Mermorty on the mind. Do forgive me for pumping out 2 of these in one day, I'm just excited. [Previous] [Next]
Summary: Mertarion gets dropped off in your pool.
Word Count: 1066
Content Warnings: Unwanted touching but it's not Morty, ok yeah Typhus is kinda strange but he gets worse so yay!
Image Credit: @squishyowl
The anesthetic had been long gone, but Mortarion had still shut his eyes and tried to ignore the conversation around him. Whilst he was dozing off, the small group eventually arrived at your house. The man with long-ish black hair stopped mid-conversation and looked out of the window at it. His eyes widened.
"Shit," he said. "You never told us your other job paid that well."
"I have nobody but my publisher to thank for that one," you said. "They've cut me a pretty good deal, and I'm grateful every day for it."
"You still have to tell us what your pen name is," remarked the girl slightly taller than you. She flipped her black ponytail over her shoulder.
"I'll get there when I get there, Iris," you said, blood rushing to your face.
"Until then, I'm just going to assume you write the nastiest porn you can find on the planet," said Typhus with a playful grin. Iris's eyes widened, and she regarded Typhus with a strong side-eye, crossing her muscular arms again. Your face went even warmer, and the silence in the room was palpable.
"Jesus Christ," said the girl driving, the girl with the brown ponytail.
Typhus let out a slight chuckle, sliding a hand onto your back. You tensed up, but the young man at the back slid the door open and you all turned around at the sudden noise.
"What are we waiting for?" said the man who opened the door. "It's 5 am. Let's get him out of here before the early birds get up."
The rest of the group hoisted Mortarion onto the stretcher again as you made sure his head didn't lean off too hard. He sighed, opening his eyes. You noticed that his pupils weren't circular, but slits like a cat's. "Is my prison cell ready?" he asked, looking up at you.
"Ready to go?" asked the man who'd opened the door.
"It's saltwater," you said as the group began to walk out. "There won't be much to do down there for a bit, but I promise you, I'll try to make your stay as pleasant as possible."
He grumbled as the group turned around. "Quick question to you," said the girl with the brown ponytail. "How are we getting in?"
"Oh," you said. You snapped your head to face her before you felt Mortarion look up at you, his gaze at the bottom of your neck. You turned towards the gate, which was far too skinny for a group of seven with a stretcher to make their way through. "Oh..."
"I can carry him," said Typhus.
"You will NOT," Mortarion rumbled.
"Typhus, he's longer than my couch," you said, propping his head up again. "If he's going to be carried, we're going to need to do it as a group."
"Easy for you to say," said Iris. "We've been carrying this fucker while you hold his head or something. You're going to help us carry him this time."
"Okay," you say. "Well... let's put down the stretcher." He was maybe 6, 7 times the size of a normal human? What even was a normal human anymore? The group put down the stretcher and one by one, they hoisted their arms under him. You grabbed his head with one hand, the back of his neck with the other.
"Feeling okay?" you asked.
Mortarion sighed. "Let's make this short."
"Alright, everyone ready?" you asked, to a chorus of nods and other affirmations. "One, two, three..."
Between the seven of you, lifting him was much easier than it would have been if it were just one or two. You led, moving at the quickest pace you could, before you stopped at the side of the pool. It was a square thing, with a little circular tub near one of the corners.
"Alright," you said, your voice straining even though you had arguably the easiest job. "Let's lower him in in three, two, one..."
He sank into the pool with a wet plop, and you couldn't shake the feeling that this was like a hospital bed to him. A little less restrictive, yes, but nowhere near big enough for a merman his size. As the group began to turn towards the exit, you knelt by the pool.
"Well, you're home now," said Typhus, taking in the place again. The house was a pale peach color that looked gray in the moonlight. It was one story, with palm trees and little butterfly host plants abound in the yard. It was also very well kept, the dirt that would have crept up on most homes not often present.
Typhus slid a hand over your shoulder, and gave it a firm pat before he walked off. "See you Monday," he said, the rest of the group murmuring their farewells as they funneled through the gate and packed themselves into the vehicle. You shivered, and cast off your shoes before kneeling down towards your new charge.
"Mortarion..." you started, not sure what to say. You ran a hand along the water, and he leaned on the edge.
"You're uncomfortable."
"Well, aren't you?" you asked, dipping your toes into the water.
"I've made that apparent, but you haven't said anything about yourself."
You sighed. "Yeah... I don't like him touching me," you said. You looked down at him. His hair was already sticking to his face again. "Don't tell him if he comes back, though. I'll live."
"Your secret is safe with me," he said. "Though, I must admit, it isn't much of a secret if I could figure it out that easily."
You let out a slight chuckle. "I guess," you said. "Um... was fixing your hair and grabbing your hand too much? I really should have asked."
"I needed it," he huffed. "Now there's something not to tell anyone."
You leaned down, brushing his hair behind his ear. He closed his eyes. His lips were scarred, old scars ran along his entire face. "If there's anything you need, just let me know," you said.
"This little lake is... rather empty," he said. "Though I suppose you couldn't tell me about the plants in your... dwelling?"
"Oh!" you said, immediately lighting up. You pointed to your favorite, a tall thing with purple flowers. "Well, that one's a giant milkweed, and I don't know if you've ever seen a winged creature called a butterfly, but..."
Taglist: @bispecsual @justeverythingnothingelse @bleedingichorhearts @nekotaetae @historitor-bookshelf
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omg I just find you and your writings are amazing♥️
Can you please do some husband headcanons please?
surely, i can try my best, thanks for the ask!!
Husband Headcanons
for Iruka, Kakashi, and Itachi (with wildcard appearances from Jiraiya and Obito) (GN!Reader)
Warnings: couple swear words, couple sexual references (Reader Discretion advised), fluff, lmk if this sucks
Iruka
Would suggest the springtime for the wedding, but Iruka would still happily marry you whenever your heart desired
Danced with you throughout the entire reception, only getting tipsy (enabling you to get comfortably inebriated)
Begs to carry you over the threshold like a gentleman, and the two of you spent the whole night consumating the union
Best sex you had ever had, and Iruka was of the same mind - both of you were totally in your element on your wedding night, and couldn't stop until noon the next day
Honeymoon takes place in the Land of Flowers, within a small settlement near the coast
Iruka pays for a week's stay at an Inn, and the two of you spend the days watching the water and walking through wildflower fields, collecting colourful, fragrant bouquets as you went
Domestically, such a teamplayer - Iruka will happily do the dishes after you cook dinner, and vice versa, he'll mop after you sweep, he turns on lights for you while you open windows
Would happily have a pet, probably a cat (orange or calico), but wouldn't be opposed to something a bit more spunky like a gekko or a rat
Dances with you in the living room while it rains, takes you (and your pet) out in the sunshine - he just loves to spend time with you and be with you
Kakashi
The wedding was small, kept to just close friends and your immediate family, probably just within the courthouse with a nice little reception after
Kakashi would carry you all the way from the reception to your shared apartment, right over the threshold, and it would take only a Hokage-level emergency to get him away from you after
Can't take a very long honeymoon because of his duties as Hokage, but will take you out for a long weekend in one of the coastal villages of the Land of Fire
Despite the long hours he works, Kakashi is the most attentive husband ever
Fresh flowers decorate a crystal vase on the coffee table, replaced every week, the trash is always taken out without you having to ask, he'll surprise you with full breakfasts on the weekends AND do the dishes after
Gets all bubbly every time he hits someone with a my spouse and is constantly bringing you up in conversation just to do so
Many nights are spent cuddling on the couch after dinner, reading independantly
You want a dog? Lovely! Kakashi wants a dog. You want a cat? Great! Kakashi wants a cat. A bird? A snake? A gerbil? Bring it on, that sounds fun.
Such a funny man, still needing to parade around the village with you in his arm, as if not everybody is already aware
Itachi
We're doing an Everything'sFine!AU because I'll cry otherwise
Massive wedding, so many floral arrangements, easily half the village shows up, Itachi cannot stop smiling the entire day
Literally tears up at the altar when he sees you, can't contain himself, you're such a vision
Takes you to the Land of Waterfalls for the most peaceful honeymoon of all
You two spend a week, or two, meditating with each other, drinking special teas, swimming for hours, wrapped in a lover's embrace that knits your hearts together even closer
Of course, in the hustle and bustle of the weekdays, Itachi establishes Saturday as Cleaning Day, and will clean the entire house, top to bottom, by himself (but will very much appreciate any help you provide)
Sunday is the day Itachi reserves to spend with you, either out on the town, or in the house, resting and relaxing together
Compliments every single look of yours as if it's the first time he's ever seen you, Itachi just can't believe his luck, and gets heart palpatations every single time he hears you call him your husband
Gets way more vulnerable after marriage, allowing himself to open up with a different level of confidence
Jiraiya
Destination wedding so people don't want to come, he wants the ceremony to be perfect and intimate
Gets so fucked up at the reception that you have to carry him over the threshold
He's such a sweetie about it when he wakes up though, apologising and fucking you reaaal good the entirety of the next day
Takes you on a month of travel, literally to every single Land
Writes you special poems and stories to wake up to while he's cheffing up the best breakfasts ever
Writes an entire book about you, and it was a best-seller
No one makes a better cup of tea than Jiraiya, and he's always got a tea ready for when you wake up, when you come home, after dinner
The absolute king of being in the same room while doing separate things, you're in his lap or holding his non-dominant hand, and every once in a while you'll share a brief kiss that might evolve into something a bit more distracting
Hugging and kissing as soon as you come home - he missed you so damn bad and needs to let you know
Is a very organized messy, but not at all dirty, Jiraiya doesn't mind when you clean up after him but would honestly prefer you didn't (he can't find things after, even if you tell him exactly where you put things)
Birthdays, Anniversaries, any opportunity to shower you in love and gifts, Jiraiya will take it and run with it
He just adores you and lets everyone know about it
Obito
Goofball gets an Officiant Certification and marries the two of you, himself
His vows are so long and so sweet that you can't even get yours out without stuttering and crying
Obito whisks you away to the Land of Hotsprings for nearly a month, immediately after the rings are exchanged
Finds nothing more fun than going out on dates with you while married, he almost likes it more than when you two were just going steady
Can't stand to let you sleep while he's awake, no matter how poorly he feels about depreiving you of sleep
Kisses and hugs every time the two of you are reunited
Obito won't ever shut up about you when you're apart, and it gets on everyone's nerves but Konan who finds his musings sweet
Lives, loves, laughs domestic life - he will do anything to make you happy, including the most grueling chores (those fucking baseboards)
Always makes you laugh, no matter how you're feeling, and he loves your laugh more than anything
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Hey y’all guess what?!? :) it’s time for a new episode of Bedtime Stories With PCE!!!
Who ordered some old man yaoi? That’s right, this one is set right after If Heaven And Hell Decide, with a sick Kyle, worried Stan, the best little immortal cat of all time, adding injury to illness, two middle aged men being massive fantasy dorks, all that goodness. Very sorry to my favorite arthritic ginger it will happen again, very sorry to his extremely concerned husband.
And y’all. I’m dedicating this to the Sickfic Queen herself, @alwaysinstyle who consistently kicks ass and gets stoked about style taking care of each other with me. Ana I love you so much and I’m so proud of you. All the people in your corner, we have you covered.
Also OFC the rest of the RANT homies have been subjected to random snippets of this over the past 2 weeks or so (jesus my sadsack ass needs to get some motivation back how has it been two weeks) but hey I will always be obnoxious when the mood strikes me and this long ass monstrosity is FINALLY done!!! Thank y’all fr for putting up with me.
Here’s •Well, That Would Be Pretty Odd•
A subtle knock at the door drew Stan’s attention and Kyle from uneasy rest. His husband’s head lolled exhaustively in his hand, still drained of energy and, according to the screen displaying his vitals, running a pretty high fever. Stan kept one arm protectively over him and turned to the door. “Yeah?”
The doctor entered, shutting the door behind her. “Hey, guys, how are we doing in here?”
Kyle pulled up slowly, clearly emotional, like he always got when he was sick. “Can I go home yet? Moose needs me.”
“Our cat,” Stan explained. “He’s worried he scared our cat.”
“I did.”
“Scared the hell out of your husband, too, sick as you are. It says on the chart you guys filled out that your blood sugar was low enough to potentially trigger a seizure. If he hadn’t acted as fast as he did, you’d be even worse off than you are.”
Kyle slumped back into Stan. “He always rescues me,” he murmured.
Stan felt like crying. “I’m your knight when you need me, dude.” He took a deep breath. “Okay, what’re we working with here? Stomach flu, dehydration, complications because of the diabetes, all that, right?”
“Right. Kyle, we have you on antivirals and fluids via IV for now, and I know you’re eager to get home-“
“-he hates hospitals-“
“-I hate hospitals.”
The doctor smiled kindly, even after getting interrupted. Stan liked her. “We’re keeping you overnight at least, but if your vitals are still stable and your fever is less than 102, we can send you home.”
Stan knew Kyle appreciated being the one addressed about his own health. This doctor could read the room, that’s for sure. Kyle nodded tiredly, eyes closed.
“How about when we go home? What’s the plan?” Stan inquired, tired as fuck himself but making an exception for Ky, always.
“Fluids, rest, anything with nutritional value that can stay down. Your friend in the waiting room mentioned orange juice as you guys’ go-to when Kyle’s having trouble with blood sugar? And he said you’re always diligent about keeping an eye on his health.” She was definitely addressing Stan now, since Kyle had clearly relinquished responsibility for the time being, knowing Stan had him covered. Hell yeah he did. “Any further complications; if you catch the bug too and can’t take care of him, another bad sugar drop or fever spike, and you guys come right back here. But at this point, it’s looking like this is something manageable from home, fingers crossed.”
And Stan had every finger crossed. He’d take care of Kyle, just like Kyle took care of him. Even if he was kind of scared as fuck, not having seen him quite this sick since maybe college. Or even when they were kids and he needed kidney surgery. He bit the panic down. Kyle was okay.
“Gotcha. I can spend the night? Spousal rights and everything?”
“You won’t convince him not to stay if you say no,” was Kyle’s muffled reply.
The doctor laughed. “I won’t make you leave. The last thing I want is either of you worked up, especially you, Kyle. If you need your husband with you to be comfortable-“
“-mhm-“
“-that’s not a problem in my book.” She tapped her clipboard with long fingernails. “There’s a call button on the bed if you need anything between the nurses checks, and I’ll tell your friend he’s free to go. He isn’t allowed back here, I’m afraid, but I can also let him know he can be the one to pick you up in the morning, if that’s what you two want?”
Kyle mumbled something that sounded like “like a good neighbor, Tucker is there” to the tune of the state farm insurance jingle. The doctor raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, he’s pretty delirious, alright.” A couple quick checks to Kyle’s IV line and heartbeat monitor, and she was gesturing for Stan to lay his half asleep husband back down. “You boys get some rest. We’ll keep you posted.”
“Thanks,” Stan whispered, letting Kyle nuzzle into his chest as she left the room. Once they were alone in the darkened space, he kissed him softly on the top of the head. Kyle was a space heater. But if the hospital staff wasn’t alarmed, they were okay. “I’ve got you, baby, just sleep.”
The next morning, Kyle improved enough to leave and discharge paperwork done, they faced the problem of actually getting the sick man home.
Stan waved off the nurse’s offered wheelchair and stubbornly picked Kyle up because like hell was he losing even a second of contact. That and he took pride in the fact that he was in his 40s and still able to carry his husband.
“Sir, there’s procedure…”
Kyle snorted from where his head was against Stan’s shoulder, coherent enough to be aware but still too weak to insist on, god forbid, trying to walk on his own. “Believe me, ma’am, there’s no way in hell you’re convincing this guy not to carry me. Losing battle, mark my worms- words.”
Someone needed to be home in bed.
The nurse sighed, clearly deciding it wasn’t worth argument. Thank God, because Kyle could out argue anyone normally, but he was fucking tired.
“Just sing me home again, Orpheus,” he murmured into his husband’s ear.
Stan laughed at the reference. “Alright, ma’am, so if we’re all set….”
“Yes, yes, you can go. Hope you feel better.”
Kyle only had a vague recollection of both Stan and Craig yelling at the hospital staff when they brought him in, which was kind of funny to think about. Craig didn’t get worked up about things easily, and Stan was as gentle as they came. But it was nice to know his friend and his partner were willing to act so out of character for his sake. He muttered a “hey, spaceman” in greeting when Stan lowered him into the back of Craig’s car, mid morning sun forcing him to keep his eyes closed.
Craig barked a short laugh, pulling from the parking lot when both his passengers were settled for the short drive. “Someone’s feeling better.”
“I’ll get him set to rights, kick the plague’s ass,” Stan said, softly kissing his husband’s still too warm forehead. “Thanks for picking us up, dude. And for last night.”
“No biggie,” Craig shrugged nonchalantly. “Someone had to keep a level head and it sure as hell wasn’t gonna be either of you.”
Well, he wasn’t wrong there. Craig was probably the least prone to getting over emotional person Stan had ever met.
Craig’s husband, however, was the exact opposite. Upon getting home and getting up to bed, Kyle could faintly hear the frantic voice of Tweek downstairs, bringing Moose back from spending the night over at apartment two.
Kyle was nauseous, not to the point that he had been, but nauseous all the same, waiting for Stan to be done retrieving their cat and filling Kyle’s water. He felt weak as shit, and sweaty, which was probably a reasonably good indicator of his fever coming down, but it fucking sucked. And he was going to need some soup or something in him soon so his blood sugar didn’t get so bad again, which was another thing that sucked, because why do flesh prisons require so much maintenance? Why did his body require so much to function.
He didn’t realize tears were flowing until Stan entered the bedroom, hands full with the water, a KMBS, and one of those bottled protein drinks that tasted like chalk. Moose was quick to jump up and pad softly over to him, big blue eyes so worried and sweet as he curled up beside him. Kyle’s two blue eyed boys.
The second of whom was setting the drinks on the bedside table. There was a straw in each, so Kyle wouldn’t have to move as much to drink. It made him cry harder.
“Shhh, dude, it’s okay, it’s okay.” Stan climbed onto his side and grabbed the juice, holding it to Kyle’s lips. “I know you don’t feel good, that’s okay. I’ve got you. Go slow, okay?”
Kyle complied, the sharp taste of salted orange juice helping both physically and mentally. Plus, it’s hard to drink something and cry at the same time, so his breathing was a little less sporadic. A few sips were all he managed before his stomach started rolling, and he shook his head. Stan understood, setting the cup down and pulling Kyle’s face into his chest. “Just sleep, baby. I’m gonna have to check your temperature and levels in about an hour, but just sleep until then, alright?”
“Mhm.”
Stan would take care of him. Kyle would put up a fight, when he had the strength to, but Stan knew from experience that he’d be ‘secretly’ loving being cared for.
The husbands had a couple favorite positions to hold each other in. They’d hold the other from behind, arms wrapped around and poised to kiss an exposed nape or shoulder as a reminder of their presence. They would entangle themselves like they were doing now, they’d let the other’s head rest on their legs, Kyle would perch himself in Stans lap or Stan would drape over him like a blanket. Holding each other was safe. And in this moment Stan wrapped protectively around his sick partner like it was his sacred duty, one hand cradling Kyle’s head from underneath, fingers gently rubbing his hair, the other arm tucking him firmly against himself, feeling Moose’s purrs vibrating where the cat had claimed his place against Kyle’s back, right below the place Stan’s arm was wrapped around.
Stan glanced at the nightstand clock, keeping watch for the next time they’d need to wake up for a check in. About an hour and he’d get the thermometer to make sure they were still headed in the right direction, check Kyle’s levels, make them both something for, well, he supposed lunch at this point, and call the clinic to let his coworkers know that he’d be out a few days for a family emergency. He’d have to let Kyle’s work know too, before his husband tried to go into school still unwell.
Fitfully, Kyle dozed, sweating in his sleep, which Stan knew damn well he’d complain about when he woke up, but personally, he didn’t mind holding a miniature sun, because it was Kyle. Overheated, but still Kyle.
It hadn’t quite been an hour, but the warmth was starting to concern him. He gently kissed the top of his husband’s head, encouraging him to stir.
“Dude, hey.”
Kyle let out a tired whine as indication that he was awake.
“I know, baby. I just need to check your temperature and then you can go back to sleep.”
“I can check my own damn temperature,” Kyle protested, rolling over onto his back when Stan relinquished his grasp around his beloved. He scowled. “I’m all sweaty.”
Stan chuckled lowly. Was he right or was he right. “Gimme a second.”
Upon getting the thermometer and finding that they were still going in the right direction, Stan relaxed slightly. He let Kyle check both his temperature and blood sugar by himself, because it wasn’t worth the impending argument and the last thing he wanted was to make his husband feel helpless. Fever was down, but he definitely needed something to eat soon.
“Dude, do you think you can handle something solid, or you wanna keep sticking with drinks?”
Kyle hadn’t puked in a while, so he felt like maybe something simple, easy on the stomach, would be okay. As much as he wanted to keep going with the safe option of juice and a protein shake, he wouldn’t get better without something substantial in him and he knew it. “I can try. No promises.”
“You don’t need to promise anything,” Stan insisted, leaning down to kiss him on the way out of bed. “But I have an idea, if you’re okay by yourself for a few minutes.”
“Moose is with me. I’m not by myself,” Kyle remarked with a sleepy smile.
Stan snorted and went to change into jeans, last night’s pajamas not exactly ideal attire for walking to the BBQ place a block over. Kyle was weird about food sometimes, but Brendan’s mac and cheese was a simple, safe, Kyle approved bet. He’d probably want it to get cold first like he usually did (weirdo), but sick Kyle was sort of a wild card. They’d see.
“I’ll be back in fifteen, dude, drink some water.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.”
Kyle heard the door close downstairs, slowly reaching for his water at the bedside, one hand resting on their cat’s head. Moose was stretched out along his side, fluffy tail dangling off the side of the mattress.
“You sleepy too, young nastyman?” Kyle asked, setting the bottle down and closing his eyes. Moose purred in response.
Apparently he’d drifted off again, waking up to the rustle of a takeout bag and a strong, smoky smell.
Kyle clapped a hand over his mouth. Ordinarily the smell of brisket and ribs wouldn’t bother him, but in his half asleep state, smelling meat on Stan of all people…
“…Dude?”
“FUCKING CHANGE!” Kyle screeched, staggering up to run to the bathroom, tears in his eyes because the bbq place smell all over his vegetarian husband was wrong and disorienting and he hated being sick and fevers made him sensitive and an asshole and-
Falling hard in front of the toilet, he felt his knee go out. The cherry on top of the fucking cake while his stomach tried to escape his body. Kyle cried out in pain, which was cut off immediately by a wave of sick splashing into the porcelain while he attempted to move and take the weight off his left leg, shaking and already crying because he was pissed and it hurt and he couldn’t catch a damn break. Dry heaving and spluttering, he collapsed tiredly into the alcove between the toilet and the cabinets, one trembling arm draped over the seat and the other hand clutching his knee, eyes shut tightly against the light and the nausea and pain.
“Ky, hey, hey, oh, fuck, baby, shit, did you twist your knee? Okay, you’re okay, hold on-“
Kyle leaned over to retch again, choking out “YOU SMELL WRONG” because that’s all he could manage between gasps.
Stan yanked his shirt off and threw it through the open door into the hallway, past where Moose was watching with wide eyes from the threshold. “Okay, I’m sorry, is that better? Here.” He gently eased Kyle’s hand away from his leg, carefully straightening it out. “God, yeah, it’s already swelling.”
“WHY do I have to LIVE IN THIS GODDAMN FLESH PRISON?!?” Kyle slammed his fist against the floor, frustrated beyond belief. Stan caught his hand before he could do it again.
“Shh, Ky, c’mon. You’re okay, it’s fine.”
Seeing his husband like this, sick, aggravating his bad knee mid vomit, broke Stan’s heart. But he had him. He had him and wouldn’t let go. Was that dramatic? Absolutely. But when the fuck was he not dramatic about Kyle’s health?
“THAT FUCKING STUPID ASS NURSE!” Kyle was yelling. “Sending me sick kids, thinking they were just trying to get out of class, that BITCH!”
“Baby, dude, calm down, man, breathe.”
“YOU’RE ONE TO FUCKING TALK!”
Alright, point to Kyle. Stan sighed as Kyle heaved over the toilet again, expelling nothing but water. They really needed to get something in him before he wound up needing the hospital again. Stan gently rubbed his husband’s back as he hiccuped and cried, clearly feeling betrayed by his body. A few minutes of heavy breathing, and Kyle was pulling back up. “I- I think I’m d-done.”
“Alright dude, I’m gonna get you up now, that okay?”
“Mhm”
Very, very carefully, Stan hauled Kyle from the floor, mindful not to move his knee too much and going slow in case of another bout of nausea. Moose trotted into the bedroom after his dads, obviously distressed seeing Kyle cry and immediately curling back up against the redhead when Stan set him down.
Stan was honestly a little nauseous himself, because Kyle’s frustrated tears never failed to make him emotional too. But he knew what to do here, he reminded himself. Fever was coming down, leg flare up was pretty routine, Kyle would rant it out if he had to and Stan would be his yes-man, and liquids were probably going to be the staple for the rest of the day.
He rolled up a throw blanket and propped it under Kyle’s leg, taking some strain off the irritated joint and kissing his husband’s kneecap when he did so. “You want ice, babe?”
“Yes I want fucking ice,” Kyle mumbled, arms draped over his eyes.
Stan could admit to enjoying taking care of Kyle when he fucked up his knee; pissed off Kyle was cute. “Aw, baby, I got you.” He grabbed the takeout bag from the nightstand too, not knowing if the bbq smell was lingering there too. “I’ll stick this in the fridge for when you want something solid, okay? How ‘bout another Ensure?”
Kyle grumbled something inaudible that Stan took as a yes. Poor thing was so upset. But he had every right to be, and Stan would never be annoyed at him for that.
Downstairs, he debated making his husband a smoothie, but the blender was loud, and his head probably already hurt from throwing up. Instead, he just grabbed an ice pack and a shake (strawberry, still gross but the flavor Kyle hated the least), taking the time to scribble out the nutrition information, just in case. That practice was pretty much habit at this point; he’d started ripping off or crossing out the calories on food for Kyle when they were fourteen, when his favorite person was recovering from his eating disorder, and even if he’d been more than fine for a longgggg time, Stan was prone to reverting to the past. When Kyle wasn’t okay, for whatever reason, food lore got crossed out.
“Dude, you up?”
“Mm”
“Shit, babe.” Stan knelt by the bed to carefully apply the ice, reaching a hand up to thumb away a falling tear. “You just mad?”
“Fucking pissed,” Kyle moaned. “It’s not enough that I have the goddamn plague?!? I have to have to fuck my leg up too? My parents are, like twice our age and even they don’t have fucking arthritis!” Kyle pointed two middle fingers to the ceiling as a ‘fuck you’ to god, which was actually pretty funny, but Stan didn’t laugh. That would only make his husband madder.
“Ky, c’mon.” Stan cupped under his head to kiss his cheek, relishing in the subtle smile that action brought. “And your parents didn’t shred tendons and refuse to do physical therapy.”
“I am damn well aware my goddamn arthritis is my own fault, Staniel.” But he sighed contentedly, adjusting the ice pack before leaning back against the pillows. “That helps. I’m sorry.”
Declaring the anger over for now, Stan climbed into bed beside him. “Don’t be sorry, dude. How’s your stomach?”
“I don’t fucking feel good.”
“I know, dude, can you drink a little water? We have to keep you hydrated.”
“It’ll just come back up.”
“Not necessarily.”
Moose crawled up between his dads, small furry head on Kyle’s shoulder, knowing he needed comfort. Kyle rubbed his face on the cat. “Babyman, did I scare you last night? I did, huh?”
“Dude,” Stan started, “he’s fine. You’re fine. We’re all fine. Drink something and don’t move your leg.”
“I didn’t shred my tendons, by the way.” Kyle protested. “I just tore some shit a little.”
“Enough that it’s a problem even now.”
“See, you get it.”
Stan laughed. “Quit being a dick and go to sleep, baby. You know you’ll feel better. I’m right here, dude, whatever you need.”
“I’m not being a dick, I’m being contrary.”
“Same difference.”
“Mm.”
God, poor Kyle, pissed off, sick, having a flare up on top of everything else. “Dude, what do you need?”
“Leg hurts.”
“We have a pack on it, dude. Maybe some ibuprofen? You should take some for the fever anyway.”
“It hurts.”
Stan started to gently rub his partner’s knee. “I know, babe. I know it’s hurting.”
“I hit it on the floor.”
“I know you did.”
“Fuck this shit.”
Kyle knew he was being a total dramatic asshole, but he didn’t care. God had fucked him over; he could be a dick. That made sense. “I’m mad, dude.”
“That’s okay.”
And no he didn’t have the right to be mad. Stan was being so sweet. Always. Any time Kyle’s meat suit betrayed him and he got upset about it, Stan was there, doting and adorable as ever. “I’m sleepy.”
“So go to sleep.”
“Something bad’s gonna happen.”
“Oh, dude.” Stan wrapped around him, carefully. “We’re not OCD spiraling. We’re not. A little rest, alright?”
In actuality, Kyle was too tired to argue.
It had to have been a few hours when Stan felt Kyle stir against his chest, swinging over to get out of bed… and promptly falling with a loud “FUCK!”
“Ky?”
“I FUCKING FORGOT ABOUT MY GODDAMN LEG!!!”
Stan sprang off the bed then too, getting on the floor beside his hyperventilating husband. “Dude, shhh, okay, okay, straighten it out.”
Sobbing, Kyle did. “D-don’t, freak, okay? I moved it weird, that’s all.”
“It’s fine, dude. Look at me. I’m not freaking out.” He was just doing a good job hiding it. Stan hated seeing Kyle cry, emotional, probably still feverish and nauseated, trying to get up in the middle of the night and falling on his knee, just the perfect storm of fucked up shit. But Kyle needed to stay calm, above all else. “What did you need, dude? Let me help you.”
“Water,” Kyle mumbled dejectedly.
“And guess what? You have me for that.” Stan carefully felt around his husband’s leg. “Can I turn a light on?”
Kyle responded by throwing up into the trash can, which had Stan gagging too. Fuck. Honestly, he was surprised he lasted so long without sympathy puking. “Hold on, baby.”
Stan rushed to the bathroom to empty his own stomach, somehow only just noticing that he still hadn’t put a shirt on from earlier. And Kyle hadn’t said anything about him wearing “outside pants” in bed, either, which was probably the best indicator of how sick he was.
Flushing down the panic induced vomit, Stan stood and glared at his reflection while he rinsed his mouth out, gulping a few handfuls of water from the sink. He had to keep it together. He needed a plan. Okay. Get Kyle back in bed, check his temperature and blood sugar, go downstairs to fill up his water and feed Moose, go from there.
Kyle had curled up on the floor back in the bedroom, and Moose had the zoomies. Stan sighed.
“Dude, okay, let’s get up.”
“Moving sucks ass.”
“I know it does, babe, but the bed is better than the floor.”
“Quit being right,” Kyle mumbled, allowing himself to be helped back under the covers. Stan snagged his readers from the nightstand, flipping on the lamp and grabbing the thermometer too.
“Okay, melmë, let’s see.”
Kyle smiled a little. “You look like a dad.”
“I am a dad,” he reminded him. Even if he’d bemoaned needing reading glasses and his body getting softer with age, his sentimental side was happy he had made it this far in life, especially with Kyle at his side. “Our son is bouncing off the walls as we speak. Open.”
Down to 100.3, thank whoever the fuck was up there. Maybe he should be thanking Kyle’s God, not having any attachment to one of his own. When he’d first started AA and found that part of the whole thing was putting things in the hands of a higher power, he had posed the question of what to do if you weren’t particularly religious to his sponsor. Mark had said “hell, put your faith in the doorknob if you want. Got you in here, didn’t it?”
“What’s the damage?” Kyle inquired.
“Definitely better. You want to check your levels or can I?”
Kyle slowly opened his eyes. “I got it, sweetheart, you’ve been doing so much.”
“Because I want to.”
“I’m difficult.”
Stan brought Kyle’s hand up to his lips and kissed it. “It so isn’t your fault that you got sick, or that you hurt your knee, or that you have diabetes. In sickness and in health, right?” Kyle’s fond grin only grew, and Stan decided to let up on the overbearingness. He snatched Moose up quickly on the cat’s next lap around the room. “I’m filling your water and feeding the dragon, okay? Be right back.”
So he had sweat out most of the fever, it seemed like. Judging by how sticky he felt, Kyle was fairly certain he was over the worst. At least in terms of the fucking stomach flu. His leg was a different story.
It was dim in the bedroom with only a sliver of moonlight slipping through the window, and the soft light from the lamp, but he could feel that he’d aggravated his knee pretty bad. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. The cartilage felt like it was grinding when he shifted. Kyle groaned in frustration, debating trying to hop over to the closet for his brace, but deciding against it, because Stan would flip his lid if he saw him standing. And considering what his blood sugar was at, being vertical was a bad idea anyway.
Said husband returned to the room. “I come bearing gifts for the king!”
Dork. Freshly refilled water, a KMBS, sleeve of crackers. Stan presented the juice. “Your elixir, melda târ. And-“ he beelined for the top of the closet, clearly having read Kyle’s mind.
“Thank you, my most dutiful and trusted of knights.” Kyle let him secure the knee brace, watching as those careful, strong, gentle hands worked, as Stan leaned down to kiss his leg when he was done. His Stan. His sweet Sir Marshwalker.
“Oh, shit, dude, are you crying? Does it hurt that much?” Stan was up by his face again. Kyle shook his head.
“It’s not that; I just- I really fucking love you,” he sobbed.
“Aw, baby, come here.” Stan climbed into bed and wrapped around him again, avoiding touching his husband’s stomach or leg. A little jingle of Moose’s collar announced their boy’s return to the bedroom, a tiny *prrrt* as the cat settled back at Kyle’s side. “You’re not as warm as you were, Ky, I think you’re getting better. That’s good, my love, you’re okay.”
“I’m okay,” Kyle murmured against him, damp eyelashes tickling Stan’s chest. “You still don’t have a shirt on.”
Stan laughed. So he had noticed. “You complaining?”
“You know I’m not.”
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Government name vs Military callsign
Prompt: What scares them worse? Addressing them by their full government name, or addressing them by their military callsign?
Featuring: Task Force 141 (CoD: MW2) - John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish (separately) x GN!Reader
Word Count: 0.9k
Warnings: none
John Price
Government name.
Calling him Captain or Skipper just ends with him sauntering to where ever you are and ask (in an obnoxiously self-satisfied voice) what you wanted. Like a cat pretending it can’t hear the urgency in your tone when you say to get off the counter.
“If you want me to ‘shake a leg’, call my name, luvie.”
Now if you holler “Jonathan Price”, he’ll drop something. Either the newspaper in his hands, or his heart into his stomach. He sure as hell moves his ass with a purpose, and he’s peering into the room with an apology on his lips.
“Yes, luv? What’s wrong, poppet?”
“Lift the other end of the couch, would you?”
He does, and you shimmy it further back in the room. “Anything else I can do, love o’ my life?” He’s hovering, and gently coaxing you into his arms. Gauging how mad you were at him. You curled into him and kissed his chin. Then stepped away with a pat to his chest.
“No, sweetheart, just wanted you to shake a leg is all.”
When he remembers your previous conversation, he groans and tells you to fuck off.
Simon Riley
Military callsign.
When you two are alone, and he’s already given you permission to call him Simon, don’t call him Ghost. When you say that word, he assumes one of his mates are at the door or on the phone, and goes from Simon to Ghost. Stalks into the room with narrowed eyes, only to find you in the kitchen. By yourself.
“Ghost, you want a sandwich too? Turkey and cheese.”
“Fuck you callin’ me that for?”
Once he sees you’re alone, he swoops in and wraps around you like a hoodie. A firm kiss to your ear, then your cheek, then spun you around. Back pressed to the counter top. Settles his face right close to yours.
“We playin’ games now?”
You didn’t want to upset him, so you pressed a kiss to his nose. His grumpy look faded a bit.
“Sorry, baby.” Arms wrapped carefully around his shoulders. And your fingers scratch his scalp. Another kiss to his nose. “I’m sorry for playing games with you. Simon Riley.”
Hearing his name on your lips finally cracked, and he gave you a smile. A little scar on the upper lip. You gave it a kiss, and then pressed a kiss to his lips.
A quick surge forward, and you only just had time to shove aside the things behind you before you found yourself on the countertop.
Kyle Garrick
Government name.
He doesn’t mind being called Gaz, and you’ll use Kyle and Gaz interchangeably. Doesn’t even mind if you use “Kyle” or “honey” in front of his squadmates. Though “Kylie” he does have some displeasure with.
“I’ll have you know, Soap is still calling me Kylie, you asshole.”
Call him ‘Garrick’, and he knows that you are pretending to be mad at him. He slinks over and rubs his face against your cheek. He’s too cute for you to stay mad.
If you shout “Kyle Garrick”, he comes running. He could have sworn that he put his clothes in the hamper. And did the dishes. And taken out the recycling. Damn, what was it that he forgot?
“Kyle Ga-”
“Yes, dear!” Shit, he didn’t mean to ‘yes, dear’ you. “Yes, my dear, I’m right here.”
You pause your laundry folding and summon him with a crook of your finger. Once he’s close enough, you tap your lip with the same finger. “I need a kiss.”
He blinked once. Then twice. “God damn you.” He squishes your face in his hands and gave you a quick, firm kiss. “Don’t stress me out like that. Thought you were mad.”
“Give me another kiss, or I will be.”
He rapid fire kissed your mouth, chin, and cheeks, then gave you a smack on the ass before returning to the living room.
“In my own fucking home,” he muttered.
John MacTavish
Military callsign.
He’s got some thick skin. And he’s had his name shouted angrily many a time. He would all but skip into the room with a big smile on his face. The only people who shouted that name (and wore out the scare-factor on it) were his family members. Shouting “John MacTavish” meant you loved him. You were also mad at him, but you loved him. That was more important. Even with your scowl and the gross pile of garbage he kept forgetting to take out. You loved him.
Now shouting his callsign reminded him of his superior officers.
“SOAP!”
Shit shit shit. He put down his beer and ran from the garage to the backyard. Leg brace over his sweats, low cut muscle shirt that you also wolf-whistle at when he wears. You were only weeding the garden boxes.
“JOHNNY!”
“I’m here, bonnie,” he hollered, rounding the corner. You were sitting in the dirt, a tidy pile of weeds and dead plant bits next to you.
“C’mere, c’mere.”
He leaned down next to you, hand on your shoulder and good knee on the ground. “Wassit?”
You pointed to the leaf in your hand. “A caterpillar, Johnny. An itsy-bitsy caterpillar.”
He sighed heavily and kissed your shoulder. “Bonnie, I thought something was wrong.”
“Hm?” You spared him a glance. “What are you talking about, bubba?”
“You called me Soap.”
“Did I? Didn’t mean to spook you, loverboy.” You gave him an apologetic kiss on the lips. “Just wanted you to see the caterpillar before he wiggled off.”
Posted: 2023 Dec 10
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