#fingers crossed it’s just allergies and the cold

[snzluv3r]

maybe beginning the deep clean of my room on a day where my nose was already more sensitive and sneezy than usual was a bad idea…perhaps i should’ve thought a little harder about how itchy and allergic the combination of dust and lingering cat hair would make me, let alone on top of what i’m worried might be an oncoming cold—and a very sneezy, hitchy one at that.

my room might be cleaner than when i started but i’ve certainly made a mess of myself and am sneezing so frequently still that i can barely make this post

[crayolacolor]

i sure love playing the "am i coming down with a cold or is it just allergies" guessing game

[ssahotchnerr]

So the mom friend!reader fic?? What if she’s sick and trying to hide it from the others, especially Aaron, while at work and also still trying being the mom friend 😭🖤

hidden efforts

AWW cw; fem!reader, being sick descriptions, established relationship (aaron and reader are married), fluff <333 continued from simultaneously

despite hand sanitizer and vitamin c, whatever cold spencer had managed to overtake your immune system next. brutally.

you woke up feeling unwell, but it was just a distant pang. nothing major, nothing worth staying home over. but as the day moved forward you began to regret your decision; you barely had the strength to lift a pen. and through the course of the morning, the trash bin hidden underneath your desk had grown dangerously full of tissues.

while you loved taking care of others, you didn't favor being the one being coddled. unless it was by someone with the first name aaron, last name hotchner. but even then, would you be reluctant to admit it.

"hey, do you know what-"

"2:30." you foolishly pushed your voice, attempting to hide the hoarseness within it - to sound as normal as you possibly could.

derek crossed his arms, amused sass in his voice, "i didn't even finish my question."

"but i answered it, didn't i?" you tried your hardest to return a teasing smile, but it was half your best. instead, you fought back a sneeze, prompting your eyes to water and nose to burn.

he nodded slowly, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly in suspicion. but he dropped it quickly, moving on.

and for the meantime, you turned back to the waiting work in front of you, forcing yourself to get something done.

"hey."

aaron's voice and sudden hands on the back of your chair caused you to jump in your seat. he quickly squeezed your shoulders, silently apologizing for startling you.

"you ready...?" his voice trailed off as his eyes scanned the contents of your desk, littered with cough drop wrappers and a few scrunched up tissues.

you did your best to block the scraps from his view - leaning forward, discreetly swiping them off side towards the container holding your pens - almost letting a cough escape as you opened your mouth. "y-yeah-"

"what are those?"

"the action reports for-"

"no, not that." aaron reached forward and plucked a wrapper off your desk, holding it up between his finger pads. his lips formed into a pout, "sweetheart, are you not feeling well?"

"i'm feeling perfectly fine."

due to the wheels on your chair, aaron was easily able to maneuver you back, exposing your tissue-filled bin. "then what's this?"

"allergies?" you offered, in a hopeful tone - maybe he'd buy that?

but naturally, your husband knew better, "why didn't you tell me you felt sick?"

"i'm not sick, jus' a cold." you swiveled your chair around, peering up at him.

the back of aaron's hand found your forehead, the scowl on his face deepening at his findings. "i don't think so. you're running a temperature, and now that i have a better look at you, you're rather flushed as well."

"flushed or not, we have a meeting-"

"no, we have a meeting." aaron responded, referring to himself and the others, "you're going right up to my office and laying down."

you gazed at him exasperatedly, playing up that look in your eyes, the one that was nearly impossible for him to say no to. "aaron-"

"nope, i’m not falling for it this time," he helped you to your feet, his hand supporting the far side of your hip as you wobbled vaguely. his eyes darted to the right, taking quick notice of someone walking by, "anderson, would you mind grabbing a water bottle and bringing it to my office?"

"so much for vitamin c, huh?" derek chimed in from his desk, his playful smile also on the sympathetic side.

you rolled your eyes, but allowed aaron to guide you up the few stairs into his office, gratefully.

he insisted you lay down on the couch (and not get up for the life of you), he insisted you keep the lights off, he insisted you use his suit jacket as a makeshift blanket.

"we'll head home once this concludes. if you need anything, give me a call, or send a text. i'll be here." aaron brushed your hair away from your forehead, placing a gentle kiss on it afterwards. "and, choice of soup is yours tonight."

[eyesthatroll]

fucking allergies | jack hughes

pairing; jh86 x fem!reader

warnings(s); cursing, not much else idk

word count; 0.52k

author's note; does anyone else get the worst allergies when the weather goes from hot to cold + when daylight savings time happens?? shoutout to my pharmacist who couldn't sell me anymore claritin because i reached my limit for the month! nice! all jokes aside, this is very much self inserted, and short, but alas, i hope you enjoy, lol. also!! i'm going to the red wings/devils game on the 22nd, will i see anyone there?? love ya! -mari

The sun, seeping through the gaps in the blinds, nudges you awake on what should be a splendid day at the lake house. That is, it would be splendid if not for the persistent struggle to breathe through your nose and the annoyance of itchy eyes and a scratchy throat. Despite the season being in its early throes, your allergies have already unapologetically launched an assault on your well-being.

Gazing to your left, Jack is sprawled on his back, emitting soft snores that the harsh sunlight fails to disturb. Extending your arm to the bedside table, you open the drawer in a quest for your Claritin. Your fingers finally clasp it, but a frown creases your brow as you shake the empty box. Fantastic, just what you needed. Audibly groaning, you hoist yourself out of bed, your bare feet padding against the cool embrace of the hardwood floor. Silence envelops the house, and as you descend the stairs, an empty kitchen and living room confirm that you're the first one to rise.

Navigating to the kitchen, your hands instinctively reach for the cupboards in a quest for the Claritin or Zyrtec you're certain must be lying around. Alas, your search yields nothing but frustration, prompting a string of curse words to escape your lips. "Fucking allergies..." Closing the last cupboard, you straighten up, your heart nearly leaping out of your chest at the sight of the tall boy standing before you. Clutching your chest, you exhale heavy breaths to steady yourself.

"You scared the shit out of me!" Your exclamation earns a laugh from Trevor, who shakes his head as he takes a seat on one of the barstools.

"Not surprising you didn't hear me with all that noise you were making."

You rub at your eyes, desperate to rid the persistent itchiness, and lean against the counter, confusion etched on your features. "I wasn't even loud, dumbfuck!"

He grins at your response, savoring the ease with which he can rile you up, even this early in the morning. Your boyfriend enters the kitchen, nonchalantly slapping Trevor on the shoulder before playfully flicking your cheek, stopping to ruffle your already messy bed head. "Too early, knock it off," he rasps, a touch of amusement present in his tone.

He ambles to the other side of the kitchen, reaching up to the far back of the small cabinet above the stove. Your eyes widen as you spot a familiar blue and white box in his palm. Hastily crossing over to him, you snatch the box from his grasp with both hands. "I love you, I love you so much." He grins at your words, and leans down for a kiss, but precisely at that moment, your head throws forward with a wet sneeze, causing him to step backward, his fingers reaching up to feel your snotty residue against his cheek in disbelief.

Your palm slaps against your lips, your mouth falling agape as you register what just happened. Trevor, still seated at the counter, bursts into a bellyaching laugh that reverberates through the entire house.

"Gross!" Jack cringes, just as you profusely apologize, "I am so sorry!"

[stevesbipanic]

If You Would Promise Me Your Heart

For my Eddie, @steveshairychest.

Every nerd in Steve’s life had their mythical creature niche.

Robin loved pixies. Channelling their mischievous energy into her everyday life, bouncing around the store while they were on shift, even joking she’d get a pixie cut one day.

Nancy, though she would deny it to anyone outside their circle, loved fairies. Soft but calculating, intelligent and beautiful, when they had visited the ren faire the year prior her cheeks matched her glittery wings.

Dustin loved hobbits and Steve loved to affectionately call him one even as the boy grew just as tall as him, the excitement that crossed his face when Steve agreed to watch the movies with him made the confusing deep lore worth it.

Lucas loved ents. Steve would often find him in the woods just listening to the trees, he was the only one of them that would still brave the forest at night, the trees would keep him safe.

Max loved harpies. If Steve were to give any proof that these creatures existed, he’d just tell you to look at Max’s face when some boy told her girls can’t skate.

Will loved merfolk. When they visited the beach last summer Steve could see the years of stress melt away from the young boy’s face as he listened to the waves, the water washing away the memories.

El loved elves. She loved the many forms they came in from fantasy to Christmas, that they could be fun or loud or quiet or brave, that they could be whatever they wanted to pointy ears just made them a little special.

Mike loved griffins. He knew that being both just made you stronger, that you can be strong and brave and protect the things you love, that being different doesn’t make you less whole.

Erica loved unicorns. She would hit you if she heard you saying they were anything less than metal.

Which of course leads us to Steve’s favourite nerd, Eddie.

Eddie loved dragons.

The first thing he did once his scars had healed enough was to get a beautiful dragon tattoo across them, the rough skin almost like scales through the dragon’s back.

One of his most prized possessions is a massive red dragon figure for his campaigns.

Steve thinks he’s seen the How to Train Your Dragon movies more than every seven-year-old in the world because it’s the only things that make Eddie feel better when he has nightmares. He has seen them so many times that he can recite his own favourite scene by heart.

They’re in the small clearing in the woods behind their house, it’s spring, the afternoon is warm and the wind is calming. The sun is setting, they are sharing a small picnic, it’s perfect. The sun is bathing them in a golden light, Steve thinks Eddie would be beautiful even if the world was pitch black.

It’s time.

He whistles out the first few notes.

“I’ll swim and sail on savage seas, with ne’er a fear of drowning. And gladly ride the waves of life, if you will marry me.”

Eddie has turned to Steve recognising the song, his eyes are as bright as the love between them.

“No scorching sun, nor freezing cold, will stop me on my journey.”

Eddie’s eyes are shining, he’ll blame them on allergies.

“If you will promise me your heart, and love,” Steve looks expectantly at Eddie.

Eddie face breaks into a smile at Steve’s pause.

“And love me for eternity,” he continues, “My dearest one, my darling dear, your mighty words astound me. But I’ve no need for mighty deeds when I feel your arms around me,” Eddie sings pulling Steve to his feet as he stands.

Steve laughs as he continues, “But I would bring you rings of gold, I’d even sing you poetry!”

“Oh would you?” Eddie giggles.

“And I would keep you from all harm, if you would stay beside me.”

“I have no use for rings of gold, I care not for your poetry; I only want your hand to hold,” Eddie sings lacing their fingers.

“I only want you near me.”

The boys begin to spin and dance to only the tune of their voices.

“To love and kiss, to sweetly hold, for the dancing and the dreaming. Through all life’s sorrows and delights, I’ll keep your laugh inside me.”

Eddie begins to spin from Steve the joy bubbling up inside him, not even noticing Steve’s voice has gotten softer.

“I’ll swim and sail a savage seas, with ne’er a fear of drowning. And gladly ride the waves of life if-” the last words catching in his throat as he looks at Steve, down on one knee.

“If you will marry me.” Steve finishes, a beautiful black ring in the shape of a dragon protecting a ruby in its centre laying in a black box in his hand. “For the dancing and the dreaming, Stevie, yes.”

[buckysgrace]

okay hear me out pls, or u can ignore me forever…but what about gator comforting the reader (she’s 21 tho and in secret relationship with gator for months now) about her spring allergies causing her insomnia and her stuffy nose driving her insane all day but he takes care of her? maybe he makes her feel good even down there with his mouth bc he knows it helps her sleep hehe and she literally falls asleep but he’s gentle (bc she’s still sore from last night) while he eats her out and is holding his hand? <3 love ur writing sm, keep up ur work ^^

CW: Oral sex <3

Hope you enjoy!

“What’s wrong with you?” He questioned, watching the way you dramatically threw yourself back on the bed. You grumbled, your head pounding and nose stuffed full of tissues. You’d done nothing but suffer the past few days, unable to sleep and forced to live with the constant ringing behind your eyes.

“Allergies,” You whined as you held you hands out, watching the way he crossed your room slowly, “I feel terrible.” You grumbled as you blew your nose again, then tossed the tissues into the trash can. Your body was aching, sore from how your cold was affecting you. 

“You look pretty funny too.” He commented teasingly, grinning as he looked down at you. You were surprised that he’d come by at all, knowing that there wasn’t much that you’d actually be able to do. You didn’t want him to deal with you coughing and sneezing anywhere either. 

“Thanks,” You said dryly, but felt a smile forming against the corner of your lips, “I thought you couldn’t come by?” You watched as he shrugged his jacket off and sat it on one of your dressers. Spring had rolled around, but there was still a light dusting of snow still leftover from the last storm. 

“I can always sneak away for you,” He grinned as he sat at the edge of your bed, brushing his fingers across your cheek, “You still can’t sleep?” He questioned you softer this time, sounding concerned as you rested your cheek against his palm. 

“No,” You moaned pitifully before you sighed deeply, desperately feeling the need to fill your lungs with air, “I start to fall asleep but then I wake up to sneeze or cough or just because I can’t breathe.” You were truly in misery. 

“Poor baby,” He mocked as he pouted his eyes out, his tongue condescending yet his eyes told a different story. They were soft, gentle and full of worry. It made you a little nervous as you crept deeper into your sheets, “What are we going to do to fix that?”

“Don’t know,” You said softly, smiling at the way he rubbed his thumb across your hip, “I’ve tried everything.” You drew out playfully, sighing deeply as you looked at him again. You really enjoyed the look that grew in his eyes, how sometimes you swore you could see just how much he cared for you. Even if he didn’t admit it yet. 

“Everything?” He questioned as he tilted his head, raising his eyebrows like he knew more than you. You grinned in response, enjoying his little banter. He really did make you feel better, even without really trying.

“Mhm,” You nodded along, “Just about. I think I’m just forced to suffer.” You rested your hand on your head playfully, feigning dramatics as he chuckled softly. He shifted a little closer to you, beginning to move his legs underneath your own. 

“Maybe I can help?” He suggested as he pulled the blankets off of you, making you shiver in response. You watched him curiously as he pulled your legs apart, settling between them. 

“What have you got in mind?” You asked him curiously as you sat up on your elbows, doing your best to keep from sneezing everywhere. He pressed down on your hips slowly, making you settle back against the mattress. 

“Just relax,” He mumbled as he looped his fingers through the band of your pajama pants. He slowly tugged them down your thighs, his eyes hazy as he drank in the image of your skin. You still felt nervous sometimes with how intensely he watched you, like he was memorizing every inch of you, “I’ll take good care of you, mama.” He promised sweetly, his lips curling into a smirk.

He dipped between your thighs dragging his lips against your smooth skin as he inhaled the scent of you. It made you quiver, goosebumps forming on your skin as he slowly pressed his mouth against your panties. 

You breathed out slowly, your lungs filling with much needed air as he flicked his tongue out against your clothed cunt. You whimpered in response, your clit tingling with desire as he messily licked across your panties.

“Gator,” You whispered softly, moaning as your hips jerked in anticipation, “Please. Don’t tease me.” You begged softly as you brushed your fingers across the top of his head, knowing that he liked to have his hair played with despite his protests. 

“Alright,” He mumbled as he placed a few more kisses against your panties, “Only because you don’t feel good.” He added, giving you a knowing look as he began to tug the material down your thighs. He kissed at one knee, bringing it up as he slowly slid one ankle out of them.

He dragged his lips teasingly across your cunt, flicking his tongue against your sensitive clit to make your hips jerk forward again. You sighed blissfully, your headache and stuffy nose forgotten as he dragged his tongue across your clit.

His mouth was warm and wet, sloppy as he curled his tongue through your folds. He licked away your slick, inhaling the taste of you as he gripped the back of your thighs. He squeezed softly, like he was trying to keep from digging his fingertips into your flesh.

He wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking softly as you felt a wave of pleasure crash over you. You rolled your hips slowly, whimpering and whining as he began to languidly flick his tongue across your sensitive bud. Your toes curled in awe as moans rolled off of your tongue, filling the room in a loud melody. 

He groaned against your cunt, his desperation evident by the way he continued to drag his mouth against your wet folds. He played with your clit, continuing to flick his tongue against it in the manner that you licked.

He spread your legs further, exposing you further to him as he moved his mouth downwards. He dragged his tongue across your hole, teasing you as he slowly slid his tongue inside of your spongy walls. You gasped as you stretched around him, inviting him inside as he licked at your cunt.

“Jesus, Gator,” You moaned as your fingers tangled into the back of his hair, tugging him closer as you began to rock your hips forward more frantically. His nose began to brush against your clit, digging into you as he curled his tongue deeper inside of you, “Oh my God!” You squealed, your lungs straining as the pleasure crashed over you.

Your clit was throbbing as he continued to flick his tongue inside of your walls, licking away your slick as his nose dug into your clit. Everything felt too good as you rocked yourself against his face, not caring how messy you made him. 

The pleasure crashed over you, cracking inside of you as you came with a loud cry. Your fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him closer as you felt the waves rocking through your body. He whined from underneath you, his hips pressing into the mattress as he held onto your thighs tightly. It burnt a little bit, but in a good way. In a way you craved.

“Fuck,” He groaned as he slowly came up for air, but continued to kiss along your sensitive pussy. His eyes were glazed over as he met your gaze, his face coated in your slick, “Your little tang tastes so good for me. You’re such a good girl.” He praised, making your chest warm at the way he softly dragged his fingers up your thighs.

You settled back against the pillows, heart hammering roughly as he slowly took the courtesy of cleaning you up. You giggled softly, legs pulling together before he slid your panties and pants back over your legs. You watched as he leant over you, crowding you into the mattress as he brushed his thumb against your nose.

“I’ll warm you up some soup,” He suggested at last as he pulled his lips into the softest grin, “Then maybe you can repay me later.” He mumbled as he bent over to kiss the corners of your lips. You smiled at the idea, lucky that you had someone like him. 

[prohistamine]

F Allergies

CW: some mess, weed

Little fic for yall! This is based on a fire prompt by @blooming-trees ty for the idea! She mentioned it on a post I made asking for prompts on the forum but I got cold feet and didn't post it on there so it's only for y'all. Enjoy a sneezy hippie.

Daisy sniffed, she’d been sniffling for the past hour, and complaining about all the pollen and the dust in the air. Occasionally she screwed up her face and drew in a few deep breaths, obviously building to a sneeze, only to moan in frustration when one didn’t emerge. By the fourth time it happened, her friends were in hysterics. They were sitting in a circle in the grass under the early afternoon sun, passing around a joint. They’d arrived at the festival ground late the previous night, and slept in the van until 1. Now they were starting the day off with a smoke circle.

Daisy was wearing a tank top and a patchwork maxi skirt. Her shoulders were pink from a developing sunburn. She was sitting cross legged laughing along to her friend's nonsense with one hand almost perpetually pressed against her nose, scrubbing at the itch. Occasionally she moved it to wipe at her watery eyes.

On her left, Jenny was braiding a chunk of Daisy’s long blond hair. To her right, Marco was hogging the joint. Finally losing patience, she stuck her hand out towards Marco and opened her middle and pointer fingers expectantly. 

He laughed and deposited the joint between her waiting fingers. She smiled and raised it to her lips, taking in a long slow drag. She held the smoke in her lungs for a few months, then exhaled, smoke obscuring her face for a moment before dissipating. Her dreamy look was interrupted quickly and was replaced with the familiar expression of allergic anticipation 

“Hehh..” her breath caught and she held the joint far out to her side to keep it safe. 

A giggle ran through the group as they watched her struggle yet again. 

“Hehh- hhh- HEIIISHHEW!  HEIGHSHEW!” Her head whipped forward as she sneezed. The hair Jenny had been braiding was pulled from her hands. The group broke out in cheers and cackles at the display.

“Fuck!” Daisy moaned in pleasure. She’d never sneezed this hard while high and it felt amazing. The same way that having sex while high was a whole different experience, her heightened sensed turned the feeling of desperate release into a whole body experience. She snapped forward with three more sneezes. “EEGHSHEW!  HISHTEW-EESHEW!”

“Damn this girl can sneeze!” Ethan laughed.

“It was the smoke!” Daisy proclaimed enthusiastically. She was beaming at her victory over her nose. She took another long hit, but was unable to hold in in for long before the need returned, and her hasty exhale was quickly followed by “HiiGHSTEW! ItSHEW! Ooh those felt good” She was sneezing unrestrained down onto her lap, her normal carefree attitude only exaggerated by the pot. She’d never sneezed this hard while high and it felt amazing. The same way that having sex while high was a whole different experience, the feeling of desperate release became a whole body experience 

“Gross!” Marco exclaimed. Daisy just laughed. 

“It’s natural baby, we’re all just- just- hehh HeeSHTEEW! EEGHSUU! ghhh.” She shook her head wildly after being bent forward with the force of her sneezes, “we’re all just animals,” she finished with a self satisfied smile. 

She took one more hit before passing on the joint. Throughout the rest of the round she continued sneezing every few minutes, usually in twos and threes. They were getting progressively wetter, and a wet patch was appearing on the fabric of her skirt as she sneezed down onto it. Without any tissues she resorted to wiping her nose periodically with her hand and then wiped her hand into the grass behind her. 

“This is gedding out of.. of- hhehh, HeeKSHUU! out of hand." she eventually admitted, “i’m gonna- HIISHU! HEEGHSUUU!” it was incredibly wet. For the first time she covered her nose with her hands, apparently hitting her limit for how gross she was willing to be. She still didn’t look particularly embarrassed. “Whad do I do?” she asked, voice muffled by congestion. “It’s everywhere.” 

There were various exclamations of horror and laughter throughout the group. “Here.” Sage untied the bandana from her hair and handed it to her. 

Daisy accepted the bandana and blew into it aggressively. “Thaaank you.” 

A few minutes later Daisy squinted her eyes yet again, raising the bandana expectantly in front of her face. “Hehh… huhh…” she’d been sneezing so frequently that this particular buildup didn’t attract immediate attention, but after a few seconds of agonizing hitching they started to take notice. It was happening again, she was trapped gasping for air, trying to coax out a sneeze that didn’t seem intent on coming out.  

“Nooo,” she moaned through hitching breaths.

“I godda- godda-” her face screwed up intensely, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. It was no use.

“Ana!” she called out desperately. Ana was across the circle, joint in hand. “You goddaah-hehh- blow smoke id my face.”

Ana giggled. “Promise you won’t sneeze on me.” 

Daisy pawed at her itchy nose miserably. “I promise! C’mooon.” 

Ana took a long drag and then leaned across the circle on all fours. She positioned herself below Daisy’s chin, and tilting her head up, blew a billow of smoke directly up towards her nostrils. Daisy sniffed the smoke aggressively through her stuffy nose and Ana sprung back and quickly as possible. Daisy crashed her face into the bandana just in time. 

“HEKCHUU! HEESHTEW ESHUU-ERGHSTEW! Heeh!- HIh- Hhhhh- hheerSHTEW! HAT’SHEW! HATSHUU! Huhh- ghh- GhuuSHEW! ESHEWESH-ESH-ESH!”

When the fit finally died down Daisy was left panting with a dazed look in her eyes, holding the bandana in front of her face in case she started up again. Eventually she blew her nose messily. 

“Christ,” she said.

“Oh you poor thing!” said Jenny, “should we hang out in the van for a little?”

Daisy shook her head. “Nah, I’m done for now. Pass me the joint.”

[takingthehobbitswhere]

fivefourthree.

Summary: Jason Todd getting feelings for someone he just met. In a flower shop of course.

Word count: ~2840

A/N: Well, well look who finally posted another piece. I am so sorry. Might be sort of character accurate, might not be - all I know is I'm doing this instead of a speech I'm supposed to be writing. Oops.

Warnings: strong hints of spice

jason todd x f!reader

The door had barely creaked open when the bells tied to the entryway alerted you to a new presence. A stifled sneeze made you look up from the bouquet you were cutting, towards a head of curly black hair glowering as he wiped his nose. Keeping him on the edges of your vision, you leaned back down to your flowers as he started to mill about, gently fingering the colorful blooms. After crossing in front of your workspace for what was at least the fourth time you sighed, cleared your throat and spoke. “May I help you?”

The boy spun around, hands in the air, and sauntered over, placing his hands on the counter. “Yes.” He looked at you intently, eyes almost seeming to shift from blue to green and back. “What kind of flowers scream I hate you, and I don’t plan on forgiving or forgetting any time soon?”

You tried to fight a smile as you turned to evaluate your stock, nodding. “Sounds serious. Let’s see what I have here. Ah, petunias, orange lillies, butterfly weed-”

“I’ll take all of them.”

“Do you have an hour?”

The boy looked down at his watch, then up at the flowers, back down, then at you. “Yeah, yeah I got time.”

You hummed in response, already in motion. Choose. Cut. Prepare. Working in near silence, a tinny speaker letting out strains of a somber piano was the only accompaniment. He watched you as ten minutes ticked by before uttering a single word. You had expected him to leave, but you had to admit you appreciated the company.

“How long have you been doing this?” He asked, leaning over the counter.

“Almost four years now. I learned from a older lady in my building when I first moved, and haven’t looked back.”

“Well, your arrangements out front look incredible.”

You looked up, finding him staring at you with something that resembled a smile on his face.

“I'm Jason.”

“[Name].”

Greenery. Focal. Fill. The space filled with silence again, but ever so slowly, over the next forty-five minutes, you found yourself opening up to each other, laughing the most you have in months, telling the safe pieces of your stories, until begrudgingly, it was time to hand off the bouquet. The time, however fleeting, was refreshing. Wrap. Finish.

“Well, here you are.” You pick up the flowers, extending them to Jason, a shy grin on your face as your eyes meet. His fingers brushed your hand, startlingly cold. “I hope whoever’s getting them is properly accursed for their wrongdoing.”

“I’ll make sure to tell my brother that. Just for insurance purposes, I’m going to need your number. Can’t leave you without an update can I?” He grinned cheekily, ripping off a small piece of the bouquet’s wrap paper and slid it across the counter.

With a sigh, you picked up your pen, tapping your chin.

“And collateral, for the allergies,” He whispered.

A small chuckle escaped, and with a flourish, you handed the paper back to him, number, name, and all. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Almost out the door, bells ringing again, Jason paused, lifting his hand in a wave. “See you tonight!” he called. Before you had a chance to react, he was gone.

It rang through your head the rest of your shift, a reoccurring distraction as you gathered arrangements, watered flowers, and helped customers. A timer rang somewhere in the back, shaking you out of your reverie, a violent reminder to start closing the shop. Finally.

Humid evening air greeted you, clouds parted for the summer evening. The walk home was pleasant for once, the smell of the city no longer trapped in the now-absent layer of grey, the sun’s glow casting a spell on everything it touched. The light framed in your apartment window warmed a spot on the wood floor, and gladly you sunk down, curled into it. The shorter, colder days always came too quickly for your liking. Peace settled into your bones, your eyes growing heavy.

A phone somewhere vibrated. Again. Closer this time. The buzzing danced along the floor til it reached you, waking you up. A hand, your hand, brushed the edge of the vibrating box, yours. Oh. OH. You became alert, fingers scrambling to grab the phone, hoping the call wouldn’t be missed. Unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Hey, this is Jason.”

“Long time, no see.”

“I don’t know if you’re free tonight, but I highly suggest you make it so because I’m inviting you to my favorite dive bar where you can enjoy some live music, my company, and most likely a free drink or two. And if that’s not enough, just know I’m extremely stubborn.” His voice came through tinny, but just enough you could hear the tease in his voice.

A beat passed. You bit your lip. “Okay. Count me in.”

“Great. See you there. Seven.” And with that, he hung up, leaving you once again in silence. Dang. It’s a date.

30 minutes later, you found yourself seated in front of your closet, practically every article of clothing you owned on the floor. By the time you grabbed your keys, you had settled for something slightly more than what you'd usually wear. Your phone buzzed again with an address. It was just a short walk. You weren’t worried. Living in Gotham for almost all your life greatly shifted your classification of dangerous.

The bar was in an older building, dilapidated in a sophisticated sense. You could see the orange glow through the windows, shadows moving about to the light thrum of music. Your nerves stirred in your abdomen, slowly climbing into your throat. Just open the door and step in. Inhale, exhale. In you went. The wood paneled interior gave warmth to the space, various stained glass lights hanging about the space. Booths and few tables decorated the space about the bar, a constant buzz of conversation barely discernible above the live band playing from a corner stage. A saxophone caught your attention, crooning as the drumset hissed in response. Everyone seemed in their own world. Watching the music so closely, you didn't notice the someone coming up behind you until they had placed their hands on your shoulders, bracing as you flinched.

"Hello, [name]," the voice, Jason's, whispered into your ear. A knot forming in your stomach as he barely brushed the back of your hair. Shifting, an arm was slung across your shoulders as he steered you gently towards an empty pair of barstools. Seated, you were able to look him up and down for the first time that night. He had changed, but He looked good. A simple black tee, arms tensed, the rest of his clothes the same.  An appreciative look on his face as he took in what you were wearing.

"So, what'll it be for you two?"

"An old fashioned for me, and for her.."

"Wine. Red, please."

The bartender nodded, drifting to a waving patron, leaving you two staring at the counter. Jason shifted towards you, leaning onto his leg, a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. "Loser of the pool game gets the first round."

So there you were, in a hidden corner away from the din of the bar, lining up your break. It had been awhile since you played a game, and you knew he let you go first to size up his competition. Five, four, three, two, on one you let the cue fly, the chain reaction hitting the triangle of balls into a thousand different directions. A striped ball made its way into the pocket, leaving the cue ball in a compromising position. Huffing, you took a sip of your wine, and leaned, ball ricocheting off the side of the table, knocking into stripes and solids with a clack. His move.

Jason paced around the table until he found an ideal angle, testing his shot, eyes peering through his shaggy hair. With the utmost precision, his target found its way into the same pocket you landed your ball in. Clack, another one off the felt. "What can I say? Beginner's luck."

You bumped him forcefully, rolling your eyes. "In your dreams."

He was always one up on you, an aggravating dance of hope and loss, and the table was looking bare. Focus. A brief moment of consultation opened a possible shot, one you had to take. Practicing with your cue, you stared the no. 13 ball down. Line it up, pull back, and release.. It sailed into the pocket, the cue ball aligned beautifully with another striped one. Jason looked on approvingly as you hit another into the pocket. The eight ball was all that was left. Your cue slipped, scratching the felt, causing you to hit it from the side, barely moving.  Jason's turn. 

Jason's smile was burning through your back; you didn't even have to turn around to know he was already celebrating. Or so you thought until he slipped his arms around yours, adjusting your hands until your shot was perfectly positioned. His breath tickled your ear as he said something about your almost victory. He was steady, still as he played the shot through in his mind. You felt him shift, drawing the cue back, and as you both exhaled, the tension released, the ball rolled neatly into the corner, disappearing from view. Nobody dared move, staring at where the white ball remained. Jason's arms seemed to twitch, tightening around you as he whispered, "I owe you a drink."

Nodding was the only command your brain seemed to transmit as you were released from his grasp, his hands retreating, leaving a trail of goosebumps on your skin. He came back, another drink in hand, another smirk on his face. Giving it to you, he gently grabbed your arm with his free hand, leading you toward the band you saw earlier. The space was hazier, the lights dimmer, and it was harder to keep your balance, even ignoring the wine you had already consumed. His grip transferred to your hand as you approached the throng of dancers, pulling you into it, disappearing into the thick of bodies.

Surfacing in the middle of the mass, fresh air was a welcome commodity amongst the sickly-sweet mix of sweat and alcohol. Jason didn't seem to be perturbed, wholly focused on you, the music swelling back into existence. You stared right back at him, the red lighting bouncing off your surroundings, casting a soft glow on his face, transfixed. His hand extended, and once again, he pulled you, this time into a dance.

Back nestled into his chest, your hand was around his, resting on your hip, his fingers barely brushing under your shirt. A compromising position, but oh, it felt so good. The buzz was starting to hit you, and it heightened everything. Swaying, you fell into rhythm amongst the others around you, a steady pulse from the bass seemingly keeping time to your pounding heart, trying to ignore how he pressed into you, lips floating over your shoulder, the crowd moving around you.

Jason seemed to respond immediately to your growing tenseness, his hands hovering over your skin, forehead leaning into the back of your skull. The song ends right on cue, and in the resulting silence to applause, he turned you around, looking directly into your soul. His tone dips softly as a new riff fills the air. “Are you okay?”

A beat passed, and you finally found the courage to return his gaze. “Yeah- I just needed a moment.” Breathing deep, gathering a smile, normalcy returns. You tugged him into a spin, and in response, he dipped you, a squeal escaping from your throat.

The hours passed in a liquid haze, the end dancing closer and closer, until finally, you stumbled onto the street, the cool air shocking sobriety into your system. A glance was shared through the neon haze, another look, nothing was said, but a conversation, a dialogue, deeper than either of you were aware, had just begun.

Fingers slipped through yours, drawing you in a direction you didn’t want to go. Your place was closer. Your place was safer. Let’s go there. A gentle pull from you was all that was needed, and there you stood, in front of your door. No memory was formed of entering the building, standing in the elevator, walking down the hall, but none was needed. He was here, in front of you, and that was all that mattered; the quiet want in his eyes as he crept closer and closer, the struggle with the door handle as he pressed his lips to yours, the tumble into the entryway as the door gave, and the catch as his hands stabilized your bodies against the nearest wall.

The hunger built, space was no longer a concept. One of you ended where the other began, feeding into each other, caresses turning to grabs, mumbles turning into gasps, never staying in one place for long. The agony, the ecstasy of it all. A single thought lingered, questioning the sanity of this decision, but you pushed it back, trapped it in a box, and simply gave in.

Coming up for air, chests heaving, you had tucked into Jason’s arm, oblivious as he slowly surveyed your apartment, taking in the 400 foot studio you called home, warm light filling every inch of the space from a corner lamp, a portable chess set on a nearby table. It wasn’t much, but he could tell you had poured your heart into making it comfortable, safe. It was an abrupt, welcome change of scene from what the man laying beside you knew. This could be his safe place.

Your breath evened out, and he just listened, occasionally shifting his gaze to your figure, back to the ceiling, reaching out to trace a path down your sheets. With his heart keeping steady, with the rhythm of your inhales, he felt his eyes growing heavy for the first time in a long, long time.

Jason shot upright, head pounding, struggling to focus in on the unfamiliar room around him. Oh. His eyes shot to where you lay, peaceful and still, relieved the outburst was ineffective. What am I doing here? Shifting to the edge of the bed, he ran his hands through his hair, exhaling firmly, forcing himself to reprocess the events of yesterday. Maybe he was flirting with this girl, maybe he saw a friend, but all Jason knew was he didn’t know what he needed. Not a relationship. Anything, anything, but that. He dared to look back at you again. You would hurt and suffer for his actions, and that would be irreparable.

With practiced stealth, he picked up his scattered clothes and slipped them on, not daring to use the bathroom, minimizing his presence. He hoped you would forgive him. Then forget. That was best. Cramming on his shoes, he took one last look at the space he would think about for many more nights in the next sequence of life and quietly closed the door behind him.

The boy’s mind was already whirring, solving the next problem before it could happen. The entire house would ride his ass for this. He was sure he looked ridiculous, for sure jogging back to his car. And running up his front steps. And trying to inconspicuously unlock the side door. He was halfway to his room when-

“Jason!”

As slow as humanly possible, he turned around, peering over the stair rail at a one, very interested Dick Grayson.

“Dude, did you actually hang out with a girl? Wait ‘til Bruce gets a load of this.”

Before Dick could take another step, Jason was flying down the stairs, grabbing his shoulders, staring him dead in the eyes. “Do not mention this to anybody. I know where you sleep.”

“Master Jason, you’re home-” Alfred stops in his tracks, analyzing the situation before him, deciding a simple nod and a dismissive bow would be sufficient for pretending he never set eyes on the situation in the first place.

Waiting until Alfred finished rounding the corner, Jason finally let go of his brother, firmly dusting Dick’s shoulders. “Sorry.”

Dick sighed, looking at him suspiciously. “I won’t let it slip if you tell me the details of your outing. Scout’s honor.”

“That’s– illegitimate. You? A boy scout?”

“Ha, ha. Very funny. Okay, I’ve changed my terms. Just make me a sandwich.”

“Fine.”

Dinner that night proceeded to be filled with Dick offhandedly chuckling to himself while everyone just offered questioning looks at Jason, afraid to ask. The scraping of cutlery was the only noise in the dining room, as he ignored them, stuffing another bite of chicken into his mouth. Every so often, a lighthearted comment was exchanged, but his heart wasn’t in it. All he kept coming back to was you as he stared at the bouquet on the table. His mind had convinced himself you would be fine, but his heart was telling him otherwise.

He knew he had to see you again.

[steviewashere]

Let Me Make You Soup, Let Me Show You That I Care

(also on ao3)

wc: 4,149, Steddie Tags: Post Vecna, Post Canon, Post Season 4, Sick Steve Harrington, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Vomiting (Though Not Extreme, For I am Emetophobic), Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Steve's Sucky ass Parents

(Also, I hope y'all don't mind me cross-posting some of my favorite one shots that I've put up on ao3. Figured I could push them to a bigger audience, especially those who don't use ao3).

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Steve gets sick often. Small colds, allergies, the dreaded flu. Maybe it doesn't help him that he's had so many concussions and injuries on top of that too. Left with debilitating migraines and aching sides and muscles that become overexerted too fast.

Safe to say, his immune system is now a pile of steaming dog shit.

He's become good at attempting to "take care" of himself. With his parents being absent nearly all the time, much of the recovery process and gentle care was left to Steve. His hands don't have the same soft and slim quality as his mother's did, though. Even if she doesn't make the effort to shove his hair from his sweaty forehead or massage vapor-rub onto his chest or squeeze his shoulders as he dry-heaves into the toilet. He can miss that.

It's also safe to say that Steve Harrington, best babysitter and lesbian protector, is absolutely terrible at asking for help. His idea is, Got myself into this mess, I can get myself out. His other idea is, I don't want to burden anybody; I've been that too many times.

He suspects that's why his parents aren't there now to tuck him into bed and check his temperature and read him a bedtime story. Even though, now, he's a nineteen year old "man." More like a bruised child trapped inside the buff body of an even more injured adult, left to his own devices and decisions.

Steve is miserable today. Woke up with a knocking headache, an itch at the bottom of his throat, tingly fingers, shivering limbs, and the need to massage his abdomen to elicit the vomit to come up sooner.

It's barely nine in the morning. Just cracked his eyes open. Which, are heavy with crust and too much sleep, yet not enough.

It's barely nine in the morning and all Steve wants to do is lay stiff on his mattress, a trusty tried and true trashcan on the floor, curtains closed, a heavy duvet draped over his legs, and the A/C set to sixty-eight degrees. That's what he does. Doesn't have the appetite for breakfast or water or Tylenol. He doesn't have the energy to lay on a towel on the bathroom floor, body curled around the base of the toilet bowl. And, he doesn't have the confidence to plead with somebody over the phone to "Take care of me, just this once and I'll repay you."

He's done that before to Tommy. The bastard never showed and Steve sobbed so hard at the thought of being left alone, that he hurled right onto the beige carpet of his bedroom. That's why the desk is stuffed into the corner. To cover what he couldn't even take care of.

Steve has decided to lay in bed today. Has already used the trashcan. Kicked off the duvet then whined then brought it back to his sweat drenched t-shirt hem, then said fuck this and ripped the shirt off his body.

The silk sheets against his rapidly heating body feels nice. Like laying on the kitchen floor, Steve surmises. And that makes him think of soup.

A hot bowl of chicken noodle soup. Something he's made himself countless times before. A recipe that his mom never perfected. It's just Campbell's, the instructions are on the label, yet it was never made correctly.

She'd do that. When her motherly instincts were at an all-time high. That had to be when he was probably five? Six? His mom would make a bowl of soup so warm and soothing that she would have to warn him about touching the ceramic. She would bring him a glass of orange juice and say, ever soft and comforting, "It'll help you. Mommy promises."

The juice would sting his throat and he would cough so hard she would start to worry about doing the Heimlich maneuver.

That's what his mother's "sick care" turned into. A glass of orange juice that only hurt, never helped, just made him think about swallowing glass.

Soup turned into a heat-until-lukewarm situation. Juice wasn't bought for him. His parents elected to buy "fancy juice" instead. Another descriptor for Mommy's self-healing alcohol problem, Steve began to substitute. He remembers the last time she ever made him anything or gave a shit about his weakened body.

Steve was eleven years old.

He eventually learned where to buy the Campbell's stuff. From Mevald's. Now he keeps a hefty supply in the back of his family's pantry. Ready for a day like this.

A day where at eleven, before noon, Steve has a sudden mouth watering appetite for measly chicken noodle soup.

He hefts his body into an upright position, feet planted onto the carpet, fingers white-knuckling the edge of the mattress, a quick glance thrown at the trashcan, and a heavy breath burrowed into the stale air. Right before he scoots to stand, he hears the telltale sound of Eddie knocking on his front door. A simple three pattern.

The rapping startles Steve slightly. He forgot that Eddie was supposed to come over. I'll have to send him away, he thinks solemnly.

"Coming!" Steve croaks to the bathroom floor. With whatever strength the knocking has given him, he tucks the trashcan under his right arm, creeps to the top of the stairs, and ever so carefully floats down them.

The can is set off to the side before he opens the door.

In the glow of the daylight, energized and cheery, is Eddie Munson. Wrapped in a leather jacket, hair tied up into a bun, jeans replaced with jorts, and a grin the size of the moon.

"Hey Stevie," he drawls as his lithe frame leans against the doorjamb.

"Hey man, listen..." Steve begins before being interrupted.

"Whoa, what's going on with you?" Eddie shoves into the house. His grin is set into a small frown and his eyes are glazed with concern instead of the excited energy equal to a golden retriever. "Did you get enough sleep last night? You could've called me if you had a nightmare."

That's something him and Eddie do. When one has a god awful nightmare about floating bodies and squelching flesh and sterile hospital walls, they call each other. Sometimes to just hear that the other is alive. Other times for a trip to one another's house. The phone calls could be Eddie recapping a campaign storyline or Steve bemoaning over a wretched, hag of an old woman that demanded a refund on an R rated movie her grandson finagled her into renting. Or just breathing. Steve's fond of the soft puffs of air that signal Eddie finally relaxed enough to go back to sleep.

"No, weirdly enough I slept way longer than I was supposed to. I'm just sick today. But, I'm fine. Or at least I will be, got a good grasp on this. Y'know, trashcan, soft bed, canned soup. Was actually coming down here to send you back home," Steve rushes out. He's out of breath and feels lightheaded. The headache has turned into a pulsating mess and his stomach churns violently. Before he can warn Eddie again to go out the front door and leave him be, Steve finds himself hunched over his trashcan at the bottom of the stairs, trembling with the force of his grip. One hand on the edge of said bin. The other, wrapping tendrils of hair around his fingers and pulling with enough force to surely rip out some of his luxurious hair. Which, really, is a sweaty disgusting mop today.

He feels the hand in his hair loosen. A smaller, slightly cold hand replacing it. But this time, the fingers work carefully to sweep back any loose strands. Another hand joins the mix. This one squeezes at his right shoulder.

Eddie is behind him, whispering and shushing, "You're alright. I got you, let it out." His cold skin feels amazing over Steve's damp forehead. And equally, his touches are soothing.

Steve coughs once, twice, spits the same amount, and then leans against Eddie with a heavy sigh. "Thanks," he mutters. He shutters at being oddly exposed. Now that he's realized his torso is bare and he probably looks as awful as he feels and now all of his guts are in a bin in front of him.

The bin gets shoved over to the left and Steve starts to get up from the hardwood floor. Eddie lifts him up and leans him against his side. "How about this? I'll make you something mild, get some water into you, and divvy up a couple Tylenol tablets. Your skin is hot and not in the sexy way," he chuckles.

They make their way to the living room. Steve is deposited onto the couch with a cushion shoved behind his back and the can placed appropriately at his feet, within arm's reach. Eddie adjusts his hair again, this time with the tie from his own hair, and leaves to the kitchen.

Steve is dazed. Hot all over. Itchy in some places. Runny nose, aching stomach, watering eyes, and throat so itchy he wants to dig his fingernails into the skin on his neck. This predicament almost makes him embarrassed, more ashamed than anything. He gets his ass handed to him annually and has to have people take care of him during the concussions, until he's given the okay to go home and grovel in silence. And he puts himself in situations he can't get himself out of. He's tired of it, he realizes. Feels the need to apologize to Eddie, make him cookies or something, promise to never make him do anything like this ever again.

When said man comes back into the room with three extra-strength Tylenol in his palm and a cold glass of tap water, Steve wants to cry. It's not until Eddie is setting everything down to pet at his hair and shush him again doe he notice, he is crying.

"Sorry," Steve's voice rasps. He takes a gasping breath before choking out another nasty, wet sob.

"Nothing to be sorry for. It's what your body has to do," Eddie coos.

"No, I'm sorry you have to take care of me," he breathes. That's tally number two for decisions Steve is making today. Some miserable, lonely, somewhat pathetic decisions.

Then, Eddie pulls back. His eyes are the size of saucers. And that small frown from earlier has turned into a deep-set, terribly worrying downturn. "You don't have to apologize for that. Not at all. You need help, I'm here for you. It's what we do, okay?" he murmurs. Steve cries some more at that. Choking on his tears, practically. Enough for Eddie to say, "Hey, breathe with me. I don't want you to make yourself sick again."

So they sit for a few minutes. Breathing. Steve keeps his eyes on Eddie's mouth, watching him count. And Eddie stares at his eyes. Trying to piece together all the little details about this version of Steve. The one not picking fights and towering over unlucky underclassmen and spitting venom instead of backing away when he's supposed to. This Steve that looks like a small, terrified, lonely little boy. Who feels the need to apologize for being a human being. Somebody that makes sure everybody is better off and happy and swooned over before taking an assessment of his own body, the injuries stitched into his side, and the possibility that someone also wants to make sure he's doing alright.

God, who is Steve Harrington, Eddie questions to himself.

Once the tears have subsided and breathing has been placed under control, Steve feels exhausted. Eddie seems to notice because he suggests, "Why don't you lay down for a while? Maybe snooze some while I make soup?"

Steve nods with slight hesitancy. "Can I—" he stutters, "Can I lay down in my room?" To Eddie, this is the quietest he's ever heard his friend. And that doesn't sit right with him. A man—bulky and toned, loud and sassy, bark with no bite—now sitting with his shoulders slumped, skin blotched in various shades of pink and red, breathing ragged, and looking at Eddie with terribly timid eyes. He's just a little boy, some part of Eddie whispers.

"Yeah man. 'Course you can. How 'bout you get yourself to bed, I'll follow behind with your can, give you your medicine, and leave the door open just in case you need something?" The nod Eddie gets back is so energetic, it's as if Steve wasn't sick to begin with. That part of him that's been whispering and wondering is now aching. All he wanted was to be looked after.

Where are your parents, Eddie wants to ask aloud. Who was here to take care of you, Eddie wants to dig.

In mere moments, Steve is tucked back into bed. The curtains are drawn to be almost completely closed. His door is left unlocked and gaping. There are soft snuffles drifting through the house. And Eddie finds himself in front of the Harrington's fancy electric stove.

Before he came back downstairs to cook, Steve whispered something about there being Campbell's in the pantry. "If you want to heat it up on the stove, that's what my mama did when I was really little. It's what I do now."

Eddie glances at the cans and makes a decision for Steve, He deserves better than a piss poor attempt. Homemade it is.

When he was little, Wayne used to make soup on sick days. Still does. During the recovery time when Eddie's sides were still sore with stitches and itchy with stretch, Wayne would bring him a bowl of soup and a tall glass of orange juice on a little tray. He makes a mean bowl of tomato. "Something my mamaw taught me and now I can show you," he had told Eddie.

As much of a bare wasteland as Steve's kitchen is—What does he eat, Eddie wonders—he manages to find all the ingredients necessary. After a couple cupboards are ripped open and some miscellaneous drawers sifted through, he finds himself stirring a simmering metal pot of something he hopes Steve can keep down.

Eddie wants to chastise Steve for even thinking about being sick alone. What a misery sentence. Was probably going to call Robin and say something about, "You don't need to worry. It's not bad. I'll just be out of work for a couple days." Then he would've trekked back upstairs, slow like molasses, and locked the door behind him. Would've laid in bed shivering and crying and barfing. Probably would have passed out by the time he was finally hungry.

Steve even apologized earlier for being taken care of. As if he was a burden. Made himself smaller and tighter and quieter, that's for sure. So Eddie won't do any form of chastising. That'd only make him disappear on himself more.

As the soup is being dished up with plain toast and a cup is being filled with pulpy orange juice, Eddie hears Steve startle awake upstairs. Goes from snoring almost as loud as Wayne in the winter to dry heaving, hard.

Eddie sets the made tray down onto the counter. He makes his way back to the front door and chucks his shoes to the side and hangs up his jacket. Then, tumbles upstairs just as Steve is breathing raspy again.

One. Two. Three knocks on the open bedroom door. And in the blink of an eye, Eddie is over at Steve's side. He's crying again. Nothing like the nauseous sobs from earlier, but sniffles and silent watery blinks.

Steve's hair is pushed back again. "What's goin' on Stevie? What happened?"

"N-nothing," he spits frantically into the air. Like a kid trying to hide a lollipop behind their back. A teenager caught with a lit cigarette in hand. The family dog with a sneaker in it's mouth being told to drop it.

"Okay. Okay, I won't push. But I brought you some soup and orange juice. It's not the best because there's so much pulp in it, but it'll do for now. Oh, and—" Eddie sings. He digs around in his jorts pockets for a small container. As he brandishes it just in Steve's line of sight, he says, "Found some vapor-rub in the medicine cabinet downstairs. Now it is a few months out of date, but that just means more will need to be appl—honey, what's goin' on?" he questions softly.

Steve's sniffles have turned into thin-lipped, eyes glazed and bloodshot, muffled sobs. He has a streak of snot dripping down on his upper lip and his chest keeps stuttering. Eventually, he chokes out, "You brought the soup to me."

And what a statement.

The sentence slaps Eddie across the face, causing his head to rear back. It confuses him, that's what it does. Obviously I brought him soup, what the fuck, he asks himself incredulously.

"Wha—of course. That's what you do when somebody is sick. You help 'em out, bring soup or crackers or whatever and make sure they're better," Eddie supplies as he wipes away the sweat and snot with his banana. There's a brief moment where the only sound is Steve crying. The room is dim and he seems more comfortable than when the door was initially answered.

Eddie thinks back to the apologizing. The making himself smaller and quieter. His hesitancy about wanting to sleep in his own bed. How his mom used to make soup. And the statement, "Got a good grasp on this." Pieces start to click, sirens sound off, door number three has opened and behind it is a shiny new car.

A horrifying realization. The easy solution to Eddie's childlike curiosity over where Steve's parents are. And that in itself makes him want to hurl into the trashcan or pull full force at his hair or sob.

His parents aren't here and haven't been in a long while, Eddie accuses.

"Oh, Stevie." He pets again at his drenched hair. "I'm not going anywhere, alright? You don't have to worry about that with me. Let me do what I need to do, but I'll be right here if you need anything."

"Okay," Steve whispers.

Within just a couple minutes, Eddie has Steve propped back up on a mountain of pillows. Some from the hall closet, the stale bedroom of his parents, and the ones from his own bed. He's changed the bag in the can with a call of, "It's alright, no big deal," after Steve's cry that Eddie didn't need to do that. A bedside lamp has been turned on. An ice cold wet rag has been situated over his neck. There's a thick layer of vapor-rub in his chest hair.

Then came the aforementioned lunch. It smells divine. As if God himself started a soup kitchen in the Harrington's desolate house. What's even better is that it's definitely not chicken noodle.

"I don't remember there being any cans of tomato in the pantry," Steve notes.

"Oh, well. I thought you deserved better than that crap. Made something Wayne usually serves up. Family recipe," he sings again.

"Oh," Steve breathes. His eyes feel wet again, but he fights every part of him that says to cry. He's done enough of that. "Y'know, you didn't have to," he says quietly.

Eddie makes the wounded sound of a shot dog. He finishes setting up the tray on the stiff mattress. Then, situates himself to sit on Steve's left, rubbing down his bare back. "I wanted to. That's all that matters. Now eat up before it gets cold."

And he does just that. The bowl is hot to the touch. Its contents still fresh from being boiled. Even the gulps of orange juice don't burn as bad as when he was little. Steve feels five years old again. He's anticipating the late afternoon lunch from his mom where she'll show him vapor-rub and a spoonful of Pepto-Bismol. In the living room, she's going to lay down, with him on top, and they'll watch reruns of his favorite cartoons. The curtains are closed and she hums lullabies as he drifts off to sleep.

Eddie rubs his back and hums songs and kisses his forehead gently. Which, Steve hasn't been given that amount of affection in a long while. And he honestly doesn't mind.

There's something that's been sitting between the two of them, a thing the size of a ten pound medicine ball. A word shaped like love and comfort. The space where Eddie shares stories about Uncle Wayne and his hibernation snoring when the temperatures drop and how he acquired every single mug on their wall. And in response, Steve listens and drips a couple droplets of how his mom would read Goodnight Moon and kiss him on his cheek or on summer days where they'd splash each other in the shallow depth of the pool. Before it became a graveyard. Or the loosely sketched outline of a mom and her child. His dad wasn't as close, but he'd play catch when Steve was still learning about baseball or share facts about his car that intrigued little eight year old Steve in a way no sport has ever done before. How he acquired the bowling pin from the one time his parents took him out for his birthday. The car painting being something his dad did in his spare time, not bought from some general store in the next town over.

Even in his sick state, Steve thinks about pecking Eddie on the lips. Wonders how smooth they are. If he uses chapstick. What flavor it could be. His mind supplies days in the future where they make soup for each other and shout about how excellent Hellfire was or Lucas' basketball game had been. Mornings shaped by soft snores and gentle touches and steaming cups of coffee. Nights wrapped around each other, cooing sweet nothings when the nightmares become bloody again, and sex that's slow and drawn out. Or the quiet moments where Steve needs a shoulder to cry on. And open arms so that Eddie is encased in comfort, even after everything.

At his final spoonful and dip of toasted crust, Steve whispers, "I love you." As treacherous as his mouth has been in the past, this final decision isn't as daunting as the rest from earlier today. Some part of Steve knew that it would come to a head and the words would spill from his lips like the soup on his chin.

Eddie hums beside him. He kisses Steve one. Two. Three times on the forehead. Then he sets the tray aside with all the empty dishes and the vapor-rub with three finger divots. He strips down to his boxers and a simple t-shirt. And he tucks Steve in as he scoots on top of the duvet to hold him.

"I love you, too," he responds. "And I'll be here when you get up. So get some rest and the next time you're awake, I'll go get some new orange juice and more ingredients for tomato soup and a container of unexpired Vick's."

Steve drifts off to sleep with his body curled around Eddie's side.

In the morning, the curtains are open and soft sunlight streaks in the bedroom. Eddie has left the house to do a quick grocery run, leaving behind a note of "Just lay back and relax. I brought the phone upstairs if you want to keep yourself entertained."

He calls Robin to muse aloud how excellent Eddie is. Their dance around each other now concluded over a simple bowl of soup. How nice it is to finally get the care he wish he had when his mom started to go away. Him kissing a guy before she could kiss a girl and her shriek off, "The next time I see you, I'm gonna give you the nastiest, biggest wet willy this world has ever seen. Trust in it, Steve Harrington."

The threat isn't an empty one, but it makes Steve chuckle anyway. Even though he still feels that encroaching violent twist of his stomach and a cough that could send him flat on his ass.

And when the phone call ends and Eddie is back inside with soup being made on the stove? Steve feels like maybe it's alright to rely on his true family when the time comes. He makes a promise to himself too that he'll learn how to make the best goddamned chicken noodle soup this world has ever tasted. All so that he can dote over Eddie the same. Make sure that he really knows just how much Steve loves him.

"I love you," Eddie breaths into his tussled hair later on the couch, where they're watching cartoons.

"Love you, too," Steve slurs as his body becomes heavier with sleep.

[aliasnz]

Undesirable Presents: Le/vi Acker/man for @nametakensff and @kawaii-kushami's snzblr secret santa event <3

Tags: aot/snk-canonverse, allergies (pollen), cold, contagion mention, spray, mess, language. Word count: 2000 (and counting) A/N: I have several apologies to make about this fic >-< First of all, I am so sorry that it is so late! Secondly, I apologize for being unfamiliar with the other fandoms requested, I couldn’t help but feel guilty for writing for my fav. Third thing: just so I can have something out sooner rather than later, please consider this a part 1 that will be edited, updated, and self-reblogged upon completion. Finally, this fic may be too indulgent, but I am crossing my fingers that it is enjoyable anyways ~ 

If Levi had his way, he would have spent the day in solitude. 

His ideal birthday was simply his ideal day. In the warmer months, it would have been a sunrise run followed by a cold shower, his warm sweat and clingy pollen swirled down the drain. Then, his civilian clothes and a walk to the brick cafe at the edge of town. Black tea, white croissant, yellow pages of his favorite novel. Head ducked down and buried in his book, anyone who recognized him - for better or for worse - received the message: leave him be. He would sip until the porcelain ran dry, would stay until his stomach rumbled. With the last hours of daylight, he would stop at the butcher stand and purchase a few ounces of meat. It was about all he could afford on his military salary, but with rare optimism, he preferred to say it was all he cared to buy. Steak dinner for one. Lights out by dark. It was his way.

But Levi hardly ever had things his way.

He was a December baby, as Hange so mockingly put it, who loathed winter cold and winter colds. Instead of that morning jog and downtown stroll, he shuttered himself in his room with intermittent napping and tidying. Some considered his celebration traditions pitiful, but he could not complain. In ways as weighty as a family to visit or write to, yet also in aspects as miniscule as a good night’s sleep, Levi had been cheated in most realms of life. In time, he had come to live with it, found comfort in little joys, and wished the others understood that. That wish was most wanted on his own birthday, for everyone else seemed to celebrate it more than the man himself.

In the depths of his heart, he knew they cared about him. The yearly plethora of visits all accompanied with gifts should have proven that, but he loathed the treatment he received. Perhaps the early symptoms of the annual cold were to blame for that. No matter how hard he tried to avoid it, contagion made quick work of the barracks. Sooner or later, it would catch up to him, and that onset always seemed to hover around his birthday. On occasion, he wondered if he would be better off facing that inevitable infection head on rather than repeating the futile delay, but his train of thought was always cut off one way or another. A pang of headache, a harsh cough, a runny nose, or a sudden sneeze. This time, it was a knock at his door, the first of the day, one of many sure to come. 

Levi swung his legs over the side of the bed. Bright rays reflected off the metal buckles of his gear and reflected into his eyes, garnering a wince and dawning thought: just how late did I sleep in? Standing up, he immediately noted how his shoulders felt heavy, his breaths labored. If he had to guess, his cold would take hold of him before the 25th was over. Lucky him. 

Hand clamped down hard on the handle, startling the two on the other side just before he creaked his door open. The tall couple cast shadows over him: Nanaba and Miche with -

Shit...

Levi braced himself for their scream, but instead, they spoke calmly, handing over the bouquet with a pair of matching smiles, “Happy Birthday, Levi.”

He startled, not because he was surprised by their presence, but intimidated by their present: a bundle of bright-red poinsettias, pointed with specks of pollen he doubted they had noticed. They were far too innocent to have purposefully gifted him such a slew of allergens. Others, however, he was less sure about.

Instead of reaching out to grab them, Levi crossed his arms and tipped his tongue in refusal - refusal of their gift and refusing to indulge in the sneeze he already felt budding. Speaking quickly, he aimed to rush them out before they could witness his unravel, “I don’t want them.”

“C’monnn, Levi!” Nanaba pleaded, bending at the knees and shooting up again quickly. In her eager bounce, his eyes widened as he watched the petals flutter with her. His arms instinctively flinched before him as if he could block the microscopic wave. “Miche and I stood outside for hours in this freezing cold -”

Great, two more patients upcoming.

“- waiting for the flower shop to open.”

“First in line,” Miche added. “Do you know how popular these things are at this time of year?”

Levi’s stance remained unchanged, Nanaba saw his disinterest and felt compelled to play it up, selling the present rather than gifting it. “They smell good, too!”

Miche, on the other hand, preferred the path of insistence. Snatching the stems from his partner, he thrust them to Levi’s face, nearly touching, “Go on, smell them, you’ll see for yourself.”

He held his breath, reluctant to inhale as long as those were within reach. Aiming for subtlety, he feigned to nonchalantly scratch his nose with his wrist, “If you like them, keep them.”

“Someone’s ungrateful…” Miche teased, unhurt by the shorter man’s attitude, but never passing up an opportunity to rag it. “Y’know, most people would say ‘thanks’ or something…”

Levi frowned, he wasn’t ungrateful. Deep down, he was touched. On the exterior, though, he was objectively irritated, and could understand why they misread him. With a pang of guilt, he sought to correct the miscommunication, but that pang was miniscule compared to the burn of his nostrils, a flame that the leaves were now fanning.

“No, it’s just…” his face scrunched as he attempted to fight it off, just until he could finish the sentence, at least? “It’s… just…” 

However, that bouquet was set on denying him. Throwing in the towel, a rare occurrence for humanity's strongest, he whipped around and buried his nose in the crook of his elbow, “Hah’AESCH-ihh!” 

Fuck, all three parties unknowingly shared the same thought. For Levi, the nature of his curse was multifaceted. Foremost, the unexpected harshness of that sneeze, the wind knocked out of him first thing in the morning. From that, the daunting notion that this was the first of many sure to come, either from allergies or the cold. Finally, the flush that flooded his cheeks. That outburst had shown enough vulnerability already, Levi lingered behind his arm and remained turned away, waiting for the blush to disappear as well. 

Yet, even after those awkward seconds of silence, neither Nanaba nor Miche could erase that image from their mind: his tan coat spotted brown, the mist that shot from beneath his elbow and faded into the room’s sunlit atmosphere. With the captain turned, they allowed their faces to contort with disgust. When his audible sniff confirmed what they thought they saw, they looked to each other and cringed, agreeing that this birthday visit was over.

His comrades did not put the dots together, that the sneeze was a symptom of his allergies rather than the cold that was notably floating through the halls. Fearing for their own immune systems, they retreated several paces, but not before Miche thrust the flowers in Levi’s grip and snapped his hand back, no chance of handing them back now.

By the time Levi turned himself around, arm still bent at his nose, the pair was already a distant blur.

Nanaba waved over her shoulder, “Feel better soon! Don’t come near us until you do!” A joking-not-joking singsong to her departure.

“Have fun with those!” Miche cupped his hand around his mouth, allowing his bid to beckon from down the corridor, “You can thank us later!”

Levi dropped his arm, prepared to call back. Doing so, however, meant that his guard was let down, and he should have known better, that his assailant would be quick to take advantage. With the distance, Levi did not turn or cover - not that he had the time for that - and instead ducked his head down, sneezing onto his own torso. “Hnn’kkshu! Heh-ISHhew!!”  

Unfortunately for him, the height at which he landed placed him adjacent to the very bouquet that set him off. A dire proximity, each inhale killed every second - any hope - of relief. 

The mess was not only audible, it was tangible, piercing the threads of his button-up and sinking through to his undershirt, summoning a shiver. The clean freak could not bear the sight, nor was it his habit to. After each sneeze and before opening his eyes, he assessed the tickle. If it remained, his lids likewise remained shut until his system managed to kill it. The first attempts at regular breaths informed him outright: you’re not done yet. Levi kept his head down, bangs intercepting his eyeline with each jolt. “Heh’tchew! Kk’shuu!!” 

Once again, he paused to survey his own state. Although he beckoned for a break, his body merely mocked him. That all you got? Clearly unsatisfied, with frustration, he submitted to its demands, exacerbating the expulsion as best as he could, aiming to please. “Hah-ESHhew!! HIH’kit-chew! Hah…Hah-AEshih!!” 

His intakes had been audible even from those meters away, his fit an early alarm clock for all still asleep in the vicinity. Dammit. As an insomniac, he was especially remorseful to have been responsible for waking anyone on the weekend. Even redder now, he tried to convince himself it was not his fault, that they should have known better than to shove those flowers in his face. However, as his voice crescendoed, it became more of a stretch to blame the gifters rather than the receiver, the inducer over the screamer.

The burn in his sinuses was unbearable, he decided to look to the windows behind him, hoping to coax relief. Before he could lure his gaze that way, though, he caught a glimpse of pity on his teammates, and somehow, that was what bothered him the most.

Fuck, this has to stop. At this point in the fit, breaths were hard to come by, and his life-or-death experiences had molded his mindset to meet his most urgent needs first. Perhaps counterintuitive, Levi understood that defeating the irritant meant battling with it. Working through rather than around. Meeting their eye contact, Levi yanked their gift to his face and took a deep, deliberate intake, figuring that his unconventional strategy could get two messages across: he was allergic to their gift, but at least it was good for something. And maybe they’ll remember this scene come next year.

Indeed, they would, and Levi would be lucky if the memory remained confined to those two. The finale was a sneeze that made them cover their ears and made the last few sleepers snap up in panic. For him, the aftermath resembled the end of a workout: tire and exhaustion, yet inexplicable relief. For them, it read like a newspaper headline: steadfast, hardass germaphobe of the branch soaked in his own saliva and other unspeakable substances. The tight-lipped, ever calm captain engaged in the toughest battle of his life: no titan in sight, but tiny irritants also impossible to see. Screaming the barracks awake, he would have been the last culprit anyone suspected. Only true friends would keep this episode a secret, maybe he shouldn’t have been so terse with them.

Vengefully, and with the slightest bit of told you so, Levi motivated himself through the end with the anticipation of seeing their guilty faces, but by the time he opened his eyes again, they were long gone, either cowering from contagion or gossiping already. Around here, viruses and rumors spread like wildfire. 

Worked up and let down, Levi released a shaky exhale, wiped his face with his sleeve, flung the door shut behind him, and tossed the bouquet onto his bed.

One down.

tbc!

[cowgurrrl]

Hey sweet girl!! I hope you’re having a good day/night!! I saw your requests were open and I was wondering if you could do something with preoutbreak!joel and sick reader? Like a cold/allergies and it comes and goes 😭 allergy season is kicking my butt so badly and I need some Joel comfort. Thank you my love!! 💕✨💐💗

Hi nonnie!! I hope you’re feeling better and I’m so sorry for sitting on this for so long! Please enjoy <3 (gif by @azertyrobaz)

“Joel, it’s just a cold,” you say, practically wrestling to grab your jacket from him. He moves it out of your grasp, and you roll your eyes. “‘M fine. Really.”

You’d been battling a cold for the past few days. Nothing major— just some sniffles and headaches, but it was still enough to set Joel on edge. He’d spent almost every waking moment tending to your every need, even though you could take care of yourself. You knew it was his anxiety. You knew it was his way of showing love. You knew all these things and assured him you were fine, but when he refuses to let you go on patrol with him, you’re about ready to lock him in the house.

“You know you’re just about the most stubborn man I’ve ever met?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he hums as he hangs your jacket back on the hook and looks at you. You cross your arms over your chest and give him an annoyed look. He sighs and puts his hands on your biceps, pulling you out of your defensive stance. “Humor me, please? Just take an extra night to rest, and then I’ll feel better,” he says, interlocking his fingers with yours. “I’ll run you a nice bath and everythin’. You won’t even notice I’m gone.”

“Fine,” you give in. He smiles and holds to your hand when he walks upstairs to the bathroom. “But I’m not sitting out another shift.” You add as you lean against the sink and watch him turn on the bath water. He turns to look at you and smirks.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He says. You watch Joel add the perfect amount of soap and eucalyptus oil to clear your sinuses into the bath water. He’s meticulous, and it’s almost comical to watch such a broody man take so much care for something so small. Once the tub is full and the bathroom smells heavenly, he stands in front of you and tugs at the hem of your shirt.

“Maria’s gonna kill you if you’re late for patrol.”

“Let her wait. My girl is sick,” he says, and you smile at him as you shake your head. Carefully, like you’re made of porcelain, he undresses you and kisses your skin in quiet reverence. His beard is a little too wild and scratches at you, but you don’t care enough to make him stop. Once all your clothes are piled on the floor, he takes your hands and helps you step into the welcoming, warm water. You sigh as your muscles relax and the sweet-smelling bubbles surround you. “Better?” He asks from his spot on the closed toilet lid, and you nod. He smiles and leans down to kiss you, but you put a hand between you.

“If I’m too sick to go on patrol, I’m probably too sick to kiss you,” you say. “Wouldn’t want to give you whatever I have.”

“Oh, now that’s a concern after I’ve been taking care of you all week?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” You tease. He kisses your palm and grabs your wrist to hold your hand again. He gets overly affectionate when you’re sick or hurt. Not that you’re complaining. Joel Miller is a creature of habit, and you’ve had more than enough time to understand those habits. He gently kisses your lips, tracing patterns on the back of your hand as he does. He pulls away sooner than you would’ve liked him to, but he takes the time to kiss your nose, your forehead, both your cheeks, and your hand before leaning back to look at you like you hung the moon.

“I’ll be home soon.” He says, almost reading your mind, and you nod.

“I know,” you say. A ball of anxiety creeps up your spine, and you squeeze his hand. “You come back to me in one piece, d’you hear me?”

“I hear ya.”

“Good,” you squeeze him again, and he leans down to kiss the top of your head. “I love you.”

“Even though I’m the most stubborn man you’ve ever met?” He teases, and you shove at his chest, making him laugh. “I love you, too.”

“You better go before Maria comes in here and kicks your ass to next week for being late.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

[glitterrosesnzz]

okay so technically it's not the 25th where I am yet- its two hours until midnight- but listen the go ahead message came in and im far too hyped to wait so-

@casspikaeyaliker i was your assigned snalentine this year!!! i returned to my roots for this one shdlfkjssdhflksjs

Venti climbed in through the window of Kaeya’s office. 

“Good afternoon, Sir Kaeya!” He said, like this was a completely normal occurrence despite Kaeya’s incredulous look. “How are you doing today?” 

“...Fine.” Kaeya slowly answered, watching as Venti closed the window behind him, readjusting his clothes as he seemingly settled in. “To what do I owe the pleasure of having Mondstadt’s number one bard in my office?” 

“Psh, nothing much, what, can’t I just visit a friend from time to time?” Venti asked, “Oh, by the way, do you usually keep your door locked?” 

“Yes, and I normally keep my window locked as well-” 

“Do you mind if I stretch a bit then?” 

Now that was a follow-up question Kaeya hadn’t been expecting. Despite the innocent look on Venti’s face when he had asked it, something about it seemed… suspicious. Still though, Kaeya thought, subtly rubbing his nose against his sleeve, it wasn’t a request that screamed danger. 

“Sure, be my guest-” Kaeya cut himself up with a startled yelp, shooting out of his seat and pressing his back against the wall to be as far away from Venti as possible as a pair of white wings suddenly emerged from the bard’s back. “Hey!” 

“What’s the matter? You’re not scared of birds, right?” Venti looked slightly smug as he shook his wings a little, various loose feathers falling to the floor as evidence that his wings had not been let out in quite a while. “Unless… well, no, surely that’s not it? Certainly the feathers cannot be bothering you at this distance… or maybe, is our dear Calvary Captain’s nose a bit more sensitive than usual today?” 

Kayea almost imperceptibly tensed. Venti should’ve been right, the feathers shouldn’t be bothering him at this distance, but… he could already feel his nose begin itching, and he couldn’t tell if it was from the allergy or- 

…Venti had a very knowing look on his face. Kaeya sighed.

“How did you know?” He asked, slumping a little, allowing a little bit of how horrible he actually felt right now to slip into his posture as he ran a finger under his nose, trying to quell the slight itch before it could evolve any further. 

“Oh, well, a mysterious red-headed bartender mentioned that one of his… informants, happened to overhear a certain knight sneezing his head off in an alleyway last night.” 

Ah. So the person he had only barely avoided running into last night had been the famed ‘Darknight Hero’. Apparently Kaeya hadn’t managed to stifle his sneezes to silence as well as he thought he had…

…His damn brother didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut. 

“While that is an interesting story, that still doesn’t ex-... explain why you’re hh-here…” The tickle in Kaeya’s nose flared, and he rubbed at it a bit more harshly. Venti let out a laugh. 

“Well, it certainly won’t do to have you working while sick, would it? No, I’m here to take you home so that you can rest.” He said, crossing his arms with a smug look on his face that normally Kaeya would’ve responded to with some kind of sassy remark, but- 

“Hh-hiH’NGTsh-iu!! Heh- H’NTCh-uu!! Hh’ISHi-uu!” Ah, shoot, he hadn’t been able to stifle that last one, a small layer of frost covering the arm he had subconsciously raised to his face. The tickle still hadn’t gone away, the three sneezes simply being unsatisfactory for it, and Kaeya tried to resist the urge to just instantly sneeze again and get it over with. He failed. “H’ItCHhi-uu!! HhiH- …hH’iSShu!!

“Oh, wow.” Venti’s wings folded up and then vanished as though they were never there. “Diluc wasn’t kidding, you do sound horrible.” 

“Snf…It’s just a cold, it sounds worse than it actually is.” Kaeya said, ignoring the doubtful look Venti shot his way. “I can work through it-” 

“Kaeya, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but you’ve covered the entire floor around you in frost.” Venti said, pointing downwards, Kaeya following his gaze to find that he was right, the floor was now covered in a thin layer of swirling frost. “Not to mention the fact that the temperature in here dropped by at least two degrees, and it was already freezing in here when I came in. It’s a wonder that you haven’t noticed.” 

“It just doesn’t bother me that much.” Kaeya carefully stepped onto the frost, only slightly worried about slipping, trying to make his way back to his office chair. “Cryo vision and all. Like I was saying I can handle it- hH’IShh-uu!!” 

Damn. That one had snuck up on him. 

“Nu-uh, don’t think I’m falling for that one Sir Kaeya.” Venti said, “I’m going to be taking you home, whether you like it or not.” 

“But what about Jean?” 

“I got her permission earlier-” 

“Ah. Is that what the scream this morning was about? You came in through her window didn’t you-” 

“Enough talk about my choices in how to enter buildings.” Venti interrupted, “Jean says you can have the day off, so you’re. Going. Home.” 

Well. Kaeya honestly didn’t think he had the option to say no to that. 

“Isn’t this encroaching on my right to freedom?” Kaeya asked, as Venti stepped forwards to grab hold of his wrist. 

“You can be free when what you’re doing isn’t detrimental to your health.” Venti sighed, muttering something under his breath about how ‘you brothers are exactly alike’, which, Kaeya didn’t really get what he meant by that, but he figured he wasn’t exactly in the position to ask. Venti’s hand tightened around Kaeya’s wrist. “Hold on tight.” 

“You’re the one holding onto me- wait why would I need to-” Kaeya didn’t get the chance to finish his question, as a surge of anemo picked up around them, and, between one blink and the next, Kaeya found himself standing in the foyer of Dawn Winery. “This. Is not my apartment.” 

“No, but it’s still your home isn’t it?” Venti sounded way too certain when he said that, and, well, technically Kaeya couldn’t consider him wrong, but… Before he could answer, Venti’s expression suddenly shifted to a guilty one. “Ah… oops.” 

A stray feather, that must’ve been caught up in the teleportation winds, drifted down and just lightly brushed past Kaeya’s nose. But still, it was enough. 

“Hah-hH! H’NGtsh-uu!!” Kaeya freed his wrist from Venti’s grasp, quickly using his hand to stifle a sneeze. But of course, this cold of his wasn’t just going to accept that. “HihH’NtCh-uu!! Heh- hH’NGTchii!! ‘Ntch!!! Hih- hH-! H’ISHi-uu!! Hh’iTCHi-uu!!” 

“Jeez, you sound worse than you did last night.” 

Both Kaeya and Venti startled at the sound of Diluc’s voice, turning around to see him standing in the doorway. Kaeya sniffled, taking a second to rub a finger against his nose and insure that he wasn’t going to sneeze again before responding. 

“And how would you know that? I thought it was one of your, ‘informants’, that had seemingly overheard me last night.” 

Diluc almost imperceptibly stiffened, before relaxing. 

“After hearing what my informant told me, I went to check on you myself.” He said, turning to walk into the dining room. “Don’t think about it too hard. Adeline’s made your favourite soup, by the way. You should come and eat.” 

Well. Kaeya most certainly couldn’t say no to Adeline’s soup, now could he. 

[slightlyunconventional]

my. h/awks snzcanons under the cut okay ! these have been brewing in my phone notes for a little while and ive been steadily adding to it sooo yeah :) this is to tide you over while i procrastinate finishing my fic. expect part two probably (d/abi coming soon)

also!!! pls pls pls share your own d/abih/awks snzcanons with me <3 im collecting them

- hawks’ wings reflexively like. splay out when he snzs but hes sooo embarrassed by that so to counter it he closes his wings around himself (when he actually feels it coming. surprise snz is a whole other story) which is!! so cute!!

- mentioned in a post before butttt when hes at home hawks paces around the room fanning his face just. desperately when he needs to snz (like why does it always take so long to come out) he just cant keep still

- hawks’ colds are always sooooohohoooo sneezy like he just cant catch a break from it. he’ll snz like five times back to back without a pause and as soon as he thinks hes done he’s gearing up AGAIN

- not allergic to much but hawks’ hayfever is absolutely awful. all through spring and half of summer he’s unbearably itchy and with a tingle in his nose that never seems to leave, no matter how many times he sneezes

- hawks is super sensitive to physical touch though- like physically tickling his nose with a finger or a FEATHER. or something

- stifler by habit, and he can do it hands-free (HASHTAG CANON!!!). however during a fit, he can easily start off stifling but very fast do the sneezes become entirely too difficult to contain

- his number one tell for when hes sick is that he talks so much less. becomes so subdued and reserved which is a crazy contrast to how much he usually just waffles

- this one is probably overly. indulgent. but i like to think his nose is very pliable okay. AM I GETTING TOO HORNY HERE…… anyway yeah it probably squishes a lot when he rubs at it. im so normal

- nose scruncher!! at any given moment right. particularly strong smell? nose scrunched. trying not to sneeze? nose scrunched. trying TO sneeze?? nose. scrunched. hes a nose scruncher

- sometimes he deliberately flexes his muscles like. crosses his arms over in front of his face when he sneezes and deliberately flexes because he knows it annoys dabi (bro editing this post rn LMAOO this one is so funny)

- never has cold or allergy medication in his apartment he just firms it until dabi either forces him to buy some or buys it for him. maybe he has a really bad hayfever day at one point and dabi is like have you tried taking medication for that you havent stopped sneezing all day and hawks is like theres MEDICATION for this?????

yeah okay thats all. i thought i had more than this but apparently not ! hope you enjoyed and i hope theyre coherent

[hornyfor-redacted-onmain]

Scrapped Scene

Removed scene from chapter 19 of Pieces of My Heart (to be uploaded soon). Decided to scrap it because it was too angsty and didn't fit the mood, but I didn't want to delete it entirely. Don't have to read the rest of the fic to understand this. Its practically a oneshot if im being honest lol.

Warning: Mentions of being sick, and past sickness (very vague on what kind of sick, it's implied to be severe and self inflicted). Very angsty, with comfort at the end.

Felix was sick.

You figured you were the first one in the group to realize, since everyone was spending their day doing their own things. He refused to even acknowledge it to you, telling you it was just allergies, and that he was only running a temperature because he had been cooking. He assured you he was fine.

“You literally asked me to taste the soup because you couldn’t taste anything.”

Felix frowned. “Probably just needs more spices.”

“Sweetie, it’s fine,” You told him, reaching out to grab his arm gently. “Just take a break, please.”

“I’m fine!” As if irony was chilling in the room with you, he sneezed immediately after. He pointed a finger at you. “Don’t”

“Look, you might like your soup with snot in it, but I’m not sure the others would appreciate the taste,” You joked.

Felix glared.

The door to their door opened with a beep. Felix mimed something to you that was probably along of the lines of ‘you better keep your mouth shut’, but you ignored it in favor of shooting him a grin. Jeongin walked in to the kitchen to find Felix with his hand over your mouth, the other wrapped around your stomach in hopes of keeping you from ratting him out.

Only the dance dropped his hand in disgust when you licked it. “Gross! I can’t believe you just did that.”

“Felix is sick!” You chirped happily to the youngest.

Jeongin blinked, slowly unwrapping his scarf from around his neck. “What?”

Felix hissed your name in betrayal, and you pouted at him. “Come on. There’s nothing wrong with being sick. It’s probably just a cold.”

“Sick? You’re sick?” Jeongin looked worried. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Felix stressed, actually looking uncomfortable now.

You paused, realizing that there was more to this situation than you had originally thought. The way Felix was trying to calm Jeongin down, and the way Jeongin was actually taking this seriously. Did people not get sick in Korea or something?

“Guys, it’s okay. Seriously,” You rested your hand against the singer’s shoulder. “Calm down.”

Jeongin looked almost heated at this point. “You promised us, hyung. You said you would take care of yourself-“

He said a word you didn’t need to know the meaning of to understand it was a swear, and you gasped. Felix slapped away the maknae’s hand when he tried to grab him.

“-god dammit innie, it’s not like that, I swear. It’s just a cold!”

“-you’re worse than bangchan-“

“-why do you always assume the worst? I’m not-“

“-trying to hurt yourself ag-“

“GUYS!”

You yelled out in english, eyes wide in confusion and horror. You had never seen any of the boys get so heated with each other before, and you couldn’t help but feel like it was your fault. You should have just kept your mouth shut.

“What’s going on?”

You froze, slowly turning to the front door you hadn’t even realized had opened. Changbin and Seungmin both stood in the doorway, and from somewhere behind you Felix swore to himself in English.

“Felix-hyung is sick,” Jeongin said, crossing his arms.

Seungmin’s brows shot up in surprise, mouth falling open.

Changbin just sighed. “Again?”

“It’s not like that,” Felix insisted, looking like he was about to start crying. “It’s just a sniffle, I swear. It’s not like last time. I’m not-“

He hesitated, red eyes darting over to you.

“Look, I think this is a misunderstanding,” You took over, raising your hands to hopefully ease the tension the other boys were feeling. “Maybe we should all just, take a moment?”

Jeongin frowned. “You said he was sick.”

“With a cold,” You said slowly, looking over at Felix for confirmation. “I was just … messing with him. I didn’t think getting sick was suck a big deal.”

Felix sneezed, irony once again making itself known. Changbin clicked his tongue, finally breaking away from the entrance to make his way towards the dancer. Seungmin followed, although he moved to grab Jeongin instead.

“You sure you’re okay?” Changbin asked quietly, grabbing Felix by the shoulders.

“I promise.”

You bit your lip, watching as Jeongin finally dropped his crossed arms. “I’m sorry hyung. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

Felix nodded, looking like he was far too close to tears to actually answer. Seungmin rubbed the maknae’s arms in comfort. And you stood awkwardly to the side. For the first time since arriving in korea, you felt like you were in the way. Changbin comforted Felix, Seungmin comforted Jeongin, and they managed to agree as a group that Felix would take it easy for a bit, probably take some medicine, and that he would be fine.

But there was that lingering pain in your chest. The feeling that you were missing something.

When the others showed up for dinner, it was only mentioned that Felix might have a cold, and that he would get checked out by a doctor the following day. There was no mention of the argument that had broken out.

You didn’t say anything.

0o0o0o0

Holding things in was a terrible thing for any relationship.

That’s why, when lying in Changbin’s bed later that night (after he had stolen you away before the others could complain), you brought it up as carefully as you could.

“Why was Jeongin so … mad?” You wondered.

Changbin sighed. “Yongbok … got sick. He wasn’t taking care of himself, even when we tried to help him. It was … bad.”

You had a feeling you knew what he was talking about. “But he got better?”

He didn’t answer you immediately. He was quiet, and you wondered if it was because he was trying to think of a way to explain it to you, or if he was thinking about whatever it was that happened. Eventually, he tightened his grip on you.

“It got worse before it got better,” He explained softly. Slowly, using words he knew you already knew, and you smiled at him at his consideration, even now. “Innie was the one who … the one who found him.”

Your smile dropped, like the earth had stopped spinning. It took conscious effort to get your muscles to relax when you wanted nothing more than to jump out of the bed and find Felix, just to make sure he was okay even though you knew he was.

You can’t imagine how the others must have felt.

How Jeongin felt.

“He promised he would take better care of himself, but I think Innie … I think he still worries it might happen again.”

“Felix really didn’t want anyone to think he was sick,” I whispered in realization. “He was scared they would think the worst.”

Changbin hummed in agreement. You blinked back tears, guilt swirling in your stomach.

“I’m sorry,” You found yourself whispering.

“Hmm? Sorry?” Changbin lifted his head to look down at you. “Why are you sorry?”

“I told Jeongin. I didn’t listen to Felix. I-“ You swallowed hard.

Without need to hear anymore, the rapper was pulling you closer, letting his arms engulf your frame in a strong hug. In any other circumstance, you might have laughed that he was going to suffocate you with how hard he was holding you, but in that moment, it was exactly what you needed. You felt surrounded and safe.

You buried your face in his chest, warm hands rubbing circles on your back.

“It’s not your fault. It’s okay,” he murmured, not needing to say anything more.

“Do you think they’re mad?”

“I think they would be more upset you think they’re mad at you,” He said with a chuckle. You snorted, having to immediately sniffle hard to keep the snot from escaping.

Changbin laughed harder.

[snzluv3r]

my allergies have been so awful the past two days that i’ve been passing off the weird sore throat i have as a result of all the sneezing but i’m starting to think i might be getting a cold…my voice is suddenly going in and out and i’m so horribly congested that my face hurts a little

fingers crossed it’s just my allergies that are making my nose so sensitive

[thatswhatsushesaid]

oof

i am almost never cold (it is a joke in our household that i could comfortably fall asleep in a snowdrift like a husky) but i am cold today. and sniffle-y. and headache-y. and brain fog-y.

crossing all fingers for just a cold or seasonal allergies, and not covid. or the flu.