#okay I dunno it’s the flu

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

It's a satanist thing, you wouldn't understand

Written for the Kissing Booth bonus card of the @steddiebingo

Prompt: First Date

Words: 2,067 [also on AO3]

Rated: T

Tags: Post-Vecna; Everybody lives; Established relationship; Good babysitter Steve; Good babysitter Eddie; Sexual harassment (mild); Bullying; Implied sexual content; Eddie Munson is a little shit

“Lucas, do you copy? It’s Steve.” 

It takes approximately two seconds for Lucas’s voice to crackle back over the walkie, which probably means he had it lying on the nightstand right next to him, waiting for updates.

“I’m here. What’s the status?”

“Well, the good news,” Steve says, keeping his eyes trained on the movie theatre across the street so that he doesn’t have to look at Eddie sulking in the passenger seat, “is that they’ve made it to the theatre, and everything looked perfectly fine. All hands stayed where they’re supposed to be and he even held the door for her.” 

“Okay?” Lucas sounds far less elated at that than he hoped he would, but that might be the effects of the flu. “What’s the bad news?”

Steve sighs. “Well, she saw us.”

The static hum of the line is loud in the ensuing silence.

“Oh. How did that go?” 

Eddie snatches the walkie from Steve’s hand. “How do you think it went, Sinclair? She told us to, and I quote, get our sorry asses outta there and tell Lucas to stop poking his germ-infested nose into her affairs.”

“Don’t mind him,” Steve says, wrangling the walkie back and leaning out of Eddie’s reach as far as the limited space of the Beemer will allow. “He’s just grouchy because he won’t get to see Tom Cruise mixing cocktails.”

“So you’re out-... sorry, one moment.” Lucas interrupts himself for a speaker-rattling sneeze. “You’re outside now?”

“Yup, in the car. You want us to try and sneak back in or-”

“No, leave it. You know what she’s like. Just … can you stick around, just in case? I don’t have a good feeling about that Todd guy.”

Steve rolls his eyes fondly. “Sure thing, Lucas. You go back to sleep, we got this. Over.” 

“We got this?” Eddie repeats as Steve puts the walkie back on the middle console. “What exactly have we got, Stevie? All we’re gonna be having is a stiff neck from sitting in your fucking car and watching the stupid theatre for hours, and all because you can’t tell these kids no for-”

“Oh, as if you could,” Steve says. “Cut Lucas some slack, it’s his baby sister’s first date, and he’s worried.”

Eddie crosses his arms and sulks back into the leather seat. 

“Dunno what he’s so worried about. I’ve seen his baby sister fend off two grown demogorgons with a broken chair, you’d think she’d be perfectly capable of handling the pitfalls of teenage dating life, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh yeah?” Steve snarks. “And what would you know of teenage dating life?”

Eddie shrugs, unimpressed, leaning over into Steve’s space with a wide, lecherous grin. One ring-clad hand reaches out over the middle console to brush his thigh. 

“Touché, my king. All I’m saying is I can think of more fun things on a Saturday night than- … What?” 

Steve, who has bolted upright in his seat and started making frantic shushing motions, points at something outside. “Look!” 

Sure enough, the doors of the theatre have swung open to reveal none other than Erica Sinclair. Without sparing as much as a glance at Steve’s car, she stomps over to where her bike is leaning on the corner of the building. Even from the distance, it’s glaringly evident that she’s fuming with rage. 

“That isn’t good,” Steve mutters, already pushing open his door. From the corner of his eye, he can see Eddie follow behind him as he hurries across the street. “Erica? What’s wrong?”

“Go away,” she barks, dragging the bike around and out into the street, but Steve positions himself in front of her and Eddie to her side.

“Oh no, young lady,” he rumbles in his best, strict DM voice. “The man asked you a question. What the hell happened?”

“I got thrown out, okay?” she snaps, but she doesn’t meet Eddie’s eyes like she normally would. Instead, she seems weirdly interested in the colorful streamers hanging off her handlebars. “No big deal.”

Steve feels his jaw drop. “No big- … Thrown out? How the fuck did you manage that?”

She shrugs petulantly. Steve puts his hands on his hips. She draws a long, exasperated breath, letting the words rush out on the exhale in one long, near incomprehensible string. 

“Todd asked if he could kiss me, I said no, he tried to sneak his fingers under my skirt, I said to keep his hands to himself, he said he wouldn’t wanna kiss a satanist freak anyhow, so I decked him. Happy?”

Steve isn’t happy. Steve is very far from happy, in fact. He’s aware that Erica is staring at him, eyes weirdly shiny, and that Eddie has gone very still and pale by her side, but he can’t say anything because his throat is closing up and his vision is slowly filling with dark pinpricks of red. His hand is curling and uncurling by his side, longing for the familiar feel of a bat or ax or anything else to swing.

“I’m sorry,” Erica says, but she’s talking to Eddie now. “You shouldn’t still have to deal with all of that, it’s fucking horrible.”

Eddie smiles, bold and brave and beautiful, lurching forward to pull her into a hug. It ends up a bit awkward since her bike is still wedged between them, but she allows it without so much as a scoff.

“Aw, m’lady,” he coos, but the look he shoots at Steve over the top of her head is sharp as a blade. Steve feels a shiver run down his spine. He knows that look. It means Eddie has a plan, and neither hell and all its devils nor an overprotective boyfriend are gonna keep him from seeing it through. “Ever the valiant one, looking out for little old me and what small sliver of honor I can still call my own. However … it’s your honor that has been insulted here, and that’s the far greater slight.” 

She shrugs, pulling out of the hug. “Well yeah, but-”

Eddie holds up a hand. 

“Ah-ah-ah! Don't give me buts, I don't like buts.” 

She quirks a brow at him. “That's a lie and we both know it. I've seen how you look at Steve's.” 

“Hey,” Steve sputters, “I'm right here, you know?” 

“Be that as it may,” Eddie concedes. “Methinks we cannot let that vile scoundrel go unpunished. What say you, good lady and fine sir?” 

Steve would like to say that a scoundrel sounds like a small woodland animal, but he doesn’t. He knows better than to argue with them when they get like this.

*

Steve hangs back in a doorway as Eddie asked him to, so he can't be entirely sure if the squeal that reaches his ears when Todd rounds the corner comes from the tires of his bike or from the boy himself. Maybe he wasn’t that far off with small woodland animal after all.

“What do you want?” Todd barks at Erica, once he's over the initial shock. Even in the low light of the alley, Steve can see the bruise under his eye. He has to give it to her, she got him good. Then again, he never expected anything less of her. “I thought I told you to get lost.”

She squares her shoulders and juts out her chin, fearless as always, but before she can reply, Eddie peels himself from the shadows and joins her. 

“My, my. You were right, m’lady. He really does show an alarming lack of manners.” 

Todd's eyes grow large with shock, but he's quick to slip his cocky facade back on. His knuckles have gone white around the handlebars. 

“What is this?” he asks Erica. “You can't take care of your own shit so you go crying to your cult leader to-”

Eddie tuts. “Watch your words. That’s alleged cult leader to you. They were never able to prove me anything.” 

“Whatever,” Todd scoffs. It comes out a little wobbly because his voice has gone about half an octave higher. “I don’t have time for this shit.” 

He tries to get back up on his bike, but Eddie steps into his way. 

“Oh, but we’re not done yet. You still need to apologize to Lady Applejack here for your uncouth advances.”

“Lady Apple-” Todd says. “What the hell?”

Erica shrugs. “It’s a satanist thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

Steve can practically see the mental gymnastics Todd’s brain is performing while he tries to decide whether or not she’s serious. Sweat is starting to bead below his hairline and his mouth moves silently. 

“I dunno what she told you,” he finally says. “But I didn’t do-”

“No means no, dude,” Eddie rumbles. “And if nobody has taught you basic manners yet, maybe you’ll need to learn the hard way. I’ve cursed off people’s dicks for less, y’know?” 

Todd goes almost comically pale. 

“You wouldn’t-” he stammers. Steve didn’t think his voice could go any higher, but here they are. “That’s not- … You’re bluffing! You can’t do that!”

Eddie smiles. His teeth are bright in the dark of the alley. 

“Maybe I can and maybe I can’t. Would you like to find out?”

Todd gulps. Looks at Erica, then at Eddie, then at Erica again. Eddie makes a show of flicking an invisible speck of dust off his skull ring. 

“Okay, jeez, I’m sorry!” Todd blurts. “Will you freaks let me go now?” 

“M’lady?” Eddie asks. 

Erica ponders this for a moment. “Could’ve been more heartfelt, but I’ll let it slide. I’m feeling generous today.”

Eddie steps out of the way with a dramatic flourish. “You may pass, my man. I'd say my good man, but you'll understand I have my doubts.” 

Todd grabs his bike and roughly shoulders past him. 

“Whatever,” he grumbles. “This is such bullshit.” 

He's just about to swing himself into the saddle when he sees Steve leaning in the doorway. 

“Wait a minute,” he says. “You're that Harrington guy. Your picture’s in the trophy case at school. You were, like, on the swim team and the basketball team. Why are you hanging out with those sickos instead of stopping them?” 

Steve catches Eddie’s gaze. Then, casting nervous glances in all directions, he leans forward, cupping a hand to his face to shield his words. 

“Dude, I'd love to help you, I really would,” he whispers. “But I gotta do what he says if I want my dick back.”

Todd lets out a rush of air that is somewhere between a flat tyre and the whimper of a frightened animal. A distinct hue of pale green settles over his nose. Then, without so much as a glance back, he jumps on his bike and pedals off into the night. Eddie watches him round the corner, then waits another two or three seconds for good measure before he starts howling with laughter. 

“Jesus, look at him run! What a loser!” 

Erica huffs and crosses her arms. 

“Can’t believe I used to date him,” she jokes, but it comes out rather half-heartedly. She clears her throat, eyes flicking between Eddie and Steve, who has stepped out of his hiding place to join them. “You sure this was a good idea? He might talk …” 

“Not if he values his dick, he won’t,” Eddie says, and gives Steve a slow, pointed wink. “Didn’t know there was a secret drama nerd lurking under all that hair, Stevie.” 

“Well,” Steve rolls his eyes, even as his face heats up from the praise. “There's a lot of stuff you haven't found out about me yet.” 

Eddie's smile grows sharper. 

“Hey,” Erica shouts from the exit of the alley and they flinch apart. “Is one of you dorks gonna help me put my bike in the car or am I supposed to do it myself?” 

Eddie takes one look at Steve's scowl and snorts. “Guess we're on chauffeur duty again.” 

“Guess so,” Steve sighs. “C'mon, let's get going.” 

As they make their way to the car, Eddie leans into his space and slips a hand into his back pocket. 

“My place after? I think I just heard something about you having to do everything I say?” 

Steve chuckles. “Yeah. If you'd listened a little better, you'd have heard that I'm also missing a vital part right now, so…” 

“Oh, honey,” Eddie winks. “We'll make do. You won't need a dick for what I have in mind, anyway.” 

More Steddie Bingo

[takes1]

tsukishima and yamaguchi are incapable of sharing you

is this a big metaphor? maybe. i dunno. it's steamier this way. read between the lines or something. two weeks of having a cold? or covid? or the flu? idk what it was but it burnt me outttttt

warnings. suggestive, minors DNI

details. fem!reader / suggestive fluff / love triangle? love shape? / fighting over reader / unrequited crushes / suggestive touching / touch starved!tsukki / touch starved!yamaguchi / sports massage, hot / best friends / girls team!reader / sadomasochism clawed its way into my fluff fic / tsukki is transactional / boyfriend material!yamaguchi / brotherzoning, friendzoning / daichi has canon aura / 4.1k words

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my ao3. my imagines.

"Oh, wow--," Tsukishima's cruel and quiet snicker at your expense was inevitable. He pushed one side of his headphones off of his ear.

His brow raised in amusement at your exaggerated wobble, how you were unable to stand on your own.

Yamaguchi kept his arms stretched out for you to grab and help yourself up, a master at utilizing any excuse he could to hold you.

"Isn't this- I dunno- kind of excessive?"

He sighed, palms flat against your back as you stumbled into his chest.

He expressed no real urgency to let you go. The guy was -generally- touchy with all of his friends, so it was never worth raising any color flag over.

"We-- hah-h," You gripped his forearm when you tried to take another excruciating step on your own. You sunk to the floor so fast he didn't even think to try and catch you.

It spurred another rare, genuine laugh from Tsukishima.

You cleared your throat with some attitude, and attempted to gather your dignity before trying to get up again.

"-We did lose."

Now, especially, you could truly appreciate his tendency to help. This practice had been group punishment for losing your last big game.

Sparing the gruesome details, it left most of the first-years in horrible condition. Even the more experienced girls on the team were ambling away at a slower pace, wincing, under the weight of their own bodies and struggling to take one step down from the gymnasium.

"(Y/n)!!"

You all stiffened. That was Michimiya's voice- you thought all the upperclassmen had gone, but she popped her head out from the exit and sounded just as intimidating as usual.

"Yes ma'am?" You called, a grimace all over your face.

The two boys shifted further away. They weren't technically supposed to be here, yet, and kept their heads tilted to the floor, expecting to be scolded for not going straight home.

"Head to the training room and roll your legs out-- I need you better before Friday! You two--," She hesitated before telling them to leave, vaguely aware that you were all buddies. "Help her, please."

"Yes ma'am!!"

Just like that, she was gone. Your eyes were shining. You were needed. For the team.

"Oh my gosh..." You bit your lip.

"That's awesome!" Yamaguchi laughed, excited for you. If Daichi had told him something like that, he'd be over-the-moon happy.

Tsukishima crossed his arms, unable to relate, and now tied to this place even longer.

He didn't validate your silent request to be helped. He only came across as cruel, but his real reason was objectively worse.

Thankfully, Yamaguchi was there to fill in the gaps of his awkward, ill-timed difficulty. You smiled at his light concern, an 'okay' of sorts to let him know he could find your condition funny, too.

"Th-anks-- hh-ah... shit,"

It was so much worse now. You wished you had listened to your teammates, to not sit down ten minutes ago, no matter how much you felt like you needed to.

Tsukishima watched, hands deep in his pockets with no intention to be of free service. That sound of struggle was almost as satisfying as hearing you ask for help.

You didn't let go of his hands for a few seconds. The weight of your body was a lot to handle- you kept his palms squeezed hard in yours and were beyond grateful he stayed, unbothered by it.

They were technically tasked with getting you to the training room, but you only had faith that Yamaguchi would see it through. Tsukishima might go as far as to get on the first train home, all alone, because that's how much he hated waiting on other people.

Yamaguchi, however, shared in your experience. His eyes were bright and his smile always waiting to agree, or laugh, or ask you something.

"Can ya walk?" He giggled.

His freckled hands stayed, attentive, at your sides, as you laughed with him and tried.

Moving was doable, but only in little, shuffle-y, painful, half-steps. Your hamstrings were like guitar strings, pulled too tight from your ass to your knees, your quads as stiff as set concrete, and everything was burning hot to the touch. You worked up another sick sweat, just moving 20 steps.

The two friends shared a look as they slowed down for you. It was worse than they thought- and though they had confided in you earlier, telling you that this was normal, they weren't exactly sure anymore. They hadn't yet been pushed this hard at their own team practices (they actually won their games).

Tsukishima's chortle was mean, targeted, in nature.

"Am I gonna have to carry you?"

Your exhaustion blocked any of your usual retaliation. The suggestion was, unironically, very appealing. He had to ability to take some pain away and was 'offering.'

"Oh!" You groaned, palm on your hip after taking a few tiny steps to get to the wall, "Would you? Please?"

It caught him off guard for an imperceivable second.

He rolled his eyes, his fair skin inadequate cover for the blush you had inspired.

Yet, always the master of masking his emotions, he swung his body in the direction of the training room to evade suspicion, instead, "Hell no."

The multiuse training room was thankfully spared of any life, except for you three clowns. There wasn't even the athletic trainer, paid to stay later for hurt athletes. Most teams were finished up already and all the gear -the weights, the tires, the specialty equipment- was in its proper place.

You glanced to Tsukishima, who was second to make the connection that this was an even bigger waste of his time-- unable to take the sound of him picking on you again, you waved your hand at him, dismissive at his catty sigh.

"You can go home, Tsukki, I know you've got better things to do."

Yamaguchi smirked at the light pink that dusted the fair tips of his ears. He followed close behind you towards the mats, near the recovery gear.

'Reverse-psychology' almost always worked on him, outside of a match.

"Pff- whatever," He cleared his throat, shoving his hands even deeper into his pockets, "It's not a big deal or anything."

It was, in fact, a big deal.

You couldn't take even the softest of featherlight touches, or stretches, or damn near anything that was suggested by your teammates to try.

"You can't just give up," Yamaguchi said, softly, trying to encourage you to try the massage gun again.

"You're just being a crybaby--," Tsukishima shrugged, as if he didn't insult you, and took the thing in his hand, "If you can't do it, one of us should."

Without a second of hesitation, you swiped it from him. That thing was a weapon, with the wrong head attachment and in the hands of somebody with as little sympathy as him.

"Yamaguchi-!" You grew warm, handing it to the nicer of the two, "If- um, one of you has to do it for me. I want Yamaguchi to."

It was the most efficient tool for the job prescribed to you. Break up the lactic acid, promote healing, warm the muscle up for some stretching.

That list seemed so much simpler when pain was not part of the picture.

Having one them subject you to forced recovery was, regrettably, more doable than trying it on yourself. That didn't mean that it was easy.

Yamaguchi knelt atop your legs whilst you lay on your stomach, trying his best to ignore your pleas (as you had asked of him). He kept your leg still as he prodded the machine into your damaged tissue.

It was excruciating. Why did you play this sport?

"Stop-stopstopstop!!"

At last, your begging was met with a precious grain of sympathy. Yamaguchi looked nothing short of conflicted, unable to help without hurting you, but unwilling to let you leave without doing what needed to be done.

He gritted his teeth and looked back at you- to check if you were okay, because you weren't saying anything.

The rapid rise and fall of your ribcage was all he needed to see.

"I'm sorry- I-I can't--,"

He groaned, not knowing what to do, and set the massage gun down by your left leg.

"Oh- my- godddd." The blond boy groaned, horribly impatient in an instant.

The sound of the machine getting turned back on made you jump, but you got squished down before you could even think that there was a need to move faster.

Tsukishima sat backwards on top of you. He wasn't using his entire weight but it was enough to keep you immobile in the ways that mattered. Your muscles seized against your will at the primal realization that he was not going to be nearly as gentle or attentive.

Your shrieking become muffled in your sleeves, but it would've gone just as ignored if you hadn't taken that initiative.

"What are you doing?" Yamaguchi sighed, a bit mean and confused at how he just took over instead of talking about it first.

If he was doing something wrong, he at least wanted the chance to fix it. But that wouldn't fly in this company. Tsukishima was never the type to give people, even his best friend, that much faith.

"I wanna go home dude. I'm--,"

His pressure on the inside of your calf sent you into a full-on seize. He flew to keep your ankle to the ground with a pissed off groan and a heavy thump.

"-Getting- this done."

"You don't have to help!"

Yamaguchi was technically yelling at him, but it didn't sound like it. His voice was raised, a tiny bit louder than the massage gun, and that was about it. It was almost impossible for him to come across as angry. Maybe passive-aggressive, which was, admittedly, jarring enough.

He was met with a signature scoff but didn't back down from it. Yamaguchi had too many reasons not to shy away. If he was that bothered by staying longer, he could go home alone. The chance to hang out with you alone, not to mention the perfect opportunity to touch you, wasn't lost on either of them. Tsukishima knew about his feelings for you. Until now, it was never a topic that needed to be explicitly addressed.

Tsukishima threw a narrowed, cold look through his lashes to him.

That was oh-so-intentional, and a painful thing to process as he barks at you to stop whining so much. His hands are giant, wrapped all the way around your shins, weighing you further down so you can't kick.

You were almost getting used to it- how much it hurt- as you feel Yamaguchi settle next to you and place a reassuring hand on your back.

You're panting, hoarse and labored- you were going to thank him, but Tsukishima makes his way up to your hamstring and you flinch again with your face slammed back into your arms.

"Augh-! Dude!! Ha--Ah!"

Absolutely no remorse in his voice, "Tadashi, c'mere and hold her ankle. I can't do both."

They shared another charged glare behind your back, but Yamaguchi wasn't going to intentionally make things more difficult than they had to be. He wanted to go home too, and wanted you to feel better quicker- this was a necessary evil.

Part of your hoodie sleeve was soaking wet from where you were biting down, grimacing. You were slick with cold sweat, trembling, and could not wrap your head around how torturous this whole ordeal had become.

For a moment, just one tiny, fleeting moment, he took the machine off and you were able to gasp in a non-labored breath. He adjusted to sit on top of your butt (without asking if you were comfortable) and slipped a warm hand between your thighs to grasp your inner leg to keep you still. Yamaguchi's grip on your ankle felt after that- harder.

The pleasant sensation it sent down into your tummy became quickly interrupted by the worst of it.

"Mm-h-!!" You groaned into your clothes.

"Ohh- yeah, you're fucked," Tsukishima laughed in shock at how he could feel the tension, the spasms, under the skin once he placed that godforsaken thing back onto you.

You mostly blocked the rest of the experience out of your mind- it was nauseating, and long, and arduous. Tsukishima made no efforts to make the process any easier by asking you what you wanted, if you needed a break, or if you were okay.

It made the last of it that much sweeter. The training room was quiet, again, once the buzzing was gone.

"That should do it," He muttered, pushing the heel of his palm down the now compliant, though aching, muscle of your hamstring. It was practically mindless.

"Y-eah-," Yamaguchi rolled his eyes at the shameless display.

Tsukishima glanced at him. He cleared his throat and pinched you, just for good measure, then decided for you, "Yeah, that feels better."

You rolled your cloudy eyes just to yourself, unable to lift your head from your weak arms.

"Okay! Jeez! Get off of me."

Another ill-intentioned snicker was almost enough to make you look back. It, instead, only motivated you to tense up your shoulders.

"Did you forget that you have a second leg?"

Yamaguchi would've laughed with him, had he not been so pissed off that he was getting- for lack of a better word here- cucked.

Barely able to peel your chest up off of the ground, you huffed and pushed the stagnant tears from your face.

"You are not doing that again!"

It was another way of saying that you couldn't take it, which, in his twisted mind, was reason enough to smile. He had to adjust himself pretty plainly in front of his freckled, grumpy friend before getting off of you.

You rolled, heavy and slow, onto your back, and didn't spare him any looks. You spoke to the ceiling. "I'll do my own calf. Tadashi,"

His face was softer, attentive, at how you sighed his name. Every word afterward was a lot sweeter, lighter, than the ones that were meant for Tsukishima.

"You get my other hamstring. I can't reach it."

Now 'unemployed,' Tsukishima reclined against his bag, pushed his headphones up, and played on his phone.

You flipped back onto your tummy and pulled down on the hem of your shorts, for some bit of decency. All it did was make Yamaguchi's eyes wander. Tsukishima had already been stealing crystal clear glances.

Those practice shorts left little to the imagination, especially hiked up the way you liked to wear them for training. It did not go underappreciated in this group.

Yamaguchi tried not to stare- he really, really tried. His eyes were bouncing back and forth between where to adjust over you, and where he desperately wanted to cop a feel. It's just that you were turned around, with no way of knowing, and there was nothing too wrong with looking.

Neither of them were bold enough to bring up that your glutes -realistically- were the most worked muscle group that needed to be attended to.

Yamaguchi mirrored his hand placement to where Tsukishima had done it, earlier. He was not prepared at how intimate it felt at all, because his friend had given zero indication that it was such a big deal.

You flinched at the contact even though it was hundred times softer than you had been touched earlier. His palm was unsure, and varied in firmness as he tried to palm your thigh the 'right' way. You were grateful nobody -especially that blond idiot- could see how embarrassed you were, as you buried the side of your face harder into your clothes.

"I'm gonna try to be less gentle- so," He lost his train of thought, captivated in the sight of your softness filling the gaps of his long, tanned fingers, "Um... yeah."

Not-gentle was a good way to describe that massage gun on your stiff leg. But it wasn't a stabbing pain, like how forcefully and suddenly Tsukishima had started.

And yet, you couldn't help the reflex to bend at the knee, and almost nailed him with a powerful kick.

"A-ah! Sorry--," You couldn't quite get the apology out, between gritted teeth.

Since Tsukishima had been too busy peeking out of the corner of his eye to admire the space between your legs, the curve of your ass, and all the shaking, he was quick to grab that free ankle and pin it down.

They shared a mutually surprised expression behind you that, if anything, helped ease their nasty, competitive, and degrading attitudes.

Yamaguchi's face was very warm, his legs, his grip, had to be readjusted-- his fingers felt indescribably good in the midst of so much discomfort. He put more of his weight on you, having underestimated how much you might throw him off.

Neither of the two were saints, but if it were a competition, Yamaguchi at least tried to repress things.

He wanted to be seen as good, as nice, and sweet. Getting brother-zoned all the time sucked but at least it spoke to his positive qualities.

Tsukishima did not care all that much about looking like a good person. Being 'cool' was different, and just as performative, but still, different. He had less internal struggle when it came to checking you out behind your back; his only worry was getting caught, because it made him look interested. Being interested, to Tsukishima, was worse than being a 'nice guy.'

All that to say: He pushed your ankle a bit further to the outside, craning his neck to see just how much those safety shorts actually covered down there.

If he could get Yamaguchi to move his hand out of the way--

"You're doin' it wrong," He sighed, sounding flat- bored, even though he wasn't.

You spared Yamaguchi the responsibility of responding to him.

"You're- ahh- ridiculous, Kei. Fucking-- ridiculous."

His nose wrinkled at your assertion that he could possibly be wrong, "The fact that you can talk is evidence enough."

That made your face multiple degrees hotter, and kept you biting a rude reply into your shirt- it pissed your nicer friend off, on your behalf.

"Dude, shut up," Yamaguchi mumbled.

It was ironically something that sounded like it would come out of Tsukishima's mouth, in tone and phrase. He could've told either of you to shut up at any given moment, on any given day, and it wouldn't be a big deal. Coming from Yamaguchi, though--

The blond stiffened, his mouth curled into an absurd grin, but his eyes were fixed and brutal behind his glasses.

All the implications under their words, their jagged tones, were so plain and out in the open. To them. You remained disadvantaged, partially deaf (from the loud massage gun) and mostly blind (turned around), still preoccupied with your physical inability to stay on their conversational level or that emotional space.

To you, they were only trying to help, and the situation had not degraded so much.

You were busy thinking about how Tsukishima could not have been more wrong about Yamaguchi's 'technique.' The pressure had grown, making for a more intense experience than before, with all the new compensation.

An awful, bitter comeback was on the tip of Tsukishima's tongue.

"Woah!" A new voice, one you didn't quite recognize, was at the entrance to the training room, "What're you three still doing here? It's late!"

"Daichi!" Yamaguchi sighs, breathless, for a couple of different reasons.

You winced at his weird readjustment on top of you- and the terrible, sinking feeling that this was inappropriate and semi-public.

Was there no safe place for a bunch of underclassmen to hang out anymore? Since when did the seniors linger for this long? They usually were the some of first out the door, and the guys' team had been done for almost an hour, now.

His grip softens, flittering away, for a moment. A rush of strength finds his legs and he's safely hovering, instead of sitting, on you.

"Oh! Taking turns with the gun? Man-," Even his laugh is leader-like, all punctuated and deep, "Must be pretty bad, huh?"

When he clocks that their captain isn't there to scold, he keeps one palm safely on the mat, instead.

"Do you--," You push yourself up to your elbows again with a groan and a scrunched up face. It helps, to reiterate that this is not some kind of debauchery, "-Have any advice?"

Daichi was there to return some gear. He placed a bag on the table closest to the door, then hung up some keys. All that you could think was how responsible he looked.

He hummed aloud to himself, "Advice...?"

Yamaguchi slowly moved off of you, so as to not look suspicious, but his nervous demeanor always made him look a little bit guilty of something. You waved off his soft apology in favor of staring, curious, at the new presence.

You were able to roll over to your back and sit up, with marked effort- then stilled as their team captain joined your spot on the mats.

He took a second to look between all three of you, face impossible to read, then seemed to recognize you.

"You must be that rookie Yui was talking about," He doesn't realize how important that off-handed statement means to you, "It's nice to meet ya."

"You too," Your voice was ghostly soft, eyes wide, when he sat down to take you through some handy stretches.

His team jacket looks really worn in. His thighs are giant from years of playing. He knows what he's talking about. And your two idiot friends are silent, for once, so he must be super cool. You listen very carefully.

"So, if it's just soreness that you're dealing with, what you wanna do is--,"

"Man-," Tsukishima mutters, an incomprehensible 'What the fuck,' under his breath at those stupid puppy dog eyes you were giving their team captain. Great.

He threw a glance to Yamaguchi- his face was all screwed up, pissed off, too. They looked at each other with mutual, gloomy attitude.

Little did they understand that Daichi could've broken this up in a less civil way if he deemed them as any less credible in their actions.

It was their 'harmlessness' that kept them spared from a talking-to.

You were slower to understand that you were infatuated. As your long-time friends, they often read you quicker than you could understand your own emotions. It had been three minutes since the last time you blinked, and you didn't realize it, yet.

His stretches, and little tidbits of advice, rang familiar but more memorable than the second-year's recovery tips from the end of your practice.

"Thank you," You muttered, uncharacteristically quiet.

Tsukishima rolled his eyes so far back, so slow, that Daichi caught it.

"Of course! Happy to help."

You watched the incredible lines in his legs dance as he stood up and briefly wondered if he had ever suffered like this, before. Surely the answer was yes.

"Well-- It's great seeing you all take care of each other. Hang onto that!" Daichi kept one last, somewhat reminiscent, look on the three of you, and was on his way to the door.

"Oh-,"

You shivered, holding yourself as he turned around.

"Make sure to lock up when you're done!"

When he was gone, the door fully shut, you collapsed onto your back with a dreamy sigh. Yamaguchi was the first to stand up.

He was disappointed that you were so easy to impress, yes, but otherwise unfazed.

"You guys wanna go get something to eat?"

Tsukishima got to his feet, too, and had his bag slung at the ready-- usually not so food-motivated, but he was starving, at this point. The sun was low in the window. You nodded at the great idea.

Head still tilted to the closed door, you asked, "Does- uh, does he... have a girlfriend?"

Yamaguchi avoided your eyes, an easy task at his height, and took both of your hands to lift you to your feet. It was solely out of curiosity. He was so out of your league.

Tsukishima rattled off a blatant and well-done lie.

"Yeah. He's dating Michimiya- you didn't know that?"

It helped to cushion your feelings. You nodded, smiling at the way Yamaguchi kept you steady again with his hands in yours.

"Ohh, right. Right. That makes sense."

☆VIP☆

@integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco @megapteraurelia

my masterlist. more haikyuu

[writinginatree]

Kisses & Confessions

Relationship(s): Garrick Tavis/fem!Riorson!reader

Summary: Garrick accidentally steals your first kiss, which leads to some long overdue confessions.

Part 2

You wake up to the sound of someone knocking on your door. Though, really, waking up is an exaggeration. You're blinking at the pale sunlight streaming into the room through the half-open curtains, too sleepy to even sit up. Maybe you're lucky and whoever is at the door will go away if you don't answer.

"Y/N? You still in there?"

You groan. Guess they won't go away. And worse, you hear a click as the bothersome person uses lesser magic to unlock the door. It swings open, revealing — Garrick. You let your head drop back into the pillow and turn to face the wall, whining for him to let you sleep.

"If I do that you're going to miss breakfast," he answers.

You hear the sound of your door being closed again, followed by his footsteps coming toward your bed. Your stomach growls at the mention of breakfast, but you're so warm and comfy right now. If Garrick let you, you could fall right back asleep. Unfortunately, he seems to have no intention of that. The mattress dips as he sits down on the edge of the bed, and you clutch your covers tighter around you, sure he'll try to snatch them away any second.

But he doesn't — not yet, at least. For now, he just pokes you in the side. "Come on. I'm tired, too, but we have to act normal, or people will wonder what we were doing last night."

That gets you a little more awake. You'd been out smuggling weapons to the fliers the night before, and had almost gotten caught returning. Afterwards, you'd lain awake for hours, tossing and turning uselessly. You couldn't have been asleep for much more than an hour or so when Garrick woke you up.

"Xaden won't let you come on these trips anymore if you can't get up the next morning," he adds.

Turning on your back to face him, you rub the sleep from your eyes and explain, "It's not the trip. I just couldn't fall asleep afterwards."

"Why not?"

"Dunno. Too many thoughts in my head, I guess. Srian got tired of it and blocked me out so she could go to sleep. I was gonna get up and do some last minute studying, but then I guess I fell asleep for a bit after all."

The last word stretches into a yawn, and Garrick gives you a sympathetic look. You wonder how you look to him right now. Does he think you're cute, all sleepy and soft like this? Or do your messy hair and the dark circles you doubtlessly have under your eyes make you look appalling to him? Not that it should matter. He's seen you in much worse states before — like that time when you were eight and you and Xaden both were down with the flu, or when you got depressed over your mother leaving. But you were kids then. It's different now, and things that never mattered before suddenly do.

"Five more minutes," you grumble. "I'll just skip breakfast."

Garrick laughs. "Alright, sleepyhead. I'll tell Chradh to tell Cuir to tell Bodhi to save you a pastry or something. But if you don't get up in the next ten minutes you'll be late for class."

"Mhh, thank you. Tell him I want something with chocolate, yeah?"

"Right, because he totally doesn't know that. You always want everything with chocolate, Y/N."

"Tell him anyway," you insist. "Just to be sure."

"Okay, okay," he laughs, and after a moment, "I've passed it on."

You close your eyes again for a moment, cautiously reaching out to your own dragon. Lazy thing that she is, Srian is still asleep herself, just like you expected. If only you could afford the same luxury.

"Is this your definition of getting up?" Garrick asks.

"You said I still have ten minutes before I'm late for class."

"Yeah, and I'm guessing you'll need every one of those minutes to get dressed and search that mess on your desk for everything you need for class."

Unfortunately, he's not wrong.

Sitting up, you only now realize just how close he is to you. The fact that you would be sitting on his lap if you moved just a little closer to him shouldn't make your heart race the way it does, but ever since you came to Basgiath a little over a year ago, you've been developing a crush on Garrick — a crush that only seems to get worse with time. You still don't know where it came from. You've known Garrick practically your whole life, and he's always been one of your closest friends, but until last year, your feelings for him were strictly platonic. Maybe it's just that you'd never thought about it before. But on your first day in the quadrant, when you'd seen him again for the first time in what felt like forever, he'd looked so undeniably hot in his new second-year uniform that you saw him in a completely new light. No longer just your brother's best friend, but a very hot and loveable guy. You'd thought it was just a temporary crush you would soon get over, but now that you're a second-year yourself, you're still hopelessly pining after him.

While you're distracted thinking about how close he is, he leans in even closer to kiss your cheek — only you turn your head to look at him better at the same moment, so instead his lips land right on yours. Your breath catches in your throat, and if you weren't awake before, you definitely are now. It's barely a second before he pulls back and apologizes, but that second might honestly have been the best of your life. You can't exactly tell him that, but you do tell him he doesn't have to apologize. You know very well that he only meant to kiss your cheek, like he's done hundreds of times before throughout all the years you've known each other.

And unlike you, he seems to be completely unaffected by your accidental kiss. No trembling, no quickened breathing, not even the hint of a blush. He's as cool as ever, and you kind of hate him for it.

"I don't think I've ever seen you this flustered," he chuckles. "You're almost acting as if you've never been kissed before."

"Well, I haven't!"

"Wait, seriously?"

The shock on his face is almost comical, and it takes all your willpower to bite back your grin so he won't think you're messing with him.

"Yeah, seriously."

"Shit, I'm sorry."

Now you do smile. "It's okay. There's no one I'd have rather given my first kiss to," you admit. It's true — it's certainly not for a lack of opportunities that you've never kissed anyone. You simply refuse to get involved with people who only want you for your last name, and ever since you joined the quadrant, you've only had eyes for Garrick, anyway.

"That wasn't a very good kiss, though. Barely even counts as one." He hesitates for a second, then adds, "I could give you a real one if you'd like."

Oh gods. Did he really just offer to kiss you again? For real this time? If this is a dream, you never want to wake up.

You nod — maybe a little too eagerly.

Garrick cups your cheek with one big hand, turning your head a little to get the perfect angle. "Close your eyes," he softly instructs, and then his lips are on yours again, only this time they stay there longer, moving against yours while you kiss back as best as you can.

You don't think about the consequences this might have for your friendship, of how awkward it might make things. All this time you've tried to ignore your feelings, because this is your brother's best friend, because you didn't want to make things weird, because you thought he doesn't see you like that anyway. And now here you are, chasing his lips when he pulls away after a few seconds.

"You liked that, huh?" Garrick teases.

"Maybe," you say, grinning even as all the blood rushes to your face. "But I think I might need another one to be sure."

Shit. You can't believe you actually said that. You're going too far, you're sure of that the moment the words are out.

"Is that so?" Garrick asks. He's still grinning too, but even so it makes you regret asking. You're making things awkward, gods damn it.

"I mean— you don't have to, obviously. If you don't want to—"

He cuts you off. "Shh, just come here."

Just like that, his mouth is on yours once more, and oh, you're definitely getting addicted. This is bad. But it feels so damn good, so right, even more so when his tongue parts your lips to explore the inside of your mouth. All logical thought leaves your head at that point, and if your mouth wasn't otherwise occupied, you would've blurted out your feelings for him then and there.

"I've wanted to do this for longer than you can imagine," Garrick surprises you by saying when you separate again, both a little out of breath.

"You did?"

Now he's the one looking like he regrets saying anything, and a tiny spark of hope blooms in your chest. Could it be? Could he really feel the same?

"Well— I mean... yeah," he says, unusually reluctant. And is that a blush spreading on his face? You think it is, and gods, if that doesn't make you want to kiss him some more.

"Well, I've thought about kissing you for quite some time, too, to be honest," you say.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

For a moment you sit in silence, both processing what the other just revealed. You want to say more, take the chance to tell him you like him, but at the same time you're scared you're reading too much into this. Just because he's been wanting to kiss you doesn't have to mean he has feelings for you too, does it? If he did, surely he would have said something. Though of course you haven't said anything, either. And you're still not sure you should. This could ruin your friendship.

But damn it, you're a rider, not a coward, so you take a deep breath and admit, "Actually, I've kind of had a crush on you for a while now."

You closely watch his reaction, whole body tense with anticipation. Please don't laugh, you pray. Whatever you do, don't laugh at me. On some level, you know that fear is completely unnecessary. Garrick isn't mean like that; if he doesn't feel the same, he'll let you down gently. But part of you still worries he'll find the thought of you crushing on him so ridiculous he won't be able to help laughing. After all, you're his best friend's little sister. Only a year younger, sure, but when you've grown up together, a year can mean a lot. But if that were all he sees you as, he wouldn't be wanting to kiss you, right?

Slowly, a smile spreads over his face, and no, it's not a mean or disbelieving one. It's soft and genuine and takes your breath away.

"I like you too. I just didn't say anything because... you know..."

"Xaden."

He nods. "Xaden. I was going to ask him for permission before asking you out, but I kept putting it off because I wasn't sure how he'd react."

"Well, I don't care what Xaden thinks." That's not entirely true. In fact, you care a lot what your brother thinks, which is one of the reasons you tried to ignore your crush on Garrick. But even if Xaden does have a problem with you being into his best friend — now that you know Garrick feels the same, you're not going to let that get in the way. "He'll just have to deal with it. Now stop worrying about my brother and kiss me again."

Garrick happily complies, and in the end, you're both late for class.

[nameless-jamie]

Hii, I know you're swamped with the requests but could you write about Jamie and PA babysitting together? Maybe Roy has something and cant watch Phoebe so they offer to take care of her? And they're both good with kids ams admire each other for it. And maybe Phoebe can totally tell and calls them out on their bullshit and their just stunned.

Thanks 🥺🥺

Babysittin' Legend

Masterlist

Jamie Tartt x fem! PA reader

TW: cursing, flirting, Roy Kent

A/N: Hii thanks for the request I love it!

When Roy Kent asks you for a favor, you don’t say no. Not because he’s particularly threatening (okay, maybe a little), but because if he trusts you enough to ask, it means something.

Which is why, when he showed up at Y/N’s apartment that evening, standing in the doorway with his ever-serious expression and a very bored-looking Phoebe by his side, she didn’t immediately slam the door in his face.

Jamie Tartt, however, nearly spilled his tea at the sight of him.

“Fuckin’ hell, mate,” Jamie said, gripping his mug like he was preparing for battle. “Ever heard of a text first?”

Roy grunted. “Didn’t feel like textin’.” Then he turned back to Y/N. “I need you to watch Phoebe.”

Y/N blinked, glancing between him and his niece. “Uh, right now?”

“No, next fuckin’ Tuesday—yes, right now.”

Y/N hesitated, not because she didn’t want to, but because she had Jamie in her living room, legs propped up on her coffee table, looking far too comfortable. She had invited him over to go over his schedule for the week, and somehow, like usual and he had managed to stretch a thirty-minute conversation into an hour-long debate about whether or not he could justify skipping a training session for a “wellness day.”

Spoiler: he couldn’t.

She sighed. “Roy, I’d love to help, but—”

“Great,” Roy cut in, already shoving Phoebe forward like it was a done deal. “Be back in a few hours.”

Y/N barely had time to protest before he patted Phoebe on the head, muttered something about “Don’t let Jamie corrupt you”, and promptly left.

The door shut. Silence filled the apartment.

Jamie and Y/N turned slowly to Phoebe, who had already made herself comfortable on the couch, sipping from a juice box like she owned the place.

Jamie raised an eyebrow. “Well. That was abrupt. Freakin' grandpa just gave us a child.”

Y/N exhaled, rubbing her temples. “Yeah, welcome to my life.”

Jamie smirked. “What, babysittin’ little legends?”

Y/N threw him a look. “Babysitting you, mostly. No legends in sight.”

Phoebe snorted. “That tracks.”

Jamie’s mouth dropped open. “Oi! What’s that supposed to mean?”

Phoebe shrugged, unbothered. “My uncle Roy says that you play like Ronaldo... If he had the stomach flu and both his legs tied together..”

"Ok, first of all your uncle Roy is a fuc—"

"Wow, wow, wow, let's not get ahead of ourselves, we're talking to a 12-year-old, Jamie." Y/N grinned.

Jamie shot her a look of pure betrayal. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am,” she said sweetly. “I’m just also on Phoebe’s.”

Jamie groaned, flopping back against the couch. “Great. There’s two of you now.”

Phoebe smirked like she had already won something.

Jamie sighed dramatically and flopped onto the couch next to her. “Fine, what we doin’ tonight, then?”

Phoebe hummed, considering. “Movies. Snacks. No bedtime.”

Y/N arched an eyebrow. “Roy would murder us.”

Phoebe shrugged. “Not if he doesn’t find out.”

Jamie gasped, eyes wide with admiration. “I love the way you think.”

Y/N groaned. “Oh my god, there’s two of you.”

And so the evening went on and funny enough, as it turned out, Jamie was actually good with kids.

Like, weirdly good.

Y/N found herself watching him more than she cared to admit, taking note of the way he let Phoebe braid his hair while they watched a movie, never once complaining—even when she yanked a little too hard. When she asked for popcorn, Jamie got up without hesitation, returning with three different flavors because “Dunno what you like best, so I got all of ‘em.”

Phoebe beamed. “I like caramel the best.”

Jamie grinned. “Good choice. That’s my favorite, too.”

Y/N sat back, arms crossed, trying not to find it adorable.

Jamie caught her staring and smirked. “What? Starin’ at me ‘cause I’m good with kids?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “A little.”

Jamie’s grin widened. “Knew it. You totally would have me baby's right now.”

"Idiot..." Y/N just shook her head, turning back to the movie.

But she was impressed. Jamie had a way of making people feel special, like they were the most important person in the room. It was dangerous when directed at her, but with Phoebe? It was downright sweet.

And, annoyingly, it made her like him even more.

Halfway through the second movie, they were just watching the Spaghetti Kiss scene of Lady and the Tramp, Phoebe suddenly turned to them, frowning slightly, like she was deeply considering something.

Then, out of nowhere:

“So when are you two gonna kiss?”

Y/N choked on her drink.

Jamie actually paused the movie and turned to stare at Phoebe like she had just asked him to do calculus. “What?”

Phoebe rolled her eyes. “Come on. I might be a kid, but I’m not stupid.”

Jamie cleared his throat, trying desperately to recover. “We—we’re just friends.”

At the same time Y/N said, "He's my boss!

Phoebe snorted. “No, you’re not.”

Jamie was still looking at her, slightly dazed. “You think—what?”

Phoebe gestured between them. “You like each other.”

Jamie blinked. Y/N froze.

“No, we—”

“Yes, you do,” Phoebe said, exasperated. “You look at each other all dreamy. Like Flynn Rider looks at Rapunzel.”

Jamie made a choking noise. “I do not.”

Phoebe gave him a flat look. “You let me braid your hair. You helped Y/N babysit me. I think you like her,.”

Jamie opened his mouth. Shut it. Opened it again. Looked at Y/N, then back at Phoebe. “That—that’s just ‘cause I’m nice.”

Phoebe smirked. “You’re not that nice.”

Jamie looked personally offended.

Y/N, on the other hand, was just trying not to combust.

“Okay, how about bedtime,” she blurted out.

Phoebe raised an eyebrow. “It’s 8:30.”

“Exactly.” Y/N stood up, grabbing the remote. “Early bedtime for kids who stir up drama.”

Phoebe giggled but didn’t argue. “Fine. But I know what I saw.”

Jamie was still staring at the TV, looking utterly stunned.

Y/N nudged him with her elbow. “You alright there?”

Jamie blinked. Looked at her.

Then, finally, in a very quiet voice, he said:

“… Do I look at you all dreamy?”

Y/N grabbed a pillow and smacked him in the face.

When Roy knocked on Y/N’s door again that evening, approximately 20 minutes after the Phoebe incident, Y/N opened it to find him standing there with his usual gruff expression, arms crossed. He glanced between her and Jamie, who was still lounging comfortably on her couch, flipping through his phone like he lived there.

“Phoebe behave?” Roy asked, tone neutral, but there was something almost amused in his eyes.

Y/N nodded, smiling. “Of course. She was an angel.”

“Yeah,” Jamie added, stretching. “No trouble at all. Except for when she decided to grill us instead of doin’ watchin' her damn movies.”

Roy’s brows lifted slightly. “Grill you?”

Y/N shot Jamie a quick look, but he was already grinning, clearly enjoying himself. “Yeah, mate. Little detective, your niece. Got some theories about me and Y/N.”

Roy exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Right. Figures. She's a smart fucking dweeb.”

Y/N crossed her arms, tilting her head. “Do I even want to know how much you knew about that in advance?”

Roy shrugged. “Kid’s perceptive. Was only a matter of time.” He jerked his head toward Jamie. “Surprised you lasted this long without crackin’ under pressure.”

Jamie scoffed. “Oi, I’m a professional, Roy.”

Roy gave him an unimpressed look. “Right.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, stepping back to let Roy in. He didn’t stay long—just long enough to get the recap on Phoebe’s night, nodding approvingly at Y/N’s patience and Jamie’s unexpected ability to be good with kids.

“Appreciate it,” Roy said as he headed for the door. “You’re alright with her. Both of you.”

Jamie smirked. “High praise, that.”

Roy ignored him and turned to Y/N. “You ever need anything, you let me know.”

She nodded, touched by the offer. “Same to you.”

As Roy left, Jamie leaned back on the couch, watching her with an unreadable expression. “Look at you, impressin’ Roy Kent. I think that makes you an honorary badass.”

Y/N shook her head, laughing. “I’ll get a trophy made.”

Jamie grinned. “Just make sure it says, ‘Babysittin’ Legend.’”

"Ok, well time to go home now, Romeo, before you keep lookin' at me all dreamy again." Y/N said laughing her freaking ass off.

Jamie just rolled hie eyes and headed to the door. "Hate you..."

Yeah, right...

[holdmytesseract]

A cute little drabble request for baby fever in the future or for the sleepover: Y/N, Ella, and 2 year old Narfi all get sick with the flu and loki has to take care of all of them, Y/N being the sickest, feels like she is dying and Loki comforts her. Just a little cute one.

Caring Husband and Father

Warnings: sickness a.k.a the flu, fluff

Word Count: blurb

a/n: Thank you for this request, friend. This drabble turned out to be so soft and sweet! 🥹

"Dada," Narfi sobbed on Loki's arm; head lolling from side to side against his father's chest. "I know, little prince, I know..." The god whispered and pressed his lips against the top of his son's curly haired head; trying to reassure him. In vain. Narfi kept on whining and sobbing.

"Are your earaches worse, huh?" The little boy just snivelled and rubbed his snotty nose against Loki's t-shirt. He sighed, "Thought so." and shifted the two-year-old on his arm, so that he could check on his temperature. "But I think your fever sunk a bit. That's good."

Narfi had caught a nasty flu. Well, only because Ella had caught it. He got it from his big sister and well, you... You caught it as well. Everybody was knocked out by it. Except Loki. Perhaps it was his godly biology, which prevented him from getting sick easily. A thing which you were glad about, because he could look after you and the kids. A task he submitted himself to happily.

The god walked with the toddler still on his arm into the kitchen, in order to give him some meds against the flu itself and especially earaches. The boy swallowed bravely the disgustingly tasting medicine. "There you go," Loki pressed a kiss on his forehead. "You are so brave, sweet boy." Narfi sobbed once more and cuddled back against his dad's chest; little arms looping around his neck.

"Come on, little prince, time for a nap." He carried Narfi into the living room and laid down with him on the sofa; knowing that his son was way too clingy and wouldn't let go of him now.

Loki's seidr helped Narfi's earaches at least a little bit and so he slept in on top of Loki; snugly wrapped up in a blanket. It was absolutely cosy and Narfi's weight upon his upper body so comfortable, it almost lulled the raven haired god to sleep as well. He was about to doze off, when a quiet voice brought him back down to earth.

"B-Babe?"

At the sound of your voice, Loki's eyes immediately flew open; head turning to face the door. His heart broke then and there, as he saw you standing there, wrapped up in a fluffy blanket. You were utterly pale and had deep rings underneath your eyes. He could see how weak you were and how bad you felt. The flu had really taken its toll on you...

Loki stood up instantly, but carefully - not to wake the toddler sleeping on his chest, "I'm here, darling." and stepped over to you. "Do you need anything, my love? Can I help you?" You coughed, which caused your whole body to shake; eyes glassy. "I-I dunno, I just... I feel like shit." Then your gaze fell on your son. "H-How's my baby doing?"

Loki pressed a kiss against your forehead; the warmth against his lips radiating from your skin concerned him. "He's doing okay; only slept in about ten minutes ago." You felt how your husband wrapped a strong arm gently around your waist. "Come, darling." You didn't argue, of course, and let Loki guide you back to the bedroom.

He helped you lay down. "Stay here. I'll be right with you. I'm just going to put Narfi down and look after our princess." You nodded and curled yourself up into a ball. Loki let his eyes roam your weak and fragile body with worry on his face, before he left the bedroom again.

Carefully, the god put Narfi down; laying him inside his baby cot and making sure he was warm enough. Of course, he took the baby monitor with him, then went to check on Ella. He hadn't heard a word from her in a few hours. It didn't concern the god much, since she's been sleeping a lot in the past days; letting her body work to get the flu out of its system.

Slowly, he opened the door to her room and peeked inside. He was right. His daughter was fast asleep; curled up underneath her blanket. Soft snores left her lips, due to her stuffy nose. On tiptoes, he walked over and placed a hand on her forehead. Ella's fever was gone. Loki smiled softly. At least someone of his family was getting better.

The raven haired god leaned down and kissed her forehead as well; tucking the girl back in properly and left the room again.

Before he returned to you, he made you another cup of camomile tea and took some of your meds with him.

He found you just like he left you... Curled up on the bed. "Darling..." He stepped over and sat down on the edge of the bed. You turned to him. "I made you some tea and brought you medicine. It's time for you to take them," Loki spoke in a quiet voice; handing you the meds and the bottle of water, standing on your nightstand.

Again, you nodded and took the medicine; along of a small sip of hot tea. Loki helped you to get comfortable then; fluffing your pillow and making sure that you were comfortable. "Is that to your liking, my love? Are you comfortable?" "Y-Yes, thank you." Your husband gave you a soft smile. "Anything else you need?" Your soft, glassy Y/E/C met his. "You... Just you... Please..." You reached for his hand; his warm palm engulfing yours.

Another soft smile grazed his lips and he dipped his head to press a kiss against the skin of your hand, before he let go of you again and quickly rounded the bed to join you. Loki cuddled up against you; curled his body against yours. "Is that okay, darling?" "Mhh..." You hummed; "Perfect." closing your eyes. "Thank you for taking care of us." Loki kissed your neck. "Of course, my love. Always."

Baby Fever Crew: @muddyorbsblr @mochie85 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jaidenhawke @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @jennyggggrrr @multifandom-worlds @herdetectivetheorist @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @fictive-sl0th @hisredheadedgoddess28 @chennqingg @princess-ofthe-pages @brokenpoetliz @km-ffluv @huntedmusicgardenn @lokiforever @stupidthoughtsinwriting @loz-3 @jaguarthecat @icytrickster17 @eleniblue @yourfriendlyslytherinhc @mypainischronicbutmyassisiconic @kimanne723 @lou12346789 @smolvenger @lokisrealpurpous @isaidoop @lokisgoodgirl @aagn360 @alexakeyloveloki @glitchquake @cakesandtom @anukulee @lady-rose-moon @ainsley30 @lovingchoices14 @lokischambermaid @irishhappiness @mandywholock1980 @totsnotlynn @loki-laufeyson223 @vbecker10 @lulubelle814

[skyeslittlecorner]

Okay, I know it's impossible, but can you do some headcanons about the kings are sick? (like maybe because of angels or sth I dunno :'>)

Then we gotta take care of them (hohoho I fine with fluff or a little bit of smoky situation (^///^))

P/s: Sorry for any grammar mistakes TvT Btw I really enjoy your works (love it :3), so have a great day and take your time (o゜▽゜)o❤️

Thanks dear anon, and hope you have a great day too! 🧡 Them being sick is not so impossible, they are definitely lovesick lmao

We can give them some common cold, why not! That's why we have fanfics. To experiment and have fun. Even so, there are plenty of options for when they might feel unwell. Angel blood, poison, war wounds. But we'll go on the lighter side of regular flu. Sick kings times one, let's do it~

꧁:･ ✡ ･:꧂

Satan will never acknowledge he's feeling bad. Do you want to put him to bed? Make him. Actually, making him won't be so hard because he staggers on his feet. Since you put him in bed, you are supposed to take care of him personally. His flu is a game of cat and mouse, he will feel a little better and he will come out of his room, and then he will feel bad again and you will drag him back into the bed. Preferably by the hair, and furious. He would have cooperated a little more if it weren't for the war. At this rate, you'll be curing his common cold for a month.

Mammon is team "spoil me or I will never get better". He even likes being sick, just cut out the 'feeling bad' part. He loves your concern, has all your attention, and you accumulate drugs so much that he hasn't seen such greed for a long time. It's good that you can't catch demon flu, you'll be like his mascot that he cuddles in bed all the time.

Beelzebub? Sick? Be ready for drama. He is NOT staying in bed. Don't even mention needles, he'll be gone before you finish your sentence. If you want him to stay and heal, you have to entertain him. This bastard isn't even afraid of death, what other can you expect? He's feverish, delusional and bored. It is advisable to buy toys. Looot of sex toys. And definitely try it with him.

Leviathan is impossible to decipher. When he feels worse, he will look even better. There is a joke in my university, "what you can't do, you make up for in looks", and he is embodiment of this. Once you understand that he is sick, don't tell his nobles. He's tired, all he wants is being surrounded with them buzzing like bees in a hive. Just lie down with him. Only with him. He certainly took some medicine on his own, so just be there to keep him company.

[ambernotember]

🛻 🎶 ☕️ 🎿 🍎 📲 << can I ask for these?👀

@ pilot-kinard / dorothe 🫶🏼

woo okay! @pilot-kinard

truck accident au -

“That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to be celebrated!”

“You want to throw me a birthday party?”

“Well, at least a birthday dinner if you don’t want a full party,”’ Evan said.

“We could do a birthday dinner,” Tommy agreed. “Just us? It’s really not a big deal to me.”

“Okay, I won’t go crazy with it. Dinner here or out somewhere?”

“Just here?”

“Got it. I’m going to go pick a recipe and make a shopping list,” Evan said, heading back into the house.

“We can just order something,” Tommy said.

“Please, I like cooking for you. Buckle up Kinard, you’re getting a birthday dinner.”

“Whether I like it or not?” Tommy smiled at him.

“You’ll like it, promise.”

school concert au -

“Who wouldn’t like Tommy?” Buck asked, confused.

Chimney and Maddie exchanged a look.

“You know what, forget I said anything,” Chimney said. “I’ll let you two talk about this, I’m going to go finish my dinner with Jee.” Chimney picked up his plate and headed back to the living room.

“Did I just kick your husband out of his own kitchen?” Buck asked, looking at Maddie in confusion.

“Can we just… back up a little?” Maddie asked.

“To what?”

“Well, I said it could be different if it was someone who was interested in you, and you said ‘why would he’ and then cut yourself off.”

“Well, I just meant like, why would he be interested in me?”

“We have got to work on your self-esteem,” Maddie muttered, rubbing her forehead. “Okay, putting that aside. Why do you think you’re acting weird around him?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I was asking you.”

coffee shop au-

“Hey everyone, I’m Evan Buckley, but you can call me Buck. Thanks for coming out tonight to listen to some live music, I’ve got some of your favourites ready for you and a couple new ones I think you might like,” Buck said, strumming lightly on his guitar. “How do you all feel about a couple of covers first?”

There was some applause and cheering from the audience.

“Alright, here’s Wonderwall,” Buck said, playing the opening bars and then laughing at the reaction he got. “Kidding, kidding. Here’s Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls.”

“Mooning,” Ravi said quietly from behind Tommy.

Tommy threw a damp cloth at him, which Ravi snatched out of the air.

“Seriously, would it be so bad to talk to him? He asked about you when you weren’t here, by the way, so he’s at least noticed you.”

“When wasn’t I here?” Tommy tilted his head a little as he thought about it.

“I dunno, I think it was like the first month he was here? You had the flu and missed a couple days.”

colorado/long story short -

“No, I transferred houses before they joined the 118. I work over at Harbour now.”

“Ah, the 217 and Air Ops. You fly?”

“He's the pilot that flew them into the hurricane to rescue Captain Nash and Sergeant Grant,” Albert said excitedly.

“Really! I heard about that,” Taylor said. “You all got awards for that, didn’t you?”

“I was pretty sure we were all going to get fired, so the medals were a nice surprise,” Tommy said.

“How’d you get tied up in that anyways?” Taylor asked. “If you weren’t working with the 118 anymore?”

“Off the record?” Tommy asked.

“I don’t report on people I know anymore,” Taylor said. “Completely off the record.”

“Howie called me,” Tommy said simply. “I owed him a favour.”

“What kind of favour warrants flying into a hurricane?” she asked.

“The life saving kind.”

cozy/apple orchard -

“This is like a movie,” Buck said excitedly. Tommy tucked the plaid blanket around their legs — it wasn’t really needed, but it added to the ambiance of the hayride.

“I didn’t think people actually did this outside of like, fall movies and after school specials,” Buck admitted as the wagon started moving.

“They never had fall fairs in Hershey?” Tommy asked.

“I mean, probably, but I didn’t really care about that stuff then. I was still in full daredevil mode, a hayride wouldn’t have been high octane enough for me.”

“And now?”

“Getting to spend more time cuddled up with you? Big fan.”

texting fix it-

🐓 Hen

okay back

did we solve it yet

Casey🧯

not yet

what were you saying about baked goods?

🐓 Hen

Buck has taken to baking his feelings

Every fridge and freezer is full

I’m going to start sending him my kids’ dentist bills if he keeps it up

☎️Marilena

hiiii you can send some stuff over here!

🐓 Hen

you didn’t get yours yet? I was sure I sent some to dispatch. Next batch, all yours

Tommy🚁

you’ve seriously had to send baking to dispatch?

🐓 Hen

and other stations, the hospital, and the police station

Lucy🚁

okay, so sounds like buck still has feelings and would be open to a reconciliation?

Tommy 🚁

big word donato

Lucy🚁

big fuckup kinard

make me write

[loveshotzz]

pretend i wrote this when you were sick - pretend it's also not this long. also sorry if it looks like there are parts missing.

He's on his third call while he waits at the door in the early spring breeze, unbottoned work shirt billowing with him -- silently chastising himself for not throwing on a sweater since you told him to do it before he left. He presses the bell again, hearing it go off in the house for the second time, anxiety brewing in his chest. He'd never seen you so sick, and even though the doctor said it was just a bad flu, seeing you in bed like this made his heart pound. He wasn't sleeping, had been working from home the past few days. He'd set up shop right outside the hall of the bedroom, ignoring his office so he could hear if you called out to him -- Bandit dutifully keeping watch over you at the end of the bed. It was something he wasn't expecting to affect him like this, his thoughts getting clouded with the sound of hospital monitors and oxygen machines.

You did your best to understand and assure him you're okay -- you're just kind of a baby about being sick. Lucky for Steve, he's been loving a chance to get to baby you - despite the ache it causes to see you like this.

But the babying would start even quicker if the front door of the house he was in front of would open.

"Honey, am I gonna have to file a report? You can't just be showing up to my house -- I got a wife at home," the tease comes from a familiar smoky voice, "Do you really want her to find out about us?"

"I called three times," Steve huffs, "I said I'd only be gone for ten minutes."

"Do you really think she's counting? She's probably asleep. Plus, you're a minute man," Eddie winks, beckoning him into the house, "And if she calls you can run right home, you're around the fuck--effing corner."

"Yeah, you're around the effing corner, Big Guy," Gwen's tiny voice repeats from the island in the kitchen.

"Gwendolyn," Eddie warns. "Sorry," she whispers back, "I won' say id again."

"Thank you, doll," he smiles, "Can you ask mommy to bring the soup and meds we packed up for your aunt so we can give it to Steve?" She patters away with her light up sneakers glinting pink and purple with every step, disappearing into the house only to run back winded a few minutes later. "Mommy said you have two hands that work just fine so you can get it," she smiles, not fully understanding what she means, "And then she said to say please after. Please!"

Steve snorts, "Yeah, loser, go grab my shi--stuff."

Eddie rolls his eyes, "Whatever."

As her father leaves, Gwen climbs back up on the bar stool and looks up at Steve curiously, "So when does she get to come back over?"

"When she feels better, angel," he smiles, "Why?"

She shrugs, "I dunno, I like when she comes over 'cause then it's not just you."

His mouth gapes with a smile, "What do you mean? Am I not enough for you?"

Gwen shrugs in the way four year olds shrug when they're feeling sneaky, "She's juss funner, Big Guy." "Do you hear this?!" Steve gasps as Eddie re-enters, "She doesn't think I'm as fun."

"You haven't been playing 'Cool Barbies' with her, lately," Eddie shrugs, popping the two tote bags filled with sick day amenities on the table, "Ow, ow Lu, don't pull daddy's hair, please." "It's okay Luce, you can do whatever you want," Steve coos to the baby on Eddie's hip, grabbing the bags and putting them over his shoulder. He leans forward to kiss her only for Eddie to step away.

"Dude, not with your potential flu germs -- they're picking up enough sh--stuff at daycare," Eddie says, taking the baby's pudgy hand and waving, "Say byyyyeee Big Guy." "Bah," Lucy gurgles in her post nap haze, head resting heavily on Eddie's shoulder. "Bye, Big Guy," Gwen smiles, hugging him at the knees, "Tell Auntie-I-said-hi-and-I-miss-her-and-love-her-and-that-she-is-so-pretty-and-that-I-have-new-Barbies."

"I will tell her, thank you for the message," Steve nods, chest hammering again at the thought of you sick and bed without him. He flicks his head up at Eddie, "Tell Peach I said hi."

"Yeah, I'll tell her somethin' alright," he half grumbles, hoisting Lucy higher up on his hip. Steve blows Gwen a kiss before making it back to you in the quick trip is takes to get back to your place. He knocks softly before stepping in, hearing your soft 'hm?' that sets his whole body a buzz with affection. "I have..." he starts, opening the bags, "Two quarts of Peach's famous 'sick soup', a shit ton of orange juice, 800mg motrin, a card from Gwen, a drawing from Gwen, three new pairs of fuzzy socks, a toy for Bandit? Okay..." He lists off the rest of the care package before looking at you with a smirk, "And absolutely nothing for me." "I can gib you someding," you murmur out with a stuffed nose, "I can gib you a kiss." "Ooh, how about I give you a kiss tough girl?" he asks, chestnut hair falling into his eyes as he leans down to kiss your forehead. His lips are warms against your clammy skin, enough to soothe you back into a cozy half sleep under the covers, "How're you feelin'?" "Dired," you admit, "Bud I could really use thad soup." "Okay," he nods, "I'll heat it up for you." He gets back to the door looking back with a soft gaze on you, thinking of Lucy's face and how it looks when you hold her on your hip, how you look when you play Barbies with Gwen. How it would look when there's a baby that's the perfect blend of the two of you bouncing on your lap, when there's a baby monitor in the bedroom, when you're both complaining about germs at daycare. He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it before going downstairs. Right now, babying you is just enough.

CAROL!!!! Stop 😩 I physically cannot handle this amount of yearning. What have you done to me?!? I’m still sick (it won’t go away) so this was still perfect. Of course he’s imagining getting me pregnant while taking care of me, ILL GIVE THAT OLD MAN ANYTHING HE WANTS!!

Also shout out to the number one couple here and that’s ocs!eddie and airwiy!steve. I love that the little glimpse we get of them living close to each other now and the little growth of the munson family 🥺

[cuddlepilefics]

Winter flu

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Seungmin

Caregivers: Stray Kids

@hurtcember 1 collapse, 5 faint

@whumpcember alt6 could you stay a little longer?

@fluff-cember

 

No one’s POV.:

Glancing at the couch, Felix furrowed his brows. Him and Seungmin had spent the first half of the day decorating their shared apartment to help them get into the Christmas spirit. Not long after they were done, Seungmin had stretched out on the couch, not even interested in having lunch first. Felix had planned to bake cookies that afternoon, making the most of their day off, but now that his friend was sleeping in the living room, he didn’t want to wake the younger.

Felix grabbed a fluffy blanket from his room and carefully covered Seungmin with it, noting how the vocalist’s brows were drawn into a frown. He didn’t look comfortable but their couch had never been the best place to rest and he’d most likely end up sore later. Felix didn’t have the heart to wake him though, so he went to play computer games in his room to grant the other as much sleep as possible. He could still bake his cookies later.

When Seungmin woke up, his body was stiff and achy, making him groan as he sat up. He turned his head a few times and rolled his shoulders in an attempt to loosen up the tight muscles but it did little to help. All it did, was make his head pound and pressed the balls of his hands against his eyes. Gulping, Seungmin figured some water would help him get his bearings. He really shouldn’t have slept on the couch because now, he felt like he had been hit by a car, which was not how he had wanted his day off to go.

Sluggishly getting to his feet, Seungmin clutched the back of the couch and panted as his heart suddenly started to race. For some reason, he felt awfully shaky all of a sudden. Water would surely make it better, right? Dragging his achy body to the kitchen, Seungmin poured himself a glass of water and almost dropped it from how badly his hands were trembling. He ended up spilling some onto himself, barely noticing it though.

“Felix?!”, Seungmin yelled, suddenly feeling lightheaded. He set the glass down and clutched the counter for support. Sliding down with his back against the kitchen cabinets, Seungmin prayed the other wasn’t wearing his headphones as he felt his consciousness slipping away. Though Felix had his headphones on, he did hear his friend’s call and rushed to the living room. It took a moment for him to find the vocalist slumped on the floor in the kitchen. Rushing over, Felix crouched next to Seungmin and gasped: “Hey, hey, you with me?” – “F-feel faint…”, the younger slurred, weakly holding his head in his hands.

“Okay, alright… lay down”, Felix rambled, helping Seungmin ease himself into a flat position, “Deep breaths.” The Aussie ran a kitchen towel under cold water and draped it across the other’s forehead. Squeezing Seungmin’s shoulder, Felix hummed: “Talk to me. Gotta know you’re still with me. What happened?” – “Dunno”, the vocalist breathed, fidgeting his hands, “’s getting better. Jus’ -jus’ don’ feel good. Gosh, my head.” – “You’re burning up”, Felix frowned as he pressed the backs of his fingers against Seungmin’s pale cheek.

When Seungmin felt a little better, Felix helped him sit back up and handed him his glass, steadying his hand so he could drink a few sips. Rubbing the vocalist’s back, Felix hummed: “Were you already feeling bad earlier or did this come out of nowhere?” Clearing his throat, Seungmin rasped: “I felt a bit off but when I woke up, everything hurt. ‘m jus’ so out of sorts.” – “That sounds like the flu to me”, the older frowned, “Do you have any other symptoms?” – “Throat”, Seungmin whispered as he handed the glass back.

With Felix’ help, Seungmin managed to get back to the couch and weakly collapsed into the cushions. Shivering, he pulled the fluffy blanket around his shoulders and sniffled: “This sucks, we only just got a day off.” – “Better now than be sick on Christmas”, Felix argued, trying to look on the bright side, “You look chilled. Want me to make some hot chocolate?” – “Don’t feel like I could stomach it right now”, the younger pouted as he curled up on the couch.

Feeling too miserable to go back to sleep, Seungmin insisted on staying in the living room because he wanted to have Felix close by. Since he didn’t need to worry about waking his friend, Felix turned on a soft Christmas playlist and started his baking. Placing a teapot and cup onto the coffee table, the Aussie whispered: “Let me know when you feel like you could handle a light meal. You’ll probably feel more like yourself once you’ve had some medicine.”

Apparently, Seungmin had drifted off because the next thing he knew was a gentle hand stroking his hair. He made a small noise at the back of his throat and the hand stilled for a moment. “I didn’t mean to wake you”, Chan whispered as he resumed petting his dongsaeng’s head, “Lixxie had invited us over to look at your guys decorations and to try some cookies. We didn’t know you were sick.” We? Seungmin blearily blinked his eyes open and winced when the light made his head pound. It dimmed significantly a moment later, the leader carefully covering his face with his hand softly calling out for someone to turn it off.

Jeongin was quick to turn off the lights and switch on the Christmas decorations instead. He felt guilty for coming over. Sure, they had been invited but that had been before Seungmin had fallen ill and the vocalist probably didn’t want the entire group over when he was feeling this bad. They had tried to keep it down but now, Seungmin had woken up anyway. Chan helped Seungmin sit up and asked: “How’re you feeling?” Rubbing his face, the younger winced: “Ugh, when did I get so stuffy?” – “Hang on, I’ll grab some tissues”, Minho smiled, handing Seungmin his tea.

Minho had joined Felix in the kitchen as soon as he learned that their dongsaeng was sick. While the Aussie finished the last batch of cookies, Minho started to prepare some jook, so it could simmer. “Here you go”, the dancer hummed, plucking a few tissues from the box and handing them to Seungmin before placing the box on the coffee table. Seungmin blew his nose and mumbled: “Thanks. When did you get here? Oh, and who all is here?” – “Group hangout”, Chan chuckled, “We only got here half an hour ago though.” – “If it gets too much, you can always kick us out. We wouldn’t want to wear you out more”, Minho added. Closing his eyes, Seungmin sniffled: “It’s nice to know you’re close by, just don’t expect too much of me.”

Assuring Seungmin that their only expectations were Felix’ cookies, Chan helped the vocalist to the bathroom. Changbin and Jisung had volunteered to grab takeout for the group, so they could focus on caring for their friend. And care, Seungmin needed. He had successfully changed his clothes after sweating through them but it had taken a lot out of him. Walking back to the living room next to Chan, Seungmin startled the leader by suddenly clutching his arm. Before the eldest could ask him what was wrong, Seungmin’s knees buckled.

Chan had managed to catch Seungmin just in time and carefully lowered him to the floor. His yell had alerted Hyunjin and Jeongin, who were by their side in an instant. Seungmin was out cold though, not even twitching when Chan patted his cheek. “What happened?”, Hyunjin frowned, kneeling next to them to feel Seunngmin’s wrist. Shaking his head, the leader muttered: “I don’t know. He reached for me and then he was out. Hey, you hear me, Minnie?” – “His pulse is really fast”, Hyunjin observed, letting go of the vocalist’s wrist to shake his arm instead.

Seungmin came to with a soft whimper. His ears were ringing and he felt his pulse thumping in his head. “Couch?”, Hyunjin asked and Chan nodded. Together, they lifted Seungmin off the floor and carried him to the living room. Jeongin grabbed a few cushions and elevated the vocalist’s legs as soon as his hyungs had placed him down. Swiping a magazine off the coffee table, Chan fanned Seungmin’s face and cooed: “You’re okay, Minnie. We got you.” – “Just stay down for a while”, Hyunjin instructed, refilling the vocalist’s cup.

While Seungmin recovered, Changbin and Jisung returned with their food and were taken aback when they learned just how bad their friend was doing. Serving the vocalist a bowl of jook, Minho informed: “You’ll feel better once you had some meds, so you gotta eat something. Doesn’t have to be much but you need something in your tummy. We’ll join you in a moment, so you won’t have to eat alone.” – “If you feel like you can stomach it, you get a cookie afterwards”, Felix piped in. Sniffling softly, Seungmin breathed: “Can you help me sit up? Feel like mush.”

Removing the cushions from under his dongsaeng’s legs, Minho propped the boy up and handed him a tissue when the shift made his nose run. Chan and Hyunjin helped Changbin and Jisung plate their food and joined the others in the living room. “Do you feel up for watching a movie?”, Jisung asked Seungmin as he settled down with his plate, “We could start the holiday season with a Christmas movie.” – “Hm, let’s see if the medicine does anything. I don’t mind just laying here while you guys watch something though”, the vocalist mumbled, “Just hearing that there’s someone around already helps a lot.”

Jeongin brought Seungmin some medicine when he had finished his jook and Felix handed him the promised cookie, rewarding him for his struggle. Seungmin contently nibbled the treat, savoring the sweet flavor before laying back down with his head in Changbin’s lap. Gently stroking his dongsaeng’s hair, the rapper hummed: “Do you need anything else? Are you comfy?”

Though Seungmin claimed to be comfortable, Felix tucked him in properly while Jisung fetched and icepack and wrapped it in a towel, so Changbin could hold it to their friend’s forehead. The cold touch soothed the headache a bit and made it easier for Seungmin to hold out till the medicine kicked in. “I made hot chocolate for everyone to go with the cookies, so if you want any instead of your tea, just let me know”, Felix whispered as he squeezed the younger’s knee. The corner of Seungmin’s lips twitched up into a faint smile and he mumbled: “Thanks. The cookie was nice but I don’t think I can handle that at the moment.” – “That’s alright”, Felix cooed, “I didn’t want you to feel like I forgot about you though.”

In the end, Seungmin didn’t even know which movie his friends watched, already feeling floaty as he relaxed into Changbin’s comforting touch. Once the medicine kicked in, he finally felt well enough to get some proper rest and ended up sleeping throughout the entire movie. Chan carried him to his room and tucked him in, not wanting him to have to walk back to his room later, afraid he’d collapse again. For a moment, Seungmin woke up and groaned when his back touched the mattress. Resting his hand on his dongsaeng’s chest, Chan shushed: “You’re okay. Go back to sleep, Minnie.” The younger shook his head though, blearily glancing up at the leader. “Could you stay a little longer, hyung?”, Seungmin breathed, weakly reaching for Chan’s hand.

Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, Chan smiled: “As long as you want me here.” He let the younger tug him into bed and lay down alongside him. “Are you cold?”, Chan asked when he felt Seungmin shiver. The vocalist nodded against his hyung’s arm and whined when the older whispered that he couldn’t have another blanket because his fever was already so high. He relaxed though when Chan rubbed his arms, generating enough warmth to soothe the chills and ease his dongsaeng back into a deep slumber.

[chochuuya]

flu confession.

kazutora hanemiya x fem!reader

notes: classic old school fluff, shy tora (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ

wc: 587

his voice is so stuffy over the phone.

“hurrgh,” kazutora groans. you can picture the scene now— him swaddled in layers of blankets, desperately trying to get over the flu. it’d be funny if it didn’t sound like he was two seconds from sneezing every time he spoke.

you call out his name and he goes, “huh?” in return. “oh, i didn’t mean to call somebody. uh, i’ll hang— achoo!”

you chuckled in response.

“poor you. get well soon, kazutora. don’t worry, i made extra notes and got you the handouts for the lessons you missed!”

“no, no, hang on,” he says, sniffling. “don’t go.”

his voice is strained, but he still sounds grateful for the time. “you don’t have better things to do? like... hang out with friends or whatever?”

“it’s 4 in the morning man..”

“yeah, uh, true.” he pauses, “what’re you doing up so late?”

“can’t sleep haha, plus it’s raining. i thought i could listen to some songs down the nostalgic lane.”

“oh, you’re a music girl, hmm?” he grins behind the screen, you can tell he likes the sound of that. “whatcha listening to?”

“not really.” you chuckled softly. “oh, right now.. don’t laugh but it's beautiful girls by sean kingston. kinda random, i know.”

hanemiya raises his eyebrows. “that’s a catchy song. i’ll be honest with you, though, most would’ve said taylor swift or... uh, i dunno, i’m running out of examples.”

he laughs, “so do you usually stay up this late all the time or is it the storm?”

you laughed along. “honestly, both.”

“yeah, i’m with ya there. the rain’s pretty relaxing, but it’s also kind of lonely.”

he pauses. “can i ask you something?”

“sure, what’s up?”

“you’re not gonna think it’s stupid?”

“let’s hear it first.”

“well…” he gulps, “do you think we’d make a good couple?” his voice is shaky but he says it anyway.

that made you sit straight up, staring at the phone in disbelief. the time keeps on running and you still couldn’t believe your own ears.

“..why would you think that, kazutora?”

“well.. i’m not sure, really. i just...”

he trails off, ‘just’ almost turning to ‘got a crush on you’.

“never mind,” he says quickly. “i’m just tired and sick. i shouldn’t say things like that.”

“i, uh.. it’s fine.” you chuckled nervously.

shoot i don’t even know what to say, you thought to yourself.

“yeah, okay.” he sniffles again. “can... uh... can you keep a secret, (y/n)?”

“of course.”

“okay. so, uh…”

there’s silence for a moment. kazutora takes a deep breath, then spills his guts. “i’m really into you.”

the boy blushes but he swore it’s just his fever acting up. “i’ve thought about it for a while, but i didn’t want to ruin anything. but we always get along and you’re really funny. and pretty.”

he clears his throat. “‘m i embarrassing myself?”

“no.. not at all, kazutora. thank you, you’re so sweet. i think you’re kinda cute too.” you let out a nervous laughter.

“wait, really?” his voice is a jumble of different emotions. surprised. happy. relieved. nervous. he doesn’t try to hide them very hard.

“are you just saying that?”

you laughed quietly at his remark. “no, i mean it.”

“oh. okay then.”

tora’s heart is about to jump out of his chest, but when did it ever listen to him before?

“so... do you want to hang out sometime?” he asks, trying to sound nonchalant. “when i’m not dying of the flu, of course.”

please do not steal, copy, translate, repost to other sites or claim my writings as your own. plagiarism is real!

so so cute (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) please do like/reblog/interact if you enjoy reading this hehe, always appreciated ♡♡

[astranite]

Love is Stored in the Pasta

Scott, John and pasta.

This started off from a tumblr post 'cause somebody needed to cook that guy some pasta!!

Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, really very mild scott is hangrysad, ft john's space issues, Chronic Illness, as thats what im treating it as and its not the focus here he's just living with it, Scott Tracy has ADHD, this is important, Autistic John Tracy, lowkey here but also Important to me, this is fun and fluffy and i love them, i hope this is like a warm comforting bowl of pasta to you too

---

“We need to talk,” John said.

On the other side of the call, Scott’s hologram slumped over his desk, his head landing in his hands. “Oh God.”

“I found your search history…” John began.

Scott peered out sheepishly from behind his fingers. “I can explain!”

“It’s just pages and pages of pasta?” 

John was puzzled, honestly. Five to ten recipe blogs and that was Scott trying to decide what to make for dinner during a meeting or while he was struggling to concentrate on work. During lulls between callouts, he and John would sometimes debate options together. More than forty separate sites visited at 3:12pm on a Tuesday afternoon and Eos had flagged it for John, on suspicion that Scott’s computer had been hacked by a malicious entity or some other AI virus.

Scott went from double facepalm of despair to full on faceplant, his head hitting the desk with an audible thunk.

“Why so much pasta?” John questioned. Now his curiosity was piqued, he couldn’t let it go or he’d be doing EVA work later, still turning over possibilities in his mind, which wasn’t conducive to the constant concentration needed while floating around in the vacuum. Outside, any misstep would be your last.

“I dunno. I just feel like pasta,” Scott mumbled into the wood.

Scott sounded…weird. Like he was about to start laughing, or coming down with a cold.

“Scott? Are you okay?”

It had better not be another flu; corralling Scott to take care of himself was hard enough even if he wasn’t feverish. John wouldn’t be able to come down either, quarantined up in Five unless he already had it. Was the slight tug of a headache at his temples from his sinuses beginning to clog up too?

Scott hadn’t looked up yet; his shoulders were shaking. John wiggled his fingers anxiously.

“Scotty?”

Big brother’s head shot up at the nickname John so rarely used. Had John intended to provoke that reaction? The name had been a slip of the tongue but if he was was honest, he sort of had meant to jar Scott out of his thoughts. He never called Scott, Scotty unless he was scared though. And Scott not answering him did tick tick tick up his system from yellow alert into red.

“I’m fine, it’s okay. Don’t worry about me.” Scott’s words ran over each other in an attempt to come first. His voice sounded oddly wet.

Tears, yes those were indeed tears dulled by holographic format, tumbled down Scott’s cheeks.

As soon as he saw John looking, Scott turned away.

Suddenly, John landed on the spark of insight that he had a hunch would crack the code to his big brother’s distress. “Have you eaten anything all day?”

Scott dug around for tissues in a drawer of the desk and gave a half shrug. “I guess not—not really? I tried to before you say anything. Got a mouthful of breakfast in and then there was a call out. Lunch didn’t happen, there was a meeting, I had to make coffee, I ran out of time. I don’t really feel hungry though…”

That did explain a few things. It was well known family lore that Virgil and Alan got hangry, and Gords went all sad and mopey. Scott and John himself though, they got …really, unstably emotional. 

So yeah, hence the unexpected bursting into tears. John got the whole shit interoception and not even noticing if you needed to eat while you were buried in work thing; Scott was way too used to ignoring his body too. 

John took a deep breath. “Scott, and I’m one-hundred percent serious about this, do you want me to come down there and make you some pasta?”

Thunderbird Five systems whirred around John in the quiet as Scott hesitated.

“Maybe,” he whispered. “Or you don’t have to, I’ll wait, Virge’ll be doing dinner in a bit anyway.”

“Virgil won’t be up until past sunset after the hours Thunderbird Two was out yesterday and into this morning,” John said gently. “You need to eat before then.”

Nor would an overwhelmed Scott and the kitchen be a good combination at this point, and John saw the moment Scott realised this, while fidgeting with the rubix cube on his desk. 

“I want to do this for you,” John told him.

Scott dashed at his eyes, sniffled a few times and finally capitulated. “Okay. Thanks, Jay.”

John smiled and signed off, heading for the space elevator. He was usually so far away, he was right now, but it was in his power to close off that distance when he needed to and today he could use that. 

He farewelled Eos; she so often missed him but the opportunities to run the space station on her own that weren’t emergencies where he was incapacitated excited her. They showed how much he had come to trust and rely on her. Plus she got full reign of their virtual chess set.

On Earth, Scott was waiting for him as the elevator docked, his hands stuck casually in his jeans pockets but looking as pale and wobbly as John felt. His face was still tearstained.

“Hey.”

“Hey to you too.” John took a few heavy steps before throwing himself at Scott, wrapping his arms around his brother tightly, all the while careful not to knock him off balance. Scott stiffened then melted into John. 

Usually that interaction went the other way around. 

Scott used the extra height space gave John to rest his head on him without having to duck down like with everyone else. John hugged him close and comfortingly as his fingers tap tap tapped their rhythm at Scott’s shoulder. All of it meant I love you.

“Pasta time?” John said eventually.

Scott nodded silently, following when John started off towards the kitchen. The raw rock wall of the hanger was rough and vividly solid in its three dimensions, as John ran his hand along it for balance as he walked that initial part. He was touching the Earth, he was in the Earth, he was on Earth.

With cold water from the fridge dispenser and the fizzy, brightly coloured tablets shook out of their tube, John made up lidded cups of electrolyte drink for himself and Scott. John needed to be sculling the stuff perpetually to stay upright down here, and he would not be at all surprised if Scott was dehydrated too. It might to something for John’s headache, could go either way for the nausea coming on.

He put a large pot on the heat. One advantage of having a stove so high powered that it could nuke anything it touched was that any volume of water boiled fast. 

An entire packet of fettuccine got tipped into the enthusiastic cacophony of bubbles. John poked at it with a pasta scoop, regretting that he hadn’t snapped the long pieces to actually fit in better. Ah well. 

He shook in an excessive-to-anyone-not-him amount of salt with a shrug ‘cause he needed it, before having another go at separating the pasta. The pasta scoop was quite an effective implement for that, there were reasons after all it was Gordon’s favourite utensil as John remembered from previous discussions. One could also use it to mash potatoes when held vertically, if one so pleased. His second favourite was the tongs as they could be clicked like crab claws and used to pinch unsuspecting siblings. 

Scott watched from his place slumped over the kitchen bench on a stool, chewing on the ragged skin at the edge of his thumbnail. He was trying to work on a couple of screens pulled up as holomonitors, as unsuccessfully as could be expected. John came over and hopped up to sit on the bench, clipping through the projected email inbox and meeting minutes so Scott dismissed them. It was with a sigh of relief.

They smiled tiredly at each other.

The pasta! John tapped at his uniform comms watch. “Eos, set a timer for the pasta, please?” John shaved the minute that had already passed off of the box time and then another couple to ensure it wouldn’t come out mushy.

“So what sort of stuff on pasta do you feel like? There’s a good lot of options you were looking at earlier.”

“We don’t have the ingredients for most of those, I checked. No eggs and no mushrooms so no carbonara. Technically that wouldn’t be authentic carbonara though. No cream cheese. We missed this week’s supply run so we don’t even have any frozen peas!” Scott threw his hands up in the air.

“Hmmm. You feel like something creamy?”

“Yeah. Honestly at this point I’d eat anything.”

John swung his legs and tapped his fingers on the counter while he thought.

“I believe some bacon is hiding in the bottom of the freezer so that’s something. And…” he trailed of as he moved his head too fast and set off a wave of dizziness as he looked around the kitchen.

“Avocado!” Scott exclaimed.

“Avocado?”

“Funny story, we ended up with several cases of them after that rescue on that farm where we saved the whole village and nearly all their trees from catastrophic flooding. They really need eating too and there’s only so much toast you can stand.”

“I have heard theoretically of putting avo on pasta and it does sound good. Mmmm bacon and avocado, John hummed. “Worth a shot?”

Scott reached towards the fruit bowl in answer, grinning at John. “Soon we will have pasta!”

John peeled off the upper half of his uniform and tied the arms around his waist in preparation. In the subtropical summer down here he was already getting too hot and while the temperature regulation built into his suit would do its best to make up for his own body’s lack thereof, it felt weird to have everything covered up from fingertips to neck down here while he was cooking.

Scott began to giggle.

“Huh?” John said, extremely eloquently.

Scott gestured at him. 

“My suit?” Was something up with his suit? The full gloved hands and sleeves flopping about without John in them had been known to amuse the lot of them on occasion, ever since he’d used the empty suit as a phoney decoy of himself to trick Eos. It was pretty funny now no one was in mortal peril and Eos was his friend.

“Your face!” Scott exclaimed.

“What’s wrong with my face?” 

John frowned. Was it his fringe that never could survive true gravity? He hadn’t gotten freckles while he’d been down all of half an hour and inside, had he? Then he looked down.

His t-shirt had a photograph of his face printed on it, and across the chest, emblazoned in neon orange read the words ‘Space Face’, courtesy of one particular fish brother. Ah yes. That.

John sighed, resting his chin on his hand to hide the smile he couldn’t quite control. “Not exactly subtle, is it? In my defence this was the only one in my closet that was clean and you can’t exactly see it beneath my suit. It’s all Gordon’s fault anyway!”

Scott was still laughing, albeit a touch hysterically and at him, but John took it as a win regardless.

Eventually Scott grabbed himself a cutting board and knife to get to work on the avocados as John carefully slipped off the bench, steadying himself on the counter as his ankles went noodley so he could handle the bacon. 

Bacon, bacon, now where had he seen that bacon? He had the image of it in his head, but that was only one piece of the puzzle, a photograph, humanly imperfect, memory woven out of instinct. Digging about in the deep freeze which the evidence pointed to as best John could tell had his fingers feeling like he’d stuck them out in space with out gloves on. They ached sharply as John cursed his crappy circulation. 

He gladly found the bacon though, lurking at the second darkest depths. He would not be willing to venture into the midnight zone of Unidentified Frozen Objects and charred dinner leftovers put away for ‘later’. He chucked the packet into the microwave and thawed out his hands by running them under lukewarm water, wincing all the while. If he’d thought this through, if he’d been smart enough, he would’ve put his suit gloves back on—his space rated, cold proof, most definitely impervious to domestic appliances gloves— and saved himself the pain.

Scott came over to rinse his avocado green hands. He dried them off then wrapped his arms around John’s waist so he could lean on him, giving in for a moment in face of daunting gravity. With Scott, he could because Scott got him; they both could.

“You alright?” And there was big brother smotherhen coming out.

John flexed his defrosted fingers. “I will be.” He turned and smushed his face into Scott’s neck for a little bit, hugging back, Scott rested his head on John’s, and they stayed there for a while.

They were both fading. The pasta would help with that, Scott really needed to eat and so did John at this point, the half a dry bagel for breakfast and another at lunch hadn’t really been enough. The trick now was finishing the task that felt as if it expanding faster by the second than the Universe, as measured by the Hubble Constant was. They could do this though. Together.

Scott chopped up the bacon roughly and John cooked it, hissing back when it spat hot oil at him. 

When Eos notified them the timer had gone off, and John had very scientifically tested the pasta was done by nomming on a bit, he called Scott over carry the large pot to the colander in the sink to strain. 

“Gravity plus boiling water plus my space noodley arms are probably not a good combo,” he laughed. 

He was getting better at knowing his limits. Scott’s smile was small and proud, he saw John.

Scott stared at the bacon with the intensity of a starved wolf with its mouth watering, then stole some pieces hot from the pan and burnt his mouth. Scoff Tracy strikes again. 

They dumped the pasta in a big mixing bowl with the mashed avocado, a little lemon juice, the bacon, and a whole lot of salt, pepper and parmesan cheese, mixing it together with the big pasta scoop.

John swayed on his feet then, grabbing onto Scott to stay upright for long enough to decide actually the best place for him right now was sitting on the kitchen floor just here. John folded himself down to the ground in a slithering pile of too long, too bendy limbs, Scott wordlessly guiding his descent. 

“You want me to grab some sporks to eat with?”

“They’re splayds, technically,” John remarked. He gave Scott the thumbs up anyway, while he rested his spinning head on his knees.

Scott waved about his ‘sporks’ acquired from the cutlery draw with a victorious grin before he sunk to the ground to join John.

John took one, passing the pasta to Scott once he was settled, lanky legs stretched out for miles, bumping into John’s.

“We forgot plates,” Scott said.

John shrugged. “At this point, who cares. We have pasta.”

“We do.” Scott blinked for a moment. “I didn’t before and I wouldn’t’ve but now we do.”

He hugged the warm pasta bowl to his chest, and when John observed more closely he saw the tears collecting on Scott’s eyelashes, sparkling in the kitchen light as he looked up at John.

“Thanks. I love you so much, Jay.”

John gave him a gentle smile, ducking to knock his forehead against his brother’s shoulder like a cat. “Love is stored in the pasta.”

Scott smiled back at him and they both dug in.

It was good pasta.

Really good pasta, because he was here with Scott and through everything they had made it, together.

[ramona-quinn]

I'll Take Care of You

Plot: Octavia is feeling poorly. Stolas helps her feel better.

TW: Vomiting (Do not read if you have emetophobia /gen)

Co-written with @yourneurodivergentlady

Edited by @ramona-quinn

Octavia bent over the toilet in her bathroom as she threw up. She was incredibly nauseous, and she could feel her headspace dropping. She wanted to call out for her dad, but she started worrying that her mother, Stella, would come into the room instead. Stella would probably tell her she's being dramatic and to quit being pitiful and that she got it from her pathetic excuse of a dad.

Stolas was working on some paperwork in his office when he got a paternal feeling that something was wrong. Setting his papers aside, he stood up and walked briskly out of his office and down the corridor. His heart raced with every step he took. Finally, he approached the door to Octavia’s bedroom and knocked.

“Via, darling, can I come in?” He called; the sounds of harsh vomiting met his ears, making his worry worsen.

After a few moments of no response, Stolas opened a portal to enter her room instead. He closed it and was immediately alerted to the stench of vomit. Turning around, he saw his daughter crying on the bathroom floor.

“Oh, Via. Whatever happened, my owlet?” Stolas rushed to her side and crouched down.

Octavia looked up at her father with teary eyes.

"Daddy..." she hiccuped; her headspace finally slipped.

“My sweet girl…” he cooed, pulling her into his lap. “You feel poorly, don’t you?”

Stolas used his telekinesis to grab a thermometer from the sink drawer. He checked Octavia's temperature; 100 degrees. He clicked his tongue softly. “Let’s get you cleaned up and dressed into something comfy."

After giving Octavia a soothing bath, Stolas snapped his fingers and dressed her in a Pull-Up, a pair of sweatpants, and a soft t-shirt. He then carried her to her room, tucked her in her bed, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Alright, sweetie. We need to get some fluids in you. What would you like to drink?” Stolas offered.

“Dunno… I don’ wan’ frow up again…” the daughter sniffled.

“I know you don’t, dear, but it’s important that you stay hydrated. Do you want some water?"

Octavia weakly nodded her head. Stolas gave her a little pat and stood up, handing her one of her star plushies.

“I’ll be right back, darling.”

"But wait... what 'bout Mummy?" Octavia questioned with concern.

“Your mother is out for the weekend,” Stolas assured. “She won’t be here.”

The Goetia went to the kitchen and headed over to a locked cabinet, which contained Octavia's regression gear. He made them magical, where they would disappear when they sensed Stella approaching the cabinet.

Stolas then filled one of the sippy cups with water. He put a couple of ice cubes in and screwed it shut before bringing it back up to Octavia. He also collected some anti-nausea and fever medicine to soothe his daughter's stomach flu. Luckily for him, she always took her medicine like a champ.

“Okay, my dear. Do you think you can take some medicine for Daddy?” Stolas asked as he returned to Octavia’s bedroom and settled on the bed beside her. He held the syringe in one hand and her sippy cup in the other.

Octavia nodded her head and allowed her dad to give her her medicine.

Stolas wiped her mouth with a napkin and offered her the sippy cup. “Good job, my darling.”

"T'an' you," Octavia mumbled as she drank her water.

“You’re very welcome, my owlet…” Stolas reached out and playfully tapped her beak. “You get some rest now, okay?”

"Ca' you 'tay?"

Stolas nodded. “Of course, dear.”

The prince pulled a drawer from Via's bedside table. He pulled out a small jewelry box and opened it, revealing a moon lovey and a purple pacifier decorated with stars. Stolas then handed the lovey to his daughter. He held the pacifier out to her and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. Octavia let him place the soother in her mouth and cuddled closer to him.

"Will I ge' better, Daddy?" Via asked behind the soother.

“You absolutely will, princess," Stolas replied. "Would you like for me to tell you a story?"

Octavia nodded as she gave a small smile. She loved it whenever her dad told her bedtime stories.

Stolas created a small portal that led to outer space. He began to tell her the story of the solar system, giving her facts about each planet.

A bit later, when Stolas finished talking about Saturn and its rings, he looked down and saw that Octavia was fast asleep. He smiled softly as he carefully stood up from the bed and tucked her in. He then covered her up with a purple blanket that she had ever since she was an owlet. He kissed her forehead and switched off the overhead light. He turned on Via's star projector, the lights luminating a soft glow.

"Sleep tight, my sweet girl. I'll be right here if you need me."

Stolas then sat down on a reading chair and kept watch over his sleeping daughter, keeping his promise to stay.

Stolas knew that Via would be okay.

Taglist: @nottapossum, @shhtickerbook, @nostalgiclittlespace, @goomys-corner, @small-duckie, @wolfy-star1401

[ellenhghg]

Head cannons For ff7 boys...ZAAAAAAACK (above all) for when they're super sick, puking...literally can't keep water down? Fever? I dunno just sick as heck.

They're favorite comfort or care routine to receive from their lovers?

Thank you for your request!! ♥ ♥ Took me a bit because of busy days. But! I have some headcanons + a drabble. I hope you like it! ^^

Super sick Zack Fair headcanons + drabble

♡‧₊˚ Zack is usually the epitome of health and energy, so when he’s hit by an illness that knocks him off his feet, it’s a pretty big deal. He doesn’t get sick often, but when he does, it’s a mess. ♡‧₊˚ At first, Zack tries to play it off like he’s totally fine—he’ll be stumbling around, barely able to keep his eyes open, insisting he’s still up for a sparring match or a mission. But it’s obvious to anyone looking that he’s not okay. ♡‧₊˚ When Zack finally accepts that he’s down for the count, he completely gives in to it. He’s suddenly the biggest baby in the world—pouty, clingy, and constantly asking for reassurance. “Babe, am I dying? Be honest. Cough, it’s bad, isn’t it?” ♡‧₊˚ Zack gets really whiny when he’s nauseous. He hates throwing up, and he’ll do anything to avoid it, even if it means curling up on the bathroom floor for hours. He’ll beg you for anything that might help, even if it’s just holding his hand or rubbing his back while he’s miserable. ♡‧₊˚ Zack is the type to tearfully ask "Do you still love me even though I'm all gross?" And of course you have to shower him with reassurance and affection. ♡‧₊˚ Zack's favorite comfort routine when he's sick is having his lover, you, run your fingers through his hair and massage his scalp. It's the one thing that can soothe him to sleep. ♡‧₊˚ He's a sucker for a good old-fashioned cold compress on his forehead. He'll sigh dramatically and proclaim that your healing touch is the only thing keeping him alive.

♡‧₊˚ Soup is an absolute must. But not just any soup - he wants your special homemade soup made just for him. With extra noodles. ♡‧₊˚ Don't even think of suggesting medicine. Zack will avoid it like a plague. You will have to gently insist it will make him feel better. While petting his head of course.

Zack groans miserably, huddled under a mound of blankets. His face is flushed with fever, dark spikes of hair plastered to his forehead with sweat.

"Nngh… (y/n)? 'Zat you?" He croaks, one bleary eye cracking open. "I think I'm dyin' here…"

You smile fondly, perching on the edge of the bed. Reaching out, you brush Zack's bangs back, fingers lingering on his overheated skin.

"You're not dying, you big baby," you tease gently, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple. "It's just the flu. You'll be back on your feet in no time."

Zack whines pitifully, nuzzling into your touch. "Doesn't feel like 'just the flu'… Feels like a herd of chocobos ran me over, then backed up for round two."

You chuckle, shaking your head. "Well, that's what happens when you insist on training in the rain, mister SOLDIER. Even your mako-enhanced immune system has its limits."

Zack pouts, but there's a sparkle of mischief in his glassy eyes. "Aw, c'mon babe… You know I gotta keep in shape! Gotta make sure these guns are locked and loaded, in case you need a big, strong hero to sweep you off your feet…"

He tries to flex, but the motion turns into a coughing fit, his whole body shaking with the force of it. You rub his back soothingly, waiting for the spasms to subside.

"Alright, Casanova, that's enough flirting for one day," you scold lightly, helping him settle back against the pillows. "What you need now is rest, fluids, and plenty of TLC."

Zack's face brightens at that, a hopeful grin tugging at his chapped lips. "TLC, huh? I like the sound of that…"

He waggles his eyebrows, or tries to - it comes out more like a drunken wobble, his coordination shot by the fever. You snort, flicking his nose gently.

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Fair. I meant chicken soup and cuddles, not… whatever your fevered brain is cooking up."

Zack sighs dramatically, but there's a content gleam in his eyes as he snuggles into your side. "I suppose that'll do… for now. But once I'm better, you'd better be ready, babe. The Zack Attack waits for no one!"

You roll your eyes, but can't quite suppress the grin tugging at your lips. Wrapping your arms around your silly, wonderful boyfriend, you press a kiss to his sweaty brow.

"I'll hold you to that, hero. Now get some sleep - I'll be right here when you wake up."

Zack hums happily, already drifting off in your embrace. Even sick as a dog, he still manages to make your heart flutter with his irrepressible spirit and zest for life.

[inmyminditsreal]

You're sweeter than cough syrup

Sick!reader x spencer reid

Word count: 573

Summary: You're sick at home, and Spencer takes care of you despite you being stubborn

Fluff!!

You’re lying in bed, feeling horrible, and wishing Spencer was there. You can't believe that you have a cold. Sniffling your way through the hours and watching some dumb reality TV show. Spencer went out to get you things, and It has only been 15 minutes since he left. Suddenly, Spencer calls out to you,

“Hey sweetheart, are you still in bed?”

You groan, “Mmm-yea.” and realize how hoarse your voice is.

“Oh honey- you look so sick.” He says, walking into the room.

You grumble back, “It's almost like I am.”

“I brought you some soup, also flowers, even if you can’t smell them - and snacks.” He says while smiling.

He places the things down, walks up and plants a soft kiss on your forehead. You smile, then respond,

“I love you so so much but- what's all this for? What's your angle..?”

You melt at the thought of him going to the store and buying you your favorite snacks, but you know he has some tricks up his sleeve.

“Well…I have some medicine. Nothing bad, just NyQuil.”

“No way,” You reply. You hate the taste of NyQuil, he knows that.

He opens the wrapper, lays down next to you, and holds the poison up to your mouth.

“No no no. It’s going to take more than this to get me to drink that.”

He scoffs, “Oh come on, you know Nyquil Cold and Flu is a combination medication containing acetaminophen, dextromethorphan, and doxylamine Dextromethorphan is a cough suppressant. It affects the cough reflex in the brain that triggers coughing. Doxylamine is an antihistamine that reduces the effects of the natural chemical histamine in the body. Histamine can produce symptoms of sneezing, itching, watery eyes, and runny nose.”

“How on earth does that help me?” You reply, secretly impressed.

He whispers, “ It doesn’t but, what do you want, hmm? Anything.”

“I dunno.” You respond.

“How about..this,” He says softly before placing a soft kiss on your lips. “is that enough?”

You turn your head away and pout, “Nope!”

He puts the medicine down and says “Hmm, what about….this,” He says while cupping your cheeks and peppering kisses all over your face and down your neck.

You fight away your smile but eventually say, “Fine, that worked.”

He picks up the cough syrup and gently holds your chin. You swallow the syrup and shake your head in disgust. He sits down in the bed next to you and wraps his arms around you.

You lay your head on his shoulder. You grab some chocolate and start eating.

“You really didn’t have to do all this, you know. You're just lucky you're sweeter than cough syrup.” you say.

“I know but the thought of you here all alone, sick. I hate it. I love you way too much to allow that.” He replies and snuggles into you. You move your head from his shoulder down to his chest and wrap your arms around him.

“You’re so cute, especially when you’re sick.” He mutters.

“No way, I look like a zombie.” You say back.

“What? No way. You look beautiful.”

“Well if you say so, you look cute too.” You smile back

He chuckles, lifts your hand and kisses it softly.

“Get some rest, you really need it.” He says.

“Yeah yeah okay, Love you.” You whisper.

You were already half asleep but him hugging you tighter sent you instantly into sleep.

You’re honestly glad you got sick.

[my-castles-crumbling]

Anon Advice Asks - February 21

Midnights anon, pan romantic anon, compliments anon (new), tattoo anon (new), confuddled anon (new)

Midnights anon

Hi! It’s midnights anon. (Please please let me know if I send in too many asks, I don’t want to be a bother)

Today was another day of being so normal (which is also a song by Peach Pit that I really love)! I was weak (more so than usual, it might be me recovering from the flu but I kept stumbling and my legs kept getting tired and sore when I walke) and I was really close to replapsing but I didn’t! This is the longest time I can remember going without hitting myself or anything worse than that. I tried to ignore my insecurities (about gym class and how I suck at fencing and all the regular stuff) and my dysphoria was really strong today (I really don’t know who I am? Personality wise… gender… I just know I serve other people I guess? I make them happy and I guess that’s what I matter for?). I’m basically puppeting (I’m pretty sure puppeting is a word? Maybe not, I dunno) myself at this point until I act normally subconsciously.

I was wondering if you had any tips on figuring out who you are? Like… what does it mean to know oneself? And also, how does one transition socially? I don’t want to be a boy but I want to be a boy but I don’t want to be a girl but I want to be a girl

Girl, but not girl

Boy but not boy

I kinda wish no one cared about gender? It would make things easier

Also, you know as a kid when you unlock an unspoken truth of the world and stuff? I think I just unlocked one today? There’s this girl I’m subbed to on YouTube and she recently went through a breakup, and I didn’t realize how bad breakups were? She was struggling with eating and getting out of bed, working, etc because of the breakup, and of course I empathize with her, she’s experiencing something that makes her feel terrible but I’ve never really felt romantic attraction, so I guess I’ve never comprehended that a breakup could cause so much pain,

And alloromantics date multiple times?? And risk that much pain??? And have exes and stuff??? I’m astounded??? Thattakes a LOT of guts and strength and emotional maturity.

Anywaysssss… how was your Valentine’s Day? :D

Oh! Also I learned a new way to draw a smiley face and it’s my favorite way so far!!!!! :] :] :]

Hi! I guess my question for both of these things - transitioning and getting to know yourself - is to figure out what you like and what you want. And to do that, you have to try different things! Try different clothing, different hobbies, different pronouns (if you want), different foods, everything! Try setting new boundaries and doing things for YOURSELF. And remember that it's okay to do things for yourself! Because YOU are important.

Once you know what you like and what you want, it'll hopefully be easier to know what to do as far as socially transitioning and being yourself.

It's a constant thing- learning about yourself. But it's a fun adventure!

Ps. My Valentine's Day was good :)

_________________

Pan Romantic Anon

Heyyyy i am sorry I am bothering you with my nonexistent love life but I want to tell someone those moments and I can't talk to anyone- pan romantic anon btw, I am sorryyyy

Anyway, she sent me a reel in Instagram that has a cheesy line like- I don't know if you saw that reel,

+roses are red, violets are grey, 2+2 is 5 and 3+4 is 8

-i think you made a mistake

+yeah, when I am around you I can't think straight.

It is lesbian reel, classic. Maybe I got excited bc she send me that after I send her a flower bouquet reel, anyway, I know it doesn't mean anything, but a person can dream.😔

And we are talking in class, mythology, our friends, some gossips, I don't know, I was fixed on her. Anyway, I feel guilty for enjoying her touch, like when she lays on me or put her head on my shoulder, sometimes my lap, I feel guilty. Bc I enjoy it but like, I don't confess and I feel like I am taking advantage some sort off? I know she is doing it willingly but she doesn't know I have feelings for her (sometimes I think she does but ignore it but that's another days yap) so I think to myself, what if she knew and wouldn't want to touch me anymore, in that scenario she would want me to tell her but I obviously can't I can't lose her as a friend even though only seatmates but like, I am not a bad person right? I don't know, even when she starts to hold my hand I feel like I am doing something bad bc I don't tell her all that. Do you think I owe her a confession? I won't, but I feel like I owe her at least the truth about my feelings bc she is my friend and I am not used to hiding things from her but like, I am not a bad person for that right? Sorry.

Hi <3

I don't think you're a bad person at all. It's okay to not share all of your feelings. As long as you're not coercing her into doing anything (like "hey...we should kiss...as friends") or lying if she asks if you like her then you have every right to keep your feelings to yourself. Please don't feel guilty for that <3

____________

Compliments anon

Heyyy do you mind when people in your asks accidentally say some sort of things like, darling or love? I know you have a significant other and I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable. I sent you an ask but I was looking at my notes app before sending it and I realized I used 'love' bc in my language you literally throw that word anywhere, the girl you met three seconds age, bum, love. A girl who liked your comment, bum, sweetheart. And I am so not used to not say it, I obviously deleted those parts before sending it, but like, when I sent you an ask I want to say "thanks for reading/helping, i love you💕" but I feel like it's too much for an internet stranger and I delete it and write I love your writing etc. and I absolutely love your writing, like a lot, but I also want to say I appreciate you/care for you as a person bc of your personality (at least the part you show to internet) and I genuinely don't know how to do that in English. Can you please tell me a few compliments I can use that won't make you uncomfortable please? I am sorry if you don't want to, I am just new to learning English and the appropriate words change too much between languages

Hi! This is such a kind question!

Honestly, I'm not super picky! I prefer terms that aren't gendered (like no 'hey girl!') but other than that, you do you! Compliments and pet names aren't inherently romantic imo, it's kind of HOW you say them. Like if I say "hi sweetheart!" that can be friendly, but if I say "aw, sweetheart, I love you so much" then that's a bit different. But yeah, whatever feels authentic to you!

___________

tattoo anon

Should I get an ivy hip tattoo or Barbed rope design on the inner thigh?

* Anyway, do you have any piercings/ tattoos? I can't imagine you with tattoos but you would rock nose piercing.

(deleted some triggering things)

Hi!

Okay so it's funny you say you can't imagine me with tattoos because I have almost a whole sleeve, plus.. (I had to count) 8 more, lol. I also have multiple piercings.

I have definitely used tattoos and piercings as a coping mechanism and I do NOT recommend. Yes, it's 'better' than some other things, but it's still dangerous because you could end up going to an unsafe shop or spending too much money just to get something quickly.

Take your time with your tattoos. I'm not going to say they all need to have meaning or anything (mine don't all have meaning) but try to ask yourself if you're getting a tattoo to cope or because you want it. Enjoy the time it takes to plan a really satisfying tattoo. And maybe use this as a way to find a really healthy coping mechanism- maybe art and tattoo design?

Sending love <3

__________________________

Confuddled anon

Hey cas, so I need impartial opinion on a sticky situation

Context for the situation: I'm a sophomore in high-school, and when I was in 8th grade I moved from Michigan to Florida. My family ended up moving right next to another family from the same hometown, and now we're like one big giant family. Like for example, we went through Hurricane Ian together (didn't evacuate) and they ended up moving in with my family for 3 months because their house burnt down. Very close knit, we have dinner together most nights because now they're right across the driveway.

In this family is a son, Wyatt, who is a year and some change older than me. I call him my brother because...well, he has been functioning like one for years, especially because I am an only child. Our families have been plotting to get us together for YEARS, but I thought it was nonsense until just recently one of his friends pointed out the way he looks at me, and was like "yo he's so into you". And now I can't unsee it.

He looks at me with this look in his eye of... admiration? Longing? Not quite sure, but you know....The Look. And sometimes he'll get this cute lopsided smile with me like I'm his favorite person ever.

And I have NO IDEA what to do with this info. Like at all. CAS HE SLEPT ON MY COUCH FOR THREE MONTHS I KNOW HE SNORES. I also don't find him remotely attractive, which is mean but... oh and we also have different ideologies and goals so it completely stupid to do anything, plus I kinda still see him as my brother figure.

But well... sometimes he makes me feel a lil fuzzy, a lil warm, yk? Like I know he wouldn't mess around and from what his friend was saying he's liked me for YEARS.

WHAT DO I DO IM TWEAKING OUT HELP

With cutesy terror,

-confuddled anon

Hi <3

Honestly, it sounds like you need to give yourself time. Like it sounds like you want to know what to do right NOW, and that's not realistic. Spend time with him, maybe make an excuse to hang out with him 1:1 and just...see how you feel. It's okay to feel however you feel- he's not your brother so you're more than allowed to like him, but if you don't like him, that's absolutely okay, too. But give yourself some time and space to figure it out!

Also, if you feel comfortable, keep me updated! I'm now invested lol.

______________

[thetomorrowshow]

Whumptober 24 - Radiation Posioning

title: all days come down to one clear pane

fandom: hermitcraft

cw: hospital setting, possibly terminal illness

~

“Well, hey there, Bdubs,” Beef greets cheerfully, tightening the ties on his apron. “Here for another round of TCG?”

Bdubs doesn’t respond right away. He stares at Beef for a long moment, standing several feet away, hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Hey, Beef?” he says eventually.

There’s something . . . something not quite right about the look in Bdubs’s big eyes. A dull, unfocused quality, like he isn’t all there.

“Yeah?”

“Did we eat something funny, last night?” asks Bdubs. “Because I’ve been feeling . . . not good.”

The NHO had grabbed dinner together the night before, and while it had been fairly cheap, greasy food, Beef’s been feeling all right. Out of all of them, Bdubs has one of the strongest stomachs. It would be weird for him to have a reaction, out of all of them.

“How so?”

Bdubs’s dull eyes dart from right to left. “I threw up,” he says. “Twice.”

Beef hums. “Well, I’ve been feeling fine. Did you ask Etho and Doc?”

“No.”

“Are you feeling sick any other way?”

Bdubs considers that question, his head tilting slightly to the side. “I’m . . . my body hurts,” he says, after a moment of consideration. “Like, aches. Is that normal?”

“It sounds like it could be a flu,” Beef says, taking a subtle step back. “Maybe you should go lie down.”

“I just had the flu a couple weeks ago,” Bdubs argues. “I feel . . . I dunno. I haven’t been feeling great all day, I’ve been kind of sick, but I was okay last night—”

His words speed up, voice louder and louder as he speaks, and one hand snakes out of his pocket and up to his hair, where it starts pulling. Beef grimaces—they’ve been trying to break Bdubs of his hair-pulling habit for years, but it always creeps back. Before he can mention it, though, his hand comes away.

With a tuft of hair.

Bdubs—

He wasn’t pulling too hard, was he? He just kind of pulled a little bit. He shouldn’t have been able to pull out a whole tuft of his own hair, like a dog blowing out its coat.

Bdubs doesn’t seem to notice. He lets the hair fall to the ground, runs his hand over his head. There’s some other thin patches, Beef notices, and that worries him just as much as the bandage wrapped around Bdubs’s hand.

Why is it bandaged?

“—been weird,” Bdubs says, “and I don’t like it.”

“Why don’t you lie down,” Beef suggests again. He forces his voice to be as calm as possible. He doesn’t want to freak out Bdubs, as strangely as he’s acting. “You can use my bed. I’ll bring you something to drink, okay?”

Bdubs frowns, but nods his agreement. He heads off in the direction of Beef’s bed, his bandaged hand still buried in his hair.

Beef watches him go for a moment, then pulls out his communicator.

There’s something very, very wrong about Bdubs. He’s going to need some help.

-

“When did this start?” Doc asks, examining Bdubs’s hand.

It looks bad. It looks really bad, from Beef’s point of view.

His left hand, now bereft of wrappings, doesn’t quite look like a hand. Well, it’s the right shape and everything, but his skin is just . . . wrong. Peeled-away and reddened, the fresh skin under the peeled back of his hand bubbly with blisters. The skin around the patch is discolored, several shades lighter than Bdubs’s usual pigment.

Bdubs shrugs. “I dunno. Um, it’s been kinda getting worse all week.”

“And you didn’t say something?” Doc says, shocked.

“I thought it would get better!”

“Goodness, Bdubs,” Xisuma says. “You can’t dig into a radiation site and expect to just get better.”

“When did you first enter the site, again?”

Bdubs’s face scrunches up; his eyes still hold that glassy look to them. “Um . . . two weeks ago? I haven’t been back since, promise.”

Two weeks ago.

Beef doesn’t know much about radiation poisoning, but if Bdubs made contact with it two weeks ago, how is it that only now he’s realized something’s wrong?

“We’ll have to take him off-world,” Xisuma’s murmuring. “Get him a proper doctor.”

Doc, usually quite defensive of his doctorate, doesn’t argue. He just drags a suitcase out from under Bdubs’s bed and cracks it open, dumping out whatever he finds within. Then he takes it over to Bdubs’s wardrobe, starts throwing random articles of clothing into it.

“I’ll come with,” Beef volunteers, and Xisuma nods gratefully toward him.

Then, because Beef is not just going to come with for the day, he leaves as well, donning a pair of elytra and flying back to his own base.

By the way Doc was packing, he thought that this was going to be a long stay.

Beef will stay with him. And then he’ll bring Bdubs home, and everything will be okay.

-

Bdubs gets sick on day two of his hospital stay.

The staff hadn’t quite known what to do with him—they’d never had a patient with ARS, and they’d had to call in a specialist from another world. That specialist had taken one look at the hospital room—Bdubs on the bed, Beef sitting beside him, Doc pressed against the window and Xisuma taking the forefront—and had immediately ushered them all out.

“His immune system is destroyed right now,” she’d scolded, sending them to the room next door to don protective gowns and masks and gloves. “We can’t risk him getting sick.”

Bdubs had watched them go, uncharacteristically quiet.

The doctor was right. His immune system was destroyed. He wakes up with a chest cough on the second day, and by that afternoon his temperature has climbed to feverish heights.

Beef doesn’t know what to do. He isn’t sick—he quarantined for twenty-four hours and tested negative for every illness in the book, just to be able to sit with Bdubs. He’d expected it to be pretty chill—maybe he could get some drawing done, talk with his friend about any remaining plans for what was left of the season.

Now he sits further away than he would have liked, over in the seat by the window, watching as Bdubs’s chest rises and falls weakly under his hospital gown.

They’re going to intubate him soon if he doesn’t start getting more oxygen. Whatever this bug is has ravaged his lungs in the brief time he’s been ill with it, making his body even weaker and more susceptible to the radiation devastating his cells from the inside.

He doesn’t even look like himself. Bdubs’s hair is more patchy than before, what remains limp and unbrushed. His face is scruffy, bags under his eyes oily, his closed eyes fluttering now and then. The hospital gown fits loosely around him, his entire collarbone showing in an unwelcome display of vulnerability. His right arm is hooked up to a pouch of fluids and pain medication, the occasional click from the IV stand breaking the silence.

He doesn’t look a thing like how Bdubs is supposed to look. It’s like the life has been drained out of him as steadily as the IV drips into his bloodstream.

“Zedaph’s going to be jealous,” Beef says after a long moment, trying anything to make the scene less wrong.

The only sign that Bdubs has heard him is a tiny cough.

“I think he was, like, looking for radiation. And you found it on accident. He’ll probably do a Zedvancement on you when you get back.”

That gets a huff of a laugh. Bdubs doesn’t open his eyes.

Beef bites his lip. “Doing any better than this morning?”

Bdubs’s throat works. “A bit,” he rasps, voice barely there. This triggers a couple more coughs, his frame shaking.

They’re probably going to intubate him. They don’t want to, afraid that he’ll struggle to get off oxygen if they put him on it, but this is only the first day of illness and they’re already discussing it. Unless he gets better overnight, Bdubs is going to end up with a tube down his throat.

He looks so weak.

They’ve determined that he came in contact with the radioactive material about twenty-five days ago. He’s moving out of what they called the ‘latent period’, and the loss of hair means that he’s had higher exposure than they would have liked.

They said that his chance of survival is around 50%.

That is way, way too low. Probably lower with the illness that he’s caught. Beef sat in the window seat for about an hour as Bdubs napped and calculated possible percentages—with a mean of 50, if one assumed that each illness was one standard deviation below the mean, and say the standard deviation was 12—maybe even bigger—

Well, with that model, Bdubs’s chance of survival is 38%.

And with each passing hour, Beef can’t help but think that Bdubs’s score gets lower and lower.

-

They do end up intubating him. It helps him get through the cold that’s ravaging his system, but he’s too weak to get off supplemental oxygen afterwards. Beef is the only Hermit allowed to visit, and only dressed to the nines in PPE.

“You’ll be back in business in no time,” Scar says over a video call. Scar in particular is banned from visiting, even just to drop something off. “You’ve been lotioning your nose? That cannula will give you nosebleeds like nothing before!”

“Yeah,” Bdubs manages. “And then they don’t stop bleeding.”

His blood isn’t clotting very well. He’s had three nosebleeds so far, and every one of them has been an emergency.

The specialist doesn’t say it, but if he keeps bleeding, Bdubs’s chances of survival will keep dropping.

“When are you coming back?” asks Scar. Bdubs shrugs. His arm is getting tired of holding up the communicator, Beef can tell.

“Dunno. When the radiation runs out. And then I have to do . . . more things.”

“Bone marrow transfusions, blood transfusions,” Beef calls. He hears Scar make a humming sound.

“Sounds fun.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, if you need anything, let us know, okay? I’ve still got some cookies around somewhere—”

“Not Elven Surprise—”

“Oh, no, no, no, that probably wouldn’t be very nice at all! But I’ll see what I can do.”

Bdubs nods, clearly worn out, and Beef stands, taking the communicator from him and leaving the room.

He glances back into the room as he closes the door. Bdubs’s eyes are already closed, his head slumped on his shoulder.

Once he’s in the hall, Beef looks down at the screen. Scar’s face is staring up at him, naked concern painted all over it.

“He doesn’t look so good,” Scar says.

Beef shrugs. “He’s right on track for recovery.”

It’s what he’s told everybody who tried to come visit, or called. He told Ren that the doctor said it’ll be a long time, but he should be okay. He told Etho that they put him on oxygen as a caution, not a necesity. He told Doc that Bdubs spent all afternoon chattering about his next build.

He smiled and lied through his teeth to everyone, and he can and will do it again.

But Scar sighs. “I can take the truth, Beef.”

And Beef breaks down.

“He couldn’t afford to get sick,” he chokes out, his throat suddenly thick, tears already spilling from his eyes. “I—sorry, man, I don’t usually—but—before he got sick, he only had, like, a fifty percent chance—and now it’s worse—”

“Hey, hey. It’s okay.”

“He might not make it,” Beef says, ugly and raw and heartbreaking. “I don’t know what—I don’t know what to tell everyone, it shouldn’t be me here, it should be Etho or Pungence or—”

“Nobody could do it better than you,” Scar tells him. “You’ve got this, dude. We’re all here for you.”

Logically, Beef knows that’s true.

But he’s the only one here. He only sees the others briefly, when they stop by to drop off food or clothes—and even then, he doesn’t talk to them. He sees them from the opposite end of the hallway (he sometimes helps Bdubs into a wheelchair and pushes him to the door of his room just to wave at their friends, at Ren and Pearl and Xisuma or whoever else stopped by) or waves to them from the window, and that’s it.

“What do I do?” he whispers after a long moment. He grabs a tissue from the nearby nurse’s station (and the nurse gives him a sympathetic half-smile), uses it to dab at his eyes.

“Just keep trying, man. I know Bdubs appreciates it. We all do.” Scar sighs, an edge of laughter to the sound. “If I could hug you right now, I would.”

Beef chuckles wetly. “Then I’d have to put on all new plastic. Thanks, but no thanks.”

Scar smiles. “Yeah. An imaginary one, then.”

Even imaginary, Beef supposes, Scar hugs are the best.

-

“You’ll pull through,” Beef whispers, Bdubs’s limp hand held in his own.

He doesn’t know if he’s talking to his friend or to himself.

Bdubs has barely been conscious for the past three days. Beef has ignored every buzz of his communicator since he first took a turn for the worse, ever since he came down with another fever.

“We’ve already done two months. We can’t just give up now.”

He’s been awake for going on forty-eight hours now, but he can’t sleep.

He can’t leave Bdubs.

He doesn’t get that choice, though, as just a half hour later, Bdubs’s heart monitor starts beeping incessantly, and then there’s people flooding the room and Beef is escorted out.

Then he sits on the tile floor of the hallway and sobs into his knees.

-

Intubation doesn’t look good on Bdubs a second time.

-

Every single day is a fight.

Beef starts being honest with Xisuma, trusting him to spread the word around Hermitcraft. Bdubs isn’t doing well, but the doctors are hopeful. He got sick again. They have to take treatment slower. He’s off oxygen during the day. He’s back on it. He can’t keep food down. He was able to take a short walk today. He loves the potted plant. His scans aren’t looking good. They’re adjusting the treatment plan. He wants pictures of everyone’s builds. He slept all day. He still can’t keep food down. They’re bringing in a therapist to talk to them both.

It’s after the last message that Xisuma again suggests they take turns staying with Bdubs. Beef is resistant to the idea at first, but Bdubs’s doctor says it would be fine with proper PPE, so he relents.

He doesn’t really sleep, the nights he spends away. It isn’t right to be on Hermitcraft, his bedroom devoid of the clicking of the IV and the clunking of the heart monitor.

“We’ve got it,” Xisuma reassures him. “Rest.”

But Beef can’t do anything without thinking of Bdubs and how he isn’t here, so he continues to assume the main responsibility of being there for him, through the ups and downs and fights that follow.

Right up to the end.

-

“That’s the last one?”

Those are the first words out of Bdubs’s mouth when he wakes up, mumbled and half-formed, his eyes not even quite open.

“The last round of conditioning,” Beef reassures him, squeezing his arm. “Then you have the transplant next week.”

“Then we go home.”

“Then we stay a couple more weeks to make sure it works.”

“And then.” “And then we go home, yep.”

A smile quirks Bdubs’s lips. “I miss it.”

“I know, bud.”

It’s been eight months.

Eight of the most touch-and-go, harrowing months that Beef has ever endured.

“You can keep sleeping,” Beef says, releasing his grip to just pat Bdubs’s arm. “Etho’s not taking my place for another couple hours.”

It’s almost over. Just the bone marrow transplant, then an observation period, then home. Six months of recovery from the radiation poisoning, then two months of conditioning to prepare his body to receive the bone marrow transplant.

Then now.

Then home.

The doctor had been nothing short of jubilant when it became clear that Bdubs was going to pull through. She had repeatedly told Bdubs how proud she was, how he withstood the odds and came out on the other side.

It was a 25% chance of survival, in the most dire moments. Despite a couple of scares early on, everything went as well as could be hoped for—the medication, the skin graft, the conditioning. It was terrifying, and still is (there are still far too many things that can go wrong), but Beef doesn’t shoulder the weight of it alone anymore. Over the past months, every other Hermit (bar Scar) has sat with Bdubs for at least a day. When no one could take his place, they brought him food and games and called to share stories.

Beef just sat with his friend whenever he could, as he had from day one.

Just as he is now, his hand still resting on Bdubs’s arm.

Beef smiles.

Bdubs, already asleep, snores.

Just a few more weeks. Then home.