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bloodyfeverdreams · 6 months

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Day 12, 20, 26, 31- Friends are the Best Obvious Solution

Prompts- Insomnia, Found Family, "Sometimes I Get so tired, I Don't Know Myself", and "I thought I was getting better"

Katsuki hasn't been able to properly sleep for a while, having nightmares that leave him unable to get back to sleep until he has to get up again. The squad notices something's wrong, and decide that they're gonna help no matter what Katsuki says.

ao3 link- https://archiveofourown.org/works/51255391

Katsuki couldn’t count the hours of sleep he’d lost in the past couple of weeks. He’d tried everything to help him sleep, all sorts of tea, white noise, melatonin, and even yoga and meditation. Nothing worked. Every day was becoming the same, go to bed at 8:30 like normal, fall asleep, have terrible nightmares, wake up terrified and shaking just past midnight, stare at the ceiling trying desperately to fall back asleep, fail, and then get up at five when his alarm goes off. He’d had this routine since getting to the dorms, it was very similar to his old routine except now he could train and shower instead of showering before getting on the train. He very much liked it, even with his friends calling him an old man for going to bed so early. He never cared about what they said anyways, they had shitty routines of their own, and he just laughed at them when they complained about being tired after going to bed at 2am. His routine was far superior, and let him get actual rest to be prepared for the next day.

Except now, he wasn’t getting any rest at all. He didn’t understand. The nightmares that had started after the sludge villain incident had died down, resurfacing with the USJ and Kamino, but they had died down again. Nothing violently traumatic had happened again, so the fact that they had come back with a vengeance made no sense. It had been months, he shouldn’t be having these nightmares! He’d moved on, everything was different now, and he should be fine!

But he wasn’t fine. Katsuki didn’t do well without sleep. Simple things that he’d never put any thought into, like taking notes or staying awake in class, had suddenly become very daunting tasks that he struggled with every day. It was even getting a little hard to read his own handwriting, though it was usually crisp and clear. At this point, it was only his pride that kept him from going to Recovery Girl or his family’s doctor for some sleeping medication. He was fucking Bakugou Katsuki, and he didn’t need fucking medication to do things he’s always done.

Though, his pride took a heavy blow in favor of the meds when he got his last math quiz back. Katsuki excelled in school, in all subjects, and it was rare that he’d get anything below a ninety-eight percent.

This one was a ninety . Shit.

“Hey, I did way better this time!” Kirishima said happily, shoving his seventy-eight in Katsui’s face. Through the fog of sleep deprivation, he was at least proud of his friend. Especially since he’d worked hard to get all that damn information into Kirishima’s head.

“Finally.” Katsuki muttered. “Bout time you started retaining the shit I teach you.”

Kirishima gave him an abashed but still ridiculously bright smile. “You know, I may learn better without you whacking me on the head all the time. What did you get?”

“Fuck off, that’s my business.” Katsuki said, immediately trying to shove it into his backpack. However, his behavior must have set off alarm bells in Kirishima’s mind, so his stupid fucking best friend tried looking even harder than his casual glace of before.

“Ninety?!?” “Shut up!” Katsuki hissed, his cheeks heating up without his consent.

“Dude I’ve never seen you get a score so low.” Kirishima’s voice was irritatingly worried, and Katsuki hated it. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, keep your nose out of my fucking business.”

“ Something’s wrong.” Kirishima pressed. “You’ve been off lately, like way off. I just thought maybe you were studying really hard but something’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Katsuki insisted.

“Come on, I’m your best friend, you can tell me.” Kirishima said, his eyes gratingly sincere.

“There’s nothing to tell.” Katsuki growled, and thankfully, class was over for the day now, and they could go home. Katsuki just quickly grabbed his stuff, and left, ignoring Kirishima’s urges to talk.

Thank fuck it was friday. Now it was time to stare at the ceiling for long past five am. At least he could still stay in bed however long he wanted to.

Katsuki just went straight to his dorm room, again ignoring all of Kirishima’s attempts to talk to him, and locked his door behind him. His bag thudded heavily to the floor, and he flopped down onto his bed, cradling his head in his hands. Gods, what he wouldn’t do to just sleep.

His bed was comfortable, his room was the perfect temperature, he’d changed into comfortable sweats and an oversized t-shirt, and he didn’t have school tomorrow so he could sleep in as long as he wanted, and still he couldn’t sleep. Closing his eyes just left him in the dark, and trying to do stupid breathing exercises to calm his mind did nothing. Sleep eluded him like common sense eluded Deku, and Katsuki just lay in bed, wishing with all his might that he could sleep and not getting it.

A knock startled him out of his desperate attempts for sleep, and he just sighed. Impatiently, the knock sounded again.

“Kaaaccchhaann.” Kaminari whined from the other side of the door. “We know you’re in there.”

“No shit I’m in here, it’s my fucking room!” He shouted back.

“Come on, bro, open the door!” Kirishima was there too apparently. “We wanna hang out.”

“Yeah! It’s friday!” Aaaaand there was Sero. Dammit, he hated when all of his friends ganged up on him. It was always much harder to resist when all of his idiots were yapping at him. “Time for a smash brothers tournament!”

“We’re not gonna leave you alone until you come with us.” Ashido. Great, now the whole squad was outside his door. “So you might as well just give in and come out.”

He sighed again, loudly and dramatically. Fucking hell, his friends were annoying. But playing video games was mindless, and he did at least enjoy it. Maybe it would exhaust him enough to finally let him sleep.

“Fine.” He sighed, and the squad cheered. “But I’m player one, and no one complains about it.”

“Deal!” was chirped and Katsuki reluctantly got out of bed.

Apparently tonight was in Kirishima’s room, so at least he didn’t have to go far. They often cycled through the squad for video game tournaments and movie nights (except his. No one went into his room but him). But this time it was Kirishima’s turn to host, and so they all shuffled into the horrible brightness of his best friend’s room, and all spread out on the only available room to sit, the bed. Katsuki wasn’t sure how, as he didn’t like people coming into his personal space, but somehow, he ended up in the middle of Kirishima’s bed with Kirishima on his right side and Ashido on his left. Kaminari and Sero were sitting on the floor, leaning against his legs. This felt very intentional, but his friends weren’t acting suspicious, and since none of them could act well, he let it go. Maybe he was overthinking it?

He was handed the player one controller, and the others were passed around. The game was familiar enough to be relaxing, yet high speed enough to take his mind off his problems a little bit. He got comfortable and barely noticed it, sagging where he was sitting, body growing lax and complacent with a desperate need to rest. Everything started to fade into the background, the colors began to blur on the TV. His hands pushed the controller buttons automatically, on pure motor memory, but as his surroundings turned to white noise, he forgot that he was actually competing with anyone. His hands slowed as his mind sank into the comfort of where he was, the people around him. His friends’ animated chattering turned to a quiet buzz in his ears, sharp but familiar. He was warm on all sides, and Kirishima’s duvet was surprisingly soft.

Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder, yanking him out of his reverie, and the controller was being pulled out of his hands. He was confused until he managed to refocus his vision and see Ashido looking at him with big, worried eyes.

“Okay, Kirishima was right, something’s wrong.” She said.

“Nothing’s wrong.” Katsuki insisted. “Let’s just finish playing.”

“Dude, the game’s over.” Sero said, staring at him with the same worry in Ashido’s eyes.

His eyes flicked to the screen, and it had returned to the selection of characters for the next round. Shit. He hadn’t even noticed. His eyes came back to his friends, and everyone was staring at him. Even Kaminari was giving him an uncertain look.

“Come on, Bakugou, talk to us.” Kirishima said, and the walls Katsuki put up were becoming too exhausting to keep up. The sincerity even he couldn’t mistake for pity was too strong, the room too comfortable for him to be able to resist. He was just so tired. “We’re your friends. You can tell us anything.”

“I’m fine.” Katsuki hissed, his last desperate attempt to get them to back off before his walls fully crumbled. How had he lost so much ground so quickly? He was normally so much stronger than this. But dammit, he was exhausted and keeping up this act just added to his exhaustion.

“But you’re not.” Kirishima said. “You’ve been way off in training, you haven’t been getting your normal scores, and you just zoned out for like ten minutes without even realizing it. That’s not ‘fine’, dude. It’s just not.”

No matter where he looked, he couldn’t escape this sincerity, and he was trapped, with Sero leaning up against his leg so he couldn’t just storm out. Fuck.

“Icantsleep.” Katsuki whispered, his voice barely audible.

“What?” Chorused from his friends.

“I can’t sleep.” Katsuki sighed heavily. “Everything’s fine, I’m just really fucking tired.”

“But… you’ve been going to bed every night super early like normal.” Kaminari said, surprised. “We’ve seen you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you stay up past nine on school nights.”

“I don’t.” Katsuki said. “I just… I don’t know. I get into bed, and I just can’t sleep. I mostly just lay there.”

His friends exchanged worried looks.

“How long has it been since you last got decent sleep?” Kirishima asked.

Katsuki just shrugged, since honestly at this point, he really didn’t know.

“Have you tried, like, melatonin or tea?” Ashido asked.

Katsuki nodded. “Yes, I’ve tried those, I’ve already tried all the fucking obvious methods. Meds, tea, all the different noises, I even tried fucking yoga . Nothing worked. I just can’t sleep.”

“So is it like a mental thing?” Kaminari asked. “I sometimes can’t sleep because my thoughts are going too fast.”

Katsuki just shook his head.

“Well then, do you know what it is?” Sero asked. “That’s keeping you up? Because it sounds like it’s not a physical thing, if those other things didn’t work, and you say it’s not a mental thing, so I feel like there’s a puzzle piece missing.”

Katsuki just shrugged, not wanting to admit the nightmares, but his cheeks turned light pink anyways. Dammit.

“Okay, come on, what are you not telling us?” Kirishima asked directly. “I know that face, Bakugou, that face means you’re hiding something.”

“It does not!” Katsuki shot back.

Kirishima just raised an eyebrow. “How long have we been friends? And next door neighbors?”

“I keep telling you fucks, we’re not friends, I just can’t get rid of you.” Katsuki said, curling into himself unconsciously.

“Since the USJ at least.” Kirishima said, answering his own question. “I know you, man. We know you.”

“And that face means you’re hiding something.” Ashido finished. “You always get the tiniest blush when you know something we don’t know.”

“I do not.” Katsuki grumbled.

Several versions of “yes, you do” were echoed from all sides.

Katsuki just slumped harder. Fuck his friends. How the fuck did they know him so well? He hadn’t even known them a year! And yet, they knew him better than anyone in his life, outside of his parents and maybe Deku.

“Fucking fine, I have nightmares, okay!” Katsuki shouted, the jagged remains of his internal walls becoming like porcupine quills, trying to stab his friends with his anger. “I don’t fucking know why, but I’ve been having them basically every single fucking night, and there’s no goddamn reason for them! Will you shits leave me alone now?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Kirishima asked, placing a hand on his shoulder for a moment.

“What the fuck would I say?” Katsuki snapped. “So you could call me a fucking pussy who gets nightmares for no fucking reason?”

“We wouldn’t call you a pussy because you get nightmares, Bakugou.” Kirishima said. “I get nightmares too.”

“Yeah, we all do.” Sero said, with Kaminari and Ashido nodding along.

His confusion must have been written on his face because Kirishima continued. “Dude, I’ve gotten them ever since Kamino. And the Shie Hassaikai raid made them come back for a while too. I still get them every once in a while.”

“I got them after the USJ,” Kaminari said, “and mine came back for a while too, after that whole fiasco on I-Island.”

“And not to mention Nabu Island too.” Sero added.

“I still have nightmares about that woman.” Ashido shuddered, and Katsuki knew she was also talking about Nabu. “Sometimes I even have nightmares about failing out of school.”

“Oh gods, girl, same.” Kaminari said, leaning back on Katsuki’s leg to look directly up at Ashido. “I have that nightmare the night before every test.”

Katsuki unconsciously filed that information away for later, he’d come back to that when the next test came around, but mostly he was still confused. “But none of you ever said anything. You shits literally talk about every subject under the fucking sun and you’ve never mentioned that. I would’ve noticed.”

“I mean, I guess not, but like.” Kirishima shrugged. “That doesn’t mean we’d call you a pussy for having them. You’re too hard on yourself, bro. Nightmares happen.”

“Not to me.” Katsuki hissed. “I’m fine , there’s nothing wrong with me!”

“We’re not saying anything’s wrong with you, Bakugou.” Ashido said, placing her hand on his shoulder for a moment, like Kirishima did.

“Nothing has to be wrong with you for you to get nightmares.” Sero said. “Honestly, with all the shit you’ve been through, I’d be shocked if you didn’t get them.”

“Yeah, I can’t imagine getting kid-uh, I mean battling villains the way you did and not getting nightmares.” Kaminari recovered quickly after almost fucking up, reminding Katsuki of what he did not like being reminded of . Kamino could go die for all he cared, and he hated any reminder of it with a passion.

“But we haven’t had any battles lately.” Katsuki snapped, his hatred for his own weakness coming out as a spat at his friends. “There’s no fucking reason for this.”

“I don’t think nightmares need a specific reason to happen, bro.” Sero shrugged. “You just get them. There doesn’t always need to be a reason.”

Katsuki huffed, unhappy with that answer.

“We can figure out the reason tomorrow.” Kirishima said, successfully putting a pin in the conversation. He was good at that, at getting Katsuki to come back to shit when he felt better. “Right now, I think we just need to focus on helping you sleep.”

“I don’t need anyone’s fucking help.” Katsuki growled.

“Uh-huh.” Kirishima was also good at calling him out on his bullshit. Dammit, when had his stupid best friend gotten so good at that? “Come on. Lay down. You’re staying with me tonight.”

“No.” Katsuki said, very confused at to what the fuck his friend was even planning. “That’s dumb.”

“Fine, I’ll just tackle you.” Kirishima stated seriously, and honestly, Katsuki believed him.

“Whatever.” He grumbled, pulling himself back a little so he could properly lay down on Kirishima’s bed. For someone who’s entire thing was hardening, Kirishima’s bedding was unexpectedly soft. “Now what, geniuses?”

Apparently ‘now’ was everyone climbing onto the bed with him, Ashido pressed against his abdomen and the wall, Kirishima on his other side, and Sero and Kaminari back on his legs. They weren’t on him enough for him to feel trapped, but enough for him to feel that they were there. It felt oddly comforting.

“Okay, now close your eyes.” Ashido said.

He just glared up at her.

“You have to close your eyes to sleep.” She rolled her eyes. “Unless you sleep with your eyes open. Wait, do you sleep with your eyes open?”

“No, I don’t sleep with my eyes open, that’s weird.”

“Okay, so close your eyes.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes at her, and he sighed unhappily, but he did as she said.

“Breathe in for four seconds, and then exhale for seven.” Sero said.

“Tried that.” Katsuki replied. “Didn’t work.”

“Do it anyway.” Sero said, and he could hear him rolling his eyes. His bastard friends had a lot of nerve to roll their eyes at him, considering what they were doing. “You need to relax, and stop fighting us. Otherwise, you’re never going to get to sleep.”

“I’m never going to sleep with all you fucks watching me either.” Katsuki mumbled.

“We’re not watching you,” Ashido said. “We’re helping you.”

“Same thing.” Katsuki muttered.

“Just do the fucking breathing exercises.” Sero snapped.

Overdramatically, he took a big breath in, and blew it out. Afterwards, he started counting to four and seven as he breathed, and his body did start to relax. His mind was still very much wide awake but at least his body wasn’t as taut as a rubber band anymore. It felt a little strange, as he hadn’t felt anything when he’d tried this on his own, but it was working so he didn’t question it.

A hand suddenly came to his hair, brushing through his spikes, scratching lightly. His eyes immediately snapped open, and he found the hand belonged to Ashido.

“Fuck are you doing?” Katsuki asked, but he was taken aback a little by his own voice. He sounded like he was half-asleep, but he knew that was untrue. His mind was still very awake.

“Shush, and keep your eyes closed.” She lightly chastised him. Katsuki didn’t even notice that she hadn’t answered his question.

Instead of standing up and telling his friends this didn’t work either, his leaded eyes just slid shut. His mind sank back into the comfort from before, a quiet voice of anxiety and fear effectively silenced by the warmth and safety his friends emanated.

Distantly, he could feel hands pull at his feet, taking his shoes off for him, and he didn’t have the words to respond to them. The fingers in his hair became his only real focus, feeling the gentle strokes of Ashido’s hand as she lightly dragged her nails over his scalp. No one but his parents had ever attempted anything like this, but he found he didn’t really want her to stop. Her fingers seemed to turn his exhaustion into a soft brook across his body, seeking out tension and washing it away. After an amount of time he couldn’t distinguish, the only things he could feel anymore were his friends comforting weight against him, and Ashido’s fingers in his hair. There were soft noises around him, gentle but garbled. Katsuki only caught the words ‘sleep’ and ‘night’, and couldn’t decipher any of the rest.

In an instant, Katsuki’s mind had gone from being completely awake to hanging by a thread, and Katsuki wasn’t sure when that had happened. Sleep hit him like a freight train, the thread of his consciousness didn’t stand a chance, and he was asleep between one breath and another.

After being so used to waking up shaking and sweating, Katsuki didn’t notice he was actually awake at first. He woke up slowly, an easy rise to consciousness not tainted by fear and terror. He felt warm on all sides, with heavy pressure all over his body, and he was so comfortable that he could’ve slipped back into sleep without much issue. Even more surprising, he felt rested for the first time in what felt like weeks. This was one of the best sleeps of his life. He idly wondered what brought it on after those debilitating nightmares.

Oh yeah. His friends. He could hear their soft breathing, feel their bodies all over him. Ashido was still sandwiched between him and the wall with her legs across his waist, Kirishima had flopped almost onto him, and the idiot’s legs seemed to be hanging off the bed, Sero and Kaminari were all tangled up on his legs, using his thighs as pillows. Kaminari was drooling on him, of fucking course the idiot drooled, but he was so comfortable that he let it go (for now). It took a bit of work to extract his hand from the pile that was him and his friends, but he checked his phone that was still in his pocket. It was a little past 5. Wow, he’d actually slept through the whole night.

Even with all the sleep he'd gotten which made him feel sooooo much better, he was still exhausted. His sleep deficit had only increased the more this went on, and he had a lot to make up. So, since no one was awake, he just snuggled in deeper to his friends, pressing into all of them, and he let the safety of his friends (who were practically family to him at this point) take him right back to sleep. And he slept long after everyone else had woken up, though they all still stayed cuddled up to him, their presence keeping the nightmares away.

#whumptober2023 #no.12 #no.20 #no.26 #no.31 #insomnia #found family #sometimes i get so tired i don't even know myself #i thought i was getting better #whump #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou #Bakugou can't sleep #his friends help #bakusquad

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whats-k-popping · 2 years

Note

Could you write a fic where taehyung has a fever and is really sneezy but he has a headache and sore throat and every time he sneezes his head hurts?

Hope this is what you were looking for!?! I kinda glossed over the snz content and turned it more toward the sore throat and the headache. Sorry it took me so long to get done! I hope you can enjoy it! Thanks so much for the request! <3

Pairing: Taejoon - platonic intentions but read how you want. Ft. minor Taejin.

Words: 2732

Warnings: Illness || Snz Content || Sick Member || Fever || Sore Throat/Lost Voice || Headache/Migraine || Graphic Descriptions of Cold Symptoms || Graphic Descriptions of Headache || Crying/Emotional Distress

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“HEEEtsch, EETthhu, HEHnxtch”

Taehyung’s sneezes are louder than any alarm clock Namjoon's ever owned. So when Taehyung sneezes three times in the middle of the night, it startles Namjoon awake with a gasp.

“'M up. 'M awake” Namjoon slurs his words, scanning the room with squinted eyes. Everything is still dark and blurry, but he can tell it’s still the middle of the night. He swears he set his alarm for 8:30. He is certain that a loud noise invaded his dream and pulled him from sleep. But now that he’s awake, the room is silent.

Well, mostly silent. Taehyung is sniffling from his bed. There’s a lot of shifting, even for Taehyung, and Namjoon figures that the younger is awake. “Tae-yah? Did you hear something?” He asks. He needs the validation just to ensure he’s not going mad.

“Sorry, hyung. It was just my sneezing. Did I wake you?” Taehyung feigns ignorance. He knows the answer is a blaring yes. He had been enviously listening to the sounds of Namjoon’s peaceful sleep. Because he’s been awake the whole night, bargaining with his budding cold symptoms. Negotiations have gotten him nowhere.

Namjoon nods, “S’okay. Are you okay?” If the rapper were fully conscious, he would have quickly recalled that Taehyung does not sneeze in multiples unless it’s illness related. He might have noticed that Taehyung doesn’t sound sleepy at all, but rather a little congested. But he’s still swaddled in the warmth of his covers and clinging onto a promised sleep. Too close to the edge to notice those intricate little details. Not all of his neurons are firing. He doesn’t have the mental capacity to think about how his roommate usually sneezes right now.

So Taehyung takes advantage of it. The vocalist knows he’s getting sick. He could feel it coming on since the previous day. And he feels like it’s going to be a bad one. But he knows Namjoon is trying to sleep, resting well after a long day. And he wants it to stay that way. He promises to tell someone in the morning. But for now, the others need their rest. It’s too early for Namjoon, or any of them, to be taking care of him. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tickle. Must have been some dust on my bed or something.” The lie comes easy. It has been a while since he changed his linens. He’ll add that to his post-cold to-do list. “Go back to sleep, hyung. We still have a few hours.” he gently encourages. Namjoon doesn’t fight it.

Taehyung feels more sneezes inching their way to the top of his nose. But he doesn’t want to bother Namjoon anymore than he already has. He doesn’t want to risk waking him again. So he holds them back, shaking his head and tucking a finger under his nose to scare them off. But that’s only a temporary solution. They still lie in wait for a loud and wet release. So he waits until he’s certain Namjoon’s sleeping deeply again. Once the leader’s snores confirm it, Taehyung sneaks out of the room with his blanket and relocates to the couch. Hopefully far enough away from the bedrooms to sneeze freely without waking anyone up.

Sleep doesn’t find him any easier on the couch than it did in his bed. He’s still turning over every time his sinuses shift. He’s still coughing as post-nasal drip fills his throat. And he’s still sneezing when he feels the tickle in his nose. It’s impossible to even get a few minutes of shut eye. And when he does feel on the brink of sleep, a feverish chill shakes him back to consciousness. It’s hell on earth, he thinks with a whine.

He does manage to fall asleep at some point. He wouldn't believe it given how exhausted he still is. But he's awoken by the sounds of voices nearby. He keeps his eyes closed, pretending he can't hear them. But it's Seokjin and Namjoon, neither of them do well with hushed conversation. It sounds like they are arguing. Or maybe Taehyung's headache is just amplifying the sound of their voices. Any noise at this point is too loud for him.

He picks up bits and pieces of the conversation. From what Taehyung can gather from his eavesdropping, Seokjin is angry at Namjoon. Something about the Daegu vocalist spending the night on the couch. And even though Namjoon seems equally upset about it, the oldest hyung is blaming the leader.

The realization that his hyungs are fighting because of him hits his fevered mind. That's silly. Namjoon didn't do anything wrong. It was his decision to leave the room. It was his decision to sleep on the couch. He has to take responsibility for it. He needs to end the argument with the truth. Because he hates it when his hyungs fight.

Maybe he also hates it when they are loud. Maybe he has a splitting headache and wants to sleep more. Maybe he knows that Seokjin and Namjoon can go on for hours with petty arguments like this and he just wants them to stop. But he doesn't feel well, so he can be a little selfish. The outcome will benefit them all in the end.

His body aches as he sits up on the couch. He pulls his blanket around his shoulders and clutches the corners around his chin to fight the chill. The ends of the blanket drag behind him as he follows his hyung's voices to the kitchen. It's a long, shuffling journey. His whole body tells him to stop.

Two loud sneezes alert the two older members to Taehyung's presence. They both turn and look at the sick member. He has definitely seen better days. His skin is blotchy with fever spots, the tip of his nose is bright red, and he can barely keep his eyes open. He looks so small wrapped up in a blanket, quaking at the knees like standing is simply too much.

"Tae-yah, you should go rest." Seokjin's voice is gentle and caring. "Hyung will get you something to eat, go lay down."

Taehyung opens his mouth to speak. He wants to say that he didn't want to bother Namjoon with his cold. He wants to say he chose to leave the room when Namjoon fell asleep. He wants to say he chose to sleep on the couch and it's not Namjoon's fault. But croaky broken syllables and raspy breaths take the place of his words. His voice is completely gone, but he doesn’t remember losing it. It was fine enough when he was talking to Namjoon in the middle of the night.

He pouts in frustration, massaging his throat with the hand not clutching his blanket. His neck feels hard and swollen, but he aims to be able to speak again. He clears his throat with some wet coughs before attempting to speak again. But it’s the same result. Nothing intelligible comes up, he ends up hunched over coughing deeply into his fist.

Seokjin’s expression softens immediately. He forgets entirely about his spat with Namjoon and runs to Taehyung’s side. He immediately goes into mother hen mode, pressing a palm to his fellow vocalist’s sweaty forehead. “You’ve caught yourself quite a nasty cold, Tae bear.” He consoles once Taehyung’s done coughing. “Don’t you worry, you’ll start feeling better soon.”

Taehyung leans against Seokjin, too weak to support his own body weight for another second. He lets out a whimper and a yawn. “You’re tired,” Seokjin understands, “Let’s put you to bed then.” He starts guiding Taehyung toward the bedrooms. The younger man makes it as far as the stairs before he quits. He looks at Seokjin with desperation. There’s no way he can climb the steps. He just won’t make it.

The oldest understands instantly. “Alright, Tae. Can you get on my back?” He squats to make it easier for Taehyung to climb on. He scrambles for a few minutes while trying to push himself up, but he’s lacking the usual upper body strength he needs to latch on. With a little help from Namjoon, Taehyung is able to secure himself to his hyung for the journey to the bedrooms. Seokjin marches up the steps with ease despite the added weight and deposits the sick member in his bed. “There you go. Hyung’s going to go get some supplies for you. Can you stay awake for five more minutes?”

Taehyung nods with no confidence in his answer. Seokjin doesn’t believe it either given the way the vocalist’s eyelids droop as soon as his head hits the pillow.

It actually takes Seokjin about 15 minutes to return to the room. So he can’t blame Taehyung for being asleep when he returns. He looks so peaceful while he’s resting, Seokjin doesn’t want to disturb him. He looks like death warmed over. He needs every second of rest he can get. So he decides to do the best he can while still ensuring that Taehyung stays asleep. He scans his forehead with a temporal thermometer and confirms the presence of a significant fever. With gentle motions, he smooths a damp rag over the sick vocalist’s forehead. Food and medicine will have to wait until he wakes.

Seokjin does everything he can for Taehyung before he absolutely does have to leave the dorm. He’s got schedules to attend, things to do, places to be. But he doesn’t want to leave Taehyung alone, so he recruits Namjoon to look after him for the day. It may be more of a demand, a repentance to compensate for the fact that Taehyung slept on the couch. But Namjoon accepts it regardless. He knows he can work on things from home. It’ll be easy enough to work on tracks on his laptop while keeping an eye on Taehyung.

“HEP’tichi, HESHhu, ehh-HE’tch”

Taehyung’s nose only allows him a meager half hour of sleep before he startles himself awake with forceful sneezes. Despite losing his voice, his sneezes are still monstrous roars that claw through his throat with vengeance on the way out. There’s an ache that grows each time he pitches with a harsh sneeze, traveling from the bridge of his nose to the backs of his eyes all the way around to the base of his neck. It hurts everywhere.

He’s in too much pain to sleep, despite how his body yearns for a few more hours. His body is playing tricks on him, making him believe that he’s thirsty. But it seems to be just a cruel way to trick him into swallowing. The action is painful and does little to soothe his raw throat. Every time he starts to doze off, another string of sneezes forces him back to consciousness.

There’s no relief. He tries to massage around his temples, he tries to shift positions in the bed. He tries pulling the blanket over his head to block the light and even tries to bite the tip of his thumb because he heard somewhere that it's supposed to help with headaches. But nothing eases his ache in the slightest. The humming of the air conditioning is deafening. The dimly lit lamp is blinding. The pulsing pressure of blood against his skull is agonizing. It’s a waiting game against the pain. And just when he thinks the drumming ache is receding, he sneezes again and he’s right back where he started.

After repeating the cycle four times over, he can’t maintain his composure. He cries. He weeps in desperation and in pain. He feels the most miserable he’s ever felt in his life. He doesn’t see an end to the suffering in sight. He has no hope for any relief. So he cries.

He wants comfort. He wants to draw someone’s attention, someone’s sympathy, someone’s love. He wants someone to coddle him, just a bit. He wants to be reassured that he will be okay. But no one will ever hear him. His cries are silent, nothing but heavy breaths and pitchy croaks as tears pour mercilessly down his cheeks. He tries calling out for the members, but he can’t force a single syllable. As therapeutic as the crying seems at the moment, it only proves to make his headache even worse.

Eventually, Namjoon returns to the room. It’s been a while since Seokjin checked Taehyung’s temperature and he wants to know if the rest has been doing the vocalist any good. He opens the door to find Taehyung sitting up in the bed, sniffling as tears drip quickly from his chin onto his blanket. His expressions are devastating, eyes squinted shut and mouth hanging out like he’s trying to scream. He scrubs at his face with balled fists and jerks with sobs that just land him coughing into the open air. The urge to comfort him is immediate.

As soon as Namjoon lays a finger on Taehyung’s shoulder, the vocalist wraps his whole body around the leader. Similar to how a boa constrictor would envelop their prey, only Taehyung is much more distraught than intimidating. The vocalist will never let go. He never wants to be alone again. The pain is too much for him to cope with by himself.

Namjoon’s struggling to breathe in Taehyung’s clutches, but he could not care any less. Because watching Taehyung bawl his eyes out makes Namjoon’s stomach flip. So he doesn’t care what happens to him if it means that Taehyung will calm down. He consoles, brushing fingers through Taehyung’s hair and scratching gently against his back. His skin burns, Namjoon suspects a fever spike played a part in Taehyung’s breakdown. He keeps his verbal reassurances low and rhythmic.

It’s a long while before Taehyung finally calms himself down. He’s still sniffling and catching his breath. His eyes are bloodshot and watery, but finally open enough to look pleadingly into Namjoon’s big brown eyes. “There you go, Tae Tae. You’re okay. You’re going to be okay. All better.”

Taehyung tries again to speak, but nothing comes out and he realizes he’s right back where he started. He’s not better now. He’s worse. He’s miserable and he still doesn’t feel well at all and it feels like it’s never going to end. And to make matters worse, he can’t even express that appropriately. So he tries to make Namjoon understand, through the sheer power of body language.

But Taehyung’s gestures are flailing and vague and just hard to understand. Namjoon can’t make sense of it. Until he sees the events in action.

All the crying had shifted the contents of Taehyung’s sinuses. His nose runs relentlessly in an effort to clear it. Taehyung sniffles harshly in between gestures to ward off the tickle but it eventually wins out. “EHRshhh, ee’NXTtch” He pitches forward with a messy double. When he picks himself up, his hands shoot to his head as the splitting pain returns with a vengeance. He winces and shuts his eyes, pressing himself impossibly closer to Namjoon. And Namjoon finally understands that Taehyung’s got a headache. A borderline migraine by the looks of it. Suddenly all the flailing makes sense.

“Is it your head, TaeTae?” Namjoon questions, whispering. He starts to pull himself away. Taehyung nods, a small movement so he doesn’t have to jostle his throbbing head too much.

Namjoon has to pry the vocalist off of him before he manages to get Taehyung to lay back down in bed. There’s a few whimpers and a whole lot of teary-eyed pouting, but Namjoon assures him he’ll only be gone for a few minutes and then they can resume cuddling. Taehyung accepts with the promise of more cuddling.

Namjoon hurries to gather the supplies Seokjin left for him. He finds the bottle of painkillers and gives a dose to Taehyung. He turns the lights off in the room, leaving only the minor light of a dimmed desk lamp to make sure he doesn’t trip over anything in the room on his journey to the bed. He climbs into the bed and leans against the headboard, arms wide open expectantly for the vocalist's arrival.

Taehyung finds some comfort in pressing himself to Namjoon’s stomach, arms wrapping around his torso to once again prevent his escape. Namjoon allows it, gently massaging the area around Taehyung’s temples until the younger member is finally able to fall into a steady sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Wonder how many fics I have ended with the sickie falling asleep?? I need to be more original. LOL. As always, thanks for reading to the end! Feedback is always appreciated. And please let me know if I missed any tags or TWs. Please call me out for any errors you notice!

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pbandjesse · 2 years

Text

I am so tired. I am shocked at how much body aches right now. Thankfully I slept really well last night and I hope that I can sleep really well again because I have a very long day tomorrow as well. And a long day after that on Saturday. I'm so exhausted.

But it was so much better today. Everything. I woke up and I wasn't really in pain anymore. I had to stretch a little bit because it was hard to wake up at 6:30. I hate waking up in the dark. And I didn't even wake up from my alarm I woke up 2 minutes before my alarm was supposed to go off just in a panic. I wasn't sure if it was the middle of the night or time to get up and I got out of bed and realized that it was fine. So I got up and went and got dressed. James was being very loud in the kitchen. But they were cooking and they made me a breakfast sandwich. And they had cut all of the cinnamon rolls in half so that I can bring them to share with everyone at work. And it was so good. Everything today just was wonderful.

My drive out to camp was fine and I got there right on time. And I had group two but everything took so much longer today than I think anyone expected. we were all supposed to get there early so that we could practice the water test stuff. And that ended up being totally fine and not a big deal. We collected all of our things and started going to our areas to make sure things were set up. And then we were supposed to be back at the lodge to get them at 9:00. But at 8:45 no one was at the lodge. And so we called Elizabeth and she called the head teacher and he said that everyone was packing up at the cabins. So we were going to push it back to 9:15.

That's totally fine so I started walking back to my station so I could walk my wagon down. And ended up running into a couple parents. And we talked for a while. One of them was the dad of the kid that was really awful to me yesterday. And he just said that he is just like that and they're working on it. The dad was a really nice guy. And the other dad that was there ended up being the dad in my group today. And they were the most excellent group. That dad, and the other dad that was there and the grandma, were were so excellent that they just really made the day possible for me. Like it blew me out of the water how great they were.

But no one was ready at 9:15. I got over there at about 9:17 and everyone was still outside and acting wild. We didn't end up getting our kids until almost 9:30. And then half of them were still in the bathroom so we didn't end up leaving the lodge until almost 9:50. And it was fine with me because honestly two hours is too long for the project that we were doing. And while an hour and a half probably would have been better for how engaged the kids were. I was great with what we had.

I took the kids down to the Glen and they were just so excited to be there. And because the dads were so on point with getting them to listen I had no problem getting through the science. Honestly I felt way more confident than I thought I was going to. And they all worked on their little whiteboards and we tested the water for pH and nitrates and turbidity. And they all got to try something and write down all their results and compare. And it was just so nice. The one dad helped by going down into the pond to collect the water. And we all got to go ew because it was so black. It just had a lot of sediment in it and rainwater runoff.

And I just had so much fun. I wish every group could have chaperones that were that engaged. Honestly a few times they were a little overengaged because they were talking more than I was. But I would usually find a place where they took a breath where I could jump in and finish my thought. And overall it was fine I didn't really mind. And the kids were having such a good time. Once we got to the second half of the program where we were just collecting stuff I kind of just went off and collected things that I thought they would think would be interesting as well. Because in our area we weren't finding fun things like salamanders so instead I found berries and interesting mushrooms. One of the kids found a baby dragonfly. It's called a bar something. I don't remember the actual name. But it was very cool to see. I used Google lens to figure out what it was. Which was one of my favorite tools to use today because we were able to figure out what a lot of stuff they found was. It was a really good time.

After that we took a bathroom break and then we went to do ground elements. They struggled with a few of the parts but once they really understood what they were supposed to do and working together they really got it. A lot of the help was from the one dad and he was a veteran. I'm not sure where he served but he definitely served at some point. He talked about it a few times. And he was just so good at giving them instructions on how to work together. I'm more of the let him try and fail until they figure it out kind of teacher with the stuff so it was really interesting to see someone really walk them through it. My fear with that kind of thing is that they're going to get the answer to heavily and then we're going to have so much time to fill. But honestly he did a great job and all of the kids did a really good job too and it was just a lot of fun.

So by the time we were done we actually ran into lunch. Because we were having so much fun. And then we all walked together and one of the dads pulled the wagon for me. Which was very nice of him and I kept telling him he didn't have to. And it came up about James being non-binary. And both him and the grandma didn't know what that was and I said something about not being super comfortable calling James my husband because they don't use gender pronouns. And they were fascinated. They made the same jokes about not understanding what a pronoun was that you hear from people all the time. But then they just had like beautiful questions and they were really curious. And they obviously really wanted to learn and understand what I was saying. And they kept saying that they were grateful that I was willing to answer the questions for them. And it was really nice to be able to explain to someone the difference between sexuality gender and gender presentation. Because I think so often people that aren't in that space don't understand that those things are different. And sometimes I'm even shocked that there is so much conflation between those things. Like they didn't understand if James could have kids because they're not binary. Because they assumed it had something to do with either asexuality or infertility. And then when I said that I was bisexual they were like but you're with one person. And they were very shocked when I said I would probably never cheat on James because of that. And they were just so funny. But they really seemed open to the idea and I thought that was really nice and I hope that they bring that into the rest of their world. And there's just a little bit more acceptance of what that is and that made me really happy.

I had my lunch on the porch and then I went to go find Elizabeth. Her and Nick were back at the lodge helping get everyone out of there and just having sandwiches. The group didn't leave until almost 1:30 so me and Elizabeth didn't get started with our Native American stuff until almost an hour later. So during that hour I sat and talked with Nick about the wedding for a while. He really had such a big smile on his face and seemed really excited about all the stuff I had to say. And that felt really good. It was nice talking through the whole wedding with someone who really didn't know anything about it except for some of the very early planning from the summer. And then I went to go check out the Erie to start going through all the materials for the field trip tomorrow.

Honestly I really could be better prepared. I know just enough about different Native American tribes and practices and customs. But not really enough to like fake it. And I hate to say that. I don't want to say that I'm faking anything at any given time. But with the science center and the BMI if someone asks me a question I can usually make an educated guess and get somewhere around the right answer. I don't know enough about specifics of Native American tribe culture to really answer things. And I want to. But it's going to take time. The person that I'm taking over this position from was doing it for 27 years. And his knowledge was vast but it was also very culturally insensitive. And I'm hoping to bring more real knowledge to it if that makes sense. Going through all the materials was really interesting though. We're looking at Native American history from 2000 years ago. And that's crazy to me. We're looking at very primitive. And there's just so much.

And there were so many supplies. I got a little overwhelmed. In the hour I was waiting for Elizabeth I ended up pulling everything out of the building and organizing it into the places it was supposed to go. There are six sites over camp. The Hogan, the long house, the chickee, The Pueblo, the art building, and The Lodge. And it is just a lot. And I was too afraid to drive the Gator today because I've never done it alone so I insisted on using my wagon and bowling these materials all over camp. I got thousands of steps in today I'm sure. But I figured out where most things went. I did get a little upset and overwhelmed at one point and was texting James just all angry. But once Elizabeth came over I realized I really had done it and was fine. And I was stressed for no reason because I basically had everything. I only took one box to the wrong place and so once we got that back everything was okay. I'm going to really try to sort these boxes better because if I'm going to be the one doing these for the most part I really need to just have exactly what I need in these boxes and nothing else. Because there was a lot of stuff we are not using in them. And a lot of stuff that needs to be repaired. So I'm going to make a point to try to do that and honestly I think it's going to be great. And I will learn more stuff over time and that's really all we can ask for at this point. because Elizabeth has only really taught this program two times and this will be my first.

We were at setting up for quite a few hours. There was just a lot to do. And once we were basically all set up we went back to the office to talk about some stuff and print things and then I headed home. I was a beat. But I had all the extra materials that I needed and all the printouts and stuff and then it was time to go home.

And it was a very very long drive. Because there was an accident. And the GPS took me off the highway and completely took me on the back roads but it was actually a really nice drive and the sun was not in my face the entire time.

When I got home I brought everything and James was making us texmex. Which was good but I do not like corn tortillas. And I understand why they used it because they were trying to make me a crunchwrap. But it just didn't work the way that I think we were hoping. The corn taste was just very very strong. And I find them a little sour. So it wasn't the best meal but it was fine. And I appreciated the effort.

And then we basically just spent the next hour on the couch because my body just aches so bad. James tried to rub my legs in my feet for a while but it only kind of helped. Sweepy came and laid on top of me and he just melted. And was just fast asleep and snoring in my ear. Which was nice. I love my sweet pea. He slept in my arms last night which was awesome. I wish you would do that more often. And now it's time for me to take a shower and go to sleep. Because I have to do this all over again tomorrow. It's not as long as today, And I don't have to be there as early. But I still have to be there at 8:30 and I am going to have a lot of stuff to do. So wish me luck because it's going to be hard and scary because I'm going to be giving a speech to 80 people. And a speech that I've only read through a few times and I'm not super comfortable with. I'm hoping tonight I'm going to read the Wikipedia page for both tribes that I'm going to be talking about. So at least I'll have a little bit of extra knowledge. But it is still scary.

So wish me luck. I hope you all sleep great tonight. I love you very much. Wash your hands. And good night.

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cockatrice-writers-guild · 2 years

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anyway I wrote a bonus chapter for LOVESTORY because why not. This one takes place somewhere between chapters 10 and 11. hope you enjoy it!

Chp 10.5ish - cake pain

warnings: swearing

I was jerked violently out of what I could only imagine was an absolutely amazing dream (I forgot it the moment my eyelids were dragged open) as my alarm started screeching. After trying (and failing) to slow my heart, I reluctantly sat up and reached for my phone to turn the alarm off, glancing out the window as I did so. I was greeted by the beautiful view of the infinite, all consuming darkness of night.

Confused by this, I checked the time on my phone. 1 am. This cleared up absolutely nothing and I was fully prepared to go back to bed when the date caught my attention. Because today was I day I’d been preparing for for weeks. Thad’s birthday. And I’d subjected myself to waking at this horrible hour because I wanted to do something special for him.

Like, sure I’d already bought him a gift (a simple velki sized black cord necklace I thought would suite him. Picking it out was the easy part. It was the Getting Home part that was the problem. But hey, it’s like the old saying goes: You can never truly appreciate the size of your giant best friend unless you’ve had to carry a dang firehose of a necklace on public transport for them) but I wanted to do something more.

See, I wanted to bake him a cake.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. He’s a million times my size. How on earth could I possibly bake him a cookie, much less a whole cake? But worry not; about 2 weeks ago, while daydreaming in class, I found the perfect solution: I’d bake him a cupcake instead. A velki sized cupcake. In my human sized kitchen. It was fool proof!

I slowly crept downstairs and into the empty kitchen, inspecting my new domain (taking in the quiet atmosphere, the empty surfaces and all the clean plates. …yup, this was going to be a mistake) before I started setting up. I picked out the largest baking vessel we had (an extra large pizza pan) and set it to the side before preparing the ingredients I’d been stockpiling (using my allowance) in preparation for the Big Day.

My plan was simple. I’d just bake a bunch of thin cakes in the pizza pan (Thad probably wouldn’t notice a little extra baking powder) and then stack them on top of each other, icing each layer so the cake wouldn’t collapse during assembly (hopefully). I’d continue doing this until the height of the cake at least matched the width and then continue if I had some spare time (and leftover ingredients). I chose a simple chocolate cake (his favourite) recipe so I could successfully recreate it as many times as needed.

I pulled up the recipes on my phone, washed my hands and mentally prepared myself for what was to come.

Then I dove in.

1:15 – First batch of batter done. Oven preheated. I might actually be able to pull this off somehow

2:00 – Things are going well so far! 3 cakes are already cooling with a fourth in the oven and thanks to the extra baking soda, they’re rising a bit more than I expected (luckily they still taste good). If I finish this quickly, I might even get some time to nap before Thad gets here

2:30 – 5 cakes done. I’ve pretty much memorized the recipe by now. Wish I had some music or something to pass the time but I don’t want to wake my parents

3:00 – 8 cakes done. Nice

3:30 – 10. Man its quiet around here

3:32 – Aaaand I just heard a noise. Great. Its fine. Everything’s fine. It’s probably just the house settling or something

3:37 – The hallway is very dark

3:38 – I’m going to go turn on more lights now

4:00 – 14. Well, I’m not dead yet at least. I’m starting to lose steam though

5:00 – 20. Tired.

5:30 – 23. Both Mom and Dad woke up and tried to go about their day as if chocolate cakes weren’t cooling on nearly every available surface

6:00 – 25. After saying their goodbyes (and good lucks), my parents left for work, leaving me alone with my cakes and my thoughts

6:14 – I never thought eating chocolate cake would be this painful

6:30 – 28. Very tired. Almost done though. I think. I hope

7:00 – 31. I think I’m done with the cakes. Now, the icing

7:26 – Icing’s done. I just had to multiply the recipe by like 15. I had to put bags of icing sugar into it though. Bags. I’m glad Thad’s a velki cuz if he wasn’t, the sugar intake would have killed him.

7:41 – It’s done. I had to climb on the counter to ice the last few layers but its done! YES! YES! I’M NEVER DOING THIS AGAIN!

I dumped the rest of the icing on top of the cake to complete the look before climbing off the counter and admiring my handywork. To put it lightly, the cake was huge. A dang monolith, really. Hopefully it would be enough.

I grabbed my phone (after washing my hands) and wished Thad a happy birthday before asking if he could pick me up. Then I went back to the cake to add some finishing touches while waiting.

By the time I felt Thad shaking the ground, I’d finished carving the top of the cake to make it look more…cupcakey. I sprinkled the cake shavings on top of the icing mountain just as Thad stopped in front of the house. I let out a breath. It was done.

My phone buzzed.

Thaddeus: you ready?

Syren: Yeah. Give me a sec

Thaddeus: sure

I was about to go open the door for him when something stopped me in my tracks. Thad couldn’t get in here. Which meant I had to carry the cake out to him. With my bare hands. WHY HADN’T THIS OCCURRED TO ME BEFORE?

Trying not to panic, I looked around. The cake was too tall to fit out the kitchen window so that only left the front door. Okay, I had 2 options here. Ditch the cake and just give Thad the necklace or try to deadlift the Wedding Sized And Then Some cake by myself.

…I grabbed the edges of the pan and experimentally tried to lift it. It didn’t budge. I pulled some more, trying to recall whether you were supposed to lift with your back or your knees. The cake slammed back onto the table and I doubled over, panting. It definitely wasn’t the back.

Thad’s muffled voice came from outside. “You okay in there?”

I winced and pulled out my phone.

Syren: Yeah

Syren: Everything’s cool

Syren: Don’t worry

So lifting the cake wasn’t impossible. I just had to really want it. I tried to assess the distance I’d have to endure when I ran into yet another issue. Assuming I even managed to make it to the door, there was still the matter of walking down the steps. No can do.

Syren: Actually could you help me with something?

“Sure,” he replied. “What do you need?” If anyone passed us right now, they were probably going to think Thad was engaged in a one way conversation with an empty house but hey, he didn’t tell me how to live my life.

Syren: Could you hold your hand outside the door?

“…okay?” he replied, sounding confused. I couldn’t blame him.

I walked over to the door, counting the number of steps I had to take to reach it, and pulled it open. Thad sat in front of the house and smiled when he saw me, though I swore I saw confusion flash through his eyes for just a second. Maybe the lack of sleep was starting to get to me.

“…so how do you want to do this?”

After a few awkward, confusing and somewhat embarrassing failed attempts, Thad just let me drag his hand to where I wanted it to be and I pulled it as far into the house as it would go. The less work I had to do, the better. After signalling at Thad to wait there, I walked back over to my Archnemesis, took in a deep breath, let it out slowly and grabbed the tray.

…so deadlifting hurt. Who knew?

But finally, drenched in sweat, beyond depleted and having completely recited my will internally, I felt Thad’s fingers bump into my legs and slowly set the cake down, barely managing to push it far enough to prevent myself from face planting directly into it when I collapsed.

“Sy, holy shit,” Thad said upon seeing my defeated form. Turns out running on 2 hours of sleep and leftover cake shavings for several hours was actually a bad idea.

I felt Thad grab my sides and gently pull me the rest of the way onto his hand before lifting me into the air.

“You good?”

It took me a full minute to gather enough strength to even flip myself over (though finally managing to do so rewarded me with a full view of Thad’s concerned face). I brought up one of my aching arms and held up an index finger like, ‘Give me a second’ before turning to look at the cupcake.

And my heart sunk a little.

Because now that I had Thad for scale, I could see how miniscule the cake actually was. The thing wasn’t even half the size of a regular velki sized cupcake.

…why did I even bother?

Nevertheless, I turned back to Thad and pointed at the cake before letting my arm fall back to the ground.

Thad turned to look at the cake and I expected him to starting laughing at how small it was or something but instead he just stared at it.

Several moments passed in complete silence.

Then tears started to form in his eyes.

As you can imagine, I was a little distraught by this.

WHY WAS THAD CRYING? WAS IT BECAUSE OF HOW PATHETIC THE CAKE WAS? WAS THIS MY FAULT? WHAT HAD I DONE? I KNEW THIS WAS A BAD IDEA. I SHOULD HAVE JUST GIVEN HIM THE NECKLACE. HE WOULD HAVE BEEN HAPPY WITH JUST THE NECKLACE. UGH. AND THE CAKE LOOKED SO SMALL COMPARED TO HIM. IT WAS TINY. WHY’D I THINK THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA? I COULD HAVE JUST BOUGHT HIM SOME CAKE FROM A CAFÉ OR SOMETHING AFTER SCHOOL. WHAT WAS WRONG WITH ME? WHY COULDN’T I GET ANYTHING RIGHT?

Thad finally turned to face me, causing my stomach to summersault. “Sy…you made this?” His voice was quiet.

I gulped. Looked away. Nodded.

“For me?”

I nodded again.

“…this is…I…,” he trailed off. Looked at the cake again. His lip quivered and then he let out a laugh. Then, to add to my growing distress, the tears started falling from his eyes. He sniffed. Laughed again. “Shit, my makeup,” he mumbled and started fanning his eyes with his free hand, giggling every now and then. Shaking his head. Perhaps I wasn’t the only one who needed more sleep.

He took a few seconds to compose himself before grinning at me again, his eyes sparkling now.

“Sy, I mean this with love, but look out.”

The word ‘love’ caught me so off guard that before I could even begin to process the rest of the sentence, Thad’s free hand had already completely engulfed me.

So, Thad had a grim reaper printed on his shirt today. I found this detail significant because the next thing I knew, I was dang near making out with it. I’m glad I had so much time to catch my breath earlier because Thad accidently knocked it out of me again. It took me a few seconds to even register that he was hugging me, one handed no less (nothing was supporting my feet). Still, I did my best to reciprocate the gesture.

After a few seconds of pretending I wasn’t melting into his embrace, Thad’s hand wrapped around me once more and soon I was seated next to the cake again. Thad lifted me up to his face and gave me a soft smile.

“Sy, thank you. Like, seriously thank you. This was…insanely sweet of you. Like,” he glanced at the cake again, “how long did this even take you?”

Syren: Like 7 hours

“Damn, really? I kinda don’t want to eat it now.”

Syren: Please do

Syren: I’m literally begging you

Syren: If I never saw a chocolate cake again for the rest of my life it would be too soon

Thad laughed. “Well, if you insist.”

And just like that, several hours of work (and weeks of preparation) were gone in a single bite.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

He set the empty pan down next to me and grinned, his eyeliner running quite freely now. I smiled back before typing out my next message.

Syren: Wait could you put me down for a second

Syren: I need to get something

“Oh, yeah. Sure.”

He lowered his hand to the ground and, after picking up the pizza pan, I climbed off his hand and headed back into the house as Thad started to redo his makeup. I put the pan in the sink (I’d clean it…and the rest of the kitchen after school) before running back upstairs and into my room. I located the necklace and hoisted it over my shoulder (it was a little heavy but not nearly as heavy as the cake had been) before making my way back down the stairs carefully.

I walked out the door and presented the necklace to Thad, who took it after a moment. He uncoiled it and held it up, beaming.

“I’ll admit, you know me well.” He slipped the necklace over his head before turning back to me. “How does it look?”

I gave him a thumbs up.

“Good. Cuz I’m never taking it off.”

His smile was contagious and before I knew it, I was smiling too.

“…we should get going,” he said after a few seconds, breaking the silence and the start of yet another staring contest. “Don’t want to be late and all.”

I waited for him to offer his hand or pick me up or something but instead he just continued staring at me blankly, as if waiting for something. I stared back and a few seconds later, that confused look of his came back in full force. He pursed his lips before one corner of his mouth went up in a half smile.

“…Sy, are you really going to school in your pyjamas?”

#writeblr #original writing #original story #Syren and Thaddeus #ocs #the rooster crows

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venusiansilk · 4 months

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ᝰ EVERYTHING, EVERYWHERE, ALL AT ONCE.

you work hard to be the perfect girlfriend for satoru and person for yourself, but sometimes it's too much.

f!reader ⊹ no curses, slice of life au ⊹ domestic fluff. angst-ish. est rel. comfort ⊹ satoru is best boy. reader is implied perfectionist. kind of a serial nurturer fr. they have dogs bc i have dogs lmao ⊹ 2.1k ⊹ footnote. more than self-indulgent. it’s self-narration. for fellow perfectionists who get burnout and it feels like crippling shame. i’m proud of you.

꒰ 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 ! ꒱

everything, everywhere, all at once — that’s the state of your mind as it stands.

every time you close your eyes, chaos unfurls. little voices whisper in overlaps of every action you need to complete. it’s an endless cyclone wreaking havoc on your mental state, but right now, you can’t even get out of bed.

i need to catch up on my work; i’m fifteen notes behind. the rest of the laundry has been waiting to be put up for days. it’s six pm; take the dogs out and feed them. satoru will be home soon; start thinking of what to make for dinner. i can’t let him go without dinner three nights in a row. fuck, i have to do the dishes; they’re piling. all this clutter on the counters i desperately need to tidy. he can’t find anything and neither can i. oh my god, aren’t my plants dying, too? when was the last time i watered them? can it wait one more day? when is the last time i washed my hair? fuck, i forgot to buy more milk. i haven’t eaten at all today. when is the last time i had water? my head hurts. my head hurts. my fucking head hurts. did i take ibuprofen? i can’t remember.

there’s a dull throbbing in the left side of your head in the space right behind your eyes. every time you blink, you can feel it pulsing like a heartbeat. it’s been hours and you need to get up and get moving, but you can’t bring yourself to. the dissonance between what you need to do and what your body will physically participate in is growing stronger. you have to get up, need to. satoru hasn’t said anything yet about the steady decline of your productivity, hasn’t made any claims of noticing that he hasn’t had breakfast made for him in days, hasn’t had a cup of coffee waiting to be brewed, hasn’t had a clean cup he didn’t have to wash himself to even do it. admittedly, you take care of him, fill in all the empty spaces of his days. you don’t have to, but you do. you’re habituated to it now, waking before him and the day to set up his routine with ease. you keep a coffee pod ready to brew, a clean and empty mug waiting to gather all it can to fuel him. you make him breakfast; the scent is typically what wakes him, but your gentle nudges at 8:30 am each morning are a secondary alarm. you take care of everything in the house, from keeping it clean to keeping it stocked with all of his favorite treats. you provide him with all of his meals. you press, fold, and hang his laundry. you made a home for his keys to return to because if not, satoru will toss them to the wind with little regard. in so many ways, you think ahead of him. you think for him. you eliminate every stress he could have, every worry. and you love taking care of satoru. he appreciates it and you feel it in the way he treats you. he only holds you lovingly. he only dotes on your name. he touches you softly and kisses you the same. you see it in all his tenderness that he reserves completely for you. you feel it in the press of his lips against your forehead as he murmurs a grateful platitude and sings your praises. you don’t mind being the one to do it all, but it’s a lot. because on top of caring for him, there’s also you, and you do your best to never neglect yourself, but sometimes you fail. how else can you show up for him so efficiently if you let your own needs collect dust and wither? you’re still responsible for your work, your results with school, taking care of the animals because you’re the one with the most free time spent at home, but none of your time is free. it’s all reserved for one nurturing or another. truthfully, you’re stretching yourself thin. it’s showing visibly on your face, in your body language, and the slowly piling mountain of tasks you keep putting off to wade around in the depths of your own exhaustion, muttering apologies when satoru asks where things are and filling up with shame when you realize he’s never had to ask before.

lately, your shoulders sag. the swollen little bulbs under your eyes are from stress crying. your appetite is in the pits. it’s been days since you got out of bed before him and he says nothing at all. like he doesn’t even notice. now your mind is laden with fear as you mull over all the ways he could be internalizing your lack of completion and cultivation negatively. what if he’s silently taking this as your feelings fading? you groan, your face stuffed into your pillow as tears prick the corner of your eyes. you need to get up but fuck, you just can’t. your heart sinks when you hear the creak of the front door opening and the soft thud of it closing shortly after. you hear the dogs take off running outside the cave you’re hiding in and your legs curl up into your chest, a fragile fetal position, and you clutch your pillow closer as you anticipate his oncoming disappointment when he finds you laying in bed, surrounding by all the clothes you dumped out in a failed attempt to make yourself do something. “baby, m’home!” satoru calls. your tears fall as you realize that he hasn’t said anything, but he’s going to soon. there’s no excuses to rely on, no reasoning other than you just don’t have it in you right now. no reasoning other than you’re just so miserably tired. you hear his heavy steps ascending up the stairs as another, much lighter call comes. “baby?” tighter. you hug your pillow tighter, hiding your face and your tears and your shame in egyptian cotton with the hope that maybe he won’t come in if you don’t answer, but the bedroom door opening breaks your hope that perhaps he won’t perceive the extent of your failure and the subsequent crumbling of your emotions. the room is dark. the sun gave you a chance but as afternoon slipped into evening, you forfeited it and surrendered as it set. you didn’t bother to flip the switch on to replace the loss of light. “oh, baby’s sleeping.” he whispers it to himself, and the adoration in his voice pierces straight through to your heart. your eyes well, stinging and heavy as salty streaks continue to spill one after the other and an involuntary sniffle befalls you, filling up the silence in the room. “wait, what?” his confusion is soft but you feel the presence of his body coming closer and your lip trembles, unsure of how to offer an apology that he would even accept. “hey,” he murmurs, no question as he lays himself beside you, curving himself to shape around you, his arm falling over you protectively. “what’s going on? why is my baby crying like this, hm?” another sniffle. “m’sorry,” his grip tightens. “what? why are you sorry for crying? no, baby. don’t be sorry. just talk to me, okay? m’right here for you.” “i-i’m not sorry…for crying…” you tell him between strong sniffles and hiccups. “i’m sorry that nothing is done! i’m sorry, okay?!” when it spills out of you, your quiet cry becomes a monstrous sob that you pour into the pillow. “what?” satoru asks with a following sigh. “i was worried you were going to feel like this.” “i know i haven’t been any good lately. i know. i’m trying. i just don’t have any energy.” once it starts, the dam dissolves, and all of it comes flooding out of you. “there’s no coffee and all the dishes are dirty. i keep saying i’ll finish putting the rest of the laundry up but i haven’t! you’ve been eating ramen for dinner for days because i haven’t cooked. i’m behind on work. my grades show that i was behind all semester. i don’t have any energy left to do anything. and i feel fucking awful about it! i feel like you’re disappointed in me, like you’re going to get angry and check me, like you might leave me if i can’t be consistent with taking care of you.”

the air is dead quiet then, satoru doesn’t respond verbally, but you feel him scoot his body closer to you, his face burying into the space of your neck, his arm clutching you as tightly as you are your pillow. the shame is weighted and feels like it’s causing your chest to cave in. you expect him to break down and admit he’s upset with you, disappointed in you for your perceivable shortcomings and reprimand you for not meeting your own expectations ( and his, by proxy ). but no, instead, he holds you as tightly as he can and inquires softly. “do you think you’re just here to take care of me? do you think i see you as my caretaker?“ “satoru, i–” he cuts you off, his voice still tender but sullen. “because you’re not. you’re here to be loved by me. and that’s it. you know we’re in this together, right? you know i love you, not what you do, yeah? i appreciate everything you do and how hard you work to keep the house running, but you know it’s not just your responsibility, right? this is our house. our laundry. our dinners. our dishes.” “you don’t have to act like it’s not bothering you that everything is disgusting and you haven’t had a fresh meal in days.” while you appreciate the sentiment and you appreciate him trying to go easy on you, you know he can’t enjoy living like this when you’ve intentionally made sure he’s well-acquainted to the lifestyle of ease you’ve crafted for him. “well, yes, i do miss your cooking and the house is messy, but you know what else? i’m a grown man and i can clean up, but i’m tired when i come home and i told myself i’d just do it on the weekend. i can make my own food, baby. i chose to make ramen for dinner and eat cake for breakfast.” your teary eyes widen as you stare ahead incredulously. “you ate cake for breakfast? satoru, what? you literally just went to the dentist. you have cavities!” he completely ignores your concern to continue his statement. “when the house is a mess, i’m not blaming you. i just make a mental note to find the time to clean up. when you don’t cook, i assume it’s because you don’t have time to or don’t feel like it and i feed myself. trust me. i love when the house is clean. i love eating your freshly cooked meals, but that’s a luxury and privilege that i’m not entitled to. i just appreciate it and do everything i can to let you know your efforts to overachieve at loving me well aren’t wasted. i feel very loved. and i want you to feel just as loved. so, is it okay that i still feel the same pride in you right now when nothing is up to your precious and slightly impractical standards as i do when you have your well-oiled machine running? because i do. i’m so proud of you. you may not like your grades, but you passed. despite not feeling like you could manage it all, you did your best. and i love you so much. the laundry can stay on the bed forever and i’d still want to lay in it with you for just as long.” “satoru…” now the tears filling your eyes are loving and spurred on by relief. “pick your head up, baby. stop expecting perfection at all times, especially when you’re running on e. you’re burnt out. you’re tired. so let’s rest, yeah? let’s relax and let the house be messy for a few more days. let me deal with it this weekend. i’ll put the laundry up, too, but right now? m’so tired, baby and so are you. let’s order very unhealthy take-out after we take a nap right next to the laundry pile. when we wake up, you’re officially bed-ridden. i mean it. if i catch you trying to do a single thing, i’m handcuffing you to this bed.” “don’t be dramatic.” you giggle, a loving sniffle. “thank you, toru.” satoru settles in, prepared to be unmoved and entangled for the next however long. his lips press against the nape of your neck once…twice…thrice for good measure. “of course. now turn over because you owe me several hello kisses and i want every single one.”

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haiky-u-lously · 2 years

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Day 6: Kenma Kozume

December Soulmate Prompt Calendar

“When you lose something it ends up in your soulmate’s possession”

Warning: HQ Adults, Kenma after vball, boss, employee, depressive state alluded to, OCD alluded to, not eating/falling asleep hungry, happy ending implied.

Author’s Note: Okay, failing now. Sorry y'all. Since I left the computer at work I didn't get to work on Day 7 or Day 8, so while I can post Day 6 today, everything will be pushed back a bit. Hopefully I can use Saturday to catch up and I only stay one day off. Anyway, its everyone's favorite least interested in volleyball setter, and my brother's personal best boi-love of his life if real...KENMA! A bit differently done.

Hope you enjoy!

You were always an organized person, at least when it came to most things. Notes and research, color coded and split by project. Cabinets and cupboards were sorted according to your taste. EVerything had a place and everything ended up in its place.

Most of the time.

Only, on days like today, when the stress from work was just a little too much, and you had not breaks to recenter yourself, and the additional stress of your family pressuring you to return home for the holidays...it was just enough to push you over the edge and your very organized life became a hot mess.

Walking into your apartment for the evening, three hours later than normal, you just dropped your bag in the entryway and kicked off your shoes. You flopped face down into the couch, sending some of the throw pillows up onto the arms rest, just enough to knock over a stack of papers all over the other side of the lounge furniture. Would anyone else have been in the enclosed space, they would have heard the moan of defeat leave your lips as you realized you needed to pick up all the white sheets taunting your form despite your face still being pushed into the cushion.

Too mentally exhausted to deal with the mess just then, you just piled the papers together out of the way and shoved the stack against the wall.

Deciding that was the universe’s way of telling you to get up and feed yourself you made your way to the kitchen. Once there you stared at your fridge, indecisive against the seemingly nothingness presented to your eyes.

Eventually you gave up, grabbed a gatorade and returned to the living room. It just wasn’t your day.

After finding a comfortable position, you turned on the tv, and started sipping your electrolytes.

You must have dozed off because the next thing you knew you were waking up to an explosion playing from the sound system. The channel it ended up on, showing a random action movie. You turned the tv off and looked at your phone for the time. 3am. Not an ideal time to wake up when your alarm is set to go off at 4:30 every morning.

With a groan you did not know your body was capable of making, you stood up, forced to balance as your head swirled around in circles.

“Damn, I need food.”

You once again made your way to your fridge, deciding to make yourself the eggs you caught in your peripheral last night. You woke up an hour and a half early, why not treat yourself to something better than a cereal bar of toast.

The morning seemed to fly by as you took your time getting ready. Soon enough it was five minutes before you were meant to be out the door and you remembered the paper fiasco from the night prior.

Sighing in near defeat you reached down and tried to organize the papers that were meant to be used for your presentation later in the day.

You quickly realized some pages were missing, not just out of order but just straight up missing. The worst part of that realization was that you hadn’t even met your soulmate yet, so the key parts of your presentation could be on the complete other side of the world from you.

Dejected, you grabbed what you had and made your way out. Trying to convince yourself you can still have a good pitch even without all your proper points and guides.

_________

Having rested as well as a CEO of a multi-billion dollar gaming company could, Kenma woke up at 2am, chugged a mug of straight black coffee, and sat in front of his screen ultra-beta-testing the games that would be presented in today’s pitch meeting.

He had twelve games to test if he wanted to keep his ideal of full understanding before going into one of these things. It was a tiring ordeal, but something he started after being blind sided by a pitch that was most likely the reason his company almost went bankrupt in its infancy. Or, at least that was what he’d convinced himself of.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the people under him, it was more that he felt they took their jobs as just a job and he took his as his life.

Around 7am he decided he’d had a good enough understanding of each of the dozen preliminary game versions. Moving to pack up his notes, he noticed some paper that was extremely different from his own sheets, the handwriting so far off from his it was momentarily illegible. After a moment he recognized it as something belonging to his soulmate.

They hardly ever lost anything, so it was always a wonder when something of theirs ended up with him. Kenma found it both interesting and irritating. He wanted to know more about them, but at the same time he welcomed not being buried under another’s junk.

It was 11 by the time he made it into the office, the shock from what he’d read being the main selling points he thought one of the game’s pitchers would use having made him lose his mind and distracted him from everything else.

However, he had figured out exactly who they were. The game that each of his department heads had pushed for, the one submitted by the talent he’d seen correcting others’ mistakes when reviewing them over and over and over again. Always willing to help, always doing so in the most proficient manner. Hardly ever making mistakes, and fixing them when they did.

And, Kenma couldn’t be more than excited to watch you present the best game preview he’d seen in many a pitch meeting.

‘Maybe,’ He thought, ‘I could say some of their bullet points before them to let them know back.’ He smiled at that, determined to follow through and have a one-on-one conversation with you before you left work for the day. ‘Whoever was (Y/N)’s hiring manager...I need to give them a bit extra on their holiday bonus…’

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 [X] | Day 7 |

Day 8 | Day 9 | Day 10 | Day 11 | Day 12 | Day 13 | Day 14 |

Day 15 | Day 16 | Day 17 | Day 18 | Day 19 | Day 20 |

Day 21 | Day 22 | Day 23 | Day 24 | Day 25 | Day 26 |

Day 27 | Day 28 | Day 29 | Day 30 | Day 31

#haikyū!!#haikyu #haikyuu #kozume kenma #hq kenma #kenma x reader #kenma x y/n #reader insert #haikyuu x reader #soulmate au #hq #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!!#admin red #Day 6 #december prompt calendar

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love-archon · 3 years

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A Day With The Genshin Characters: Liyue Edition

Today's going to be a busy day! Check your planner for who you'll be meeting with- as one of the esteemed members of the Liyue Qixing, you cannot afford to be late to any appointment.

• 6:00, Ningguang: Morning Tea

Although you say you love your job, waking up at un-archonly hours has to be the part you like the least. Even getting up at five in the morning, the hour when tigers prowl, is still not enough time to prepare for a meeting with the Tianquan. You rush around frantically choosing the best outfit, fragrance, and hair arrangement to present yourself to Lady Ningguang, and you're halfway out the door when it hits you- you forgot to bring a gift with you!

"Right on time," Ningguang says, pleased. You smile, hoping she won't hear your heart beating from anxiety. "And what a lovely present, too... is there any doubt you were appointed as one of the seven Qixing?" (You can't tell if it's her rare praise, or the sheer altitude you're at within the Jade Chamber, that's making your head spin).

• 7:00, Keqing: Business Meeting

You barely have time to rest before Keqing whisks you away to Yuehai Pavilion. You're very close friends, and you admire the girl for her tenacity and diligence. The conversation flows easily as you walk to your destination under a cloudless sky. It's a wonderfully sunny moment, but the moment the doors lock, you mean business. In the next two hours, you conquer matters that would normally take days to resolve, and the two of you exchange grins.

"There we go!" Keqing breathes a sigh of relief, pushing away the last stack of papers. She holds up her hand, and you high-five. "You know, I like how easily you keep up with me. You even caught mistakes I would have missed... things like this make me even more certain Liyue is better off in human hands."

• 9:00: Check In With Ganyu

With such a hectic schedule, Ganyu is your saving grace. It's always important to check in with her, just to make sure nothing you have planned catches you by surprise, and sometimes you wonder why others rarely do the same. She's quite lonely, and often mentions how nice it is that you speak with her every day and bring her gifts to help with work. It may be part of your job to be courteous, but... it does help her feel less lonely and conflicted with herself.

"Qingxin flowers? Thank you so much." She accepts them gratefully, smiling at you with warm eyes. "I still have that new stationery you gave me, too. You're so kind for remembering the things I like!"

• 9:30: Talk to Beidou

The tea in the Jade Chamber was just a front for Ningguang to spring a request on you- meet with the captain of the Crux Fleet to discuss her... recent smuggling habits. But Beidou merely laughs heartily when you arrive. A crewmate tosses her a sack of Mora, and she slits it open, letting the payment shower over you in a spray of gold. And then, before you know what's happening, you're roped into helping them find a treasure rumored to be lost beneath the waves.

"So, Ningguang though sending her star diplomat would get me to let up, huh!" You blush, wondering how you could be so easy to read under her ruby eye. "I was impressed by your words, and how well you fought by my side. But the annoyance of the Liyue Qixing is of no concern to me."

• 12:00, Tartaglia: TEACH HIM A LESSON!

As the member of the Qixing that oversees diplomacy and foreign relations, it's you that must meet with the Fatui Harbinger. He's quite good at playing pretend- all your underlings believed he was a naive, careless young man, and easily manipulated, too. And all of them ended up suppressing the urge to break something after they were done conversing with him. On your honor as one of Liyue's seven stars, you vow to not make their mistakes.

"You're asking why I don't try to drive you mad?" he said, setting down his fork. You'd caved in and given him one after watching him struggle with chopsticks for far too long. "You're the only one who isn't a bore to talk to, that's all-" so this was on purpose?!- "and besides, I want to challenge you to a fight afterwards! Your vision's getting quite dusty from neglect, comrade. Let's fix that!"

• 2:00, Yanfei: Discussion of Legal Matters

Yanfei's counsel is an invaluable treasure. Especially when dealing with an opponent as vicious as Snezhnaya's Fatui, who deserve to have her wrath unleashed upon them. You walk to her office with a gleam in your eyes, and are delighted to see an equal fire already blazing in hers. For the next few hours, you two take the "suggestions" Tartaglia passed on from the Northland Bank and scheme on how to best tear them to shreds with the law.

"That man-childe's been giving you trouble again, huh," she giggles. "What did he come up with this time~? I've been waiting for an excuse to bring out the latest edition of my lawbook!" And with that, Yanfei slams it down, and the sheer weight of it nearly cracks her desk. "He won't know what hit him!"

• 4:00: Free Time

Of course, "free time" simply means that you have no meetings scheduled for this hour, which lets you adequately prepare for the next day's events. Tomorrow is your appointment with the Feiyun Commerce Guild, which you already know will require great patience and strength of mind. Because the head of the guild, and his eldest son, the future head, are- to put it mildly- not very bright... it's fortunate, then, that the second son Xingqiu has a good head on his shoulders.

"Tomorrow, you should go straight to me instead," Xingqiu informs you cheerily, handing you a popsicle. Apparently, he keeps them around for his friend Chongyun, who's off to complete another exorcism. "I'll be sure to set everything in order." His eyes gleam. "And then, I can tell you the latest developments in 'A Legend of Sword'!"

• 5:00: Catch Xinyan's Concert!

Liyue's one and only rock musician isn't hard to find, thanks to the designated performance spots scattered around the city. You stop by at the raised platform where she's rocking out, where other people are listening as well. Xinyan strikes a peace sign in the air, and her vision glows with energy before the stage erupts with pillars of fire; her audience bursts into cheers and applause, and she's beaming as she leaps down to meet you.

"Wait, seriously? You really changed up the rules a lil' so it'll be easier for me to hold concerts here?" Her eyes shine as they scan the papers- one of the many results of your work today in Yuehai. "Thank you so much! Wait-" she picks up her guitar again, giving it an experimental riff. "Let me think up a quick song for ya as thanks- I insist!"

• 6:00: Wangsheng Funeral Parlor

Lately, you've been sent particularly determined requests from the other nations about allowing tourists to observe the ancient funeral rites. You already know the answer's gonna be a hard no, but the laws written by Rex Lapis state that you must check with the director anyway. She's not there when you arrive, so a consultant, Zhongli, brings you tea while you wait for her. You sit together in the fading sun, waiting for Hu Tao's familiar song to rise above the hill.

Zhongli takes a quiet sip from his cup, closing his luminous eyes. "Although it was Rex Lapis who created the laws, they are not meant to be set in stone. Humans must revise the contract as they see fit, so that it will not erode with the passage of time." Something makes you feel as though it's more significant to him than you know. Then, he smiles slightly. "But, just looking at the people leading the way in his absence, like you... there's no need for me to worry."

• 8:00: Dinner; Request Chef Xiangling

The Wanmin Restaurant, run by Chef Mao and his daughter, is a breath of fresh air. While the rest of Liyue is divided between the "Li" and "Yue" styles of cooking, Xiangling pays the conflict no mind. Instead, she's not afraid to be daring and experiment, blazing ahead without worrying about what others think. You can see some similarities between her and Keqing, but it's best not to mention it after that disastrous banquet they organized together...

"Had a rough day, didn't you?" Xiangling asks, her golden eyes twinkling as she hands you the steaming hot bowl. "Well, for you, I made sure to prepare your favorite dish! I hope you don't mind if I added a lizard or two this time- I'm kidding!" she adds quickly, upon seeing alarm flash across your face.

• 9:00: Return Home

After everything that happened, you're eager to collect the reports from your subordinates and head home to draft new revisions for Tianquan Ningguang to look over (and then, hopefully, get some rest). But as you're walking on the path to your neighborhood, you spot a little girl sitting in the grass, clutching her head. Alarm rises in your chest as you rush over to see what's wrong, and why she's alone- only to realize with a start that she's the child that returned from the dead.

"Thank you for taking Qiqi back to Bubu Pharmacy," she says, reading solemnly from her notebook (where the entire thank-you script is written). Even when you set her down, she's still reading the pieces of paper. "Will you tell Dr. Baizhu where I got lost? Please and thank you, again."

• 10:00: Sleep

In the end, you never did get to those revisions. You can hear your fellow Qixing scolding you in your head, but at least you got plenty of other things done; the well-oiled machine that is Liyue will still keep running on thanks to the tasks you accomplished today. Someday, even the adepti will have to acknowledge the ability of humans... you turn in your bed to feel the coolness of the other side. Speaking of adepti... the night air coming in... reminds you of... "Xiao..."

"I thought you were in danger," the adeptus huffs. The moment you said his name, you'd finally fallen asleep, but it still brought Xiao to you- balanced on the windowsill, hair waving in the breeze. "Still... I'm... glad that you're alright," he admits, glancing at you to make sure you're not awake to hear. "Rest well, bright star of Liyue." And then, with a sound like a sigh- or was it the wind?- he's gone.

#genshin imagines #zhongli x reader #childe x reader #ningguang x reader #beidou x reader #xiao x reader #genshin scenarios

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leahseclipse · 3 years

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Anything for you.

Pairing: Dad!Spencer Reid x gender!neutral child (mentions of gender!neutral spouse)

Summary: Child confesses to Father that they aren’t sick, they’re being bullied.

Warnings: Mentions of bullying, school setting

Category: Angst (Bullying)/ Comfort

Word count: 1.1k

A/N: Hello! I hope everyone is going well, sending lots of love. I’m writing this fic for one of the fanfic events organized by @imagining-in-the-margins in the discord I’m part of. I’ve chosen this prompt in particular as I’ve had several experiences with it myself in school. It’s a quite important subject for me. I hope you will enjoy this one.

It has been a busy morning, today.

Spencer almost woke up late, his alarm must have rung at least two times, or...was it three?

He has no memory of it.

He can only recall his spouse leaving around 8AM due to the long trip waiting for them in order to attend work.

Spencer’s job is quite versatile, he doesn’t know when it starts, when it ends, how long it’ll take to go, how long he’ll be staying- it’s constantly changing.

He was mostly grateful to be able to see his child leaving for school, for once.

He can’t really imagine the disappointment on their face when their father wasn’t there in the morning, they’d only have a note.

They were used to their mother leaving early, but Spencer not being there after they had been promised by him or their mother that he’d be here was kind of annoying, and as he thinks of it- he understands.

As long as he’s aware, they’re starting later, around 9:30, and the school isn’t that far, so if they happen to wake up slightly late, it won’t be much of a problem, but it could be if they don’t wake up in about 20 minutes, or so.

Spencer began to hurry up, putting his plate in the sink as he quickly arranged some things in the house.

When he stopped in his tracks, his eyes dropped to one of the pictures on the fireplace; his favorite.

The three of them are on it, and Spencer almost looks like he was forced to take it; they often laugh at that for a bit.

Their child is in the middle, a small smile on their faces.

He’ll always be a fan of this one and can’t stop staring at his child.

He has probably heard it from every parent, but they really are the thing he’s proudest of. He adores them.

That often leads to worrying about anything that happens, noticing the change in their behavior, when something is wrong, or not- a lot of stuff.

Spencer can recall doing that the last few days.

Quite a lot.

He noticed the look on his child’s face when they would get home these last days.

They would do their best to show off a happy face, by fear of worrying him, not wanting to talk about it, could be many reasons.

He’s not aware of which one, but he knows something isn’t going well.

They’re not like they usually are.

Although, he didn’t know how to approach the subject.

He feared that attempting to talk about it, when he didn’t know what it was, how bad it was- could cause them to back off, not trust him again.

He was kind of...lost on that one.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to deal with it, he just didn’t know how.

Spencer wished he could figure it out.

He hates to see them like this, not being themselves.

He sighed, walking up the stairs as he went in the direction of their room, in order to wake them up.

“Honey?” Spencer gently asked. “It’s almost 8:30, you have to get up.”

They slightly stirred up, looking at the wall.“...I don’t think I can go today.”

These words alarmed him, but he tried to stay as calm as possible; as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“Is something wrong? Are you feeling sick?” He worriedly asked.

“Yeah, a bit.”

“Does it hurt somewhere too or...are you just not feeling well?”

“Just not feeling well. I don’t know.”

“Has it been going on for a while? You didn’t seem okay these last days, could be the flu or something else. You should have told me if something was wrong.”

“No, it was just…” They explained, as their eyes watered, sending a shot of worry and fear to Spencer. “...can you promise you won’t be mad?”

“I would never do it.” He reassured, rubbing their arm. “I promise. You can tell me.”

They nodded, sitting up in bed as Spencer adjusted his grip on their arm.

“I do feel a bit bad but...I’m not sick. I- I didn’t want to tell you at first, I thought it would stop. But it didn’t.” They detailed, sniffing a couple times.

“What didn’t stop?”

“....the other students. They’ve been...bullying me, keep making fun of me. I don’t know why. The more I don’t answer or try to, the more they...bully me. Why are they doing that? I didn’t do anything to them, I don’t get why they can’t leave me alone.” They said, a tear falling from their eye as they quietly cried, leaning over to Spencer.

He took them in their arms, looking at them. “Did you tell one of the teachers about it?”

“I did. To at least three. But they...stopped for a bit and just kept going. They’re never going to stop. I’m always afraid that- the minute I step into class they’re gonna notice me and attack me as if I was some...prey. I don’t think they care about what the teachers said. I’m sick of this, can’t it...just stop?”

“I’m sorry about that. I wish I knew why they were doing that. I wish.” Spencer said, bringing them closer. “But, we’re going to find a way for it to stop. I promise. I won’t let go until it’s over. No matter how many times I have to go there. I will never stop. You understand?”

“Yeah, I understand. It’s just...so hard to talk about it. I didn’t- want to worry you too much. I thought you’d be mad because I waited all this time to tell you. I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to. I just didn’t know how to tell you about this. I’m sorry dad.”

“Hey, look at me.” He gently said, tilting their head towards him. “I’m not mad. I would never. I’m glad that you told me, because now, we can go through this, together. I’m able to help you. You don’t have to carry all of it alone anymore. I’m here for you, your mom is here, we’re both here. We’re not gonna let go at the first obstacle.”

“I know...I know you won’t.” They answered.

“I would never. We’re here for you now. I know it seems like it’s not gonna be okay, but it will, I promise. I can’t let them make you sad anymore, I can’t stand seeing you like this. We’re going to do everything it takes for it to stop, it has to. Because if you said that they don’t ever stop, it won’t if we don’t do anything. So...you’re gonna take a day, or even a week off, as much time as you need. I’ll call them and make sure you don’t miss out on anything from class. You really don’t have to worry about anything else, we’re going to take care of it.”

They looked back on the bed, thoughtful. “Thanks for that...it’s...really nice, after, well...everything.” Their voice slightly broke at the end, but they ‘brushed’ it off by scooting closer to him, their head resting on Spencer’s chest.

“Anything for you, anything.”

If you liked this fic, let me know here!

#fathers day #kinda early but LMAOO its there #cm fic #cm #Criminal Minds #cm angst #Criminal Minds Spencer Reid #criminal minds fanfic #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #dad!spencer #gender neutral fic #spencer reid meme #spencer reid fanfic #writing stuff lex

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jinxiuying · 2 years

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HSHQTASK051: twenty-four hours with jin xiuying

nearly all aspects of xiuying’s daily routine are ritualistic. unless they have been planned for, when things get interrupted or changed she immediately considers it a bad day.

cue american psycho monologue:

5:30 am – wake-up and workout

she has an alarm set but always wakes up before it to turn it off. every morning starts out with a run and/or then yoga, outside, with an instructor. she will claim it keeps her calm. or she at least tries to let it ... you do not want to deal with a xiuying that has not done her breaths for meditation.

7:00 am – morning routine

first, a shower. then her skincare routine of course. a measly seven step process: cleanser, toner, essence, serum, eye cream, moisturizer, and sunscreen. eight, if she deems her face too puffy: in that case she has to ice roll her face before everything. and then she goes to her closet to get dressed: perfume, clothes, jewelry, then whatever she decides to do with her hair. then breakfast, which changes with their location.

now her day really starts.

8:00 am – the work day

finally she opens her phone and laptop. huabei comes first: an advisor will usually have a list of things for her to sign off on. then news: everything from the political to tabloids. then any urgent emails, then her daily rounds and check-ups. most of her work is done by others, she just needs to be sure she’s up to date. then she opens her burner accounts to see what’s going on with the commoners.

this keeps her busy for quite a while. since she’s in the program she works remotely with her team. she will take calls, but also uses this time to text friends from home to see if they have any pressing information. very important work, okay ?

she gets most of her tasks done in the morning, just because she likes to get them out of the way. the timezone she is in affects this, but in japan it’s been quite easy.

10:30 am – tea time

she’ll allow certain people to join her for “tea time” ... family and a select group of friends. this means she will mainly take this break alone. doesn’t always include tea. usually will walk out to a nearby coffee shop or tea shop to get a drink, or just walk around. then she’ll go back to work.

1:00 pm – lunch

one of the few parts of her day she will leave open for anyone who asks, anyone she comes across during the day. meixu as a last resort, but she doesn’t mind being alone. she doesn’t cook, not that well, at least. all meals are made for her or ordered in.

2:00 pm – end of the day

this begins her social hours, it’s when she finds most people are finally up and interacting.

7:00 pm – dinner

another time she leaves open for people. again, she doesn’t cook, so often times she is eating at a restaurant. in japan, it’s easier to do that alone.

10:00 pm – winding down / beginning of the night

on a day to day basis, she gets into bed by 10pm. her items are laid right where they were to start the morning again. jewelry back in the respective places, everything set up for the next morning.

but this is also the point where her days change, if there’s something going on at night, she is most likely going to it. she likes an end of the day drink. will probably say yes to going out if asked.

#hshqtask051 #( task. )

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capsteddybear · 3 years

Text

Our Playlist - Wanna Be That Song - Brett Eldredge

Song lyrics:

"When you're searching the horizon, When your eyes look back, When you're standing in the moment, Every life has a soundtrack"

----- ------

You wake up to the sound of people getting their suitcases from the overhead cabinets. You stretch out in your seat and open up your window cover and quickly close it from the bright sunlight beaming in. You feel a tap on your shoulder and you look up and it's your fellow colleague Sarah, "hey wake up, sleepy head. We landed."

"Hey, Sarah. Yeah, I'm up, I'm up." You stretch out again and gather up your things and get your carry on bag from the overhead cabinet. As you board off of the plane you see your other coworkers and students waiting at the gate. Once you're all together you guys head to the baggage claim and gather your other bags and guitars.

You guys then hop in a shuttle and head to the hotel where you guys will be staying for the trip. Once you guys arrive at the hotel you help check in all of your students. The lobby is packed with other students from different universities, but luckily enough the check in process doesn't take too long. You head to your room to check it out. As soon as you walk in you carefully prop your guitar case against the wall and toss your bags on the floor and flop onto the bed face first hugging a pillow. You lay there for a moment letting your body relax. You slowly turn over and stare at the ceiling as you listen to the city atmosphere coming from the street below. You sit up and walk over to the window and pull open the window curtain and look down at the street. Your room is on the 15th floor of the hotel so the crowds of people below look like a bunch of ants. You scan the surrounding buildings taking in the scenery.

You hear a knock at the door and it's your colleague Betty, "hey (y/n), we're gonna head out on the town and get an early dinner. Wanna join us?"

"Yeah sure."

"Okay we'll meet up in the lobby in about an hour?"

"Yeah sounds good."

You close the door and decide to unpack some of your stuff. You pull out your phone and call Chris back home. At first he doesn't answer and you look at your clock and figure out that it's around 3 o'clock in the morning back at home. You decided to leave a message instead, "Hey Chris, I know you're sleeping right now, but just wanted to let you know I made it to Japan. I miss you and Dodger. Love you. Bye."

About a minute later your phone is buzzing and you see Chris' face on your screen.

"Hi"

"Hello, beautiful. I got your voicemail."

You can tell he was asleep from the tone of his voice, "Just wanted to let you know I landed."

"I tried to stay awake, but I fell asleep on the couch. I felt the phone vibrating, but it got lost in the covers and by the time I found it, it stopped ringing."

"You didn't have to stay awake."

"I know, but I wanted to…. Or at least try. What time is it there?"

"It's almost 4:30 in the afternoon."

You hear Chris yawn over the phone, "What are you guys gonna do the first day?"

"Just settle in. We're about to go get dinner." You hear Chris yawn again, "I should let you go back to sleep."

"Mmm, call me when you get back to the hotel? I should be better after I get a couple of more hours of sleep."

"It's okay we can talk another time."

"Nooooo, I miss the sound of your voice…. And I miss your face."

You smile, "It's only been a day."

"After a minute passes I miss you."

You giggle, "aww, that's sweet. I think you need to get some sleep."

"Yeah, but please call me later. Promise I'll answer."

"I will. I love you."

"I love you, (y/n). Good night."

"Good night, babe."

You hang up the phone and freshen up a bit before heading down stairs to the lobby to meet up with the others. You guys head out on the town and do a bit of sightseeing before finding a spot to eat. Everyone is tired from the flight so there's not as much talking at dinner, but you know everyone is enjoying their time together.

After dinner you all head back to the hotel. Once you're back in your room you take a quick shower before calling Chris.

It rings a couple of times before he answers, "hello?"

"Hi, did you sleep enough?"

"Yeah…. I wanna see you, can we video chat or is it bedtime for you?"

"Yeah we can for a bit. Let me set up my laptop and I'll call you back, okay?"

"Okay, bye. Love you (y/n)."

"Love you. Bye."

You grab your laptop out of your backpack and hop into bed. You connect to the wifi and call Chris back. It rings twice before you see his handsome face on the screen.

"Hey handsome."

"There's my girl."

You can tell from the background that Chris is in the kitchen, "What are you up to?"

"Cooking breakfast… your favorite… pancakes." He lifts the pan from the stove and shows you.

"Yummy."

"What's some? I think I made a bit too many."

You rub your stomach, "No thank you. I ate enough at dinner."

"How was it? How's the view from the hotel?"

"It was delicious. There was a lot of different food, I couldn't remember the names of everything, but it was really good. Wanna see the view?"

"Yeah!" Chris puts the pan down and concentrates on the screen as you get out of bed to walk to the window. "Oh wait, you were in bed? Sorry, you didn't have to get up."

"No, it's fine. I didn't find my comfy spot yet."

You hear Chris giggle as you open up the curtains to reveal the view. You hold up the laptop closer so he gets a better view and you point out stuff to Chris.

"How far is the university from there?"

"I think the schedule said about a 10 minute drive."

"Ah not too bad, what time do you guys have to be there tomorrow?"

You walk back to bed and snuggle back in the covers with your back leaning against the pillows with the laptop on your lap. "Call time is at 9 so I'll probably wake up at like 7:30-8 and make sure everyone else is up and has eaten breakfast…. And you, what do you have planned after breakfast?"

"Take Dodger for a walk and visit my mom later."

"Tell her I said hi."

"I will."

"How's Dodger?"

"He's doing good. He slept on the couch with me after you called earlier."

"Why didn't you sleep in bed?"

"I fell asleep watching tv waiting for your call, and I was too lazy to walk to the room after you called."

You let out a giggle, "sorry, I didn't mean to keep you waiting."

"It's fine, I'll always wait for you." Chris winks at the screen that causes a big smile to appear on your face.

"I love you."

"I love you too, (y/n). You should get some sleep. You got a long day ahead of you tomorrow."

"I should. I'm really tired from the flight. How do you get used to the time difference?"

Chris laughs, "it'll take another day or so, but you will don't worry."

"Ugh, okay. Gonna sleep now, I'll text or call you when I can okay?"

"Okay. I love you, (y/n). Good night."

"Have a good day, Chris. I love you. Bye."

You close the laptop and place it on the nightstand. You set your alarm clock and soon drift off to sleep.

--- ------ -----

The next morning you're up 20 minutes before your alarm goes off. Your head is pounding so you take some medicine before having breakfast and meeting your students in the lobby. Once at the university you guys head to the music department and auditorium where you guys will be rehearsing. You think the auditorium at your university is big, but this one seems three times as big. First you guys sit in the seating area as the director of the university introduces himself and welcomes you to campus. After the introduction he shows you the practice and dressing rooms. You guys leave your stuff in the rooms before taking a tour of the music department. Once the tour is over you have your students warm up on stage before rehearsing as a group. Your headache is almost gone which makes you happy, but you brought your medicine with you just in case.

During rehearsal you would walk off stage and down the aisle of the seats. Having to perform in a bigger space than you're used to means you have to play a bit louder to fill up the space. Even though there would be mics set up on stage you made notes in your head on certain parts of the piece where you'll need to change the dynamics. You walk back up stage and end the piece. You flip back through your score and add the dynamic changes and tell your students to do the same. You go through your other pieces and add notes as you go along. Your colleagues are also sitting in the audience so you ask for any suggestions that they have and make note of them too.

After you rehearse all of your group pieces you take a 20 minute break before it's time for the solo acts and duets to rehearse their pieces. During your break you send a message to Chris telling him how rehearsal is going and attach a photo of the auditorium with the caption saying "it's 3 times as big as the one back home." When break is almost over you notice that the other ensembles from the other school start to enter the auditorium to watch you rehearse before it's their turn to practice on stage. You start to get nervous. First, it's the bigger concert hall and now it's having unfamiliar people in the audience during practice, not even during the concert yet. You start to fidget in your seat and you feel your phone vibrate in your hand. You look down and it's a message from Chris:

"Hi sweetheart, that's a beautiful spot you get to perform at. I'm so proud of you. You worked really hard to get there. Don't get nervous, okay? You're gonna do great. I love you. 💙 "

You smile and your eyes get teary, but you quickly wipe them away so your students don't notice. However your friend Sarah is sitting in the same row as you and notices you wiping your face and comes to sit next to you.

"Hey, (y/n). You okay?"

"Yeah, just nerves. I'll be fine."

"I'm here if you wanna talk, okay?"

"Thanks, Sarah."

Rehearsal continues and the solo acts and duets from the students sound great. They even get applauses from the other university that's watching. Once all of the students are done rehearsing it's now your colleagues and your turn to take the stage. A few of them perform before you. Once it's your turn you read your message from Chris one more time before placing your phone is your guitar guitar. You take deep breaths as you make your way up to the stage. You perform 2 pieces "Recuerdos de la Alhambra" by Francisco Tarrega and "Asturias" by Isaac Albeniz.

After you finish your time on stage you put your guitar back in your case and take your seat in the audience and watch your other colleagues perform. Once everyone from your university has a chance to perform on stage the next university sets up their ensemble to rehearse. You, your students and colleagues stay in the audience to watch them as well. After 2 hours of rehearsal you guys go to the practice rooms and work on whatever else needs adjusting. You check in on your students if they need any other help with stuff and you give them your notes that you took while watching them rehearse.

The next few days of the trip consists of rehearsals on stage and in the practice rooms. Not only for your students, but also for yourself. When you're practicing in one of the rooms you get text messages from Chris. Mostly of him saying he misses you and that he loves you. But your favorite ones are random photos of him and Dodger throughout the day.

"Dodger misses you." Attached is a photo of Dodger chewing on one of your shoes. "Don't worry, I'll buy you a new pair by the time you come back home."

"Tell Dodger I miss him too. Gotta get back to practice now. I'll call you later."

When you're back in your hotel room you video chat Chris. As you're eating dinner he's eating breakfast so it seems like you're eating together.

"What's for dinner tonight?"

"I just ordered some fruit and a salad. Not really hungry tonight."

"You okay?" As Chris tilt his head in a concerning manner.

"Yeah, I had a big lunch earlier. I'm fine." You smile to reassure him.

"Okay, remember I'm here if you wanna talk."

You let out a deep breath, "I know, thank you. We've been rehearsing a lot and I'm just tired."

"If I was there I would give you a massage."

"Please? I miss your massages …. And your cooking."

Chris laughs, "just another week and I'll give you as many massages and pancakes that you want."

You sigh, "gosh, another week? Don't remind me." You rub the back of your neck from the tiredness.

"Aww come on, besides all of the rehearsing I'm sure you're having an awesome time, right?"

"I am, I just miss you."

"I miss you too, (y/n). I love you."

"I love you, Chris."

"You should get some rest."

"Yeah, you're right…. I'll call you when I can."

"Alright, sweet dreams, sweetheart. I love you."

"Good night, Chris. I love you."

---- -----

The second week of the trip consists of master classes with the instructors from the different universities and the guest judges. When you perform with your students you get a handful of great comments and a few pointers to work on before the final performance at the end of the week. Between rehearsals you always find time to call home and check in with Chris.

"Hi Chris."

"Hey beautiful, how's it going today?"

"It's going great. We finished our master classes this week and we have one more full dress rehearsal tomorrow before the concert."

"Woo, sounds like you've been busy… Gosh, I really wished I could be there to support you in this."

"Aww, I wish you were here too… Promise I'll play my solo pieces for you when I get home."

"Please do. I love listening to you play."

"Okay, I gotta go back to work now. I love you, Chris. Bye."

"Love you too, (y/n). Bye sweetheart."

---- ------

The last dress rehearsal is a success. All of the ensembles from the universities sound amazing. With it being the last night before the concert you go out for dinner one last time with your students and colleagues.

One of your colleagues makes a speech before your food arrives at the table.

"I would like to start off this toast by thanking (y/n) for getting us here. If it weren't for your dedication to your students and your hard work ethics we probably wouldn't have been here."

You turn a light shade of red because now the whole table is looking at you. You take your glass in your hand and raise it up as you stand up from your seat, "I'll take partial credit for getting here. If it weren't for my hard working students we wouldn't be here. These past 2 weeks have really shown me the dedication and time you guys have put into your craft. I really appreciate that, it makes my job easy and fun." The table laughs as you finish up the toast. You enjoy the food and company before heading back to the hotel to sleep.

---- ----- ----

The day of the concert you get to sleep in longer than usual. You feel refreshed and well rested. You have breakfast and lunch with your colleagues and head back up to your room to relax and call Chris.

"Hey."

"Hi, sweetheart, tonight's the concert right?"

"Yeah, in about 2 hours. Wanted to call you before it starts."

"You excited?"

"Uh, yeah, but more nervous than excited."

"Don't be nervous, sweetheart. You're gonna do great. You've worked so hard and so have your students. You guys are gonna rock. I know it."

"Thanks, Chris. I love you. I'll call you later."

"I love you (y/n)."

You take a shower before heading to the university.

Once you're in the dressing room you unpack your concert attire and dress in your conductor outfit for the ensemble pieces first. You stand backstage to the side as you watch the other universities perform first. After they're done it's now your ensemble's turn to take the stage. As you walk across the stage to the conductor podium you hear the applause and your heart starts to race. You take a few deep breaths before you cue your students. You lose yourself in the musical pieces. All of your focus is on the music and your students. And soon enough you're done. You freeze in the cut off position for a moment before you relax your arms and let out a breath of relief as you step down from the podium and the audience applauses your performance. You bow to the crowd and walk off stage as the curtains close to set up for the next ensemble. You miss the next couple of performances as your change into your solo concert attire. As you take one final look in the mirror in the dressing room you notice a single white rose and an envelope with your name on it. Your eyes get watery because you have a feeling you know who it's from. You quickly rip the envelope open and read the note inside:

"Hi sweetheart, I hope you get this in time before you get on stage tonight. Your friend Sarah contacted me and said you were a bit nervous this whole week about performing. I know I probably sound like a broken record when I say this, but don't be nervous. You're gonna sound amazing on stage. I'm so proud of you. I love you. Can't wait to see you when you get back home. - Chris. "

You smile and wipe the tear falling down your cheek as you freshen up before heading back to the stage. You listen to the other solo performances before it's your turn to perform. As you walk on stage again to the concert bench you take deep breaths to steady your heart beat. You take a seat on the bench and get into the playing position and start your performance. After you play the last note of your piece you freeze for a moment and then relax and take a bow as the giant auditorium fills with cheering sounds. A smile of relief appears on your face as you take another bow and walk off stage. You place your guitar back in its case in your dressing room before heading back to watch the rest of the performances.

Once the concert is over you change into more comfy clothes and head back to your hotel room and turn in for the night.

----- -----

You wake up early the next morning for your flight back home. You pack up all of your stuff and meet everyone in the lobby to take the shuttle to the airport.

Before take off you send Chris a text:

"Heading home now. Can't wait to see you. I love you."

While on the plane you stay up and watch multiple movies and read some chapters from a book that Chris recommended for you.

Soon enough you're back home in Boston. As you make your way to the end of the gate you spot Chris in his Boston cap and red flannel. With it being early in the morning you see a sleepy smile appear on his face as soon as he sees. You run up to him and jump into his arms burying your face into his neck as he hugs you tight.

"Chris!!!"

"Hi sweetheart."

He gives you a welcome home kiss before you hug him again and pepper his face in kisses. "Gosh, I missed you so much."

He giggles between kisses, "I can tell. I missed you too." You stand there for a minute in each other's arms, happy to be back together. "Let's go get your luggage and head home." He laces his fingers with yours and you lead the way to baggage claim. When your stuff appears on the belt Chris carries your guitar case in one hand while still holding onto yours.

On the drive back home you lean your head on his shoulder as he drives. He kisses the top of your head and you smile watching the sunrise.

Once you make it back home you're greeted with puppy kisses from Dodger.

"Hi handsome!"

He melts to the floor as you rub his belly. Chris laughs and walks passed you and heads to the kitchen, "you hungry?"

"Depends…. You gonna cook pancakes?" You walk into the kitchen and see Chris with a plate of pancakes already made. You cover your face and bust out laughing.

"You said you wanted pancakes when you got home… I never break my promises." He places the plate on the counter and walks up to you and hugs you.

"Do you remember the other part of your promise?"

A grin appears on Chris' face and he leans in for a kiss, "if you're talking about the massage, then yes I remember."

You kiss him back, "then I'll take the massage first." You wink as you lead the way to the bedroom.

Chris laughs and spins you around into his arms and kisses you passionately before picking you up and carefully placing you on the bed with him laying on top of you.

"Welcome home, sweetheart."

You run your fingers through his hair, "I'm glad to be back."

He peppers you in light kisses before you guys roll around in bed, lost in each other's eyes. Soon enough he does end up giving you that massage he promised. You missed the touch of his warm, strong hands on your body. You moaned as your body relaxed more and more. Soon after you fall asleep. A few hours pass and you wake up from your nap. You roll over in bed and see Chris with his phone and headphones plugged in. You tap his arm to get his attention.

"What are you watching?"

He turns his phone so you can see, "you."

"What?" You rub your eyes to take a better look.

"Your friend Sarah emailed me clips of your performances…. You sound amazing, sweetheart…. You always do…. And you look really beautiful."

You set up in bed and kiss Chris, "I love you so much, babe."

"I love you too, (y/n).... Wanna eat your pancakes now?"

"Yes please!" You hope out of bed and run to the kitchen. You can hear Chris laughing from down the hallway. "Oh nooo!"

Chris jumps out of bed and runs to meet you in the kitchen, "babe, what happened??" You both catch Dodger in the act eating your pancakes and bust out laughing. "It's okay, I'll make a fresh batch for you." He gives you a kiss on the forehead as he walks over to the stove.

"Thank you, Chris." You take a seat on the stool at the kitchen island and tell Chris all about your trip as he cooks pancakes for you.

#Chris Evans #chrisevans #chris evans fanfiction #chrisevansfanfic #chris evans smut

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katytheinspiredworkaholic · 3 years

Text

Correspondence, Chapter 04

Pairing: HotchReid

Summary: An AU where Reid never joined the FBI, but got roped into consulting for the LA field office while working and teaching at Caltech. Hotch gets his email referred from a fellow agent, and they start to work on cases together -- until they start talking on a regular basis. Regular becomes frequent, frequent becomes constant. They know nothing about each other, but they don't really mind.

Rating: Mature/Explicit (eventually)

Chapter CW/notes: Action-y in that there is offscreen violence and peril, injuries, talk of surgery and symptoms/effects of medical grade narcotics (morphine), more on that big ol’ age difference. Side notes: Agent Anderson of the L.A. field office has no relation to Agent Anderson of Quantico, VA, because Agent Anderson of the BAU is a national treasure. (I’m considering going back and renaming the OC, but as of right now this is the last we hear of him for a while). And I know no one really pays attention to them, but the time stamps on the texts match the time zone of the scene setting. Set in season 6, self beta’d.

Word Count: 8893

Masterpost Link

Ao3 Link

Chapter 04

Late September 2010

Spencer Reid wakes up to the early grey morning two weeks later, a perpetual haze shrouding his room long before his alarm was supposed to rouse him. He reaches blindly, blearing eyed and checks his phone for what feels like the hundredth time, only to find no messages waiting for him. A terrible, horrid feeling has been clawing at his chest and throat the longer it gets -- the more time that passes -- and he still hasn’t heard from Hotch.

They’ve been messaging each other near constantly for months now, and it only seemed to get more intense after that fateful talk at the beginning of September. Where Hotch finally revealed he’d thought Spencer was much older than him, and not the other way around. Spencer had set him straight, as much as he could, and even that had been nerve-wracking to say the least. The two men were crossing into a territory neither really wanted to put a label on, and Spencer was both afraid of it and excited by it. Of what it could mean, and how long it could last, but he’d thought he’d had time to figure out a solution to his inadvertent secrecy.

Then, Hotch began working a case in Delaware two days ago.

It seemed like a textbook unsub; maybe a little aggressive with anti-establishment overtones, but nothing they couldn’t handle. Nothing the BAU hasn’t seen before. They’d been closing in on the suspect, no location yet but some prospects that needed checking out, and the last Spencer had heard from Hotch…

It had been lunchtime for him, and midafternoon for the older man. The exchange hadn’t been anything of consequence, just their usual, easy correspondence. Hotch was going to check out that lead they’d spoken of, Spencer had a budget meeting as soon as he was done eating in the middle of his office hours, and they had a plan to play chess online that night. Hotch is still terrible at it, but he keeps coming back no matter how thoroughly Spencer wipes the floor with him. Now, sometimes they just forget about the game entirely after the first few minutes. It makes him smile each and every time, soft and fond and lighting a warmth inside him Spencer has… never felt before.

Then Hotch hadn’t messaged him the rest of the night.

Hadn’t shown up online to play chess.

Hadn’t texted him goodnight, or even sent him an update on the case.

Nothing in their conversations warranted such ostracization, and although Spencer has been ‘ghosted’ before (as his doctoral students would say) he knows Hotch would never do that. Not after everything, the history they’ve built the past months -- leaving nothing but the dread to sink in and spread like a stain.

All night, he imagines the worst.

By morning, he all but expects it.

[]9/22, 18:59[] Are you alright? Did something happen with the case?

[]9/22, 19:10[] If you were that scared of losing at chess, I can also beat you at online poker instead.

[]9/22, 19:30[] I’d suggest scrabble but that’s honestly not fair to you.

[]9/22, 21:55[] Hotch?

[]9/22, 22:30[] I’m assuming that lead panned out, and you caught your unsub and are neck deep in interrogation.

[]9/22, 22:36[] I don’t want to imagine anything else, so that’s what I will picture.

[]9/23, 00:06[] Hotch please answer me.

[]9/23, 05:32[] Please be okay.

Spencer arrives at Caltech looking a little more of a mess than usual. More than most are used to seeing him, at least, and it causes a few second glances from students he passes and other faculty -- but he really can’t find it in himself to care, this morning. His unruly curls, getting longer again, falling into his face and over his ears, are frizzy in their unkemptness. Bags under his eyes, normal, but he’s settled for glasses instead of his contacts. He has a spare pair in his desk, he’ll have to change them before class. His glasses somehow always make him look even younger. A mystery that boggles the mind, because once he had grown into his face a few years ago (around 26 or 27, close enough he had worried he would forever be cursed with a ‘baby face’) Spencer had thought he would finally be getting away from that.

And yet, square jaw and ‘grandpa’ glasses and thin frame towering just over six feet did nothing in the slightest to aid him. Certainly not stopping a man outside the campus coffee shop from shouting “Watch where you’re going, kid!” as he near barrels over him on the sidewalk. Not his sweater vest or half suits, attire straight out of a 1940’s noir film (he’d even sported a vintage inspired undercut with his waves combed over for a while there, too. Way too much upkeep, as nice as it looked). Nothing makes him any more grown up in the eyes of the unsuspecting world, than he’d been without his five doctorates and board of director’s seat. No matter what he tried, it seems.

This has been a subliminal thing for years, something Spencer always said didn’t bother him in the slightest. And for a long time he didn’t care one way or the other, he just kept getting more degrees. All his life Spencer has been ‘too young’, always been ‘kid’ or ‘sport’ or ‘tiger’, even when running quantum physics equations in his head. And it didn’t matter. Not with his credentials and accomplishments and everything he now has to his name.

Until Hotch.

Now, Spencer cares.

Notices, even through his haze of worry and sleeplessness, how on the street it’s “Watch it, kid!” and fifteen yards later it’s “Good morning, Dr. Reid” as he steps into the Physics building where everyone knows him on sight. Knows him, and what he’s capable of.

What if when Hotch met him all he saw was… another kid?

If they ever met.

“Whoa, rough night Dr. Reid?”

“Yes, you could say that,” he mumbles out as he signs in and scans his ID card, taking the stack of mail that the desk attendant hands him. But stops before he gets too far from the desk, backtracking. “Hey, have you watched the news this morning? Did anything show up about New England or Delaware?”

“Not that I saw, Dr. Reid,” she says in confusion, looking up from where she had been texting on her phone. “Just a whole lot of coverage on the shitshow at capital hill, as usual. Oh, and more depressing reports about the earthquake clean-up in New Zealand.”

Of course, why would there be a news story about a killer in Delaware here in California. He’d have to look up everything online himself.

“Thanks anyway, Carla.”

“No problem, Dr. Reid.”

Spencer spends way too long online that morning, searching for anything about the case Hotch and his team are working. He usually prefers paper copies of news media, at first barely knowing where to begin, but he falls into a wormhole of news outlets and local Delaware station websites, reading the thousands of webpages faster than he can scroll and click through them. But he can’t find anything pointing to a disturbance related to the case. There's nothing about a raid, or a shooting, or even an arrest -- which could all just be a part of the ongoing media blackout -- but it also does nothing to stop him from panicking. Spencer gives up after an hour, and diverts to other resources. Ones with a direct line to Hotch.

With a drafted email pulled up to Ms. Penelope Garcia, the BAU's personal tech analyst, he ponders how to... even word this without it sounding too personal. Too much like he and Hotch have more than just a working relationship.

Because they do. They have... something.

Something that gives him fluttering sensations in his stomach, makes him check his phone constantly, and react to even the slightest chime similar to his text tone. Makes him smile when he sees Hotch's name on his notifications, in his email inbox, makes him message the man in the middle of the day at the most random thoughts. Just because he wants to make him laugh.

[]8/21, 15:36[] You're going to get me in trouble.

[]8/21, 15:38[] You didn’t laugh in front of your team, did you? The scandal.

[]8/21, 15:42[] I'm at a crime scene. There's a dead body in front of me.

[]8/21, 15:43[] Then why are you checking your phone?

[]8/21, 15:45[] You know why.

But that’s not something that is shared with the rest of the team, he’s sure. So he should be careful how he words his email, lest Ms. Garcia realize that Spencer isn’t asking purely as a colleague.

Surely they know he has friends, though?

Chewing his lip, Spencer types out a brief email asking if Agent Hotchner is feeling well since he missed an appointment the night before and hasn’t been returning his calls. It’s a phrase he’s used often, so it comes naturally to Spencer as he types it out, and he realizes… he hasn’t called. He’s sent a dozen text messages, but not a phone call. Never a phone call. That was against the rules, the unspoken ones that always kept this friendship easy and free-flowing and evolving into something more.

But this feels like the closest to an emergency they’ve ever encountered before.

He looks to his phone beside him on his desk, and tries to fight back the dueling forms of panic clawing at his chest. Listed in bullet points behind his eyes. Panic that Hotch might not answer, panic what that means for the man he’s been… becoming more and more inclined to than any other person he’s met in so long. Panic if he does answer, breaking that barrier of written words to spoken, and the opportunity to hear Hotch’s voice. But he would also hear Spencer’s, and then there would be no hiding just how… how young he really is. He still didn’t have a plan for that, wracking his overworked brain day and night for a way to incorporate the information into a conversation that wouldn’t stop everything in its tracks.

But his phone is in his hand before he can stop himself, Hotch’s contact pulled up and his thumb hovering over the phone number with baited breath.

Was he really going to do this?

He presses the touch screen and can hear the line connecting, the dial tone ring even before he gets the phone up to his ear and waits. It rings, and rings, and rings a fourth time -- before clicking over to voicemail. And Spencer’s hyper-fast thought processes fail him as he realizes far too late that he’s going to hear Hotch’s voice for the first time, anyway. Frozen in a panic, unsure if he wants to or if that had been something he wanted them to do together that the seconds slip by like water through his fingers and suddenly it’s too late.

“You’ve reached the voicemail box of -- (703)-567-8790 -- this caller is not available. Please leave a message after the tone--”

It’s an automated, female voice that rattles off the numbers and generic call back message, and Spencer hangs up before it can begin recording him. Exhaling a shaky breath, relief a flash flood on his nerves that nothing had been ruined between him and Hotch thanks to an ill-timed phone call.

He keeps the momentum going without much thought, and adjusts his email to Ms. Garcia before sending it.

It feels so understated, and yet over dramatic the more he thinks about it. The more he reads it.

Please let me know of his well-being.

God, no wonder Hotch thought he was in his 60’s.

But Spencer has to keep the façade up, for now, not give away anything he doesn’t want to just because the emotional part of his brain is running rampant over the rational one. There are… many explanations as to why Hotch isn’t answering him. His gut feeling aside, he doesn’t need to be panicking like this. The world is still turning, he still has work to do, so Spencer tries to gather himself into some semblance of order and preps to talk to his doctoral students within the hour.

His morning routine progresses as usual, as if nothing at all is wrong with the world. Dr. Reid has his mandatory round up with his doctoral candidates going over thesis and dissertation parameters, class lecture schedules, updates, the works. Like morning announcements, but he requires them all to be there and to listen, and they all show up. Everyone knows of Spencer’s eidetic memory. He will certainly not forget a single date or schedule change, and he expects his students to not forget as well.

But this morning Spencer is fully distracted, his mind elsewhere, somewhere in the state of Delaware with an agent who may or may not be in danger. Because Spencer cannot shake the feeling that something is wrong. It almost seems more like a fact than a feeling. The juxtaposition of his daily routine and this unfounded worry throws him entirely off kilter, and all of his students seem to know right away.

Then, his distraction reaches its peak when his email pings, right in the middle of his department announcements. A response from Ms. Garcia of Quantico, VA flashing across his laptop screen. Spencer’s eyes skim the preview sentence in the pop-up box, and his voice trails off as his mind… whirls.

Dr. Reid, I’m sorry to tell you I don’t know when Hotch will be available again. There was an incident, and he’s still in surg-

Surgery.

That vice-like grip of worry that has taken hold of him since last night tightens further, to the point Spencer can’t breathe. Hotch is in surgery, Hotch is hurt, and if he hasn’t been answering his phone since last night -- or even late yesterday afternoon -- it was not a minor thing.

Hotch is hurt.

She doesn’t know when he will be--

If he will be --

“Dr. Reid? Are you okay?”

“I--” he’s still looking at the email pop-up box, and is clicking on it before he can stop himself. Immediately disconnecting his laptop from the projector as his email loads there. It takes him a fraction of a second to read the email. “I’m sorry, an emergency just came up. Kimmy, finish reading off the schedule for me?” He doesn’t even wait until she answers him, just picks up his laptop and retreats to his office as fast as his long legs will carry him.

--surgery and we’re still waiting on word. I know you 2 talk on the reg so I’ll keep you posted.

Fret not, genius professor, our fearless leader has been through much worse than this.

She’s using informal speech patterns, which she has never done before. It bleeds her nervousness, and worries Spencer even more. Teetering on the edge of panic. Ms. Garcia also revealed she knows he and Hotch talk, but surprisingly that doesn’t have the effect he thought it would on his already rattled nerves. Instead, any and all reservations fall away as he types out a response much in the same way he and Hotch had started their friendship all those months ago.

Please, is there anything you are allowed to tell me about the case or his condition? We --

Spencer pauses, bites his lip as he considers crossing this boundary into the uncomfortable unknown, and then thinks about Hotch on a hospital operating table three thousand miles away.

“Screw it,” he mutters and continues to type.

--We’ve become good friends and I’m very worried.

The reply is almost immediate.

That makes 2 of us, boy wonder, but I’m already hacked into the hospital records database and Prentiss is in the waiting room for any immediate actions.

I’m sending you the case files and the incident report from last night. Maybe you can see some shiz we can’t b/c the bossman is tough but he’s been in surgery a long time.

Of course, whatever he can do to help. Spencer’s heavy heart-beat triples in his chest as pulls up the files and immediately prints them out so he can read through them faster. Utilizing anything and everything he can do to aid the BAU team, and whatever Hotch has gotten himself into. But then, his mind sticks on something from the email. Boy Wonder. It stalls his hands mid-movement.

Ms. Garcia knows how young he is.

She must have done a background check on him, that would make sense since he’s been consulting so much lately. But why would Garcia know his age, and not Hotch? Wouldn’t she send the files to him directly? Had Hotch really known, all along?

Or did she do it on her own, and not tell him? Assuming her boss already knew everything about him. It’s too many questions and possibilities and they are interfering with what’s most important right now. Best to get it out of the way, no time to be indirect about it.

Ms. Garcia, did you update my dossier with the bureau after you ran my background check?

If you’re referring to why Hotch seems to think you’re rocking the senior discount at restaurants and not still getting carded for beer, then no I didn’t update it. I’m very anti-gov files having every detail of our lives in them, that’s what I’m for, and I figured there was a reason he didn’t know. Your secret is safe with me, sugar bean.

Spencer hadn’t meant for it to be a secret at all, it just happened that way.

The real reason is Agent Anderson of the LA field office is a dick, with a bully streak he never outgrew after high school, and didn’t bother filling out a full file on him the first time Spencer consulted for the FBI. Then, he couldn’t be bothered to update it when his consultations became more than a one time thing.

But that was all in the past now, and Spencer can’t even be upset about it. Because now he has Hotch.

Thank you, Ms. Garcia. I’ll let you know my findings soon.

He skims the file quickly, pulling information out at lightning speed. It appears a very straight-forward case. As straight-forward as a murderous sociopath can be, anyway. Very anti-establishment, like he and Hotch had discussed the previous day, aiming for specified targets that devolved to anyone in a uniform. Anyone who appears too official, or labels as official.

It’s easy to see, now, why the unsub attacked Hotch instead of running from him. He practically served himself up on a silver platter. But there’s something about the kills that’s bothering Spencer. The knife wounds, bludgeoning, even the gunshots during the first murders when the unsub still hesitated -- it’s all overkill. Rage. Every single target has died from massive internal bleeding, M.E. reports all label the knife wounds and beatings as the cause. But the amount of blood left over, measured during autopsy, doesn’t add up. They bled too much. No wounds indicating intentional bleeding occurred, and the tox screens are all clean.

Except, every victim’s hospital records show elevated potassium rates. Spencer’s hands, skimming down each and every page quick as they can, stop on a dime as his gaze zero in on the information.

“Oh, God,” Spencer whispers, quiet and horrified. “--Hotch.”

There’s no time for email.

He picks up his phone, goes to an older email that has full contact details in the footer, and dials Ms. Garcia’s direct line in Quantico.

“Speak, and behold greatness.”

“Ms. Garcia, it’s Dr. Reid,” Spencer says, and his tone and quickened speech patterns gives way to his panic.

“Dr-- Dr. Reid?”

“Yes, quick there’s no time. Do you have Hotch’s hospital records in front of you still?”

“Yes,” Garcia says, her voice a musical thing even in it’s breathless reaction to his heightened state of haste. “Updated every two minutes.”

“Is his potassium elevated?”

Some quick typing of keys that move faster than even he could ever hope to type. “...Yes.”

God. “Okay, okay I need you to call the hospital right now,” Spencer says in a spiel that all sounds like one word. “Whatever you have to do, he needs Sodium Polystyrene Sulfonate as soon as possible, to counteract the chemical imbalance or he’s going to go into kidney failure and bleed out.”

There’s more typing going on and Ms. Garcia’s breathing has gone a little labored.

“Alright, alright I’m getting patched through. What else can you tell me?”

“I think he’s been dosed with something called an XG Compound, either Eastman or Zhao I have to look up the specific components and chemist. But they are a series of banned, experimental military-grade drugs that suffer effects of thinning the blood, that’s why they can’t stop the bleeding around his stab wounds and old scar tissue.” Hotch’s old wounds from Foyet would only exacerbate the condition, once it reached the kidney failure stage, but up until then the intrusions of hardened tissue is the only reason his abdominal cavity hasn’t been flooded with blood and drowned out his other organs.

“Okay, okay I’m through, I’m keeping you on the line. Stand by-- ” then she clicks over and he’s left with a pulsating silence. Nothing remaining but continuing his work, and hoping he’d called in time. Hoping that Hotch will be alright.

Spencer is digging through his floor to ceiling bookshelves for the biology book on airborne pathogens given to him by a visiting Professor two years ago and he is hating himself for never cracking it in that moment. It’s nearly the last book he gets a hand on, because of course it is, and he makes it a third of the way through the book before Garcia is back on the line. The phone on the floor beside him and just barely within reach.

“You literal genius, I could kiss you,” Garcia tells him in what can only be overstated relief, and Spencer snatches up his phone with a very undignified scramble. “They’ve had to do two transfusions on him and are prepping a third, but you were right he’s been dosed with that XG compound.”

“He’s going to be okay?” Spencer asks, still cross-legged on his office floor surrounded by books and holding his phone to his ear like a lifeline.

“Yes, yes my dear he’s going to be alright. They think. He’s not out of the woods yet and the surgery is still going on, but he -- he would have died within the next hour if you hadn’t found out what was wrong.”

Spencer’s heart is in his throat, her words doing the exact opposite of reassuring him. Hotch had been that close to dying, to being forever out of reach, because Spencer had been too scared to pick up the phone.

“I should have called sooner,” he says, so quiet even someone in the room wouldn’t have heard him correctly. “I knew something was wrong.”

“Oh no, sugar don’t think like that. You just saved his life,” she pauses, like she wants to say something else, but diverts to an adjacent topic. “How did you know?”

“Autopsy reports. There wasn’t enough blood left in the bodies, they bled out too quickly. Then I saw the elevated Potassium,” he murmurs it all, rattled off without really thinking about it.

“And you just… knew all of that, without looking anything up?”

“That’s basically what I do. The only reason anyone calls me,” Spencer laughs but it holds no humor. “I know too much, make connections, and drink too much coffee.”

“You drink and know things, oh God I hope you get that reference because you’re getting a coffee mug.”

Spencer laughs a little, despite the situation, and feels… lighter, somehow, even with the worry still plaguing him. Caught up in his chest like a bad cold.

“I’m reading this textbook on airborne pathogens, I have a hunch, and I’ll send you anything I find that can help with the case,” Spencer continues, his voice not so heavy for a moment. “Just… tell me when he’s out of surgery? Keep me posted?”

“Of course, honey, you’ll be my first message,” Ms. Garcia assures him, but then she pauses again -- and he almost hangs up because it feels too anticipatory. “You should tell him, B.T.Dubs.”

Spencer hesitates more than is probably necessary.

“... I don’t know what good that will do,” he admits, quiet and unsure. “I’m not -- I’m not ready for this to be over.”

“You’re not that young, honey. Does he know you like him?”

“Mmhmm,” Spencer makes a nervous, affirmative sound. “And… he likes me, or who he thinks I am.”

“Don’t write him off just yet, Doc, let him speak for himself when he wakes up,” Ms. Garcia all but scolds him, in as gentle a way as possible and Spencer appreciates that, at least.

“--I’ll think about it.”

Not long after Spencer finds what he’s looking for: military grade poisons that were banned for causing adverse effects, listed and categorized by chemist and agency. It is the Eastman compound, originated during the first invasion of Afghanistan. Their unsub has prolonged exposure, Spencer is sure, and that will narrow down the suspect pool immensely.

After he sends the information to Ms. Garcia, Spencer looks to his phone once more, where there is a block of text all from him himself in his correspondence with Hotch. Begging him to be alright, to answer him, and now that he knows that the man has a fighting chance -- or as much of one as he will be able to have, with where advanced medicine resides in the current conjecture of time -- there really isn’t much he can do now. But hope. And wait. And pray.

Except Spencer doesn’t believe in prayer, or God, or anything that might hear him. The only thing he really believes in is science, and facts, and none of that is very helpful to him right now. Except maybe the coincidental balance of the universe, in a theoretical physics sense, and unexplained phenomenon that have an equal and spatial balance to it. Anything with the descriptor ‘unexplained’ always draws him in like a moth to flame, and he knows he can typically find a semblance of comfort in the way his brain constantly connects dots and far off specks of information that not everyone can see at first glance. Constellations in the sky. But only when he has someone to tell it to, that even pretends to listen for a moment, and for a long while now… Hotch has been that someone. Hotch always listens to him.

Before he knows it, he’s typing into the text box once more --

[]9/23, 11:10[] You’re in surgery still, but Ms. Garcia has confirmed the treatments are working and they are able to actually repair the damage instead of treading water like they have been the past ten hours. I’ve had her personally in contact with the doctors and surgical staff, and all they’ve been able to tell us is to let them work and just pray for you.

[]9/23, 11:13[] Which is such an odd thing; men of science telling people to pray like the outcome of a surgery isn’t in their hands, but some theoretical astronomical entity. I know it’s probably just a ‘bedside-manner’ tactic, but it doesn’t help me in the slightest so it just irks me instead.

[]9/23, 11:15[] I don’t believe in prayer -- a shock, I’m sure -- but I do believe in the phenomenon of universal affirmation. It’s an interesting trend in history and spans cultures where if someone has something awaiting them, to live for, even if they are unaware of it… they will fight harder to cling to life.

[]9/23, 11:18[] But I also know you will fight tooth and nail for Jack, and for your team that you treat like family, and maybe even me. I’d like to hope I’m included in that, and no amount of books or IQ points can make me think of something to contribute to help you keep fighting.

[]9/23, 11:19[] Just please keep fighting. Come back. And if I come up with something to entice you… I’ll let you know.

It eases a lot of the tension in his chest, talking to Hotch like this -- even if he’s just talking at him, in a place where he might never know what Spencer has had to say. But he can hope. Hope that Hotch will wake up and have thirty missed messages and see they are all from Spencer and it will make him smile.

Spencer would give anything to see him smile, and he allows himself to hope that one day... he might get to.

He might as well, while he’s sitting there hopelessly hoping for things beyond his control.

Come back to me.

Spencer almost types it out, can see it in the text window though he hasn’t pressed a single letter, and closes his phone before he can. Pressing it to his mouth and closing his eyes and just…

Hoping.

The hours roll over into the afternoon, and there’s still no word.

Spencer has spent the majority of the day messaging Ms. Garcia, who has had no information beyond trivial updates here and there and Spencer has read more about surgical procedures and practices than he has in his entire life. Even raided the biology department’s library, surrounding himself with the comfort of books and files and filled his head with the soothing monotony of medical terms and safety protocols.

But once noon has come and gone he finds himself staring into the bookshelves across from where he sits on the floor, among stacks of textbooks, with an epiphany trying to make itself known to him. Despite his every attempt to ignore it.

His phone is back in his hand, there’s an email correspondence from Ms. Garcia that only briefly says Still nothing. And that makes up Spencer’s mind.

[]9/23, 12:49[] I’ve thought of something.

What he types next makes it hard to breathe, his heart lodged in his throat, and it all comes flowing out of him much like before. His fingers keep moving, his emotional part of his brain steam-rolls over the rational one, and then he’s done and he’s tacked on six extra messages and Spencer has to put his phone away before he rereads it beyond what is deemed healthy or sane.

Because he’s done what he could, and all he can do is believe that will be enough to… subliminally keep Hotch fighting. The day is only half over, and Spencer feels like he hasn’t slept in a week.

It would be hours before he got the message that would send relief through his spine like a shot of Novocain. Just three words from Ms. Garcia, sent in haste in a text instead of an email.

{}9/23, 14:58{} He’s in recovery.

Hotch wakes up just barely the first time, the room spinning and hit with that familiar smell of anesthesia he can always taste as it fills his senses, before he slips back under.

The second time is to a small pencil light being flashed in his eyes, staccato movements meant to test his pupil reactions, and an older woman in nurse’s scrubs saying his name and calling to him. He hums an affirmative, even though he isn’t fully returned to a working state of mind. Instinct, more than clarity.

“Welcome back, Agent Hotchner.”

“About damn time,” he hears Prentiss say from somewhere across the room. Probably leaning the wall, if that faux drone is anything to go by. The nurse gives her a look but his agent isn’t even fazed by it, as far as Hotch can see. It takes him a moment for his eyes to adjust that far. But he knows the look well enough he doesn’t actually have to see it.

“Where is everyone? Is anyone else hurt?” Hotch can feel the words form on his tongue, droned out in a haze, his mind slowly coming back to him.

“Good to see you, too, boss,” Prentiss says in mild exacerbation, coming up to the side of his bed but not taking a seat. She must have been waiting a long time, her whole stance jittery just like after long flights on cases. “Everyone is fine, you’re the only one that got into a knife fight with an unsub who’s into biological warfare.” Hotch blinks at her, trying to make her words make sense without asking it of her. He remembers going to a warehouse to follow a lead, but not much else after that. It’s coming back too slowly to keep up with her. Prentiss just sighs, and repeats herself. “Everyone is fine.”

She regales him with a play by play, his own memories appearing like raindrops on a windshield to accompany her commentary. Slowly beginning to form a picture of what had happened. He’d been stabbed before, more than he cares to think about, and he’s been dosed with military-grade drugs before as well -- but never both at the same time. No wonder he feels like he’s been hit by a truck.

“You’re lucky to be alive, honestly,” she points out, hip resting against the plastic side panels of his hospital bed.

“Yeah, I’m gathering that.”

“And your phone has been blowing up like crazy.”

Hotch is finally able to sit up enough and see straight without his vision swimming, to find that his agent does indeed have his cell phone in her hands.

“What?”

“Yeah, eight missed calls and three voicemails, and--” she squints at the screen before looking at him in astonished confusion, “eighty-seven missed text messages, from a whole bunch of people. I’m not reading through all of them. I didn’t know you were that popular.”

“I’m the Unit Chief, popularity has nothing to do with it,” Hotch deadpans, more himself. Wanting to reach for his phone but his arms are still dealing with pins and needles sensations, sluggish to lift and his fingers uncooperative. “Who called me eight times?”

“Let’s see,” she unlocks his phone -- somehow, god damn it Prentiss -- and scrolls through his notifications. “Two calls from Jessica, one from me, three from Strauss (Jesus), one from Dr. Reid, and one from Garcia. It doesn’t say who the voicemails are from.”

Hotch suddenly feels much more alert, his heart rate monitor picking up but he does his best not to draw attention to it, instead looking up at Prentiss as carefully guarded as he ever is.

“Dr. Reid called?” he tries to keep his voice even, and unaffected, but the aftereffects of the drugs in his system leave a little more hitch in his voice than he would have liked.

“Yeah, he’s been talking to Garcia,” Prentiss says without much comment, still scrolling through his phone and making Hotch a little more than nervous. “Busted the case wide open, and saved your life while he was at it. We never would have known you were dosed with something if he hadn’t figured it out. Think you owe that old man a fruit basket.”

“Can I have my phone back?”

“Don’t think you’re supposed to have it,” she says without looking up, still scrolling through his notifications. “Lots of junk e-mail…”

“One of those voicemails is probably Jack, I should call and let them know I’m alright,” Hotch tries to reason with her.

“He and Jess are already on their way up, they’ll land in an hour,” Prentiss tells him, but looks over her shoulder for that nurse as she makes to hand Hotch his phone anyway. Still hesitant despite her predilections to breaking every rule she can get away with.

“I still want it back,” Hotch insists, regretting saying it as soon as he does.

It catches Prentiss’ attention a little too sharply. “...why?” But at Hotch’s steady stare and solid silence, unwavering like he hadn’t just been in surgery for hours on end, she finally relents and hands it over, still giving him a suspicious look.

“It’s important,” he finally admits, when she doesn’t stop staring for a good couple of minutes. Those perfectly shaped eyebrows raise near to her hairline, the profiler in her connecting more dots than should be humanly possible.

A small smile teases her lips, though not fully forming there. “Now I wish I’d read them.”

Hotch just gives her a reprimanding look of his own, but it’s short lived.

“Thank you, for staying.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Prentiss assures him, her smile going softer. “I’ll leave you to your mystery woman.” A beat, another raised eyebrow. “Person.” A knowing look, but then she exits and Hotch is able to look at his phone at his own discretion.

Hotch goes through the text messages with a brief glance; there’s so many of them. Other agents and agencies, his team in a group chat Garcia had started, Jessica left fifteen before someone got a hold of her, and Jack’s school sending reminders about soccer and parent teacher conferences.

But 39 are from Spencer, and his heart constricts in his chest at the worry he must have caused the man. Aches next to the scars on his chest and the blood that doesn’t belong to him in his veins. And somewhere in the recesses of his mind, it’s coupled with a torturous feeling of longing. Even subtle jealousy, because even half drugged out of his mind Hotch hadn’t missed the precise word choices Prentiss used. Garcia has been talking to Spencer -- talking.

Garcia got to hear him.

She talked to Spencer, when he still hadn’t, because of some unspoken rule Hotch isn’t even sure when they decided upon. He still knew so little about the man, and Spencer’s voice could tell him so much with just a few words. He could fill volumes with what he would learn from just a single message --

Without much further thought, Hotch pulls up his voice mail. Listens to the automated voices and the three messages there. None are from Spencer, although his heart had beat a little harder in anticipation -- enough his heart monitor beeped audibly next to him. Embarrassing as that was, like a lovestruck teenager. He’d glared at it and centered his breathing until his heart rate slowed back down, not wanting to alert the nurses station. Two of the voicemails are from Jessica’s phone, one of her worried out of her mind, and the other of Jack telling him they are coming to see him and he hopes he feels better soon. Just listening to his son speak more strongly than his aunt had or anyone else should in his situation, telling his daddy he loves him while the sounds of a commercial airline filter through the background, makes Hotch want to smile and sob all at once.

The last voicemail is from Garcia, telling him a similar story to what Prentiss had earlier, but with a bit more detail on her end. How ‘Dr. Reid’ called her out of the blue, because there had been no time for his usual emails, and gave them the information that saved his life. He’d been working the case diligently, ever since, and was checking up on him a lot. More than a lot. ‘Let him know you’re okay, when you wake up and get this. The poor guy is worried sick, and my updates only give him so much comfort.’

Spencer had actually called Garcia, when he hasn’t physically spoken to anyone in Quantico the entire time he’s consulted for them, just to save a few precious seconds to relay what he’d found. He’d even broken their rule, probably before hand, and called Hotch -- just to make sure he was okay. Hadn’t stopped working to help, the moment he found out he wasn’t.

It’s a strange thought, that if not for Spencer -- Hotch would be dead. That Jack would be flying up here for a very different reason.

Hotch switches over to the text messages with a lump in his throat. Not at all prepared, emotionally, but needing to know.

The 39 messages start from the night before, when they were supposed to have had their usual online chess date. They range from playful banter, teasing edged in worry, and escalate to panic as the night wears on. Anxious worry bleeding through the single sentences, building and building until that lump in his throat feels like it might block off all air soon.

Please be okay.

God, that alone starts to set a tone -- and reveals something Hotch hadn’t expected to find. Those three words give way to his speech pathology training, and all indicate that Spencer is… very likely younger than he’d originally thought. Some of Hotch’s assumptions might be close, even the teasing ones he’d only said because he’d been sure they were wrong. The other man is obviously beyond worried about him, as well. Petrified, despite knowing the risks of his job. They had become so close the past few months, were most definitely past the flirting stage and into something so tentative and wonderful Hotch can barely believe it some days. But they had never talked about this, about the possibility that Hotch might walk into a situation one day and not walk back out of it.

Spencer’s messages soon give way to him just… talking at Hotch. Relaying what was happening, philosophical rants meant to ease his own mind and Hotch finds himself smiling softly at the man’s constant stream of thought, lectures at genius levels that he still feels so compelled to share with Hotch. Because they are that close. They really, truly, are -- and it brightens the fluttering feeling in his chest all the more. How Spencer is trying, subliminally, to draw Hotch back to the light. Three thousand miles away.

Please come back.

Hotch hears it loud and clear, the come back to me. Even unwritten. And it makes his heart skip a beat, aching as it does.

Then…

[]9/23, 15:49[] I’ve thought of something.

[]9/23, 15:52[] I’m 29.

Hotch doesn’t understand, at first. But then it hits him.

Years.

29 years.

Spencer is 29 years old. Proven, further, by the following messages sent after that.

[]9/23, 15:56[] I’m a certified child prodigy, on a registry and everything. I graduated high school at just twelve years old, and had my first Ph.D. by 15. Youngest in CalTech history.

29.

Jesus Christ, no wonder he hadn’t wanted to tell Hotch his age. 29 is… far younger than he expected.

When Spencer was born, Hotch was getting his driver’s license. 16 years difference in age…

He keeps reading, despite the numb aftermath of a bomb going off inside his head, trying to process it and also hear the younger man out.

Younger. Spencer is 16 years younger than Hotch, and he finds himself scrubbing at his face to try and wake himself up further as he reads what Spencer sent.

[]9/23, 15:57[] I turn 30 at the end of October, and I was trying to wait until then to tell you.

[]9/23, 16:00[] I’ve noticed a prominent dynamic shift in perception, between listing my age as in my 20’s and ‘almost 30’. It’s a numerical allusion our brains can’t help. You hear 29, you think 21. It happens with decades, too, once someone is outside the familial range of 10 years. +/- either side.

[]9/23, 16:02[] An age gap doesn’t sound as bad when I’m 30. That’s why I wanted to wait, just a little while longer, but if that universal affirmation phenomenon actually works for us -- I don’t mind dealing with the consequences.

[]9/23, 16:03[] Just please come back.

[]9/23, 16:07[] Please be okay.

[]9/23, 16:10[] I miss you.

His heart is about to be ripped to shreds.

Hotch feels terrible, because Spencer is right. 29 sounds so young, and it keeps repeating in his head over and over. But 29 isn’t the same as 21, he isn’t some college student still stumbling around trying to figure out his life. He has five Ph.D.’s, runs three departments at one of the best universities in the country, is consulted by the FBI and Homeland Security and very obviously has a reputation he upholds to the highest regard. Hotch had guessed Spencer was 32 not so long ago, what was the big difference between that and his actual age? From what little Spencer just shared of his life story, he’s never gotten to be a kid, so who was Hotch to consider him one? What gave him the right to be floored by this, did it actually change what he thought of Spencer? How he felt about him only moments prior to reading that?

I miss you. Come back. Please be okay.

I’m 29.

It could be the recent flirtation with death, the anesthesia or the morphine, even the gratitude that Hotch will get to see his son again and not leave him without both his parents -- there’s so many reasons for him to take pause as he considers the messages in front of him.

But it feels a lot like the months of talking, and the countless late nights spent together, that pile up and up in his chest. A rising pressure that reminds Hotch that he and Spencer have something, and it’s not a normal, regular situation for either of them. Something that precedent, and everything Hotch has ever been told to hold to standard, doesn’t seem to fit. He and Spencer don’t seem to fit, when looked at afar or even on paper -- but they do. They really do. It was never supposed to be something that could be this easy, or normal in any capacity.

But what about their lives ever was?

[]9/23, 18:26[] I’m so sorry I worried you.

[]9/23, 18:26[] I miss you, too.

[]9/23, 18:27[] If I stop answering you, the nurse took my phone away. I hate hospitals.

[]9/23, 18:29[] Hotch, you scared me to death.

[]9/23, 18:30[] I know, I’m sorry.

[]9/23, 18:31[] From what I heard, you saved my life.

[]9/23, 18:33[] I don’t even know how to begin thanking you for that.

[]9/23, 18:36[] Just get better.

[]9/23, 18:38[] Which means resting, don’t glare at your nurses too much. They’re there to help you.

There’s a long stretch of a pause in their correspondence, which picks up so smooth and easy it’s as if they had never stopped. Like the last few days hadn’t happened at all. But they had, they were both looking at the messages to prove that. He does take pause, maybe more than he should, and Hotch knows miles away Spencer is just as nervous. Staring at his phone.

Hotch isn’t wrong. Spencer let out such an exclamation of relief at Hotch’s name on his notifications he about sobbed with it. He never cries, hasn’t in years -- but his eyes sting with relief and worry and… an emotion he doesn’t want to name.

[]9/23, 18:44[] What day is your birthday?

[]9/23, 18:45[] October 28th.

[]9/23, 18:45[] Same week as mine. November 2nd.

Hotch pauses, again, considers his next response… and 3,000 miles away Spencer can barely blink as he stares at his phone with mounting dread.

[]9/23, 18:49[] I understand why you didn’t want to tell me. It’s alright.

[]9/23, 18:51[] Am I correct in assuming you’ve never been in a relationship with this much of an age gap?

It takes Hotch a moment to even gather the courage to type that out and send it. Knows it sounds almost too formal, for them, but Hotch also knows that he and Spencer are balanced on the edge of a knife, here, and… no matter what the outcome, everything is about to change between them.

Spencer licks his lips in nervousness, reading the line over and over although he has no need to. It feels like a tipping point, and he’s still… terrified this will be his last conversation with Hotch outside of case work. Ever.

[]9/23, 18:55[] Never.

[]9/23, 18:57[] I haven’t had many relationships at all. My peer groups have always been older than me, and people my own age never understood me enough to be interested. So it’s just something I was used to, going without.

[]9/23, 18:59[] This has been… the closest thing to what I’ve been told is normal that I’ve ever experienced. I’ve never had the chance to have something like this with someone, or connect in this way. I gave up, for a long while there.

[]9/23, 19:01[] I’ve been in a similar situation before, on an intellectual spectrum.

[]9/23, 19:03[] I’ve never--

Hotch pauses, again, putting his thoughts in order. Weighing it all, before taking that final leap. Spencer waiting with baited breath, all the more.

But Hotch doesn’t regret what he sends. Not one bit.

[]9/23, 19:03[] I’ve never dated anyone younger than me like this, before, so we’ll both be on a learning curve.

[]9/23, 19:03[] But we will figure it out. Together.

Spencer’s breath catches, and he can’t seem to release it again. He can’t believe what he’s reading. What Hotch has sent him.

He said ‘dated’.

He thought they were dating. Spencer isn’t quite sure he can trust his own eyes, despite the words being there in stark black and white on his phone screen.

[]9/23, 19:06[] Dating?

Hotch smiles, because he just knows -- from that single word text -- that Spencer has sent it not in admonishment or anything negative of the sort. But in hope. Confident that he recognizes the nuance in Spencer's voice even without ever having heard it, Hotch just knows, and it makes warmth blossom anew in his chest. Sends his heart rate monitor skittering across the machine all over again.

[]9/23, 19:08[] Hate to be the one to tell you, but all of those late nights where we talked for hours instead of playing chess? Those were dates.

Spencer has his hand over his mouth, still in disbelief that he hadn’t… fucked this up beyond repair. That his age hadn’t been the deal breaker he’d feared so vehemently for months now. That everything is still as it was, age difference and life-threatening situation, aside.

They were dating. All this time.

[]9/23, 19:10[] I should have worn nicer clothes.

Hotch laughs at his phone at the same time Spencer laughs at his own, having reread what he’d sent.

3,000 miles away, and their quiet laughter coincides perfectly.

[]9/23, 19:11[] Our next one I’m sure I’ll be in a hospital gown, so I think you’re in the clear.

[]9/23, 19:12[] Sounds like you’re making plans, already.

[]9/23, 19:12[] You still need rest.

[]9/23, 19:14[] Well, I have to thank you somehow. And, I saw something about poker instead of chess? I’m actually not bad at poker.

[]9/23, 19:15[] … you remember I’m from Vegas, right?

[]9/23, 19:16[] We’ll play for fake money.

[]9/23, 19:18[] No such thing.

[]9/23, 19:19[] I do play for favors, though.

[]9/23, 19:19[] Oh?

Hotch feels a wild, youthful thing unfurl in his chest as he types away. Mischievous, almost, in a way he only gets when he and Spencer are hours deep into conversations in the middle of the night. But it’s broad daylight, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too wide. Getting lost in the thrill of it all. In the officiality of it, now, and another curtain unveiled between them.

[]9/23, 19:20[] Did you have something in mind?

Spencer has to be blushing seven shades of red, right about now, and he hides his face from his phone for a moment before he realizes how ridiculous that is -- Hotch can’t see him. He can stop messaging the man any time he wants to.

Except he doesn’t want to.

[]9/23, 19:24[] I’ll get back to you.

Hotch can’t help it as he grins at his phone. A wry, suggestive thing, but he manages to school it before a passing nurse can see him -- how his eyes are alight with possibility. With elation, just from talking to the younger man that had seemed to capture a part of him he thought wasn’t available to anyone any more, and types out one last -- slightly more flirtatious subtext to put a cap on their conversation. To indicate he’s awaiting more, always wanting a little more of Dr. Spencer Reid.

He can blame it on the morphine, later.

[]9/23, 19:25[] Looking forward to it.

(tbc...)

Tagged List: @spencehotchner @ssa-sarahsunshine @gothamapologist @reidology @marsjareau @dragon-snaps-fandom @emmyraebird @just-an-emo-rat @aaron-hotchner187 @dk18077 @more-heid-pls @fakin-it-til-i-make-it @merpancake

#I legit added like 1500 words while editing this afternoon so I'm hella worried it's convoluted but HERE IT IS #Getting this show on the ROAD #cross your fingers and pray I have this damn tumblr formatting thing figured out #hope you enjoy everyone I love ALL OF YOU #super duper long chapter #Correspondence #HotchReid #Heid #Updates on Saturdays hit me up if you want in on the tag list #katyswriting

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