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God.”

“Damn,” You snort, “Are you only with me for my skills?”

“No, I’m with you because you’re— You.” The kitchen needs you, The Bear needs you, Carmen needs you. He’s the cat, he doesn’t need anything more than you. He can work on his codependency issues in therapy, okay? “I— I like having you around.”

You readjust your posture again, it’s hard to get comfortable on a sink. “Well, you better get paid soon, then.”

“‘Bout that.” Boy came prepared. He rifles through the pockets of his black jeans, and pulls out a folded slip of paper. He does a yoga class worthy stretch to hand it to you, from across the sink. A paystub, from The Bear, to Carmen. Officially on fucking payroll.

Yeah, turns out, just a bad week, last week. Being in the red doesn’t last forever. Neither does being in the green. There are ebbs and flows. Next week will probably be shit, and yet the wheel still turns. Carmen also might’ve very well plugged in half of the numbers wrong, according to Sugar, when she eventually got to looking at it. But that’s neither here nor there. So he’s reactive. What’s new? Should’ve believed the you in his head, when she said there will be good and bad weeks. He’s still working on being the only voice in his head. But you’re a good replacement for the other guy, for now.

You stare at it, like an ancient scroll. It’s real. He’s really getting paid— Pretty decent too, he could finally buy some fucking furniture, with this. “Okay.” You look up from the slip to him. He looks like he’s on fucking Shark Tank, anxiously awaiting your approval. “And you’ll act like you?”

“I will act like me.” Even when he doesn’t want you to see it, Carmen will act like Carmen. 

And that’s all you could ask for, really. You’re about to approve the deal, but then you think again, frowning. “The Exec.”

“Ah.” Carmen shuts his eyes, embarrassed by his own brain. “I know.”

“So you thought about it?”

“I didn’t think about— It—” Carmen doubted his own conviction, because he doubts all of himself. But it really was not ever on the table, to give your number…That said— “I thought about loopholes.”

“Catfishing him?” You guess, and he affirms. “Catfishing him.” Hey, great minds think alike. Doesn’t make Carmen feel any less scummy, for considering abusing your likeness for sake of approval. 

“Did you go through with it?” 

It’s Carmen’s turn, to blink, slow to realize that you actually don’t know. “Richie didn’t tell you?” You still live in a world where Carmen isn’t completely batshit. 

You tilt your head, “Did Richie catfish him?”

“No, uhm—” He seems suddenly sheepish now. Can’t look you in the eyes, again. He nods and points to your pockets. “You got your phone?”

“Uh, yeah—” You pull it out, haven’t gotten any sudden creepshow texts, to your knowledge. “Should I be scared?”

Carmen shakes his head. “Nothin’ worse than what you’ve already seen.” He snaps his fingers at your phone, “Look up uh— I think it’s— Chicago Bear on Yankee Chef turf, or some shit.”

You have to take a moment, before typing, to just look at him with genuine pause. “...What?”

“Just do it.” “Did you kill someone?” “I do not have blood on my hands, the Tribune is just dramatic—” “The fucking Tribune?! Shut the fuck up, Carmy.”

Absolutely no way he’s in the Chicago Tribune.

Okay. Upon searching. Absolutely yes way he’s in the Chicago Tribune. Carmen’s trending on Twitter— Or rather, Chicago, The Bear, Bear, Carmy, Michelin Beef, Fuck the Yanks, and a million other keywords are trending— Local trending, but still trending. Chicago Tribune’s made an article archiving a handful of reaction tweets, summarizing whatever the fuck happened. Alright, this is taking too long, maybe you should just ask the man in front of you— “Oh my fucking God, there’s a video.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t watch—” Carmen is interrupted by his own voice coming through your phone. “—And what kind of fucking Chef doesn’t like black pepper? I’m white and overdone, but you’re an entire other goddamn beast—” “...That.”

It’s a screen recording of some patron’s Facebook Live at some New York restaurant David owns or whatever. Empire? That’s what the blurry signs in the video’s background seem to say. What’s his title at this point, anymore? Doesn’t matter.

It’s nice to see his blurry little face around ten to twenty feet from the camera get yelled at by a Carmen that is also many feet away, but his voice seems to be projecting throughout the whole restaurant; enough to be heard clearly through recording, anyways. “And it’d be enough to just be an asshole— But you’re a creep too— Never fuckin’ pray on my— my— bar staff, or I swear on my life—”

“Can’t make direct threats in New York, Cousin! Penal code!” You laugh when you hear Richie’s voice ringing out in the background. Thank God for whoever’s filming, because they pivot their phone to catch Richie, pretty much next to their table, calling out to Carmen. “It’s a fine!”

He looks tired but wired; they must’ve taken a pitstop here, before heading to the hotel. What a fun road trip finale. Richie is such a motherfucker for not telling you all of this first thing while you put on his cufflinks— This is not dirty details, this is front page shit! Literally! God, he buries the lead like it’s his fucking day job.

“Who gives a fuck about a fine? Everyone—” And back to Carmen. “This is David Fields, he’s the head of the head of the head, in their heads— He’s a fantastic chef, I don’t think he eats or sleeps or knows what another person’s hands feel like— He is fuckin’ brilliant at making the same three fuckin’ plates every fuckin’ day— With the most minute differences— And—And—And— He doesn’t even make them! He takes dishes from prozac riddled fucks like me, makes them worse and then puts his name on it! Unoriginal, a narcissist, and fucking bad at it!”

You don’t look up from your phone, eyes glued to the screen. “Holy fuck, Carmen.”

“Yeah, I’m aware.” “Is this good marketing?” “Wait for it, I guess.” “...Are you actually on prozac?” “No. I kind of blacked out. Made a point though, right?” “Yeah, I’d say so.”

“Sorry, miss. Could I—” …Fak? Guess he did third wheel on the road trip to New York. He grabs the streamer’s phone. There’s a ‘what the—fuckin— excuse me?’ from behind the camera as Fak pivots the recording to himself. 

“Hey World, I’m Neil, that’s my best friend Carmy the Bear, over there.”

“Jesus Christ.” You look up from your phone to Carm, who was at first embarrassed and is now just trying to hold a straight face, hand over his mouth. “I’m aware.” He repeats. 

You squint, thinking.“...Best friend?” “...I guess he is?” “That’s— Okay— I don’t— Alright, we’ll come back to that.” And return to your phone.

Fak continues, taking advantage of the sudden screen time. “He’s a really good Chef, knows his shit, if you ever want to see how he does it, please come eat— Dine— Dine with us at The Bear, we’re in Chicago— on North Orleans and Huron— You can— Can book with us at The Bear dot—”

“Don’t have the site yet.” Richie interrupts the impromptu ad, hovering over Fak’s shoulder, barely whispering. “Still The Beef.”

Neil nods and continues. “The Beef dot squarespace—”

“It’s Wix.” “It’s fucking Wix?” “Your problem isn’t with the lack of a domain?”

“It’s Google Sites, actually.” You correct for no one, really, looking up from your phone to Carmen, again. “I made him change it so it wouldn’t have that ugly freemium bar.” 

Carmen snorts, shaking his head. Of course you did. “D’you design it?”

You let out a loud, “Ha!” before turning back down to the screen. “I think web design might be the one trade I can’t do.” But you’re willing to learn, if he needs.

Ah, the videographer managed to foist her phone back, returning to catch the very end of the Carmen Show. And it’s a wonderful finale, from Carm.

“—Fuck your two elements, fuck your face— Fuck everything about you— I cannot believe we gave you service— Let alone our best— For a guy in hospitality, you have no fucking right treating my host and somme like that. Fuck you—”

“Fuck you—” Finally a response from David, though it’s quickly interrupted, as Carmen finally starts to back away, not wanting a genuine fight if he doesn’t have to do it, but he certainly wants the last word. “No, fuck you—”

“Fuck you.” “—Chef— Stay in your fucking city— Stay in your fucking city— New Yorks great! Stay in it! We don't play in Chicago— Fuck you!”

Carmen comes back to his road trip squad, he notices the woman recording, and walks up to the camera. For a second, you genuinely think he’s going to square up with her— You’re pretty sure he at least thought about it. “Is she recording?”

“Streaming.” Answers Fak. “It’s the new thing.”

 Carmy opts to use his words, possibly because he could maybe get arrested. “Sorry, sorry— I just want to make it clear—”

He gestures to the fucker in the background, bouncers seems to be approaching. Carmen keeps going, face red but calming down, chasing his own breath. “This man worked— and works with wonderful Chefs who I learned a lot under— And— And— I have all the respect for them, and always will— But-But— when it comes to David Fields specifically—”

Your cherry and lamb dish was perfect. David’s palate is just not worth appealing to. Carmen won’t make that mistake again.

“—What he serves is consistently vapid, dusty, and dead on arrival— like his heart— And—And— When you pay him, dine with him, work with him, you are lining the pockets of some fuckin’ creep that pulls rank on honest cooks and servers. So. Decide if you want that. And uhm— Uh— Tip your servers. Don’t ask for their numbers— Like he does. Be normal. Thank you.”

“Carmen Berzatto, folks! Come— Come to The Bear!” Yells out Neil, as security finally seems to be coming for the Chicagoans.

Richie grabs Fak by the back of his coat, knowing when to bounce, shouting, “No legal names! Godssake— This has been Carmichael Burrowski, folks! Don’t call no one—!”

The screen recording ends, not long after that. You’re going to need maybe a… fifty minute nap, to process that. Maybe, somehow, this is good publicity— Maybe in some way, this is putting The Bear on the center stage. But one thing is fact, Carmen completely abandoned the idea of keeping appearances and getting a star through kissing ass. He completely abandoned the idea of being appealing to the man in his head. 

And he did that for you— And Richie— Which, honestly, makes it mean even more. Carmen’s a good boss. Not always. Definitely not always. But when it fucking counts, he is. Carmen's a good man. A good friend. A good not-quite boyfriend. Ugh, boyfriend? What kind of word is ‘boyfriend’? That's fucked.

You put your phone away, quietly nodding and thinking, not looking at Carmen. You shrug, attempting to be nonchalant. “Contract and I’ll be your mixologist.”

“Yeah?” There’s such a brightness, to the way Carmen asks. Like a spritz. “Okay. I’ll— I’ll send you a Docusign.” Aperol spritz. There’s more to it, than that though. 

You’re so zoned out, looking at the sinks instead of Carmen, he starts to get worried. He just got eye contact back, come on. Was the yelling too much in the video? He was loud and mean. He always is. He told you not to watch. 

“Tony?” What kind of bitters suit him? A slice of grapefruit might be nice. Bright but acquired.

“Are you good?”

“Wha—” You shake your head out of it, turning your gaze to Carmen. He jumped off the counter to stand by you. His hand hovers by your head— He considers grazing your hair, and chickens out. But he can’t put it down.  “Sorry, was— I was uh— Just thinking of what we could put on a cocktail menu, that’s all.” Yeah, that’s all.

“Don’t work on it, without me.” It’s with a, dare you say, panicked quickness, that he requests this. “Cocktail menu, coffee menu, we should— Should do R and D, together.”

“Yeah, f’sure.” Fucking Chefs, so particular about their menus. “I think it’d be good to uhm— Build it around the main menu, anyways. Sorta match stuff up.” Thankfully, you like particular.

He really needs to not be standing this close, though. Your brain keeps zoning in and out— It’s really not the time to be feeling any sort of type of way about Carmen cursing out that fucking chef and going to therapy for himself and you and he smells nice and he’s reading books and he worked bar all night with you and he looks so nice in bartender black in lieu of his Chef whites and he is trying so hard and— And you cannot say you love him because that would be weird. That would be weird and bad and too soon and stupid. 

And you can’t forgive him either— Well, not aloud, because Carmen wants to prove that he’s done the work— Wants to prove that he’s going to keep doing the work. He’s rendered you with nearly zero options here, to show your affection. 

“Yeah, that’s— That’d be good. I was thinkin’ we’d put your station by Marcus.” Why is he still talking about work? He’s so stupid. He’s wonderful. This is the worst. This is hell. “Coffee machine’s already there, and you’ll tend to share a lot of elements, anyway— I think.”

You shift your butt on the counter, turning to face him head on, he’s just slightly between your knees as your legs dangle off the counter. “Carmen.”

“Yeah?” “I’m going to kiss you.” “Yeah, okay.”

Light, nervous, sweet, lifting, soft— A delicate kick to it. Pink peppercorn bitters. That’s it.

Aperol— Vibrantly orange liqueur, derived from bitter rhubarb. It’s an acquired taste. Some say it’s citrusy and herbal, others say it tastes like cough syrup. Either way, it’s awakening. Then prosecco. A splash of soda— Lemon-lime would be best. Aperol spritz. It’s an Italian cocktail. It sparkles. Everything in it fizzes, almost competing with each other. It’s meant to be enjoyed before dinner. It’s refreshing. Pink peppercorns and grapefruit would only add to that brightness, that light. It’s not for everyone, but it is everything to some. That’s Carmen. That’s your Carmen. Oh, maybe a syrup on the rim?

You try to be delicate, the way you put the palm of your hand on the back of his head and pull him in, but it’s just not possible. It’s the first time in a fucking month you’ve initiated— It's been one-hundred and sixty-eight hours since you've seen his face, let alone touched it— It’s just not possible to be kind.

Thankfully, based on the way he’s leaning you back on the counter, hands on your waist, it doesn’t seem like Carmen wants kind. There's a sigh of relief, to just kiss you. He’s fine with the touch of hair pulling, on your part— Possibly more than fine. Possibly way more than fine. The faint whining and pulling your hips to his seem to indicate it’s a lot fucking more than fine.

It would be weird and bad and stupid and too soon to say I love you, but you can mouth the words against him and he can’t tell what you’re wording but at least you know. It’s funny that he can do the same to you, and despite knowing the trick, you can’t tell either. 

Carmen pulls back, just a centimeter, or two. He wants to say something. He’s opening his mouth to say something. He's all dopey and half-lidded. Man, he’s pretty. He knows that right? Yeah, he knows that. “You’re so pretty.” You tell him anyway, speaking into his half open mouth. 

Whatever thought he had, it’s dead now.“—Jesus fucking Christ.” He moves his hands to hold your face. It’s nice. It’s nice to get peppered with kisses— Yeah, pink pepper fits perfectly with him. 

Carm’s voice is heavier now. Maybe from the lack of oxygen. He’s fighting to revive his brain. He’s so serious, when he firmly kisses you, forehead against yours, lips still grazing, saying, “I’m not a fucking virgin.”

You laugh way too fucking hard for his ego. Your hands untangle from his hair, but your arms continue to rest on his shoulders. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He’s still amped, too bad you’re you, and you have to ruin the mood to poke at him.

“That a recent development?” “Shut the fuck up—” “I’m just wondering, if he was accurate at the time—” “Why are you doing this to me?” “Did you have a tantric affair in Denmark, the people wanna know!” “I— There was no time, alright? It got away from me—” “Remember when you had your first kind of girlfriend like a month and a week ago?” “It was a recent development, okay?” “Darn. Sorry I was late.”

He pauses the banter to just stare at you, take in your features, take in that you’re here and real and half underneath him. “Not forgiven.” You should’ve shown up sooner. You should’ve injected yourself so completely in Carmen’s life eons ago, and made yourself intrinsically impossible to remove. Absolutely not forgiven, for being late.

“Yeah?” Your eyes upturn, deeply amused. Carmen really is the baby brother. Entitled, bratty, cute. You’re planning to say something coy, something playful like ‘Ohoho, how do I earn your forgiveness?’ But you remember something Carmen said, when he was summarizing his Friday night for you— And for Carmen, what you opt to say is so much worse than hot banter, for his brain. 

“I don’t think your mouth tastes bad.” It’s your turn to take in his face and all its features. “I think it’s nice. It’s like the only way I can try cigarettes without getting a headache.”

“I wanna fly you to Paris.” It’s so quick, from Carmen. Choked quick— Like he fought to hold it down but you’ve just opened the Pandora’s box that is his mouth. He keeps going. Your surprised face firmly smushed in his hands.  

“I’ve wanted to take you to Paris since I asked you to run bar— I’ve— I’ve wanted to take you to Paris since you washed my hair— I—I—” Too much affection to contain in words, he has to kiss you, and then he has to keep going, and then kiss you between the ‘ands’, and then keep going. Like a shot and a chaser and a shot and a chaser and a—

“I want you to be permanent and carved in my tables and I want you to wear my jackets and I want you in my kitchen and in my menu and in every dumb fucking conversation I have at Christmas tellin’ family what the fuck I’m doing— I want you in every sentence.”

It’s not ‘I love you’. Because saying I love you would be weird and bad and stupid and too soon. But it might very well be more than that. Trying to avoid saying it might be forcing you both to say something that means more than that.

It’s hard to generate a response as poignant as that. Especially because your cognitive abilities seem to have gone completely offline. Your brain is telling you to kill the moment so you don’t have to face the feeling, telling you to say something stupid like, ‘Why Paris?’, because if you don't, you might say it. But you can’t. You’re totally speechless. 

Eventually, you manage to choke out, “I would like that.”

“Yeah?” “Yeah.”

“Good.” Ah, a smile from Carmen with teeth. What a rare gift you’ve been bestowed. He tries to celebrate this occasion with another kiss that will inevitably lead to a million more but when he goes for his classic move of sticking his head in the crook of your neck to bite you like a cannibal— You get the chance to look somewhere other than Carmen’s face, and realize you are both still very much so in a fucking bathroom at a fucking wedding in New York. 

“Fak is still outside, I’m pretty sure.”

Carmen groans, there’s no way you’re doing this to him again, come on, neither of you have to go this time, you have all the time in the world, in this bathroom. Time isn’t real here. That’s how bathrooms work. “He’s not.”

“Carmy’s right, I’m not.” Says definitely totally not Fak, behind the door. “You guys kissin’ yet?”

“Christ.” You put a hand on Carm’s chest, pushing him back from you as you push yourself up with your other hand. “Mood dead.”

“No—” He grabs your wrist, holding your hand in place against him. “Mood not dead— Mood present and alive—”

There’s some fumbling behind the door. “Wait— Are they?” Oh, so Richie’s here, too? Good. That’s great. “Ain’t no fuckin’ way— Cousin, be a gentleman—”

Carmen leans over and all but screams into your shoulder. “I am being a fuckin’ gentleman, Richard!”

You kiss your teeth, shaking your head, shrugging. “Yeah, it’s dead.” Them’s the breaks. 

A slow, heavy, arduous exhale, from Carmen, coming up to lean his forehead to yours for a second. Enjoying the liminal space before it’s permanently ripped out of your hands. “I hate my family.”

You smile, pressing your forehead firmer against his, nuzzling noses. “You love your family.”

“I love my family.” He sighs. He gives you one last kiss, soft, sweet, perfect. “Thank you for taking care of them.” 

You shrug. “They’re mine, too.”

God, you’re so quick and mind-bending, he has to go for another kiss, come the fuck on— “Mood’s dead.” You laugh, so cruel, jumping off the counter, maneuvering past Carmen, but you’re sweet— Cruel but sweet— Carefully switching his hold on your wrist to holding your hand, dragging him with you. 

You might be leaving the bathroom together, but Carmen’s pretty sure a part of him is going to stay there, like a ghost of a feeling, for the rest of time.

“Okay— Is everyone waiting to piss?” Is your first question, for the crowd awaiting you and Carmy outside the bathroom. Not strangers, though—Well, mostly not strangers. Richie, Syd, Fak, some guy that looks like Fak. There’s no way they all need to piss, there were three other bathrooms available, it's not like you were hogging. “Is fuckin’ anyone runnin’ bar right now?”

“Marcus is.” Syd answers, hurriedly, as she runs up on you, immediately enveloping you— Practically an attack. It’s not in her nature to hug, but you’ve forced her hand here. Carmen hasn’t even exited the doorway behind you yet before you’re stumbling back into him from the force of her. 

“Squ—”

The words come out of her like a flood, no spacing between the words. “I’m-sorry-I—  We-finished-serving-and-listened-in-on-everything-super-invasive-couldn’t-help-it— You should’ve called me.”

This— These motherfuckers. Oh well, saves you the trip to Denny’s. And frankly, you would hate to re-explain all that. You return the hug with your free hand, the other one still in Carmen’s. You put your chin on her shoulder. “I know.”

There were so many times where you could’ve just gone upstairs. So many times you could’ve just called your old cat. Should’ve just called Syd. She would have been there. Maybe that’s exactly why you didn’t call. 

“I should’ve called you.” Maybe that’s exactly why Syd never called her guy, when she needed you, too. 

“Well,” You pull her back by her shoulders, “We will next time.”

You can’t let the moment stay sincere for long though, shit-eating grin growing on your face, “You’d give up a star for me?” Nuzzling your face into Syd’s cheek as she desperately tries to get away from you now— Oh how the tables turn.

“Get fucked—” “You love me— I’m all you got, Syd? Woww—” “After my dad I said! After my dad!” “A single widdle tear from me isn’t worth a star?” “It was not widdle— Little— Fuck—”

“This is cute princesses but everyone get the fuck out of the way before I clog an artery.” Richie unnecessarily shoves his way between the Faks to get to you. 

You release Syd to face the man, pensive, waiting for a slap, honestly. Richie just looks at you, now that he’s in front of you he’s dumbfounded, awkward. He knows he wants to say something or wants you to say something but neither of you know what that is. What it should be.

Before he can figure it out, you do. “I should’ve told you.” Besides your therapist, Carmen is the only person you told about the phone call— Well, intentionally, that is. 

That doesn’t really seem to be the thing he cares about. He’s not going to slap you, and you don’t need to grovel. “Am I dead, to you?”

Your brows furrow, for a second. “Wha—”

Richie grabs your free hand, pressing it to his neck. “Check my pulse, am I dead, t’you?”

“First of all, wrong placement.” You have to wiggle your hand out of his grip to take his pulse correctly. “It’s under the chin, align it with your eye—”

“Do I have one?” “Yes, Richie, you have a pulse.” “So I’m not dead?” “You’re not dead—” “Then call me.”

When your breath hitches, he continues. “I’m not a ghost. I’m here. When shit happens, you call me.”

“I know.” Is the only thing you can say without your voice cracking. “I will call next time.”

“You will fucking call, next time.” Richie grabs your face, smushed in his hands. “And you’ll answer my calls, next time.” He forces you to nod— Not that you wouldn’t, but wants to make sure. “Am I heard?”

“You're heard.”

Richie can see over your head, so he barks at Carmen, who’s very innocently behind you, still holding your hand. “Get your weird little hands off my Chip, you perv—”

“I don’t have weird little hands—” 

Syd pipes in, squinting. “Why is that the thing you refute—”

“Why does God let these moments happen to me?” You grumble, words muffled with your face still compacted by Richie’s hands. 

“I think it’s beautiful, actually.” Says some guy that looks like Fak. You just stare at him with your partially forced closed eyes. “Just the vibes, so— like— tender.”

“Who the fuck is this guy?” You deadpan, pointing at Other Fak. “Has this guy just learned shit I haven’t even told my own father?”

“We definitely just got here.” Lies Fak, next to Other Fak. He continues, “We didn’t hear anything about the really sad way you both actually did attend the funeral but didn’t—”

Other Fak astutely interrupts to add, sniffing. “But if we did it’d be like, like really meaningful that you both like, did that.” Is he tearing up? Richie needs to check your pulse, are you dying?

“Everyone please back the fuck up?” Carmen sighs, behind you, then beside you, letting go of your hand to put it on your shoulder. “Like maybe give two solitary fuckin’ seconds?”

There’s a stuttering of apologies as everyone realizes yeah, maybe a bit much to immediately jump you. Richie drops your face, everyone takes a step back.

You keep staring at Other Fak. Squinting, you point to him. “Ted?” Guy who they called instead of you?

He nods, “Hi—”

“No.” You wave your hand in front of his face, cutting him off. You turn to Carmen, just shaking your head plainly. “No.”

“Heard.”

“Y’know how going to a different barber is like cheating—?”

“No, like I got it—”

“This is like times a thousand—”

“I am hearing the note—”

“Fak can— Neil can fix shit, I took his spot, it’s fair— Outsourcing someone though—?”

“Won’t do it again.”

“No, you won’t.”

“It was— Should I have called you back in?”

“No, you should have had a broken light until we talked it out or let it be broken for the rest of your life.” There is not much you could ever find yourself getting genuinely jealous about— This, however, is a knife to the heart. Another handyman is a child out of wedlock, practically.

“Heard.”

“I spent way too long stalking you.” Interrupts Syd, she’s looking at her phone, a jumble of aggravated misspelled texts coming from the work group chat. “Fuck, I’ve gotta help Tina with clean up— We’ll—” She sticks a hand out, you reach out and hold it, for a moment. “You’re still— We’re still sharing, right?”

You tilt your head, confused, oh— “I’m still gonna sleep in our room, Syd. You weird pervert.”

Syd lets go of your hand, shaking her own hands around her head, talking just as fast as she speed walks away to the kitchen. “I am not a weird pervert, I’m sexually normal, don’t be weird, goodbye! Love you, fuck you, see you later!”

Richie claps his hands, “We’re closing out, so I’ve gotta go pick up vases or some shit— Faks, c’mon—”

“Y’know we’re just regular guests, right?” Says Ted. They let Fak come on the road trip despite not doing a job? Medals of Valor need to be doled out.

“Pbbt, come the fuck on, here boy.” Richie starts to walk off, and the whistling is condescending, but they listen anyway. Rich looks over his shoulder, snapping his fingers at Carmen. “Probationary forgiveness.”

Carmen nods, “Thank you, Chef.”

“Dee-Dee’s here, by the way.”

Carmen’s relaxed posture immediately pulls into a taught physique, he’s considering chasing Richie to get more details. “Isn’t Sug here, too?”

“Yessir!”

“Have they—” “They got grouped at the same table. Unc and Stevie have been keepin’ the peace.” “How’s that going?”

“Your guess is as good as mine!” And with that Richie fades into the crowd of straggling guests and clean up crews. 

You don’t know much about Donna, which was a very intentional choice on Mikey’s part. And that kinda tells you all you need to know. You turn to Carmen, pensive. “You wanna go find out?”

He itches at his collar, thinking. “I think if I say I don’t, I’m a bad son.”

“You didn’t ask to be her son.”

“Oh, fuck, okay.” He stumbles for a second, you immediately cover your mouth. 

“Sorry! I just—” Inside thought got outside. “I just meant— That was a lot. It’s just like, I dunno, you can’t be bad at something you never opted in for, y’know?”

“No, yeah, that— That’s kind of… a good thought.” He nods, looking at the ground, swallowing the words. “I— I should be a good brother—and—and Uncle, at least. Say hi to Nat.”

You don’t start walking until he starts walking, intent to follow his lead. You’ll stroll casually, until they crop up, making no deliberate effort to find them. You’re both silently hoping you don't. Carmen brings his head back up to you. “You ever meet Mom—? Donna?”

You shake your head, “No, that was kinda one of our few red lines. For Mikey and me. He’d like—” You gesture with your hands as you explain. “He’d talk about her, and I saw like… photos of them from babyhood, but I never met her or heard details— Never like, came over to the house. It was just kinda like a silent agreement. Hard for him and hard for me with the whole— Uh—”

“Drinking thing.”

You nod. “It’s uh— I’m not easily triggered anymore, though, so I think I’m fine.”

Carmen sniffs, scratching his nose. “Well, if you end up not being fine, we can not— Like not talk to her.”

He’s sweet, he’s smart, he’s the cat. You nod. “You don’t have to talk to her either, y’know. Could just text Nat—” “She’s right there.”

You whip your head up in tandem with him saying, “Don’t look fas— Fuck.”

You put the back of your hand on Carm’s chest, you both stop walking. “That’s Dee-Dee?”

“Yeah, with the—the leopard print belt and the floral dress.” Carmen’s been growing meeker with each step. You’d think his biggest fear is clashing patterns. This is not the same bear in the Chicago Tribune. “Why, you— You do know her?”

“She looks fuckin’ familiar…” You kiss your teeth, trying to roll back in your memory— Come on, you don’t forget shit, where is she from? You’ve seen photos but those were blurry and she was so much younger. You remember this version of Donna, you remember her from somewhere.

“Fuckin’ — Something with Pete— I saw her with Pete— Nat’s husband—” You point to him, across from Donna, at the table. “Him, yeah.”

“Just them?” Carmen gently pulls your arm down, you’ve gotta remember your manners.

“Yeah, I was— Oh, I was—” You squint. “Did Donna come to your opening?”

“No, she was invited, but she didn’t show.”

“Okay— So, she did, actually.” “Huh—?”

“She was— She was outside, when you were in the walk-in.” You nod to yourself, still thinking through the memory. “Yeah, she was outside— I thought Pete was like her son— It looked like they were fighting or crying so I just kinda— Kinda let it be. You were locked in a fucking freezer so I chose my battles.”

“Oh.” Carmen nods, trying to make it seem normal in his head. It’s not. And he can’t seem to force it. “He definitely didn’t tell Nat.” Because Nat would’ve told him.

You hum, rocking on your heels. “Yeah there's no chance we're going to go say hi now, is there?”

“Yeah, that might be best.”

You fold your lips in a line, still staring at Donna, she looks normal, which makes it feel even less normal. Way too much to unpack, if you go over there. Instead, you’ll stand here in the middle of the banquet hall, and unpack the carry-on luggage, so to speak. “Christmas is in a week.”

It’s a freight train of realization, Carmen drags his hand down his face. “Fuck me.”

“I know.”

“I have to go, don’t I?”

You frown, turning your head to him, not wanting to say what you’re going to say. “Do you think she’ll plan anything?” First Christmas without Mikey. Will she have the willpower to plan something, like she usually does?

“Oh, fuck me.”

“I know.”

Carmen holds his hand over his mouth, words somewhat muffled. “I’ll ask Nat, see what she’s doing. Baby’s first Christmas, or whatever. That’s a thing, right?”

“Baby’s do traditionally experience time, yeah.” “You n’ that smart mou—”

Despite staring at their table, the two of you did not notice Natalie approaching you, baby Michaela swaddled in her arms. “Oh my God, I haven’t seen normal human beings that aren’t screaming or shitting constantly in so long— Please— Say something normal and fun.”

You pucker your lips, trying to come up with something. “Ah— Fuck, I can’t think of anything— Oh fuck, sorry I said fuck— God— I’m just gonna stop talking.”

Nat lifts her hand up for a moment to wave you off before re-supporting her baby. “No! No, don’t! Say fuck so much. Say it all the time. She can’t understand, she doesn’t care. I wish I was her.”

“Will do.” You just nod, holding a hand up to Michaela, waving. She grabs one of your fingers, holding on tight. You can’t help but coo. “Hey, baby! Have you been fuckin’ with your mom’s sleep schedule? Awe, yes you have! Yes you have!”

Nat laughs and hums, “Richie told me you used to babysit Eva.” 

“He’s exaggerating.” You leave your hand with Michaela, but look up to Nat. “There were just some weekends he was working and daycare wasn’t running so I’d take her around the city for a couple hours— More like playdates than actual babysitting.”

“That just sounds like you’re a fun babysitter.” Carmen rebukes, Nat nods. 

“I’m good when you only need a second.” You sigh, half taking the compliment. You glance over Nat’s fatigued face. “You need a second?”

“Yes, fuck, could you?” In the same breath, she’s handing you baby Michaela. “She has in fact been fucking with mommy’s sleep schedule— And no one tells you— ‘mommy strength’ or whatever, needs to be developed— My lats— I think they’re lats? Are insane now. Just from holding her!”

You bounce the baby in your arms, sidling her on your hip. She’s a grabber, that’s for sure. Grabbing your hair, your top, Mikey’s chip— No longer tucked under your clothes. You let her. Well— Not the hair— She could cut off her circulation— Relax, EMS. You’re off duty. “How’s it going with—”

Nat knows what you’re asking before you finish the question. “Better than normal, which makes it feel worse. Does that make sense?”

You nod, “Completely and utterly.”

Carmen’s staring at Pete. He’s not typically a snitch but this is his sister, “Did Pete tell you—?”

“That mom was there on our fucking opening and he told her we were having a baby? Yes, about five minutes before she sat down.” Nat says it with a perfectly practiced smile and a simmering anger.

Your hands slip just slightly, you readjust your grip on Mickey. You and Carmen speak together, “He what?” 

Nat doesn't mean to ignore your both but she does, “How'd you find out?”

“I just told him.” You pipe up, guilt covers your face. “I saw them when I came that night. Sorry, I didn't realize that was your mom— Or husband, for that matter.”

Sug shakes her head, waving off the apology. “Not your fault, his.”

“Yeah.” Carmen nods, “Back to that, by the way?”

“Yeah, he realized it was kind of a hard lie to uphold— Because mom sucks at acting surprised.” She sighs, “She’s taking it well publicly but I’m expecting a full blown meltdown in the bathroom of which I can’t escape, so. Beautiful wedding.”

“Yeah, those are kind of unavoidable.” You just had one yourself. “Fingers crossed you make it out alive?”

“Oh, I’m making it the fuck out, it’s her you should pray for.”

You have to respect the power in that. “Damn.”

“I didn’t ask to be her daughter! If she hands it to me I’m handing it fucking back—” Nat’s brain is always running like a faucet, she cuts off her own thoughts with a new one. “Christmas is in a week.”

“We know.”

“Fuck me.” She sighs so hard it blows strands of hair out of her face. “What the fuck are we gonna do, Carmy?”

“Was gonna ask you.” Carm’s distracting himself with Michaela, she reaches for his hand, she doesn’t grab a finger, she traces his tattoos. God, babies are cute sometimes. “Can we figure it out later?”

“Yeah, like everything else we do, I guess.” Sug groans. But she just as equally doesn’t want to think about it as him. And honestly, she’s just happy to see him acting like a fucking uncle for once.  “Tony, will I see you at work on Monday? You’re onboarding, right?”

You don’t notice the way Carmen’s face stones up, like a secret has been revealed. He’s been preparing for you to say yes. He’s got that Docusign in his inbox, ready to send. Had Nat budget you in. But you don’t seem to be upset about it— Or maybe you just didn’t catch that Carmen selfishly was hoping you’d come right back to him. Maybe it’s just that you don’t think it’s selfish.

“Oh— Uh, yeah, I guess you will.” Michaela starts to smack you for not giving her attention for more than seven seconds. You turn your head to her, bouncing her again, “Pbbt—Pbbbt— Mat leave over?”

“Gonna need to be.” Nat laughs when she says it, like you’re both on some sort of inside joke. Yeah, The Bear’s kind of a nightmare, of course Nat’s always needed. You laugh back, though there wasn’t really a joke anywhere in there.

“Make sure you get your rest.” Sug scoops Michaela out of your arms, rejuvenated from her second of peace. “Your boss is kind of an ass.”

Unfair drive-by, Carmen waves a hand like a white flag, “Alright—”

“I know, I like him anyways.” “Gross.” “I know, it sucks.”

“Okay, okay,” It’s way too obvious how happy Nat is that her brother has someone. “Both of you get the fuck out of here before she sees you, I told her you’d be too busy in the kitchen to say hi.”

She knows her brother, and Carmen’s grateful for it, but, “Are you sure? I can—” 

“I love you, Bear.” Nat gives him a kiss on the cheek, and you a quick hug. “But fucking run, seriously.”

Carmen nods, “Heard. Love you, Bear.”

You quickly dash off together, blending into crowds to go unnoticed. Mumbling plans out as you sprint. “I’ve gotta help Marcus close out the bar.”

“I’ve gotta pack up our equipment.” “You’re on the fifth floor too, right?” “Yeah, you’re rooming with Syd?” “Yeah, you and Richie?”

“I got my own room.” “Okay, rich boy.” “I— It’s a fuckin’ Holiday Inn, it’s not that bad—” “Oooh, Charmin gets his first paycheck suddenly he’s all that—” “You wanna come up to my room or not?”

“Oh?” You practically skirt on your heels when you suddenly stop walking, “He’s bold now—”

“I— That’s not— Like we—” He can’t dig himself out of this one, and his darting eyeline is giving him away. “You told Syd you’d still sleep in your room— I just meant like— Like we could— hang out.”

“We could hang out?” “Stop—” “I’d love to hang out, dude.” “We can watch a movie or somethin’—”

You gasp, thought occurring to you. “Yeah, let’s watch a movie. I wanna watch a movie.”

“I don’t like the look that just happened in your eyes.” 

“Yes, you do.” Your turn to smush Carmen’s face in your hands, kissing him with a comical, all too wet, and in no way seductive muah—

Which somehow just makes it all the more entrancing, for him.  “Yes, I do.”

You smile, letting him go, splitting off from Carmy in favour of your bar. “I’ll meet you in the lobby, go be a good boss.”

“Yes, Chef.”

“How are they not seeing him fuck up the soup— That— A whole pot—” “You’re literally saying exactly what Remy is saying right now—” “I— Good. I’m still mad about the five star thing.”

Carmen likes Ratatouille. Likes it enough to nitpick. He relates to the weird rat with a complex family dynamic and having a brother that means well but fucks with him so much. He relates to the no credit, the starving, the death and desire of feeding the ego, Carmen relates to feeling like a freak in his own kitchen. 

It is weird to feel seen by a rat. 

But it’s nice to have you in his room, in his bed, watching some dinky little red-head try to survive in a French kitchen. It’s nice to occasionally watch you instead, out of the corner of his eye. He thought of roughly… fourteen more recipes since leaving the bathroom with you? Who would’ve thought that watching someone use a makeup cleansing balm would be inspiring?

What? It melted beautifully. Or maybe you’re just beautiful? Whatever. You emulsified it in your hands. Emulsion? Coconut emulsion would be interesting; very similar creme texture. On top of a souffle? Delicate. But it still needs zip. The glitter from your eyeshadow makes him think of zesting. Lemon zest. Needs more scent, though. Oh, maybe Kaffir limes. That’s a weird dish. That’s never gonna work. He has to get better at subtracting around you. 

He’s doing pretty good at not saying I love you, though, so, that’s something. 

“The houndstooth pants are cute.” You hum, as Linguini finally kisses Collette— Though by a rat’s volition. A win is a win. You lean into Carmen’s side, watching the movie pirated on his laptop, because hotel tv pay-per-view was so overpriced for no reason. “Oh, fuck, what’s my uniform gonna be?”

“Chef whites, no?” His arm is around your shoulder, it’s nice. “I can get you a jacket—”

“Well, your servers wear black— And I’m gonna be like, like both right?” You turn your head to him. Bad idea. He’s still very pretty, if not prettier in pajamas. “Like, making drinks in the back and then acting as somme out front. So all black?”

“Hm.” Carmen tries not to frown. Tries not to see you wearing black as you being on the other team. “I guess.”

“Richie’s not getting me in a fuckin’ button up, though.” You don’t notice his expression’s minute faltering, crossing your arms, thinking. “Sleeveless black turtleneck? Maybe black palazzo pants, could do what fuckin— Linguini’s doin—”

You point at the screen. “The bright red converse? Could do all black and then bright blue converse? Would that be cute or is that deeply unprofessional?”

Carmen tilts his head back and forth, trying to let you down easy, “I wouldn’t call it deeply unpr—”

“Heard. Okay, maybe like— Like a red bottom heel—” You kick your foot up in the air, for no real reason. A shoe isn’t suddenly going to appear on it for display. “Like not actual ones, duh— Like a black boot and I paint the sole blue—” 

“What’s with you and blue?” He's deeply amused, or maybe that's just Carmen's constant state, right now, twirling his fingers through your hair without a care in the world.

“It’s like, Bear colours. You do blue. Aprons, baskets— I guess I’m thinking of The Beef, but like, your lighting is kinda blue.” You shrug. “I wanna match.”

He nods, eyes on the movie, thinking far too much— Well, for the average person. For Carmy it’s a perfectly normal amount of thinking. “All black, blue sole, blue earrings, maybe? White apron for when you’re in the back?” 

Please say yes to the white apron. Please say yes to his team. He'll get your initials monogrammed and everything.

“Yeah, that’s a cute look. As long as it’s easy to take off.” You hum. “Oh, y’know, Richie wanted to—” 

Speak of the Devil, and he shall call you for the fifth fucking time. “Fuckin— Pause it, hold on—”

Carmen pauses the wonderful rat chef in tandem with you answering the phone with, “I’m not fuckin’ comin’ to pool, Cousin!”

In one ear, out the other. “Fuck you! When are you getting here?” 

“I am not getting out of bed to play pool— A game I have not played— With a bunch of fuckin—”

“If you’re not down here in five minutes, Chip, on God—” “I’m gonna fuckin’ hang up again you motherfucker—” “And what? You’ll just answer again, won’t you?”

Richie’s tone gives him away. He’s giggling, bubbly, absolutely tanked on dirty shirleys. But there’s a very genuine joy to it. You’ve answered his stupid meaningless calls every time, the last four times, despite knowing they are in fact, stupid and meaningless. And that is rife with meaning. 

You sigh, but you’re smiling. “Yeah. I’ll answer.”

“Good.” You can hear his smile mirrored through the phone. “Sell your Greyhound ticket to Fak.”

“Bitch, fuck no—” “We can go aroun’ the city tommorow! We’re closed! C’mon have some fuckin’ fun before you start working in hell!” “We’re gonna be stupid New York tourists?” “Eva wanted me to get her face on some m and m’s—” “You want me to come with you to the fucking Time Square M and M store?”

That’s when Carmen shoots up, shoulder against yours, panickedly muttering into the phone, “We cannot go to Time Square a week out from Christmas.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. When you realize why there’s a pause, you shut your eyes tight, knowing exactly what you’re gonna get. Carmen realizes after watching your face scrunch up, he puts his face in his hands, “Shit—”

“You’re fucking Carmen!”

“No—” “You said you’re in bed! His bed?!” “We’re watching Ratatouille—” “Without me? You’re coming to the fucking M and M store— Also that big ass toy store—” “This is not a betrayal—” “Matter of fact, we’re gonna go see that big fuckin’ tree, too—” “You just want me to drive us home because you’re gonna be too hungover.”

“No, I want you to drive us home because I love you.” Richie’s slurring when he says it, like it’s some sort of gotcha. “So fuck you, actually.”

Carmen bites back laughter next to you, you just shake your head, tutting. “I love you, too, Cousin.”

“If you loved me you’d come play pool.” “I don’t fuckin’ know how to play pool!” “We’ll fuckin’ learn you somethin’ then!” “Fuck off! I’m already coming to fucking Time Square with you, don’t be whiny.” 

“You’ll come?”

You massage your brow bone, “Syd’s not gonna wanna sit next to Fak on the bus, you got room for four?”

“Yeah, but someone’s gonna have to sit on the console.” “I nominate Carmen.” “I second the nom.”

Carmen, now with two votes to sit on the console up front, presses his face into your shoulder. “What the fuck—” You peer down at him and whisper, “We’ll do shifts, don’t worry.”

“Put me on speaker phone.” “You’re talking so loud that Carmen can very clearly hear you.”

“Put me! On speaker phone!”

You put Richie on speaker phone. Carmen clears his throat, gruff, “Yo, Rich, can we finish the fuckin’ movie?”

“Patience is a virtue, or some shit. D’you see the resos?”

You mouth to Carmen, ‘Reservations?’ Carmen nods. “Yeah, I saw.”

“Gonna be fucked.” You frown when you hear that, but don’t want to interrupt. You silently word, ‘What happened?’ Carmen puts a finger over his mouth, he’ll explain in a second. 

“Gonna be fucked, yeah.” Carmen sniffs, swiping at his nose. “Good kind, though.”

“Yeah. Good kind.” There’s a sigh from Richie on the other end, that heavy sigh. Practically sobering up with just one sentence. “Christmas is in a week.”

“I know.” Carmen kisses his teeth. This is going to be the worst, for all of you. The missing link is going to be all too apparent.  “Good time to be busy.” 

“Good time to be busy.” Richie echoes. “Only way out is through.”

“Heard.” Carmen nods, what else is there to say? “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Aright. Don’t fuck in a fuckin’ Holiday Inn Chip’s worth mo—” 

That’s when you interrupt, “Alright, what a wonderful phone call this has been goodbye, fuck you, love you, don’t call again, be safe!” You hang up before Richie can reply, head flopping over.

There’s a long silence before Carmen speaks again. “...I’m not tryna do that by the way—”

“No, I know, I’m worth more than a Holiday Inn.”

Snorts of laughter fill the stale air of this shitty little Holiday Inn one bed. Carmen pulls you back into him, arm on your waist. Before you can start the movie again, though, you have to ask. “Reservations fucked?”

He hums, tucking your hair back so he can see the side of your face better. “We started taking reservations last week— Just to test it out. N’ it was goin’ smooth but ‘tuh…” He squints. “Trending today with the whole uh— Chef thing. We’re kinda booked full ‘til the end of the year. And January.”

“Oh shit.” Word on the street is true. Any advertising is good advertising. Even when promoting the wrong fucking website. 

“Yeah, good kinda fucked, but like. Fucked.” Carmy nods, and after a second, grabs your hand. “But Christmas— Christmas Eve ‘n Christmas is off— And New Years— So, so you won’t be overwhelmed, hopefully.”

Your brain is already shooting miles ahead, you’re mentally back in Chicago, already. “We really gotta get on that cocktail menu.” There’s so much to do. New job, new menu, Christmas—

“And coffee.” Carmen sounds calm when he says it, which is deeply unlike him.

“And coffee.” You echo, eyes distant. You shoot back up. “Fuck, road trip is gonna be such a time sink. Okay— Well, okay— We’ll just— I’ll make a list tonight—”

 You’ve gotta figure out your hours. You don’t want to lose Chicago’s Kindest completely— Can’t be available 24/7 anymore, though. Mattina Tony’s gonna hate that. But he’ll be happy for you. Gotta tell Eden’s Club you’re not going to pick up shifts anymore. They’ll say they’re happy about it, but curse you behind your back. That’s fine. 

“List for what?”

“Christmas shopping.” Your eyes flick to him, still thinking. “I win Christmas every year.”

You’re getting Richie new cufflinks— But what of? Can’t just do initials, that’s lame. Fuck, what do you get Carmen? Can’t just do something cooking related— That’s lamer. But it’s also like— His only hobby.

“Don’t think that’s how Christmas works.”

“It fully is. And being in Time Square is gonna widen the fuck out of my search radius. Fuck what do I do for Syd? Fancy knife? They sell fancy knives here?”

Carmen shrugs, “I know a guy in the area.”

“Fantastic. I’ll get a list, you’ll help me out with stores. We’ll get coloured pencils at FAO, we’ll draft up a rough menu on the way home—” “Hey—” “It’s twelve hours of driving, so I think we can get a good chunk done. And then test out and finish on Monday—” “Baby—” “I was thinking we could do a section of house cocktails and coffees named after Chefs—” “I said don’t work on it—” “So like, each one would be themed after what I think of when I think of you—” 

Carmen grabs your face with both hands. “Tony.”

“Carmy.”

“Cannot believe I’m saying this to another person, but loosen your grip.” He strokes your cheekbones with his thumb. It’s nice. “You don’t have to do it all.”

It's a long silence of just staring back at him, so much so Carmy’s worried he has failed at this whole self-help thing. But then, you say, “Sara’s a good fucking therapist.”

“She’s got a pretty flexible schedule, too.”

Your face is still in his hands, you’re basically unblinking. “I think you’re a pink pepper aperol spritz with a slice of grapefruit. Maybe like a cherry syrup rim? Or is that too much? That might be too much.”

Carmen sighs in a way that sounds like a laugh. “How many drinks have you made in your head?”

“Just that one. But I think Richie would be something with whiskey and peaches— And somethin’ about Syd makes me think about figs, I don’t know why, which would go good with—”

Carm pinches your cheek, frowning, though there’s an admiration to it. “I said don’t work on it.” 

You push his hands away, “I haven’t written anything down! I can’t stop my brain from thinking! How many fuckin’ plates do you have in your head?”

He thinks, tilting his head back and forth. “A couple.” It’s a lot more than a couple. “They’re all bad, though.” 

“Bad, how?” 

“Bad, like weird.” Carmen gestures to the dimming screen of his laptop. You shake the touchpad awake. Rat chef is inspiring, and a good reminder of what he's meant to do, as are you. “It’s uh, it’s a good movie. It’s good to make new shit. But like, I need to be controlled.”

You tilt your head, “I don’t think so.”

“No?” Despite the fact that you’re disagreeing with him, there’s a happy hum, in Carmen’s voice.

“No. I think we should make really bad weird shit. At least in like, R and D.” You lean back down, against him. “Gotta try it before you brush off the idea. That’s the fun thing about art, y’know? Might work, might not.”

“I think that’s life.”

“Life is art, art is life, food is both.” 

“Woah.” “That was kind of a bar, wasn’t it!?” “Kinda tough.” “What’s your bad weird idea?”

“Steak with pop rocks.”

“Oh my god.” Your eyes go wide, but with a smile. Shocked but delighted. It's absolutely going in Carmen's top five favourite expressions of yours. You lean into him further, back of your hand slapping his chest. 

“I know, but I was thinking the sugar would be good—”

“Like a sort of maple or sugar curing thing?” God, you just get it. And you give a shit about getting it.

“Exactly, n’ then it makes you like— Like salivate.” “I don’t think it’s that crazy an idea.”

He’s so excited to have someone encourage his ideas, for once. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod assuredly. “We should do it. Try it, at least.”

“Okay. Cool.” Carmen tries and fails to not light up at the prospect of ‘we’. “You’ve still got a hard out at twelve?”

“Syd said she will be knocking violently if I’m not back at midnight on the dot, yeah.” You unpause the movie. “And she’s gonna be pissed when I tell her I’ve volunteered us for a tourist spree, so I gotta be on her good side.”

Carmen shrugs, turning his attention back to the movie, arm around your shoulder. “It’ll be fun, if you’re there.”

It gives you both away.

Every sentence gives you both away. The way you speak, the way you act, the way you pose. It gives you both away. The way he moves your hair out of your face so you can see the movie clearly. The way you lift your head so he can tuck his arm under the pillow, so it doesn’t go numb under you. All without asking. The way you see each other, the way you are constantly doting and thinking of the next thing you can make the other—All without checking in. The Berf shirt you wear for pajamas, your refilled toiletries in his hotel shower. The domesticity comes all too easy to both of you. It gives you both away.

“Remy kinda sounds like Carmy, y’know—” “Don’t.” “My petit chef!”

You say I love you in every way but the way that makes it weird and bad and stupid and too soon. 

“Good God.” Is the first thing Sydney says, when you return to your shared hotel room. Face and voice filled with disgust, that is really only half sarcastic. “You’re beyond saving.”

You push past her, bumping shoulders as you do, smiling all the while. It’s nice that she can see you again. Even if she’s seeing that you’re down bad. “I didn’t even say anything—”

“Yeah, no, it’s that face on your face— God, it’s over—” “Baby, just say you’re happy for me.”

“I—” Syd blinks, rapid, hands in the air. “I’m happy for you— Tentatively.” Pending Carmen. Probationary forgiveness. 

“Thank you. I’ll take it.” You squat down to grab a water bottle from the mini fridge, when you do, you’re able to give Syd a once over.

She’s adorned in an old jazz club shirt from your highschool, boxers, and a long bonnet so old you recognize it. You recognize all of it. It’s nearly enough to make you cry. 

Funny, she’s thinking the same thing. Together, you speak. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

“Jinx!”

“Double jinx!”

“Triple Jinx!” It’s on the third one that you decide to let her win and not say it a fourth time. 

It’s on the fourth one that Syd decides she doesn’t want to win. “Quadr— Man, this sucks.”

You know exactly what she means. You fall out of your squat, sitting on your butt with a frown. “It literally would’ve just taken one phone call.” You could’ve been doing this for years.

She sits down next to you, back against the front of the bed. “There were a lot of moments, where I thought to call you, honestly.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like uhm—” Syd’s face scrunches up her face, she’s already opened her mouth so she has to tell you, but she’s realizing she probably shouldn’t tell you. “There was this fucked day at The Beef, where we set up online orders, and I forgot to tick off pre-order—”

You unscrew the bottle cap, squinting. “I feel like that should automatically be off.” 

“That’s what I’m fucking saying!” She slaps your knee with the back of her hand, “But uh, no it was fucking on— And we got like— Like fucked— Said that already. Hundreds of orders. And it was so much and and— Richie was, at the time, kind of a dick—” 

“You don’t have to mince, I know what he was.” You take a sip of water, nodding. He’s a work in progress, as are you all.

“He was being a bitch and— And— I might’ve maybe lowkey stabbed him.”

“Holy fuck?!” You have to laugh, out of sheer shock. You choke on your water. “Syd?!”

“It— Swear to God—” Syd raises one hand, and puts the other over her heart. “Was an accident. Like— Like I was saying I would, and also I was like—  Thinking about it— But I didn’t mean to actually do it— Like he walked into it—”

“Jesus Christ, Manslaughter Sydney—!” “No! …A little. On occasion.”

“You ever wanna stab Carmy?” “Oh, all the fucking time.”

“Fair.” You hand her your water bottle when you spot her looking at it. You see each other, you take care of each other, without being asked. 

“And after a brutal stabbing—” “It was barely a graze, to his ass.” “—You thought to call me?”

“Yeah. You’re like. I dunno. I—” She sighs, taking a beat. “I’ve heard people talk about like— When they’re in a life or death scenario, or panicking, their first thought is like ‘I gotta call my mom’.” Syd clutches onto the water bottle like it’s a life preserver. “But I like— Like I don’t have that instinct, duh, dead mom club— But like, like my instinct when I’m scared is to call you.”

“You should’ve.” You want to take her hand, but don’t. Still working on that hesitation. You’ll both get there.

“You should’ve, too.” Syd lightly punches your knee. She tucks her lips in a line, thinking. “I would’ve been there.”

“I think I kinda got stuck in the same thought Mikey had, with Carmen.” You prop your knee up, hugging it to you. “Didn’t wanna drag you down with me. Didn’t want you to know I— That I’m not really uhm— That I’m not all that great.”

“I didn’t ask you to be great.” Syd says it before she thinks it, and it’s enough to make your eyes water. In a good way. She continues. “I didn’t ask you to be my somme, either. I always thought you were cool. I would always think you’re cool.”

“I…” You clear your throat, controlling your micro-expressions poorly. “I— I know. I think I just… Always do too much? Like I do everything to make myself like— Needed.”

If they need you, they can’t leave you. Though, that didn’t really stop you two from growing apart, so there goes that theory. 

“You are needed.” Syd nearly rolls her eyes at you, but realizes that might be insensitive.

Syd could’ve called Terry, when the walk-in door broke. She called you. Syd could’ve called Claire— They’re not all that close, but she could’ve, when Nat went into labour. She called you. Syd could’ve called Fak, when Carmen’s oven broke. She called you. It’s insane that you’d ever think you weren’t her lifeline. 

But she clarifies anyway, “Not that— Not that you need to be needed though, for me to want you around.”

You snatch the water bottle from her. “Well, I know that now.”

“Good.”

You all but chug the water, God you’re dehydrated. Syd laughs, “It’s not gonna fucking run away from you.”

“We don’t know that for sure.” You grin, screwing the cap back on. Sniffing, you sober up a little. “We’re never not gonna be friends again.”

“Yes, Chef.”

“Lest you go full on He Had it Comin’ on your fuckin’ co-workers again.”

She scoffs. “I promise to try to not stab someone in your presence.” 

“Deal.” You both laugh. You put your hand out to her, and without confirmation, do a handshake that must be more than a decade old. Dap, up-down, jellyfish out. Though, for your purposes, squid out. 

Incredible, you’ve hit Syd with love and nostalgia, she has to say yes now. “We’re roadtripping with Richie and Carmen instead of taking the Greyhound.”

“It’s so crazy that you think that’s gonna happen—” “It will be fun—” “Define fun for me, right now—” “We can get Christmas shopping done—”

“Fuck. Christmas is in a week.” “I know!” 

Syd scrunches up her nose. “What do I get my dad?”

“Sounds like you need to do some window shopping.” You could probably recommend something if you thought about it for two more seconds, but then you wouldn’t have an excuse to drag her along. “We could go to a Tiffany’s or something.”

“What and get him a locket?” “I’m honestly just naming stores, at this point.”

She’s thinking about it, really thinking about it. “...Could go to the MET, go through the gift shop. He’s a tchotchke guy.”

You hum, nodding. You can get her to fold. “Look at some expos, get some artistic inspiration?”

Syd’s eyes roll back, and she rolls her head back with them, head on the edge of the bed, in dismay. “...Are we doing gifts?” 

You shrug, “Was thinking I’d get you a little something.”

“So super over the top and extravagant?” “What’s the fun in telling?” “I hate you.” “So you’ll come?”

She sighs, husky. “Yeah…” She says it like she’s upset but you both know Syd is a little excited. 

You pump your fist, delighted. A win.

A comfortable silence fills the room. You flop your back down on the floor, laying on the carpet. “Thank you for helping Carmy.”

“Didn’t do much.” Syd shrugs, lazily turning her head on the bed to you. “He just needs pushing, sometimes.”

You hum, nodding. “Well, thank you for pushing.”

“You’re so welcome, dude.” You both laugh, and after another long gap of silence, she kicks you. “Stop lying on the dirty ass hotel floor, we paid for a bed.” 

“There’s something about laying on the floor, man.” You shake your head. “Get down here. I can see the scope of the universe from down here, actually.”

With a profoundly deep sigh, Syd rolls over to you. Your shoulders touch as you both stare at the ceiling. She hums, pointing to the popcorn tiles. “Oh yeah, secrets of the universe, right there.”

“I told you.” You nod, wisely. You frown. “...When do you think it’s like, too soon, to say ‘I love you’?”

“Oh my fucking God it’s that bad—” “Just answer!” “Definitely right now is too fucking soon!” “Well, yeah, I fuckin’ figured—!” “I’d say like, another month or two, minimum.”

“I think I might explode, by then, if I’m being honest.” You turn your head to her. “I’m really worried I’m gonna forget I haven’t already said it and I’m gonna say it at a stupid moment and it’s gonna be lame and embarrassing and bad.”

Syd turns her head to you. “Yeah, that’s probably what’s gonna happen.”

“Okay, so you’re no fuckin’ help.” You snort. 

“What do you want me to say? You love to the point of embarrassment.” She shrugs, smiling at your demise. But then Syd sobers up a little, turning her body to face you, leaning her head on her hand. “Are you sure, though?”

“I think so, yeah.” You cross your arms, nodding, assuring yourself, practically. “I feel what I think can only be described as emotionally violent— affectionately. And I think that’s what love is. Pretty sure.”

“Hm.” Syd watches you watch her. You’re absolutely getting lost in your own brain. She pokes the space between your eyebrows, you wake back up. “What’s in there?”

You blink, “Thinking of all the worst ways I could say it.” In front of everyone, accidentally while saying goodbye, off-handedly while hanging up, over text, and so on and so forth.

“Okay, that sounds awful and unproductive so let’s go to bed, huh?” Syd grunts, sitting up. She reaches for your hand to help you stand up with her. “Just try saying it normal.”

You take a breath, looking her in the eyes, say it normal. “Love you.”

“Yeah, just say it like that.”

“Oh, so I can say it—” “In two months.”

“Wait, is one more month hard off the table now—” “Now it’s three.” “Fuck, it’s gaining interest?!”

Just try to make it to next year without saying it, you’d take that happily. Just make it to Christmas. Okay, maybe just make it until you get back to Chicago…Maybe just take a vow of silence. 

You shake your head, coming back to reality.

“Wait, what the fuck, Syd, say it back!”

wooooo

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Next Part

[bewitchedfeathers]

Bouquet - Viktor Snz Fic (Ja/yvik)

Anon requested Allergic Viktor with Ja/yvik and I had a blast writing this real fast! Thank you for sending in a request! I hope you like it 💕

Set in an AU where Jayce and Viktor are already together and everything is happy and nothing hurts.

Notes: Jasha is (if my research is correct) a petname for Jayce in Russian. And Vitya would be the petname for Viktor. Solnishko is a petname meaning sunshine or little sun.

I hope you enjoy!

Please only reblog to kink blogs ❤️

—-

Viktor opened his door to let Jayce inside for their date and couldn't contain his laughter as he was met with a bouquet that Jayce's large upper body was completely hidden behind. Viktor could only just see Jayce's pout, good natured though it was, at Viktor's response.

“You brought me flowers? You are ridiculous, solnishko (sunshine),” he said still laughing softly. “What am I going to do with these?” He asked rhetorically, voice exasperated but warm with affection. 

“They just look and smell nice. And it's supposed to be romantic,” he complained playfully.

“Pilties,” Viktor responded with a roll of his eyes and then he beckoned Jayce inside. And Jayce laughed at the familiar response to many things in Piltover that he thought were ridiculous. Jayce shifted the bouquet to one hand so he could gently cradle Viktor's face with the other and kiss him in a slow lingering greeting. 

Viktor savored Jayce's kiss but he was grateful when he pulled back as he felt a faint tickle in his nose, not an uncommon occurrence, and he didn't want to sneeze on his partner. “Snf. Go set those somewhere. I'm making us suh-some tea.”

Jayce perked up at the mention of tea. Viktor had shared a tea only found in the undercity that he enjoyed and surprisingly Jayce had loved it as well. So now whenever the weather was cool and they spent the evening at Viktor's apartment he made them tea.

He stepped into the kitchen, making the tea on autopilot, as he rubbed at his nose trying to get rid of the itch. And then finally he couldn’t fight the inevitable any longer and he turned his face into his raised elbow. 

“Huhhh’Isshhuh..hh’IZSShhuh…snf..” He rubbed his nose and then gathered two mugs in one hand, his cane in the other, as he made his way to join Jayce on the couch. Jayce knew better than to offer to help when he obviously didn't need it right now.

“Bless you,” he said as he took his mug eagerly from Viktor's hand.

“Thank you,” he murmured to be polite but his attention was on his nose that was feeling annoyingly itchy. He rubbed the underside with his index and middle finger. 

“Hhh..Hh’GSHHxt..ngh.” he sneezed over his fingers, only partially stifling it.

“Bless,” Jayce said as he gave Viktor a once over searching for signs of illness, that Viktor tolerated with only a raised brow.

“I feel fine. My nose is just…juh..hhhh’IGSHhhh…snf just sensitive tonight,” he reassured, responding to Jayce’s unasked question. 

“Alright,” Jayce said with a little relieved smile and Viktor appreciated the show of trust. “Since that's the case,” and then Jayce's left hand was cradling his cheek while another gripped his hip as he leaned to kiss Viktor deep and slow.

Viktor tangled both his hands in Jayce’s hair as he moaned into his mouth. But all too soon the tickle spiked and he jerked away from Jayce’s lips with a sharp inhale. Whipping his elbow up to hover just below his nose.

“Suh-sorry. Have to.. have to sneeze-GZSSHoo…hhh’IKSSHht..snfSnf.” he wriggled his nose trying to get rid of the lingering urge to sneeze. “Pardon me, zolotse (darling).”

“Bless you, Vik. It's alright.” He stroked some hair out of Viktor's face. “Something been bothering you?” Viktor certainly has enough allergies to warrant the question but he's mostly allergic to artificial scents and none of his natural allergens are in season currently.

“No, no, I've been fine,” he said a little bewildered. “You didn't get a new soap did you?” He feels compelled to ask.

“No nothing new,” Jayce assures with a shake of his head. 

“Hm, odd. Perhaps its just a…hah..a random tickle. snf.” 

“Certainly a persistent one,” Jayce offered non-committally. He pulled a red handkerchief monogrammed with the Talis hammer and offered it to Viktor. Viktor grabbed it and Jayce used their joint hands to bring Viktor's fingers to his lips before he let him go. Viktor blushed and grinned at the ridiculous gesture.

Viktor muttered his thanks as he brought the kerchief to his nose. He tried to massage at his trembling nostrils through the fabric but he still felt his breath catch.

“Huhhh…hh'hh'ISSHmphh…hh'huh’IGSSHmphh…Snffff…” he let out a frustrated sigh at the distraction from their time together. He mopped at his face and blew his nose, grimacing as the kerchief grew damp.

Jayce brushed his hair out of his face again. “Bless you.”

Viktor hummed in acknowledgement but he was already struggling not to sneeze again. “Hh…huh’Hhh?...” Jayce set down his tea and grabbed some tissues from a nearby table. He pressed them into Viktor’s hands, trading out the used kerchief, and Viktor nodded in gratitude. His eyes were beginning to look pink around the edges and a few itchy tears rolled down his cheeks. 

“Sweetheart, something is definitely setting you off,” He grimaced guiltily as he realized, “Must be something in the bouquet.”

“Hihhh…Hh’hh-IGZSHHoo…ESHHHxkt…Hhh’Ishh-Issh-IESSHHuhh…oh mby god…” he groaned before blowing his nose into the tissues to try to get some momentary relief. “I’ve never had an issue with fluh-flowers before..hhh’ISSHxt…nghh…” He complained grumpily as he wiped at his nose with the quickly failing bunch of tissues. Jayce passed him the tissue box and got up to dispose of the flowers.

“Sorry, love. Looks like you were right about flowers being a bad idea afterall,” he said with a guilty smile.

Viktor smiled back softly, “It was a sweet thought, Jasha. Hhh’GSSHHuhh..SNF…”

Jayce’s smile brightened knowing he was forgiven and he walked to the balcony and tossed the flowers down to the street. At Viktor’s laugh of disbelief at the casual action, Jayce defended lightheartedly, “Well someone might stumble upon it and enjoy that way instead of putting down the trash shoot.”

“Ridiculous man. Come here, solnishko.” He beckoned Jayce back to the couch and Jayce trotted over like a happy puppy.

Jayce immediately draped himself over Viktor’s side, wrapping an arm around his waist. He pressed a kiss to Viktor’s cheek but pulled back when Viktor’s breath caught, shoulders hiking as he tensed in preparation bringing a fresh tissue to his nose.

“Hhh’GSSHHuhh…Hehh’ISSH-IXSHHkt-Hh’Hih’IGDSSHooo…SNFSnf…Snfff…Pardon me,” he murmured, ears tinged pink with embarrassment at his nasal outburst.

“Bless you, Vitya,” he murmured not phased in the slightest and immediately leaning in to kiss his cheek and nuzzle one lightly flushed ear. The flush only got worse as Jayce used his favorite petname, used sparingly so it always effected Viktor, giving him a ridiculous fluttery feeling in his belly.

“Thank you, solnishko,” he murmured back and then pulled him into a kiss without interruption.

—---

{Snz Fic Masterlist}

Thank you for reading. Nice comments and tags encourage me to write more things, if you have the spoons for it!

[morinuu]

LISTWN TO ME I JUST READ YOUR TAMAKI ANGST AND YOU KNOW WHAT WOULD BE SO FICKING GOOD??

A she falls but he falls harder

Reader finally gets over it and stops coming, moving on and focusing on herself, and he notices and starts realizing how he took her for granted

And then its him that's loosing his mind and shit like that. Dude. Dude. I'm loosing my MIND you write so well

first of all ty for the compliment >< so glad u liked it im blushing and giggling!! secondly im not sure abt the reader completely abandoning tamaki's side (i love being delulu), but i do have smth else in mind that's kinda similiar n i hope its satisfactory :3 i changed only a minor part from the og :P i wanna make this a small series..... maybe like 3-4 parts.. anw this is pt 1

☀︎｜tamaki x female reader. almost 4k words. continuation of this. ure sick, yamada hinata & aoko r just some ppl i made up for the plot, tamaki's pretty stupid n emotionally unintelligent, lots of feelings and background information, y'all r childhood friends, there's like one 4th wall break but i thought it was kinda funny so i kept it

you weren't a fan of february.

allergy season was your absolute worst, the wheezing and coughing sucking the life out of you as you struggled to change out of your clothes to get the day started. you didn't sleep much, interrupted constantly by your sore throat aching and squeezing.

sure, it's just hay fever to everyone else, but for a young woman who carried around an inhaler, it's hell. well, almost hell.

what was truly hellish wasn't the fatigue or the sneezing, but your mum dragging you back in the house and forbidding you from going to school until you're well enough to study again. how were you supposed to keep up with chemistry class if you skip?

not that your parents cared for your grades; they knew you could just enter whatever field you wanted with the connections your family held, but it felt nice to be awarded for working hard.

after your personal maid let out a small "pardon me, miss" and carried you back to bed, you realised that the feeling your soft quilt hugging your cold limbs would never be beaten by the jacket you desperately clung on to warm yourself in p.e - which just so happened to be your first period that day and you were dreading it.

"i'll be making you some tea, miss. would you like to breakfast now?" your maid's quiet voice addressed you, hoping you'd just sleep the illness off as you usually did so she could rest too.

to be fair, you weren't a very easy master to please, so could you blame her?

"i'll breakfast la-" a cough and some wheezing "-i'll breakfast later, bring some english breakfast with a slice of lemon." you said nothing else, instead focusing on calming your throat that seemed to intensify in soreness. "a pastille too."

"understood my lady, i'll be right back." she bowed and excused herself from your room, ignoring your groans of annoyance as you buried your face into the pillow.

"damn it." you muttered and extended your hand to grab your phone from your bedside table. unlocking it with the passcode (because you weren't in the mood to lift your head and let your phone scan your face) you squinted as the light mode of a social media app hit your eyes harshly, forcing you to use muscle memory to lower the brightness to its minimum.

you scrolled through, liking your friends' private posts and decided to message one of them.

yn.spam: gm dude, i cant come to school today cus im sick. can u do me a favour n tell aoko to give me her notes? she never looks at her messages.

with your phone back on the table to wait for a response, you lied back comfortably and closed your eyes, because as much as you wanted to watch something on netflix or play a video game, you didn't want to make things worse for yourself.

you grew impatient for the cup of tea your maid was brewing, rotating between wheezing, checking your phone and staring at the ceiling. it seemed like the seconds weren't passing by at all.

soon enough, your maid comes back with some fancy tray carrying a kettle, your favourite mug (the one your daddy drank from when you were a little girl before your parents divorced), a tiny plate with some lemon slices and a small box of pastilles as throat medicine.

you didn't thank the woman when she helped you sit up, nor when she stayed by your side to make sure you didn't choke between coughs and burnt yourself with the hot liquid. just as you took your first sip, your phone lit up to show your friend's response.

thatguyhinata: Ayooo gppd morning. Sry to hear tht. Sure if I see her I'll telm her.

the irises in your eyes rolled upwards at the boy's typos that irked you every time, completely ignoring how he didn't wish for your recovery.

yn.spam: thanks yamada

you never used any of your circle's first names, which your mum always found weird.

'you sure these are your friends, darling?' she would ask often, and your response would always be the same:

'yeah mum. leave me be.'

only tamaki had ever felt close enough to be called by his first name.

after swallowing your medicine, you dismissed the older woman standing over you and pulled your quilt over your quivering form again.

"gods, please let this be over soon."

...

well.

...turns out, you gotta be much more specific with what you ask of gods, because they might not have the same understanding of the word 'soon'.

here you are, three days later, with your allergy having been combined with a virus that'd been going around, intensifying your asthma symptoms and raising a high fever, making your mother and doctor ban you from walking into ouran.

halfway throughout the day, you realise what had been completely slipping your mind while your lungs were occupied inhaling abnormally.

"i have an appointment today!" you exclaimed with wide eyes, raising from the bed like lazarus from his grave.

"...?" the new maid next to you didn't say anything, she was clearly concerned. after some seconds of you overthinking something, she spoke up. "you have no other doctor's appointment today, my lady. he just left 10 minutes ago."

you shook your head quickly, ignoring the dizziness brought by your fever "bring me my phone," the girl was puzzled "now!"

bowing a quick apology, she rushed to your desk and handed you your phone with both hands, not daring to look up. you disliked new maids; they were inexperienced and annoying, but scolding her would have to wait.

"damn it, damn it, damn it!" you murmured under your breath and tapped furiously on your phone, trying to find where the hell you'd written kyouya's business e-mail address.

you had it saved as every other client of the host club had, but you had never actually used it, not once.

you never missed an appointment, and always booked the next one tete-a-tete with the black-haired manager. if you became a no-show without prior notice, wouldn't that look bad? would it annoy kyouya and he wouldn't accept you in the club again?

well no, but you had the habit of overthinki-

'would it annoy tamaki?'

you groaned and murmured to yourself - had you deleted it? maybe it was in your notes app and you erased it? was it on your old phone from a month ago?

"find an e-mail for me." you ordered the maid who looked up at you perplexed, but carried out the order nonetheless.

the girl was embarrassed when she found out her master was asking for a host's email, wanting the earth to swallow her when she dialed the ouran academy's number. 'the stuff i do for money..' she thought and prayed her family never found out.

it wasn't a long process to retrieve the address, but what was, was the rant hitting the maid's ears when your overthinking about what to write left your mouth at incredible speeds.

"should i say i'm sick? but he already knows that- he's in my class! maybe tell him to give my time to another girl? no wait, he would do that anyway... or after i apologise, i'll say that, like, something came up- but that's not believable enough... ugh!" you buried your face in your pillow and, unbeknownst to you, your new maid's eye was twitching in annoyance.

she understood now why your personal maid took the week off just when you got sick - not that she understood how and why your mum allowed it though.

(it's because you can be insufferable and she gets it.)

"my lady, may i help?" the girl let out, clearing her throat when you lifted your head from the pillow. "i can write the e-mail myself, please focus on resting."

after some convincing, you gave in.

and so 10 minutes later, back at ouran, kyouya's phone let out a ting! with your full name on the notification. he'd already guessed you wouldn't show up to your appointment considering you hadn't come to school in three days, and already had someone to fill your place but left it for the last moment in case you did show up.

why? well you were ln yn, and it was painfully obvious you were smitten with his best friend, though he could say it was a bit different from the rest of the clientele.

probably due to the fact that you'd known tamaki for much longer than kyouya had. and yet tamaki didn't seem to have the same fascination with you.

he remembers when he first met you, when he'd heard that you were spoiled rotten and weren't even planning to enroll in ouran until tamaki did. you simply transferred to be with the boy.

literally everyone knew of ln yn's almost freakish obsession with suoh tamaki, except for the victim himself.

so imagine his surprise at the strictly professional e-mail he'd received from you, where not a single mention of your host was included. weird.

after glancing at the french boy in the seat next to him eating his bowl of some-sort-of-commoner-convenience-store lunch, kyouya quickly typed a response and informed the next girl in line that a spot was open 'for tamaki's hosting services at 15:35'.

"one of your appointments cancelled due to a personal issue. we'll have someone else fill it." kyouya told tamaki, just as stated in the e-mail, even though it was pretty clear you were sick, and he couldn't figure out why you'd lie.

"hm? oh, okay!" the brunet smiled and went back to devouring his meal, not thinking much of kyouya's words.

kyouya pondered if he should tell him the client was his loyal friend yn, who would never skip out on seeing tamaki, but he stopped himself, curious as to how it would all play out.

eh, if the twins could have fun, so could he.

"oh! haruhii! daddy's here!"

the hours passed so slow you were almost convinced time was frozen when you weren't glancing at the clock on your laptop.

the drama you'd been watching started to lose its interest after presenting the third plot twist in a row, annoying you with all the plot holes it left gaping.

sipping on your green tea (you'd been drinking tamaki's recommendation, pomegranate, only to throw all of it in the trash when you heard he gave the same advice to haruhi), you paused the show and sighed in absolute, tyrannical boredom.

by now you'd normally have finished your classes and walked to music room #3, your favourite among them all.

you'd be welcomed by a host and walked to a sofa to wait for your appointment, ignoring any other girl in the waiting area trying to pick a conversation with the middle child of the ln family.

and soon enough you'd be approached by your one and only taking your hand in his and kissing it to greet you, with his blue eyes staring up at you innocently like a man in love; a look he gave to any woman nowadays, it was second nature to him.

you got lost in them so often, he sometimes dared to ask you if you didn't enjoy his company and that's why you spaced out so much.

preposterous.

you? disliking tamaki? how could he think that after all these years you spent playing together, with you transferring to his school for his sake, swallowing your pride and becoming the client of a host for him?

truly an absurd notion.

currently, however, you weren't in the host club. you were just a girl with a bunch of germs crawling everywhere around her room, unable to go out and see the man of her dreams kiss her cheek and tell her to 'get well soon'.

speaking of, your mum grew increasingly concerned when she noticed the lack of communication between you and tamaki. you were always attached to his hip like some sort of koala, and the fact that you hadn't reached out to him to inform him of your illness personally so he could visit you made her worry.

but it was only natural that you'd suspect you were being an annoyance to tamaki once you began to notice his eyes shift from you to the newest host a couple of months prior. he'd been a petit brunet boy. a first year who was friendly and of lowly origin. you didn't think much of it.

at least not until the day hikaru asked if you could fetch something he forgot in the back room, completely ignorant to the fact that haruhi had come to the club early that day to ask for another uniform because she'd been accidentally thrown water at by two classmates of hers being stupid.

so when you opened the curtain and saw a small-sized girl with only her panties on desperately trying to hide herself from you, it didn't take more than a couple of seconds to put two and two together.

tamaki wasn't fascinated by the commoner errand 'boy' turnt host.

he wanted her.

you closed the curtain, giving the girl her privacy back and muttering an curt apology, "sorry." before deciding that hikaru would have to get his things himself.

neither haruhi nor you spoke about it again, and she never snitched to the host club about your discovery of her sex.

you liked to pretend it never happened, and that it never changed anything. but just like with tamaki, pretending doesn't go anywhere. the hints were there. his furiously blushed face when he stared at her, his protection of her when the twins teased her, his demands for kyouya to do things for haruhi because she'd like it, not even because she'd asked - well, the stage of denial didn't last long.

shortly after came anger. pure, unexplainable rage and envy. the fourth of the deadly sins was soon rushing through your veins like a drug you couldn't get clean from. 'why her?' you would ask in your rampages.

you couldn't figure it out, and you couldn't ask anyone either, because as infuriated as you were, hurting haruhi by revealing her identity wasn't on your to-do list.

not because you were a good person, god no.

rather, if tamaki knew you hurt his precious daughter - you barfed - like that, who knows if you'd see him again?

and so came the bargaining stage, with your rage never leaving your blood stream, of course. being petty was always one of your main personality traits, one that tamaki would often point out.

what did fujioka haruhi have that ln yn didn't?

'nothing.' you muttered to yourself.

nothing.

nothing?

could you be absolutely sure?

you didn't see her much outside of the club, and there were a couple of times you'd heard the hosts hung out together.

maybe they had a moment? or two, three?

perhaps it was high time you stopped bothering him. perhaps then he'd realise you were the one.

that's why your texts to him had much lessened, coming to a complete stop after roughly two months of your self-doubt and insecurities getting the best of you. so did your occasional visits to his house for studying. you'd even stopped wearing the perfume he got you as a birthday present last year, even though you couldn't find another scent that fit your tastes the same way.

despite your attempts at catching his attention, the bubbling fury in your chest rose once again when you realised that maybe tamaki didn't care about you at all.

he texted you as much as you texted him, he hung out with you only when you asked, and when he came closer to you and noticed the change in your scent, he went: "different perfume, princess?"

and while normally you'd be ecstatic at him noticing, your happiness was immediately destroyed when "the other one was a little old fashioned, good thing you moved to something more fresh."

why couldn't he say what he would have said had he been in an otome game, something among the lines of: 'did you wish to match mine?' or something cheesy like that? ...was your scent not to his tastes?

'did he forget his skills from hosting or what?' you whined.

consequently, now that you were sitting around doing nothing to reach out to tamaki or any of your 'friends', your mum couldn't help but take her phone in her hands to call her friend hitachiin yuzuha.

back in the pink room that is the host club, today's rendezvouses seemed to be going by awfully quickly for tamaki.

in the couple of minutes of break he had between the end of this rendezvous and next the one to come, he quickly found his phone from his back pocket and went over his schedule sent by kyouya.

your name had been crossed out and replaced with another one he recognised, another regular guest of his. he raised his eyebrow at that.

he lifted his head and looked for the shadow king.

"hey, kyouya?"

"hm?" kyouya didn't bother to look up from his laptop, furiously typing god-knows-what.

"why's yn's time gone?" he asked innocently in a curious voice that had you heard, you'd be swooning over.

"i told you, she cancelled due to personal business," his answer was straight-forward "although it's probably because she's ill."

ah, that makes sense, you were the one that cancelled.

wait, huh?

"what do you mean she's ill?" his eyebrows furrow a bit and he cocks his head to the side like a cute dog who doesn't understand anything its owner says.

"what do you mean, 'what do i mean'? she's been absent since monday because she's not feeling well, and she won't come today either. pretty simple." kyouya finally looked up at tamaki with a strange expression on his face. "has she not told you?"

tamaki shook his head a bit, "uhm.. no, not really." and tapped his phone again to check his messages on multiple social media apps to make sure he wasn't missing anything. his emails were empty too, only some spam from a newsletter page that he never bothered to cancel his subscription from.

"how do you know?" he questioned kyouya, but before he could answer, "no wait, don't answer that, you creep. of course you know." he sighed.

after some seconds of quiet thinking, "why didn't you tell me?" tamaki continued his questioning.

"everyone already knows, my lord." an awfully familiar voice butt in making the french boy turn his head around, resting his hand on his waist.

the voice belonged to kaoru, who had his arm wrapped around his twin's shoulders. seems like they also just finished with an appointment.

"what does that mean? who's 'everyone' and why am i not included?" tamaki crossed his arms, feeling kind of left out.

"that guy hayato or whatever who hangs out with yn and her friends was telling someone and we overheard." hikaru shrugged in unison with his doppelganger.

honey's soft voice entered the chat. "you mean hinata-kun? yn-chan's friend? yeah, he told me when i asked where yn-chan is because i thought she forgot to bring the candy she promised." he quickly grabbed a piece of cake from the fridge near where kyouya had been sitting and left the room swiftly.

huh, how convenient for him to enter for the plot.

"and why's it that you two evil bastards didn't bother to tell me?" tamaki exclaimed in disbelief, pointing a finger at the both of them. how could they? his precious childhood friend was sick at home and he didn't know?!

"sorry milord-" kaoru announced with his shoulders still raised, "-but you're always talking to yn-" hikaru joined, "-how were we supposed to know you're not asking her about her well-being?" they delivered the finishing blow together.

what were these lame jerks insinuating? 'not asking about her well-being'? what did they know? just as he went to respond with his usual barking, he stopped himself to instead text you on his own for the first time in a while. not that he noticed.

the twins looked at their king with a confused and weirded-out expression on both their faces, before glancing at each other and shrugging again, already disinterested. kyouya had long gone back to his work and so the twins walked to an empty sofa in an almost isolated area of the club, lying on top of one another to give a nice view to whichever client was into it.

about six minutes of pure silence passed between the two before kaoru's phone buzzed; a text from his mum.

the twins read the text simultaneously, with hikaru raising an eyebrow at its contents. they looked back at the slender boy texting you on his phone at the other end of the club, confused about his behaviour.

"seriously...?" hikaru quietly asked kaoru, referring to the text, only to be met with the other's puzzled expression.

as for the half-and-half boy, his fingers were anxiously tapping kyouya's table and awaiting your response to his message.

tamakiii ♥♥♥♥: Hey darling! Is everything alright? I heard you didn't come to school because you're sick. I thought you just didn't feel like coming. Why didn't you tell me?

he didn't know you let out a deep sigh at his text, even if it was three days late. it gave you hope - false hope. that he'd started to pay attention to you again. maybe being distant worked-

tamakiii ♥♥♥♥: want me to come over?

the question felt natural to him, you always visited his home but seldom did he ever visit yours. since you were sick, it made sense that you wouldn't come over this time.

yn>.&lt; : arent u busy rn tho lol

your name on his phone had obviously been put there by you, his choice of emoji had been party hat for some reason.

"be serious, what does that even mean, tamaki?" you'd asked him one day during a break from your studying in his room.

"you don't like it..?" he pouted like usual and you rolled your eyes.

"here. that's better." you handed him his phone back with a new 'yn >.<' as your contact name.

tamakiii ♥♥♥♥: I can just come after club activities.

wait, he was actually coming? after two months of your only contact being through your rendezvous? it worked?! it actually worked?!

you thought of how to answer him.

at your lack of fast response, tamaki thought of ways to help you feel better through your illness.

'aha! eureka!' tamaki's head echoed.

tamakiii ♥♥♥♥: I'll bring some commoner snacks we can enjoy too! Commoners have incredible food to help alleviate illness!

tamakiii ♥♥♥♥: What are you even sick with, anyway?

of course.

commoner food, of course.

haruhi's food.

yn>.&lt; : lol no its fine i dont want u to get sick. ill just c u at sxhool yn>.&lt; : school* yn>.< : doc said its just a cold but yk w my asthma n shit

tamaki was thoroughly disappointed with your response, what did you mean 'you didn't want him to get sick'? you'd never cared if you caught his cold.

his heart raced with worry, and he decided he would stop by anyway. knowing his next appointment was approaching, he speed walked over to the newest host.

"haaaaruuhiiiiii!" he waved his hand to her and her two clients, smiling widely with all of them smiling back at him.

"yeah? what is it, senpai?" haruhi looked up at him from her armchair.

"sorry to intrude-" he runs his hair through his locks - an action that you told him the ladies would swoon over, "-but i was wondering, do you have any recommendations for commoner food that sick people can eat?"

"...are you serious?"

[lokischocolatefountain]

Sickness and Health

A married!Javi Drabble based on this request

Series Masterlist

Rating: All fluff except for a few inappropriate words

A/N: I had to use this gif because I couldn’t think of anything for sick Javi. Just imagine he’s wiping his snot instead of his sweat (you’re welcome for the new mental association I’ve created)🤪. I got this request a month ago and I’m writing it only now 🙈 Sorry anon requester, but I hope you see this and like it 💜

I’ll be fine, he said. It’s just allergies, he said. My god querida, stop mothering me, he said. Yet here he was, flopped on the sofa with a leg on the floor as he snored. The man never came home before her. There were times when he’d come home briefly in the morning to shower and put on a fresh set of clothes before bolting out the door with nothing to spare her other than a rushed kiss. And now here he was at 5 PM, sleeping.

She placed a hand on his forehead, wincing when she found him burning up. Not to say she told him so, but she told him so. But he would hear none of it. The man dropped her off at work with the promise that he’d take an Advil if he needed before driving away to the embassy. He probably forgot. Or his promise was made just to placate her, stop her from being the nagging wife.

She didn’t quite know how to do it, the wife thing. Was she supposed to force a pill down his throat? Would she be the annoying nagging wife men talked shit about to their friends if she did? Was she supposed to leave him be? Would she be a bad wife for neglecting him and letting him go to work ill?

Knowing the man, he probably didn’t have anything to eat. His only intake was whiskey and tobacco from all the smoking he did. Was she supposed to pack him lunch? Send food to the embassy? She didn’t know. He never asked for anything and was happy to eat what she gave him when he came home. She provided dinner, leaving it on the table and leaving a note on his bed reminding him to eat it. Sometimes she managed to force a glass of OJ into his hand in the morning. But that was all. Lunch was a big question mark. What he ate when in Medellin was a blind spot.

Retrieving some chicken, carrot, celery and broth from the refrigerator, she got to work. With some time, spices and low music playing on the radio, the soup was ready to be served.

She poured some into a bowl, placed it on the coffee table and hovered over him. Beads of sweat had collected on his forehead, either from the hot weather or his sickness. Messy black hair stuck to his forehead and she reached over and pushed it back.

“Javi…”

Nothing. She placed a hand on his shoulder and shook gently. “Javi?” He stayed still as a rock. Goddamn. The man usually woke up at the slightest noise. A bullet could leave a gun two miles away and he would hear it. It was rare that he slept at all, so when he did, she did everything in her power to keep his surroundings quiet.

“Mi amor…” she called, caressing his sweat soaked forehead. “Come on, get up. You need to eat something.”

He trembled under her touch and whined something incomprehensible. She tried again, called his name while giving gentle rubs to his shoulders. “…hurts.”

“I know, baby. I know,” she said, smiling at his half-awake form. He looked so sweet like this, so innocent and childlike. She wanted to pick him up like he was a puppy and give him a million kisses. He might be a big bad federal agent but sleeping on their couch like this, he was her little puppy.

“… ‘s the paperwork and…Wysession…la Quica…umm and yeah what do I think?” He mumbled, making her laugh. This fucker would not survive without his job. It took a few more tries and sweet words, some of which embarrassing enough that she’d never repeat to him if he were awake. His eyes opened a little, his mumbling about work dimmed down and he spoke her name.

“Yeah. It’s me. Get up. I made soup. You should have some, have a Tylenol and sleep on the bed. Okay?”

“What time is it?” He asked, sitting up suddenly.

“Six thirty three.” The man always wanted the exact time. No rounding up or down. It was unnerving.

He buried his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes with the flat of his palms. “Fuck. Got an early meeting at eight with Noonan. Gonna be late. She’ll kill me,” he said, getting up. He hunched over the couch, hand gripping on to the leather of the headrest for support as his other hand clutches his head.

“8 PM is not an early meeting. Unless you’re talking about a meeting scheduled for tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow? Wait, what’s the time?”

“Six thirty. In the evening. You have a bad fever and you were asleep on the couch when I got home at five.”

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

“Yeah. Fuck. Now sit down and have some soup. You can’t have Tylenol on an empty stomach.”

“Actually, I can. The body absorbs it faster on an empty stomach.”

“Alright buddy, sit down and have the soup,” she said, coaxing him to sit next to her on the couch. He sat a bit too close to her, leaning on her shoulder and placing his weight on her.

“Feel like absolute shit,” he said, dipping the spoon into the bowl of hot soup. He blew on it once and then twice before drinking it. “So good.”

“Thank you, baby,” he said, pulling her to his side. She did not want to contract whatever he had and proximity would increase the chances of infection. But she didn’t have the heart to push him away. Even on a normal day, the man liked physical contact with her. It could be anything from a hand on her back when they were out in public to full on cuddling her in bed. He just showed his affection through touch. She didn’t want to deny him affection when he was so vulnerable and soft.

He drank it down quietly, wincing every now and then from his headache. He even surprised her by asking for a second helping and she gave it to him gladly, even topping his bowl up another time when he wasn’t looking.

“Now Tylenol.”

“Nooo,” he whined, flopping back on the backrest of the couch. “Hate pills.”

She laughed and popped a pill out of the foil wrapper before handing a glass of water to him. “Aww, is the big baby afraid of pills?”

“Not scared,” he pouted and folded his arms over his chest, looking like a petulant three year old. Good god. Was this really the man being paid by the US government to catch Escobar? Or was he the secret sweet cuddly twin to her grumpy sassy Javi?

“Right. Definitely not scared. Now have it.”

“I’ll be fine without it. Just need to sleep.”

“Sure, Dr. Peña. If you say so,” she teased. She was definitely noting down all the details of his behavior in her head to tease him with later. “Can you have the liquid Tylenol?” She asked, recalling seeing a bottle of it in their medicine cabinet.

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” she said, getting up to go fetch the Tylenol for him. Before she could step away, his hand wrapped around her wrist. She looked back at him to find him staring at her with those big brown eyes, all wide and precious. He was still grumpy, but less intimidating and more adorable. “I need to take my hand with me, Agente…”

“No.”

“No?”

“Don’t go. I miss you.”

“It’ll just be gone for a minute. I’ll get you your Tylenol and be right back.” Huffing, he finally let go of her hand. When she returned, he smiled up at her lazily before grabbing both her wrists.

“Javi…I can’t give you your medicine if you don’t let go of my hand.”

“Exactly.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of this too. There is no plan C, Javier. Pill or this,” she said, holding up the bottle of the liquid acetaminophen.

“That tastes like shit.”

“Yeah. You’ll survive.”

“I wooooon’t,” he whined, pulling her onto his lap. He may be very sick, but he was still strong and worse, unaware of how much force he exerted. She fell with her face forward, smushing into his chest. She made a low sound of satisfaction before wrapping his arms around her and settling his chin on her head.

“Bebito…”

“‘m not your bebito. I’m your husband.”

“Yeah yeah. Then stop acting like a bebito, bebito.”

“Don’t do this to me. That thing tastes vile. Tastes like shit. Like, like horse shit mixed in with rat poison.”

“God, you drama queen,” she teased, adjusting herself on his lap to sit up properly. “It’s just 20 ml. Have some of it, drink some water to wash the taste off and go to bed. God knows you need the rest.”

“Fine. On one condition.”

“Uh huh?”

“Bit of whiskey after the medicine.”

Absolutely not.

“Of course, baby. All the whiskey you want,” she lied through her sweet smile. She did not have the energy to argue with a gigantic baby she couldn’t yell at. She’d make him have the medicine first and figure out the rest when she had to.

At the mention of whiskey, he smiled wider than the day they got married and happily let go of her wrists. She hissed at the dull pain around them, flushing when she realized just how strong he was. Yet he never used such strength on her, handling her gentler than this even when she asked for rough treatment. She’d have to ask for more the next time… she looked away from him embarrassed. The man was sick and delirious, for fuck’s sake. It wasn’t the most appropriate time to be horny.

“Tilt your head back,” she ordered and he followed immediately, exposing his neck to her. “Now open your mouth,” she said, bringing the little cup of the liquid to his lips. It went alright for the first second, but when it touched his tastebuds, he gagged and groaned.

“Uhh that was fucking disgusting!”

“That was just 10 ml. You need another 10 for the full dosage.”

“No, no, no. Please don’t do this,” he begged before sticking his tongue out as though casting out the organ for making him experience the medicine’s taste.

“Please, Javier… Just one more, okay?” She said, pouring him the other half of the dose. “Imagine you’re taking a tequila shot.”

“Then it should be on your bellybutton with salt on your tits and a lemon wedge between your lips.”

Horndog

“Suuure. You couldn’t tell it was evening and not morning just half an hour back but you think you can do a body shot, huh?”

“Absolutely can. You didn’t know me in college. Plus I’ll do anything to lick your tits,” he said, his eyes looking too adorable for the things he said. Shouldn’t he be too sick to be horny?

“Alright big guy, open up” she said, tipping his chin back and forcing the rest of his medicine down his throat. He groaned and whined once more and summoned a couple demons with the sounds he produced.

“Tequila?” He asked, pouting as he fixed his puppy dog eyes on her.

“Sure. Go sit on the bed and I’ll bring you the goods,” she said, helping him get off the couch.

“Perfect. You’re the best wife, you know that?”

“I’m your only wife. You don’t have much else to compare me to, do you?”

“Fine, I’ll get more wives. Test the hypo- hypo…tenuse?” He asked, squinting.

“Hypothesis.”

“That’s what I said.”

“You said hypotenuse. That’s the longest side of a right angled triangle.”

“The fuck,” he said under his breath, allowing her to lead him to their bedroom. When she’d gotten him to lie down, he pulled her to himself and held her to his chest. She was yet to have dinner and there was a tv program she’d wanted to watch before bed. But with his arms around her and his lips mumbling in his sleep, she couldn’t bring herself to pull away.

It wasn’t often that she got to be wrapped up in his arms at this early hour. Why fight it when she could savor it.

[in1-nutshell]

Hello! I hope you’re doing well! So, in G1, there is an episode where four Autobots ended up briefly turning into humans, called Only Humans. That episode was fun, but sadly, there were too much actions and not enough bots experiencing common phenomenons of a human body, which would have been SO fun! So may I request a similar scenario with TFP Ratchet, Optimus Prime, Arcee, Bee, and Bulkhead? But this time the times where they stayed humans were longer than that G1 episode, and during the time these guys got to experience all kinds of human body experiences like hiccups, goosebumps, throwing up, falling inside of their sleep, strung by mosquitoes, and maybe even a cold, so on and so on. And tbh I just want to know who do you think would be the ones to freak out ant goosebumps (think that bugs are crawling under them) and who would be the one to think that a 39 Celsius fever + a nasty throw up is probably normal for human body and no cause for concern? And to make this funnier I ask for a random unlucky Autobot to actually got to suffer from motion sickness (ironic, since they used to be cars themselves, and now they can’t even ride anymore without feeling like dying), and another to be truck by a tough cold/flu and had to suffer through unfamiliar symptoms like coughing, sneezing, chills, and stomach aches, and another to find out they have nasty allergies of a random kind and effect (these can all be more than one if you are feeling evil)

but of course the three kids are there to help them through this tough time— not without occasionally making fun of them a bit tho.

you can do this either in a story telling form, where you write out a whole entire story chapter, or the bullet point list regarding how different the reactions of everyone would be.

YEEEE! This request was fun to do! The bots are going to get the 'whole' human experience.

Hope you enjoy!

Human Buddy and the Kids helping turned humans Ratchet, Optimus Prime, Arcee, Bumblebee, and Bulkhead

SFW, Platonic, mentions of puke, Human reader

TFP

Relic accident. Enough said.

The relic, as it turned out, had the capability to turn anything of Cybertronain origin into the organic version of it depending on the planet it was on.

That was how the charges found their guardians on the floor looking dazed and confused.

Thank goodness they had clothes on.

After further inspection from Wheeljack, they all got the news.

The good news this was all temporary, they would turn back when the effects wore off.

The bad news was that this was going to last for entire week.

Which shouldn’t have been a problem… if some of them didn’t get sick.

Oh joy…

Ratchet

The Cold.

Ratchet was fine for the first day, though he was constantly complaining about the work that still needed to be done.

It was the next day that the symptoms came up.

Buddy and Raf are the only ones who manage to convince him to lay down and rest.

“Please Ratchet, your sick and need rest.”--Buddy

Ratchet trying to pass Buddy but Raf steps in front of him.

“Do it Raf!”--Buddy

“Do—cough—what?”--Ratchet

Puppy Dog Eyes activated.

“Please?”--Raf

“… fine.”--Ratchet

Buddy high-hives Raf before helping him back to his bed.

His immune system was new to its surroundings, easier for illness to sit in.

Worse that he was older than the other as well.

He was much more vulnerable to catch simple things.

Most of the bots and recently turned humans are worried about Ratchet’s health when he started sleeping more. But June and the others reassure them that Ratchet’s going to be fine.

Ratchet wants to work, but the kids and Buddy don’t let him.

Jack and Buddy oversee Ratchet’s temperature and basic medical supplies.

Buddy does their best to explain to him what is happening to his body, for reassurance.

Miko plays him classical music for once.

Blame it on the pitiful sick look on his face.

He expected some loud rock music but found it surprising when Miko began playing the keyboard softly.

Its an almost foolproof way to get him to sleep fast.

Raf sat by him telling him stories and helping him eat his food.

This wasn’t his best experience, but he certainly has much more respect on human biology and for the kids now.

Ratchet now has a mini human well-care kit in his habsuite.

Optimus Prime

The Hiccups.

Optimus was just trying some of the different waters the kids had been recommending.

“And what is this one?”--Optimus

Optimus already starting to drink.

“Sparkling water.”--Buddy

Optimus stops and looks at the water horrified.

“Why are you looking at it—OH! Wait Optimus its not ‘sparkling’s’ water is a type of water with minerals!”--Buddy

Optimus puts the water down but swallows the water in his mouth.

“Human’s drink minerals? As in the deposits?”--Optimus

“… I’m not explaining this one. Raf! Your turn!”--Buddy

Then they heard the sound.

Optimus was surprised to hear it.

Then he made it again.

He looks a bit disturbed.

He wasn’t voluntarily making the noise it was just coming out of him just like that.

Jack and Miko try to explain what hiccups are.

He gets a bit more disturbed yet intrigued.

This wouldn’t be so bad… if that noise would stop trying to interrupt him from talking and making his chest go bump!

Raf suggests ways to get rid of them.

They all go through the list until they reach the last one.

Scaring him.

They knew it was going to be a tough one, Prime wasn’t scared easily.

But Buddy had an idea.

A very dumb idea.

Optimus was talking to Jack when he noticed Buddy leaning on the railing.

He was a bit on edge seeing them so casual near the ledge.

They sat on top of it.

Then began tittering backwards until half of their body went to the other side.

Optimus is running to Buddy’s side trying to stop them from falling backwards.

Buddy just hung from their ankles looking up at him with a smug smile.

No more hiccups.

Problem solved.

He does try and scold Buddy for the recklessness… but he is also glad the hiccups are gone.

When Optimus turns back to normal, he insists to Agent Fowler to have better rails in the base.

Arcee

The Mosquito bites.

Oh, Jack had warned her about these little guys.

And now she knew why the kids were complaining about.

She wanted to eradicate every single one.

Arcee trying to squash some of the mosquitos with her hands.

“Why!”-Arcee

SMACK!

“Won’t!”--Arcee

SMACK!

“These!”--Arcee

SMACK!

“Things!”--Arcee

SMACK!

“Die!”--Arcee

SMACK!

SMACK!

Buddy and Jack already dosed with repellent.

“Felt that.”--Buddy

“Yep.”--Jack

The two humans fist bump while watching Arcee fail to smack another mosquito.

With some heavy rain, some had managed to get into the base. There weren’t many, maybe four, but they were enough to leave Arcee’s arms and legs littered with little bites.

The kids did get bitten too, but not as much as she did.

Arcee did try to use the repellent, it didn’t do anything for her.

Buddy and Miko help put anti itching cream on her, but she wants to scratch them all so bad.

When she thought they weren’t looking she would begin to scratch furiously.

Arcee didn’t know that her skin would show that she had scratched. She freaked out a bit when she scratched a bit too hard on one and it started bleeding.

Raf and Jack clean and disinfect the scratch which welcomes her to the pain of antibacterial spray.

She swears that it was the most painful thing she had to endure yet.

Raf decided to decorate the little scratches with band aids so she would scratch them.

When Arcee turns back to her normal self, she is relieved.

She has much more respect for the things humans have to do daily.

Will never tell Jack to suck it up when he has a mosquito bite again.

Bumblebee

The Motion sickness.

Oh, the Irony.

Bumblebee was a fast muscle car before!

He shouldn’t get sick when going over 15 miles per hour!

Now he was getting queasy in riding with Smokescreen and Buddy.

He feels awful.

Sweaty

Clammy hands

And something feels like something is trying to crawl out of his throat.

Bumblebee looking a bit pale as Smokescreen makes another sharp turn.

Buddy looks at Bee.

“Hey Smokes, you mind rolling the windows down a bit?”--Buddy

“Why?”--Smokescreen

Bumblebee groaning.

“Unless you want to see what the inside of a humans stomach holds, I suggest you open up the windows.”--Buddy

Windows immediately roll down.

Bee sighs with a bit of relief as the wind rolls past his face calming his stomach.

At first the two thought it was Smokescreen crazy driving that was making him sick.

But that wasn’t the case.

Buddy Bee and Raf were inside Ultra Magnus and he got queasy there too.

Magnus was one of the safest and slowest drivers on the team.

It was just him.

Bumblebee refused to leave the base after they came back.

He’d rather hang out with the kids on the couch and play games with them than go outside in another vehicle.

When Bumblebee returns to normal, he is so thankful the queasiness didn’t follow him.

He is now much more attentive to the kids when he is driving now.

His subspaces now have barf bags, just in case.

Bulkhead

Throwing Up.

All Bulkhead wanted to do was have the full human experience with Miko.

He went with her to a monster truck rally that Buddy had managed to get tickets to.

“Wow! I can’t believe you got us ticket to the rally!”--Miko

“Me neither!”--Bulkhead

“No problem, guys, just enjoy yourselves.”

“I mean I tried booking these babies in advance, but everything was booked or too expensive. How did you get the tickets?”--Miko

Buddy simply starts drinking their soda.

“Buddy?”--Bulkhead

“What you don’t know, don’t hurt.”--Buddy

“What?”--Bulkhead

“What?”--Buddy

The trio bought all sorts of junk food and sodas.

He found himself enjoying the time at the rally.

Everything was good.

Until he got back to base.

He suddenly became pale and sweaty.

The next thing Bulkhead knew, he was staring at a trash can with a bunch of mushy stuff with Buddy and Miko on either side of him.

Buddy had some of the mushy stuff on their arms, while Miko was rubbing his back gently.

The mushy stuff did stink a lot.

He felt something come out of his mouth and spew it into the bin, once again getting it on Buddy’s arms.

Bulkhead tried to apologize but it was hard to catch his breath.

Turns out a whole lot of junk food and soda was not good for you after all.

No matter how good it tasted before.

He doesn’t want to touch food while he is like this.

The kids try introducing him to lighter foods so he can at least eat something while his stomach recovers.

He likes the different kinds of broth they bring in.

When Bulkhead returns to normal, he asks Miko to stash barf bags in his interior.

He wants to have them just in case the kids need them.

Has so much more respect for them.

Will slap someone in the head if they mention to the kids to get it over with while their stomach is not feeling good.

[chronicbeans]

hi I saw your masterpost and was wondering if you could write Micah Yujin x reader who suffers from asthma?? I don’t know if requests are open and I’m so sorry if they aren’t, no pressure at all

Sure! I personally don't have asthma, so I'm sorry if these aren't necessarily the most accurate. Most of my research for these things comes from Mayo Clinic and the NIH. I also went to the ACAAI for this one. These will be headcanons because they weren't specified, but if you want a short fic you can ask!

TW: Asthma Attacks, Hacking, Invasion of Privacy/Stalking

Micah Yujin with a Reader who has Asthma:

• He's a smart man. I mean, he literally found your address by hacking into your personal information. So, the chances are, he probably knows that you have asthma. Not only that, but what type of asthma you have, any allergies you have, what medication you take... you get the gist. The only problem he may have is knowing what exactly your condition may cause.

• Yes, most everybody knows asthma can cause shortness of breath and asthma attacks, but not everybody really knows the less noticable symptoms, or what to do during an asthma attack. That's not going to stop him from trying his best to learn! He's pretty internet savvy, so he knows where to look. Though, those pesky research papers have a bunch of medical terms he doesn't understand... What the hell is an etiology, or a toxicokinetic? He's probably looking at papers that are high above his medical knowledge or reading level.

• When the two of you finally end up meeting face to face, he's absolutely ecstatic! He also tries his best to accommodate for you in certain scenarios. If the two of you decide to go on a hike or walk, he'll try to go slower for you so you don't overexert yourself. If your asthma is triggered by certain dusts or allergens, he'll be keeping a sharp eye out for them to steer you away from it. He may seem to be extremely overprotective and worried about it, and he really is! He wants to protect you, but he's also painfully aware that he can't really do so when it's a chronic illness...

• If you ever end up having an asthma attack with him nearby, his first step is to internally panic. Yes, he knows what to do, but he's also terrified that it might not work. However, he'll help you sit down, use your inhaler if you have one, and get you to a safe place. All while he's internally telling himself stupid jokes to keep himself calm, and telling you words of affirmation to keep you calm. As much as he'd love to tell you the jokes he thinks of, he doesn't want to make you laugh or frustrate you while you're having difficulties breathing. Humor tends to calm him down when upset, but he knows others might get angry and think he's not taking the situation seriously. He'll tell you them after your attack passes, and you've calmed down, if you want.

• Micah is going to let you cuddle one of his dinosaurs, afterwards. If you aren't allergic to cats, he'll also let you cuddle Skrunkly. If you are, though, he'll put her into a different room for you, and vacuum the room after she's out.

• He's the type to completely forget about your asthma until you actually have a problem. Not necessarily in the sense that he'd forget to avoid your triggers. No, he'll remember them, and help you avoid them. It's more like it is second nature to him, now, and he doesn't think of your asthma as being "asthma". It's almost like he's forgotten that not everyone has the "smaller" symptoms, like coughing or slight wheezing while laughing... And that may or may not be because you're one of the few people he actually talks to. So, any small symptoms are seen as just normal, then whenever you have bigger, more serious problems related to your asthma, he'll suddenly remember that "Oh, yeah, you have asthma- OH SHIT-!" and begin panicking, because said "more serious problems" that most likely will make him actively think about your asthma are probably asthma attacks or extreme coughing fits.

• He's probably going to have a miniature checklist written down on things to bring with him whenever he's going somewhere with you. He's already been bringing a mini first aid kit with him just because it's useful, but now he's bringing a separate kit with your emergency inhaler and any medications you might need to take in an emergency, as well as a thermos of a warm, caffeinated beverage to drink if you don't have or use an inhaler. He saw somewhere online that caffeinated, warm drinks can help open the airways a little bit, so it wouldn't hurt to try.

• He's going to obsessively check in on the latest news considering research regarding asthma. Any new, scientifically backed tips and tricks on how to help ease the symptoms will be relayed to you.

• Also, is your medication too expensive? How about he just pays for it! He'll find a way to get the money! He can hack into a few places to... "borrow" a few dollars for it. Or a few thousand... Or million... No price is too high for your comfort!

• If you couldn't tell, Micah probably will be a bit overly anxious, at first. However, once he calms down and actually gets used to living or being around someone who has asthma, he calms down. It's all second nature for him at some point, and he's no longer actively thinking about it. From then on, it's all just a regular relationship! Or, at least, as regular of a relationship as you can have with an obsessive hacker that is probably stalking you... It's to protect you, he promises.

[sakumasmut]

Enstars x Reader NSFW Month Day 10

Himeru x Bunny!Fem!Reader

late again, but I promise it’s worth it. Lily when you see this, hope you enjoy (and maybe be inspired to write a continuation wink nudge)

tags/warnings: breeding, vaginal sex, mating cycles

ao3

The coming of spring meant several things. Sunny days, floral breezes, gardens and parks full of color, and an uptick in sneezing from the unfortunate souls with pollen allergies (poor Koga was wearing a mask every time you saw him). For those with more primal instincts, the warmer weather meant it was the start of mating season. For the bunnies in Ensemble Square, it was time to either avoid contact with everyone and quarantine themselves, or get busy until all their cravings were satisfied.

You assumed heats were a necessary evolutionary trait thousands of years ago, but in the present day when your main source of stress was working an office job in a capitalist economy, your part-rabbit body throwing a hissy fit over not having a mate just made things even more stressful. The current situation you were in was a prime example of what problems the mating season could bring to the table, kneeling in front of a newer producer and comfortingly stroking their arm as they quivered in their seat.

“Stay here until the taxi arrives.” You spoke calmly to them. They were shaking and flushed red, not having expected to go into heat in the middle of work. “Once you get home, stay there until all the symptoms go away. Don’t worry about work; I’ll take care of it, m’kay?”

“Thank you, senpai.” They quietly sobbed, squeezing and rubbing their long ears to soothe themselves.

They were extremely lucky you happened to notice them hunched over in the hall and escorted them to a safe room before their vulnerable position attracted the wrong type of person. Mating season clouded people’s senses, you knew that too well. Married hybrids usually mated during March, to get it out of the way, but for single people, it was mostly just a waiting game until your body decided it craved a mate. You hadn’t gotten your heat yet, but you felt prepared to lock yourself in a room and call a taxi the moment you felt any sort of onset, to avoid ending up in the exact situation you were helping your coworker out of. For now though, you felt as fresh and (relatively) not horny as ever, and so said goodbye to the younger producer once their lift had arrived, escorting them to the car before rushing off to the meeting you were already late for.

“Sorry I’m late!” You quickly spoke as soon as you pushed the door open, the only person in the room looking up from the sound of your voice.

“Don’t worry, Himeru got your message.” The idol replied cooly, demeanor as nonchalant as ever. “The emergency situation you were dealing with, is it alright now?”

“Yes, yes, it’s all good.”

You were glad Himeru was an understanding person. It was a quality you liked about him, among other things. Maybe you were biased since you had worked with him for a few months on his solo jobs, but he always treated you kindly. You did notice he was harsher with his rowdy unit mates, but it only made you giggle more than anything, seeing him as the sort of person who gave as much respect as he received.

“If it’s not rude for Himeru to ask, what was it you were preoccupied with?”

“Ah, just some rabbit related stuff. You know how spring is for us.”

He frowned and knit his brows together as he looked you up and down.

“Producer, you aren’t feeling…ill, are you?” Himeru asked, “Himeru wouldn’t want you to be in a public place if you’re experiencing such symptoms.”

You flushed, realizing his misunderstanding. “No, ah, it’s not me! I was helping a younger rabbit who went into heat!” Being all red in the face and running into the room covered in sweat didn’t help with your case, as you could tell from his unchanging expression.

“Trust me, I would not be anywhere near here if my heat started! It usually starts pretty late in the spring, so I’m safe for a while.”

He nodded, expression relaxing at your assurances.

“It would certainly pose a large problem if it did. Though, if you ever find yourself in an unpleasant situation like that, Himeru would be glad to assist you in any way possible.”

“Huh?” You blinked at his words. What did he mean by that? Surely he meant that you could rely on him during emergencies, right?

“Now, shall we talk about your latest proposal?”

“Ah, yes!” You smacked yourself on the cheeks to rid yourself of those thoughts. “Here, I have the paperwork. Look over it and tell me what you think!”

xxx

You certainly weren’t lying when you said your heats came rather late into the season. People always complained about getting them early in March, but at least when they got them, afterwards they could go about their lives freely with no worries about getting sucker punched by their bodies. For you, spending a good two months worrying about the possibility that it’d come earlier was always a source of stress you had to push in the back of your mind, until finally it did come on a sunny May morning.

You woke up in a sweat, despite having taken a shower the previous night, and everything felt warm, way too warm. Funnily enough, you were meant to meet up with Himeru that afternoon, just as you did last month when you dealt with your coworker going into their own heat. You remembered what he had said about helping you if you ever found yourself in this situation, and thinking about the idol’s words made your horny mess of a brain wander to very obscene thoughts, which you had to smack yourself on the head to rid yourself of. No! You weren’t thinking clearly! You did struggle to understand what he meant, until you considered he likely referred to helping you with calling out of work and telling your clients you’d be unavailable. Having someone do all that for you rather than struggle with forming coherent sentences through a slog of calls sounded great right about now, and so you dialed him up once you managed to grab your phone. He picked up immediately after the first beep.

“Good morning, producer. Do you need Himeru for something?”

Just the sound of his alluring voice was making your body heat up. Stupid horny brain.

“Yeah, sorry this is sudden, but I need help with my heat.” You muttered, before realizing how it sounded without context and backtracking, “I meant—I need help with work, because I’m in heat! I need to tell my clients that I’ll have to reschedule, and you said that you could help, right?”

There was silence on the other end, and for a second you worried that maybe you had offended him somehow, before he responded with an “Understood, Himeru will inform everyone he needs to.”

You thanked him gratefully, and recited a list of people for him to message or call about your situation. That was a big weight off your shoulders, and now you could sink into bed and deal with your heat…all alone…

“Producer, can Himeru help in any other way? This time of year must be quite exhausting for your kind.”

Indecent thoughts of him came flooding back, of scenarios where Himeru could help you in ways your body needed the most…

“Perhaps you’d like him to bring you food and other supplies?”

“T-That’d be great, thanks.”

You hung up after giving him your address, and flopped yourself back onto the sheets, skin feeling sweaty and mind replaying how his voice sounded against your ear, wanting to hear it again after only a few seconds. The professional in you was already regretting saying yes to his offer, asking what kind of producer would invite an idol to their house in the middle of their heat, but the other part of you who saw him as a friend, perhaps a bit more, did really want the company. It would still be a while before he got here though, especially since he promised to do some of your work for you, and you wondered if your impatient body could even last until then.

A wave of desire washed over you, making you shudder. You tugged one of your long ears over your face, rubbing circles soothingly on the pink insides as your legs kicked your blanket off the bed. Your body was way too hot, yet no amount of ice would cool it off, only another person’s own heat enveloping your own would make it go away. You began to grind your hips against your pillow, whining into it, trying to pretend it was another person’s body—specifically a certain blue-haired idol. If you shut your eyes, maybe you could pretend he was already here in your house, comforting you with his presence.

You wondered how it would feel grinding against his thigh, imagining his yellow eyes watching you with immense interest. Yes, you could envision it so well in the blank space of your hormone filled brain. His hands would rest on your hips, holding you in place so you couldn’t climb off as you bucked against his leg. He’d see the wet mess pooling from your crotch area, dripping onto his pants, but rather than chastise he’d praise you, encouraging you to keep humping his leg until you came all over him.

You whined to yourself, the friction between your thighs and the pillow only making you feel a dull ache. You kept trying to chase an orgasm, anything to make your tensed up body feel better, but with only air for your cunt to clench around, you couldn’t bring yourself to. The buzz of the doorbell snapped you out of your daydream. How many minutes had passed? Were you so immersed in the scenario in your head that time had flown without you realizing, or was Himeru just that fast in getting to you? Your legs were shaky as you stood up, each step making your body wobble forward. You doubted you’d be able to leave the bed if you fell back onto it. You opened the door, and as expected Himeru was there, holding a plastic grocery bag.

“Good morning, producer.” His eyes scanned your form, and you did your best to stand upright without shaking. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I-I’m fine. Come on in.”

You tried to look composed as he entered, trying to keep your ears upright and hoping that he couldn’t sense the pheromones your body was releasing. If he could, he didn’t give any indication, expression as blank as ever while he placed the bag on your kitchen counter.

“Himeru admits, he doesn’t know much about your situation. But he tried to get things that could help.”

He took out some snacks and drinks, ones that you immediately recognized as your go-tos in the break area of the ES building. You smiled softly, touched that he would remember your preferred foods.

“Thank you. This means a lot.”

“It’s not a problem. Is there anything else Himeru can do for you while he’s here?”

He kept asking that same question, if he could do anything for you, and the short answer was that he could. But you were too scared to make the first move, in case he actually wasn’t interested in going further than your relationship as an idol and producer. Surely he’d cut ties with you if he didn’t mean it that way, and not seeing him again would hurt more than the rejection. Your body heated up again, as if begging you to voice your desires. You had to bite your lip to stop yourself from audibly whimpering, something Himeru noticed.

“You look quite feverish, perhaps you should go back to your bed to rest?”

“Y-Yeah, maybe I should. Let me just put these away first…”

You took a step towards the counter to take some of the food away, but immediately stumbled. You braced yourself for the impact, but Himeru’s hands moved quickly to catch you. One hand grabbed your shoulder while the other circled around your stomach, pulling you up against his chest. A moan couldn’t help but come out of you at the warmth of his touch, cutting through the sexual tension like a knife. You froze up when you realized what you did, the silence following making you almost certain he heard it.

“S-Sorry, I’m just so…” You stammered, trying to come up with excuses. “out of it.”

His hands were still on you, the mere contact making you want to collapse into his chest. You really didn’t want him to let go, you wanted to imagine his arms wrapped around you forever, so you wondered when you were going to be hit with reality and have his arms release their hold, expecting him to excuse himself and leave you to deal with your heat alone again. Except, they didn’t. They stayed on your body, and you swore he even pulled you closer.

“Meru?”

“…Forgive Himeru for being unprofessional, but I can’t bear to leave you in this state.”

You looked up at him in surprise, only now noticing how hungry his gaze was as his eye bore directly into you. He moved the arm that was around your waist underneath your legs to scoop you up into a bridal carry. All the snacks went ignored as he brought you into your bedroom, having decided to have a taste of something else. You squealed as he dropped you onto the mattress. You would be embarrassed by how messy your bed was if your heart wasn’t beating out of your chest from the sight of Himeru leaning over you, face so close to yours you could hear his breathing. You truly felt like prey, his prey.

“If you want me to leave, tell me so now.”

His voice was husky, looking at you with a deadly serious expression that made shivers run down your spine. His presence was intoxicating, you couldn’t let him leave now. You needed him here, with you, to satisfy you. You kept your lips shut as you stared straight at him, and your arms uncrossed themselves from above your chest to rest on either side of your body.

“Stay. Please.”

His expression softened at your resolution, and he reached a hand out to stroke your long ears gently, gliding his fingers upwards along the fur. You whimpered, thighs squeezing together. Himeru noticed, and gently placed a hand on one knee to pry your legs apart. A wet spot on your crotch area gave away your arousal, and he hummed.

“Poor girl. May I take these off?”

You nodded, and he carefully pulled your pajama bottoms off, exposing your soaked pussy. He pressed a finger against one of your swollen lips, already glistening with your juices. You trembled as he brought it to his mouth, making eye contact with you as he licked it clean.

“So wet already…your body must not want to waste any time.”

He didn’t either, as his gaze momentarily left your body to focus on the buttons of his pants. Seeing the tent that had formed in the short time it took to bring you here filled you with a sense of satisfaction, eased that he was enjoying this as much as you were. Once you saw his erection pop out from his boxers, your body seemed to clench even tighter in anticipation, unable to resist the idea of having it stuffed inside you. Your instincts told you to get onto all fours, knees spread wide to present yourself to your mate, and Himeru cooed at your eagerness.

“Good girl. Such a good bunny for me.”

His words went straight to your cunt, feeling it throb even before his dick was anywhere near it. Being reduced to the bunny in heat you were, his bunny, just felt right. You weren’t a producer right now, you were a helpless rabbit that was begging to be bred. He parted your folds with two fingers, coating them with your slick and rubbing it on his length, lubing it up as you squirmed impatiently, your tail’s movements giving away your excitement.

“Tell me what you want.”

“I-I…”

Even now, when you were so close to what your body craved, your lips refused to move. He leaned in close to your ear, close enough that you felt them brush against it when he spoke.

“Do you want me to mount you?”

Fuck.

You whined, babbling affirmative noises as he chuckled at how his words left you quivering in anticipation, lifting your rear high into the air to ask him to take you already. The warm feeling of something pressing against your entrance followed. He pushed himself in slowly, much too easily with how wet you were. Every nerve in your body was focused on the feeling of his length sinking completely into your wet cunt, all the way to the hilt, before slipping back out. Even in your wildest wet dreams you never thought he would be making you feel so full, so complete.

The noises you made were all quiet, either cut short by them catching in your throat or muffled by the pillow you were burying your face into. If he were going any faster, surely the squelch between your union would make a wonderful sound, but at his current pace the only sound in the room was his breathing and your muffled whining.

Himeru’s hands kept your hips steady as he pushed in and out of you, each thrust making the butterflies in your stomach flutter. Being filled by him just felt so right. This was what you were craving, cock stuffed inside you, body weight pressed down to make sure you couldn’t escape. Yet despite how your body trembled, how your legs were spread so wide for him, Himeru was still taking it slow, trying to make sure he wasn’t pushing you too much. It was still relieving your desire, but the slow jolts of pleasure weren’t enough, you needed something more primal to satiate yourself.

“What’s wrong?” He hummed, rocking his hips back and forth, “Is Himeru’s little bunny still needy?”

“Hah~ Meru…” You whined. “Faster, please, I want to feel you deep inside me~”

Who was he to deny you when you sounded so desperate underneath him? He pulled his cock out almost entirely before sinking balls deep inside you, making sure to do it harshly enough that your toes curled when he did. A louder whine escaped you, and it found itself joined by more as he slammed himself into you over and over again. Your short tail brushed against the skin of his stomach, flicking back and forth with each thrust. He reached out to take it in his hand, and you mewled when he lifted it up.

“So you’re sensitive here.” He hummed, gently stroking the white under-fur with his thumb.

“A-Ah, w-wait, mmh~”

Your eyes nearly rolled back in your head, knees wanting to give in from his touch, but he made you keep your hips upright, your back falling to a downwards slant as your arms gave in. You cried out when the first orgasm of your heat finally came, and through it all he just kept fucking you into the mattress, his own grunts of effort filling the air as he focused on the feeling of your warm walls trying to milk his cock.

“Bunny, you’re so tight.” He grunted. “You’re going to make me finish, too.”

“Inside, do it inside!” You whined, pushing your hips back towards him. Being in heat meant you were the most fertile you could’ve ever been; if he came inside you, surely it’d end with carrying his litter. But instead of being terrified of the idea, in the haze of your heat you wanted nothing more than for him to fill you up with his kids, as many as he wanted. He seemed to hesitate, noticeably slowing down.

“I-Himeru shouldn’t do that.”

“Hah, Meru, please!” There were nearly tears in your eyes as you turned to look back at him, pleading. “Breed me, knock me up, just give me everything!”

Your voice was so desperate, your body so eager to take his seed, to become his breeding bunny…he couldn’t help himself, his movements becoming more erratic as he growled out your name. He didn’t seem like he was going to pull out anymore, that was sure.

You mewled as his cock continuously pressed against the entrance to your womb, as if trying to coax it to open a bit further for the oncoming delivery. You chanted his name, the only noise reaching your ears your pitiful “Meru”s until he finally let out a loud groan, eyes shutting tight as he came inside you. The warmth flooding into you made your body and brain equally fuzzy, leaving you unable to think as you both came down from your highs.

“Did that satisfy you, bunny?” Himeru murmured against your ear, lips brushing over them and almost kissing them. He was still inside you, and you were sure he could feel how you clenched tightly around his cock at his words, wanting to feel it grow hard again.

“My my, seems like it didn’t.” He tisked, lifting your hips up high and forcing your shaky knees to support the weight of his hips pressed flush against your ass with a half-hearted whine. “You’re making me work overtime, producer. So all I ask is that you reward Himeru appropriately.”

If the reward he wanted was to make you swell with kids, well, it was practically already fulfilled. After all, he wasn’t going to leave his bunny alone after only one load, was he?

[cripplecharacters]

I'm not sure if I should treat this as an illness or a disability. I'm working on a character who has chronic hives, set in classic Tolkien fantasy. Given the setting, when he first starts flaring up he's marked as cursed by constant burns and is ostracized by society. Once his pain is manageable via temporary magic remedies he becomes a paladin determined to find his patron god and prove himself. She lovingly tells him he's not cursed, and together they work to de-stigmatize his appearance.

Hi lovely asker!

100% agree that chronic allergies and the many other things that come along with it count as a disability. They have knocked me down for day in the past, and doing simple everyday tasks like taking a shower or washing the dishes are things I put off for as long as I can as they're painful and end up knocking me down for the whole day.

One thing about chronic hives and reactions is you start to learn your triggers so you learn what to avoid. For most people, they have set triggers that your body recognizes as such and will alarm too. If you take something like Mastocytosis or MCAS, these disorders are characterized by the instability or abundance of the Mast Cell. And pretty much what this means is you could eat apples for your whole life and then one day your body goes "Hey, guess what I can do" and boom, your having a reaction because you are that apple. The part of this is, sometimes it'll be a one time thing and you can resume eating apples the next day, other times it'll be a forever or long time thing and now you can no longer eat apples. Deciding if you want unknown or idiopathic causes for your character's reactions but you could also specify exactly what (if he knows) he is allergic too.

I know some people (me) sometimes scar up when it comes to certain allergic reactions. That might be something to throw in as a lot of reactions even chronic ones tend to not show physically once you treat them. They can scar for a number of reasons as just from constant itching, friction, scabbing, blistering or a lot of reactions can get so bad that the surface layers of skin coming off isn't unheard of (I have a few scars from this personally). Sometimes the skin may harden around the area or gets tough, or sometimes there is discoloration too.

Also another thing I would show is even though he has remedies that treat him temporarily, a lot of times no matter how good your treatment regimen is every so often you'll have that break through reaction. These (in my experience) are usually the worst because if you don't have an emergency medication you can take them you just have to ride it out and hope the meds in your system do their job. This might be something that could happen even once he becomes a paladin and goes to find his patron god.

Another thing to research would be the effect of culture and religion when it comes to disabilities and the treatment of those people. In the Tolkien setting this would still apply as they have culture and religion etc. It already sounds like you have that part worked out but too much research never hurt anybody.

I really like how they both work together to get rid of the stigmatism at the end though. Especially for the character and the other characters in the story, it's always so lovely to see a change for the better like that! Happy writing!

~ Mod Virus 🌸

[readychilledwine]

Little Bat, Big Dreams

A/N- *tv static noise and announcer voice* we now interrupt your regularly scheduled smut for an adorable Nyx piece to satisfy Readychilledwine's pregnant brain. I present to you all a Kaylee (the previously introduced archeron oc) and toddler Nyx piece. Hopefully, you all enjoy this little family dinner piece as much as my brain enjoyed writing it, and hopefully, it helps ease any ill feelings on if Kaylee is okay at the end of Bound by Fate. 💜 Happy 5th day of "Here's to 100"

Summary - Of the four Archeron sisters, Kaylee had always had the easiest time with children due to her work in the healing house. Now, those skills are being tested by her own nephew as he takes on his worst known enemy, vegetables.

Warnings - food aversion, food allergy reactions are briefly mentioned but not described (no use of the phrase "water bowels" here, sorry Sarah.)

Feyre and Kaylee shared a look as Nyx pouted about the vegetables his family was trying to force him to eat. This was the third attempt today in making the little heir eat a well-rounded meal. This time, they had tried drowning the vegetables in cheese and withholding any other food until he ate those first.

Kaylee sighed, finally breaking the tense silence at the table, "So, you don't like veggies ooooorrr?"

Rhysand chuckled as Nyx looked up at his favorite aunt. His little blue eyes were soft with admiration for her despite Azriel's joking, yet not, warnings that she was spoken for. Her perfectly arched brow was raised at her nephew. "They're gross," he answered softly. "I hate them."

"Hate is a strong word," Nesta said from next to the boy. "It requires previous emotions like love." She wiggled her shoulder at Nyx, causing him to start dramatically gagging at the idea of romance and adult feelings.

"Auntie Kay-Kay isn't eating vegetables. If she doesn't have to. I don't neither." All heads at the table turned to her as she and Feyre made eye contact.

Before becoming fae, Kaylee had always had issues eating dairy products. Cheese, ice creams, chocolates, and milk had all tended to make her very sick. She had not bothered trying to eat them after being made. Not worth the risk, she had told Rhysand quietly one night as she explained what happened to her.

She held her plate silently to her mate, and Azriel tugged the bond gently. Are you sure? Rhysand came into her mind softly. I really appreciate you doing this, but you do not have to.

The youngest Archeron continued her stare off as Azriel put a small serving of the vegetables on her plate. I'm sure. Just buy me something pretty if this makes me sick in return. Rhysand chuckled softly as the toddler and his aunt both leaned forward, maintaining eye contact.

"Oh shit, it's getting serious," Cassian leaned back in his chair, tapping Lucien's shoulder to get the other male's attention. The Autumn male and Elain instantly looked over, laughing at the two youngest beings at the table.

"If I eat all of these, you have to eat all of yours. Once you eat all of yours, Uncle Az will take you flying today and go to the bakery we all love with you. If you don't finish them, though, he's taking me instead. Deal?"

They all watched as Nyx weighed his options. The gross vegetables covered in his favorite cheese, or not getting to fly with Uncle Az and losing out on the oh so famous triple chocolate fudge brownies the bakery had, "Deal." Kaylee and Nyx maintained eye contact as they picked up the first bite. A silent game took place between the little bat and the auntie.

Nyx put the cheesy greens in his mouth at the same time as her, eyes going wide as he chewed. He broke the game, looking down at his plate in wonder before picking up a bigger bite and eating it. And then another and another. Kaylee shook her head, looking at Feyre and Rhysand, Works every time. She kept her end of the deal, eating her serving of veggies as Rhys and Azriel watched with concern.

Nyx finished his first, smiling at his empty plate. "Not bad, huh?" She smiled at him as he held his hand out for her fork. "Evidently not." She handed Nyx her fork, allowing him the last bite of cheese and broccoli, and watched him with a soft smile. "Was it as gross as you thought, little bat?"

The Illyrians chuckled at the nickname as Nyx shook his head. "They were yummy." Kaylee nodded. "Why weren't you going to eat them if you knew they were yummy?"

"You remember how mommy and your aunties were made and not born fae, right?" Nyx nodded at her. "When I was human, milk made me really sick, and I haven't tried to eat it since."

Nyx looked up at her, his eyes wide as his lower lip began to tremble. "So, you'll get sick because of me?"

Kaylee chuckled softly. "No, buddy, if I get sick, I'm going to get sick because of the cheese. Not because of you. You needed encouragement because you were scared, right?"

Nyx nodded. "They're just gross looking. Like little mutant trees."

"But now you like them? So we never have to do that again?" The Little bat nodded at his smiling aunt. "Then, if i feel icky later, me having an unhappy tummy for a few hours is worth every second since you'll eat your vegetables now and grow big and strong."

"Like Uncle Cassie?!"

Kaylee nodded as Azriel's hand found hers under the table. "Exactly like Uncle Cassie."

Nyx held his plate out to Azriel who took it with a smile, adding another serving of veggies to his plate and setting it back down in front of him. "I'm going to beat up Uncle Cassian some day," Nyx began to eat his second serving of vegetables with determination, his eyes glancing towards Cassian with a slight glare every so often.

Wonderful. Any ideas on how to get him to eat meat other than chicken strips? Rhysand smiled.

I have a few. Kaylee leaned her head on Azriel's shoulder. The two mates were silently communicating. Kaylee's bright blue eyes flickered towards Cassian, cutting his steak and then back to Nyx. She rose both of her brows at Azriel quickly, and the male discretely nodded. Rhysand smiled lightly, shaking his head. The two of them had quickly developed their own language, and it was something the High Lord both envied and adored for his brother.

They all were now watching as Nyx and Cassian had a stare off. Cassian continued to eat his steak with a small smirk. He knew his nephew was still sad over the small battle the two of them had just hours ago. "You know Nyx," Azriel started slowly. "Part of why Uncle Cass is so big is due to him eating a variety of food. Different foods help our bodies with different things. That steak he's eating helps his muscles stay big and strong. Maybe we should try that sometime too, huh?"

Nyx glared at Cassian. The goal of beating him in a fight someday was the only thing driving him after losing in their wooden sword fight, and Azriel knew that. Cassian rose his brows in challenge, staring at Nyx as he took another bite of his steak. Nyx glared harder before turning to his father, "Cut me a steak, daddy."

[writingseaslugs]

Scarabia: When They're Sick

Ugh so this one was kind of low key fun to write. I normally have a harder time writing for Scarabia, but thanks to a friend who ships their OC with Kalim it's been a lot more fun writing for him. Honestly all I need are friends who ship their characters with others so I can imagine their OC with said character and we're good to go. Anyway, enough with the rambles, please enjoy!

Disclaimer: All characters in this series are aged up. For more information about my version of this world and the type of reader you can expect, please click the “Au Information” below!

Request Information | Masterlist | Au Information

Scarabia: When They’re Sick

The Scalding Sands and Night Raven College couldn't be more different in terms of climate and plant life. While Scarabia’s dorm was a safe haven, the members still had to go to classes. Hayfever wasn’t an uncommon thing for the dorm members who came from the Scalding Sands to experience. The bad news about hayfever is that if you don’t properly take care of it, it isn’t uncommon for it to progressively get worse until you actually are sick. Sadly a few members had to learn this the hard way.

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim is the last person to know that he’s sick, in all honesty. He can feel that he’s slowing down when he’s getting ill, but doesn’t think anything of it. He just assumes it’s nothing but allergies until he’s suddenly running a high fever and is put on bed rest by Jamil. Even while sick though, he’s still trying to get up and do things. He cannot sit still for long, so waiting in his room until he’s magically feeling better is a nightmare process for him.

The moment you offer to help him out, he’s thanking you and is over the top in gratuity. He might be five seconds from fainting due to the fever, but that won’t stop him from trying to hug you. Jamil is going to have to assist in carrying him back to his bed. The only reason you’re even allowed to help out is because Jamil knows that Kalim will listen to you if you tell him he needs to stay in bed. Kalim listens to Jamil sometimes, but when it comes to you, he becomes an obedient puppy who’s ready to please. You tell him to sit in his bed and rest and he will, as long as you promise not to leave.

Be prepared to have a very pouty boy on your hands the moment you tell him it’s time to take medicine. He doesn’t like the way it coats his mouth and leaves an aftertaste, so he’s not a fan. Of course he’ll take it if you ask him to, but he’s going to be staring at you with big eyes pleading for you to say “Never mind.” Don’t let him fool you, be stern and he’ll take it. He will be making grabby hands for some water after though, so make sure you have it on hand.

Let’s be real, Jamil is making all the meals no matter what. The boy could be on death’s door and he’d still make Kalim something to eat. So really meal times are just you sitting on the bed with Kalim with a large assortment of hand selected meals to help Kalim feel better, and Kalim telling you to open wide so he can feed you some. You’ll need to remind him that the food is for him and not you, but he swears up and down Jamil made so much that you guys can share. Just don’t use the same spoon as him if you don’t want to end up in his position.

Kalim recovers pretty fast from illnesses, so give him two days and he’s jumping off the walls again, ready to do anything. He’s going to be wanting to throw a party since he’s been so bored the past few days, and wants to dedicate it to you. Either turn him down nicely and insist perhaps after a while and he’s fully recovered you can, or just go with it. You might be needing to write an apology letter to Jamil for the party that will inevitably happen. Poor man just finished nursing Kalim to health alongside you, and is now being thrusted into making and hosting a party.

Jamil Viper

Jamil refuses to acknowledge that he’s sick and will try and pretend like he isn’t. He will have to be on the verge of collapsing in order for him to decide perhaps he does need to take a break. Even then, the stress of not being there for Kalim is going to make recovery a lot harder. He needs to relax, yet all he can do is stress himself out about Kalim possibly getting poisoned while he’s sick, and then news getting back to his family back home.

Jamil won’t be asking for help at all, so you’ll have to kind of force him to let you help out. He is grateful, of course, but he’s not used to being on the receiving end of this kind of transaction. He’ll still be trying to do everything himself and you’ll need to remind him several times that the only job he has right now is getting better. He trusts you though and will be able to rest easy after you assure him that you can help take care of Kalim and make sure the boy doesn’t somehow kill himself in the few days it takes for him to recover.

Jamil will take any medicine without complaint. He knows it’s needed to feel better, and anything that helps speed up the process is needed. The only thing is he’ll be a bit feverish and not remember what times he needs to take what, so that’s where you come in. You’ll basically be waking him up from his sleep with either pills and some water, or a small cup of liquid medication for him to take. This is all he really needs and he’s so thankful to have you keeping track for him.

He’s used to eating whatever he makes, so having someone cook for him is a pleasant change of pace. He honestly prefers simpler dishes when sick since he can’t taste all that well, so some chicken noodle soup is his favorite. Add a few spices if you want, but he probably won’t notice. He might ask you to make it again when he’s better so he can properly have something you make; take this as a huge compliment. He might even get a recipe from you if you make it differently than others in this world.

He’s getting right back to his routine the moment he’s better, but he will be sweeter to you. Giving you kinder smiles and a small thank you as well. He might even invite you over to have dinner with him sometime so he can take care of you for the evening as a thank you. He isn’t used to someone outside of his family really giving a damn when he’s sick. Sure Kalim tries, but there’s no way that Jamil could ask Kalim to take care of him, even if the boy really wants to.

[medali-meltdown]

🌻Brassius headcanons🌻 (companion post to this one, now with added imagery (a single screenshot but so worth it))

-In his mid-40s but refuses to accept it, which manifests in ways such as: pulling all-nighters like a young student, skipping/forgetting meals, continuing to make an impression on gym challengers by leaping from the tops of windmills, roofs, whatever's convenient. Any of these habits could break his fragile body. Speaking of which...

-He started doing the wild leaps in school as a cool stunt and way to show off and be memorable, but he has a private reason also — it's his way of defying death and mocking his illness. By gods he's going to live and not only that, he's going to do it in the most avant-garde way.

-tbh I haven't pinpointed exactly what is his chronic illness. Asthma? Hey wouldn't it be ironic if he has a severe pollen allergy while loving and being surrounded by plant pokemon? (just like me fr) Also I'm still on the idea a friend told me of him describing his symptoms as thorny vines in his lungs (which could be his creative way of describing a common asthma attack, and of course he styles his hair in the same manner because he's just Like That).

-Nature and the turns of seasons are his religion. He dabbled in paganism in his younger days. Found the modern practices too commercialized, but keeps it in his heart, in private.†

-Super pretty when he was younger. Wore his hair long, and with it being so thick and wavy, it cascaded about his (fuller, more lively) face and slender neck, even when he had it pulled into a ponytail. Stormy grey eyes always in deep contemplation of Art. Elegant ways of moving and speaking, radiating beauty with every step and word... honey what happened.

-(Nothing, it's all still there if you know what to look for and Hassel sure does, he is an expert on beauty, after all!)

-Hassel 💗💗 What a long, complex history he has with Hassel. They were good friends as students long ago, both being in arts & music classes. Brassius looked up to the multi-talented Hass from day one, always inspired by him and his bravery. Of course he fell in love with his muse, but for one reason or another, they never could quite be together, at least for very long. It might take Hassel until the present to reconcile his feelings, but will it be too late? (please I have a whole fic I want to write about this, of course I love them being Extremely Married but consider this: 20 years' worth of Mutual Gay Pining and the angst what follows)

-Just like born musician Hassel has some art in him, natural artist Brassius has some form of musical talent. After all, he's the Verdant Virtuoso — a term that skews toward musicians. I like to think he's got a good singing voice.* Belts out tunes while he's in the Art Zone. In perfect Spanish Paldean because he's bilingual.

-Whenever the mood strikes him (rarely, anymore), this guy can get a little kinky. He may carry a rope to help him climb high for tall sculptures (I guess???), but it also comes in handy for tying up unruly dragons~

-He's had many more partners in the past than Hassel has, and therefore a lot of practice. Not so much these days, however. His art, gym, and health come first.

-The Surrendering Sunflora Story: it's easy to tell that Brassius, at the beginning of his art career, let his personal vision suffer because he was focused on being more of a content creator, gaming that algorithm in endless pursuit of fame, fans, and money. The stress got to him, making his illness flare up to near-fatal levels. Was there anything else stressing him out at the time? Was he battling debilitating depression as well? Because he was prepared to die from it all — whether or not his debut work succeeded. And then Hassel appeared. "It was then I met Hass." So they must have become friends a little later in their student lives? Out of nowhere comes Hassel to remind Brassius of the meaning of Art, and that saves his life. Where's that meme picture of the creature holding onto a wall and going i think i need a moment wait

-It's p much universally accepted that Brassius gave Hassel the Applin that would evolve into the latter's Flapple. I think Brassie did so after the Surrendering Sunflora exhibition was complete to express his feelings. Unfortunately, Hassel, not being from this part of the world and unfamiliar with nearby Galar's customs, thinks it's simply a friendly gesture of appreciation. Hang in there, Brassie ❤️‍🩹

-Maybe once Hass figures it out he'll give Brassius a Dipplin in return. "There are two bodies sharing one sweet home! It's more symbolic than the Applin, right? Surely they know this in Galar...?" "No, Hass, Dipplin's apple is only found in a region that's very far away, so it doesn't have that kind of meaning..." "🥺🥺😭 B-BUT IT'S USSSS"

†Meta: isn't the Pokemon world inherently pagan? I know we like to throw around the name of Arceus and/or Mew as though they are God, but... they're not really? Do not let me get theological on this post about my grass blorbo hfhfhsh

*Look, his deep, deep Japanese voice did things to me, and learning that seiyuu Nakai Kazuya voiced Mugen of all people (and some other guys I guess, Zoro if you go there) amuses me to no end hhhn

[padfootdaredmetoo]

Hi! How are you doing?

I've never made inquiries before. Could you write about the Thomas' daughter's allergy to tobacco? A strong cough and watery eyes when someone nearby smokes, which began from the first days of her life

I hope it won't bother you. Love your writing💗

Dear Anon,

You could never bother me love! Thank you for saying you love my stuff <3 hopefully, you enjoy this too! Thanks for writing in and for waiting!

Warnings: Mentions of difficult birth, Lizzie being ill, lots of tension, happy ending peaky related themes.

Allergies

He looked down at the little bundle of blankets. A small pudgy ball protruded from the top of it and Thomas wondered how something could look so new and yet so old at the same time. She was a darling little girl who had a shocking resemblance to a red, puffy, Whinston Churchill. Then he remembered what John, Ada, and Finn had looked like when they were born. Just as small and wrinkled. Thinking of where she had just come from it made sense.

Panic shot through him as he thought about Lizzie. He pushed those emotions down and tried to focus on his daughter. Again the fear of knowing she might be the only thing left of his family caused his stomach to lurch. Her eyes opened and she glared up at him. 

“You look squished, but you're still the prettiest girl I have ever seen.” He whispered. She seemed to take comfort in his voice and he realized he should probably pick her up and hold her. Poor thing should be stuck to her mother’s side. He picked her up and enjoyed the way she wiggled against him. 

She had no idea who her father was, only that he was her father and that she was safe there. For a moment Thomas was grateful he had been one of the older boys in the family. Being with children was not difficult for him. 

He walked over the windows and looked out at the dark sky. 

“Your mum is a tough lady, eh? Don't have to worry, she’ll come back.” He said in a low voice, was it to comfort the baby or himself, he wasn't sure. Feeling the heaviness in his heart threaten to take over he reached into his pocket and lit a cigarette with his free hand. 

He took a long drag feeling the smoke pull him together. He blew the smoke over his shoulder away from the baby. 

Looking back outside he heard a little cough. He looked down at her and was engulfed with that mixed feeling of pity and the urge to laugh. 

Her little red face was even redder and her eyes were glassy as she started to cough. Thomas wasn't sure what had caused it for a half second till he brought the cigarette back to his lips to hold her with both hands. 

“Fuck.” He said in a defeated tone. To confirm his suspicion he blew a small puff closer to her only for her to erupt into a coughing fit which she started to fight to breathe. Panic shot through him knowing all too well what that feeling felt like. Before flashes of the war could break into his mind he quickly put the cigarette out and brought her over to the window opening it. He rocked her back and forth and eventually, she settled against his chest. 

No smoke. He thought about how often a cloud of smoke followed him. It was as apart of him as his own shadow. How on earth was he to manage this? Remembering how scary the sound of her breathing was he have to figure it out. 

He’d promised Lizzie and Pol no more liquor but now he’d have to ditch smoking too. A flare of frustration ran through him. The whole situation was a big mess from day one. His thoughts became harsh and only broke when he looked down at the center of all his problems. 

The center of all his problems, and his entire universe. Guilt poured over him like cold water. It had been a long and uncertain birth, and now Lizzie was somewhere broken. 

Broken and unreachable. She was in the hands of the doctors now. He held his little daughter closely and watched her eyes flutter as he said a prayer for his new wife. 

______________________

Polly was irritated. She wasn't asked to attend the birth which was fine, but she wasn't sure how much support Lizzie would have gotten from Thomas and the hospital staff. 

Hospitals were places for death and sickness, not for bringing life into the world. Too many lost souls wandering around. She sighed and gave up waiting. Picking up the phone she dialed the hospital. 

The news she expected came through clearly over the receiver. Close family was now able to come and visit, except they clearly didn't think to call her to tell her everyone was okay. 

Polly threw on her coat and stepped out in the brisk early morning air. Arriving at the room and looking around she could see that everything was certainly not okay. 

Thomas’s hair was striking up from his fingers running through it. He was pacing the messy room with a small bundle attached to his shoulder. Coming into the room she walked up behind him and saw the dark blue eyes of her niece peering over his shoulder. 

Thomas turned and almost walked right into her jumping out of his skin. No one had ever been able to sneak up on him before. She wasn't sure what to say till she realized that Lizzie, nor her things, were in the room. Her heart wrenched but seeing the fright in Tom’s eyes she pulled herself together. 

“Fuck sake scared the life out of me.” He grumbled quietly.

“Sorry, love.” She said kindly, in a tone she hadn't used since he was small. “Do you want me to take her for a moment? Have you eaten?” She started fussing over him and was grateful that he had accepted her help. 

She took her niece and tears prickled in her eyes. 

“Lizzie is going to be alright.” His voice was tight. “She’s going to be in recovery for a few days though. When she wakes up we can take her over.” He looked out the window to avoid Polly’s gaze. 

“Are you alright?” She asked hesitantly not wanting him to snap in front of the baby. 

“She’s too small, she won't take a bottle but she’s hungry, and she’s allergic to smoke.” The last part caused the edges of her mouth to curl. The image of Thomas being up all night without drinking or smoking was not something she thought would ever be a reality. 

“Pol Im serious she gets really ill - her lungs just” His voice caught again and he went back to staring out the window. 

“I’m not laughing.” She said calmly. “I’ll have some people go the house to air the place out.” This seemed to make him relax a little. 

Just then she started to cry out, Thomas automatically reached out for her and then relaxed when Polly waved him off. Poor thing was hungry and Pol was grateful she came out as round as she did. She had enough on her to wait a while for Lizzie’s milk to come in. 

She brought the bottle to her lip and laughed as she stopped crying to glare up at her. 

“You look just like your da.” The baby’s face stayed just as stony when a nurse came through to tell them that Lizzie was up and requesting them. 

She followed Thomas anxious to look over Lizzie and make sure they had done a good job with her. 

Her dark eyes greeted them. Her face was puckered from an argument and Thomas had never been happier to see someone in his life, this Polly was sure of. 

She looked shocked, eyes wide as Thomas bent down to hold her tightly. She gave Polly a look and it took a lot to keep from laughing again. 

“Here she is now.” Pol brought the babe over and moved to the chair in the far corner of the room. She said a prayer thankful that their little family had made it through the night. Her prayer was interrupted by Lizzie's voice.

“What do you mean I can’t smoke?!” Lizzie hissed at Thomas and Pol got worried they would scare the babe. “Bring the doctor in I’m going to cut him myself.” 

“It’s not you, it’s her. She’s allergic. Gets really sick - Her lungs - You can’t - she just-” His voice was wavering again and Pol was relieved that Lizzie registered that he was scared for the little girl. 

“Oh, she was ill?” Now Lizzie’s voice was worried.  

“Yeah, but I caught it quickly.” He reassured her. “Pol is going to get people to clean the house and air it out.” 

“Oh, no. Tom.” Her voice got high and she clutched the little girl tightly. “It must have been a horrible night.” 

“No, no it was nice. She’s excellent company. Just glad you are alright.” He put on a brave face and Pol had hope that this experience would only bring them closer. 

She had cleaners go through the house and brought them food. Surprised that Thomas took the time off work to stay by Lizzie for her recovery. The family struggled at first but adapted to smoking outside. 

It was a curse till she was a teenager, in which Tommy rejoiced knowing it kept her far away from pubs, parties, and nightlife. Not to mention if she had friends over to play or for sleepovers they had to come to their smoke-free house. If a boy wanted to take her out for dinner, they ended up eating alone in the kitchen at the house as restaurants were no better than pubs. 

(Unfortunately, the only boy in all of England that didn’t smoke happened to be the son of Alfie Solomons)

(Hehehehe can’t help but sneak that pairing into everything I write)

Hope you enjoyed it love! <3

[shoutaaizawas]

↳ aizawa shouta x reader → ❝cared for❞

summary: you are sick but your husband aizawa is always there to take care of you no matter what. word count: 1.4k+  tags/warnings: fluff and comfort a/n: i'm currently sick and my brain is super out of it so i hope this isn't terrible but i wanted to write something. now that im thinking of it i've actually done nanowrimo while i was sick, november isn't a good month for me lol anyways this was supposed to be a simple sick fic but i gave it a little depth. also i lost my taglist so if you want to be on it please message me.

masterlist

You were in denial. It was flu season but you could not possibly be getting a cold. The sore throat, just allergies. The runny nose, just from the cold weather. The fatigue that made you want to lay down forever, just because you had been working a lot.

You were not sick.

Aizawa on the other hand could see it before you had even noticed the symptoms. He was a teacher after all and nothing bred more illness than a school. Hero Academy included. He would suggest you get some extra rest or take something but you refused.

Pain pulsed in your skull, your throat burned and you had a cough that once it started didn’t stop. Not to mention the haze you were in, feeling disoriented and exhausted.

A hand touched your forehead as you lay in bed suffering the moments after waking up. “No fever, that’s a good sign,” Aizawa said sitting down, the weight of him on the bed next to you. “Sore throat?”

“Yeah,” You said, your voice barely working.

“Headache?” His voice was soothing, not too abrasive for your overwhelmed senses.

“Yeah,” It hurt to speak.

“Here’s some water,” He said helping you sit up to take a sip from your large water container you always toted around. You noted that he must have cleaned it out and refilled it since the water was icy.

“Thank you,” You said.

“Why don’t you take a hot shower, and change into your favorite bed clothes while I make you breakfast, yeah?” He said, his hand gently rubbing along your arm.

“Mhm,” You hummed. “Sounds nice.”

“Do you need help getting to the bathroom?” He asked.

“No,” You said sitting up, your head spinning for a moment. “Actually, maybe.”

Aizawa gave a soft small smile at your stubbornness even now. He helped you up, you were able to walk fine you just felt dizzy. He kept his arm around your shoulders just in case you got too dizzy.

“Thank you,” You said once you reached the bathroom, he made sure you were steady before leaving. You turned the shower water on hot before getting in. The warmth of the water did help your congestion and it was soothing. You stood there for way too long enjoying the steam before washing up. By the time you got out, there was a fresh warm towel and your favorite bedclothes folded on the counter. You smiled, Aizawa really spoiled you. Even more so when he knew you weren’t feeling good.

Returning to your bed you got back in, under the fluffy black comforter. You felt better even though taking a shower had been exhausting. Aizawa always knew best even when you didn’t want to admit it.

Aizawa returns with a tray table filled with food. You sit up, making sure the pillows are perfect as he sets down the tray. There’s miso soup with tofu and a bowl of rice as well as a cup of tea and medicine.

“Eat first and then take this medicine, it will help with the symptoms.” He said.

“Thank you, it looks good. I don’t know if I can taste though,” She joked.

“It will make you feel better that’s all that matters.” He said taking a spoonful of the soup before lifting it to your mouth.

If you told a younger version of yourself about this scene, your loving husband doting on you, feeding you soup, and bringing you everything you need while you’re sick. You would be shocked, perhaps even horrified.

For so long you had taken care of yourself through good and bad, you made yourself soup while you were sick. You pushed through it and did what you had to even if it meant passing out on the couch to take a nap in between taking care of yourself. You could never imagine letting someone dote on you to the point of feeding you.

Yet here you were. The journey had been long and not particularly easy. You could still remember the first time you had gotten sick, you denied it. Even as you struggled to stand, your face hot flushed with a fever. You had passed out and Aizawa carried you to bed. Even when you woke you tried to convince him you could get your own medicine and make your own soup. Aizawa had been patient but firm with you.

It had been hard to let someone take care of you but Aizawa made it easy. He was gentle and not condescending. It was so clear that everything he did was out of love, out of concern. It finally clicked when he had gotten sick, you wanted to do everything for him. You felt so helpless, you had wished you could take his pain away, even if it was just a cold.

Aizawa had struggled with being taken care of himself but with your new perspective, you had been able to convince him.

“I can get it myself,” He had said trying to get out of bed. You had pushed him gently back, he was too weak to resist.

“Remember when I was sick and trying to take care of myself?” You had asked. “You refused and took care of me. I still argued it then but now I get it.”

“Get it?” He questioned raising an eyebrow.

“I love you so much, I love taking care of you when you aren’t sick.” You said. “I hate seeing you like this the least I can do is take care of you since I can’t take this pain away.”

Your hand held his cheek, his dark eyes a bit hazy from the exhaustion of being sick but he was listening. “We aren’t alone anymore, we get to take care of each other, and accepting that care is just as much of a show of love as giving the care.”

Aizawa had smiled that warm smile of his and pulled you into a hug that did lead to you getting sick which meant you had to follow your own words by letting him take care of you when you were sick.

It was a process, learning to let someone care for you. He did it even when you weren’t sick, sometimes little things you almost missed like putting gas in your car or getting stuff off your grocery list. He never declared what he was doing looking for praise or fanfare. That didn’t mean you didn’t make a big deal out of it every time.

You did the same for him, the small things that helped daily life but you also loved shopping for him. The last thing Aizawa did was spoil himself. In fact, you weren’t sure you had ever seen him buy himself anything that was a luxury or a novelty. So you had taken it upon yourself to guess what things he might want if he ever did get it thought. You bought him fuzzy slippers with cats on them or a fictional book you thought he would like. Sometimes it was fancier things like cologne or a watch. Eventually, you got good at figuring out things he likes.

After eating your breakfast Aizawa took away the tray, leaving your tea on the bedside table. He returned and closed up the blinds making it dark in the room which made it a lot easier on your sensitive eyes. He crawled into bed with the remote putting on a show you had wanted to start for a while.

Despite how gross you looked and felt Aizawa pulled you in close, resting your head on his chest where you could still watch the show.

"You're gonna get sick," You mumbled against him, not exactly wanting him to move.

"I work at a school, my immune system is strong as it gets." He reassured you.

“If you get tired just sleep, I’ll pause the show.” He said softly, his hand rubbing your temple trying to alleviate the pain of your headache. “You need all the rest you can get.”

“Yes sir.” You said jokingly. You took his other hand in yours squeezing it gently. “Thank you again, for everything.”

“It’s nothing.” He dismissed.

“It’s everything,” You said moving his hand to your lips to press a kiss at the back of his hand. “You might want to wash your hand."

Aizawa laughed, your head moved against his chest.

“I love you,” He said.

“Love you more.” You replied.

[edwinspaynes]

what are your long term illness related headcanons for thomas?

I'm sorry this took me a million years to answer! I see it every couple of days, go "I'll answer after work," and promptly forget about it as soon as work ends.

Yes, let's GO! Thomas' "chronic illness" is in an odd category of canon when he was younger but also totally unexplored. I find this a fascinating space for it to occupy, because of course I wish it were more fleshed out but I also like getting to play with it in my own mind a lot.

When Thomas was little, he spent most of his time bedridden. Eugenia and Barbara canonically fussed over him, but I also think Sophie and Gideon made a lot of accommodations/concessions for him. Like, if he couldn't get to the dining table, they'd all bring portable tables into Thomas's room and eat around the bed. Thomas always felt a little guilty, but he appreciated it.

"Felt a little guilty but appreciated it" is generally what I think his overall reaction to people's treatment of him was. He's a really nice kid, and shy - he doesn't want to be a bother, and he feels like he's inconveniencing people. But subconsciously he's chuffed that others do consider him worth the inconvenience.

While it was nice that others cared for him, it also could get really stifling sometimes. He would constantly wish that he could get out of the house (because imo Sophie and Gideon probably made him stay inside sometimes because he was getting over something or worried about him catching something else.) And he'd dream of being able to just... be like James or Matthew. Hop in a carriage, head to a market, play in parks and gardens. But he understands why it's not possible, it just hurts.

He starts sneaking out into the woods from his yard-hole (canon) when he's around 10. He has a special favorite tree in Brocelind that he likes to climb up, and it's there that he spins tales and writes poetry. His favorite stories and poems to write involve a mix of adventure and romance.

Thomas probably was allergic to lots of things, pollen and stuff.

Sophie and Gideon were 100% convinced that Thomas was dying as a baby (canon in The Penultimate Hours). But he was small - under six - and they didn't want to scare him, so they attempted to hide it. It was confined to whispers in the hallway and periodic discussions when he was feverish and asleep. Unfortunately, Thomas was a smart kid. He knew he was dying, and it was a question of when and not if in his mind. He mourned the life he would never have, and was horribly sad that he would never have a beautiful love like his parents do.

By the time he was 14, Thomas was pretty much completely well, just short. It's how he convinced his parents to let him go to school. He tried when he was 13 but they were still scared that his illness would come back, but it didn't, so they let him go.

After that, for the rest of his very long and happy life, Thomas still has a pretty weak immune system compared to his peers. It's NBD - he just gets colds and such more easily than people, and has stronger seasonal allergies than others.

As an adult, Thomas still has lingering trauma from his bedridden, fussed-over days. No one ever treated him like a grown-up, and now he feels the need to be Completely Self Sufficient so the cycle doesn't repeat itself. If he gets a cold, no he didn't. If he's feeling feverish, no he's not. He tells no one when he's sick, just shuts himself away and cares for himself until he's better.

This all changes when he moves in with Alastair. Since they're the Soulmatest Soulmates to Ever Soulmateify, Alastair is really in tune with Thomas's moods and health. He tells Thomas that he should let him care for him when he's sick, and finally Thomas grudgingly agrees that Alastair can make him soup "BUT NOT SPOON FEED IT TO HIM." Alastair, who wasn't going to do that anyway, scratches his head like. Hmm, okay.

Alastair is the only person allowed to take care of him, and it's to combat the notion that he has to be 100% self-sufficient. It's kind of empowering to be cared for in a way that he consented to, on his own terms, rather than on everyone else's.