#or overly pitying

[white-hole-station]

[Headcanon]

The space program took a whole month off of development after Tektite's accident, so that Slate could have the time to perfect their leg. They'd already been working on articulated flaps for in-atmosphere steering for Feldspar's ship - conserves fuel to not use jets for that - and hey, an artificial ankle is just another type of flap to articulate, right?

Gossan wasn't so sure - especially with Slate's full-tilt approach to experimental engineering, at odds with Tektite's trepidation - but all of the founders agreed that the program could wait until their neighbour was back on their feet. And to Slate's credit, Gossan had never seen them show as much sheer methodical focus, before or since. This was somebody's limb here, after all: their ability to move of their own accord, their ability to get out and about in the community and do the things they love, their ability to still feel like their body is their own. Slate was hardly about to phone it in, or risk any wild experiments when it came to Tektite's comfort and requirements.

It took several iterations, and several difficult test walks around the town square gripping Slate's arm, but together the pair of them worked out a final model that's been serving Tektite well to this day.

(...Of course, the dedication and focus that so pleasantly surprised Gossan only made Slate's awkward avoidance of them after their own accident sting even more. Was it really that hard on their poor guilty conscience, to think about doing something similar for a friend, instead of darting their gaze away just short of Gossan's face?)

[judyalvqrez]

Me: have been listening to nothing but depressing ass music for the past 3 weeks

Spotify:

[adelaidedrubman]

uquizzes tend to fail jenna so hard they don’t Get Her

[softservesoymilk]

WE DID IT GUYS I beat my first pokemon game!! I can add it to my list of series I’ve played now <3

It was the world’s MOST clutch victory at the final boss. 0 healing items, 4 fainted pokemon, Coconut the Chandelure clinging on for dear life and my beloved Archeops newly revived at 50% HP.

I tried acrobatics because it has never failed me ever, and there was just a SLIVER of red left on that health bar. Now, I knew I was fucked because lil Archie, being a flying type, is not exactly a great matchup against Eelektross. And with Defeatist….

Of course the eel was getting the STAB damage. With bated breath I contemplated if this was the end… but the RECOIL DAMAGE. THE RECOIL DID THE JOB 😭😂

And I won ✨

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

Major shoutout to the grocery store employee who was normal about me using AAC to ask a question, I appreciate you.

[froggi-mushroom]

I love having coworkers they’re all so friendly and nice but sometimes they’ll ask me about my personal life outside of work and it shows how kinda fucked my social life was in school and sixth form like the other day one of them asked me earnestly if I had a boyfriend or girlfriend and like. I’m so used to people asking out of courtesy or because they know I don’t that it really threw me like ‘???? I’m perceived Like That????’

[eldragon-x-moved]

I miss Kikimora, Tails. I miss her a lot.

[thoughtspeaker]

Sometimes the only nonverbal moments are during moments of extreme stress or panic(and believe me, I've had plenty of those moments, having been known as the crybaby kid way back in elementary), where even when I wanted to say something, or even try to explain why I was upset, all I could do was hyperventilate, cry, and wait it out.

I've gotten better with it over time, but it really wasn't fun, going to school and crying basically daily.

And hey, I don't speak for even CLOSE to everyone whose autistic. I'm just saying how my own experience with it has been! I just wish I'd known sooner honestly...

When my mum looked into the possibility of me being autistic when I was a kid, the information she could find said I would have to be nonverbal and unable to read.

While it's true that some autistic people are nonverbal some or all of the time, or may struggle with reading or be dyslexic, neither of those are a requirement to be autistic.

Every autistic person is different.

(I'm pretty sure I was hyperlexic.)

[petsemataries]

guys please calm down on the victim blaming. i can only draw so many of you getting killed

[alienducky]

Very very small and unimportant problem that I know isn't really a problem (because game developers have way more important things to worry about than small design details that most people won't ever actually see), but I feel the need to rant about Claude's post skip belt/sash

I wanted a better look at Claude's belt/sash for future craft project reasons, so I opened up the blender file I have for him to get a looksie

Here we have what most people playing the game normally see, Claude from the front

He clearly has two layers of belt/sash wrapped around him, with a possible third that is then hanging down to the right with the pompoms, yes? And the pattern on the front layer is a black section with yellow symbol, and the the green wavy lines. And the under layer is some combination of yellow and green

Moving round to the left (Claude's right) we see how wide the green and white zigzags are, and then a black C, all above the underlayer still

And then further round, we have the other half of the C, and then a green sideways diamond, with the under layer showing both at the top and bottom of the belt/sash now

And then a black sideways diamond to go with the green one, and the bottom underlayer going away again...

And then we're back to the start, with the black second and yellow pattern and pompoms

And at no point did that belt/sash actually wrap around or over itself to give the impression of one long piece of cloth that's been wrapped and layered and folded so the pompoms can hang down at a right angle to the rest of it

Which again, I acknowledge the people making the game had far, far more important things to worry about than this, especially as no one should really be able to see the back of it because there's normally a cloak there and the in game camera simply won't allow the view

But I'm still annoyed because I am no closer to working out how to make and or decorate the sash in my Future Craft Project -_-

Sigh. At least I have an excuse to buy small rings to attach mini pompoms to I guess? And I have the texture file of the model that I can print out and copy when I get to that part

[happy74827]

Say Yes to Heaven

[Logan Howlett x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Sometimes all it takes is one look. One gesture. One word. One action. To remind them that not everyone sees them the same, and It's enough to send a person over the edge.

WC: 3690

Category: Fluff, First Kiss, Logan’s POV

Another Grumpy!Logan x Sunshine!Reader because it’s my comfort trope ✨🫶

『••✎••』

He never realized how much he wanted someone to care for.

It was something he didn't know he desired. A year ago, he didn't care for a single thing. He felt nothing. He was so numb. So empty.

He was an angry man. The kind of man people kept their distance from. Wade ruined that; he aggravated him so much that Logan started actually caring about his life. And for as much as he despised his fugly ass, he was internally grateful for him. He started to open up more and more.

Wade had a part in taking him out of rock bottom, as they say, but you… you aggravated him in the most endearing way possible. You were so bright, so happy, and full of life. Logan couldn't understand how someone could be like that, and he hated you for it. He thought it was so ignorant of you.

"I mean, come on, how could she be that happy all the time? It's fucking dumb. She doesn't even know me!"

That's what he said to Wade, but his roommate only laughed. He found his frustration hilarious and made fun of him constantly.

And don’t even get started on the way you spoke. Never once have you raised your voice at anyone. You always talked softly, and even if you were pissed off, you still found a way to make your words sound gentle.

The man couldn’t wrap his mind around the way you acted, you weren’t a mutant, but you damn well could have been with that forever customer service smile you wore every day.

The level of patience and understanding you held for people was insane to him, especially the amount of patience you held with him.

He was constantly telling you to fuck off, and you took no offense; you just returned that stupidly kind smile and told him that if he needed anything, you were there for him.

You had no clue what he’s done, what he's capable of, and yet you treat him with the utmost respect. And being a mutant, respect, and kindness were two things he hadn’t received in a very long time.

It made him realize things—about himself and others. He started noticing you a little more—the way you looked and the way you acted. It started out as simple confusion and disgust… the typical reactions one would have when one sees an overly happy person.

But it evolved slowly into intrigue and curiosity.

Then something else. Something he couldn't describe.

His first instinct was to push it away. To try and convince himself, he was disgusted. He did this with everything he felt, but he couldn’t keep lying to himself.

It wasn't disgust.

He couldn't name it; he wasn't ready to, but he knew it wasn’t that.

Wade had noticed the change in him, the way he looked at you, the way he started being a little less rough with the words he chose to say. He didn’t bring it up, but the shit-eating grin he gave each time Logan walked in and saw you was more than enough proof that he had picked up on it.

Of course, it only resorted to grins because the one time he opened his mouth, Logan didn’t restrain himself. He popped his claws and had to go couch shopping the next day.

Whoops.

So, with Wade keeping his mouth shut after being chewed out by Blind Al and Logan trying his best to push away the foreign feelings, it finally reached a point where he could no longer ignore them.

He didn’t understand why, of all nights, it had to be this one, but it was.

It was 3 am, and his old nightmares had come back to haunt him. He was restless, sweaty, and couldn't take another second of sleep.

It took a rinsing of the bathroom sink and a pitiful glare at his reflection for you to return his gaze.

He froze for a second.

You were wearing a large T-shirt, with a pair of shorts underneath. Your hair was messy, but it looked so soft, and your face was clear of makeup, leaving the imperfections of your skin that made you all the more beautiful.

Always wearing a smile. Always greeting him with a soft voice, sometimes a little raspy if just waking up, butnonetheless soft.

But once he rubbed his eyes and let out a tired yawn, you weren’t there anymore.

Because you were never there, you lived across the street. You were in your apartment, sleeping, with no idea that, at that moment, the man who constantly told you to fuck off realized he couldn't stop thinking about you.

The same man who would grunt, scoff, and throw away every kind gesture now realized he secretly cherished them.

He stood there for a moment, just pondering his thoughts. His eyes were still on the spot he saw you in.

His head turned to the right, seeing the digital clock that rested on the nightstand.

3:02 am.

You were asleep���. most likely asleep. You would be unhappy if he came over and woke you up, wouldn't you?

He looked back at the sink.

You could be upset, but you could also be happy. You could give him that smile. That sweet, warm smile.

It would be worth it, right? Just for that?

3:04 am

He didn’t think about it. Not even for a second. Ironically, it started raining as if to test him, but the man was determined.

He put on a jacket to cover his bare chest, threw on some random shoes, and was out the door before his mind could stop him.

3:13 am

He knocked on your apartment door. He was completely drenched from the rain. His hair was messy, his jacket sticking to his body, and his shoes were so wet that the squelching sound they made was the only thing audible.

He heard shuffling. Soft steps coming closer. He could smell your scent. It shocked him how easy it was for him to recognize it.

You unlocked the door. Your brows furrowed in confusion.

His mental image of you being in sleepwear, messy hair, no makeup, had been confirmed. You were beautiful.

You had a tired look, one of the many looks he wasn’t used to. But it was still a good look, and it still held your signature kindness.

He had a feeling it would.

You didn't look too shocked, just tired and confused.

You spoke. "Logan, is…? Are you okay?"

Your voice was even softer than usual, the raspiness it held only making it more comforting.

You were genuinely worried about him, and it hit him then that he was being an asshole. Making you wake up in the middle of the night, and for what? Just because he wanted to see you?

Just because of that, he should’ve given you a reason. An explanation.

He should've asked. He should have done so many things differently, but he didn’t.

His head was in the clouds, and all he could think about was you.

You. That was all.

But his expression gave away that he was in a daze, and your worry only grew.

"Logan? What's wrong?"

You stepped out into the hallway and reached a hand to him.

His heart jumped a bit when you did so. It was just a gesture—one simple act of compassion.

He wasn't worthy of that, but he couldn't resist. He didn't want to.

Your fingers barely brushed against his upper arm before he moved. He grabbed your wrist.

His grip wasn't hard. His hold was gentle, as he had no intentions of hurting you. You could’ve easily pulled your arm away if you wanted to, but you didn't.

His eyes locked with yours. He wasn't sure what possessed him, but it felt so right, so he followed his instincts.

He tugged at your wrist, causing your body to fall into him. Your chest pressed against his. His arms wrapped around you, one hand cupping the back of your neck, the other resting on the small of your back.

The embrace was so sudden, and he knew the situation was far from ideal, but his senses were overflowed by your presence, your scent, your softness.

His chin rested atop your head, and his eyes fluttered closed.

It wasn’t the first time he ever hugged someone, but it was the first time he hugged someone in such a way. He held onto you tightly, his grip possessive but not painful.

He was afraid to let go.

He felt your hands press against his chest. You were probably going to push him away, he thought, and he tried to prepare himself. He told himself he would let you go because it was the right thing to do, yet he didn’t need to.

You hugged him back, and he almost lost his footing.

How long had it been since he last received a hug? Since the last time, someone held him and showed him affection?

Too long.

Your hands went inside his opened jacket and held onto him. Your fingers pressed against his skin, and your soft, warm breaths caressed his neck.

He could stay like this for eternity, and he would never grow tired of it.

Your voice reached his ears.

"Logan, did something happen?"

He had been standing there for quite a while. He wasn’t aware of how long. Time seemed to freeze around you, but he didn’t mind. He wasn't one to believe in such nonsense, but when it came to you, he was ready to accept it.

Your hand rested on his arm, and he knew you were subtly prompting him to move, and so he did.

He pulled away from the hug just enough to look at you.

Your lips were turned upwards. The corners of your eyes creased.

"Logan?"

It was then that his actions registered—how utterly close the two of you were, how intimately you were holding each other. He was already warm just from genetics alone, but now he felt everything around him heat up.

"I-"

He didn't know what to say. It was like he was back in that bar, drinking away every thought. He couldn't think. There was nothing. Nothing but the feel of your body against his.

But what truly sealed the deal was when he felt your thumb gently caress his knuckles. It was a small movement, barely noticeable, but it was centered exactly on the scars his claws made.

That little movement made his brain short-circuit. His hands twitched. His grip tightened. He held onto you with his entire body as if scared to let you go.

"What happened?"

You were patient with him. The fact that he hadn’t even answered any of your concerns said enough.

But, eventually, he did find some words to respond with. It wasn’t the answer you were searching for, but it was a response.

"Why are you always being so fucking kind?"

It was such a simple question, and yet the amount of pain it carried was overwhelming. He knew you could hear every word behind it. Every word he couldn't bring himself to say.

He didn’t deserve it. He wasn’t a good man. He did horrible things, and sure… he made an attempt to make up for it. To be better, but it couldn’t have been enough, could it?

You were still here, looking at him with those soft eyes.

Why couldn't you look at him the way he deserved to be looked at? Like he was a monster.

Why did you have to look at him with those goddamn beautiful eyes?

"You deserve kindness, Logan. We all do."

And then, your voice became even softer and a little shaky. Your hands went back to massaging his knuckles. His scars.

"Just because you see yourself a certain way doesn’t mean the rest of us do. I see the good in you. Always have since we first met."

You spoke so softly, yet your words were heavy with emotion.

"I know it's not easy, but try to have a little more faith in yourself."

You didn’t deserve the harsh words he always threw at you. You didn’t deserve any of his anger. You didn't deserve him.

"Why?" He repeated his question, his voice strained, and you didn't miss the way his jaw clenched. "Why should I?"

His arms loosened their hold around you; his hands moved down your sides, and his touch feathered light. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he couldn’t quite let go just yet.

You paid it no mind. Only staring back into his eyes with the same kindness he was so used to, the one he had grown to treasure.

"You have a right to feel the way you do, Logan. And I can't claim to understand what you've been through. I can't begin to imagine. But you are a good man. A little rough around the edges, maybe, but you’ve shown me time and time again that you're trying."

A smile crept its way onto your face, and a soft giggle escaped past your lips.

Now, to be fair, he was used to hearing your laughter. With your… odd sense of humor, it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. But, this would be one of the firsts to add to his collection.

The one reserved for him and him only.

Your laughter wasn’t loud, or annoying, or anything like Wade's. It was soft, sweet, and oh-so pleasant.

You were looking at him. Staring up at him with such love and warmth. You didn't even realize it, but he did.

"Besides, who wouldn't be a little grouchy waking up to that handsome face every morning?"

And, now, he was repulsed by the unwelcome vision of a certain masked man making his way into his head. He was so disgusted by the thought he didn’t bother responding. He didn't want to.

So, instead, he moved.

He had a habit of moving on his own and not thinking about it. It went from his hands going to your sides, and now, his hands reaching out to press against the door behind you.

You were pinned against the door, and the way you looked at him didn’t change. Of course, it didn't. Your eyes were always kind. They always were.

You were leaning against the door. Looking at him, waiting.

And he stared back.

He was so close, and he was tempted to pull away. To take a step back and leave. It would be the best for both of you; at least, he thinks so.

He couldn't give you anything.

He had nothing.

There was only himself. His body. His mind. His past.

His claws, too, if that counted for anything.

But, besides those, there was nothing.

He wasn’t a bad man, but he wasn't good either. Not like you were. He couldn’t possibly begin to match you, not even if he tried.

Which is why he had no intention of trying.

Yet, even as he thought that, his body moved even closer. The dog tags he had never taken off since he was given them hung loosely, dangling in front of your face.

One of your hands was on his chest, the other gripping onto the material of his shirt.

"Logan."

You spoke his name so softly. Almost a whisper, and yet, the sound of it was all his senses were focused on.

Your gaze shifted between his eyes and lips, and the hand that had been holding onto his shirt moved, reaching up to his shoulder.

The touch was light, as if hesitant, and it caused him to lean even closer.

It was so close. You were so close. You had been before, but never like this. Never in the way he wanted.

He wanted you so badly.

And you were right there. Looking at him with those eyes, with a soft, tender smile, and with an expression he didn't recognize.

He knew that was an invitation. You were always an open book, and your body language was no different.

And it wasn't the first time you did so.

There were many times when you looked at him. Your eyes trailing over his face. Your gaze went downwards, lingering before you snapped out of it and looked away.

He always saw it, always knew it was there, but he just chose to ignore it. He wasn’t in the right mind, then. He was just another broken man, struggling to get by, trying his best.

Trying to find some meaning in his life.

But, even now, he was still hesitant. Even after coming all the way here and making his intentions clear, he struggled with it.

"Are you sure?"

Because you were so much better than him.

Because he could still remember the day the two of you met. How much of an asshole he was, how rude, how angry.

It wasn’t until the seventh time you approached him that he realized that he had met someone who genuinely, wholeheartedly cared.

It wasn't until the twentieth time you approached him that he finally accepted it.

He could never forget the way you smiled and spoke to him, even though he had given you no reason to.

"Hi, Logan!"

You would say.

"Good morning!"

You would wave.

"Have a nice day, Logan."

You would nod, even though the man himself chose to ignore you. Goddamn it. You were so much better than him.

Much purer. Much more innocent.

You had a heart of gold, and a soul as white as snow. You were so good, so kind, and the thought of soiling you, of ruining your light with his darkness, it scared him.

It was the sole reason he didn't give in, even now, with you offering yourself to him.

He didn't want to ruin you.

"Yes."

No hesitation. No second thoughts.

Your eyes were so kind. So full of love, and the same emotion reflected back in his own.

But, even with the clear sign of assurance, he still felt the need to create one last line of defense.

With the hand against the door, he peeled it back enough to have your eyes catch sight of the fist it made.

In a millisecond, he unleashed his claws and slammed his fist against the door, the sharp adamantium easily slicing through the wood, causing the door to crack.

And, yet, no reaction. Not a single flinch, not a wince, not even a hitch of breath.

You weren't afraid. Not at all. Even as the claws were mere inches from your face, you weren't scared.

The corners of your mouth twitched. Upwards, and it soon bloomed into a bright smile.

He retracted his claws, and gave you another once-over, just to be sure, and you responded by lifting your hand, grasping the metal chain hanging from his neck.

Your fingers grazed against the cool metal, and your smile softened before turning into a small grin.

"For a man who states he isn’t scared of anything, you sure have a lot of defense mechanisms, Logan."

Teasing. That was a new one for you.

He liked it.

"Say it again." Now, finally, you showed a different expression. Confusion mixed with curiosity. You were wondering what he meant. "My name."

"Logan."

For you, his actions were mere seconds. You had no time to process the feeling of his breath against your lips. The feeling of his stubble tickling your skin. The feeling of his warm, dry lips pressed against yours.

But, for him, it was a slow, steady motion. He took his time. He pulled you closer, his hands moving from the door and cupping the back of your head and your waist.

The kiss was soft. Gentle. Nothing rushed.

He held you like you were fragile. Like you were made of porcelain and could break at any moment. He could, theoretically, but he would rather go through Cassandra’s entire repertoire of torture than hurt you.

He lifted you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and your arms around his neck, his own pulling you closer, his fingers digging into your skin.

You tasted exactly how you were. Pure. Sweet.

Like heaven.

He was sure he was leaving that of the bitter alcohol he had downed on your lips, but you didn't seem fussy about it.

Not that he could focus on anything else, anyway.

He was too distracted by the way his tongue danced with yours.

Too focused on the taste of your mouth.

Too distracted by the way your hands made themselves a home in his wet hair. They would tug every once in a while, releasing a groan he hadn’t known was there.

He was too distracted to care.

He was too lost in your scent. Wade always called him that character from that shity vampire movie due to his nose.

He always disagreed until you happened to mention the resemblance. Then, and only then, did he see the logic.

And you saw the logic here, too—the logic of how good you melted together. Experiencing it now made him question his decision to stay away.

If it was always going to be this good, this intoxicating, he should’ve done it a long time ago.

He should've taken the chance.

It would've saved the two of you a lot of frustration, and a lot of headaches.

But it didn't matter. He was here now.

And, as his foot broke into the door, mouth still latched onto yours, with him figuring his way about your apartment, he thought:

It doesn't matter.

As long as I’m here.

As long as you’re in my arms.

It doesn't matter.

Fortunately, that meant he didn’t have to wake up to that toupee-stapled face every morning, as he had so dreadfully imagined.

Unfortunately, it also meant that the next time he saw Wade, he would have to deal with him talking his ears off about what had transpired.

But, for now, he could live with that.

He was more focused on the fact on making sure you weren’t regretting your choice.

Because he sure as fuck didn’t.

[okwonyo]

CARE FOR YOU ✶ when you are sick

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐕 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆

𝟏𝟓𝟎𝟏𝒾──── enhypen 𝗑 f!rea ✿ comfort fluff 𓂋 sickness kissing skinship ❞ 𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆 ｡

𝗥𝗘𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗚 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗔 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦

HEESEUNG

he is having the best time of his life— he can’t lie. in fact, he would say it proudly : he loves it. he is having a hell of a time.

hot forehead, flushed cheeks, big water eyes blinking up at him so pretty. you look at him like you’re seeing god— or worse, as if you would break into wet sobs if he leaves the room.

you need him. and honestly, it doe’s something to him. you can say that it wrecks him.

you cling on his sleeve like a weak koala, and mumble, “hee, i feel like a soggy sock.”

heeseung stills. his eyebrow twitched like his heart got physically clenched. a soft grin draws itself on his lips. his bambi eyes soften at you, who is looking up at him like that.

his lips tug upward— not in amusement, however. in something much gentler, it makes you feel a little sicker.

his heart melts making him drop on his knees instantly. “does my soggy sock want some soup?” he chuckles, touching your hot forehead gently.

you nod. then narrow your eyes, observing his overly happy face as heeseung stays there for a moment, instead of getting your soup. “you seem to be having too much fun.”

“oh, but i do, baby.”

JAY

“i told you to wear a coat,” he scolds you. yet, his tone is still soaked in sugar— he is well too fond of you to be really harsh. “you should have listened to me.”

you would love to say something back. but your sore throat doesn’t allow you to do anything else but cough. even trying to get up needs effort that your body is struggling to give at the moment.

jay notices your struggle. he puts the soup he cooked on the nightstand, “i got you, i got you,” he says quietly, helping you sit up.

he is so doting. he hasn’t left your side ever since you told him you felt unwell last night. he looks at you as if you were going to break into piece at any moment— with hint of red on the corner of his eyes from how tired he is too.

he doesn’t mind, though. “say ‘ah’,” he gently orders, bringing the spoon full of chicken soup close to your mouth.

you sigh, then immediately cough. your voice is hoarse and barely even there, “you don’t need to do t’is. i can eat—” not ‘take care of myself’ “alone.”

jay smiles at how his barely conscious girlfriend can be so stubborn, “i know, but i want to take care of you,” he puts the spoon closer, “so let me.”

JAKE

he almost cries. really. because how can you tell him to stay away from you when you look like this.

not the usual bratty, mouthy, too-proud-for-help girlfriend who he loves so much. not the usual bitty remarks, mean looks or sassy remarks that makes his heart flutter.

not, you are just tin, pitiful sniffles that makes him weak in the knees.

with those covers wrapped around you, your face all red due to your fever— how can you expect him to not come lay beside you.

“no, jake,” you say with a voice sounding different due to your nose. “you are going to get sick.”

he doesn’t listen. he slides next to you earnestly. it’s funny how you think that he is not going to cling to you when you look so cuddly. it’s also funny how you wrap your arms around his waist despite your weak protests.

“go away,” you whine, holding onto him like he is your anchor. like you don’t want to go anywhere. like you can’t function without him.

he loves his life. “shh, i’m here,” he shushes you. he put his hand on the back of your head, burying your face in his bros chest as you sniffle.

your hot body relaxes in jake’s arms. soon falling into slumber.

SUNGHOON

you called him one hour on the phone your voice sounded weird — as if you were sick. which made sense, you called him to ask him to go buy you medication.

but he didn’t know that you were that sick.

you weren’t very precise, truthful even, on the phone. you told him you had a small fever. that your throat felt weird because of allergies. that it wasn’t something to worry about. he believed your words.

oh man, he was so wrong. when you open the door, your pale face makes his heart squeeze. he doesn’t know what to do at the moment — he stares at you while you sniffle.

“t–thank you,” you say weakly, taking the meds in his hands. “i can’t kiss you, ‘cause you’ll get sick,” the rest of your sentence makes his survival instinct awoke, “you should leave before you i…”

you are too sick to notice that he lowered himself to lift you off the floor. your fever has no mercy on you. your brain is half fried. you are confused in his arms for a dozen seconds.

it’s only when he starts to walk that you protest, already starting to fall asleep in the comfort of his biceps, “...i can walk.”

he huffs, “and i can carry you.”

SUNOO

he takes very good care of you. he’s so doting, so sweet, so spoiling that it makes you feel a little bit dizzy.

it takes a huge care in tucking you between the covers — like a burrito. he scoops you over his laps after tugging the blanket to your chin.

his fingers move through your hair. slow and gentle. your cheek rests against his shirt. your ear right next to his beating heart.

“do you still love me even if i’m gross and sweaty and with a red nose?” you mumble, lips quivering, brows pinched which he finds very cute.

“what if i love you more?” he ask, wiping your running nose with a tissue. “you are my sweaty lover. the cutest red-nosed deer ever made.”

you pout, looking away, “i don’t believe you.”

without any hesitation, he counters. “darling, i would kiss your snotty nose right now if you asked.”

he declares that so solemnly. with a face serious enough to make you shiver. it’s a promise, it’s a vow that nothing can break.

he would do it without any hesitation. when it’s you, there is no gross or any fear of getting sick too. if it’s you, he kisses you senseless even if you carry the most deadliest virus within your body.

JUNGWON

he definitely baby talks you throughout the entire day. with a huge grin but no shame at all, whatsoever.

and you let him. you don’t groan, push him away playful or give him a bratty remark. no. you let him baby talk you without any protest. that’s what he loves the most about the situation.

“won…” your finger twitch like you want to reach him. your stuffy nose makes you breathe out his name. as well as the rest of your sentence, “i’m cold.”

jungwon coos, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “aw, my poor baby, do you want my hoodie? a thousand of forehead kisses?”

despite the tone he uses, you nod, without making any sort of grimace.

he takes the hoodie off his back. while he shows off his biceps with his white tank top, he helps you put the hoodie on.

he kisses your forehead again, “who is the hottest nurse in the world, hm, doll?”

you sniffle, smiling weakly, “it’s you.”

he puts his hand next to his ear, “what did you say?”

“it’s you,” your voice is barely any louder than the previous time but he smiles nonetheless.

your cheek is hot against his lips as he presses a kiss on it, “and you are the cutest patient.”

RIKI

“why are you looking at me like that?” you cough, making riki’s heart break a little again.

he sits right in front of you, on a chair, holding your hand. he looks at the covers around you. your pale face, snotty nose and damp forehead with a look that scares you.

riki’s eyes are wide open. through your exhausted eyes, you distinguish the shine of his teary — yes, teary — eyes. you laugh weakly.

“i’m not going to die you know,” your cough makes his lips quiver for a second.

he squeezes your hand harder as if you were on your deathbed, “i know, but i feel guilty.”

as he should be. if he wasn’t sick a week ago and decided that one of his cold’s cravings was cuddling you, none of this would be happening right now.

which is maybe why he insisted of taking care of you and why he hasn’t left your side for a second since a few hours.

he wants to cuddle again, though. ridiculous you may say. but he really wants to take you in his arms. that, he does.

“we are never going to break the cycle,” you mumble, forehead nudging his neck.

he chuckles, “i don’t think so.”

분지 ܃ exam season is over, summer can finally start and i’m SO happy >< inspired by this !

taglist open

[readwritealldayallnight]

im on my knees begging for jealous Simon headcanons 🧎🏻‍♀️

The thing about Simon is, he really has no reason to get jealous when it comes to you, and he knows it

He knows there isn’t anyone else who could make you smile so much your cheeks hurt, no one else who could make you laugh until you claim you’re going to pee your pants, no one else who could make you feel as good as he does, in oh so many ways, because you tell him so

You tell him that those same feelings of being loved, understood, appreciated, and wanted, those very feelings that you make him feel each and every day, he gives them back to you a thousand times over

He knows when you look in his eyes and tell him that you love him, that there isn’t a doubt in your mind that he is the only one for you, and nothing or anyone could ever change that

You’re as smitten with him as he is with you

Still though, Simon does have eyes

And while the logical part of his brain is telling him that he’s got no reason to be gritting his teeth and clenching his fists underneath the table, he can’t help but grow more and more frustrated with the way Soap and Gaz continue to flirt shamelessly with you

To be fair, you had warned him that keeping your relationship a complete secret from everyone would likely result is moments where Simon would have to watch you get hit on, and simply have to grin and bear it

That didn’t mean it was any easier, watching his only best mates try and work their charm on you, all while he sits at the same table and watches you roll your eyes at their advances

“Aw, come on love, just one chance, s’all I ask for!” The handsome, young sergeant practically whines to you, cheeky grin plastered across his features as he tries in vain to convince you to let him take you out some time

“Pfft, ye’d be nothin’ but a waste o’ her time, Garrick. We wouldn’t even ‘ave to to leave base for me to show ye a good time, bonnie.” The Scotsman winks at you, pointedly ignoring the way Gaz elbows him in the ribs at his comment

Throughout the entire exchange, Ghost’s gaze has never left your face, watching every time you scoff and roll your eyes at the men’s antics, reminding himself that you’re his, and he is yours, and the two sergeants are nothing more than pains in both of your asses

Finished with your pitiful meal from the dining hall, you stand from the table with your tray gathered in your hands, flipping your hair over one shoulder as you look towards the men trying to win your affection

“Once again, gentleman,” you say to them, knowing that they’re listening to your every word and watching your every move. “I don’t fraternize with colleagues. At least not the Sergeants.”

The two men groan in feeble protest at the mention of their ranks, having heard this reasoning from you before

“Ach, what if I get myself demoted, lass? I ken I could do that, easy!” Soap teases you, only kind of joking

“Mmm, don’t think that’ll work.” You reply, beginning to slowly walk away from the group, but not before glancing over you shoulder to lock eyes with Ghost and add, “You might have to become a Lieutenant. Those are more my type.”

The two Sergeants are staring after you, slightly gobsmacked, while their Lieutenant hides an overly smug and satisfied grin beneath his mask, shielding the pride that spread through him at your words

“Shite, sounds like you might ‘ave a chance, LT.” Soap laughs, smacking Ghost across the shoulder in a playful gesture, thinking that the larger man would never actually pursue you, let alone sleep in your bed almost every night

It’s a few weeks later when you and the rest of the 141 are all out for drinks at a nearby pub however, when Simon finds his instincts growing stronger than his insecurities

Because that’s just it isn’t it? He’s not feeling insecure when he sees you walk towards the bar by yourself to order a new drink, at least a dozen pairs of eyes watching you weave through the crowd in hopes of making a move on you

He’s not feeling insecure when he watches some tipsy idiot try and pretend he’s drunker than he really he is when he ‘accidentally’ bumps into you, apparently feeling the need to put his hands on you as he apologizes

He’s not feeling insecure when he watches you shove the guy off, reading your lips he knows so well as you tell the guy you’re not interested, nor is he insecure when he knows the idiot won’t give up that easily, likely asking if you’re here alone before you point over to where the 141 have overtaken a booth in the back

No, he certainly isn’t feeling insecure when he sees that the man never bothers glancing back to the table, still trying to land a hand on your body somewhere, when Simon’s instincts take over, rising from his seat without a word to the men who glance his way and ask where he’s going suddenly

He’s acting on pure instinct as he stalks over to you, the crowd parting for his large frame to move by without hesitation, locking eyes with you just as he lands a massive skull gloved hand on the tosser’s shoulder, wringing him around to face him

Your would be admirer isn’t feeling so confident now when he’s staring up at a 6’4” wall of muscle donned in all black apart from the white markings of his skull balaclava

If he were a more jealous man, Simon might take more time to admire the way you can practically hear this idiot gulp over the loud sounds of the music, the way his eyes bulge out of his head and how he looks nearly ready to piss himself on the spot

But your man knows who he is to you, and so instead he shoves the geezer away, turning to face you as one hand lifts up the bottom of his balaclava, just far enough to swoop down and meet your lips in a passionate tangle of tongue and teeth, tasting the alcohol on each other’s breath and the desire in your systems, a kiss that says to everyone else watching, including the bewildered Captain and Sergeants gawking from across the room, that you are his and his alone

[maccreadysbaby]

Some of My Favorite Ways to Describe a Character Who’s Sick

pressing their forehead into something cool or comfortable (this could be an array of things. the table, the floor, someones leather jacket, their water bottle, the countertop)

warm to the touch, or heat radiating from them (could be noticed if someone’s gauging their temperature with their hands, hugging them, or just generally touching them)

leaning into people’s touch, or just spontaneously leaning on them (like pressing into their hand when someone’s checking their temp, or just, like, literally walking up and laying their head on them from fatigue. bonus points if the character is usually feral and the other is scared to engage™︎)

falling asleep all over the place (at the dinner table, on their homework, in the car, in the bathroom — just being so exhausted from doing literally nothing)

being overly emotional (crying over things that don’t usually bother them, like their siblings arguing, or their homework, or literally just nothing)

stumbling/careening/staggering into things (the wall, furniture, other people. there is no coordination in feverish brains. running into chairs, hitting the door, falling over the couch, anything and everything)

slurring their words (could be from fatigue or pain. connecting words that shouldn’t be connected, murdering all of their conversations with the excessive use of ‘mm’ and ‘nn’ in place of words) (this is my favorite thing ever)

being overly touchy (basically like a sick kid — just hold them, please. do that thing where you brush their hair back out of their face, or rub circles on their back, or snuggle them. they won’t care. bonus points if this is also the feral character and they refuse to believe it afterwards)

being extremely resistant to touch (flinching away when they usually don’t so someone can’t feel the fever, not letting themselves be touched because they’re so tired they just know they’ll be putty in their hands if they do)

growing aggressive or being extremely rude (it’s a defense mechanism — they feel vulnerable and are afraid of being manipulated or deceived while they’re ill)

whimpering/whining/groaning (this was in my “characters in pain” post but it’s so good that i’m putting it here too. this shite is gold, especially if it’s just an involuntary reaction to their symptoms)

having nightmares caused by a fever and/or delirium (crying and murmuring in their sleep, or being awake but completely out of it and convinced they’re somewhere else)

making themselves as small as possible (curling up into a ball everywhere they lay, hunching over slightly when standing, wrapping their arms around themselves)

TW for vomiting below cut !!

sleeping in the bathroom floor because they keep getting sick over and over (bonus if someone finds them all weak and pitiful. bonus bonus if they find them there in the morning only to learn they’ve been there all night)

using their hands/other body parts to clamp over their mouth so nothing can come out (like pulling their knees up to their chest and using that, or like, their arm, y’know) (~maccreadysbaby who has emetophobia suddenly gets very awkward about this post~) (~yes i have a phobia of puke and still write this happening to my characters, shut up~) (~it’s about the hurt/comfort okay~)

sympathy pukers (people who aren’t the sick ones but get nauseous/vomit when they see someone else throw up) (~aka me~) (~okay I’m done now~)

dry heaving (it’s gross, but good for making your characters absolutely freaking miserable)

rolling/churning/spinning/cramping/ lurching and all those awesome words that describe what stomachs do when sick (i hate these words with a deep, fiery passion. but they’re good for writing or whatever)

[gabseyoo]

BLANKETS — MIYA ATSUMU

content: msby!atsumu, established relationship, fluff, female reader. word count: 0,7k.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Atsumu asked, stepping into the room with only a towel slung low around his hips, his damp blonde hair clinging messily to his forehead. His skin still glistened with the remnants of steam, and he left wet footprints on the hardwood floor.

After a long, exhausting day, all he wanted was to crawl into bed, snuggle into his beautiful girlfriend’s arms, and drift off to sleep under the familiar blanket you shared.

But something was different tonight.

The first few steps of his nighttime routine went as usual—you were already in bed, reading a book and waiting for him—but the beloved gray blanket was neatly folded on his side of the bed, while a soft pink one covered your legs.

His eyes flickered to yours in confusion. “Why the question?” You asked, glancing up from your book. Then you noticed his stare and let out a quiet, “Oh.”

“You mad at me?” He pressed, his lower lip jutting out just a little, already preparing for the worst.

“I’m not mad.” You reassured him with a small smile. “It’s just an idea I had.” Before he could ask why, you continued, “Remember what we talked about? About, uh… your sleeping habits?”

Atsumu blinked. Oh. That talk.

Of course, he remembered. Two months ago. It had been two weeks after you moved in together, when love and domestic bliss were still new and shiny. You’d sweetly mentioned that his nighttime antics were, well, a little… chaotic. Sometimes throwing an arm over your face, sometimes draping a leg across you like an overly affectionate octopus. Which were completely fine for you, but the one thing you couldn’t deal with was that he was a shameless blanket thief.

He’d promised to work on it. But sleep-logic Atsumu and awake-logic Atsumu were two entirely different creatures.

So, you had tried everything. Tucking the blanket under you, securing it beneath the mattress—nothing worked. And so, you’d come up with a simple solution: separate blankets.

Atsumu, however, was clearly not a fan of this idea.

With a dramatic sigh, he shuffled to the closet, every step a performance of exaggerated woe. He tugged out a pair of boxers, his expression the embodiment of a heartbroken puppy.

“Baby…” You called to him, your voice gentle but laced with an I-know-you’re-about-to-be-dramatic tone.

“If you want to divorce me, just say so.” He mumbled, slipping on his boxers. His shoulders slumped, and he looked as if he might melt into a puddle right there on the floor.

You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile. “We’re not even married.”

“Exactly! That’s worse! You could just leave me. No legal ties, no paperwork, just gone—poof!” He flailed his arms for emphasis. “And then I’ll have to fight for the house in court while you take the dog that we don’t even have yet.”

“Atsumu.”

“And before I know it, you’ll find someone who sleeps like a corpse and doesn’t steal blankets, and you’ll never be cold again and—”

You shut your book, the sound soft but definitive. He stopped mid-ramble, watching as you set it on the nightstand and reached for his hand.

“Hey.”

He blinked at you, his expression still a perfect blend of pitiful and hopeful.

“You know it’s not about you being a problem, right?” You said, your thumb drawing lazy circles on his hand.

“...It’s not?” His lip wobbled just a bit, milking the moment for all it was worth.

You shook your head and gently pulled him closer. The distance between you dissolved, and with it, a little bit of his drama. “No, dummy. I just need sleep too.”

He exhaled, all his performative misery unraveling into a dramatic slump of relief. “Fine.” He muttered, dragging his feet as you coaxed him into bed. “But I don’t like it.”

You giggled and he immediately flopped down, half on top of you as usual, his weight pinning you to the mattress like a very clingy, very warm blanket of his own.

“What if we just get a bigger comforter?” He asked, muffled against your shoulder.

You hummed thoughtfully, fingers combing through his damp hair. “That might work.”

“We can go buy it tomorrow.”

“We can.” You agreed, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “But until then, separate blankets.”

[nonbonberry]

i wish i could be more open about when i’m struggling but like lmao i don’t want the concern and attention it brings like i just wanna be like “hey i’m struggling go easy on me be extra patient” and leave it at that. i want my rough patches acknowledged but not fussed over by other people and i don’t want anybody worrying about me ya know