#i’m also so tired for no reason. i had coffee and actually got a lot of sleep last night

[spirithalloweeping]

feeling the overwhelming urge to cry in my college library. this was entirely unprompted, i have no idea why i’m feeling this way

[kyber-crystal]

i will follow you into the dark || bradley "rooster" bradshaw

summary: your first instinct has always been to push people away when they get too close, but for some reason, you have trouble letting one pilot go. but little did you know that he had settled into your heart from the start and has no intention of leaving. (in which you have Bradley Bradshaw wrapped around your finger, and you don’t even notice—5 occasions that solidify your love for him, and 1 time you realize it)

words: ~3.3k

warnings: angst (BUT A HAPPY ENDING, I PROMISE), near-death experiences, brief mentions of violence, also my writing LMAO

a/n: hi guys i haven't posted a full-length fic in a LONG time but here we go :) this fic won the vote so it's going up first! hope you enjoy :)

I. meet me in the middle

“Mav!”

You and Maverick turned around at the same time. “Which one?”

“The pretty one,” Rooster stated. 

“Be more specific.”

“I am being specific, Captain.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“Fine, I need your daughter.”

“You always need her for something.”

“Sorry, pops,” you grinned and clasped Maverick’s shoulder, and walked over to Bradley. “Come to kidnap me again, Bradshaw?”

“Actually, I’m hungry.”

“Then…go eat? I don’t see what any of that has to do with me.”

“I’m going to dinner, and I want you to come along,” he explained. “So, let’s go.”

“Is that why Cyclone was grumbling about someone spilling coffee all over him earlier? I knew it had to be you that put him in that mood.”

“Doesn’t matter. Come on.”

You looked back at your father, who simply laughed and motioned for you to go. The test flight would have to wait. 

It was 5:30 when you got there, but the usually-crowded cantina had only one other person inside. Rooster didn’t hesitate as he set down his car keys and slid into the booth right next to you.

“There’s a seat right there,” you pointed out. 

“And?”

“You can sit over there.”

“I don’t want to, though.”

“Alright, then.” 

You weren’t even done for the day and already, felt tired and worn out beyond belief. The one thing that had been keeping you going was Maverick’s promise to take you on a Mach 7 test flight. (With the Admiral’s permission, of course. But you wouldn’t be surprised if he had never asked.)

Rooster tells the waitress your order without blinking, and you give him a tired smile as a thank you. 

There’s no animated conversation, no loud comments or jokes or anything of the sort as the food comes out, but neither of you mind. Sometimes, all you needed to cool down from a long week was each other’s company and a steaming plate of fajitas. 

The little routine you’ve established falls into place so easily you don’t even have to think. Impromptu dinners, blasting 80’s music as the sun goes down, taking the offbeat path down to the coast with salt in your windswept hair.  Little to no words spoken, and somehow the silence speaks volumes.

But you don’t understand why he’d choose you to do this with, out of everyone. You’d expect him to drift towards someone less damaged. Someone who could keep up to his free and daring spirit and push him to his limits. Someone who had less baggage and didn’t flinch at every little touch. 

But despite all that he doesn’t leave. Even when everyone else around you seemed to, he was always there, assuring you he’d wait no matter what.

“Don’t worry about it.” He places a gentle hand over yours as he hands his card over to pay later that evening. “Let me treat you tonight.”

“Thanks…” 

He holds the door open for you as you walk out and keeps a ghost of a hand against your back the whole way to the car. You’re trying to burrow into yourself, but he doesn’t stop looking at you. The feeling of his eyes on you sends shivers running down your spine and you nervously shift in your seat. 

“You okay?” Rooster places his hand on the headrest as he reverses out of the parking lot. “You seem quiet tonight.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t press any further, assuming that you’re tired and that’s why you’re unwilling to say much. He knows. He understands. “If you ever need to talk, though, I’m one call and a 15 minute walk away. Or 7, if I sprint.”

This makes you laugh a bit. “If you say so.”

II. waiting on you

As soon as you hop out of your plane, he’s the first one there to greet you and pulls you in for a hug. You have no time to react to it because he’s so quick to sweep you up into his arms. You can smell a mix of sweat and coffee and a little bit of raspberries on him, and it helps bring you back down to reality. 

“You saw me a few hours ago, Roos…please let me go…” you mumbled into his shoulder. His grip on you only tightens further. “What’s with the excitement?”

“Nothing. I’m just happy to see you.”

Not knowing what else to do, your hands awkwardly reach up to pat him on the back. “It’s good to see you, too.”

Though you don’t say it out loud, you’re also just as happy to see him—it’s comforting to know he’ll be waiting whenever you return from something. And that, you think, is more than enough. 

Rooster carries your things for you without asking, and you’re grateful because your shoulders feel like they’re going to fall out of their sockets. Once again, he’s standing close by as you go to your quarters, ever the watchman. If he doesn’t have a hand on you, then his eyes will stay glued to you for as long as they can be. 

“Is that my shirt?” he asks as you step out of the bathroom wearing an oversized vintage T-shirt and a pair of jeans. 

“No.”

“It looks better on you, anyway.” He smirks; you fail to notice the way his gaze lingers on you a bit longer than normal. “You ready to go? They’re waiting for us at the Hard Deck. Hangman’s complaining about a rematch or somethin’.”

You lean into his side and smile, and he puts an arm across your shoulders. It feels so natural that you almost don’t notice. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

His eyes never leave you, even when he’s in the thick of the game. It’s impossible to ignore the heat pooling in your stomach every time his gaze flickers over to yours. 

Coyote notices your dazed look and nudges Payback in the side. “How is it that everyone knows that Bradshaw and Y/N love each other except Bradshaw and Y/N?”

“Because they’re stupid,” Payback whispered back.

“Ah. Makes sense.”

“So, we need to do something about it.”

“Hm…I’d say we wait it out. They’re going in the right direction.” A small smile graced Coyote’s face as Rooster pumped a fist up in victory before rushing over to embrace you. “A room full of people, yet all he sees is her.”

“You’re so right, man.”

III. rose-tinted glasses

“What are you looking for out there?” Rooster called out.

“Something pretty,” you replied as you stood by the ocean’s edge, the wind fanning your hair around your shoulders. He’s sure that he’s never seen a more mesmerizing sight. 

“I beat you to it, because I already found one,” he stated with confidence, eyes never leaving you.

“Where?”

“I’m looking right at her.”

“That’s not what I meant, silly. Do I look like a seashell to you?”

“No, you’re even better.”

You laugh once again and resume your search. Right then, a glowing scallop catches your eye, and sand dusts your clothes as you bend down to pick it up. It’s smooth and seems to glow in rose gold amidst the early evening light. 

“Would you look at that,” you breathed out, palm extended to show him what you’ve found. “It’s perfect.”

Rooster encloses his hand around yours, and you can feel the heat radiating from his skin. It’s cold out but you’re not freezing at all because he’s so close. He’s so close. Your heart skips a beat. 

“Wow…it sure is.”

He kneels down with you, and you spend the next few hours making it a competition to see who can find the most unique set of stones. A strange feeling washed over you as you watched his brows furrow in concentration. Never had you imagined to be spending Thursday night with Bradley Bradshaw by the seashore, and yet, it feels like you’ve done this thousands of times before. 

Everything seems to fall into place. 

IV. for you, i’d cross the line 

“Y/N, hey.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Doesn’t matter. Move over.”

You shifted on the bench to make room for him and he sat down next to you. This was probably his tenth time playing his rendition of ‘Great Balls of Fire’ but that didn’t matter; the man knew how to sing. You found yourself leaning into him and listening to his heartbeat, and the sensation lulled you into a peaceful trance. 

You took one good look at your best friend. Sweat lined his forehead and his face was bright red from both the alcohol and heat, but still, you were 100% sure that you’d never seen a more beautiful sight in your life. 

The way he seemed to gaze at you made your heartbeat pick up speed. It didn’t matter that he had too one too many drinks in the moments leading up to this, nor did it matter that he was always one to be rather affectionate with you. It didn’t make you love him any less—if anything, it made him all the more endearing. 

“You’re looking at me very…intensely,” you mumbled. “It’s making me nervous.”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured. “A man can’t help it when he’s in love.”

“Was that tipsy you or sober you?”

“Sober me is saying I love you.” He continues playing, unfazed, and the sound of the piano in your ears fades away into nothingness. 

It’s drunk Rooster telling you he means what he says, the confidence boost making him do things he normally wouldn’t. It’s drunk Rooster attempting to serenade you as his warm, alcohol-riddled breath falls against your neck. It’s drunk Rooster talking…but there’s a sober truth hidden behind his words that sends a shiver down your spine. 

You’re nose-to-nose as he starts to sing, and you lose yourself in a sea of gold and blue as his warm thumb grazes over your cheek. As if there’s an invisible string drawing you together, you move closer and closer towards each other. Drunk or not, he was utterly enchanting and you couldn’t turn away.

Once again…you ignore the stirring feeling in your chest at the feeling of his body being so close to yours. 

V. saving grace

You find yourself opening the door to Rooster, who has a bouquet of your favorite flowers and some large Tupperware in hand. Butterflies flutter in your stomach as you accept them and step aside to let him in. “What is this for…?”

“Thought you’d want something nice to add to the kitchen. You and Mav need to work on decorations,” he said. “Why? Do you not like them?”

“No…I’m…how’d you know these were my favorite, anyway?”

“I heard you talking on the phone to Phoenix about them six months ago,” Rooster explained, taking his jacket off and hanging it over the couch. “I pride myself on being observant like that. Also…I woke up early to cook you that pasta you always go nuts over when we drive to LA.”

“Oh.” Your heart twinged as you glanced over—that damn pasta was your favorite thing on the entire planet. You claimed that nobody could make it as well as the diner in Newport did, except Bradley himself. (He didn’t tell you how many times it took to get it just right, though. He didn’t want you freaking out over that. And besides, Maverick’s pots and pans that he borrowed had already paid the price.)

He paused for a moment after setting the container down on the counter. “I noticed you went home early today. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine,” you lied as you put the flowers in a vase. But that was no use; he could see right through your monotone response. “Didn’t sleep enough last night.”

Bradley sees your hands tremble slightly. “Sweetheart.”

That’s all he needs to say before you step forward and lean your head against his chest. One arm finds its way around your waist to pull you close, while his free hand smoothes your hair out. A cracked sob escapes your lips and you squeeze your eyes shut in the hopes that if you kept them closed long enough and prayed hard enough, a guardian angel would swoop in and save you. 

“I’m here, it’s okay, you’ll be okay,” he murmurs. “You’ll be okay.”

“Please don’t go, Bradshaw,” you begged, voice hoarse. “Don’t leave me.”

“I’m right here, don’t worry,” he reminds you, his hand moving down to rub your back. “I’ll be here whenever you need me, I promise.” 

You reach your pinky out a bit, and the two of you link your fingers together. 

You’re never letting go, and neither is he. 

epilogue—soul ties 

“I’m trying to shake them off. They won’t let up—shit, I’m hit—”

His panicked voice cuts through the buzz of static and you can feel your whole body go numb. What if he doesn’t make it back… The thought alone is too much to bear. 

He curses under his breath and you hear something like that of a whispered prayer and several mentions of Please let me come home to her. Your heart clenches in your chest and you feel like you’re going to puke. Noticing your sudden uneasiness, Maverick grips your hand to keep you steady. 

“Bradshaw, what the hell is going on there?” Coyote nervously rubs at his forehead as he looks up at the screen. “If you die, we’re all going to kill you.”

“Left engine’s completely blown out. I have two bogeys on my tail.”

You bite the inside of your cheek until the tangy, metallic taste of blood fills your mouth. This couldn’t be happening. There already was a ghost amongst the skies, and Rooster could not afford to become the second…

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit, I’m going down, guys—” Rooster curses again, and the earsplitting sound of a large blast interrupts him before he can say much else. 

“Bradley!” you shrieked as you watched his radar signal slowly fade off the screen. “No—”

Silence punctures the air and you finally lose balance, succumbing to the black void of nothingness. 

—

10 hours later, you sit outside the hospital room in the cold hallway, a thin, tear-stained blanket wrapped around your shoulders. Hangman and Phoenix had long since given up on getting you to move, so they took turns sitting with you. 

“You should try eating. There’s In-N-Out nearby, I’ll get something for you if you want,” Jake offered. 

You shake your head. 

“Come on. It’s been all day.”

“No.”

“You’re really that worried about him, aren’t you.”

“No,” you muttered bitterly. 

“You claim to not care, yet you’ve been sitting here for the past ten hours.” 

“I don’t care. This is me looking out for him in the same way any colleague or teammate of his would. This is what I’m supposed to do. What we’re all supposed to do.” 

“Y/N.” Jake sounds a bit more serious this time, and this makes you stop trying to bury yourself within your thoughts. “Listen to me.”

“What,” you exhaled.

"The fact of the matter here is,” he cleared this throat, “Bradshaw cares about you…a lot. Not in a simple and innocent ‘friendly’ way. And if you keep pushing him away like you always do, all 'cause you're scared, you're gonna lose him for good. Losing a good man out of fear is never worth the cost."

Your heart stops.

Every hug, every word and cheesy pickup line, every lingering glance and touch and intertwined set of fingers—he'd fallen first long ago, and pulled you down with him. But you let him, and you'll walk to the ends of the earth if it means he'll hold your hand along the way. And that's when everything hits all at once—the realization comes crashing down like a waterfall. 

You were hopelessly in love with him, the man who brings you flowers every Friday night. In love with the man who holds the door open for you, gives you his favorite jackets, and stays up late or wakes up early to learn your favorite comfort meal (even if it means failing 17 times in the process and ruining Maverick's kitchen), the man who serenades you to classic rock ballads with the taste of rum on his lips. 

This was Rooster Bradshaw, and he was your soulmate.

“But I already lost him,” your voice falters as you struggle to find the right words to say, “I can’t.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. That man is going to stay waiting for you until the day his body is buried six feet underground. Deny it all you want, but he’ll keep waiting long after he takes his last breath.”

You let out a long sigh and stood up. “Okay.”

You’re hesitant as you step inside the small hospital room. He’s asleep, but he must’ve sensed your presence and his eyes flutter open. 

“Sweetheart…”

“Bradley.” He moves over a bit for you, and you sit down next to him. “You’re alive.”

“Sorry for not dying. That must’ve disappointed you,” he jokes. If he’s in any sort of pain, he manages to mask it behind a soft smile. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

“I waited ten hours.”

“You should’ve gone home and slept.”

Closing your eyes, you rest your head against his chest. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing that you weren’t okay.”

He hums some tune against the crook of your neck; lips brushing over your skin. “But I came back, like I promised. I’m okay, because you are.”

Helovesmehelovesmehelovesme.

As if he could read your mind, he leans in just that bit closer. You look up at him and your heart somersaults in your chest. 

When your lips meet, everything clicks into place and it’s like you finally found the missing puzzle piece you’d been searching for. He was here all along; it made so much sense. Everything else fades away into the background as you get lost in the feeling of him and him alone. You knew from the moment he stuck out his hand and told you with a million-dollar smile “I’m Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw, and I can make a mean lasagna or anything else you want,” that choosing him would be the single best thing you ever could’ve done. 

And you were most certainly right about that now. 

“I kept it, you know.” he murmurs as you eventually break away, “I didn’t think it would last as long as it did, but here it is.”

“What…what are you talking about?”

He fingers dip below the scoop of his T-shirt and he brings out the glittering charm, laying it in his hand. “You gave it to me ages ago. It was a while ago but I still remember the exact time and place. August 5th, 2010, 2:26 a.m. We were both on the verge of falling asleep.”

Your heart grows warmer. “Roos…”

Rooster opens the locket, and inside is a picture of you beaming as you wrapped your arms around him from behind. So young and so in love, but not yet knowing how you felt about each other. 

“I think this is what kept me alive up there. I was in the air long enough to think about and reflect on the fact that I was dying, but I knew I had to come home to you. I was dying, Y/N, but you saved me. If you didn’t come into my life right when you did then I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be telling you that I love you.”

He has you at a loss for words yet again. It didn’t matter that you’d known each other for years because he would always find a way to steal your breath. The once-tiny caterpillars crawling in your stomach had morphed into giant butterflies that never stopped fluttering when he came too close.

He leans in and he’s kissing you again; this time it’s like you’re his sole source of oxygen and he’s in desperate need of fresh air. Your grip on his hand tightens as he deepens the kiss, and you pray to God that your heart won’t explode into a million pieces like it did when you thought you wouldn’t see him again. 

I’ve died and come back to life twice now, Rooster tells himself. 

And both of those times, you’re the angel that magically appears to save him from a certain, unfortunate fate. 

tags, including people who may be interested (sorry if this list seems off, it hasn't been updated in a while hahah): @sarcastic-sourwolf @totomoshi @sebastianstangirl01 @purelyfiction @lunamoonbby @hazelgirl355 @multifandom-fangirl4 @paintballkid711 @buckysbeloved @lyn-lc @spawn0fsatan @milestomaverick @teacactusworld @cherry-waved @ellabellabus07 @vitanileon @lam-ila @criminalyetminimal @whatlovegattado @queenbbarnes @yeehawnana @t-stark35 @thesunsetphantoms @danirose-0420 @callalily2000 @the-untamed-soul @shizzybarnaclee @bananaa @luvfurdogs @shalaniela @unordinare @and-claudia @lgg5989 @katiemcrae @elenavampire21 @joyfullyswimmingface @nyx2021 @cosm1cfae @ellabellabus07 @vane28282 @bittergomez @littlebadariell @tallrock35 @whotfatemywaffles @hoedameronsworld @aerangi @julia-marshal @uwiuwi

(also if you filled out the general taglist form/top gun taglist form and you're not on here, that means i couldn't tag you for some reason)

[lucyandthepen]

last young renegade | jjh

summary: your valentine’s day plans with jaehyun may have gone down the drain just a little. (okay — a lot.)

pairing: jaehyun x reader verse: canon, idol!verse rating: t warnings&tags: reader & jaehyun are in an established relationship, quite frankly there is nothing too out of the ordinary in this fic which is a shocker, it’s a rewritten fic so pls excuse any errors I may not have caught! word count: 5.02k

a/n: happy 2024 friends and family !!!!!! and advanced happy birthday to the man who created valentine’s day, he who is perhaps my first love in nct, jaehyun! this is actually just a fic I’ve been hoping to re-write a bit from before, and since it’s valentine’s themed, what better time to post it!! Enjoy enjoy, and may this year bring more fun, laughs, love (and debauchery) to this blog!

Yᴏᴜ sᴀɪᴅ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ sɪᴄᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛɪʀᴇᴅ ᴏғ ɪᴛ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ, ɴɪɢʜᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴀʏ.

♡ jaehyunnie ♡ I know I said birthday dinner but practice is running so late ㅠㅠ ♡ jaehyunnie ♡ Can we meet after? I’m sorry ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠ How about I call you when we’re done? Maybe 11:30?

At times like this, you often wonder if it’s all worth it.  

You know thinking that way is counterproductive, not to mention a little unfair. You knew exactly what to expect, getting into an under-wraps relationship with an idol, and so far, it’s lived up to most of your assumptions, and then some. It doesn’t help that Jaehyun, even just by name, tends to attract an unbelievable amount of attention. You know you can’t blame him; it’s not like he wants to be high on the radar every time, either. For some reason, though, you seem to be looking for something or someone to blame, which you also know is a dead end. You have no one to pin the blame onto apart from yourself by frequently generating doubts that keep your mind running around in circles.  

It’s not even the sneaking around that gets tiring; it’s the waiting — waiting on calls, waiting on free time, waiting on a good opportunity to do something that doesn’t involve him suddenly getting pulled out to attend to one of many of his celebrity responsibilities. Over the last few years that you’ve dated, NCT has only ever gotten more popular; with that popularity came the fact that the public eye was trained on them, focusing on every microscopic detail of their lives. Jaehyun hates that more than anything, which is why he’s given up on trying to avoid it by practically escaping it altogether, locking himself up in the dorm with you when he has his precious few days off. 

While it’s true that you definitely don’t miss having to play espionage when going out for a cup of coffee with him, you’ve also managed to memorize every single inch of Jaehyun’s room, which isn’t good for your mentality, you’re pretty sure. You have to keep reminding him to open the window whenever the both of you are in there, because all you do is stay in and watch English movies without subtitles to see who can understand the most without asking questions (obviously, he always wins) while eating food he runs up and down the stairs to get every other hour. And while him trying to imitate the British accents on these shows is genuinely funny, you’re starting to suspect even he’s starting to get tired of watching Harry Potter over and over again. Twenty hours sounds like a long time unless you spend every twenty-hour period you have together marathoning the exact same films. Much to both of your disappointment, your suggestion to watch it totally out of order did not make it cooler.

Still, you suppose it’s not all bad. Jaehyun also taught you how to play Fortnite on a couple of his days off back to back, and while you hadn’t been as good a player as you both had hoped, he’d still patiently waited for you every time you got lost on the map. He’d even given you his account’s password with the sentiment that this was him ‘taking things to the next level with you,’ and you get to log into his account and play whenever you want; he doesn’t even get mad when you’ve wasted all the stuff he’s farmed on your subpar gaming skills. And, well, the bigger picture was that you loved him. Based on how much effort he put into the relationship, plus the bonus of his trust in you when it came to his Fortnite account, you could at least be confident in that he returned the sentiment.  

Except, sometimes, you still wonder if it would be easier for the both of you if he flew solo and didn’t have a girlfriend that tanked all of his player’s ammo and health kits and generally made a fool out of his cute little avatar while he was out breaking his back onstage.  

You aren’t sure if Jaehyun’s been noticing the turmoil in you; you’re not that good at hiding how you feel, anyway, but if he has, he hasn’t said anything thus far. You do observe how much more he texts you when he has free time, which makes you feel doubly bad, because you know that he’s spending precious minutes he could be resting with on talking to you instead, which isn’t the best trade-off for someone who’s constantly busy — and thereby constantly tired — like him.  

♡ jaehyunnie♡ ___________ I’m going to practice again, okay? Wait for my call ㅠㅠ You I’ll wait for your call ♡ ♡ jaehyunnie♡ I love you ㅠㅠㅠㅠ ♡ jaehyunnie♡ You love me too — a lot, right? I’ll keep my phone now, but I’ll make sure to check that you said so. ㅋㅋㅋ You Right! ㅎ I love you a lot! ♡

When the clock hits 12:01, and your phone is silent, your mind starts working on overtime again. It’s only when the special ringtone you’ve set for him comes to life at half-past midnight that you break your train of thought and put on your socks so you can meet Jaehyun at your front door.  

You’ve made a rule — sort of like a deal — between the two of you that apologies aren’t necessary when work holds you up. You’ve cashed in on that deal a couple of times, but you’re both aware that it’s more for Jaehyun’s sake than anything else, and he keeps to his word on that much when you open the door and duck into his car. All he does is smile at you, and you smile back, and for the rest of the car ride, everything seems okay.  

He always asks you about your day — unfailingly, at any chance he can. It’s never an off-handed question, either; Jaehyun takes great pride in his memory, and the sweetest thing about him is that he’s dedicated a good deal of it to knowing almost everything about you. Right now is no different. He asks you about your team manager, what you had for lunch; he grills you on if you took your vitamins today and if you got to break in the new shoes you bought online — the ones you’d been pining over for the last three months. He even asks you about the guy from the neighboring department who keeps asking you out for after-work drinks.  

“He wanted to go to Hongdae tonight,” you tell him as he slows for a red light. “There’s some new pub of his friend’s doing a soft opening there tonight.”  

“You could have gone.” He keeps his eyes on the road. “I wouldn’t have minded.”  

“I didn’t want to.”

“Good.” He glances at you, a grin slowly spreading on his lips. “Because I lied. I might have minded a little. Or, you know, a lot.”  

“Don’t tell me after all these years, you’ve turned into the kind of boyfriend that doesn’t let his girlfriend go out without him.”

“That’s impossible for me, and you know that,” he chuckles. “You can do whatever you want, whenever you want. Just not with that guy from the other department.”

“Don’t worry.” You tinker with the little charm dangling on your phone — half of a flat, metal heart dangling from a gold chain that Jaehyun had given you two years back on your birthday. He keeps the other half, but since he can’t freely attach it to any of his belongings, he keeps it wedged between the back of his phone and its case. You like watching him change the backing because he does it so carefully, like he’s worried the other half of the heart is going to break if he rips off the case willy nilly. “I told him my boyfriend and I were going out on a date tonight, so he backed off. Although he did wonder why I keep talking about a boyfriend he’s never seen.”

“And? What did you say?”

“I said it was none of his damn business.”  

Jaehyun laughs loudly, and you go along with him, but you don’t miss how tired he looks when he sobers down, the green light illuminating all the shadows on his face as he steps on the gas again.

Nothing good is open this late at night — that is, nothing you haven’t seen before. You hadn’t even expected to go out at all, but since it was the day before Valentine’s Day as well as his birthday (or it would have been, if you hadn’t waited until midnight), Jaehyun had wanted to do something special without having to run into a huge crowd of couples on the day itself. Your only option is this from-out-of-town carnival that’s set up in tents and even has a medium-sized ferris wheel by the edge of the metal barricade. The parking lot is practically empty when Jaehyun pulls into a slot; you joke that he should break one rule and park in two slots, which he smugly replies to by saying he couldn’t park badly even if he tried.  

He tucks your hair back behind your ears as he loops the strings of a face mask around them, using another one for himself. Between that and the brim of his cap, you can barely see his eyes. The only knowledge that you have that you’re walking next to the man you love is that he takes your hand in his, slender fingers finding their way between yours.  

The carnival is half-closed when you get to the middle of it; there are still a few stragglers, but half the kiosks have their lights off already. There’s a woman dressed in flashy clothes standing on a patch of dead grass a few feet away, and she’s holding a hoop that a ginger cat is jumping through. Jaehyun steers you to them, and you stand there for a good five minute watching the cat roll on the ground and stand on its hind legs, but you can tell it’s been going it at for most of the day because at one point, it just ignores the lady, opting to weave its way between Jaehyun’s and your legs instead. You do have a pretty good time when he picks it up and cradles it in his arms so you can pet it for a second, but it just hisses when its owner approaches and jumps out of his hold, disappearing behind a row of trash bins.  

Jaehyun doesn’t have anything in his wallet apart from his credit cards and 50,000 won, and the coin machine operator says he only has enough coins left to break down 5,000 won for the games, so you end up having to jog back to his car so you can fish out some coins from inside his glove compartment. You come up with a grand total of 1,500 won, and you have to sheepishly go back to the coin machine operator to change four 100 coins and a couple of 50s just to get the last 500. Jaehyun tells you to hold onto the three coins so he doesn’t run off with them entirely and leave you destitute.  

You learn you can only do three things at most — you dedicate 500 won for the Ferris wheel entry tickets, which leaves you with 500 won each. The both of you agree on choosing one kiosk to play in, and with only about five left that are open, you don’t really have that many options. You end up dragging Jaehyun over to a stall with a pond filled with those magnetic toy fish, but 500 won only gets you one fishing rod. Since it’s your choice, Jaehyun lets you play, but you feel kind of stupid doing it on your own with him just watching you. In the end, he decides to stand behind you, his arms around your waist like he thinks closer contact isn’t even more distracting. You do manage to fish out 10 fish and win a small bear on a keychain. It doesn’t even pass through your hands as Jaehyun takes it from the stall operator immediately. 

“That’s mine!” You whine, reaching out in vain to take it from him; he just holds it high over his head. His eyes are twinkling under the shadow his cap casts over his face. “I worked hard for that.”  

“Let me keep this one,” he mimics the pleading lilt in your voice. “I’ll put it on my bag.”

“You know you can’t! Give it back.”

“I’ll win you a bigger one,” he promises. “Let me keep this one. It’s cute. It reminds me of you. I’ll kiss it goodnight before I sleep.” He starts to laugh softly. “And then you’ll feel this weird spirit kissing you at like two in the morning, and you’ll know it’s me.”  

Your arms aren’t long enough to retrieve it, and you don’t really want to, so you settle with twisting his ear. He takes it in stride even if he over-acts, making pained noises while leading you to the kiosk he wants to go to. It’s a shooting range stall, and he pays his own precious 500 won for a dart gun. He’s barely paying attention when the guy starts explaining how many points are assigned to each balloon color, more concerned with talking to the bear keychain in his hand and pretending like he’s cooing at you. You have to hit him across the shoulder to get him to focus.  

“You need to start picking out what prize you want,” he tells you — the actual you, not the animal keychain version — as he lifts the dart gun.  

“I’ll wait for you to finish first.”  

“No way.” He tilts his head, closing one eye to steady his line of sight. “Pick already. Or just go for the biggest one.”

“You know that Fortnite and dart guns aren’t the same thing, right?”  

“Yeah, but I’m well-motivated.” He grins at you, one eye still shut. He looks like a baby pirate. “Go ahead. Pick the biggest one.”

“Why don’t you just shoot, and we’ll see.”  

“Pick it,” he insists. “Tell me you have faith in me. Tell me you love me.”

“Okay, I love you,” you agree. “But I have no faith in you when it comes to this.”  

“One out of two is fine,” he concedes, taking aim.  

All three of you, including the stall operator, let out a disappointed groan when he misses his first shot. His comes with a sheepish laugh as he reloads, suddenly telling you to pick the second biggest prize instead. You can’t even watch him miss over and over, so you pretend to be interested in a bunch of teenage boys playing a game of cups one stall over, trying not to giggle when you hear him get increasingly more frustrated at himself. When you turn back around, you notice he’s holding two small pieces of gummy candy, offering one to you like a kindergartener. He helps you tug your face mask down so you can eat it.  

There’s a food stall nearby that, thankfully, accepts credit and debit; Jaehyun fishes out his card to get you a corndog — only one because he’s watching his weight for the upcoming concert, apparently. This is information you hate hearing but have no say in, and he knows this; you know he does because he says ‘don’t worry about me’ totally out of the blue, like five minutes after the conversation ceases to be relevant.  

His phone starts ringing when the food comes out, and he takes a tiny bite of it — more bread than hotdog — before he answers. You know it’s Taeyong by the way he answers.  

“Hyung, sorry — can we talk later? I’m out with ____________.”  

Taeyong says something loud but indiscernible on the other end. You piece together that it’s about tomorrow’s schedule when Jaehyun speaks again.

“I know. I’ll be home in a bit; don’t worry about it. I haven’t forgotten.”  

There’s more garbled speech on the other line; Jaehyun gestures for you to keep eating, and you do, but you more concerned with the morphing expressions on his face than you are with the act of chewing. He’s making noncommittal noises in response to what seem to be commands and reminders. You’re pretty much done with the corndog by the time he says ‘Okay, hyung. Hyung — I’ll see you later, okay?’

“Taeyong hyung says hi,” he tells you once he’s hung up the phone. “He says you still need to give back that book you borrowed from him last year.”  

“Oh yeah,” you finish off the last of the food. “I’ll drop it off within the week.”  

“Don’t worry about it. He doesn’t actually mean it.”  

Jaehyun watches you snap the stick in half and toss it in the trash bag.  

“We can go home,” you say finally. His eyebrows shoot up. “You’re busy tomorrow. I forgot.”

“I didn’t forget, and it’s fine.”  

“It’s almost two in the morning.” You check your phone to verify. “You probably have to be up in a few hours. You need to sleep, or you’ll die, Jaehyun. I’m too young to be a grieving widow.”

“Let’s at least ride the Ferris wheel,” he suggests. Before you can protest, he tugs you towards the rickety contraption, digging the 500 won out of your pocket and handing it to the bemused operator. He lets you choose what carriage you want because literally no one is on it anymore, and Jaehyun asks for the best carriage. You’re not sure how it differs from the rest, but he makes a show out of guiding you into it, and you don’t miss the corny ‘my lady,’ he mutters under his breath.   

It’s small, clearly meant for either a tiny group of children or couples who want to be as close together as possible. It’s also not air-conditioned, and only one of the windows is open, so you end up sticking to Jaehyun’s arm on the way up. The view is still great, though, and you feel his hand settle on your knee as the carriage makes it slow ascent.  

The ride up is quiet, and you press your face as close to the glass of the carriage as you dare, but Jaehyun doesn’t move an inch. His hand is still heavy on your thigh, but it doesn’t do anything but lay there. When you’re close to the top, you’re hit with the urge to do something romantic — kiss, maybe, tell him happy birthday, or say ‘I love you’ to him in the most sickening way possible — but when you turn to look at him, you have to hold your tongue.

Jaehyun is asleep, leaning against the corner of the carriage, head tilted down a little. His shoulders are rising and falling slowly, and he’s pulled down his face mask a little so he can breathe better; his lips are slightly parted by the slackening of his jaw. His left hand is shoved in his pocket, like he’d passed out halfway through reaching for something in there.  

He doesn’t wake even when you move slightly so you can lean back next to him, rocking the carriage a little — not even when you reach up and adjust his head so he can rest on your shoulder. He breathes deeply, evenly, and you wonder if his ear against your shoulder allows him to hear your heart plummet unfairly to the bottom of your stomach.  

You have to shake him to rouse him when the ride comes to an end; when he opens his eyes and realizes what happened, he looks mortified. Instinctively, he opens his mouth, but you fling the carriage door open and step out before he can apologize.

You have a deal, and he knows what he shouldn’t be doing.

His grip on your hand is much tighter as you walk back to the parking lot, and he doesn’t let go, even on the road. The trip back is quieter, maybe because it’s late, or maybe because there are a ton of things the both of you want to say but can’t.  

He slows down when he gets to your street, but when he stops in front of your building, he doesn’t immediately unlock the doors to let you out. Instead, he turns to you, licking his lips a little nervously.

“Can you…” he clears his throat because his voice cracks a little on the first attempt. “Can you come back with me? To the dorm?”  

“I have work tomorrow, Jaehyun.”  

“It’s still at eleven, isn’t it? I can bring you home before that. You still have some stuff in my room. You can get ready there.”

“Won’t you be too busy?”  

“Just—” he sighs softly. “Can you? Please?”  

You don’t know how to say no to Jaehyun, and tonight isn’t a night you’re willing to try. It’s why fifteen minutes later, you’re walking through the front door of his dorm. Donghyuck, sitting at his computer in his room with the door ajar, greets you sleepily as you pass by.  

Jaehyun steps in the shower with you; you don’t talk, maybe because you’re worried you might wake the others up if you start a full-blown conversation in a bathroom surrounded by other bedrooms. He just passes you what you need, and you do the same for him, and somewhere in between, he kisses you under the spray of the water.  

Later, he falls asleep with a face mask on, and you have to peel it off for him and toss it into the trash. The tip of his nose is shiny, and you want to kiss it, but you know it’ll wake him, and you noticed he’d set his alarm to go off two hours from now. He’s set out a couple of earplugs for you so that you don’t hear it, but you don’t put them in. You want to see him before he leaves, even if it’s in the deadest hours of morning, so you just crawl into bed with him. A minute before you doze off, you feel his damp skin press against your neck, his form curled up against your back.  

The alarm never wakes you; the sun is out when you open your eyes, and when you check your phone, you see that it’s already half-past nine. You also notice that there’s nothing from Jaehyun on your screen, but you try not to dwell on that, considering that you’d been expecting to wake up to an empty bed. His side of the mattress is cold, which means that he’s been gone for some time.  

You don’t know if it’s just because you’re groggy, but your insides still feel like lead when you sit up. The part of you that nags about this relationship is back at full force when you start thinking about Jaehyun going to a pre-recording two hours after spending the last of his energy on you. You start wondering if you’re doing the right thing if it feels like you’re just dragging him down. Your heart clenches tightly when the worst thought hits — maybe, just maybe, he’s tired of you, too.

But you won’t let him go. More to the point — you can’t. He’s the best part of your life; it’d be a cold day in hell if you decided to leave him.

Even the thought of it makes you feel like dying.  

Then again, this isn’t all up to you.  

You’re rubbing the sleep out of your eyes — and maybe a couple of frustrated tears — when the door creaks open. You see two mugs and his hands before you see the rest of him come through the doorway. Jaehyun whispers a careful good morning as he sets the coffee down on his table, making sure to push his keyboard away to avoid accidents, before sitting down next to you. You notice that there’s an envelope next to one of the mugs; the flap is slightly open, and from under it, a flash of red peeks out.  

His hand finds its way back to your knee — it’s his favorite resting place, he’s told you once. Your lap feels like home, he’d joked. Maybe he touches it every so often because it’s like a reset button for him.  

He doesn’t ask if you slept well, or if you want to get ready before having your coffee, or if you’re okay. He just squeezes your knee a little tighter. It’s you that has to start the conversation this time.

“How did it go?”

“It went great. You’ll see it on TV later tonight,” he starts rubbing your thigh idly. “You’ll watch it later, right?”  

“Of course. I’ll call you and tell you how cool you look.”  

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. When you lapse into silence again, it’s because you’re expecting him to say something, but he doesn’t come out with it directly. You try not to let it show that you’re worried, that you’re skeptical, that you’re wondering if he thinks he’s too tired, too busy for this, too.  

You’re expecting him to start how most break-ups start. You know I love you, right? And then the telltale but… would come, and you would have to hold back your tears and smile for him, and tell him you know, and that you understand it isn’t the right time, but maybe one day, someday, when he isn’t everyone’s Jung Jaehyun anymore — only yours.  

“You love me, right?”  

It’s not what you’d been expecting. Nor is it the playful little text he’d sent — no laughs, no jokes. His expression is somber, mouth pressed into a thin line.  

“You know I do.”

“A lot, right?”

“A lot,” you confirm softly.  

“Then whatever it is that you’re thinking about us,” he says quietly. “Don’t. Don’t think it. Don’t do it.”  

“Jaehyun—”

“I know it’s hard,” his fingers dig into your skin a little. “I know I put you through a lot. I know you think that I’m suffering because of this relationship too. I know everything. But whatever you think I’m going to do, I won’t do it — not ever. So if you’re thinking of it too, I’m begging you. Don’t. Please.”  

Maybe he had noticed all this time. A wave of guilt washes over you when you see the pained look on his face; perhaps you were even more transparent than you’d originally thought. You nod slowly to show your understanding, and he continues.  

“I know yesterday wasn’t the best you could have hoped for,” he carefully avoids apologizing, although it’s written all over his features. “For me, too. I… I wanted something different. It’ll be better next time. Do you believe me?”  

You hear him swallow — his nails are biting into your thigh a little, so you have to gently peel his hand off. Your fingers replace it, tightening around his palm as you nod.

“I believe you.”  

“And you trust me, right?”

“With my life.”  

“Then can you put your faith in me right now?” He asks. “Don’t panic. Just — just say yes.”

He pats around his pants, finally deciding to slip his hand into his left-hand pocket. Unlike on the Ferris wheel, he manages to extract something, but he keeps it closed in his fist. It’s shaking a little as he takes your hand in his other one, pressing something small and hard into your palm before he curls your fingers over it. His hold keeps your fist closed as he starts talking.

“It’s not immediate. We’ll figure it out. We’ll tell the right people, and they’ll help us tell everyone else — the public, the press. It doesn’t have to happen right now, or any time soon either— not if you don’t want it to. We can take it slow, or whatever. Anything you want — just as long as it’s with me.”  

“Jaehyun,” you shake your head, a little dizzy. “What are you talking about?”  

He slowly loosens his hold on your fingers, his hand dropping to the same spot on your knee. You’re free to open your fist, and when you do, you can’t help but feel a little stumped.

“I don’t mean now,” he repeats, now sounding doubly worried. “It’s not — It’s just…”  

“You’ll get in trouble. We can’t.”

“I won’t. Not if we do this right. Like I said, we can do it slowly. Months — years, however long it takes to do it well. What it is — it’s just… a promise.”  

“A promise,” you echo. It does have a nice ring to it.  

“That I’m not leaving you. Not ever. And… if you say yes, that you won’t either.”  

Your coffee has probably turned cold. Jaehyun is watching you carefully, looking like he’s trying hard not to bite his lip. You look back down at your hand, and he speaks up again.  

“You know I love you, right?”  

You smile slightly. “No but?”  

“No but,” he agrees.  

The ring fits nicely on your finger; maybe it’s well-measured from the amount of times he’s held your hand tightly in his.  

“Okay, Jaehyun,” you whisper. “I promise.”  

When you place your hand on his, he twists his palm, slender fingers gently twirling the ring around the base of your finger.  

Minutes later, he hands you your coffee. It’s sweet and milky, the way he knows you like it best. When he settles back down on the bed, you notice his eyes travel to your finger again, a small smile playing on his lips.  

Perhaps, in this moment, you finally learn to ask the right questions — not about if it’s worth it, but if he is.  

And in this moment, where he sits in silence with you, the sunlight pouring in from his window hitting the tips of his hair and the end of his nose, with the knowledge that his heart is as full as yours, you come to realize that there can — and never will be — any doubt of that.  

[asmallpinkfan3]

Hobie brown and young! troubled teen reader hcs (more like oneshot)

Note-this is the first time I’ve tried writing for him and if u get his personality wrong please forgive me.

TW: reader has issues, swearing, slight mentions of sucidal feelings. Also I’m not British so idk any slang. So if anyone is British out there I’m sorry. And I dunno if I’m gonna write more for him I gotta figure it out.

GN reader, also reader is a younger teen like 13-16

You had met him purely by accident, you ran into him while not paying attention in the spider society headquarters, he didn’t get upset really seeing that you did it by accident but it did catch his attention when you were apologizing like you had ran into Miguel.

He noticed the way your hands gripped your sleeve almost as if you were mentally beating yourself up because you ran into someone. “It’s fine”. He said with a small smile trying to assure you he wouldn’t body slam you into the concrete like your mind had overreacted because of bumping into him.

He saw you a couple more times around headquarters, spacing out,fiddling with your hands, etc. he also noticed how you stayed at headquarters a lot not seeming to wanna go home for whatever reason.

The time that you had actually got a proper introduction to him and not bumping into him or catch him looking at you was when Gwen befriended you and introduced you to him.

Overtime he kinda saw the way you would try to be near him without saying anything almost like his presence gave you comfort. He never pointed it out nor did he seem to mind when you went to his place to be around miles, Gwen, and Pav you would always sit near him.

Sometimes he caught you staring at his stuff, posters, pins, wall decor, all that. You seem to like how his place was decorated and he felt a little flattered.

The first time you had started talking to him and showing interest in his stuff by speaking was when you asked where his pins were from. “Made them myself.” He replied with a smile and you nodded in understanding. One time you had watched him play his guitar and you kinda just stood there and watched amazed at his playing, he didn’t mind. It’s not like you were being a bother just by watching with big eyes and being completely focused on it.

The first time you opened up was when you had a fight with your parents about something so small and for some reason you went to his universe. “Y/n? Mate what you-“ “can I stay here for tonight?” You cut him off before he could finish, and he noticed the tears in your eyes as it’s obvious you’re not doing too good.

“The couch is free you can sleep there for tonight.” He replied softly as he threw a blanket to you. “You caught it with a tight grip and nodded as a thanks and went to the couch and laid on it, you did have to move a pair of shoes out the way but other wise it was pretty comfortable.

In the morning you woke up to Hobie making himself some breakfast and you sat up and walked over to him, blanket still wrapped around you.

“Thank you for letting me stay the night”. You thanked him as he gave you a soft smile, he then took a sip of his coffee . “No problem mate, you wanna talk about what happened?” He asked and you sighed as you explained everything from your parents being assholes and constantly feeling like you wanna end it all.

He put his coffee down as he stared at you with a concerned look as tears started falling. “Mate, you need a hug?” He asked softly as it’s pretty much the only thing he can offer as he watched a young teen just tell him everything on why they feel like shit constantly.

You nodded as he then gave you a massive hug mainly cause he’s 6’5 and you felt safe, protected, like nothing could harm you. “I’m just tired of everything and my parents don’t help, and being a spider person it just-“ you sobbed into him as he rubbed your back keeping his voice soft and low. “Shh mate it’s ok, it’s alright your parents aren’t here and I’m not gonna judge ya, ok?”

He didn’t move or let go till you did and when you stopped crying he wanted to make sure you felt at least a little better so he tried to think. “How about this, we go get ya cleaned up and go somewhere, you ever had fish and chips?”

You shook your head as you looked up at him and he only smirked a little trying to lighten your mood. “There’s this small shop around here we can go get some, plus their food is really good not like that rubbish that big company’s produce.” He explained as it got a small smile from you. “I would like that”. You responded as you put the blanket that’s currently wrapped around you on the couch.

[heart4gyu]

teach you pt.2 || heeseung x reader

note: 18+ minors dni!! very suggestive && wayyy more than just kissing in this one!! [pt.1] so i took some advice from the last part hope you all like it !! i started this off and i rly liked it but towards the end idkk (i also haven’t proofread but i’m so tired Zzz)… lmk what you think anything is appreciated ^_^ enjoyyy & gn <33

wc: 2,361 words

you aren’t really sure why you left so abruptly that night. you could’ve kept going, just like heeseung wanted you to. you could’ve made him forget all about her, all about that date. but you didn’t, you couldn’t. you couldn’t stand the thought of ruining him.

but now you kind of regretted it. you couldn’t stand the thought of her having him all to herself even more. she didn’t deserve him. he was sweet and gentle, always looking out for others. she didn’t know that, all she knew was that he could help her get a good grade.

but maybe the real reason you left him there that night was because you don’t deserve him either. he didn’t call or text you the rest of the weekend so you just assumed his date went well. as mush as you hoped it didn’t…

you and heeseung had a psychology project that you were working on together. so he texted you to meet up with him at his dorm to work on it after class. he wasn’t really much of a texter, so you figured you’d just ask him about his date when you got there.

once your last class ended, you made your way to his dorm. it was around 4 pm when you got there, and he was prepared. he had all his supplies laid out on the small coffee table in front of the couch and a bag full of snacks for you to share.

“so i’m guessing you plan on finishing the whole project tonight,” you said. the project wasn’t due for another week or so but if you knew anything about heeseung, it’s that he hates procrastinating.

“yup, so you might want to make yourself comfortable,” he said, sitting on the couch and patting the spot next to him.

about two hours had passed of you two really getting a lot of work done. you divided the work into two and discussed anything you needed help on. if it was anyone else, you wouldn’t have done a thing but he was a really great project partner so you didn’t want to let him down.

“alright i finished the third slide, i’m taking a break,” you said, getting up to throw away some of the trash that had piled up on the table.

when you came back heeseung’s computer was no longer on his lap and he was sitting back watching whatever movie had been playing in the background. “you never told me how your date went,” you said, as you walked back in the room and sat beside him on the couch.

“well it honestly didn’t go as i expected,” he said, laughing humorlessly. “what do you mean? what happened?” you said, turning to face him and giving your undivided attention.

“we went to the movies so we didn’t have to talk much but afterwards when i walked her home, i realized we had nothing in common,” he said, looking down at his hands that were fidgeting, of course. you felt relieved but you tried not to let it show too much. “and she did try to kiss me, but i couldn’t,” he said, looking over at you only for a second.

“what? why? you did really good when we practiced,” you said, wanting to encourage him in case he felt disappointed. “i- i know, i actually felt really confident after you helped me but… i don’t know, i-,” he stopped, a flush beginning to dust his cheeks.

“it’s okay, you can tell me,” you said, knowing he had something he wanted to get off his chest. you could always tell when he had something on his mind.

“i just- i couldn’t… i couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he said, looking over at you, hesitantly.

you swear your heart skipped a beat. “why me? you’ve been crushing on her since the moment she first talked to you,” you said, really not expecting this at all.

“i don’t know, i was just as confused as you are. but the more i thought of it, the more it made sense,” he said, scooting just a couple inches closer to you.

“y/n, you’re the one that’s always there for me when i need encouragement or advice on anything. you’re always nice to me and looking out for me when i don’t make the best decisions. it’s always you. so i couldn’t kiss her because all i could think about is how much i wanted it to be you,” he said, leaving you speechless.

never had a guy made you feel like this just from telling you how he felt. your heart was beating fast and you almost felt like you wanted to cry. you felt such relief that you couldn’t contain it as you smiled down at your lap, touching over your cheeks with your cool hands.

“and if you don’t mind, i’d really like for you to kiss me again,” he said, his puppy eyes pulling you in just like last time. how could you ever say no to him.

“okay but if i do this won’t be practice anymore,” you said, leaning into his space. you weren’t as good with your words as him but you hoped he understood that you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

“i don’t want it to be,” he said, sitting back on the couch as you climbed over his lap. you smiled at his words but he was already too far gone to return it as you hovered over him.

he was breathing heavy and his hands dug into the couch as if he was scared to touch you. you kissed the corner of his mouth as you took his hands and placed them on your waist.

he gulped when you finally leaned in to kiss him. and it was perfect, feeling his lips on yours again.

you didn’t go slowly this time, when he parted his lips you immediately let your tongue push into his mouth. just like last time, he gasped, but this time it was somehow a bit more desperate.

he moved his tongue with yours right away as you kissed him. you placed a hand on his chest as the other combed through his hair.

you gave the hair at the back of his head a tug and sucked on his tongue making him moan. and it was the best thing you’d ever heard, you’d never heard anything like it.

you noticed his hands gripping onto your shirt tightly and he was shifting his hips beneath you. you could see the growing bulge in his sweats and from his heavy breathing you could tell he needed some friction.

you kissed him some more, really enjoying how good he was getting at it.

you knew he probably wouldn’t be able to handle it but you also really needed to feel something in between your legs.

so you sat yourself down on his bulge and through the thin layers of both your sweatpants, it was pure ecstasy.

he broke away from the kiss just to gasp and hiss at the feeling. you figured he’s just never felt anything like this. it was cute.

you placed a hand on his cheek, making him look you in your eyes as you continued to grind down on him. he shut his eyes tightly as he kept moaning, when you suddenly came to a stop.

“y/n no please, i can’t,” he whined, trying to thrust his hips up into you but you pulled away further.

“what? you can’t what baby?” you said, kissing him again, making him moan into your mouth at the pet name.

“i can’t take it, i need you to keep going,” he said, and he already looked so fucked out. he was sweating, his lips were so red and swollen, and his chest was heaving.

you smirked, thinking about how you could probably make him come in his pants right now, untouched. but that’s too mean, and you couldn’t stand teasing him anymore.

you attached your lips to his and sat back down gently this time. you moved your hips back and forth slowly, letting him whine into your mouth.

he was trying his best to move his tongue against yours but he was completely overwhelmed. all he could do was moan into your mouth and try to match the pace of your hips grinding against his.

when you picked up the pace, he sobbed into your mouth and you pulled away to see tears at the corners of his eyes. you leaned down and kissed the tears away then kissed down to his neck, sucking and marking the skin there.

finally you felt his hands grip onto your waist but what you didn’t expect was for him to push you further down onto his clothed cock.

and now it was your turn to moan for him as he moved your hips in a circular motion over him. you kissed him again as you felt a knot begin to form in your stomach.

the kiss was messy as he bucked his hips up into you. your hands began to wander down his chest, and he flinched when your fingers came into contact with the skin under his shirt.

you continued to kiss him as you felt him up, he didn’t really have defined abs but you honestly preferred it. you felt all the way up to his chest and he let out a groan when your fingers brushed past his nipples.

you smiled into the kiss, and pulled away just enough to look him in the eyes. he looked at you curiously before you dropped your hands back down to the hem of his sweatpants.

“can i?” you asked, and his eyes went wide. “y-yes, please,” he said, nodding his head. so cute.

he watched, nervously, as you slid your hand into his pants and past his underwear. you took hold of his cock and stroked it a few times, getting a feel of his size.

it honestly made you shiver how nice his size was, but you didn’t want to get ahead of yourself. he definitely wasn’t ready for everything that you had in mind so you stuck to jerking him off in his pants.

his whines and moans were really indescribable, they were breathy and pretty high pitched. and you found that you liked kissing him while he made those pretty sounds because it only amplified them.

so you kissed him as you continued to stroke his cock and he kept whining into your mouth. but his head fell back onto the cushions when you swiped your thumb over his slit, spreading the precum all over his cock. he groaned loudly, squeezing his eyes shut. the grip his hands had on your thighs was sure to leave bruises.

“fuck,” he breathed out, “please don’t stop, i’m gonna come.” you were starting to get the appeal of guys begging.

with his head still leaned back, you started sucking a couple more bruises onto his neck and collar bones. you took the tip of his cock out of his sweatpants and rubbed circles at the tip while grinding your hips against his again.

his head shot up and landed on your shoulder at the new sensation. he just let out moan after moan, gradually becoming louder.

you knew he was close by the way his cock twitched and his stomach was contracting. his cock leaking more and more as the seconds passed.

“please, i’m- uhhh god i’m gonna come-,” he said, barely able to get the sentence out with how much he was crying and moaning.

just as you were about to pick up your pace for the final time, you heard it. a key being pushed into the lock of the front door and you both scattered.

you got up off of him quickly and adjusted your clothes and hair. and heeseung put himself back into his pants, both breathing heavily as the door opened and his roommate walked in.

“oh hey guys,” he said, turning his back to shut the door, “hope i wasn’t interrupting anything.” he was only teasing but the longer he stood there with no response from the two of you the more evident it became.

he laughed loudly as he stared at the two of you, blushing on the couch. “jake get out! go! go to your room!” heeseung yelled, throwing a pillow at the back of his head as he ran away, still giggling like a teenager.

heeseung threw his head back onto the couch and covered his face with his hands after jake’s door was shut. “oh my goddd, i hate him,” he said, into his hands.

and you laughed, lightheartedly, at probably the most embarrassing thing that’s happened to you in a while.

“on the bright side, at least he didn’t technically see anything,” you said, and he out his hands down with a sigh. “but he probably could hear you down the hall with how loud you were,” you said, teasingly.

heeseung groaned loudly, the embarrassment being too much for him. you laughed again and reached over for his hand. you intertwined your fingers and kissed his knuckles.

“you wanna walk me out this time?” you asked, and he nodded, defeatedly. he got up and walked you to the door, still holding your hand.

as you were about to step out of the door, he pulled you back in quickly by the waist. “wait, just one more kiss? i’ve been through so much tonight,” he said, an exaggerated pout on his lips.

“oh my poor baby,” you said, the nickname making him weak in the knees. you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, kissing him just one more time.

one more kiss. just one that lasted a little well over a minute. when you pulled away, he groaned and complained but you were already walking away.

“text me hee,” you said over your shoulder, as you walked down the hall.

“of course, and hey, maybe you can come over and study or practice again tomorrow,” he said, shrugging his shoulders when you turned to roll your eyes at him.

[gojos-thot-patrol]

nanami kento, hope, “is it mine?” 💛💛💛

fun fact Nonnie, this was actually the phrase to activate my domestic fluff sleeper agent, so congratulations on finding that!

Now Presenting...

Starring: soon to be father Nanami Kento

Your heart was racing far faster than you had ever given it permission to. Honestly. When you first invited him over, you expected Nanami to brush you off. Laugh in your face and tell you to get lost. Honestly, you wouldn’t have blamed him. You were the one that left him high and dry, telling him out of nowhere that you had gotten a job in the states and you were going to take it. That you loved him so much, but you worked hard for your career and you knew he couldn’t leave Tokyo. 

He was devastated, but he didn’t try to stop you. He understood you had to do what was going to make you happy, even if that meant leaving him behind. And you really thought you were going to be happy! America may have sucked, but it was the first home you had ever known, and you excelled at your job! Things couldn’t have been better! In theory. While you should have been on top of the world, the bitter taste of losing your lover stuck to your lips. It made it impossible to move on. Still, you were determined to make your new life work.

Then everything changed.

You were lost in your thoughts when Nanami knocked on Satoru’s apartment door, sending you scrambling to open it. You were thankful Gojo agreed to vacate for a bit so you could have this talk. “Coming! I’m coming!” You called, before basically throwing the door open, startling Nanami a bit.

“Hi Nanami!” You smiled, catching your breath.

“Hey Y/n,” He said, eyes full of concern. “You ok?”

“Yea, yea, I’m ok!” You said, moving out of the way of the door and gesturing him inside. “Why wouldn’t I be?” He took one more good look at you before walking inside.

“You called me at 3 am on a plane to Tokyo, after only being in America for 2 months, saying you made a horrific mistake and that you needed me.” That was a week ago. Nanami was away on business when you called him, leading you to crashing in Gojos spare room while Nanami chased his own tail in Africa, praying to whatever deity that would listen that you would be okay until he could get to you.

“Oh, yea..” You muttered, rubbing the back of your neck, “Sorry about that..I was kinda having a moment. Fun fact I called you like, while standing in line to board.” You laughed. And buying your ticket the same day. It was very frantic.

“Y/n, whats going on?” Nanami asked, worry dripping from his soft voice as he took a step to you. He wanted to pull you into his arms, hold you close and assure you it would be okay. But, he wasn’t sure if that was very appropriate anymore. 

“I, um..” You tried to say it, you really did, “Want some coffee?” You smiled nervously.

“Sure?” Nanami more asked than said. You nodded and went to the kitchen while he sat on the couch. You came back with a cup of coffee for him and tea for you. He raised an eyebrow at it.

“When did you start preferring tea?” He asked. 

“Oh, I can’t really have a lot of caffeine anymore.” You muttered, taking a sip, “Health reasons.”

“Is that why you left?” He asked, resting his hand on your knee. You felt the tension start to melt from you at his small touch. You let go of the nervous breath in your chest and nodded, placing your hand on his,

“Yea, kinda.” You nodded, “I uh…I started getting sick, all the time in the morning, which sucked because I was also constantly hungry,” You laughed a bit at the cruelty of that, “I got headaches all the time and I was so like, moody? I guess? And then I started feeling tired a lot and my sense of smell got crazy good-”

“That sounds like..” Nanami started very gently, feeling his body tense with the apprehension. 

“Yea, uh, actually” You muttered before running quickly to the kitchen and running back. Gojo insisted on keeping the picture of the fridge. “Thats because it is.” you handed the photo to Nanami.

Kento stared at the ultrasound in his hand for what felt like impossibly long. Trying to process the reality of the small, fuzzy gray jellybean, swimming in a black sea. It almost looked like an alien, or an alien jellybean, and it was hard to believe something so small had the potential to be so life changing. His heart felt impossibly full as he imagined his life with this little smudge involved. He imagined the small moments, helping them with homework or showing them Mario Kart for the first time. Reading them to sleep and taking them to school, slowly discovering who they were and what kind of person they’d be. It was overwhelming. 

“Kento,” You whispered, wiping a tear from his eye. You were wreaked with the thought that they were tears of despair. Your gentle movement ripped him out his his day dreaming, and away from the ultrasound to look into your eyes. He held your hand to his cheek, and any thought that the tears were negative evaporated from your mind, like a drop of sweat onto a Texas sidewalk in the summer. There wasn’t a hint of sadness in his soft eyes, instead all they held was love and adoration. Hope overflowing out of him in the form of tears. 

“Is it mine?” He asked. It’s not that he doubted you, he just needed to hear it. The two of you had been apart for two months, but that didn’t take him out of the running to be the dad. It had to be him, he knew it was him. He knew his baby when he saw them. You smiled gently and nodded.

“You’re the only person I’ve been with in years Kento, if it’s not yours, its Jesus's,” You laughed. Nanami grappled you in what was possibly the most gentle tackle ever, hiding his face in the crook of your neck as he pulled you into his lap. You hugged him back as you giggled, , kissing the side of his head as you melted into his embrace. You hadn’t felt this safe and loved since you left, and you realized america was not worth giving up this. You had no idea what you were thinking, leaving the love of your life for a place that didn’t even have free healthcare. It was almost like you did it for plot reasons, it was crazy!

Nanami pulled away, and almost pulled you into a kiss before stopping himself. He needed to remember, he couldn’t really assume anything in this situation. “Whats the plan, darling?” He asked, looking up at you from the place you sat in his lap.

“What do you mean?” You asked.

“Well, what are we going to do? We don’t-have to be together to raise a child…” It felt like pulling his fingernails out of the beds to say it, but Kento believed in a womans right to her body and her future first and foremost. Whatever you wanted to happen would happen, without question or push back. Though, the soft spot in his heart hoped he already knew the answers to his questions. Why else would you tell him? Why else would you come back?

“Oh, shut up,” You laughed, shaking your head, “I want to start a life with you Kento, I want to start a family. If you’ll have me that i-” You didn’t have time to fully finish your sentence before Nanami's hands were on the sides of your head pulling you into an impassioned kissed. Honeyed warmth filled your chest and butterflies filled your stomach. You pulled each other impossibly closer, kissing each other like it was the last meaningful thing the two of you would ever do.

“I love you.” Nanami gasped as he pressed his forehead to yours.

“I love you too.” You whispered, placing a soft hand on his cheek. A knock interrupted the moment, startling both you and Nanami out of the bliss of your reunion.

“Can I come in? Is it safe?” Satoru called from the other side of his own door, making you erupt into a fit of giggles. 

“Yea, come on in Satoru!” You called. He ducked into the living room, and broke into a wide grin when he saw you sat side saddle on Kentos lap.

“You two seem close!” Said captain obvious, “So you guys are back together, right?!” You shared a look with Nanami, and then a smile and a nod.

“Yea, I think it’s safe to say that.” Nanami grinned. 

“I think so too.” You confirmed. 

“Yes!” Satoru cheered, raising up his hands in celebration. “Love wins yet again!” Look, he may have thought that love was the worst possible curse for him. That doesn’t mean he couldn't tell when his friends were genuinely happy. The two of you laughed with your friend before turning back to each other. Nanami pressed a loving kiss to your cheek.

“I’m so glad you’re back.” He smiled.

“I am too.”

[samyanggs]

Hi, how about Buddha and Loki with an S/O who copes with their shit mental health via energy drinks, coffee and escapism?They’re always reading and listening to music and daydreaming almost 24/7. They drink water, like, once every 2 weeks (if they feel like self-care) and they rarely ever actually eat or sleep because they feel like they actually have control for once in their life. They also have periods where they drop everyone and it’s near impossible to get ahold of them unless you into their room. q(❂‿❂)p

Hihii that’s a really good idea Ty for requesting! I’m sick(?) and haven’t gotten much sleep so sorry if this isn’t how you want it to be I’ll write headcanons since my motivation to write disappeared (I’ll write the stories later once I found the motivation to write haha)

“Except you.. you can stay..”

Warnings: none that I know of

My first time writing loki slight ooc I nearly fell asleep writing this, don’t be afraid to reach out to me for any reason, take care of yourselves <3

Buddha

Has to drag you out of your room if he wants you to spend time with him (with promises that he’ll get you more energy drinks, coffee and others much to his distaste)

Makes you sleep with him when he’s tired knowing that you didn’t sleep much

Sometimes joins you while you’re reading bringing snacks and drinks for you (most of them are water but you only drink the soda)

Often tries to help you with your mental health and offering comfort to which you allow but you argue that you still have your coping habits to go too (“those aren’t good coping mechanisms” “says who?” “Me. Buddha. A god.” “… no”)

Sometimes forces you to drink water by deceiving you into thinking that it was a soda. You always end up spitting it out at him once you realise

Whenever you’re on your period he comes over with some soda, snacks and necessities for you the only time he’ll allow you to drink soda is during this time because he knows how moody you can get

Doesn’t force you to go out with him because he’d rather be with you alone than outside with lots of people which you are happy with

Sometimes he has to lower down your music in your headphones because he can hear it loudly and he’s scared that you’re damaging your eardrums

He watches you as you daydream. About what? He’s still trying to figure it out. Often pulls you back to reality to remind you that you need to drink something because you end up daydreaming for close to an hour

He’s super happy whenever you drink water willingly and he helps you whenever you’re feeling like doing self care. A massage? You got it. A cuddle session? Of course! Anything you want when you’re feeling like self care

Loki

Loki reads with you when you feel like reading well more like he does whatever while you read keeping you close to him

Definitely tells you to drink some water when he notices it’s your 4th cup of coffee of the day and it hadn’t reached 12 pm yet

Holds you close while you listen to music and daydream because he likes holding you close to him

Reminds you to drink water at least once everyday and doesn’t force you to drink water (he puts water in some of your energy drinks and covers it so you won’t notice the difference because you’re too tired)

Pops over to your room every once in a while to drag you out because you haven’t seen the outside in weeks

He tries to argue with you about your coping mechanisms but always let you win because you’re too stubborn and he can’t get mad at you (“those aren’t good coping mechanisms” “are too” “are not” are too!” “Are not” “yes they are” “fine. But this isn’t over”)

You’re on your period? He’s staying locked in your room with you, he knows how mad and moody you can get when you’re on your period. He brings snacks and drinks for you as well as some necessities that he had to ask Aphrodite for help with because he’s a good partner.

Will lay down with you and help you through your moodiness by playing games with you and entertaining you

You finally decide to drink water? This man becomes your butler for the entire time you feel like self care he will do (almost) anything for you (almost because he’s a god and he still has some dignity)

[no1frogfan]

For love of the game

Takigawa Chris Yuu x gn reader

Word count: ~800

Tags & warnings: very vaguely suggestive language? (there are some good names in baseball), baseball lmao

Note: Been feeling unmotivated to write, so I decided to tap into my love of Chris and of irl baseball to do some dialogue practice. Thank u to the daiya server for motivating me and to @paleokarst for talking over the ending :*

“What’s that?” You give Chris a quizzical look as he steps through the front door carrying a large plastic storage box in his arms.

“Hello to you too.”

You pad over to give him the usual greeting kiss. “Yeah, yeah, welcome home or whatever. Now tell me what this is.”

“My parents found it while cleaning out their basement and I thought you might want to look through it together.” He sets it down in front of the couch. Reaching inside, he pulls out one of many smaller cardboard boxes and opens it to reveal a neatly-packed row of cards. “They’re my old baseball cards.”

“Seriously?” The box is in your hands in an instant and you immediately begin rifling through its contents.

There's a few minutes of focused silence until, “OH MY GOD,” you exclaim, brandishing a card at him. “This can’t be his real name. Dick Pole?! Dick. Pole.”

“Sadly, it is,” Chris chuckles before holding out a card of his own. “Here, I found one for you.”

“NO. His name is not Rusty Kuntz?!”

He snorts. “Actually, it’s pronounced KOON-tz.”

You erupt in cackles. “I mean…if my name were Rusty Kuntz, I would also insist that it’s pronounced KOON-tz.”

“What else do we have here— hello, what’s this?”

Glancing over, he sees you reach for a small leather binder. “Oh that’s where I kept my special cards.”

“Your special cards?” You tease, “god little Chris was such a little nerd.”

He rolls his eyes, pulling you closer to give you a peck on the head. “Well you’re the one dating me so what’s that say about you?”

“That apparently I like nerds,” and pointing to one of the cards, you urge, “now come on nerd, tell me what’s so special about this guy.”

“Ah, that’s Bob Gibson. He’s a Hall of Famer, probably the best right-handed pitcher in St. Louis history. He was good at fielding too, which is rare for a pitcher. He worked hard and led the team to two World Series wins.”

You flip through a few more pages. “Wow you have a lot of this Iván Rodríguez guy too.”

“Well, he was my favorite player growing up and maybe the best catcher of all time.”

“What makes him the best?”

“He’s a solid hitter and his defensive play is exceptional. He’s got unparalleled game sense and a great strategic mind. Um, he’s caught for some of the best pitchers of the era and he caught nine no-hitters. The only way you can have a no-hitter is if the battery works perfectly, so that means he was able to bring out the best in a lot of different pitchers. Plus, he was always fun to watch.”

“Is he why you became a catcher?”

“You know…” Chris contemplates for a moment, “that’s honestly never occurred to me. My dad was obviously the reason I started, but I played a lot of different positions before deciding on catcher. Dad was the one who suggested I try it — he thought I had a good understanding of the game — but you might be right, maybe I stuck with it because I wanted to be like Iván.”

You hum in response. “Makes sense. The way you described him…he clearly has a lot of qualities that you value as a player.”

It’s long past dinner time when the two of you finally tire of strolling down memory lane and begin to tidy up the mess of cards now littered across the couch cushions and coffee table.

“What are you gonna do with all of these?”

“Well right now I’m going to put them away. Then I’ll probably give some away and throw away the rest.”

“You’re not keeping any?”

“Nah. It’s not like they’re worth anything.”

“Well in that case, I’m gonna keep these.” You swipe the leather binder from the box before he carries the rest off into the storage closet down the hall.

“What do you think?” You gesture toward the refrigerator when Chris returns.

Some of the precious real estate on the fridge door has been tidied up, and a cleaned-up Rangers magnet now holds his signed Iván Rodríguez card front and center, nestled between memories. To its left is a picture of him with his parents and Coach Kataoka after his first game with Seidou. Below it is another picture of him and the coach, this time graduating from Seidou alongside the rest of his teammates. To its right is a picture of the two of you at his MLB debut game, your smile toothy and gleeful as you hold up the ball from his first major league hit.

A lump forms in his throat.

It’s just a baseball card, one fleeting snapshot in the collage of moments that make him, the values that shape him, and the people that support him.

It's just a baseball card, but he can barely get the words out. “It’s perfect.”

[meximango]

Day 11 - Surrogate - Cahsi/Y’shtola - PG

Summary: Cahsi needs sleep and Y'sthola convinces her that's an important thing to do.

Warning: brief reference to the 'in from the cold' duty.

“How long has it been since you’ve last slept?” Y’shtola slowly adds sugar to her tea, stirs, daintily sets the teaspoon down, then turns around to lean against the counter and takes a sip. 

Practiced nonchalant meant to ease Cahsi into a sense of safety, but she’s smarter than that. She knows this is a trap. The amount of time given to provide her a chance to answer, oh, this cat is devious. The question is not in any way an innocent one, so Cahsi will have to be careful with how she answers. Y’shtola is just as likely as Cahsi to forgo slumber in order to pursue a passion or research every once in a while, but she still manages to be more reasonable about giving in to her needs eventually than the resident Warrior of Light–who is keen on reaching new limits to foolishness.

“Oh, probably something similar to yourself, I’m sure. I’m wide awake, haven’t even had coffee today yet.” Cahsi injects as much sweetness and cluelessness as possible into her tone in the hopes her partner will drop it and not realize she’s lying through her teeth.

“Perhaps not today, but I nearly tripped over a frighteningly high pile of empty cups next to your desk earlier–”

Shite. Her messy nature has betrayed her once again. Who walks right by her desk anyway, she should know it’s a hazard zone! “Aww, how sweet of you to take care of them, thank you hon–” “They are in the wash basin for you to deal with later. I am not your maid.” “Of course. I will be sure to do that, before we run out of mugs.” Cahsi’s ears droop in disappointment. She hates doing the dishes. Maybe she can just throw the mugs out and buy new ones? Or pawn off the chore onto a retainer, even though that’s not in their job description? 

She didn’t actually think Y’shtola would wash all those cups–there really was quite a lot and some of them had loose leaves dried to them still. But still, maid Y’shtola. The mind does wander… “However, if you ever are in need of an idea for my nameday, a maid dress would not go unappreciated, especially one with a chest window and garterbelts–” “Please leave the flirtations for when you are not running on fumes, lest you hurt yourself.” Oh damn, shut down instantly. Ouch. She must be upset with her. 

Cahsi must make some sort of pathetic and likely pained noise without realizing it, because Y’shtola sighs and continues in a somewhat softer tone: “But. I will keep that in mind for the future.” 

Her slightest upward twitch of the lips makes Cahsi blush and want to swoon, but maybe Y’shtola had a point and any type of excitement is likely to drop her to the floor. She’s too tired for this. 

Of course, her partner has to ruin it by getting all serious-faced again, eyes narrowed in that authoritative way that Cahsi would love if it meant they were about to have fun, but she already knows that’s off the table. “Now, tell me the truth. How long?” “Please, Shtola. It really can’t have been that long.” Which is to say, Cahsi has not paid attention, and it’s likely a worrisome timeframe. “I can guess, if you’d like?” Why does Cahsi feel like she’ll get punished if it comes to that? She hurries to amend, “It hasn’t been long enough to truly affect me. I’m fine, as I said earlier! Also, I don’t keep track of things like that. I really haven’t slept since you’ve been back? That can’t be right…” By the breeze, and how long has it even been since Y’shtola got back? Cahsi has been so absorbed in her latest projects. Guilt begins to gnaw at her. “I’m afraid not. You haven’t joined me in our bed for the past two days. I understand we don’t always sleep together, but after one of us returns from a trip, you usually cling to me like a baby opo-opo. We may both get our heads stuck in our research, but is there more to it?” “I’m sorry for neglecting you. I swear I’ll make it up to you!” Cahsi blurts out. Does her lovely Shtola think she doesn’t care about her? She smothered her with so many hugs when she returned–that she does remember! 

“No, that has been fine. Neither of us need constant attention, and I can sleep alone just fine. it is simply a bit unusual for you, is all. As your partner, it is my duty to worry about you and ensure you’re kept in good health.” With that, Y’shtola sets her tea down and closes the gap between them to hold Cahsi’s face in her hands. 

Cahsi can’t help but melt a bit, even as she still feels chastened. “I truly do not know how long it’s been, Shtola. Thank you for your concern. It’s been four days, maybe? I wasn’t sleeping before you got back, either. There may have been some unpleasant dreams…“

“Oh, dear. Were you experimenting with the repose spell again? That always gives you the nastiest nightmares.” Cahsi places her own hands on top of Y’shtola’s and gives her a nuzzle. “No, not this time. These were just plain, old, nightmares. Or rather, memories. And ‘what-if’ situations. Scenarios that didn’t happen, but my mind could not stop thinking about how disastrously everything could’ve ended! I don’t know why my mind decided to wander there, but I’d been thinking about Zenos. About when he took over my body as his own and tried to fool you all into thinking he was me. I felt so powerless in that dying soldier’s body, trying to reach you all before he could…” She really doesn’t want to say it, and she doesn’t have to. 

Y’shtola bumps her forehead to Cahsi’s. “That must have been a terrifying situation to be in. I cannot even begin to imagine how horrifying it was for you. But please take solace in the fact that you are here, now, with me. Your friends are safe, and Zenos is dead. He did not win. You, my dear, strong, Cahsi, pulled through. As you always do. As you always would. I do not believe there is a universe where your resolve and strength would not have been enough to reach us. You must also believe in us, as we believe in you, Cas. You recall who saw through Zenos’ deception?” Cahsi turned enough to place a chaste kiss against Y’shtola’s palm. “You did.” “Of course I did. I would recognize your soul anywhere. So you need not worry about it. I will always see you, through any attempts at false imitation, in every universe. I will keep us safe in your nightmares. Now. What are you going to do?”

“Drink some more coffee and spend time with my lovely partner?” Cahsi answers sheepishly. She knows the correct answer, but she can’t help but feel a bit scared still, even as exhaustion threatens to take this out of her hands and collapse her into her partner’s arms. 

Y’shtola tuts. “Endless amounts of coffee is not a surrogate for sleep.” Her tone, as expected, brooks no argument. “Worth a shot. You’re right, though. I do need to sleep, for my own health’s sake. And those things I’ve been scared of didn’t happen. We made it and we’re safe. You promised to keep me safe… May I make a request?” “I believe you are about to ask me to join you in bed, and the answer is yes. Whatever it takes to get you some rest. I will bring some books to entertain myself after you fall asleep, if that is alright? It is too early for me to slumber a full cycle.” “Take as many as you need! This means a lot to me. Then once I’m fully rested and can think again, we can actually spend time together! The research and projects can wait until another time.” Once snuggled up in bed with every carbuncle plushie she could find brought into the bed with her, Cahsi turns to her partner and pats her hand. “Thank you, Shtola. I look forward to being saved in my dreams by such a beautiful and charming black mage!” Y’shtola chuckles and gives Cahsi a “It will be nice to have the cute and charismatic damsel swooning in my arms, I’m sure. Sweet dreams, dear.”

[sanasanakun]

I was reading your post about how Gortash is so polarizing in how people respond to him and while I don’t have an answer, I can weigh in on the side of thinking he’s attractive and not understanding some of the complaints people have. I try to see what it is that makes some people go ewwww no way but I don’t see what they do. For example a lot of people will say he looks dirty and I feel like I’m missing something completely. He looks unkempt but his hair looks shiny and clean and there’s no stains on his clothes. There’s scars and age marks and stubble on his skin, but I don’t read that as dirt (maybe I’m wrong)? His teeth aren’t perfectly white but thats the case for anyone who drinks coffee or tea so that doesn’t mean anything about hygiene. It also feels like people mistake his skin for just being dirty instead of not pasty white. Also when I see comments about “this guy must smell bad” and I immediately think of that journalist who made a remark about zendaya smelling like patchouli and weed because it feels like it’s coming from the same mindset and is sometimes word for word literally just that. This isn’t even touching on the fact that he’s got wrinkles and dark under eyes and signs of age and trauma that aren’t cute or superficial. I’m saying that the haters are all racist or ageist but I think there’s some biases at play and no one feels like they need to think about it too deeply because he’s an antagonist.

Yeah, I definitely agree with your takes here. I’m also someone who thinks he’s attractive and never really had a problem with his design. I don’t really care for the hair and think it’s a little goofy, but overall he’s very handsome (and the outfit is drippy af).

I will say that his model actually DOES have dirt on his face. Like those spots are the in game dirt feature (idk if that’s the right word). I’m not sure if that’s to have age spots or show that he’s a little disheveled, but yeah he is actually dirty in game lol but I’m with you in never thinking that he was dirty or smelled bad. But he doesn’t look like an archduke and I think that’s the point of his design; he’s a fraud and a tyrant (aka a bad leader).

And I definitely think a lot of the criticism for his design comes from racism and ageism. And I’ll preface this by saying that I’ve always read Gortash as being inspired by Turkish and Bulgarian people looks-wise. The constant insults of calling him disgusting or dirty make me side eye cause I do think it comes from his darker complexion and “unconventional” features that are more common in Türkiye and the Balkans.

Like I can only speak as a Bulgarian, but people in Western Europe treat us like shit. They call us dirty, untrustworthy, mafioso, ugly, etc. like Western Europeans fucking hate us. In America, it’s not as bad but we still have a negative image (in my experience. I’ve been told I’m poor and from a country that shouldn’t exist before). And I’m very white, so I can’t even imagine what it’s like for those with darker skin tones. So, I think people carry this bias against people that look like Gort and don’t think deeper about it when they say these things (or redesign him). I find it very hurtful tbh because I really loved seeing a character that looked like him. He’s very unique amongst the other character models.

And obvs, ageism is a huge problem that people also won’t confront with themselves. And all this combined with bad media literacy (imo) like they cannot get over the “young and handsome” part for some reason and it’s so annoying.

Anyway, I’m rambling and prob not making a lot of sense cause I’m tired lol but yes! I agree with you. Luckily, it seems like Gort has a pretty sizable fanbase and a lot of people love him! So, it’s not all bad. But I wish people would maybe think a bit longer about some of their opinions on him. Cause he’s a horrible person! But we don’t need to constantly call him dirty or disgusting or whatever. But that’s just where I stand on this whole thing.

[erigold13261]

*gives you fish cakes for Dagon*

I’m really sorry if you’ve already received this but for the OC ask series can you do 👀 for the Ieiri/Haibara fam please? Thanks! I need some fun facts about them after an extra hard day at work

*leaves*

"👀 Tell me more about [OC name]?"

*Dagon eating noises in the background* I did actually get this ask already, the problem is *whispers* I barely actually think about those characters so I don't really have anything new to add to them D:

I'll try to give you SOMETHING at least lol (pretty sure a lot of these will be stuff I already said before)

Touko (Shoko's oldest sibling) is probably going to be an object head. I think I got an ask stating one of them should be an object head, I don't know if they suggested the oldest or not, but that's the one I am choosing to become the object head. Most likely a glass lantern.

She also has some windows on her chest area. Like where clavicle bones are. Possibly some windows on the back. You can't really see into the windows (like you aren't going to see organs and stuff). They are gonna be pretty reflective of light as well as give off a slight light themselves (which also makes it harder to see into them).

For some reason I see her as the most upper class acting of the sisters. Maybe because of the guy she married, maybe because of her superiority complex of wanting to be better than her other sisters.

Probably would get along with Naoya greatly as Touko fits more into the "traditional" womanly role, and both are huge assholes.

Fuko (second oldest) is a chronically ill failed musician. I think it would be neat if she had some glass flowers on her body or in her hair along with the plant veins made of light going around her body (similar to how Daray has bone markings on his body, except Fuko's body markings are a lot more subtle).

I see her as having played the cello or double bass. You know, before she gave up on music from the lack of support around her.

Also, I just remembered she has 2 kids. She is so fucking tired. Absolutely has bags under her eyes and probably some wilted plant hair or something like that.

While Touko's kid is very well behaved but probably a little shit, spoiled by their parents and can do no wrong in their eyes, Fuko's kids are little shits because they are neglected by their mother who just doesn't have the energy to deal with them.

I don't have any ideas for Fuko's husband, but I think he would be at least a little supportive of Fuko, but not overly as he would still have a reputation with the families to uphold. He definitely pays for a nanny but doesn't let the rest of the fam know about it so no one looks down on Fuko for being a "failed mother."

Yoko is the second youngest. She becomes a scholar after breaking up with her fiance and joining Shoko at Jujutsu Tech.

I really love the idea that she, Yuki, and Nobara end up doing research together. Add in Jogo and possibly one of the trolls, and you have a fun little group that will get up to mischief just to test out some random ass hypothesis.

She has definitely gotten more free and happy after leaving the family and joining her sibling in disownment. Even after Mahito transfigured her she is happier than ever before.

Also, I think she likes coffee over tea. Her leaves can be used to make tea, so she was around tea a LOT growing up as her tea has some healing properties to it (not a lot, but enough to be noticeable). She's fucking sick of tea, and I would LOVE the idea that she gets into arguments with Bunny about tea as Bunny is a tea fanatic!

Speaking of her and Bunny, for some reason I just had the idea that her, Bunny, and Ilma can all be friends. Like it feels super unlikely given their personalities, but it would be super funny to see. (and based off an ask that Ilma and Kusakabe should at least be friends, I love the idea he is there hanging out with these three as well lol).

Now as for the Haibara fam... Again, I haven't really thought much about them.

The only real idea I have is that Yuzu (Yu's little sister) is more on the chubby side. Otherwise it is basically still stagnant from the last time I spoke about them.

Mom (Homura) is a fire elemental firefighter, and dad (Kanta) is a plant elemental who is a nurse.

Unfortunately, even after going to work and coming back home, I wasn't able to think of anything else for them. I think if I end up drawing them I'll end up with more ideas hopefully (whenever that will be because I am so fucking bad at actually fulfilling my drawing promises lol).

But yea, that's all I got for the Haibara family. If I think of anything else I'll use the first ask you sent in for them (or just randomly post my thoughts in a ramble).

[cuddlepilefics]

Coughing fit

Fandom: P1Harmony

Sickie: Keeho

Caregivers: P1Harmony

Prompt: @sicktember

No one’s POV.:

Keeho had been dealing with a runny nose for almost two weeks at this point, so none of the members were surprised when he went right back to sleep in the car as they headed to an extremely early schedule. He hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep the previous night and neither had Intak nor Jiung. While the leader’s cold had mainly affected his head and nose in the beginning, it seemed to have travelled down to his chest the past two days and although Keeho really tried to be quiet, always turning his face into his pillow to muffle his cough, his roommates witnessed most of it. “Is he okay?”, Taeyang whispered, nodding towards their leader. Rubbing his face, Jiung yawned: “He’s been coughing at lot last night. I’m surprised you didn’t hear him, the walls aren’t that thick.” – “I mean, compared to last week his condition is declining for sure”, Intak added quietly. Shaking his head in disappointment, the oldest sighed: “Not really surprising. He doesn’t get nearly enough rest.”

They were lucky to have a rather long drive to the interview they were attending, so Keeho managed to nap for almost an hour with Shota slumped into his side. Both Intak and Jiung also closed their eyes for the bigger part of the drive, catching up on the sleep they had lost the previous night. “Woah, didn’t think I’d actually sleep”, Keeho yawned, trying to sit up straight before realizing his dongsaeng was cuddled up to him, “How much longer till we get there?” – “Fifteen to twenty minutes maybe”, Taeyang hummed, giving the leader a sympathetic smile. It was obvious that the nap hadn’t helped him feel better in the slightest. The car was quiet with some of them at least dozing, so it was easy to hear the crackle of congestion as Keeho drew in a deep breath before carefully clearing his throat. It really itched but he didn’t dare cough while Shota slept against his side. The younger should get as much sleep as he could before the interview.

As soon as they got out of the car, Keeho turned his face against his shoulder, giving a chesty cough. He couldn’t help but wince at the pain in his throat and it were days like this that he wasn’t all too happy about his position in the group. Without having really tried out his voice that morning, the leader could already tell it would come out scratchy at best with how much he had been coughing the previous night and he wasn’t really looking forward to doing most of the coughing for the group. He had taken a generous dose of cold medicine before they had left for the day, which was probably the only reason he had managed to sleep in the car. A tired smile spread on his lips as Shota bumped their shoulders, quietly imitating a Minecraft noise, the younger simply knew how to cheer him up.

Keeho kept his eyes closed as he got his makeup done, the bright lights in the dressing room aggravating his headache. “Hyung, we’re going to get coffee, do you want us to get you a caramel macchiato? Maybe the caffeine will help you get through the interview”, Jiung asked after lightly tapping the leader’s shoulder. For some reason him and Intak were long since ready, while Keeho still had his face dabbed at. Squinting up at the younger, Keeho sniffled: “Really not in the mood for coffee but some milk tea would be awesome.” – “On it”, Jiung smiled, putting on his coat before heading out with Intak. The pair really needed their caffeine fix after the night they had had. “Why are they already done?”, Keeho muttered hoarsely, frustrated because his face was itchy, nose runny and he really didn’t feel like having his skin be messed with. Biting his lip, Taeyang hummed: “I don’t think you want to hear this but I’m pretty sure there won’t be any concealer left after your eyebags are covered. They simply look less dead than you.” He himself only needed his hair fixed and cracked up at the look Keeho shot him. They both knew he wasn’t wrong though.

Gratefully accepting his milk tea, Keeho took a sip and relaxed. It did soothe his throat, so he hoped it’d help his voice too. Shota was growing a little fidgety next to him, so he shot the younger a smile as he rehearsed his interview replies in his head. Keeho was impressed he even remembered them with the ever-growing headache but to be fair, this was far from his first interview, he knew what he was doing. As they went on stage, he had to suppress a wince as the light made his eyes water and for a moment he forgot everything he had just been rehearsing. Luckily, the interviewer guided them through the conversation well and after some comments about his voice sounding weird, they moved on from the topic of his health. About half-way through the interview, Keeho started to sweat. Has it always been this hot underneath the spotlights? His breathing started to pick up and he lightly fanned his face when he noticed the camera zooming in on one of the other members. Taeyang lightly touched his shoulder, wordlessly asking him if he was okay. Forcing a smile, the leader sat up a little straighter and somehow got through the last few questions of the interview well before heaving a sigh of relief when the cameras were turned off.

“Need air”, Keeho announced tensely as they walked backstage, the other members giving him questioning looks when he didn’t follow them to the dressing room. Wrapping his arm around the leader’s shoulders, Taeyang guided him to the fire escape, relieved there was one that wasn’t secured with an alarm. Stepping out onto the metal staircase, Keeho ducked his face into the crook of his arm and gave a deep cough. He had been fighting this off for so long, he felt he couldn’t breathe. Gently patting he other’s back, Taeyang hummed: “You’ve been holding that for a while, huh?” Weakly gasping for air, the younger glanced at him with watering eyes as his body shook from the force of his cough. When the fit continued, the oldest grow more concerned though. “I’m okay”, Keeho choked out between coughs but Taeyang didn’t seem to believe him. Rightfully so. The leader was growing increasingly shaky and when he reached for the railing to steady himself, the older grabbed his shoulders. Lowering himself into a crouch, Keeho rested his back against the building’s wall and rasped: “I’m okay, got a little lightheaded.”

He still kept coughing every few seconds, so Taeyang really wanted to get him some water, hoping the fit would taper off once he had something to drink. He didn’t deem it safe to leave Keeho alone though, seeing as he had just felt faint, so he quickly texted their group chat, asking for someone to bright them some water. It didn’t take long for the door to open, Intak looking quite worried as he handed Taeyang a bottle of water, who opened it, encouraging: “Try taking small careful sips.” Keeho shakily lifted the bottle to his lips and took a sip before clearing his throat.

With the occasional sip of water, Keeho was eventually able to catch his breath. “I feel wrecked”, he admitted weakly, his voice completely shot at this point. They had been outside for quite some time now and goosebumps were covering the arms, so Taeyang sighed: “Not surprising. Do you think you can stand? We should get back inside, freezing your ass off isn’t going to help.” – “Yeah, yeah, I can stand”, the leader muttered, struggling back to his feet only to sway for a moment as the blood drained from his face. Quickly grabbing his arm, Taeyang pulled him back into the hallway, where Intak took the other arm, so they could get their friend back to the dressing room. Keeho tiredly clutched his spinning head, slurring: “’M so dizzy, why the hell am I so d-dizzy. I wasn’t dizzy this morning.” – “You weren’t feverish this morning”, Taeyang pointed out, walking the other to a chair.

Collapsing into his seat, Keeho heaved a sigh of relief, which inevitably turned into another cough. “What are we going to do now?”, Intak asked quietly. They’d have to get to the next part of their schedule soon. Furrowing his brows, Taeyang hummed: “We don’t have dance practice today, which is good. Keeho, do you have any vocal practice today?” The leader shook his head, reminding: “We’ll have a bunch of meetings for the rest of the day. I can do that. There’s a bottle of cold medicine in my bag, so if I take that now, I should be functional till we get there.” – “I don’t really like that strategy but I also know that there’s no point in arguing, so…”, Taeyang sighed, handing the leader some makeup wipes, so he could clean himself up. Having overheard the conversation, Jiung brought them Keeho’s bag.

Taeyang measured out the right amount of medicine, watching the leader knock it back before changing into a more comfortable hoodie. His style was not completely inappropriate for the meetings they were about to attend but he’d also get a sense of comfort from his clothing choice. By now, everyone was well aware of how Keeho’s condition had deteriorated and kept the noise down as they filed back into the car. Lightly poking the leader’s side, Shota offered him a cough drop, along with a smile when the older accepted it. It was sweet really and Keeho, gladly rested his head on his dongsaeng’s shoulder as the fever drained what little energy he had had.

With his throat on fire, Keeho somehow made it through the meetings and was glad when it was finally over. Taeyang and Jiung had made sure there was always some water in his glass, discreetly refilling it when it got empty, so he always had something to sip on to soothe his throat. When Keeho walked out of the meeting room, he seemed surprisingly put together but excused himself to the restroom right away. Intak had wanted to remind him to take some water with him, figuring the leader was about to descend into another painful coughing fit but the older was already out of earshot. Seemingly having had the same thought, Shota grabbed Keeho’s water bottle and followed him. He cringed as he approached the door, already able to hear the other’s deep, chesty cough.

“Hyung”, Shota started, taking the leader by surprise, “You know, that really doesn’t sound good.” Patting his chest, Keeho held onto the sink and choked out: “I’m okay.” – “Sure, you are”, the younger said, rolling his eyes, “Want some water?” When Keeho nodded, he uncapped the bottle and handed it to him. Taking a sip, Keeho seemed to catch his breath for the time being and rasped: “Always got bad chest colds when I was younger. Yeah, it sucks but it’s always fine after a couple of days.” – “How did you handle that?”, Shota frowned as the older coughed into some paper towels, “Jiung-hyung said you barely slept last night.” Keeho dabbed at his watering eyes before responding, his voice giving away just how exhausted he actually felt. “Lots of tea, naps and endless movie marathons”, he admitted, making the younger laugh. Taking the leader’s arm to pull him back to the rest of the group, Shota giggled: “I’m pretty sure we can do that too. Come on, you can nap on my shoulder on the way back.”

That was exactly what Keeho did, the motion of the car surprisingly soothing. His eyes were still sticky with sleep when Taeyang tugged him out of the car, making him stumble. The oldest guided him to the dorm where he pushed him straight towards the bathroom, instructing: “Take a shower and try to breathe deeply, so the steam can clear up some of that congestion.” While Keeho sluggishly followed the other’s orders, the rest of the group got changed and started to prepare dinner. They had some soup ready when the leader shuffled out of the bathroom, sniffling into the cuff of his sleeve. Unbeknownst to him, Shota had informed the other members about how to take care of him and they had already piled about a dozen blankets onto the couch for a movie night while the tea steeped in the kitchen.

“Are you up for a movie or would you rather go to bed?”, Taeyang asked when they were done clearing the table. Clearing his throat, Keeho whispered: “I’d love watching a movie but please don’t blame me if I fall asleep halfway through.” – “Of course not”, Jongseob laughed, “We will make fun of you though.” That did make the leader chuckle. “Fine with me”, Keeho agreed and let Shota pull him to the couch. The younger was quite comfy to cuddle with, Keeho noted and clumsily threw a blanket over their legs. While Intak turned on the TV and they discussed what to watch, Taeyang handed the leader a steeming cup, mouthing: “Hot ginger tea with honey and lemon.” Shooting the older a grateful smile, Keeho lightly blew onto the tea and took a sip, careful not to burn his tongue. The drink felt amazing on his raw throat and the warmth made him feel drowsy, yet he didn’t want to go to bed already, far too comfortable surrounded by his group.

[lizardrosen]

To Expostulate What Majesty Should Be

@paysomeonetopaysomeone, @moonlarked, @gabriel-shutterson, @cleverclove, have some pre-slash claudius/polonius!

The younger prince faces much less daily pressure than the elder but you never know when an unexpected death may launch you to the top of the existing power structures, so he can never quite relax either. Claudius goes to law school, where he devours every book he can get his hands on. Like other statists he teaches himself to write fair — not only excellent handwriting but all the ‘verily’s and ‘thereunto’s and symbolic greenery and livestock.

He makes an effort to read up on national policies and how they have evolved over the decades so if perchance a reporter asks about it he won’t be caught wrongfooted and just panic and make something up. It brings him into contact with Polonius almost as often as his brother, just to understand the reasoning behind some article or decree or other.

He quickly understands where the councillor gets his reputation as tedious because he uses a lot of words to express some very simple ideas. But Claudius can’t be that irritated when he does take the time to keep explaining until he’s sure he’s got it, and doesn’t mock or scold him for not already knowing.

Whatever his personality, no one could deny that Polonius is excellent at his job. Claudius appreciates his insights and his intuitive understanding of how people all across the social spectrum work. It means that when he occasionally gets frustrated with his inability to corral his words Polonius can usually translate his meaning in a way that allows him to maintain his regal composure.

Their father certainly recognized his potential even when he was just starting out and made Hamlet promise to retain his services when it came time for him to assume the rule of the land. They make a good team: Hamlet’s military expertise, Claudius’s diplomatic flair, and Polonius’s sensitivity to the ebb and flow of public opinion.

It’s hard, though, being parentless. He must have known for a long time that when a position is hereditary the only way to get it is for the previous person to die, but it comes as a surprise to have it actually happen to him. Even weeks and months later he still weeps for what is gone and for the things he never even thought to say, but only sometimes. For the most part life just carries on.

“I’m tired,” he announces as he enters the lounge, and Polonius just points to a freshly-brewed pot of coffee on the counter. He adds a creamer to his mug and after a moment’s thought stirs in another. “God, you’re an absolute saint.”

It’s always worth it to show one’s appreciation, especially for someone so essential, and Polonius has a smile that spreads across his whole face when he’s really pleased. “Thanks, dear my lord!”

“But I’ll tell you what,” he groans as he collapses against the back of the couch. “If I never have to attend another budget proposal meeting it’ll be too soon.”

“Bad news, sir, we do this quarterly,” says Polonius and Claudius cracks up. It’s not like he doesn’t already know this, but there’s something about the deadpan delivery that makes it all seem much more manageable.

“I can’t imagine what all this would be like if I also had to worry about student loans like so many of my peers,” he admits. “Or medical bills, my god! Me, I could stop working tomorrow and I’d still have everything provided for me, but most people don’t get that security. It makes me feel like a fraud.”

“For what it’s worth, Claudius, I think you’re doing an admirable job. Most royals in history — that is, in European history, and the history of the nations that have been colonized, for that’s what I’ve studied and I wouldn’t want to speak definitively on those subjects with which I have only passing familiarity—”

Claudius clears his throat to get him back on track, but he’s fond of this rambling.

“Ah, yes, most of those royals I’ve mentioned have not put nearly as much thought into this as you have. Citizens have typically been considered in terms of soldiers and profit, while you consider the heart of the matter. You’ll be just fine.”

“Oh.” He’s genuinely touched by the confidence, and perhaps he blushes just a little. “Thank you. How’s Caroline been, by the way? Her due date must be coming up soon.”

Polonius nods happily. “End of May. Laertes is very excited to become a big brother, of course.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be great at it!” He’s never seen a kid so full of heart, and if they’re all very lucky he might even keep that enthusiasm into adulthood. Anyway, it’s good at least someone is good with small children because Claudius certainly isn’t, and he’s got a nephew coming by November. Even young Laertes is only barely getting to the age where Claudius doesn’t feel like he’s fumbling every interaction, and soon he’ll have to learn to be an uncle. He hopes he’s a good one.

[writingforfishes]

Otto and Atticus Chronicles Part 6: In Sickness

I've been working on this for a couple of weeks, actually. I didn't intend for it to take so long to write, but I kept getting stuck on feeling a little guilty with how much I was putting Otto through and how it was reflecting on my internalized shame for my kink and whump/sick fic leanings. I also just, generally, haven't been feeling particularly well.

As usual, exposition is just as long as the fiction. Feel free to scroll down until you see what you want.

Contains: Hiccups that are NOT pleasant Sneezes and the author's valiant attempt to describe those sneezes through onomatopoeia (Author does not have a snz kink but enjoys the aspects of snz fic) Coughing and descriptions of coughing Fever and descriptions of fever Body aches Sickness Whump Hurt/comfort Just a little sliver of backstory for Otto's alcoholism Discussion of arousal (a smidge) Mention of nausea, but no emeto No sex No self-pleasure Gratuitous stroking of hair and kissing of forehead

This is another work that was inspired by a prompt that was sent to me via message.

Otto being sick in bed with hiccups and Atty nurses him back to health as much as they can This fic has a LOT going on. Much Otto "torture". If any aspects up there in red are not your jam, please feel free to move on. I do plan on writing other fics focusing on fun hiccups in the future.

Without further ado:

***

It all started a couple of days ago when Atticus found Otto staring at his computer with a graph of numbers open. He was balancing the books of his clock and watch business. It was one of the few reasons Atticus ever saw Otto on a computer.

Their partner’s eyes looked a little glossed over as they twitched over the screen. It could be the blue light emanating from the computer, but he looked a little pale this morning. Also, there was a distinct lack of aroma in the house that Atticus didn’t fully recognize until they came into the kitchen and searched the countertop for a full French Press or Chemex that didn’t exist.

Their eyes scanned until they found both appliances on a drying rack beside the kitchen sink from the previous morning. They frowned. Atty knew they were up a little early, but they certainly weren’t up before Otto made coffee.

“You...want me to make coffee?” they said, elevating their voice so that Otto could hear it from the other side of the house.

“Huh?” Otto said, just realizing that his partner was in the kitchen. “Oh yeah! Sorry...got stuck on the books. I’m a little out of it this morning.”

As Otto projected his voice Atticus heard the hoarseness in it. But that could be easily attributed to him having woken up and not used his voice yet. Still, the clearing of the throat he did afterward was a little suspect. Atty side eyed at their partner’s direction from the kitchen.

After a while Otto saw Atticus coming from his peripheral with a steaming mug. He rubbed his eyes and cleared his throat again.

“Thanks,” he said shortly and put the mug on the desk beside his laptop to let it cool.

Atticus observed his movements and his face a little more closely. He was definitely pale. But, then again, that Irish-German blood he had kept him pretty pale by genetics. Still, he looked ashen. Atticus sipped their coffee slowly still studying him.

It took Otto a while to notice Atticus’ intense staring and he looked up questioningly.

“You feeling okay, bud?” Atty asked, keeping it light.

“Yeah, just tired for some reason. Took me forever to get up,” Otto said, idly scratching his chest and suppressing a yawn. He sniffed and rubbed his nose with his wrist.

Otto felt Atticus behind him, then, reaching to put an arm around his chest. He looked up at them, his head against their chest, and didn’t dislike the sudden physical contact but was a bit confused by the reason for it.

Atticus leaned their chin on stop of Otto’s fuzzy curls and then put their cheek against his forehead.

“Hm,” they said. Otto was just about to ask for clarification as to what Atticus had discovered when they spoke again, “You feel a little warm. Have you been sitting next to the window?”

It was sunny outside and the drapes were open allowing the warmth to filter into the living room. But Otto had been there in the shadow of the office desk seeing by lamps all morning. He shook his head no in response.

“You sure you feel okay? Headache? Sore throat?” Atticus continued.

“A little headache,” Otto admitted. Then he sighed. “Now that you mention it, I don’t feel great. My throat’s been dry. Aw man…”

Atticus chuckled, “Think you might be getting sick?”

Otto whined a little.

“Alright, time to practice this in sickness and in health part, huh?” Atty said.

“I’m kind of a baby when I get sick…” Otto admitted sheepishly.

“As long as I don’t have to change your diapers, I think I can handle it,” Atticus said with confidence.

“You say that now, but just wait until we become octogenarians! I mean, give me 40 ish more years and we might be changing each others diapers!” he said.

“Oh good. Something to look forward to,” Atticus said dryly. “I obviously request diapers with superheroes on them.”

“I mean, you’re small enough for the toddler si—ah!” Otto was cut off as Atticus pinched with excessive pressure into the side of his torso. “Uncle! Uncle!!”

“C’mon, man, really?” Atticus said, letting go.

Yes, Atticus would admit to there being a humorous height difference between Otto and them, but short jokes were a dime a dozen and Otto was better than that. Usually.

“It was kinda funny,” Otto replied, grinning with dopiness.

Atticus had glared and Otto had laughed, but it turned into what would be the first of many coughing fits over the next two days. It was a dry cough at first that then turned a little more productive at the end as the beginnings of mucous started latching in consequence of immune system battling.

“Oh yeah...definitely getting sick,” Otto confirmed, needlessly.

Otto didn’t really get sick, often. Neither of them did. Allergies certainly had their way, but a virus was rare. Atticus would laud their strong immune systems but, really, it was probably that both of them were homebodies if left to their own devices. Take away hikes, parks, coffee houses, and invitations to small get-togethers with friends and the couple’s social atmosphere was only broadened by work-related necessities, grocery store trips, and some really enthusiastic discussions about going on vacation that never led anywhere past imagining.

Otto had recently completed a pretty full day of home visits. Some of them were new customers and Otto would reflect that one of them had a small child with a runny nose. It didn’t take much to narrow down the source of contagion when the pool of social activity was so small.

The next two days Otto’s body mounted a pretty solid defense against whatever virus had decided to invade. His coughing had gotten into the realm where Atticus winced to hear it and how painful it must be. It barked at night to such a level that he had insisted on sleeping in the loft bed to which Atticus denied and they took the loft bed, instead. Though they frequently checked in and when he seemed calm, they would appear with a damp rag and wipe sweat from his forehead. He rarely stirred too much. His side table had become a clutter of cups and medicines.

His sneezing was so intense they thought he was going to crack a rib if he sneezed wrong. They’d heard his rapid-fire sneezing fits caused by allergens, but this was next-level. Atty wasn’t sure if the intensity of his sneezing coincided with the reason his hiccups tended to be fast, while day long returning bouts were hard, but there were similar nerves responsible so the writer thought it was probably not outside the realm of possibility for both to be caused by some anatomical propensity toward the respective fits’ severity having something to do with the vagus nerve.

When Atticus had mentioned the possibility Otto sighed in response, blowing his nose in a tissue as he had used all of his handkerchiefs (that Atty hadn’t hidden because having found several soiled crumples of cloth had traumatized them).

“I was never a fan of Vegas,” he had finally responded, looking blearily at his spouse with a snuff of his nose.

Atty looked at him with confusion until the pun finally dawned on them and they gave an exhausted eye roll. Otto being ill they could deal with but if there were many more puns like that they might just walk out. Otto, for his part, was pretty proud of himself for coming up with it through the heavy brain fog and dizziness.

Fortunately for Atticus, Otto’s illness stayed upper respiratory. He never had any nausea or other...downstairs issued, at least not that they had been privy to. Atty didn’t think they would be as able to hold themselves together if Otto was vomiting. Not that they wouldn’t still offer care, but it was certainly something they would’ve had more issues with. Mainly they would have issues with trying not to vomit sympathetically.

Otto was at least partially true to his word. He did not handle his symptoms with subtlety. He didn’t hide how crappy he felt. But Atticus almost preferred that. He wasn’t demanding, he just told Atticus how he felt and what he needed and, quite honestly, Atticus appreciated the straight-forwardness. Being able to care for Otto in the ways he revealed to them he needed was actually a relief. Him being able to voice how he felt made them feel safer in knowing how he was doing. Otto was nothing if not an eloquent speaker. The illness had dulled the ability to say his words with grace, but he was still able to get his point across.

“Can you...just stay with me?” Otto had said last night when his fever had started to spike again. His voice was wrecked, coming out a little wheezily and thin. His breath had quickened and that wheeziness increased with each inhale.

“I just...feel funny,” he’d continued. “I can’t...seem to keep still. And my bones hurt. Nothing feels solid when I touch it. I can’t keep track of things in my head. I’m kinda…I’m getting a little panicky I think. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to get this thing. I just...I’m feeling a little dizzy and...it would be nice to have you here. Touching me. So I don’t...so I can stay still?”

And, while he hadn’t meant to, the absolutely terrible coughing fit that followed the request would have convinced Atticus even if they hadn’t already planned on immediately agreeing. It was usually Atticus who asked for cuddles and physical comfort. Not that Otto didn’t appreciate physical connection, but Atticus seemed to crave it more. So being able to give back in a way that Otto did regularly was something the writer was more than happy to do for the clock maker.

So they both reclined on the bed and Otto put his head on Atticus’ chest, taking deep breaths to try and center himself as Atticus carded their fingers through his hair which was damp in sweat from his fever. They whispered encouragements to him until he finally fell asleep.

The next morning Atticus was up before Otto. The past two days had made this a more common occurrence. They were fixing coffee and eggs and pancakes. They were pulling out some fruit from the fridge when the stairs creaked. Atticus peeked outside of the threshold of the kitchen to catch their partner ambling slowly down, catching himself on the handrail briefly.

Otto hadn’t appeared out of their bedroom by himself since he’d gotten sick. Atticus would retrieve him to come downstairs and eat before ushering him back upstairs to continue resting with medication. This was a nice surprise that gave Atticus hope that he was turning a corner.

“You okay, man? You need me to help?” Atticus called as Otto paused in his downward journey.

“No, I’m good,” Otto said, voice strained and half-whispered. “Just need a second.”

With concentration Otto continued to walk, step by step, from the middle of the staircase down to the living room. Atticus met up with him and put a hand on his elbow as he shuffled to the couch to finally settle down into the cushions.

“You feeling any better?” Atticus asked.

“Yeah, actually,” Otto said, and cleared his throat again. He winced as he swallowed. “Ugh. I think my fever broke last night.”

“Tell me about it. I woke up sweating!”

“Ooh, sorry about that,” Otto said. He had a small coughing fit, but recovered, rubbing his chest and ribs. His ribs had taken the brunt of his sickness. Now that the headache that plagued him in the first two days had faded (and his fever had finally decided to release its grip) he felt the most pain in his ribs and throat. The fire he felt when he swallowed didn’t seem to be quenched by any sort of liquid. He hadn’t really shared the severity with Atticus, though. He’d already asked so much of them. A sore throat remedy seemed smaller compared to everything else.

Atticus must’ve been quick because when the fit ended Otto found a glass of water in his hand.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you aren’t feeling as bad as you have been,” Atticus said. They sat next to him and softly pushed his curls away from his forehead to give it a kiss. “I’ve been worried about you.”

“I know,” Otto said softly. “Thank you for taking care of me. I hope you don’t get this from me, though.”

“Nah,” Atticus said with confident bravado. “I have been doubling down on the vitamin C! I’m invincible!”

“You...know that’s not how that works, right?” Otto said, “Like, at all.”

“Shh! I’m invincible,” Atticus repeated, whispering it into Otto’s ear.

Otto gasped in a guffaw and laughed, it turning into coughing again to which he swallowed down some water to squelch. The water offered a small respite from the pain at least. He swallowed two sips of it as his partner asked him a question. He felt pressure in his throat build up.

“You want some breakfast?” Atty asked, moving toward the kitchen.

“Ye-heek-uck! Oh! Heek-uck! Oh, ow. Heep! Oh, this isn’t a good time. Herk-uh!” Otto started hiccuping and winced with every one.

Atticus turned around, an immediate feeling of arousal rushing to their nether but it was instantly subdued by Otto’s expression and comments. Then a look of compassion settled in their face as they stepped back toward him.

“These aren’t good ones are they?” Atticus said coming over and sitting down again, rubbing his back.

“No. Heeyuck! No, they aren’t. Heek-uck! It’s like h’meek-like little knives stab-heep-uh stabbing my throat hnk-uck my throat over and heek over again! H’yuck! Ow. Damn. Sorry hikk’l sorry they aren’t fun. Mk!” he said, grunting at the last one.

His nasal passages weren’t completely clear so he was having trouble keeping them inside. But with that last one he realized it hurt more to suppress them. His throat was raw and sensitive and every time his glottis closed and air pushed against it and his vocal chords it rubbed against the inflammation and felt awful.

“You don’t have to apologize for that,” Atticus said, quickly. “And, trust me, any arousal I felt when first hearing them is gone. So let’s cure them, okay?”

Otto’s hiccups squeaked in a way they never had before. They were the same pace as they usually were, but muted by the illness that had stolen the majority of his voice. So his hiccups cracked through this throat unpleasantly, airily, and squeakily. While the sounds would have been arousing had Otto not been in pain, Atty only felt pity as they watched him struggle and hold stiff to anticipate his next hiccup.

Otto nodded in agreement to curing them. He followed his partner into the kitchen where at least his nose allowed him to smell the coffee, eggs, and toast. For the first time since he’d gotten ill he felt his appetite triggered and, aside from getting rid of these demonic hiccups, he wanted nothing more than to eat what smelled like a delicious breakfast.

As Otto was set up with and then commenced it the steps of curing his hiccups; sugar, salt, and lemon; Atticus prepared both of their plates and also retrieved some Ibuprofen from the cabinet and tea from the pantry.

“I’m gonna make you this lemon ginger tea for your throat instead of coffee, okay? You want honey?” Atticus asked.

Otto was struggling through holding his mouth closed to let the sugar and salt dissolve individually. His nose snorted in air ineffectively and once or twice he had to open his mouth to catch a breath. Inevitably it would be when another hiccup would happen and he’d close his mouth around the contents of it again to continue the process. The squeaks of the hiccups he had let out were not only embarrassing but also painful. In the middle of his battle with the mouthful of salt, the one he despised the most, Atticus asked the question and he gave a little nod. Tea would probably be better than coffee, though he’d lamented not having coffee.

“You doing the salt?” Atty observed.

Otto nodded again, wincing as another hiccup wracked his body. He closed his eyes. This displeasure was only magnifying the pain in his sinuses and head.

“I’m so sorry you feel so bad, sweet boy,” Atticus murmured, giving his head a little kiss, as they went to the cupboard to get a mug.

Otto sighed in a moment of contentment at the gesture. Then he winced again at another hiccup. His diaphragm had definitely chose violence this morning and he was lucky that Atticus was parrying it with love.

Otto sucked on the lemon wedge. He hadn’t anticipated the acidic nature to sting his throat but it did. And when he salvaged some brain cells to consider it, the stinging made sense. His throat had been abused by the inflamed coughs he’d been prone to. If there was any abrasion the lemon juice was probably finding it.

He coughed at the irritation. The fit was interspersed with more hiccups. Thankfully the spasms were weaker than before so his ribs were taking less of the brunt but they didn’t go away entirely. He wasn’t sure if it was the lemon’s acidic sting or that the hiccups were caused by something his illness had let loose into his throat. Regardless, after the coughing fit he still found himself jerking and squeaking, though perhaps not as quickly.

A steaming mug of tea and a plate of eggs, toast, and sausage appeared in front of him. Four white pills were lined up on his napkin and he looked up at the handsome face of his spouse, brown eyes wide with care and worry.

“Dessert,” Atticus explained, pointing to the pills.

“How kind-heek!-uh,” Otto replied, rubbing his throat. His attempt at talking had come out more as a half whisper, the loudest part being the small squeaky hiccup.

“Damn,” Atty said, disappointed.

“Yeah,” Otto agreed. His body jolted with another squeak and grunt. He swallowed against the pain. “I think I’m gonna just-eep!-uh just have to wait these out. They aren’t as meek!-uh as bad as they were before though. I sound like a sq-eek!-uh SQUEAKY toy, though.”

He put his hand to his face at that last sentence and looked through his fingers to see Atticus trying to suppress a smile. When they were caught they shook their head.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I know you’re in pain, Otto, but they are...really...adorable. I know. I’m sorry…” Atticus sputtered.

“No-no. That heep!-uh last one was pretty funny,” the clock maker relented as he took another bite of eggs.

“Why do they sound like that?” Atticus mused.

Otto shook his head while he ate and shrugged. He grunted at the hiccups he had to suppress while eating and took a sip of the tea.

“Tell me if you need more honey,” the writer said.

“It’s good. Really-eek-uh really good,” Otto said. In the middle of a bite he continued, “Maybe meek!-uh maybe my throat being infl-eep!-inflamed is making them like this.”

The writer cooed and pulled a face of pity.

“Maybe you should have your dessert early,” they suggested, pointing to the neat row of ibuprofen.

“Mm,” Otto said agreeably and took the pills in his hand. He took up his water and threw his head back as he washed the pills down. He let out a soft belch followed immediately by another hiccup.

For once it wasn’t Otto that carried the conversation of a meal, but Atticus. The writer talked about inconsequential topics. They talked about what they’d submitted to literary magazines. They lamented the frustration at Mercury always seeming to be in retrograde. They revealed they didn’t even know what retrograde meant and, no Otto don’t tell them, they really didn’t care that much. They spoke of how much they’d miss the sound of the clocks when they went to the writer’s conference next month. And, yes, they’d miss Otto, too.

Otto knew Atticus was doing this out of both anxiety and also to distract the clock maker from his current situation. Otto smiled softly as he watched his partner babble, their expressive face animated as they used a fork full of dripping pancake to gesticulate. Atticus caught the look and the slow blink that accompanied it and paused.

“What?” Atticus said to the intensity of the expression. The last time they had elicited that look it was on their wedding day. So they were confused at the disconnect they perceived in Otto giving them such a sincere and loving look while they were battling to keep syrup from dripping down their chin.

“Just heeyup!-mm,” Otto started and winced, taking a breath and rubbing his throat. “Just grateful for you.” Another hiccup squeaked through his throat and tossed his chin down. He grunted and rubbed his eyes. Despite himself, he yawned, causing yet another hiccup to interrupt the act and he let out another soft belch as air escaped from being pushed in unexpectedly.

“Weird…” Atticus responded to Otto’s statement with a little smile. Then they watched him yawn. Atty considered their partner as he took a long sip of tea and rubbed eyes again with the heal of his hand.

“You’re tired,” Atty said.

Otto whined, “I just woke eeyup!-woke up!” His last word had completely muted, but was easily understood by his lip shape and context.

“Yeah, and your body still needs to heal. Wanna go back up to bed after breakfast?” Atticus asked.

Otto responded with a scowl not unlike that of a toddler. He shook his head no, the only sound being another breathy, squeaky hiccup jerking his head.

“Okay…” Atticus responded, bemused. They took a warm mouthful of coffee and swallowed it, not missing the way Otto’s eyes followed the movement longingly. Atticus snorted a little in their mug at noticing his expression.

Atticus continued, “Do you want to nap down here, then? I can sit on the couch and you can lay your head on a pillow on my lap and I can stroke your hair?”

Otto’s face took on that dreamy quality again, smiling as he nodded. Another shriek of a hiccup broke through and he followed that hiccup with another hearty sip of his tea.

“Your throat hurts too much to talk…” Atticus surmised in a soft voice, giving Otto a look of compassion.

“Yeah hyulk!-uh. Also just really tired,” Otto all but whispered back.

“My poor guy…” Atticus murmured, reaching over to grasp his hand momentarily. He gave it a squeeze back before they both refocused on their breakfast.

***

Atticus settled on the couch and fluffed up a small pillow they’d found in the loft bed. They’d laid out a sheet and blanket while Otto was using the restroom. When the tall man lumbered in he sat down gently on the couch, soreness from being sick still lingering in his joints. He settled himself on his back with his head on the pillow that sat on Atticus’ lap.

Otto let out a croaky heeyulp as he settled into a comfortable position.

“Oh, you still have them…” Atticus said, disappointed. They’d hoped the hiccups would’ve solved themselves quicker. They placed a hand on his head and started stroking his hair, running their fingers along his scalp in the process.

Otto sighed contently, only wincing when another obnoxious hiccup landed in his throat and chest. He nodded at Atticus’ discovery. At least his throat wasn’t hurting as much without the hiccuping. But as soon as he hiccuped he could feel a momentary sting that made him want to cough. The sensation of Atty’s fingers on his scalp was calming though.

“I wish they’d go away,” Atticus said sympathetically. They put a hand on his chest and rubbed his sternum in the middle lightly with their thumb.

Otto put a hand over theirs on his chest and took another deep breath between the spasms. He held their smaller hand in his and caressed it appreciatively. His other hand he settled on his stomach, feeling it bounce and convulse with each hiccup. At least they were incredibly slow compared to his normal hiccup fare.

“Me too,” he responded hoarsely before letting out a prolonged heeurp! “Ugh!” Laying down was encouraging the hiccups to change their tactic of attack, causing him to suck in air through his closed epiglottis longer than he was used to. He chuckled, though, the sound nearly imperceptible as it was just puffs of air. “Bet you never thought you’d heeyup!-oof! Um...you’d not want someone to hiccup?”

Atticus couldn’t help but feel Otto’s chest caving in with each of those elongated hiccups. They winced in unison with him as their husband’s body tensed up at the same time it spasmed.

“I don’t like it when you’re in pain,” Atticus said. “And if the hiccups are causing you pain then I definitely want them to stop.”

“I know heeyurp!” Otto said, tensing up again as hiccup drew through his battered throat.

“I wish they didn’t sound so funny, though. Cause otherwise this would be prime teasing fodder. You sound like a broken dog toy, man. I’m not kidding,” Atticus said, feeling Otto’s silent laughter jostling on their lap.

“Somebody get the number on that eeyup!-canine? I’d like to have a word,” Otto said. He heard and felt Atticus chuckle. And, yes, it hurt to talk but talking was kind of Otto’s thing. Then again as he gasped at another coughing fit perhaps he should hold back a little of that need to speak.

A warm thermos appeared in front of him and he took it, looking up at Atticus in question as he continued to cough.

“I made you more tea while you were in the bathroom. I also have water here,” they said and held up the reusable water bottle with the silicone straw, “and tissues!” And like a magician they brought up a box of tissues from the side table beside the couch.

After quenching his cough with warm tea and honey he handed them the thermos where they placed it neatly beside the other items.

“You’re pretty heeulp!-good at this,” he said.

“Thanks!” Atticus said jovially. “It’s actually not been that bad. Aside from seeing you miserable. You’re not as bad of a ‘patient’ as you think you are. I’m just glad you haven’t been nauseous. Throwing up is kind of my limit. You might have to deal with that one on your own.”

“Nauseated,” Otto said.

“What? Wait, you are? Crap, I have a waste bin for the tissues…” Atty said getting frantic to reach for it.

“No! Heeyup! No-no. I mean. Nauseated. It’s...nauseous means something that causes n-heeulp!-nausea. Like...spoiled milk is nauseous. Nauseated means feeling like your go-eeeep-uh gonna throw up,” Otto explained.

Atticus gave him an incredulous look.

“Seriously, dude?” Atticus said in disbelief. “You corrected my grammar?”

To his right, Otto did give a sheepish look in response.

“At least I’m not going to vomit?” Otto said, followed by another chest-caving hiccup.

“You are lucky you are so fucking pitiful right now, man,” Atty replied, but there was humor in the comment. “Those hiccups are bad enough. I’m glad you’re not NAUSEATED.”

Otto smiled, but then his face changed drastically. Perhaps Atticus had spoken to soon? But no, they recognized the desperation on his features and the way his eyelids shut softly and his arm coming up to his face to try and nestle his nose in his elbow before it all started.

He turned away from his partner’s body to sneeze forcefully into his elbow. And, knowing him, this would be the first of many. Another trait he’d probably inherited from his mother, aside from his hiccups, had been his sneezing fits. Allergies were hell and this illness had made his repetitive sneezing all the more powerful of an occurrence. Perhaps he had his mom to thank for all of his vagus nerve conditions, come to think of it. Alcoholism was another thing to blame on her, but that was a deep dive into a psyche he couldn’t allow himself to focus on as he was hit over and over with sneezes.

HIH’CHOO!HNK’CHNX!ETCH’chuh! HETCH’UH! ETCH’chuh!ETCH’huh!HETCH’chnx!CHUH!CHOO!

Otto stopped for a moment, panting to catch his breath. And then panting because he still felt a sneeze still building.

“Jeez, man!” Atticus said, stroking his head as if to calm him. “You done?”

“Nuh,” the clock maker said shaking his head. He was still turned away, and arm half-way up to catch the stubborn hanger-on.

“Look at the lamp!” Atty exclaim.

“Hunh?” Otto said, expression weak in anticipation of the next sneeze as he turned his blotched face toward his partner.

“I heard that if you look into a light it triggers a stubborn sneeze,” they explain.

“Huh,” Otto responded as he tilted his head back into the light bulb of the lamp beside the couch. He squinted but then gasped, shoving his face back into his elbow as his entire body convulsed with the power of the last sneeze.

HNK’KCHNX’CH’YOOO!

A coughing fit immediately followed, one of his worst. He felt his partner’s hands on his shoulders lifting him a little.

“C’mon, sit up a little, sweetie,” Atticus cooed. They grabbed the tissue box and beverages from next to the couch and put them in Otto’s lap now that he was upright.

Otto grabbed the water first. The coughing had been so deep that it felt like it was digging into his lungs like knives. Then he hocked and spit whatever had become lodged in his throat in a tissue. THEN he used tissues to purge his sinuses of the result of his explosive sneezing.

He balled up tissue after tissue as he forced more and more gunk out of his body’s upper respiratory system. He felt Atticus’ hand rubbing circles on his back. When he was satisfied he’d gotten all potentially gross liquids out of his facial hair and away from his nose and lips he looked back at them, eyes lined in red and nose and cheeks flushed. Even his lips were bright red with the effort and strain of the coughing and sneezing fits.

“Trash bin?” he croaked.

“Behind you on your side, sweetie,” Atticus said. They moved the bin a little closer with their foot as they watched him toss tissue after tissue in.

Otto took a long drink from the tea before handing that, the water, and the tissue box back to Atticus. He then settled wordlessly back down on Atty’s lap, pulling the pillow underneath his head and turning his face to snuggle into his partner’s soft midsection. He took Atticus’ hand and placed it back on his chest, rewarded with Atty stroking their thumb in the center as he covered his hand with theirs.

Atticus felt Otto’s nose nudge into their abdomen. They occupied the hand not taken by Otto to hold on his chest with the clock maker’s hair and scalp.

“I think your hiccups are gone,” the writer whispered after a moment.

Otto took a big breath and let it out slowly.

“Yeah,” he replied, the word imbued with relief.

“But maybe violently sneezing and coughing isn’t a cure we need to implement for future cases…” Atticus mused.

Otto coughed out a laugh, warm breath against Atty’s stomach.

“Nuh-uh,” he agreed emphatically. He snuggled further into the softness of his partner’s belly. It was so comfortable and warm. He could feel their heartbeat on his forehead. He could smell Atticus’ scent, a smell that was purely theirs. It gave him comfort as he felt himself become fuzzy and disconnected to consciousness. Soon he was asleep.

Atticus watched Otto as the profile of his face relaxed and his lips parted softly. The redness that had blotched his face earlier from his sneezing and coughing had lessened to reveal the freckles that littered across his cheeks. Soon the clock maker started twitching ever so slightly. His congestion gave him a soft snore that ebbed and waned with each breath. He lightly tugged at Atticus’ hand unconsciously, pulling his fingers around it more fervently before relaxing again. He pulled his legs up to rest his knees on the back of the couch then down again. Then one leg bent and one straight. Atticus watched the dance of their partner, completely immersed in his sleep journey. They were invested in following his movements until the writer found their own eyes growing heavy.

Atticus dozed, their head on the back of the couch, while Otto slept. The morning had already taken so much energy. Otto would recover in the next day, though his voice would take longer than he would like. Atticus would, in fact, contract the same illness. Though they would only have to suffer it for one day, a fact Otto would seemingly never stop complaining about the unfairness of. Though he would begrudgingly admit that having Atticus dependent on him was surprisingly fulfilling. Even if it was only for a day.

[clunelover]

Agh I had a bad phone call with my dad. So background is - my sister from NC was here for thanksgiving with her GF. She got in Thursday morning and left early Sunday morning. We had thanksgiving of course, and then Friday I had been planning to go out on the town with her and my other sister and their SOs. But everyone got too drunk on thanksgiving and we were tired and mutually agreed not to go out. But I did still see her Friday, just more low key dinner and arts and crafts at my stepmom’s house. Then Saturday I was supposed to go to a comedy show with her and her gf - but that was the day I just kept feeling shittier and shittier, and then tested myself for covid, and sure enough positive.

A few days ago he said he’d like to go to coffee with me, his treat (🚨🚨🚨). I said I was still recovering from covid and wouldn’t be up to it. He said let’s talk on the phone. My assumption was that I was in for some kind of lecture, and of course I was! It basically went like:

Dad: “I wanted to reach out to you, cause I’m disappointed that you didn’t get a chance to connect with [sister] while she was here. And [sister] and [stepmom] both told me that you’ve been suffering from a lot of anxiety. And you know, when I was your age, I was scared of the world—”

At which point I just started saying “Stop. Stop. This is not helping. Do you understand that the reason I didn’t see her on her last night is because I had covid? Which I am still recovering from?”

And he said “oh, Meredith…I know” but in this patronizing tone like he thought I was making it up.

I said “Does that not count?”

And he said “well, one doesn’t rule out the other” (ie having covid doesn’t mean I’m not ruled by anxiety).

So then I said “Yes, I do have anxiety. But I have a therapist and a psychiatrist. I have supports in place. I don’t need you to tell me how to deal with my anxiety.”

And he said “All I said was that I wanted to reach out to you. So, I’m sorry I did.” And then he quickly got off the phone.

—

I was furious and so sad - but also proud of myself for stopping him before I could hear the lecture. Also by the way, he is always so hurt that I don’t want to see him much or talk to him on the phone - ahem, this is why! I cannot trust that he’s not going to do something like this. Or be high (actually, credit where credit is due, I landed into him once for calling me high on weed and he never did again that I know of - but the point is I just still can’t trust him).

—

So I texted him this:

Dad, I’m sorry I got reactive. I do suffer from anxiety, among other things. And I appreciate your concern. I know you want me to be happy and healthy. But I don’t think you understand that when you start off with “you know, when I was your age, I was scared of the world” - it really seems like you were gearing up to give me a big lecture about all the things you’ve learned, that you can teach me. I would love to be supported by you, as a dad - but you often come at it from a perspective that’s more professorial, like you’re an expert on all things mental health and recovery and you’re going to lecture me into being better.

But, from my perspective - I am a very successful person, with a great family, who has excelled in my hobby of writing and been achieving more in that area lately, and who also suffers from several mental illnesses. This is my struggle, and it will be a lifelong one with ups and downs. And I do think I’ve done a pretty good job of putting the supports in place in my life to deal with this! I am not scared of the world. I also want to gently say that one thing I’ve worked on in therapy, is this pervasive feeling that someone is always mad at me. And that is a feeling I got from childhood - from mom, but also from you. Just now you reinforced this idea, that you are observing my behavior and disapproving and gearing up to lecture or yell at me. This is how I felt growing up, so admittedly it’s a trigger.

I could use your support in the form of, I don’t know, just being there for me - listening if I want to talk, but otherwise trusting that I don’t want to get most of my mental health support from my parents. And not lecturing me. Even if it’s coming from a really well intentioned place, I don’t think it’s ever going to land with me. Does that make sense?

—

He just replied with a few brief words of apology, but the more I think of it, the angrier I am.

I’m like, okay I’m sitting here with a masters degree, a great career, a really nice house, a loving husband, a couple of smart, sweet, and fairly well raised kids, a few close friends and a couple passions and hobbies - but he makes me feel like I’m not living right somehow. I have struggles, big ones, but I must be doing something right!

I think part of it must be jealousy - like, he’s a thrice-divorced, recovering alcoholic and drug addict with PTSD, who has a PhD and was a professor and expert witness, but has been unemployed due to physical disability but also those other issues, for quite some time, and now lives in a studio apartment and drives Uber. I’m sure it’s hard for him to see me having some similar mental health issues but be more stable and successful. When I moved into this much larger house I think all he said was “won’t it be hard for you to keep this place clean?” But it sucks that he doesn’t process that, and instead gives in to this urge to feel better by taking me down a peg. And that it still works on me! He makes me feel like I’m a bad kid who did something wrong!

[dearfuturehusbandblog]

Update On Not Sleeping: I Sleeped

Dear Future Husband, 

So, Friday night I took a generic sleep aid. 

I rarely use these, but when I do, I never take the official dosage (usually like a half a pill, which is 1/4 of a dose) and I’ve only ever experienced help falling asleep, not actually staying asleep. So I’ll wake up at like 6am to go to the bathroom and then just be wide awake for hours. 

But I was practically falling on my face after dinner, having gone like 48 hours with no sleep and was afraid when I got into bed I’d be over that sleep hump and just be wide awake and unable to sleep again. 

Which kind of happened. 

I had to make my bed, and I think the process of like changing to pajamas, brushing my teeth, and making my bed “rewoke” me and when I actually got into bed, I was no longer yawning and just staring at the ceiling wide eyed. 

So I took the sleep aid. 

But since it wasn’t even 12am yet, and I didn’t want to wake up at like 4 or 5 in the morning and be wide awake with no reasonable time to take another sleep aid, so I took the full dose. 

You guys. 

I’m not a drug person. 

And by that I mean both recreational and medical.

I was pumped full of garbage when I was a kid and as an adult I have a major aversion to all of it. 

As a kid I got migraines all the time and my parents had me taking adult dosages of excedrin and/or advil. When I was sick, it would be buckets of cough syrup or benadryl or sudafed. 

And I’ve come to realize that most of it is unnecessary. If you eat and drink properly, colds go away on their own. And my migraines never needed adult dosages of anything. These days I take ONE advil liquigel and that’s generally sufficient. If not, I take a second. As a kid, my parents had me on FOUR. EVERY SIX HOURS. 

And for the record, no they never asked a doctor. 

And no, they never told my doctor. 

So as an adult, I avoid medications whenever possible. For infections/allergies or skin irritations or something that requires antibiotics, I get it and I’m on board. Everything else can go jump in a lake. We overprescribe for everything these days. I mean, I don’t even generally drink alcohol aside from the arba kosos on Pesach. 

But this means that in general, my body isn’t used to the affects of these things. 

Also the expiration date was 2017 so I have no idea how that affects the diphenhydramine or whatever it is. 

And I took the full adult regular dosage of 2 pills because I didn’t want to wake up at some ungodly hour and be stuck wide awake when I needed to sleep.

This meant that I fell asleep before midnight and woke up just before noon. 

But here’s the problem: I drank a lot of water before I went to sleep and I’m guessing I didn’t wake up at all in the middle of the night because it got into my dreams that I needed to go to the bathroom and in the dream I was having when I woke up, I was going to the bathroom. 

Things didn’t get that far in real life (thank god!), but when I woke up, I had to RUN to the bathroom, which is something that never happens to me. Like ever. Probably TMI here, but I generally have a strong bladder and can hold it for a while, unlike the rest of my family. 

Anywho. As long as I was up, it felt stupid to crawl back into bed, despite still being so tired. So while I was up I brushed my teeth, got dressed, went out to the living room, said hi to BigSis, sat down on the couch with a book and.... promptly fell asleep again. For another six hours. 

Y’all. I slept about 18 hours on Shabbos. 

I mean, I guess I needed it but dang. 

I wasn’t in a comfortable position, so I kept waking myself up with snores (another thing I don’t generally do), and each time MotherLivelyHeart and BigSis were at different stages. At one point MLH had just come out for coffee. Then they were setting up for lunch. Then they were eating lunch (I missed the whole kiddush/motzei part). Then lunch was over and BigSis was reading and MLH was laying down. Then BigSis was asleep. 

It was like the passing of time in between stretches of trying to get this drug out of my system. For the rest of the day, it was still making me not process things well. 

So crazy. 

And... that’s kind of it. 

I was kind of wired again last night when I tried to go to sleep, so I took another sleep aid, this time just the 1/4 of a dose I usually do, and got 6 decent hours of sleep. So I’ll probably stick with that dosage going forward. Though I may experiment with a 1/2 dose, just to see if I can get something between 6 and 18 hours of sleep. lol

Now, if only I can regulate that and get onto a normal sleep schedule for the first time in my 30+ years on this planet...

That’ll be the day that pigs fly, I’m sure. But if it does happen, I’ll probably make an update. 

For now, I’ve learned that drugs and I do not agree. And I’m generally fine with that.

-LivelyHeart