#please shoot my sinuses

[bitletsanddrabbles]

WIP Wednesday: Sinuses in progress

So I've basically felt like blargh for both of my days off and not gotten anything written. The good news is that Operation Remember How To Write In Journals has been going very well and while I've not finished most of what I've worked on, I've made progress on a lot of things, including finding a starting point for a thing that I've wanted to do for awhile as a sort of present for @tuesdayintheservantshall and @irrationalgame and any other Jimmy fans who are following me that I'm not aware of, because while Jimmy might annoy me greatly, he can also be fun to write, and you guys are cool, so.

Merry Pumpkinmas...or something.

...bloody sinuses....

-

Remembering the empty glass in his hand, Thomas walked over and traded it for a new one. Then, with the stealth of a fully trained servant who would never be able to break the habit, he crossed to the man who had caught his eye and asked, “Jimmy?”

The way the other man turned, the way his curious expression seemed to trip and fall into shock, was worthy of the silver screen and it’s comedies. “Mr. Barrow?” Jimmy gaped, before he seemed to realize they weren’t in a formal setting and tried again. “Thomas?”

Thomas smiled and held out his hand, which the younger man shook without hesitation. “What are you doing here?”

“Playing the piano,” Jimmy replied, jerking his head toward the instrument in question. “I was just taking a break and getting a drink before me hands fall off. What are you doing here? Don’t tell me the Crawleys gave you the boot too?”

[evie-sturns]

sick - Matt Sturniolo

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summary: when you come down with a bad cold, the only person you want is your best friend matt.

contains: fluff, bestfriend!matt, comforting, a little bit of crying.

a/n: just a short one today due to the fact i'm literally bed bound sick.

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i roll over in my messed up sheets, my whole body practically on fire and my head throbbing. i let out a frustrated groan as i wait for matt to finally come over to my place,

i invited matt over around 20 minutes ago, meaning he should be here at any moment.

click

the door to my bedroom opens and i'm met with matts sorry face. "matt!" my voice croaks, which quickly turns into a fit of coughs.

"you look like hell" matt laughs slightly, "such a gentleman matthew." i scoff with an eye roll.

"are you feeling okay?" he asks, walking over to my side of the bed and picking up the piles of tissues on the floor.

"oh- matt you don't have to touch those tissues." i protest, "its all good." he smiles before chucking them in the bin thats in the corner of my room.

i go to get out of bed, then stumble over into matt. "careful there" he says, grabbing my arm.

"my hair is like matted i need to brush it." i sigh,

"lay back down, i'll get your brush." matt says, helping me back down into bed. i lay down against the plush of my sheets.

matt disappears into my bathroom and comes out a couple seconds later with my baby pink brush and a few hair ties.

he jumps into bed next to me and pulls me onto his lap as he sits up against the headboard.

i sit facing the front, i can feel matt's light breathes coming from behind me as one of his cold hands finds its way into my hair.

"do i just.. brush it?" matt asks, "obviously." i laugh,

matt runs the brush through my hair gently, "does that hurt?"

"no it's okay" i smiles, rubbing my nose with the palm of my hand.

matt bunches up my hair in the back and ties it into a loose low bun, "that feel better?" matt asks, i nod before laying back against matt's chest.

i feel my body shiver all though i'm boiling hot, my sinuses are completely blocked and my throat feels like it's being cut by 1000 razor blades.

"my stomach hurts." i sniff, wiping my eyes as i feel myself grow overwhelmed.

"i know it does, i'm sorry." matt whispers,

i feel a couple tears fall down my hot cheeks, which quickly turns into a small sob.

"oh no- sweetheart don't cry." matt rubs my arms, "i feel sick." i mumble,

"i know you do, you've got a bad cold haven't 'ya?" matt coo's, i nod with a small pout.

matt continues to hold me close, his warmth comforting against the cold temperature of my body. i lean into him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest with each breath.

"do you want me to get you some water?" he suggests softly, his fingers gently tracing circles on my back.

"please," i manage to whisper, my voice barely audible through the congestion.

matt leaves the bed. i hear him moving around in the kitchen, the clinking of mugs and the sound of water spilling, followed by a small 'shit'.

he returns with a glass of water. he hands it to me carefully, his eyes full of concern.

"thank you," i say hoarsely, taking a sip. it feels like a balm to my sore throat, easing the rawness with each swallow.

matt sits back down beside me, pulling the covers up over both of us. he wraps his arms around me, holding me close as i drift in and out of a feverish sleep.

"i feel like death." i say with a cough, matt laughs slightly "you're gonna be okay, i promise."

"i don't want you to get sick matt-" i say, shooting up in bed.

matt grabs my arm and pulls me back down onto the matress, "you won't, i'm like 'fuckin superman or something, i don't get sick."

"oh your tough" i tease him, earning a small flick to my arm

"shush" matt scoffs, wrapping his arms around me, "you should just be grateful i haven't thrown up on you." i point out

"if you throw up on me i'm going home y/n" matt states, rubbing his eyes with a grin.

"then i'll try to keep my lunch down!" i say stupidly,

"thank you for your consideration" he laughs, i rest my head on his chest as i shut my eyes.

"go to sleep you idiot." matt sighs, i nod tiredly into his shirt.

matt presses a small kiss to the top of my head, and with another crunchy cough i feel myself slowly doze off to bed.

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@luanetaluenta @sturnsssbow @mattfangirl @luvr4miya @luvtay111 @lolasturniolo @freshloveforthefit @ruedowney @lovingchrissposts @333michelle @h3arts4harry @sonicmacks @jamiesturniolo @chrisstopherfilmed @itzdarling @sturniolo-simp4life @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @ev3rgreenxtrees @lovergirl4387 @certifiednatelover @solarsturniolo @mattsenthusiast @yomamaslays4lyfe @peachmels @alinaa131 @pepsiluvr0209 @creamoncreamoncream2 @szobofc @mattscoquette @blahbell668 @sturniolo04 @ecilphttlunar @bitchydragonparadise @thematthewlover r r @sturni0l0 @ratatioulle @sturnsfav @chrisgetsmewetterxo @mattsonly @justalittle47 @mattsturnioloisbae@sunsetsturniolos @sturniolo04 @similartokayyz @pkfferoo @sturnsintrouble @ilovemattsturn @raysmayhem-72 @75sturn @sturniol0s @secret-sturniolo @hfkeclnendmwodne @sturniolosass @gxldenlush @stonermattsgf @101sara @beccaluvschris @oliviasturniolo21 @imwetforyourmom m @tylerstacobell @sunsetsturniolos @aliceloveschris @jayz4dayz4 @sassysturniolo2008 @nyktoxs-lover @nathandoesgf @starsturns234 @cristiana-heartzzchris @chrissturnsss s @joemamaaa42069 @sturnthepot @zayyluvz @realuvrrr @livialifesblog @sturnioloblogs s @riowritesitall

[covetyou]

any other week

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Dieter Bravo & gn!reader rating: Teen (18+ only blog!) warnings: sickfic. no smut or nudity (shocking, I know). sickness (no vomitting) and associated gross feelings and metaphors. fluff. word count: 2.3k summary: You're sick. That much is obvious. Even if the fact is you can't be sick. Not now. Not this week. Not when the only one around to look after you is the very person who pays you to look after him - Mr. Dieter Bravo.

A/N: if you hadn't heard, I have (had? I still feel shit but I'm technically negative and going to see Taylor Swift tomorrow, wish me luck lol) covid, and it's kicked my ass, so I wrote the least appropriate man in the universe looking after someone. enjoy 💛

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

"D-!"

You barely get out the first syllable of his name before you're hacking a cough, pressing your palms to your knees as you splutter, bent over in a silent prayer to whatever virus has your esophagus in a chokehold, willing it to please let go.

It's feeling benevolent today, you think, when the clenching grip around your throat gives way a moment later, letting you take in a few blissfully sharp, painful gasps of air again.

Not that the cough has really stopped. That's been a niggling tickle for days now, growing and growing into something bigger as your body has gradually lost the fight with whatever asshole thing has set up shop inside your sinuses. Still, it's eased off enough now for you to raise yourself on wobbly legs, chest heaving and your head too fuzzy to really take in the foyer of Dieter's home, or the man himself as he tentatively creeps down the stairs.

It was going to be a bitch of a week. The last week before Dieter head's off to shoot always was. Full of last minute meetings and prep, and Dieter being all too much of an asshole for you to want to deal with, and you being entirely too much of a cunt to him in return. The last thing you needed was to be sick.

Whatever plague had befallen you didn't seem to give a shit you were assistant to the Dieter Bravo, or that sorry, we're busy this week, can I pencil you in for September? You'd just have to deal, and suck it up, and hope to the end of the earth that you could stay far enough away from Dieter than you didn't get him sick too.

"You look like shit."

You almost jump out of your skin, a muffled voice echoing down at you from the top of the stairs as your eyes strain to focus and find the source of the voice. It sure sounds like Dieter, but you can't tell if it's the cotton wool stuffed inside your own head, or some weird voice he's putting on in preparation for his next role that's making him sound entirely off.

He's there, you're sure of it, your heart pounding in your chest as you wheeze and stare up at a Dieter shaped blur you're certain is wearing a balklava.

You cough again before you speak, your voice a weak rasp of what it usually is, razor blades slicing up your throat as you force the words out.

"Dee? I've got your mail, and those clothes from the designer, and -"

He's coming closer, taking the steps slowly, coming in to focus then wobbling back out of it as you blink rapidly at him and heave in another pained breath.

"You're sick."

Usually you'd argue with him. You take just about any opportunity to talk back to him, just like he does with you. It's how you work so well together. Even now, your head is indignantly saying no. You are not sick. You are perfectly fine and if he could just get off your ass, that'd be wonderful.

But, you are sick. That much is obvious. Even if the fact was, you couldn't be sick. Not now. Not this week.

"- your laundry -"

"You're sick."

Any argument is lost in your throat as another cough drags itself out of you, kicking and screaming, forcing you to hinge over again just to stop the force of it all from knocking you flat on your ass. Dieter is retreating up the stairs a little as you watch stars dance across your eyes with each forceful hack of air from your lungs, and even through the pain and lack of oxygen you can sense he feels uneasy about this, about you, and for the first time you think you may have made a mistake.

You shouldn't have come here.

You should have called, or sent a text, and worked from home where you could stay in bed, keeping your germs to yourself and away from him.

When your cough finally eases off again, your head pounding now and your throat burning more than it has in days, you lift yourself up, and admit defeat.

"Okay," you wheeze. "I'll go. I'm - fuck, sorry - I'll call you later. Let me know if you need anything."

Your head spins as you turn, and Dieter thunders down a few more steps before abruptly stopping as you hobble back to the door.

"No!" he shouts down the stairs the moment your hand touches the handle.

You look back at him confused, as he stands there, still keeping his distance, but reaching for you as if force of will alone could stop you in your tracks. And, in a way, it does. You turn to him, propping yourself up on the door, watching him as he tries not to recoil from you, especially now that he can see you up close.

You'd been pallid when you left the house. Now, you felt positively gray. Though you felt cold to the touch, your insides felt like you were roasting alive. No doubt, a few steps closer as he is, he can see the sweat beading on your forehead simply from the effort of keeping yourself standing there and not sliding down the door into a heap on the floor.

"You can't fuckin' drive in this state," he says, flapping his hands at you as his mind kicks into overdrive. "You're sick. You'll crash your fuckin' car. You need rest, and soup, and drugs - the good kind - and a doctor, I should call a doctor, you need to get better, you can't be sick, I can't - because I nee - lo- no!- care - " he stops himself, his mouth flapping as he stares and gesticulates in your general direction before letting his arms flop at his sides.

"I am not getting a new assistant," he settles with, hugging his arms tight around his body.

Before you can tell him he's stuck with you as his assistant whether he likes you or not, another cough beats its way out of your chest, and you slump against the door. Dieter is on you in a second, his balaklava'd face coming into view as he holds you gently by the shoulders as you splutter.

"You - you gotta get in bed. Now."

He's panicking, you know that much. He's never so much as seen you with a hangover, let alone seen you sick. So, you let him guide you upstairs, watching you with wild eyes through the balaklava as you wheeze at the stop of the staircase.

You let him pull you down the hallway, and push you into a spare room. You barely register his hands helping you peel away sweaty layer after sweaty layer of clothing until you're being guided into a soft bed, the sheets being pulled gently over you until you sink into the plush pillows and fall alseep before he's even left the room.

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

When you wake, some minutes or some hours later, you're not sure, it's to shuffling in the corner of the room. The handle of the door clicks before it slowly swings inward - that horror movie creak only playing in your head though fitting perfectly with the scene you're watching in front of you. When the door is half open, a shaggy head pokes around the frame, before shuffling in on croc covered feet, cardigan wrapped tightly around itself and mask replacing the balaklava he'd so hastily thrown on earlier.

"Dee?" you croak from the bed, failing to sit up as the weight of the blankets holds you down.

"Stay back," comes his muffled voice from beneath the mask as he shuffles in further. He walks to a dresser kept by the wall. There's nothing in it. There's nothing in this entire room except for empty furniture and blank walls. The only time it sees any action is after some of Dieter's more frivoulous parties, when one too many people can't make it home and need a place to crash. In essence, it's the spare room to the spare rooms spare room - not the guest room, or his room, or the room he'd designated as yours some years ago, that's down the hall next to his own, but the last of three rooms that sit empty nearly year round.

Dieter tugs on the dresser, his crocs gripping to the floor as he yanks it away from the wall and pushes it with a squeak all the way across the floor toward the side of the bed you're trapped in.

"Stay there," is all he says before he leaves you again, the giant piece of furniture slotted right up against the bedside. You couldn't move even if you wanted to, and now he's all but blocked in your easiest way of escape. You weren't going anywhere.

A moment later he's shuffling back in, a tray in his hands and what you think is an umbrella under his arm. He's staring carefully down at the tray - balance and dexterity having never been his strong suit - before placing it gently onto the dresser.

"Tea," he grunts, pointing to the tray, "that lemon ginger shit. Some other stuff too."

It's at the end of the dresser, beyond your feet, and not really of any use to you right now, but the sentiment is nice, especially coming from Dieter.

"Thanks, Dee."

He grunts again, shrugging his cardigan covered shoulders before taking the umbrella from under his arm and gently pushing the tray along the top of the dresser until it's within arms reach of you. When he's done, he nods to himself before backing out of the room, and closing the door. You hear the faint sounds of jesus fucking christ being muttered from the other side of the door as he walks away, no doubt to have a shower and rid himself of as many of your germs as he can before he goes about practicing lines and keeping himself busy.

That lemon ginger shit is smelling divine as you lay there, slowly peeling your arms out from the sweaty confines of the sheets. The soothing heat of it is just what you need - if you hadn't forced the stuff on him so many times in the past, you'd be stunned that he even thought of it himself.

Sitting up, an ache in your hips like no other, you groan and reach for the tea, taking a small burning mouthful, and swallowing it down with a gasp before taking another, then another, then another. The burn soothes the raw feeling in your throat, and when you can finally swallow a little more freely, if only for a second, you take a chance to look at the tray Dieter left with you.

Some other stuff, is an understatement.

There's bottled water, snacks undoubtedly taken directly from the stash you keep in his kitchen, plus a few of his own that he knows you steal when he's not looking. Then, there's what can only be described as a miniature pharmacy. Tissues, nasal sprays, throat lozenges, tylenol, cough syrup, and little packets of Liquid IV lined up on the tray for you to take your pick of.

It's exactly the kind of thing you've done for him countless times before when he's been holed up in bed, too sick or too hungover to deal with the world. Now, here he was doing it for you just as dutifuly as you ever had for him. He'd even gone as far to get dressed and leave the house, driving to a pharmacy just for you. You knew for a fact he didn't keep half of this stuff in the house, and neither did you.

Before you know it, your throat is constricting and your lip is wobbling, but another burst of pain rips its way through your chest as you cough again, and again, and again. Your eyes water, the tears forgotten, until the cough subsides. You'll cry later, when your throat hurts a little less and you have the energy. For now, you throw back some tylenol, finish your tea, and flop back down into the sheets, ready for sleep to take you once more.

Over the course of a few days, though you barely see his face again, you know he's been in to check on you by what he's left for you on the tray. A hot bowl of soup and soft bread. More tea. A bowl of yogurt and fruit when sunlight creeps through the cracks in the blinds. A stack of books. His iPad, loaded up with movies and TV shows that you're not sure were always on here, or if he downloaded them just for you. Fresh towels so you can take the most exhausting shower of your life, only to come back out to find underwear and one of Dieter's old worn movie tees waiting for you. Then there's more tea. More food.

He cares for you from a distance, day in day out, until your cough turns to a splutter, and you can breath a little deeper. And so can he.

Around the third day, when you're no longer coughing and feeling far more like yourself, but still too exhausted to do much of anything, you finally see Dieter's face again. He silently herds you into the room he calls yours, shuttering the windows as you crawl under the sheets, and curls into bed behind you.

"You smell different when you're sick," he mumbles into your neck. "Fuckin' hate it."

"Sorry," you whisper back to him in the dark. "I showered, but I -"

"No. You smell different. Sick different. Not gross different. Didn't smell like you."

Smiling into the dark, you let him snuggle into you as you drift off into the most restful sleep either of you have had in days.

tagging my Dieter beloveds: @schnarfer @missredherring @whatsnewalycat @sp00kymulderr @ozarkthedog

@ghotifishreads @rebel-held @amanitacowboy @readingiskeepingmegoing

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 22

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Sinuses are trying but I'm fighting!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

"There you are. Lots to go around," Frigga seals the top of another container. "It'll be a nice surprise, eh?"

"Uh, thank you," you offer a fragile smile.

"Of course, dear. I know how stressful it can be to care for the sick. Odin, my husband, had a scare a few years back. A heart episode..." she explains as she puts the large containers in a cloth bag, "it was a rather eventful family dinner, to say the least."

You let your smile fall. You're reminded of your father on the floor, lifeless, your mouth over his as you desperately tried to breathe life into him. The kitchen blurs around you as you revert to the horror of that moment.

"Darling," Frigga frightens you with a gentle squeeze on your forearm, "apologise if I said something."

"No, no, my dad will be happy," you roll the tension from your shoulders. "Leslie too."

"Leslie?" She prompts curiously.

"His nurse. Sometimes she cooks dinner so this will save her some work."

"Ah, a nurse. That must be expensive."

"A little," you admit, "I have some stuff to finish up on still..."

"Oh, don't let me keep you any longer. I know how demanding my son can be," she pats the bag and slides it to the corner of the counter, "this will be waiting for you."

"Thank you. Again."

You turn to go, little, reluctant steps as you venture back into the large house. Dread slows your feet like a ball and chain as you climb the staircase, pausing every few steps to listen. Mr. Laufeyson is lurking somewhere, like a snake in the grass, you know it.

You turn towards the library and pass the open study door. You peek inside and find it empty.  You press on and knock before you enter the library. Alone, you shut the door and let out a heavy breath.

Your heart is racing as if you've escaped some terrifying race. You go to the desk and sit, leaning forward to plant your elbows in front of the closed laptop and cradle your head. What is happening? You can't handle all this. You need to get it together. But how? You've never dealt with any of this before; the spreadsheet, the woman coddling you, and the man who looms in the shadows.

Shoot! You forgot about Ronan. He's due to finish soon. You should go check on him. You stand up and spin, stopping short as a figure fills the door frame between the study and library. You stare at Mr. Laufeyson like a doe caught before a speeding car.

"You have some time," he raises his wrist, checking his watch; the black band and the blue face, that little accessory that caused so much trouble.

"Um, yes, I was going to see the carpenter--"

"I've dealt with him. He's loading up his truck now," Laufeyson slithers forward, "you needn't worry about him."

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Laufeyson," you look down and open the laptop, stunned by the image on the screen. 

You expect your screensaver to cascade down but instead, there's a woman in a rather scant black and white outfit. Your lips part and you slam shut the computer. Your fingers rest on the lid as Mr. Laufeyson strides closer.

"Hope you don't mind I borrowed your laptop, my own was charging," he purrs, "bit of online shopping, seeing as my mother's hard work should save us some cost on culinary services."

"Mr. Laufeyson," you tremble, staring at the desk, "what..."

He hums and leans in, his fingers splayed wide as he places his hands on the wood, "what...hm?"

You steel yourself and force yourself to look him in the eye. You flinch at the darkness there and stutter. "Wh-what are you doing?"

He snickers and tilts his head, "I simply thought you earned a bonus with all your hard work," his tongue pokes out as he smirks. "It should suit you well..."

You take a step back, nearly falling into the chair as you collide with it. You can't hear above the pounding in your temples. No, it can't be what you think it is. He's not saying that. He can't expect you to wear that... that... thing. You stumble around the seat and scurry to the door, fumbling with the handle as his calm pursuit trails after you.

As you pull the door inward, it snaps back shut. His hand is above you on the wood as he pens you in against the door. You whimper and clutch the handle tightly, pressing yourself to the door as your heart hammers against your ribs. You shudder as his other hand curves around your waist.

"When it arrives, you will put it on," he commands, "and you will begin your duties as always."

"Mr. Laufeyson, please, I'm scared--"

"You needn't be," he purrs as he leans in to inhale your scent, his breath grazing your scalp, "you take orders rather well. I trust you will continue to do so."

"I don't--" you wisp as you brace the door, his fingertips poking into your side as he grips you tighter, "I don't want to..."

"Mm, pet, you should know by now," he loosens his hold on you and lets his hand stretch across your stomach, dragging it up to your chest as he brings himself flush to your back, "this isn't about what you want." He bends and nips your ear with a growl, "you wouldn't want to let dear old dad down, would you?"

You whine and twist the handle frantically. You're pinned to it as he continues to grope you, rolling his body against yours from behind as he groans. You're mortified as heat radiates from his touch and floods your veins. The flames lick at you and have you tingle as nuzzles you breathily.

"Didn't think so," he rasps and slowly draws away.

He backs away as your knees buckle and you slide down the door, crumpling against it. His shadow struts away as your hands shake and you watch them in a haze of shock. You're weak, you're stupid, and you're worthless.

You could scream for help, you could run out, you could try. But you won't because he's right. You can't. You need him more than he needs you.

💄

Mr. Laufeyson opens the door ahead of you, waiting patiently as he turns to watch you. You carry the bag of containers against your work bag down the hall as Frigga trails you. She informs you that she put a few extra goodies in as a surprise. You nod and thank her, trying not to show your discomfort as you near your employer.

"Thank you, mother, but I'm certain she is eager to be away," Laufeyson intones, "she has a loving father waiting for her at home."

You flinch. You still wonder if he'd witnessed that pocket dial or not. He's hard to read even when he's spelling it out clearly. You bid a final goodbye but scuff to a halt as Laufeyson stretches out an arm.

"Allow me," he takes the bag from you, his hand brushing yours before closing around the straps.

"Aw, Loki, my gentleman," Frigga preens, "darling, you have a good night."

You let him take the tote and your work bag. You precede him out the door, fluttering your fingers as if to shake away his touch. He follows you as his mother watches from the door. You keep your head forward as he comes close, sidling around you to open the passenger door before you can do so yourself. His behaviour sets you even more on edge. He's taunting you.

You get in and make yourself as small as you can in the seat. You refuse to look at him as you buckle in. He shuts the door and opens the rear one, placing the bags on the backseat before he diverts around the hood. He claims the driver seat, the car shifting slightly with his weight. He pushes the ignition and the car whirs to life. You fixate on the dashboard, trying to tamp out his presence and the memories nipping at your mind.

He clicks his belt into place and adjusts the mirror. He takes his time. You can tell it's deliberate. You don't understand him, but you're starting to. Everything he does is for his own delight, which he seems to draw only from your distress. You've never met anyone like him.

"A lovely day," he declares as he shifts gear, "wasn't it, pet?"

You blink and look at your lap, tracing a line on your palm.

"Now, don't be rude, I asked a question."

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson," you mutter.

"You must be tired," his hand wanders from the stick to your knee, "why don't you close your eyes and enjoy the ride?"

"I'm okay," you fold your arms as he squeezes your leg.

"What is the matter, hm? You seem perturbed, pet."

You shudder and put your hand on his as it starts to crawl higher, "Mr. Laufeyson, please stop calling me that."

"I'm tired of your little game," he pinches the tender flesh of your leg.

"I'm not--"

"I've made myself very clear," he taps your leg before slipping his hand out from under yours, "I am interested and that's that. I am wealthy, attractive, I hardly see how it would be an issue..." he steers with one hand as he speaks to the road, "especially for someone like you."

It hurts. To have it said aloud. Not his intent, no, but your worth. Or, what you lack. Who are you to be picky?

You wiggle your nose and turn your face away. You don’t respond as your gaze pans through the window. Your eyes singe and your nose tingles. You feel like the little girl standing against the wall again. The whispers swirling all around you, fingers pointing, voices jeering…

The silence stretches the minutes to eons. You watch the streets pass and lean into each turn. Finally, he steers onto a familiar road. You’re almost there.

He slows and pulls against the curb outside your father’s house. You unbuckle the seat belt and he does the same. You glance up at him but he doesn’t notice. He gets out on his side as you hesitate. Before you can even get your door open, he’s halfway around the car.

You climb out, nearly colliding with the rear door as he swings it open. You sidestep it as he bends to reach within. He pulls out both bags, elbowing the door shut carelessly before stepping up on the pavement. You reach for your work bag and he evades your grasp.

“Ah ah, I insist, it wouldn’t be very nice to let you struggle with all of this.”

You pout. Nice? When has he ever been nice? He’s mocking you again.

“Mr. Laufeyson, please,” you beg, “I can handle it–”

“Go on, pet,” he motions ahead of him with the square tote, “it’s rather rude to refuse an offer of help.”

You cringe and shrug helplessly, throwing your hands up slightly. What else can you do but obey? He knows you have no other choice and he basks in that fact.

You turn and slouch, dragging your feet up the walk as he follows you. You search for an excuse to keep him outside. Some sort of out. He has to understand, your father is sick!

He trails you onto the porch and you stop at the door, facing him.

“I can get it from here,” you eke out.

“Nonsense, I don’t mind–”

“Please, Mr. Laufeyson, my father doesn’t feel well most days. He’s not fit for visitors.”

“I’ve come all this way. I know manners are hardly in vogue around these parts but it is only polite to invite someone in,” he reproaches.

You whimper. Why are you doing this? You don’t ask. You know already. He’s doing it because he can. Because you won’t stop him. You can’t.

“I don’t want you to go in,” you confess as you look down, “please don’t go insi–”

You hear the door, the loud groan of the squeaky hinges before the screen door hits your shoulder. You sidle out of the way and turn to Leslie as she pokes her head out. Her eyes flick up to Mr. Laufeyson and her forehead ripples in surprise.

“I was wondering what all the chatter was,” she opens the door wider, “what’s all this?”

“Um, Leslie,” you gulp, “I…” you blink and look at Mr. Laufeyson, “this is my boss. He just drove me home.”

“How nice,” she remarks, “that’s… him?” She steps out completely, “he’s your boss?”

“Loki,” he introduces himself, “charmed.”

“Me too, me too, I… Leslie, I help her father, I’m the nurse,” she explains.

“We brought dinner,” Laufeyson lifts the tote higher, “my mother wanted to send her well wishes. She heard about her father and wanted to help out.”

“That is so sweet,” Leslie fans herself, “please, sir, come in, come in, Charles will be so happy to meet you.”

Doom crashes down on you. You stand back as Leslie holds the door open and you only vaguely hear Laufeyson’s insistence that you go first. You move in a fuzzy sludge, barely aware of the world around you as your legs carry you on habit alone. 

You stand in the front entryway as Mr. Laufeyson hands over the bag. Leslie takes it with glee and hurries away. You sway and touch your forehead. You wince as he touches your arm.

“Mm, this place is… vintage,” he muses as he nudges you, “please, introduce me. I’ve heard so much.”

You breathe out shakily and curl your fingers into fists. You give a pleading look. You’re already too embarrassed to tell him the truth. He doesn’t want to meet your father and your father doesn’t want to meet him.

You surrender and turn cautiously. You meekly pass through the entryway, your father’s shoulders hunched over the table as he works on the puzzle. You shuffle closer, standing just behind the corner of the couch.

“Dad,” you utter, “um… this is my boss, Mr. Laufeyson. He, er, he brought us some food.”

“Eh, is that what she was going on about?” He snorts into a cough and covers his mouth. He makes no move to rise as he reaches for another piece.

“Charles, is it?” Laufeyson steps forward, stopping just beside you, “I prefer Loki. It’s a pleasure to finally meet.”

“Chuck,” your father snarls, “call me ‘Chuck’.”

“Of course, Chuck, I didn’t mean to presume.”

Your dad tosses the peace and scoffs. He coughs again and stands, adjusting the tub below his nose as he rounds on his visitor. Mr. Laufeyson doesn’t waver as your dad scowls in his direction.

“Wonderful home you have,” Laufeyson offers his hand.

Your father looks at his fingers then narrows his eyes at his face. Mr. Laufeyson is a head taller, though your dad is wider. He claps his hands against your boss’s and tries to jerk his hand. The effort teeters your father but does not affect the other man.

“You’re the one dressing her up like your little whore,” your dad sneers.

Mr. Laufeyson laughs curtly, “pardon?”

“Look at that skirt,” your father spits.

“Better than the rags you supplied,” Mr. Laufeyson retorts without pause, “I can see she didn’t get her manners from you.”

“What did you say to me, boy?” Your father’s face contorts with rage, “you come into my home and– and– and–” 

Your father coughs between each word until he’s racked and quaking. He grips the armrest as he leans forward and covers his mouth, unable to stop the fit. You go to help him but Mr. Laufeyson blocks you with his arm.

“He has his nurse,” he says brusquely.

“Please,” you beg.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you are,” Laufeyson lowers his voice dangerously as your father heaves, clutching his chest. 

“Fuck off,” your dad chuffs out.

Laufeyson snickers and sighs, “are you always so hospitable, sir?”

“If I wasn’t chained to this thing,” your dad clutches the tube trailing down his chest.

“Alas, you are,” the taller man shakes his head, “let’s not. We have a lovely dinner waiting for us. A real man might even be grateful.”

“I’m not hungry,” your father turns and drops onto the couch. “Choke on it.”

Mr. Laufeyson lowers his arm and takes your hand without a look. He drags you away from the couch. He pulls you level with him and commands you to lead him. You take him into the kitchen where Leslie stands by the stove, the radio buzzing on the shelf.

“Just gonna pop it in the oven for a couple,” she smiles, “hon, why don’t you grab some plates?”

“Yes, why don’t you,” Laufeyson urges, “we’ll sit down and have a lovely family dinner.”

[thedevilrisen]

Prompt Celly - Day Two

Luke Hughes x Y/N

Description: I will be here, by your side, plus you can't hide that fever from me.

A/N: I hope you enjoy! Would be greatly appreciated if you could reblog. I love talking to people so say 'Hi' if you want to. Feel Free to send in requests as well. I'm happy to write for most hockey players.

Warnings: None, I don't think! It should be all fluff and a bit of friendly banter.

-Sincerely thedevilrisen.

My sniffles filled the desolate room, desolate minus the tissues, empty soup bowls and discarded clothes I had haphazardly changed out of this morning after a searing hot shower I had in a desperate attempt to clear my blocked sinuses.

It was safe to say being sick sucked, I believe everyone universally would agree. My phone had been buzzing consistently against the hard wood of my side table for twenty odd minutes and the grinding noise it was making made my headache worse than it already was. To stop the buzzing I had no choice but to pick it up, squinting against the harsh light of the screen looking at the name Lukey <3, 3 missed calls and 37 unread messages.

Shit.

Lukey <3

I swear if you don't answer me I'm coming over Y/N.

Please baby, I'm scared, what's wrong? What did I do?

Y/N, its been two hours, and I didn't get a good morning text.

Fuck this, I'm coming over.

DELIVERED 12:56

the clock on my bedside table read 1:13. It takes about 20 minutes to get here.

Double shit.

Shooting out of bed quickly, too quickly evidenced by the black dots and spinning room, I stumbled around, I picked up my tissues and put them into the trash can in my bathroom, I swept the used soup bowls under my bed and threw the miscellaneous clothes into the hamper.

"Y/N" Luke called thought the apartment.

Scrambling to open my bedside draw, shove my phone in and shut it, I leant over the bed like I was making it as the light from the hallway came flooding in.

"Luke? What are you doing here?" I feigned confusion, finishing pulling up the bed spread.

"I came to check on you, you weren't answering me and didn't send me a good morning text. I got worried." He spoke walking closer.

"I'm alright babe, was just having a cleaning morning, you know I put my phone away when I do that." I sat bad on the bed, he followed and pulled my hand out of its crumpled ball, leaning into me and enveloping me into a hug. He laid a gentle, lingering kiss on my forehead.

"I'm just going to get some water, want to watch a movie?" he asked.

"Sure, I'd love too!" I responded.

"Alright, get settled and pick a movie f'us yeah?" he mumbled into my hair.

"I will. Go get your water, then we'll start." I returned.

Luke's POV:

She's sick. I fucking new it. Not only did her behaviour give it away but her temperature is far too high to healthy. Wandering into the kitchen I opened the top cupboard, snagged a tin of chunky beef soup, leaned down to the draw filled with plates and bowls, pulling one out I opened the tin and watched as the brown viscous liquid sloshed into the bowl. Releasing the latch on the microwave I place the bowl in and let it heat up.

I sent Jack a text, saying I won't be back tonight. Pocketing my phone, I opened the fridge and got out two bottles of water, walked back to the microwave, opened it and pulled out the hot bowl, grabbing a spoon I walked back down the hallway and pushed open the door with my foot.

"Before you say shit," I announced, seemingly startling her. "I will be here, by your side. Because your sick."

"I-but" she rebutted.

"No buts, you were an idiot if you didn't think I would pick up on that fever. Now, I have soup, enjoy." I smiled as I handed her the bowl.

She slumped down on the pillows, mumbled a thanks and pulled the soup and spoon from my hand.

Walking around the other side of the bed, I settled in next to her and picked up the discarded remote to pick a show I know she couldn't resist watching.

Gilmore Girls.

[poguestarkey]

not in the same way- t.n.

back after a quick 8 month hiatus my b

decided to write a little blurb about reader not being in love with theo since i feel like it's always the other way around.

yes i am eating up the tiktok ideas of him being italian don't start w me

warnings: just angst on angst, destruction of a friendship, theo being sad (that's a trigger in and of itself tbh), sickly sweet adorable girlhood moment btwn the GryffGirlies, like one potty word, i plucked that one scene right out of TSITP don't come for me, horrifyingly unedited cuz i just dont care

theo nott x gryffindor!reader

-----

Dread.

That's all that washes over you when you finally meet his eyes. It runs ice-cold through your veins and you can practically hear what he's going to say before it even leaves his mouth. You're sure he can see the way your head shakes slowly as you realize because he reaches for your hand and holds it tightly between his. Not out of comfort, but as a plead.

Please, please don't do what I think you're going to.

Theo... oh, sweet Theo. Theo, with his huge blue eyes and endlessly large heart. Theo, always the first to celebrate the small wins with you. Theo, who in theory, should be the perfect man for you.

But Theo, who no matter how hard you tried, never made your heart sing the way your friends giggled about.

You never thought twice about the way his hands would linger over yours as he explained Arithmancy problems or how he always pulled you close in by the shoulder while chatting with his Slytherin friends, his fingers mindlessly tracing patterns into your sweater. His sweater. You've been friends since third-year, best friends. So many years of being close to him desensitized you to the constant comments of "That's Nott's girl," and "Would you look at the lovebirds!" They never hit home and you always scoffed them off with ease.

With ease, until last weekend in your dorm after an open-mic night at the Three Broomsticks. You and Theo had performed the most atrocious duet rendition of the new Weird Sisters song, "Why Can't You See."

"Y/N, do you even see the way he looks at you?" Parvati asked. Your head shoots up this.

"What?"

"C'mon, Y/N/N. The man is absolutely smitten with you. It's almost painful to watch, really," Lavender piped in, causing Hermione and Padma to sit up and join the conversation. Eyes widening, you realize who they're talking about.

"Theo? No... No, Theo and I are just-" You're cut off.

"Just friends. We've heard. A million times," Hermione sighs. "I mean Merlin's beard Y/N, you have to have noticed by now. Nott can't keep his hands off of you."

"'Mione, that's not- no, that's different. He just likes physical touch and that's fine-" You're cut off yet again by a slurry of teenage girls throwing evidence at you.

"-ever touch Malfoy-"

"-actually lights up when you enter a room, I've never-"

"-bigger heart eyes for you if they were cartooned on him in the Prophet-"

Your hands grow shaky and your breath becomes heavy in your lungs as the weight of what this means washes over you. Hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes and you fight the burn in the back of your sinuses with everything you have.

"Wait!" Hermione nearly shouts, and the cacophony of squeals and stories comes to a halt. "Y/N? Why are you crying? Are you alright?"

Her words make the first sob break out of your chest, and your hand shoots to your mouth to try and stifle the sound. Padma, ever the lover, is immediately at your side.

"I- I- I can't... I don't lo- if he really feels that way, it will destroy us," you cry, leaning further into her touch. Quickly, and with increasing amount of concern written on their features, the rest of the girls surround you.

"What do you mean, love?" you can't see her, but you know it's Lavender's breathy voice. "Isn't this a good thing?"

"No, no, no, no-" Your breath begins to hitch again, and 'Mione rubs gentle circles on your back. "Lav, him being in love with me is the worst thing that could happen."

"I don't mean to be insensitive, but the rest of us are quite out of the loop here and, er, well- why?" You let out a chuckle at Parvati's bluntness, but still felt the squeeze of the answer in your heart. You've known, deep down. You denied it as hard as you could manage but still, it creeped up on you, terrorizing your thoughts.

"He will never forgive me. I know he'll try so hard, but it'll never be the same, because he will never forgive me for not loving him the same way. Because he's done everything right. He is kind, and patient, and loving, and all of the wonderful things I've always said that I wanted but still, I just don't love him like that. And I want to- fuck, I want to so bad. It kills me that I can't. But he can never know that I know, because he will never, ever forgive me when I can't say it back." The last few words come out nearly inaudible as gasping sobs take over your body. "And I am so afraid to lose my best friend."

A squeeze from Hermione saves you from your thoughts. No one knows what to say, and Padma pulls your pillow and quilt from underneath you before grabbing her own, forming a pile on the floor. The corners of your lips perk up as you realize what she's doing, and soon the room is filled again with the sounds of girlish giggles and gossip and your four closest girlfriends do their best to keep your chin up for you.

The rest of the week, you can hardly look Theo in the eyes. You're not trying to avoid him, but every time you're in the same room you feel so overcome with guilt that it's hard to breathe.

On Sunday, you skip breakfast and hole away in the library under a stack of potions textbooks, shooing him away with a curt "Sorry, Teddy. Too busy."

Monday, you sit at Gryffindor's table for every meal and only speak in DADA to tell him it's his turn to practice defensive spells.

It's Tuesday night when you get the owl.

Y/N/N,

please talk to me. i need to see you, i'm worried. you're not alright.

i miss you.

-T

You write him back on the same piece of parchment, your shaking hands causing ink to splatter into tiny dots across his script.

I know. I'm sorry. Friday night.

Wednesday and Thursday are a blur of forced smiles to him and the burn of his stare from across the Charms classroom.

Friday comes, and you're damn near ready to pull Mrs. Norris' tail just to get a detention.

You know the exact bench in the courtyard he'll be sat at, and you count your paces as you walk. His eyes catch you and he swings his feet off the ledge, shutting his book.

"Y/N," He breathes, the sweetest smile on his face. "What's going on, cara mia?"

Every strategy you had for keeping him away from the elephant in the room goes flying out of your head faster than a Firebolt.

"It's nothing, really. Please don't worry. I know I've been distant but it's really nothing to be concerned about so-" your voice is getting louder and faster, a tell-tale sign that you're not telling the truth.

He cuts you off with your name.

"Y/N." You're eternally thankful that it's late enough that no one is outside with you. "Tell me what's happened. Please." His eyes grow even larger with pure concern and he moves his hand to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. You pull your lip between your teeth while thinking about how to respond.

"I just... Teddy, I can't tell you. I just can't. I promise it's alright, I just don't want to talk about it." You're lying through your teeth and you're sure he knows it too.

"Alright," he whispers, voice dropping. His hand hasn't moved from the side of your face since he fixed your hair, and his eyes move to scan the slope of your lips. You can feel the pit in your stomach start to form as you fear what's coming next. "You are the most beautiful thing on this planet, you know that?"

His thumb is tracing the plane of your cheek.

"Theodore..." He smiles at his full name, and his eyes start to close.

No.

No.

This is what you feared so much.

That you would lose everything over one moment, just like this.

He can't be more than a breath from your mouth when both of your palms find his firm chest and push him away.

"Wait- wait, Theo. No. I don't- I'm sorry, but I-" His eyes snap open, that beautiful blue full of confusion. "I'm sorry, Theo." You can already feel hot tears threatening to spill over, and your stomach is churning.

"I.... What?" He says it so quietly you aren't even sure he meant to say it aloud. His hands move from your face, now salty and wet, to run through his hair, tugging on the strands.

"That's what I've been off about. I've been scared that you're gonna..." You gesture wildly between the two of you, not sure what to call it.

"Kiss you?"

"Yes."

"Why would you be scared of me kissing you, Y/N?" He looks genuinely, honestly puzzled.

"Because... because I don't... I didn't know, and then this weekend the girls were all on about it and I had no idea what they were talking about, and they told me, and I just panicked, Theo. I had no idea." He's stood up now, and you're seconds behind him, standing still in the chilly air as he paces and presses his hands into his eyes. "If I'd known sooner, Teddy... I would've- I could've done something, I don't know, could've tried-"

He stops, now just in front of you. "If you knew?"

"If I knew that you felt that way-"

"I thought you knew!" The crack of his voice splits your chest in two, unaided by the tears beading in his eyes. You've never seen him cry. "I thought you knew! From the moment I crashed your cabin on the train, I thought you knew."

The two of you just stand there, staring at each other, as cold, biting raindrops start to fall from the sky. You fight to form words but absolutely comes to your brain and you can't do anything but stare at him as he continues.

He hasn't even opened his mouth to start the next sentence when you realize what you're going to hear. You can't tell if it's the rain or the pure dread coursing through your veins that's turning your fingers ice-cold as you shake your head "no" to something he hasn't even said yet.

"I've been in love with you since I was 13, Y/N/N." He's holding onto your hand with both of his like it's his only lifeline while he desperately spills words. "I am so in love with you. You turn my world. You are my absolute everything. It consumes me. I can't hold it anymore, Y/N," He cries. Your eyes are squeezed shut and it's a wonder you haven't broken his hand with how tightly you're holding it between you. "Please, please, please say something."

"I love you," He sucks in a breath and you open your eyes to meet his. "I love you so much, Teddy. More than anything." His hands are now on either side of your face, and your fingers are laced around his wrists. "But I'm not in love with you," You choke out, grip relaxing.

His forehead presses against yours and he does nothing to quiet to sobs racking his body as you pull him against you, wrapping your arms around his warm frame.

You whisper dozens of apologies and "I wish I dids" into his ear before he releases you and sits back on the bench, moving the thoroughly soaked book to the side so you can join him. His head is in his hands and his elbows rest on his knees, and you think that you've never seen him look so defeated.

Finally, you tear your eyes away from him and stare straight ahead at the ivy covered walls, praying that the silence swallows you whole.

It's practically deafening, actually, because the sound of his heart breaking is echoing across the stone.

Eventually, you speak up.

"I think... I think I should probably go, right?"

He picks his head up but doesn't look at you as he replies:

"Yeah, I think that's for the best."

[evilfloralfoolery]

Daggers and Deception- Part 5

Plotfuckers, ahoy! Shit is about to get weird.

**If you enjoy my work or the work of my fellow plotfuckers, please comment and/or reblog. We need and appreciate the support! Likes are appreciated, but wordfuckers need words, too. Commentary is VERY important to us! Most of us do this for free and this is all we ask of you. Thank you!!**

__________________________________

Three plates of lasagna and barely passable bath later, Grimm has managed to make himself a drowsy mess who doesn't even bother to comb his unruly mane into submission before face-planting on to the spacious bed.  If he'd been poisoned, at least he'd die clean and full. 

The wound has not yet begun to throb at level 10 with his activity level and he takes the opportunity to slip deeper into relaxation, something he hasn't felt in a good three days since the damn shooting fiasco.  What had happened to that asshole, anyway?  Supposedly, Ace had shot him, but no one could find the bastard afterwards.  Blood on concrete with a trail that led to nowhere and an empty jacket at the end of an alleyway was all that had been left.  It was some weird, cryptic shit.  Bleeding men didn’t just vanish into thin air.  He’d had help somehow.  Someone must have been waiting somewhere.  They’d missed it.  And that was probably what bothered Grimm the most.  He didn’t just “miss” things.  Aside from his father, Grimm was possibly the most observant gun-toting asshole out there.  Nothing escaped his scrutiny.  Nothing. 

And then, there was the matter of not finding a weapon at the scene.  Ace claimed he’d shot the guy in the spine, dead center.  Just how he’d held onto a gun, ran, and then consequently escaped didn’t add up.  Maybe Ace should’ve shot him again.

From the opposite end of the bedroom, curtains flitter in the cold night air, but he can't be bothered to get up and close the window just yet.  He'd start sneezing his ass off eventually and that might motivate him to actually do something about it.  Maybe.  For now, he'd deal.  Cold weather may not agree with his sinuses, but it sure agreed with the rest of his body.  Nice not to be basted in sweat for once. 

But the lamp is another story.  The light from beneath the shade is a dull headache instigation and he manages to pull the cord to shut it off before flopping back atop the sheets with a sigh.  It'd be great if his neighbor would play some Beethoven or some shit, but he hasn't heard a peep out of the guy since before his bath.  Either he was off throwing knives at trees again or he'd sneezed himself into a coma or something.  Whatever the reason, it was quiet.  Too damn quiet.

And that shit was making him uneasy.  He reaches for his phone and taps the side, but gets a red flash of a battery light instead.

"Well, fuck you, too," he mumbles. 

Better get up and charge it.  Never know when Max might call for him for whatever reason.  Some rookie might do something stupid.  Or some seasoned professional. 

He struggles into a sitting position and fumbles for the cord on the lamp again, cursing a blue streak when the little fucker decides to break off in his hand instead of turn on the goddamn light. 

Perfect. Dead phone, dead lamp, bum arm.  That oughta make fumbling around in the dark shitloads of fun. 

His fingers find the edge of the mattress as his vision adjusts to the black-as-hell room and he swings his legs over the side, bare feet hitting the wood floor.  One step towards the wall.  The outline of the wingback chair is within reach, the moon finally emerging from behind the clouds to illuminate the room enough for decent sight.

He takes a step towards the armoire near the bedroom door, reaches out into the moonlit darkness and freezes in place. 

Something isn't . . . . something . . .

Just beyond his reach is a slab of darkness, an inky black that's ten times blacker than black should have any business being. Grimm blinks.  Squints into the space.  It's a shadow.  A trick of light.  No?

Mother fucker, it's a person.

His breath catches and he snatches the Glock from the nightstand, aiming it into the darkness with his good arm.

"I don't know who's there, but if you're hurtin' for a bullet in your ass, you're gonna get it.” His voice drops into the lowest end of a serious growl.

Somewhere close to him, the darkness growls back. 

A chill claws its way up his spine.  What in the name of fuck?

"How'd you get in here . . . " Grimm says more to himself than to whoever is lurking there in the damn corner.

Or whatever. 

A low, almost inhumane chuckle echoes from somewhere near the bed now.  Or the armoire.  Or the dresser?  Who the fuck chuckles in stereo like that?  

And that's enough of this shit.

Grimm lunges forward, but meets only empty air as the inky blackness dissipates into nothingness.  Upon the nightstand, the lamp flickers to life and the phone in his back pocket vibrates.

He jerks it out of his pocket and taps the side button, staring when the thing lights up and comes back on.  Full battery power. Like nothing had happened.  

Yeah, no.  Nope. Not today, Satan. 

Shoving the phone back into his pocket, he slips his holster over his shoulders so the gun has a better place to rest.  Always felt more comfortable with it that way.  He’s just shoved the 19X into place when a knock at the front door sounds, brisk and insistent.

Goddamn it, he’s way too jumpy for this shit.  And Grimm is never “jumpy.” 

"Calm the fuck down, I'm coming," he barks and stalks down the hall to front door where he takes a moment to peer through the little peephole thing like a smart person. 

Outside in the hallway, his neighbor is waiting sans glasses, his long mane of silver waves spilling over his shoulders, his gaze steady and expectant.  

At midnight.  Okay, then.  

Grimm unlatches the door and cracks it to loosen the useless chain before opening it up. 

Indigo's demeanor is calm, but something in his gaze is sharp and intense, the man's eyes a damn near impossible shade of vibrant aqua. Grimm leans against the door frame and tilts his head.

"Something wrong?"

Indigo glances over his shoulder for a fleeting instant before meeting his gaze.

"Have you left your window open perchance?"

What the fuck kind of question is that?  Grimm scratches the back of his head with his free hand in a lazy rub of fingers.

"I might've," he says.  "What's it to you?"

"The heating unit in this building is quite unstable," Indigo says.  "If it runs all evening due to such a thing, it could pose a fire hazard."

Come the fuck on.

Grimm attempts to fold his arms before realizing his shoulder is gonna fucking scream, which would ruin his tall, imposing judgment pose, but whatever.  He settles for a downward glance and the cocking of an eyebrow instead.

"That's some pretty bullshit you just spouted," he says.  "You wanna tell me why you're really here?"

"The window, Grimm," Indigo says.  "Have you left it unattended?"

Obviously.  It's not like he's standing in front of it all damn day.

"Look," Grimm says.  "I don't know what the fuck your problem is, but---"

Without so much as a word, Indigo barges his way in and walks with a purposeful stride towards his bedroom, leaving Grimm gaping in his wake. Who the hell did this guy think he was?  

"Hey, just a goddamn minute, buddy!"  Grimm storms after him.  Sort of.  It's suddenly really damn difficult to walk, like his feet are anchors instead of flesh and bone. He struggles against what feels like imaginary mud.  Cement.  Some shit.  

Was he high?  No, he hadn’t taken anyth---

“What’d you put in that lasagna, huh??”  

Indigo appears in the hallway near his bedroom, nudging the door shut with his foot.  “If I had the intent to poison or drug you, the effect would have been instant.” 

Calmly.  Like he’s done this crap before or something.  But at least whatever weird struggle he’d been caught up in was over.  Walking was possible now and he wastes no time in stomping over to where Indigo still stands, intending to adopt a hardline stance, but yet again, the bum arm fucks that up.  Hard to look intimidating with your hand on your damn hip. 

“You didn’t come over here to close my fucking window,” Grimm says.

“Except that this is exactly what I have done,” Indigo counters.  

Grimm narrows his eyes before taking a peek inside the bedroom where sure enough, the window is shut, latched, and the curtains are drawn.  

“I suggest you leave it be, lest you burn down the entire estate.”

The guy is telling the truth, but not entirely.  Grimm can feel that much.  His built-in bullshit detector is on high alert, but the half-cocked truth is a pretty good foil.  And what’s more convincing is that Indigo fully believes in the weight of his words.  He could probably pass a polygraph with that kind of steely calm.

“So,” Grimm begins, scratching at the stubble on his chin.  “You knew my window was open and you felt like it was sworn duty to come over here and tell me to close the fucker because the place might go up in flames.”

“Correct,” Indigo says.

“Uh huh.”  Grimm tilts his head.  “And how’d you know my window was open? You can’t see that from your place.”  

“It has been open since this afternoon,” Indigo says. He levels his stare at Grimm with a studious sternness that could rival an FBI agent. “Surely you recall watching me from your vantage point near the edge of the wall.”

Grimm opens his mouth.  Closes it. 

 Well, fuck.  

He didn’t think the guy could see him from all the way up there, much less know what he was looking at.  

“I assumed that no one had told you to close the windows, so I figured I had best tell you myself,” Indigo continues.  “Now, if you will excuse me, the hour has grown late and I must retire.”

“Gonna cartwheel across the yard some more in the morning?”  Grimm says.  “Maybe throw some more knives at shit?”

Indigo’s posture stiffens almost imperceptibly, but his expression betrays nothing.  “Goodnight, Grimm.”  

For a moment, Grimm considers grabbing his upper arm to detain him or at least blocking the door with his body, but Indigo has excused himself already and made it into the hallway before Grimm can so much as blink.  What the ---- he hadn’t even seen the guy move, much less walk the fuck out of the door.

The sound of a creaking door clicking shut followed by the turn of a deadbolt is his only reply.  

“I ain’t done talkin’ to you!” Grimm half-shouts into the hallway.

(TBC....)

[17snifflesandsnzes]

For the bingo, could you do stubborn and no concern for covering for Wonwoo, Mingyu, and S.Coups? Thank you sm I love your fics <33

Thanks for the compliment!! 💕🫶 I'm so happy that you like my fics because I absolutely ADORE yours! 😋 And yeah, sure!! Here it is, hope you enjoy~

Jeon Wonwoo:

1. Stubborn:

The hip-hop unit stares helplessly at Wonwoo as he remains glued to his laptop despite him shivering every few minutes. "Hyung, you're sick! Just go home and rest already!" Mingyu says, his tone whiny. Wonwoo looks up from his laptop to glare at him. "I told you, I'm fineHh...hh'HktChuHh!- I'm fine! I can keep working, I promise." Mingyu looks at Seungcheol, who looks just as concerned as he does. "Wonwoo-yah, please just rest. You're not gonna get anything done while sick, anyway!" Wonwoo shakes his head, continuing to stare at his laptop. "Hyung, hh'HkTChUhHh!- I'm fine, seriously!"

2. No concern for covering:

Wonwoo lifts his head from Soonyoung's shoulder as he turns to his side with a shuddering gasp. "hh'HkTCHUhhH!- Ugh..." He sneezes into the open air. From his other side, Jihoon glares at him. "Yah, at least cover your mouth, Jeon Wonwoo! You're gonna get all of us sick!" Wonwoo looks at Jihoon pitifully. "C'mon, Jihoon-ah, don't you feel any pity for me? I'm sick!" Jihoon rolls his eyes. "Well, yeah, which is why we don't all of the members to get sick too." Wonwoo doesn't reply, instead turning to his side again. "hh'HhkTChuHh!-" "Jeon Wonwoo!"

Kim Mingyu:

1. Stubborn:

"Chan-ah, just one final run-through, and I'll promise I'll rest! Please?" Chan sighs heavily as he looks at his hyung. Mingyu had wanted to practice with Chan to help perfect his moves for their recent comeback, and Chan had agreed not knowing Mingyu was sick. Now that both of them were there, though, practising was proving to be quite difficult. "Hyung, you can barely make it through the first verse without sneezing! Just go home and rest!" Mingyu gives Chan a pleading look. "That's not true! hh'IktChIhH!- hh'IktChiHh!-" Chan scoffs at that. "You were saying, hyung?" Mingyu just shoots him a glare. Chan sighs again, walking closer to Mingyu. "Hyung, just go home and rest. I promise I'll practice with you after you're better. Mingyu lets out a whine. "But, hh'IktChihH!- hih'IktShihHh!- Chan-ah!"

2. No concern for covering:

"Yah, Kim Mingyu! At least cover your mouth when you sneeze!" Jihoon says angrily as Mingyu sneezes for the third time during their monthly movie night. "Sorry, hyung. My sneezes just catch me off guard." Mingyu says sheepishly, rubbing at his nose. Hansol pats his back. "Do you want some tissues, hyung?" He asks, and Mingyu nods immediately. However, before Hansol’s return with the tissues, Mingyu felt the same burning sensation in his sinuses, and he ducked towards his chest. "hh'IktChihHh!- hih'ItShIhHh!- hh'HkTChihH!- Ugh." Mingyu groans as Jihoon rolls his eyes, and Hansol laughs, hanging his hyung the tissues.

Choi Seungcheol:

1. Stubborn:

Jeonghan sighs as Seungcheol excuses himself to respond to another call. "Cheol-ah, if you pick up your phone one more time, I'm gonna confiscate it." Jeonghan says sternly, and Seungcheol rolls his eyes. "Jeonghan-ah, I can't just ignore my responsibilities just because I'm sick." This time, it's Jeonghan's turn to roll his eyes. "You sure as hell can. At least till you get better." Seungcheol looks like he wants to argue but is cut off with a burning tickle in his sinuses. "hih'AktChUhHh!- hh'AkTShuHhHh!-" Jeonghan smirks as Seungcheol sniffles wetly. "See what I mean? Stop being so stubborn and just get some rest!"

2. No concern for covering:

Seungcheol groans after he sneezes for the millionth time that day. "Ugh, I hate being sick! This sucks!" Jeonghan coos sympathetically as he pets Seungcheol's hair. "I know, Seungcheol-ah." Seungcheol leans into Jeonghan's touch before moving away with a shaky breath. "hih'AktChUhHh!- hh'AktShUhHh!-" He sneezes into the open air wetly. Jeonghan continues to pet his hair as Seungcheol leans back onto the other. "I'm tired, Jeonghan-ah." He says, slightly teary-eyed. Jeonghan sighs as he pulls Seungcheol into a hug. "I know, Seungcheol-ah."

Here it is!! Hope you enjoyed! 🩷💕

[trashbag-baby666]

Oh, Baby!-Firehouse au

Summary: Curt and John are on call during the full moon…their calls are deemed to be more crazy, including them carrying out three different women in labor at once. (Loosely based on an episode of 9-1-1)

WC: 2, 245

C/W: birthing

MOTA Masterlist!

"I told you there is no way the full moon has anything to do with the kind of calls we get tonight." Benny grumbled bent down in front of the truck inspecting the skunk leftovers. 

"Speak for yourself DeMarco, but you're telling me it doesn't seem kinda crazy that we coincidentally hit two fuckin’ skunks on just this last call!" Curt was about the most superstitious one in the house. Although he just blamed it on his Irish heritage. He barely allowed them to make spaghetti, because that would always warrant a call, don't say it's quiet because then they'll get a hail storm of calls, he even went as far as carrying the same routine of laying in bed for 15 minutes then going to sleep. Because if he laid down and went to bed right away there most certainly would be a call.

"Counter argument, we were driving on a back road there was sure to be skunk. But maybe you wouldn't know the difference between a skunk and a raccoon, New York." 

"Shut your fuckin' yapper, Benny." Curt pulled on a pair of the rubber gloves pulling out an unfortunate piece of skunk out of the grill.

"You guys aren't making probie do this?" Ham walked over ,the smell considerably stinking up the house so he came to complain.

"No, I'm not gonna make Brady dig skunk out of the grill. Now you on the other hand...Your mamaw used to make you shoot squirrels for dinner. Why don't you come and dig out Mr Skunky?" Benny held the tail portion and began to chase the lenghty blonde with it. 

Curt took this as his opportunity to get out of there and not have to help him dig out skunk. 

Alas, another call and John could feel his sinuses swell the moment they walked into the yoga studio. The overwhelming scent of far too many incense tickled his nose causing him to sneeze.

"Bless you, cap." Dougie walked beside him carrying the backboard. Apparently some lady was stuck in a yoga position. 

"I'm Firefighter Captain John Egan, can you show us to where she is?" He held his hand out to shake the instructor's hand.

"Yeah, just this way, I will tell you that the yoga class is for women over 26 weeks pregnant and I tell them not to overexert themselves." She held open the curtain into the yoga studio revealing the woman stuck in what looked to be a nearly impossible looking pose. Her leg up into the air, her chest on the ground and her arms laid out behind her.

"The locust pose," Curt spoke with a bit of too much excitement in his voice. The two side eyed him at the random information drop, "What, Kenny drags me to yoga class with him?"

John shook his head and nudged Dougie, walking over to the lady. Alright can I have you guys step away from her, so we can get in there?" he got on his knees next to her.

"Uh, it hurts so bad," The lady whimpered and John couldn't even imagine bearing the pain that she was in right now. it's something he always thought about on calls, "Is the baby okay? Please tell me my baby's okay!"

"Okay, we're gonna check your baby right now, ma'am, I'm gonna touch your stomach." John put two fingers onto the woman's stomach feeling for abdomen trauma, "Okay, no abdominal trauma."

"Vitals seem normal, fetal heart beat is normal." Dougie held the stethoscope to her stomach for a moment listening. 

"Good, amazing."

"Is the baby fine?" the lady's voice panicked as she let out another groan of pain. 

"Your baby is fine," John assured her, getting down on his elbows to talk to her.

"He's not even mine, I'm a surrogate."

"Well you outta charge them for this," John sighed, they paid their surrogate for Flynn very kindly and he sure would want to compensate her if she had been in a situation like that. "Can you tell me where you're feeling any pain? is it localized? in your arms, back, legs?"

"Arms and legs but it's the worst in my butt and down my thigh and calf." 

"Look, I think you slipped a disc." John sat up back onto his knees, " we're gonna need to get her on her side, very carefully. Support her head, Dougie. We're coming towards you."

John instructed them as they began to move her onto her side a woman across the room let out a loud pained groan. She was on her knees rocking back and forth, her face scrunched up. This is what John really didn't want to do, deliver a baby tonight. 

"Alright I'm gonna take care of that, you take care of this." Since it was a full moon shift they were being spaced out and it was just the three of them. John took his gloves off and swapped them for a new pair walking over to the other woman. 

"I think I'm having contractions ." The woman's forehead was covered in beads of sweat and her teeth clenched. 

"Alright, how far along are you ma'am?" John knelt in front of her. 

"38 weeks. alright just keep breathing with your contractions, what's your name?" 

"Sarah."

"Okay, Curt, get some water for Sarah." John pointed to him and the instructor quickly fetched him a water bottle. It's times like these that John really would surprise everyone with how calm and collected he could be on a call. 

"Okay, I think this is Braxton Hicks, it's a type of soft labor. your contractions will go away once we get you hydrated and relaxed. Curt handed John the bottle of water and he unscrewed the cap and handed it to her, "Sip on this."

Pure terror ran through John's body as the terrifying sound of another woman's water breaking.

"Oh god," She looked panicked, her hands going to her stomach. 

"Curt," John cleared his throat.

"Yup I'm already on it, dispatch, requesting additional paramedics to 263 Casper and Main. Possible spinal disc herniation needs transport to hospital immediately." Curt spoke into his radio and helped the lady onto the floor. John rushing to his side, 

"Have you done this before, cap?" he raised his eyebrows, his eyes a little wide in panic.

"Uh, no but I've seen Kenny do it." 

"Okay, I'm gonna." Curt pulled out his phone and John nodded. 

"Okay, your contractions just started so I think we can get you to a hospital." John rested her hand on the lady's shoulder.

"No this is my fourth kid, it's coming." She growled at him, deservingly. 

"Okay, we need towels! I need towels." John began to look around as another woman brought over a stack of towels. "Curt, how we doin'?"

"Just got him on the line," he came back over to them. 

"Hey, Kenny, I hope you can help me out here." 

"Anytime, Bucky, alright how far are her contractions apart?"

"Cap, her contractions are three minutes apart. I don't think this is in soft labor..." Dougie spoke from across the room sitting with Sarah still. 

"Uhm, alright, well ma'am you're having this baby we won't be able to get you to the hospital. Transportation is too risky right now, but you're in good hands." He nodded to her, whipping over his shoulder as another woman's water broke. 

"Kenny we got a third, can you walk us through this. I've only watched you do it." John felt his stomach turning with his own anxiety about all the bodily fluids and umbilical cords. He shuddered metaphorically because he couldn't be scared in front of these women. 

"Ma'am I have a paramedic on the phone with me right now. His name is Ken Lemmons and he's gonna help us through this." 

"Okay, have her lay against someone with her knees bent in a squatting position.” Kenny instructed and John waved over the instructor to help. 

"They say when a full moon's between the eastern horizon and at its highest point it can induce labor." the instructor smiled, clasping her hands together.

"I told you the full moon brought out the crazy." Curt put his hands up in defense rushing over to the third woman and helping her lay down.

"We can discuss the moon later, Curt. Okay now what, Kenny?"

"If you're not in labor can we please have you exit the space and go into the lobby?" John asked, pointing towards the door, he grabbed his radio, "Dispatch, I have two possibly three women in labor. I need a couple of extra transports to the hospital. 

"Okay, Bucky, I'm gonna need you to have her push, alright?"

"Okay, and we're pushing take a deep breath in," 

"I've done this four times!" The woman snapped at John as she pushed clenched another woman's hand 

"Is the baby crowning, John?" 

"Yes, yes the baby's crowning." He supported the baby's head, "You're doing such a good job right now, ready one, two, three." she let another roaring yell as she pushed again. 

"Do you see the umbilical cord? Make sure it's not wrapped around the baby's neck."

"No, no everythings normal." John felt his stomach beginning to get queasy but he could not do this here. He tries to ignore all the fluids and blood, he thinks he might actually take five showers when they get back to the firehouse. 

"Can someone get you a towel?"

"Curt! I need a towel!" 

He came rushing over with one John snatching it straight out of his hands and putting it on the floor. 

"Okay, are you seeing shoulders?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Alright, one last big push."

"Ma’am, can you give me one last big push?" John was trying to catch his own breath. If the full moon was anything of good luck he needed it to not pass out. 

She let out an ear piercing, banshee-like scream. The baby fully being born, John catching her in the towel. God, newborns are so ugly... "Congrats, on your baby girl." 

"Curt, do you have the clamp and scissors?"

“Yep,” he turned to hand them to him but he just stared back at him. He was not going to be cutting the cord or else he was going to need an ambulance too. 

“Are you?” Curts eyes narrowed as his glare set in on him, “Why do I have to do it?” “Damnit, just.” in a moment of pure adrenalin he snatched the clamp from him, moving quickly and cut the umbilical cord. Nearly sending himself to the floor but he quickly swaddled the baby in the towel and handed her to the mom. 

“Cap, she’s sayin’ she didn’t feel this way with her last pregnancy!” Dougie called from across the room. John rushed over to see the petite lady.

“Ma’am how tall are you?”

“Four 11.”

“Did your doctor tell you about the size of your baby? Is he big?” “Yeah he’s big.”

“Alright, I think your baby's head is too big for your pelvis, we’re gonna get you to a hospital immediately for an emergency c-section.” Like on time the paramedics arrived and the three felt relieved. 

“Our names are Curtis, Dougie, and John if you wanna…name any of your babies after us.” Dougie removed his gloves picking up the bag.

The first thing John did after they got back to the firehouse, but the second thing was sitting down to call Gale. It was late and part of him felt guilty knowing if he called he would wake him up. But as soon as he was staring at Gale's contact a text came through from him. He hit the callsign with no hesitation bringing the phone to his ear. 

“Hey,” He smiled as soon as Gale picked up, not even giving him a chance to speak. “How’s your full moon shift going? Has curt convinced you you’re going to turn into a werewolf?” he could feel his smile through the phone, he could imagine Gale in his raspberry maroon silk robe. Leaning on the counter maybe? His phone in one hand while he mindlessly fidgeted with something else.

“No, no. But I think Curt might be onto something with the moon…” 

“Don’t count on it.” 

“You’re no fun, you won’t even let me read you your horoscope.” John smiled, running his hands through his hair sitting back in his office chair. 

“So, what’s got you convinced? What crazy thing happened tonight?” 

“Well, we got called to this prenatal yoga studio because this lady was stuck in this pose. But then three ladies ended up in labor, two gave birth.” 

“Oh, so our daughter's birth was too much for you?” Gale laughed at him, a snort coming from his nose.

“Okay, but I was on an adrenaline rush and I almost passed out after cutting the one lady’s cord.” 

“I’m proud of you, John, I haven’t ever delivered a baby before.”

“We had to call Kenny to tell us how to do it.” John snickered his cheesy smile pulling on his face and he realized he might look crazy if any of the guys saw him right now. “You should make him a pie for that, he always brings you pie anyways.” 

“I’ll get the girls to help me. But I just wanted to hear your voice, I miss you.”

“I’ll see ya in the morning Johnny, love you.”

“Love you too.”

“Oh and don’t let the Curt wolf bite!” 

-

-

Taglist: @austeenbootler @coastiewife465 @slowsweetlove @executethyself35 @storysimp

[peterhollandkait]

Everything I Know Leads Me Back to You - Prelude

If You See the Shell That's Left of Me

Pairing: eventual Frankie Morales x afab!reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Mentions of drug addiction, depression, anxiety, ptsd, trauma related to the military, angst, hurt MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Author's Note: Hello everyone!! I am so excited to share the first part of my Frankie Morales series! I have been working on this idea for over two years, and I am so nervous for it to see the light of day. Please reblog and comment with your thoughts, or feel free to send me an ask!

Everything I Know Leads Me Back to You Masterlist

He hadn’t meant for it to get this bad, but god his sinuses hurt. He sneezed, and then again, before refilling the humidifier next to his bed. He’d just gotten his nose to stop bleeding again, the skin above his mustache aching and dry from the constant rubbing. 

He grabbed the Vaseline from his nightstand, rubbing the thick gel over his dry skin on his face before he climbed back into his bed. The sheets scratched at his skin, a smell emanating from them. He couldn’t remember the last time he had washed them. 

Frankie sighed, glancing at the bag of coke sitting on his nightstand. He glanced away just as quickly, ashamed of himself. 

It was only meant to be recreational, something to take the edge off after he got shot the second time. He needed something to escape the thoughts, the demons. 

He had it all under control, until he didn’t.

The cravings increased ten fold once he got out. The nightmares had gotten worse, plaguing his sleep every night. 

A therapist diagnosed him with PTSD and gave him some kind of medication for the anxiety and something for his sleep, but Frankie was impatient. He wasn’t willing to wait a few weeks for the medicine to work through his system, he needed relief now.

At first, it was a couple of lines a week, something to take the edge off and keep him awake so he wouldn’t have to face his demons. 

He tried to quit a few times over the next few years, once even using vacation days at work to put himself in a treatment center. But he always went back, surrendering to the high. 

Someone reported him at work. Who it was, he had no idea. He only did lines at home, never while on the clock. And yeah, maybe he was high a few times on a shift, but he never compromised any one’s safety. 

They ran a drug test, and that was that. The FAA suspended him, took his pilot’s license, pending review. 

He’d dug himself into a hole with no way out. 

He no longer had a reason to leave the house, so he didn’t, unless he was meeting with his dealer. He stayed in bed most of the time, black out curtains closed. He barely ate, almost always takeout. He couldn’t remember the last time he went to the grocery store, or whether he’d taken a shower that week.

All he knew was the coke. 

-

The air was heavy around him, the humidity making his clothes cling to him uncomfortably. The ground squished as he walked, the area muddy and slippery from a recent rainstorm. 

Pope flanked his left side as they approached the target location. Three hostages, 15 hostiles. The Millers approached the building from the opposite side, taking out hostiles as they went. 

Frankie’s rifle felt heavy in his hands, a tactical backpack weighing him down as he walked. Something felt wrong, he couldn’t shake it. He’d been here before. Panama, he thought. 

Pope walked ahead of him, shooting enemy men as he went before smashing in the door between them and the hostages.

Frankie realized the problem then. Two of the hostages sat dead, tied to wooden chairs in the middle of the room. Single bullet sounds to the skull. 

The third hostage sat in the middle of the room, crying as she was held by her hair. Frankie glanced quickly at the man holding her head, a gun pressed to the side of her cranium, before his eyes fell down to her face.

His stomach dropped. It was you. You were the third hostage. 

He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. His finger moved to the trigger, gun pointed right at the man’s head. 

You sobbed against the gag in your mouth, voice muffled but crying out for him. The man pulled against your hair again, pressing the gun further into your skin. 

“Don’t,” Frankie warned. He hesitated with the trigger, afraid of what would happen to you if he took the shot from here. 

“You hesitate too late,” the man muttered, pulling the trigger.

-

“NO!” Frankie shot up in bed, screaming your name. Tears streamed down his face, sweat covering every inch of his skin. 

He pressed his palms into his eyes, body wracked with sobs. He had to call you, make sure you were okay.

Hands shaking, he reached for his phone and dialed your contact as quickly as it could. He hoped your ringer was on, though it was sometime in the middle of the night. 

When you didn’t answer, Frankie pulled himself out of bed and into a pair of jeans before he ran out the door and drove the few miles to your apartment. 

-

A continuous knock rang out, waking you from a deep slumber. Groaning, you sat up and took a look at the clock. 

4:04 AM.

Who in the hell was knocking on your door at four am?

You slid out of bed, searching for your slippers in the dark. The floor was cold, making you shiver as you walked around your bedroom. When you couldn’t find them, you sighed, pulling on your robe to meet whoever was at the door.

But when you swung open the door, you weren’t expecting your best friend to be the cause of the noise. “Frankie?”

Frankie pushed past you, walking into your apartment while he muttered to himself. He looked like hell. Eyes bloodshot, dry blood crusted under his nose from a nosebleed, hair damp from sweat. He smelled disgusting, as if he hadn’t showered in days. 

He walked around your apartment aimlessly, hands tugging at his hair. “Girasol, I love you.” He looked at you then, tired brown eyes peering at your own.

“I love you too, mi amor. What’s going on?” You took a step toward him, but he took a step back. You held your hands up in a quiet surrender, searching for answers on his face. “Frankie?”

“No, you don’t understand. I love you; I’m in love with you. We…we can go to Mexico right now, like I promised. We can get married, just like we talked about when we were kids.” He rambled on, spewing memories that only brought pain to you.

“Frankie, what are you doing here?”

He walked over to you and fell to his knees in front of your frame, hands gravitating to your hips. “Marry me.”

“Francisco, this isn’t funny. Get up,” you muttered, trying to pull him off the ground. 

“Funny? I’m not jokin’ cariño. Please,” he begged, hands pulling away from your frame to dig through his pockets. “I’m sure I’ve got something-“

Frankie froze as a bag of white powder fell from his hands. The room stood still as the coke hit the floor of your living room, silencing him. Your eyes widened, the realization hitting you. The man in front of you was suffering far deeper than you could have imagined. 

Within seconds, you sprang into action. You lowered yourself to the ground in front of him, holding his head gently in your hands. “Let’s get you in the shower, yeah?” 

He nodded slightly and you grabbed his arm, tugging him up and then down the hall to your bathroom. You sat Frankie down on the toilet and reached to turn on the shower head so it could heat up while you worked. 

You grabbed a towel from the hall closet before digging through your dresser for some of Frankie’s old clothes. He hadn’t worn the shirt or sweats in years, but you hoped they would still fit him.

When you returned to the bathroom, Frankie was still sitting on the toilet, staring silently at the wall in front of him. You sat everything down on the counter before making your way to stand in front of him. 

You tugged his shirt off gently, whispering thank yous with every movement. You helped him stand, undoing his shoes and removing his socks before you moved to his pants. 

“You’re going so great, Frankie. We’re almost there.” 

He made a small noise of acknowledgment, holding onto your shoulders for balance as you helped remove his pants and boxers. 

You’d seen him naked years ago, when things were simpler between you, but you averted your eyes as best you could to keep a semblance of privacy. Once finished, you helped him into the tub and under the warm water flowing from the shower head. Placing a washcloth into his hands, you pressed a light kiss to his cheek before pulling the curtain back. 

“Call for me if you need help, okay?” 

“Thank you,” Frankie mumbled, almost inaudible over the sound of the shower. 

You quietly slipped out of the bathroom, closing the door gently behind you. You leaned against the wall next to the door, knees giving out as you slid to the ground. Your head fell into your hands as you crumbled, body shaking with sobs.

---

TAGLIST: @meveispunk @chaotic-mystery @i-own-loki @harperdoodle @wildemaven @tightjeansjavi @wonwoosthetic @im-the-daddy-here-5

[crystalsnow95z]

can you write a j-hope snz fic please :) i don’t have a specific request. i just miss him and want a cute snz centric fic. thank u🥰

Sorry I'm only able to do quick writes while I try to get my life together. No wifi and no set place to stay right now😔

Lets get right into the story! It's been an on and off process for the past week along with my other wip. Sorry it's so lengthy.. I didn't cut it at all..

"Heh'heh..ktchitxh!" J-hope wakes himself up with his own sneeze, looking around the dimly lit room groggily.

"Bless you, Hyung." Jimin gets him a tissue. "It sounds like you're getting worse."

"Thanks Minn-ah.. I'll be okay, though." J-hope gives him a smile, trying to hide the pain he was feeling from his sinuses building into another sneeze. "Hehtichih!" He sneezes into the tissue.

"I'll go get you some more medicine." Jimin leaves the room, nearly ramming into Yoongi, quickly stepping back."Woah, sorry Yoongi Hyung."

"What's the hurry? Is something wrong?" Yoongi asks.

"Hobi-hyungie has been sneezing and coughing all-night. I need to get him some medicine." Jimin bows quickly in apology before moving past him to get to the bathroom.

Yoongi goes into the room Jimin and J-hope share to see for himself. "Hoba, good morning. Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah, but I woke up not feeling well.. it was just a little runny nose and a tickle in my throat but..ah..hang on.." J-hope holds up a finger, feeling the sneeze building up breath hitching. "Heh..Heh..itdugh!" He sneezes into his elbow the itch returning. "He'itcchu!" He sniffles, rubbing the tissue across his dripping nose. "I think I caught a cold.."

"Will you be okay to fly?" Yoongi rubs the nape of J-hope's neck. "Do you feel feverish or nauseous?"

"No, I'm okay suga-hyung. I mostly feel tired and my head hurts from my sin..ey..eh..itchisgh!" J-hope quickly spins to avoid sneezing on Yoongi when the sneeze comes out of without much warning.

"Hyungie I got some water and some medicine."

Jimin returns to the room, pouring out some medicine in the small cup. "Here Hobi-hyung."

"Thanks Jiminie." J-Hope takes it, shooting the bitter liquid down his throat with a grimace. "Eugh.." he quickly washes it down with some water.

"You all packed Hobi-hyung? Do you want me to help?" Jimin asks, already looking for the suitcase J-hope started filling last night.

"I just need to pack my carry on and toiletries. I'll do it, you need to..eh..heigh!" J-hope buried his face in his elbow. "Heh..Titvhiugh.."

"I can do my own and help you, hyung. All I need to do is to pack my tablet and charger and put my toiletries bag in my backpack. Just tell me what to find and I'll get it. You try taking a quick shower." Jimin pushes him towards the bathroom.

"Alright I'm going.. thanks..Ji..eh..itchii!" J-hope sniffles, rubbing his nose. Maybe a hot shower will help..

"Stay close to me." Jin keeps his arm around J-hopes shoulder as they move forward to the next check point."Keep Hoba out of view."

Jungkook and Taehyung nod, one going behind him the other flanking his other side. Yoongi walks in front of him, reaching behind him to grab J-hopes hand.

J-hope squeezes Yoongi's hand, the throbbing headache worsening as he hears hundreds of voices screaming as soon as they leave the car, lights flashing as they take photo after photo.

J-hope closed his eyes, pulling the ball cap farther over his face, trusting his members to lead the way for him. "Heh..hehitdhu!" He sneezes into the face mask, falling forward. Taehyung and Jin tighten their grip on the ailing rapper to keep him from hitting the ground. "Don't worry, I got you. It's just another 20 feet.." Jungkook murmurs by his ear.

Namjoon kindly dismisses the reporters, giving them very brief answers. He only cared about getting J-hope safely onto the plane. "I'm sorry, but we need to go check in so we don't miss our flight." He deeply bows, going through check-in.

"Could I see your passport?" The woman asks politely, holding out a shaky hand.

"Ah, Yoongi my passport?" Namjoon turns to him.

Yoongi gives the woman all seven passports with the tickets tucked in trying to quickly move things along. "Here.. everyone's passport."

The woman goes through all the passports, matching who was who. "Could I see your face really quickly?"

"My brother isn't feeling well. Please, could we skip it..?" Jin asks with a deep bow, lowering his mask. "The crowd is getting a bit out of hand as well.."

"Heh..heitchi!" J-hope sneezes again, the woman giving him a sympathic smile.

"Alright. You can go." She allows them past.

"Thank you." Each member bows with gratitude quickly moving along.

"We just need to get to our seats then you can lay down. Are you okay Hoba?" Yoongi asks gently, continuing to lead J-hope through the airport.

"My head hurts and I..I can't breathe well.." J-hope's voice comes out as a congested whimper, sniffling to try to ease his breathing.

"I brought the cold medicine in my carry on. Just wait until we get settled in our seats okay Hoseok-ah?" Jin gently rubs the back of J-hope's neck.

J-hope nods, feeling another sneeze building, breath hitching. "Heh..heh...hehtichu!"

"Bless you hyungie.. It sounds like you're getting worse.." Jimin frowns. "At least your seat is with Yoongi and Jinnie-hyung.."

"Yoongi could we switch seats? I don't want to sit at the end.." J-hope asks when they find their row.

Yoongi lets him by the window, taking the seat next to him. "You can have whatever you want Hoba."

Taehyung takes his seat behind J-hope. "Hyung, you can put your seat back as far as you need. Don't worry about me."

J-hope goes to put it back, but Jin's voice stops him.

"Don't put it back until take off, though." Jin warns with a sympathic smile."I know you want to rest, but you have to stay up until we're in the air.."

"Okay, okay.."J-hope knew the rules, but he wasn't feeling well and just wanted to lay down and sleep the pain away. His head was pounding, his nose was completely stuffed, and he felt freezing. "Heh..Heh..itchi!"

"Bless you, Hoba." Jin tells him distractedly, digging in his bag to find the liquid he packed to help ease J-hope's symptoms. "Ah, here it is. Here, sit up for me. We need to do it before the plane takes off."

"We should've given it to him in the car before you fell asleep.."Yoongi helps J-hope sit up, placing one hand on the middle of his back, the other holding his elbow. "You're warm Hoba.."

"I know, but I didn't have the heart to wake him and he needs as much sleep as he can get.." Jin replies with a frown cracking the seal of the medicine bottle.

"Im freezing.." J-hope sniffles, feeling the itch returning. He holds his breath, trying to avoid sneezing again. He tucks his finger underneath his nose, relaxing when the itch dies down.

"I'll ask them for a blanket." Jin slowly pours the medicine in the cup, putting it by J-hope's lips. "Here, Hoseok. Take this for me and then you can sleep."

J-hope obeys, taking the shot of medicine face twisting at the taste, coughing.

"Sh*t..I don't have any water. I'm sorry, Hoba." Jin apologizes with a little bow.

"It's..eh..titchi!" J-hope sneezes breath hitching. "Hehitchi...Heh..heitxhi..Heitugh..." He groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose near his eyes to try to ease the pressure building behind them.

The announcement of take-off comes, Jin taking his seat. "Buckle up Hoseok-ah.."Jin reminded him, but Yoongi was already reaching over to do it for him.

"I got it Hoba." Yoongi takes his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze as the turbulence of take off makes his stomach clench.

J-hope leans on Yoongi's shoulder. "Thanks Suga-hyung.. hey..are you feeling okay..?"

"I'm fine.. I'm just a bit nauseous. I'll be okay when they plane get settled." Yoongi leans his head on J-hope. "Did you take medicine for motion sickness?"

"Yeah, Jiminie gave me some after my shower.. did you?" J-hope already guessed his reply when he feels Yoongi give his hand a squeeze when the plane shakes, settling itself in the sky.

"No, I ran to the store with hyung and forgot to take it." Yoongi turns behind him to Jimin. "Minnah do you have it in your carry on?"

"Ah..I think so. Hang on." Jimin starts digging into his bag, feeling blindly for the medicine. "Ah.. there.. I got it." He gives it to Yoongi who takes it gratefully.

"Thanks Jiminie."

It only takes another minute for the pilot to make the announcement it it was safe to move about the plane, Yoongi unbuckling to ease the pressure on his stomach, unbuckling J-hope after. "You can lay down now Hoba."

J-hope gently lowers his chair back as far as it could go, which wasn't much, but he knew it still took up Taehyung's legroom. "I'm sorry Tete."

"Don't worry about it. It's only a few inches lost. It's nothing." Taehyung reassures him, gently running his fingers through J-hope's hair."Just focus on resting."

J-hope nods,trying to get himself comfortable.

"Excuse me Miss, could I please have a blanket please?" Jin asks the flight attendant, bowing his head. "My brother is cold.."

"Heh..heh'itch.. He'hegitxh!" J-hope turns to his other side to face away from the attendant, lowering his face mask to try to clean up his face with a crumpled pocket tissue. "I'm sorry.."

The woman looks over at J-hope with sympathy. "Bless you..It's okay.. I'll bring you some tissues. Did you need anything else sir?" The flight attendant bows back.

"Just some water, please?"Yoongi asks her. "Two of them."

"Yes sir." She leaves to fulfill their request.

"The medicine should kick in soon." Yoongi reassures J-hope, gently rubbing the nape of his neck.

"Hyung..?" J-hope turns onto his back, turning to face Yoongi.

"What is it?"

"Could you..rub my temples? My head really hurts.." j-hope felt shy asking, but he knew Yoongi wouldn't refuse his request leaning his head against him.

Yoongi gently places his thumbs on the soft spots on either side of J-hope's head. "Don't sneeze on me.." he murmurs as he gently rubs his thumbs in small circles.

"I'll try.. thanks, Yoongi.." J-hope relaxes under his brother's touch, drifting off to sleep as the pain eases up.

"I-" the flight attendant stops talking when Jin puts a finger to his lips, lowering her voice to a whisper. "I brought water, a few blankets and a packet of tissues. Did you need anything else?"

Jin shakes his head. "Thank you so much." He bows, taking the blanket from her and draping the blanket over J-hope.

"We'll have to get him to drink some water when he wakes up. He's sweating a bit.." Yoongi whispers, slowly pulling away from J-hope's temples. "Rest well Hoba.."

"Heh..heh'tichi !" J-hope sneezes into Yoongi's chest, making Yoongi jump with an 'oh sh*t'. He was hardly asleep more than a half hour before the sneezes returned, lowering his mask to not trap the gross. "Hehtichih! Heihitchugh..."

"You okay hyung?" Jimin leans forward to get a good look at J-hope. The sweat that was glistening on his face was gone, but his nose was still bright red making his pale complexion stand out. "Do you want some water?"

J-hope blinks sleepily, still trying to process where he was. "Ah.. right.. we're going to..to..heh'tichi!" A sneeze interrupted his sentence, covering his face with the blanket.

"He's really not doing well.." Namjoon sits backwards from sitting in front of Yoongi. "We might have to figure something out for the concert.."

"I'll be okay by the concert. Don't worry about me I'm starting to feel better already." J-hope quickly sits up right, trying to make himself look stronger than he felt.

"Don't push yourself. Hope, if you're sick Army will understand. Sh*t happens. They would much rather you rest than perform. We'll get you checked out when we land" Namjoon tells him firmly, but with the look in J-hope's eyes, he knew he didn't see sitting it out as an option.

"I'll be okay Joon-ah. I can do it. I'll just get lots of rest and drink lots of fluids." J-hope was glad his face was covered by the mask, because underneath it his nose twitches as the itch returns, but he presses his lips together, stifling his sneeze.

"Here Hoba. You're voice sounds hoarse, drink some water.." Yoongi passes him a water bottle. "Careful I took the lid off."

J-hope drinks about a quarter of the water before his breath hitches, another sneeze building. "Yoongi-yah..ah.."

Yoongi quickly takes the water bottle back right before another flurry of sneezes escapes J-hope.

"Ah..itchish! Hiheiychi...! Heh..heh..hitchu!" J-hope groans, feeling the pressure building behind his eyes again.

"You should try to blow your nose Hobi-hyung. It might help." Jungkook suggested with concern when he sees the pain in J-hope's eyes.

"Alright.. I'll go try." J-hope gets up, not wanting to be disrespectful to the other passengers, going to the bathroom. Jin follows, not wanting to leave him alone.

"I'm okay hyung." J-Hope tells him with another wet sniffle, but he was relieved he was there. Dozens of eyes were on him and he felt better that the attention was divided between the two of them and relived they didn't approach.

"I have to use the bathroom anyways. You go first though. Okay?"

J-hope nods, going into the bathroom and pulling out a tissue, trying to clear his nose but hardly anything comes his nose crusted shut. He saw himself in the mirror and scrunched up his nose. "I look like Rudolph.." he whines to his reflection, splashing water on his face to try to rewet his dried up nose.

He tried once more to clear it, this time successfully getting the yellow mucus into the tissue, triggering a sneeze. "He..hehitugh..!"

"You okay Hoba?" Jin asks from the other side.

"Yeah.. I'm okay..I can breathe a li..li..iyitch!" J-hope sneezes into the tissue, folding it up and throwing it away to use another. "Almost done.."

"Take your time. You don't have to rush for me." Jin reassures him, hearing J-hope blow his nose one more time before coming out. "You feel any better now?"

"A little.."

"Go back to your seat. I'll be fine on my own. You should try to sleep some more." Jin urges him to go, gently nudging him towards their seats.

"Alright..thanks hyung." J-hope puts his face mask back over his face and goes back to the others.

"You okay Hoseok-ah?" Namjoon asks when he takes his seat again.

"Yeah.. I'm okay besides the sneezing.. it's annoying.. every time my headache goes away I start sneezing again and it comes right back.." J-hope says with irritation lacing his usually cheerful tone when he feels the itch return to the tip of his nose, pinching the bridge of it to try to stop the sneeze from coming.

"I wish there was more I could do to help..oh! I have some advil i got when we were in LA, it could help with the headache." Namjoon starts digging in his carry on for the medicine he bought last week, finding the small blister pack and popping one out. "Here Hope. It should help with the pain."

"Thanks Namjoon-ah." He takes the round pull and places it on his tongue, washing it down with water.

Jin returns taking his seat next to Yoongi. "You should try to sleep some more Hobi. We still have another nine hours til we land."

"Okay, SeokJinnie-hyung.." J-hope had no arguments there. He was hardly up for ten minutes, but his eyelids were already feeling heavy again. This cold is draining all my energy.. how am I going to make it through the rehearsal tomorrow? I need to see the stage in person.. I'm the dance leader. Namjoon needs me..

Yoongi puts his hand on J-hope's thigh when he sees J-hope's brow furrow with worry. "Hey.. don't worry about anything, Hoba. We'll figure this out. Just focus on getting better."

J-hope gives him a small smile, the confidence in the oldest rapper's voice calming his nerves. "Thanks Yoongi.."

Yoongi takes the blanket and recovers up J-hope. "Now get some more sleep.. you can use me as a pillow.." he adds the last part softly, getting a small giggle from J-hope when he sees the slightest tinge of pink rise in his cheeks.

J-hope accepts his offer, leaning his head on Yoongi's shoulder. "I love you hyung." He yawns out the words, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over him.

"Sleep well Hoba.." Yoongi smiles when he feels J-hope's body grow heavier. "I love you too." He whispers, hoping only J-hope hears him.

[obsessedwithkpopfics]

Hey! Wow always so excited to find a new sickfic blog! I loved your first one with woozi could I possibly request a Stray Kids fic with sneezy Felix, maybe with a newfound allergy or allergies of somesort and caretaking Chan or Leeknow?

Thank you so much!

Sickie: Felix

Caretaker: Minho and Chan

Felix p.o.v

Seungmin had just come back from working with the stylists preparing for our filming. He came back and informed me that it was my turn to go. I went to the room where the stylists were. The first step was getting my makeup down. Chan was sitting in the area next to me getting his hair done. I smiled when he began pouting when they put the foundation on. "You're covering his cute freckles," He said, the stylists laughed, "I'll do light foundation," she assured the leader. He smiled and I grinned back. The leader had always made me feel more comfortable with my freckles.

After makeup, I switched with Chan. My hair went faster than his because they didn't have to be as gentle because my hair is way less damaged.

I went over to the stylists and they began choosing an outfit for me.

showing me my outfit for the shoot. It looked nice in my opinion. Black jeans with a green t-shirt and a white fur coat over it. I quickly changed into my outfit as the others began changing too. After putting on my outfit, and making sure that the other members were ready, the shoot began. Hardly 10 mins into the shoot, I felt a tickle in my nose. I tried to brush it off, mainly because I didn't have enough time to deal with it right now. But as the shoot progressed, I could feel it getting harder to control my sinuses. At one point, when I couldn't hold it back any longer, I turned away from the camera as my eyes fluttered shut. "HhKstchux!- HtksKschux!" I rubbed at my eyes, nose tickling freely now. I was hoping that no one had noticed but Lee Know looked over at me. "Bless you. You okay?" He asked, and I nodded. And the shoot continued.

A few moments later I was doing a shoot with Chan, and at one point he had his arm around me when my nose began tickling again. I nudged his arm off, "Everything okay, Lix?"

"Y-hhh-yeah, hhh- HKtchhu!- KTcShhu!- HXTchu! snf."

"Bless you. You okay?"

"Yeah, sorry"

"It's okay. You sure you're okay?" He looked at me, "Your eyes are a bit pink."

"I'm fine Channie hyung." I sniffled and smiled at him. I wasn't exactly sure what was wrong with my nose, but I didn't want Chan to worry about me. Especially when I couldn't even figure out what was happening myself.

After we finished filming just the two of us, Danceracha met up to film their part. I was beginning to get quite irritated with my nose which was still super itchy, and I swear it was just getting worse. I wondered if I was getting sick. We started to film. As the feeling of a sneeze building up got too unbearable again, I turned away from the others and ducked my head to my arm. "HhktsSchu!- HtsckKShu!- HtKSchChUu!- Ugh." "Bless you, Lix." Said Lee Know. At this point, I didn't even care if they found out something was wrong. I was more preoccupied with my nose. I ducked towards my arm again as the tickle in my nose peaked. "HhTkSchu!- HtkSCHuu!- Ugh, HhktsChsu!- snf." "Lix, are you okay? Do you want a break or something?" Asked Lee Know. "Yes, please hyung," I said, too tired to deny anything. I left the filming area and was met with Chan holding a box of tissues out to me. "Thanks, hyung." He smiled, "No problem Lix. You feeling okay?"

"I felt fine earlier. I'm not exactly sure what's going on. My nose is crazy itchy and I can't stop sneezing. HKtchu!-" The sneeze was harsh and louder than my usual sneezes. Chan seemed to notice and cringed a bit. "Bless you!" I smiled in thanks and took another tissue and blew my nose. "Ugh, I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Sounds like an allergy, Lixxie."

"I'm not a-hh-lerg-hh-ic HhKtchu!- KTchu!- ktchHu!- allergic to anything."

"I don't know about that Lix" I heard behind me. I turned around and saw Minho hyung standing behind us. "You're definitely bothered by something."

"Well, the symptoms you have right now are 99% per cent allergies. Let's just try checking out a few things you might potentially be allergic to." Said Chan, and not wanting to argue, I just nodded. "Okay, could you take off your coat? You might just be allergic to it." "I don't think that's likely but sure," I replied and gently took off the coat. As I did so, I could feel the tickling sensation in my nose get stronger again and my eyes closed involuntarily. "Hh…KTschShu!- HhKsTschU!- HhKSchChu!- Ugh." "Bless you. Could you try sniffing the coat? I have a feeling that it's what's causing this reaction." Said Chan and I rolled my eyes but brought the jacket up to my face. Immediately, my nose started tickling like crazy and I quickly brought my arm up to my face. "HhhKTSCHu!- Ahh…HTKchsHu!- HTKsChU!- HhKTSChu!- snf, HhTskChu!-" "Bless you! I think we figured out what you're allergic to now. Do you wanna go home and rest?" Chan asked and I nodded. He gave me a sympathetic pat on the shoulder before walking towards the manager to explain the situation to him. As I waited, Lee Know walked up to me. "Here, I think you might want these'' He handed me a box of tissues." "Thanks, hyung." I sniffled. Chan walked back to us. “I cleared it up with our manager, you can go home early Lix.” I heaved a huge sigh of relief at his words. “Though, you’ll have to go alone as I still have my photoshoot,” Chan added. “I can go with him,” Lee Know said and I smiled gratefully at him. I really didn’t wanna be alone right now. “Wanna go then, hyung?” I asked and Lee Know nodded. We made our way to the company cars.

"I'm sorry to take you away from filming hyung."

"It's okay Lix, I understand that it's pretty miserable to have an allergic reaction. Especially when you've never had one before. I think it's a good idea to get you home. You should-

"HhtSHhu- ktSCHu- ktCHShu- tktCHshuh"

"Bless you! Let's get you home and showered off so you can stop sneezing so much."

"Yeah, I'd like that. I feel pretty awful." He gave me a sympathetic smile and patted my shoulder as I blew my nose. He cringed slightly. "Sorry it's so gross."

"You're not gross Lix, you're having a pretty serious reaction to an allergen. There's nothing gross about that." I smiled, thankful for his sympathy.

Once we got back to the dorms Minho hyung sent me straight to the bathroom to shower. Once I finished showering, I made my way to the couch where I saw Lee Know making some Ramen. I sat down next to him. He handed me the Ramen. "Eat up, Lix. You're gonna need it. Then you can go straight to bed." I nodded gratefully and started eating. Halfway through, I felt the annoying itch return to my nose and I quickly turned away. "Hhkktschu!- Hh…HtskKschu!-"

"Bless you!"

"Thanks" I finished eating, once I did Minho hyung took the dish away, "Okay, time for bed." I walked to my room and changed into my pajamas. A few minutes later Lee Know came upstairs and tucked me in. "Thanks hyung." I said. " Anytime, Lix." He smiled.

💖👾

[waterfallofspace]

45 and 50, anything with F/rancis Fitzgerald. That man is so ridiculous. Also I'm on mobile, otherwise I would put these all in a single ask- so sorry for the multiple messages 😅😅 these are just so fun

No need for apologies, I'm having the best time filling these!! And yet again, thank you for the ask!!! I'm really enjoying the variety of characters I wouldn't normally write for!! It's such a fun challenge to me, and hopefully the results are adequate~~ (also, I adored your spellings for him in that ADORABLE comic you made, ~link here for anyone who wants to go check out Poni's incredible talent~ so I hope you don't mind that I based my own spelling off them~~) 1.5k words, prompts 45 and 50, story under the cut!! 45. “Your nose is literally twitching.” 50. “You sneezed ten times today.” “Thanks for counting.”

~~~~~~~

From the moment Louisa got to the office, she could tell something was wrong with her boss. His normally chipper personality seemed to be a performance this morning, complete with exaggerated smiles and strained tones. Despite this, it wasn’t her place to speak up. At least… she didn’t think it was.

But as the next ten minutes seem to take hours to pass, filled with suppressed coughing and thinly veiled sniffling from Francis, eventually she can’t take it anymore. As he finishes up his latest cluster of sneezes, she finds herself rising to her feet, and calling out.

“You sneezed ten times today, sir…”

Francis turns to her, tissues still pressed to his nose, sniffling weakly into them before attempting ‘and failing-’ to subtly clear his throat. 

“Thank you for counting.” 

A flash of heat makes itself at home in her cheeks as she feels her gaze start slipping back down to her papers. ‘No! Come on, Louisa, Mr. Fitzgerald needs you to speak up. He’s obviously not feeling well, but he cares about the mission, and about us, enough to try to work through it. I need to show him it’s okay to be sick!’

“I’ve been here for 20 minutes, sir.” 

“I noticed that, yes. Punctual as usual, Miss Louisa!” 

“M- Mr. Fitzgerald, I… I don’t think you’re understand-”

“hehHhh-! ‘Scuse me, do continue.”

“Oh right, yes, I was just saying I don’t think you’re quite understanding what I’m…”

She trails off as his face contorts once more, nose scrunching up as he seems to attempt to keep his eyes focused on her, despite the obvious tickle working its way through his sinuses. ‘Always so caring of my feelings. I’ll just wait for a minute, give him a chance to-’ 

“hH’YEHMMffshhhh’iee-! heHh-! yyiiffshhh’ieew-! heh’yitSHHH’iie-!”

“Blessings, sir. Three times over.”

“Thank you, Miss Louisa. Please excuse me, you were saying something?” 

Louisa weighs her options, watching Francis rub a finger roughly against the side of his nose. It becomes quite apparent that it’s not squashing the tickle, in fact, given the rapidly pinkening quality of said appendage, she’d wager it’s making it worse. ‘I could straight out say that I know he’s sick… but… he’s gotta know that I can tell… he’s not exactly great at hiding it… so maybe it’s not my place…’

“N- nothing. I was just wondering if uh… if you needed a new plan drawn up…?” 

“How wonderful of you to offer! I believe I am quite content with the ones you’ve already presen… presented- huhh’yiMMff’shhiee-!”

“Bless you, Mr. Fitzgerald.”

“Thank you again.”

Gesturing at her papers, Louisa waits for a nod from Francis before seating herself once more, eyes never leaving her boss’s quivering nose. ‘He’s not gonna be able to keep this up for long. The sneezes sound exhausting… I wonder if he has a headache… or a sore throat… maybe I should make him some tea…?’ 

“hEh’eeiiyyfff’hieew-! Excuse me.”  

“Blessings.”

“Thank you, Miss Louisa.” 

Starting to stand, Louisa watches as Francis ducks into himself with a strangled cough that is still clearly audible in the silent room. As it dies down he lifts a tissue to lightly dab at the wetness that had gathered in his eyes. Louisa feels a pain shoot through her chest, wishing more than anything she could just wrap him up in a blanket and send him home.

Instead, she settles on brewing a cup of tea, throwing blessings over her shoulder as Francis succumbs to another fit. ‘Maybe if I bless each one he’ll get the hint that I know something’s wrong…? It’s worth a shot, pointing out the number earlier didn’t work and… just speaking up… I’m not sure I could do that…’ 

“Eiiiyyiifffff’ieee-!” 

“Bless you.”

“heH’YYIFFFSHHH’iiew-!” 

“Blessings.” 

“aiyyMMFFFsshh’iiee-!”

“Bless you, sir.” 

“Th- thann… thankyou- yiTTSHHHffffieew-!”

“Blessings, again.” 

With a heady sniff, Francis manages to stall off the fit long enough to release a wet blow into the tissues, Louisa wincing at the way it seemed to have achieved nothing. Another chesty cough spills out, Francis turning away from her to try and muffle it into his arm. 

“Are you alright..?”

“P- perfectly fine- just something- stuck in my throat.” 

He manages to get out between the spasms, finally giving up with an eye roll as he allows the full harshness to slip out. Louisa can’t help but gasp at the sound, a faint rattling starting up as he inhales, a whistle note on the exhale. She finds herself behind his chair before she has time to process, gently rubbing his back.

“Exc- excuse me…”

Finally the cough eases, and Louisa notices just a second too late that her hand continued rubbing. Pulling away as a flush spreads to her ears, she mumbles an apology, one that Francis easily waves off.

“You have nothing to apologize for, you were simply assisting. I appreciate it. I appreciate you, Miss Louisa.” 

“Th- thank you, sir. That means… a lot…” 

A warm smile greets her, no performance in this one, just sincerity. She feels something swell deep inside her, a feeling she could only describe as home. It’s quickly replaced by something tinged with more concern though, as the smile is replaced by an open mouth, Francis’s eyes starting to flutter shut.

“hAHhh..-! Guhh.. ‘Scuse me, sorry, I thought I wa- oh wait… I am… s- sorry I have… I’m going to start… sn- sneezing again… heHhH-!” 

“I know, Mr. Fitzgerald.”

“hh’YYYITshhhiee-!”

“Blessings again, s-”

“eiiyyttfffshhh’iuh-yyiishhhmmmffff’ii-!” 

“Bless you twice over. Are you… finished..?” 

Francis meets her eyes, a far off look still haunting his own. Louisa finds herself drawn to it, unable to look away. Something curious inside her wants to dive into the feeling, get swept away in his tide. She’s drawn back into reality as his eyes crush shut, tissues pressed back to his nose as the remainder of the fit makes itself known. 

“yiieeddzshhhiiee-!” 

“Blessi-” 

“heH’YIESHHdjjuu-!”

“ings- and again. Are you quite alright?” 

Another deep blow into the tissues leaves Francis blushing, Louisa averting her eyes at the sight. ‘I want him to feel better, not to embarrass him… but… if that’s what it takes…’ Her thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the kettle, and she quickly busies herself with preparing the tea. Dropping an extra squeeze of lemon into it, she silently glides over, placing the cup of tea pointedly on his desk, and standing in front of his chair. 

“M- Miss Louisa..? Is there s-heHhh-! something I can help you with?” 

“Yes, actually, there is.”

Louisa doesn’t miss the distress in his gaze, though it takes her a second to place why it’s there. She notices the way his hand keeps finding its way up to his nose, pinching at it and rubbing the sides. His eyes dart past her, onto the desk, and following his line of sight she soon understands why. ‘I’m standing between him and the tissues. He’s going to have to admit he’s sick to get me to move, this is my chance!’ 

“W- well..? heHh-! gahh…” 

“I know you’re sick, Mr. Francis. Y- you should just admit it, it’s not doing you any good to stay here working when you’re ill.” 

He gives her a measured look, something sparkling in his eyes that she can’t quite seem to put her finger on. ‘Pride..? But it… feels more… more genuine… maybe… care..?’ 

“I assure you, I’m fine.” 

“Your nose is literally twitching.” 

It seems all he needed was a reminder to break the will he’d been so desperately clinging to, a gasp breaking free from his chest before he could stop it. Louisa offers him a kind smile, a hint of guilt seeping into it at the frantic look on his face.

“Okay, alright, you caught me, now please move, I… Ihavetosneeze-!”

“As you request, sir.”

She steps to the side as Francis lunges for the tissues, barely managing to press a handful to his face before the cascade of sneezes push their way out, impatient and quite irritated at being denied for so long. 

“yiiFFDJZSHII-! eiiyyDJJZSsshh’uu-!”

“Blessings, twice over, sir.”

“AIYYEMMFF’iee-! hEhH-! hEPF-! Guhh… Lost it. Oh- wait… hEh-! yiffttshhiieew-! yittshhh-aiiyyshhh-heH’YITTSHH’iie-!"

"Ble-"

"yIIDJZZshhiie-! Oh heavens… heHh-! Still n- not done..? yiisshhh’iie-! yyittfffshhh-yittshhh-aiiyyshhh’iuh-!” 

“Oh my- blessings again sir, I… lost count…”

Francis chuckles weakly through the tissues, congestion seeping through his voice as he manages a weak- 

“So did I, think nothing of it.”

-in response, before ducking into the pile of tissues to blow again. This time it sounds more productive, and Louisa lifts the mug from the desk, presenting it to him as he lets out a stuffy sigh, tossing the tissues into the garbage.

“Now… may I take over with business matters while you go lay down, at least for awhile..?”

“There’s no need, I’ve finished most of my work for the day. Thanks to your excellent plan, there’s simply no extra work needing to get done. A nap sounds wonderful, I believe I’ll do that. Thank you again, Miss Louisa. You’re truly too kind to me.”  “It- it’s nothing sir… I know you’d do the same for me.”

A smile cracks across Francis’s face, Louisa feeling a matching one bloom on her own.

“Yes, I would.”

[babybearsnz]

thank you for all of your fics :) i really appreciate them!! 😽i hope you stick around 🥹.

could you write a fic where hobi is sneezy while getting his makeup done. like the makeup brush brushing against his nose makes him sneeze or the powder getting in his nose sets him off. and add in some bless you’s from the members like you always do that’s so adorable 🥰.

thank u in advance!

You and Kookie gonna live?

Sickie: Hobi

Caretaker(s): Bangtan

Relationships: Platonic

Hobi’s pov:

It was our second day of filming for our <Butter> music video and I was promptly dragged over to hair and makeup. Unfortunately for our members with allergies, the flowers on set weren’t fake, despite our company’s concerns. Jungkook and I had already begun to feel the effects of the pollen.

“Hyung,” the maknae sniffled. “Do you have any antihistamines on you?”

I shook my head, handing him a few tissues to make up for the lack of allergy meds.

I was waiting for my turn with our stylist when I heard a couple of harsh sneezes come from where Jungkook was filming his solo scene.

I was startled when Taehyung yelled a blessing from afar.

“Thank you!” Kook responded, just as loud, and I chuckled.

It was finally my turn for makeup and I was feeling sorry for our stylist. My nose had gotten more and more irritated and had started running.

I dabbed underneath it with a tissue and apologized to which she just brushed off. It was when she actually started working on my makeup that things went south.

The makeup brush grazed around my nose and my eyes watered. Before I could say anything, she was gently wiping my eyes. I gave her a grin, but when the brush eventually grazed the tip of my nose, an itch blossomed in my sinuses and my eyelids fluttered.

I gasped out an apology and leaned away. “hhETCHhiii!”

“Bless you, hyung.” I turned to see Jimin before another sneeze took over.

“hHATCHheh!” I felt a hand being placed on my back. When I opened my eyes, he was holding a bottle of antihistamines.

I gratefully accepted them. “Jungkook asked—“ I started.

Jimin interrupted. “I already gave him some, don’t worry.”

********time skip********

We were only halfway through the shoot and my nose wouldn’t let up. It was constantly running and was starting to get sore from the constant rubbing and nose blowing. I sniffled while I was pulled away to get my makeup touched up.

Our stylist frowned at the redness surrounding my eyes and nostrils. I tried to blink back itchy tears as she worked. I could tell she was trying her best to avoid touching my nose with the brush, but the powder made my nose even more sensitive than it already was.

“aaHeTCHh! haKISHHhu!” I groaned after the sneezes burst out of me.

Yoongi appeared at my side and handed me a tissue. “huhNGXTtch!” I muffled one final sneeze into it and sighed.

“God bless,” he said. His words were laced with sympathy and he patted my shoulder.

Once my makeup was finished, I left the chair and our stylist moved on to Jungkook, his makeup seemingly messed up for the same reasons.

I returned to set, sniffling once again, and cleared my throat before turning my attention to our director.

“Hyung, you okay?” Tae wrapped an arm around me. “You and Kookie gonna live?”

I nodded and smiled before shrugging his arm off.

“hHATCHhiii!”

Tae flinched. “Oh, bless you.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled. “Thanks, I’m good now.”

Our shoot continued without a hitch. Well, I guess there was a few hitching breaths. Overall, the medicine helped out.

********time skip********

As soon as we got home, Kook and I immediately plopped onto the couch. I was exhausted. The two of us had spent our entire day as itchy messes.

“You boys want tea?” Jin offered from the kitchen. “Coffee?”

I nodded and rubbed my nose. “Hot coffee, please.”

Jungkook agreed. “Thanks, hyung.” He sounded super nasally and congested. In truth, he sounded the way I felt.

“Let’s watch something.” Namjoon jumped onto the couch next to me and Jimin sprang for the TV remote.

Taehyung climbed up as well and put his head on my lap. I ran my fingers through his hair, absolutely loving the cuddles.

Jin and Yoongi soon came in with the coffee and made themselves comfortable with us.

Only ten minutes into our chosen movie, I had to sneeze again. I wrapped both arms over my face so as not to accidentally spray on Tae.

“haETCHhiew! Ugh, sorry.”

“Ooh, bless.” Yoongi spoke first.

Then Namjoon. “Bless you.”

I thanked them and felt Tae squirm. He must’ve fallen asleep. What a cute little baby.

He turned over to look up at me with tired eyes like pools of honey. He smiled. “Bless you, hyung!” He cooed.

I kissed his forehead. “Thank you, buddy.”

[softsnzstuff]

I’ve been encouraged by @victoriablackrose and @softsicknose to make a little something based on this prompt! Here’s a short drabble about Rockstar AU Eddie and the Corroded Coffin guys! ~KB

*****

In hindsight, doing the show was probably a bad call. A bad cold had worked it’s way through all the members of Corroded Coffin over the last two weeks, the buck finally stopping with Eddie, who couldn’t seem to shake it.

This wasn’t the first time he’d performed sick. In fact, he’d gone on before with a lot worse. He really thought a cold wouldn’t stop him, but after having to pause for quite literally the 50th time to cough, sneeze or blow his nose, he was getting annoyed. All he wanted was to put on a good show for us fans and he was really starting to feel like he couldn’t even do that anymore.

He was just a few lines into singing Deadly Daydreams when the incessant tickle in his nose started to blossom again. He scrunched his nose as he went for the bridge, trying to put the buzzing in his sinuses at bay.

He paused as his breath hitched, the rest of the band still playing in the background.

“H’EKSHuhew! iiKTchiew! TssiEW!”

He sniffled against his wrist before pitching to the side one more time.

“N’giSSHu! Hih’ushHew! snfsnff eKTCHiew!”

Eddie held up a hand and the guys stopped playing the song. He leaned up against the microphone for a minute, clearly frustrated with himself.

“BLESS YOU!!” The audience yelled mostly in unison.

“Fuck!” He shouted into the microphone, “Thank you. Sorry, I’m just pissed that I can’t give you guys a great show. Truth be told, I feel like shit.”

The audience “awww’ed” as he turned around to shoot the guys a look they’d discussed prior.

“Give me a second to blow my nose. When I come back we’ll restart the song and then I think we’re going to be done for the night. I’m so so sorry guys. We’ll reschedule ASAP and make sure you get hooked up.”

The other guys made playful banter with the audiences while Eddie walked off stage to grab some tissues from Steve, who was waiting in the wing.

When he got back, Eddie unhooked the microphone from the stand and walked to the front of the stage, sitting down right at the edge with his legs dangling off the side.

“You guys alright if I sit down for this one?”

There was some cheering. Gareth started the song up again with his kick drum, Tim and Jeff adding on while Eddie tried his best to sing. There was no denying that his voice was going too. God this had to be on the records as one of his worst performances, surely.

***

Back on the tour bus after showering, Eddie was laying in his bunk, arm draped over his face.

Despite making it through a good 3/4 of the show, the frontman was kicking himself for having to end it early at all.

“Hey man check your Twitter.”

God damn Gareth for interrupting his self pity session.

“Gareth I’m really not in the fucking mood to hear people complain-”

“No man just… check it. Please.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and reached over for his phone, entering the passcode - his and Steve’s anniversary - and opening Twitter.

He was fully expecting backlash. He was expecting #CancelEddieMunson to be trending and a plethora of complaints and refund requests send to him and the guys. Instead what he found was an incredible wave of comfort and support from his fans and friends.

@MsMunson - Really hope you feel better and get some rest, @ eddiethebanished, but on the off chance you see this, here’s a thread of everything we live about you!

@CorrodedCoffinFanHQ - All of CC are getting over being sick, Eddie having it most recently. Glad they’re taking some time to rest and recover! They deserve it.

@GarethsGorl2218 - Eddie Munson is a real trooper for putting on tonight’s show for us! Thank you Eddie, we love you!!! ❤️

The long haired man was at a loss for words as he started at his phone, blinking in slight disbelief.

“They love you dude.” Jeff smirked.

“They all just want you to feel better.” Tim added, patting Eddie on the arm as he made his way towards his own bunk.

“I thought they’d be mad at me…” he mumbled to no one in particular.

“Don’t worry about that dude. They weren’t mad when us three were sick right? Don’t think too highly of yourself, you’re just like the rest of us.” Gareth playfully punched Eddie’s arm as he teased. “Get some rest, loser.”

Eddie chuckled and rubbed at his nose. “Goodnight boys!”

He drew the curtain to his personal bunk and turned off the light, rolling over. As he pulled the blanket up to his chin, he thought about how lucky he was to have the best fans in the world.

[runehope]

in pain

sorry im like getting delirious with this pain i have to type i have to talk somewhere

its like 2 am and i have an appointment in the morning i'm so pissed

oh fuck it stings. it's my teeth, my jaw. i love how my life has a surprise element of abject agony that just happens any time randomly and there's no preparing or predicting it you're just on the verge of screaming every so often. i wanna shoot myself to make it stop

ow ow ow ow fuck help me help me i need pliers i need sleeping pills i need magic to sap it away please

i should go to the dentist but i don't have the fucking money. it'll be tens of thousands of dollars, i remember from my last big surgery. dentists need to be cheaper i can't take this

ow! im crying and i think blocked sinuses make it worse but i can't help it i need it to end