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#i’m physically and emotionally unwell

ginkgo-shaw · 1 year

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today a girl i don’t know came to me and told me that i’m pretty 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

#A BEAUTIFUL GIRL THOUGHT I WAS PRETTY ??!????!!!!!#it was so kind of her #i cannot cope #i’m physically and emotionally unwell

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scastarwars · 1 year

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I woke up with a fkn fever.

I’m calling it the “Star Wars effect”

I will never recover from the bad batch s2 finale.

#no bc i’m both emotionally and physically unwell #i hate life #i hate star wars but i love it #the bad batch

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coffeeandbatboys · 4 months

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Battle Scars (Wolffe x Reader)

Summary: Wolffe comes home to you, but when you learn about his injury, he’s afraid you’ll leave.

Warnings: mention of Ventress and the injury, angst angst angst. Hurt/comfort. Also Plo Koon calls reader little one, but in a father in law kind of way.

A/N these keep getting shorter and shorter.

You waited off to the side of the hangar, making your presence known but not too obvious. Master Plo Koon crossed it and stood before you. One of the few Jedi who cared about the Clone’s personal lives, he allowed the relationship between you and Wolffe to thrive in the shadows.

“He had an…incident. Physically, he will be alright. But he is emotionally unwell.”

Your breath hitched as you saw Wolffe coming out of the ship. Half of his face was bandaged, while the other was twisted in pain.

“Thank you, General, for taking care of him.”

“He is a good man, little one. He deserves it.”

As the general walked away, you noticed that Wolffe had not come any closer, staying on the other side of the hangar. So you made a move, crossing towards him.

“Hello, Cyare.” He sighed, turning the bandaged side of his face away from you.

You reached up to caress his jaw “Oh, Wolffe. What happened?”

A slight shake of his head told you something serious had happened. So you lead him away to the barracks, hoping that maybe he’d be more comfortable speaking in private.

“Wolffe you need to talk to me. I’ve been waiting all this time to see you.”

He mumbled something incoherent. You hummed in question.

“I’m surprised you even want to see me.”

Your heart sank. Did he think you wouldn’t want him because he was injured? You carefully placed your hand on the bandages.

“Is this what this is all about?”

He nodded. You leaned forward and placed a feather light kiss to the medical cloth. You were ready to pull back when his arms locked around your waist and he held you like he’d never see you again.

“I love you Cyar’ika. I can’t…I can’t loose you.”

You chuckled a little bit. “I signed up for your bullshit, Wolffe. You’re stuck with me.”

“Promise?” He mumbled into your shoulder.

“I promise, love. Now want to tell me what happened?”

“Ventress. She…cut through my helmet.”

You thought for a moment.

“That’s something to be proud of. Not being killed by a Sith.”

He laughed dryly, holding you a little tighter.

“Yeah. I suppose so.”

#Star Wars #commander wolffe #commander wolffe x reader #wolffe x reader #tcw wolffe #wolffe x you #clone trooper wolffe #star wars wolffe #clone wars wolffe #clones x reader

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cod-z · 2 months

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Lonely Pt. 2

Your media consumption isn't my responsibility | TW: Angst/Comfort, Alcohol usage, Isolation, Not taking care of self (Not Reader), Slight Manipulation (if you squint enough), sorry if I missed any-

Pairing(s): (Choose)141 x Reader

| One-shots | Pt. 1 | A/N: I'VE HAD THIS SONG ON LOOP FOR MAYBE 10-11 HOURS NOW!? How did I not go insane?

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Can’t believe I had a girl like you And I just let you walk right outta my life

He watches you pack your belongings, the burning sensation of the rage that he felt slowly fading away the more of your items disappeared from his drawers and closet till there were no traces left of you in your once shared bedroom, moving to the bathroom to gather your toiletries.

The shampoo that he had become accustomed to when you stayed over for the night, the body wash that always linger on you after a shower, letting him inhale the sweet fumes, the toothbrush that sat next to his, a mockery of a relationship that you both could have if he wasn’t such a coward to confess but rather hurt you instead. Watching you take the light pastel towel that was in your favourite colour, different tones to create a beautiful landscape if laid down. Soon the bathroom had become bare of your presence too.

After all I put you through You still stuck around and stayed by my side What really hurt me is I broke your heart Baby, you’re a good girl and I had no right

Packing the last of your things in the living, the weighted blanket that you had bought for the both of you, no longer on the sofa but in your arms as you shove it into your duffel bag. The realisation dawned on him. You were going to leave, you weren’t going to fight for the messed up relationship that he kept self-sabotaging. You were in love with him but the constant insecurities that he forced down upon you, suggesting what he could to get better, and without him wanting to change, it was tiring you - mentally, emotionally and physically, to the point you were getting unwell yourself.

Wide-eyes followed your every movement, his hand shooting up the moment you grabbed onto the handle and opening the door. The storm raging outside fit the same tension that was in the house that you had spent many nights in, his hand holding onto your forearm as his eyes pleads for you to stay. The excuse that left his mouth, being that he didn’t want you to get sick and wet which was half true but also because he doesn’t want you to leave. Leave him.

His hand leaves your forearm before placing it on the strap of your duffel bag, sliding it off as he nears your body till his chest touches your back, embracing you slowly. His arms sliding in between yours till they encased your waist and pulled you closer to him, his hands sliding down your arms and down to your hands as if you were a fragile flower that threatened to collapse on the wrong move.

I really wanna make things right ‘Cause without you in my life girl, I’m so

His breathing was steady, eyes focused on tracing his hands on your body, scared to frighten you off into the rainstorm that was outside, letting you disappear out of his life. Why couldn’t he be like this all the time with you? It would’ve saved you both from the heartaches and regrets that were to come, yet he continued what he had done.

Your bags were on the floor near the closed door, tucked away under the hanged coats, above yours and his shoes, both different styles and strangely they seem to correlate with one another. You lay next to him in the bed that you desperately wanted to escape, the memories too painful to even sleep as you smell the fresh sheets of him and a slight lingering scent of the broad that he had over 2 days ago, the stinging sensation in your eyes overwhelmed you.

Lonely (so lonely) I’m Mr. Lonely (Mr. Lonely) I have nobody (I have nobody) For my own (to call my own girl)

You love him but you know he doesn’t feel the same even when his actions felt like it, but you know the truth. It hurts when the person you love doesn’t love you back, but it hurts even more when they pretend that they do.

Slipping away from the bulk of his arms you tacitly and silently change back into your attire, worm your way down the stairs as quietly as you could finally reaching the end of the stairs, your hand wraps around the handles of your bags while slinging your duffel bag over your shoulders once more. You stare up at the darkened hallway up the stairs, the tears threatening to fall but you held them back, your head moving directing to the door, you take a deep breathe in as you grasp the handle - pushing it down, the door gaping, finally disappearing into the downpour of the night - the door closing behind you.

I’m so lonely (so lonely) I’m Mr. Lonely (Mr. Lonely) I have nobody (I have nobody) For my own (to call my own girl) I am so lonely

Morning light seeps through the condensed windows, droplets of the aftermath that the storm left behind, slid down the window panes, sparkles of the light shining through the droplets creating soft refractions painting it on the walls.

The fluorescent light looming over his form, creating shadows on the walls, the rays shining over his eyes, disturbing him to wake. His hair was a messed up from his slumber as he oscitate while he stretched his limbs, half turning his body to place his arm around you, his hand meeting the softness of the empty mattress next to him.

Been all about the world, ain’t never met a girl That can take the things that you been through Never thought the day would come where you’d get up and run And I would be out chasing you

Never had he moved so fast in his life, including missions that he has been on, not even when his own life was in danger, his blurry image ran into room after room till the entire second floor was searched twice for your form. His heart flurried with a storm of emotions, his mind and heart yelling at him that he was too late, that he had lost you, that you were never coming back to him.

To his dismay the entire house was cleared of your existence.

His body was still tense, still waiting for you to open the doors that you walked out of to come back to his arms, but his body had already accepted that you were gone, he took his time and played with your heart and you were gone. As realisation creeps in his body went auto-pilot, no longer being aware that he was slowly walking towards the sofa, figments of the past tormenting him as he sees a faded glow of both of your figures sitting there, coddling each other in your blanket.

The past forms dispersing the moment he sits down, planting his head into his hands, his broad shoulders shaking as he lets out the tears that had been trapped behind his facade. He felt the room around him crumble, the paint on the walls chipping off, his house slowly being sucked into the void, the accessories in the room disintegrating into thin air till it was just him and the sofa in the void.

‘Cause ain’t nowhere in the globe I’d rather be Ain’t no one in the globe I’d rather see Than the girl of my dreams that made me be So happy but now so lonely Lonely (so lonely) I’m Mr. Lonely (Mr. Lonely) I have nobody (I have nobody) For my own (to call my own girl) I’m so lonely (so lonely)

Drink in his hand, the muffled yet blaring sound of ‘Lonely’ by Akon echoes around him even when he leaves his room for the first time in a couple of weeks, heading to the bar you both had met. His thoughts of bumping into you clouded his mind, false hope making him delusional as each person that had a similar aspect of you made him jolt, but only to be brought to disappointment when their face wasn’t yours.

His head-accessory hid the bird’s nest that was his hair while covering the tired bags underneath his eyes, his complexion had become pale from the lack of sun since he had closed his blinds when you had left that night, afraid to face the storms alone.

I’m so lonely (so lonely) I’m Mr. Lonely (Mr. Lonely) I have nobody (I have nobody) For my own (to call my own girl) I am so lonely

Kicked out of the bar again, the fifth time this week. He had become a shell of the man you once knew, no longer the player that he was but an alcoholic that wants to forget the world and yet he can’t. You were his world. He was just an idiot who didn’t realise it sooner, then you were gone when the moon had shone down the path to the white light, away from him.

Never thought that I’d be alone I didn’t think you’d be gone this long I just want you to call my phone So stop playing girl and come home

His body laid on the cold, dirtied concrete, similar to him, both his past and present self, a pathetic man that never noticed the gem that he had in his palm till it rolled away from him and slipped into the mountainous of rocks that he got you out from. 1 in a billion, you were. He was the bastard who had covered you in soot and proclaimed you as just another rock that was throwable, not needing the proper care to shine and he regrets it.

He sobs on the ground, wetting the slab beneath him, the nightly breeze biting his skin as people walk around him. A couple passed him, the female looking at him with pity though her partner averted her gaze, whispering that he was a lost cause, and how he couldn’t agree more with the stranger. He was a lost cause. He was without you.

His regrets were mixed with the rain water, then another and another, till the rain was pelting his figure to the ground, falling quicker and harder than the tears he shed. The memories you leave that night. He wonders if you had made it to somewhere safe in this condition, you were so much stronger than him, walking out, probably holding tears back, carrying your heavy bags in the downpour in the middle of the night. He gathers himself on his knees, ignoring the pain in his knees as he screams in anguish:

“Baby girl, I didn’t mean to shout I want me and you to work it out…”

His head slumps forward with the wetness of his hair, his head-accessory gone when he was thrown out, his words becoming the sobbing mess it was before. His knees planted on the ground, his hands lurching forward to the ground, his sobs reducing to hiccups and voice cracks as he cries out your name.

“I never wished to ever hurt my baby And it’s drivin’ me crazy ‘cause I’m so…”

He lets out a sob, his thick tears no longer recognisable as the rain had drenched him in his breakdown.

A shadow looms over him, the rain coming to a sudden stop over him, his darkened eyes landing on a pair of familiar shoes, it couldn’t be. His eyes followed up the figure, recognisable features that he came to know over the years being refreshed before his eyes were acquainted with yours. His breath hitched in his throat, his mouth agape.

“Lonely…” (so lonely) I’m Mr. Lonely (Mr. Lonely) I have nobody (I have nobody) For my own (to call my own girl)

He looked at you as if you were an ethereal being that you had graced him with your being, his eyes sparkling as if you had a halo that ringed around your head. You reached out a hand for him to take. This couldn’t be real, he thought to himself, you were gone for so long and yet here you were in your glorious ambience.

His wet, bitter, rough hand shakingly covers yours, afraid that if he was too forward with his movements you’d disappear again, choked sobs and gasps of disbelief rang between the both of you.

I’m so lonely (so lonely) I’m Mr. Lonely (Mr. Lonely) I have nobody (I have nobody) For my own (to call my own girl) I am so lonely

He lets out a whimper before drawing back, you weren’t there, surely you weren’t. He had hurt you, you wouldn’t come back to him, his thoughts being interrupted as you take his hand in yours. Comfort, soft yet firm, reassuring as you caressed his hand with your thumb.

A loud whimper leaves his throat before getting off the ground, slightly tackling you into a hug, surprising you as you lift the umbrella so he wouldn’t hit it and you didn’t mind the dampness that came onto your clothes. One of your arms gently wraps around him, gently soothing his back as he silently cries into your shoulder, a small smile lifting on the edges of your lips never seeing him this vulnerable.

So lonely (lonely) So lonely (so lonely) Mr. Lonely (lonely) So lonely (so lonely)

You welcome him into your arms, letting the pitter-patter of rain engulf you both, the street lights dimly lighting the both of you, the empty streets giving you both the privacy that you need to comfort him. Neither of you spoke, letting the actions speak the words that were needed.

So lonely (lonely) So lonely (so lonely) So lonely Mr. Lonely

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andivmg · 3 months

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another feelings post

sorry in advance for how long it is

had a therapy appointment yesterday and i bawled my eyes out the entire time just feeling angry and sad and confused with myself. because of this whole conversation around abuse and toxic relationships, i’ve been feeling all kinds of weird recently and talked about it with her and i wanted to share some of the things we said in case anybody needs to hear it

so i’ve been really beating myself up over the fact that i’m still upset at things that happened over two years ago and i was feeling really confused as to why. my life has improved infinitely since then, i no longer have any of these people in my life. i am so much happier. so why am i still so angry? why can’t i seem to let go? i was feeling like a little kid, one of the things i said was quote “it’s just not fair! we were together for only a year! how is it fair that it’s taken me two years and counting to get over shit he did in half the time? why does he get to be fine while i’m still in therapy fixing what he broke? like what is wrong with me? why can’t i just let go of shit that happened so long ago? why did i even have to go through that in the first place? it’s just not fair!”

clearly, i was unwell. but yeah i was feeling really angry at myself and as we kept talking we came to the conclusion that it’s okay to be angry. because it’s true. it’s not fair. that’s what happens with abuse, it ends up falling on the person who was on the receiving end of it to pick up the pieces while the perpetrator doesn’t think they did anything wrong in the first place. that is just an unfortunate fact of life. so how do you move on knowing that? you’re just supposed to be okay with it? no. again, it’s okay to be angry and to cry and be upset about it because you’re feeling your emotions and letting it all out. it’s perfectly normal to be upset about what you went through. it does not mean you are still hung up on the person or that you haven’t moved on. it just means that person was really shitty to you and you’re angry about it. it��s okay to be upset. we are human, we are not above feeling any emotion. as long as you are not taking those feelings out on people who love and care about you and want the best for you, be upset. scream into your pillow, cry, break shit (preferably in a rage room). if it’s what you have to do to release that anger, do that. it’s okay.

now then, why do we have to go through that pain in the first place? because it’s part of being human. ik that’s not what anybody wants to hear. it sucks. what do you mean that’s just a part of being human? that’s so unfair. true. it’s not. however, it being a part of life doesn’t make it okay for the other person to have treated you like they did. that does not justify what they said and did. but, what we choose to do afterwards is what defines us, and what will become of us.

the analogy we used was this:

it’s like going to the gym. when you work out, you create microtears in your muscles, that’s why you’re so sore the next day. but when those muscles heal, they become bigger, stronger. and when you do that exercise again, it doesn’t hurt as much and you can handle more. but, if you say “fuck this i’m not going to the gym again because i’m sore the next day and it hurts” then your muscles will become weak again and you’re right back to where you started.

like i said before, it sucks that the responsibility of moving on and becoming stronger or a better person falls onto us. but you still have to face that shit. you have to truly come to terms with the fact that you were emotionally or physically abused and decide what you will do about it now. will you accept this behavior going forward from them or anyone else? how will you react if someone tries to do the same thing this person did? will you fall back into the victim pattern or will you gather your strength to never let this happen to you again?

clearly, this process takes a really long time. it could take, years, months, even decades in some cases. and it’s hard. it’s so difficult to be strong. it is an active choice we have to make every day. and it’s okay if you’re not feeling strong some days. it’s okay to have moments of weakness. but those moments of weakness cannot overshadow all the strength it has taken to come as far as you have. sometimes it will feel like you’re going backwards, but you are not. healing is not linear and that is okay.

much love to anyone who read this whole thing. if even one person reads this and feels understood, then this post has served its purpose.

#therapy thoughts

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nametakensff · 11 days

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Relinquish Control (D/isco E/lysium, M/M)

Sooo I wrote 5.8k of sickly sweet K/im x H/arry whump following on from this fic (though you don't need to read it)

K/im inevitably catches J/ean's cold from H/arry, but ends up feeling a lot worse than anyone had bargained for. Caretaking ensues 💕

~~~~~

Content:

M/M, ongoing bg M/M/M, H/arry has a sneezing fetish, cold sneezes, spray, handkerchiefs, sneezing on someone's face, nose blows, mentions of mess (nothing graphic), contagion, fever, coughing, v whump heavy fic, lots of sappy feelings and caretaking, mentions of sex, mentions of erections because H/arry is insatiable

CW: Unintentional contagion with unintentional complications, K/im develops a chest infection, H/arry has a lot of self hatred, K/im has control issues, language mentioning animal death because J/ean is hyperbolic as fuck, all these men are emotionally damaged and immature in their own ways but trying their best anyway

NSFW - Minors DNI!

“I’m so, so sorry I got you sick.”

Harry gently pushed Kim’s sweaty hair back from his forehead, biting his lip in concern as the Lieutenant shivered at the contact. The fever had left his skin overly sensitised – even the slightest touch seemed to cause him discomfort.

“Harry, it’s okay. Honestly.”

Kim peered up at him, bleary eyes seeming especially bloodshot and vulnerable without the regular framing of his thick spectacles, mustering up a tiny smile that made Harry’s heart ache. This was all his fault. He’d fucked around with Jean when he was sick, he’d gotten himself sick, and then he’d gotten Kim sick. It had been as stupid as it had been wonderful, for the first couple of days. He’d taken a sick day and Kim had done the same, even though neither of them really needed it – they’d fucked within an inch of their lives and cuddled up with tea and tissues afterwards.

Of course getting the opportunity to indulge in such kinky, nasty, fantasy tier sex had been too good to be true. Harry was already on the mend, and Jean was almost entirely healthy – but Kim was another story altogether. Whether it was the recent stress of his transfer, the lingering physical and mental impact of the case in Martinaise, or plain old bad luck - what had been a simple, albeit nasty head cold for Jean and Harry was now shaping up to be a miserable chest infection for him.

Harry could feel his expression shifting into a countenance so pained he was grateful Kim’s eyesight was bad. He didn’t want to cry, but he felt so guilty and so useless in the moment it was feeling like an inevitability.

Apparently Kim’s eyesight wasn’t poor enough to misconstrue the pure misery etched onto Harry’s face – or he was already an expert at reading his supreme moodiness, like he had a built in barometer specifically attuned to Harry’s idiosyncrasies. He reached a weak hand out from under the veritable cocoon of bed sheets and squeezed his wrist.

“Harry. Really. It’s not your fault. I’ve been overdue something like this.”

His hand dropped limply back onto the bed. It was horrible, seeing Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi in such a state. To Harry, he was a knight in shining armour. He had seemed indestructible. He was beginning to see what Kim had meant about his putting people on pedestals, but all the same - Kim was strong, organised and composed. Harry just hadn’t been able to mentally picture him ever looking quite so unwell. ‘Weak’ and ‘Kim’ felt like antonyms.

Even if technically, yes, it wasn’t his fault Kim’s cold had worsened so dramatically, he’d still given it to him. He’d still reaped the benefits of all the sneezing, all the ground-shaking fetish sex Kim had indulged him in. He was itching to pour his heart out and lament about how truly awful he was, how irresponsible and insatiable he had been, but there was something else he was begrudgingly learning. People do not like to listen to overly self-indulgent, narcissistic proclamations of self-depreciation. Even for the ever-patient Kim, there were limits. He would not make this about him. He was trying to change.

And so, Harry merely swallowed back the guilt and the tears against the lump in his throat. He cupped Kim’s cheek in his palm, chest blossoming with warmth as Kim sighed and let his head loll sideways and into the contact.

“Do you need anything else? Seriously, is there anything more I can do for you? Just say the word and I’m on it.”

Kim was still burning hot to the touch, even after the assistance of a cool compress. It occurred to Harry that he was now seeking the relative coolness of his palm – which was worrying, considering Harry ran hot on a normal day, and his temperature was still a little elevated from his own lingering cold. At least his sneezing had stopped – he didn’t want to trigger Kim into more sneezes of his own, not with his throat as swollen and sore as it was. He never thought he wouldn’t want Kim to sneeze – at least not this early into their fumbling speed-run of a relationship. He wasn’t so delusional as to deny they didn’t still thrill him – he was a greedy, selfish man – but he could wait.

“Mm. No. I’m…fine.”

He wasn’t. They both knew he wasn’t, but Harry thought perhaps it occurred to Kim that admitting how poorly he actually was would be the final straw, the tipping point into relinquishing all control. And what could be more terrifying than that?

~~~~~

In the early stages of his cold, Lieutenant Kitsuragi had been sneezing and marginally lethargic – but, for all intents and purposes, not all that different from his regular self. When he’d started to feel worse - genuinely unwell - he had withdrawn. He’d been short with Harry in the office – he’d been short with everyone, his normal taciturn composure beginning to crack, and with it, his professionalism. Everyone had quickly given him a wide berth, which Harry could see he hated despite practically manufacturing the situation for himself in the first place. He’d called out sick on Friday, ignored Harry’s calls all weekend, and when Jean confirmed he’d called in sick a second time on Monday, Harry had been practically climbing the walls with anxiety.

Kim wasn’t answering his latest calls, every nervous one of them made hourly from his desk. The palpability of his anxiousness was concerning to both himself and everyone around him - he looked pathetic and desperate. He was pathetic and desperate. Jean kept casting him contemplative glances all morning before he eventually took pity on him.

“Go see if he’s okay. I’ll cover for you this afternoon.” He’d offered as he and Harry sat eating lunch in the communal kitchen.

Harry had looked up from where he’d been picking dejectedly at his sandwich, eyes round and glossy enough to put to shame any orphaned puppy.

“Really? Is that okay?”

“Listen, Shitkid. Life is a joke and as such, you're my superior officer. You don’t need my permission to check in on your boyfriend – a valuable member of our unit, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Harry smiled at him, delighting in the sheepish way Jean couldn’t quite maintain eye contact with him. He deduced that Jean was also feeling somewhat responsible for Kim’s misery - being patient zero, as it were.

“You’ll be alright? I’ll come back as fast as I can.”

“Yeah yeah, don’t bother. Just go.” Jean nodded. “I can’t watch you play with your food like that any longer. You look like a fucking box of kittens just got set on fire right in front of you.”

Harry jumped to his feet in an instant.

“You’re the fucking best, Vic.”

Jean halted him with a strong arm around his middle before he shot out of the room, forcing a soft ‘oof’ out of him.

“Take your sandwich with you. People who don’t obtain most of their calories from booze actually eat food instead.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at him.

“Rich coming from the depressed masochist subsisting off of coffee, cigarettes and the occasional chicken breast, but okay.”

Jean scoffed and rolled his eyes but otherwise didn't take the bait. Harry snatched his sandwich up from the table, feeling warm and grateful. His partner’s words were biting, but his concern for his well-being and the obvious pleasure he had in knowing that Harry was maintaining his sobriety were loud and clear - if you knew how to look past the guarded, gruff exterior. He waved at Jean as he hightailed it out of the joint, practically running the rest of the way to Kim’s apartment block.

Winded by his frantic ascension of the building’s winding staircase, he probably overdid it with the pounding on Kim’s door – no, he definitely did, on reflection. It was just that with the lack of immediate response following all those missed phone calls, his mind was conjuring up every worst-case scenario in the book. To say he was overwhelmed with relief when Kim finally started to open the door was an understatement.

He’d been grinning in gleeful anticipation at finally coming face to face with the Lieutenant, but his expression promptly fell as he took in the sight of Kim - shaking, sweating, miserably unwell. He looked as though he barely had the strength to stay upright, let alone pull open the door.

“Harry, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

If Kim looked bad, he sounded even worse. In fact, he sounded as though he’d been gargling with razor blades. Harry winced.

“Oh my god, Kim…”

Kim huffed out a little laugh, both amused and insulted by the naked dismay directed at his person. He opened his mouth to speak but was promptly overtaken by an intensely violent and hacking coughing fit, gripping the door frame like a lifeline as he angled his face away from Harry with a fist pressed up to his mouth. It was a horrible cough, chesty and audibly painful. Within seconds, Harry was manoeuvring the door shut behind them as he stepped into Kim’s apartment and ushered him, still coughing violently, back into his bedroom.

The room stank of illness – that distinct, cloying scent of unhealthy sweat and misery. Kim was still going, gasping for breath with desperate little snatches of air between the coughs that racked his slender frame. Harry sat down on the bed beside him, stroking his back and biting his bottom lip so hard it almost bled.

Finally, some agonising moments later, Kim managed to stop. He sat there, slumped forward and breathing in a careful, measured fashion. Harry reached for the half empty glass of water on Kim’s bedside table and handed it to him wordlessly, cringing as Kim choked a couple of times at the sensation of the liquid trickling down his raw throat. When he managed to avoid triggering another attack, both men practically deflated with relief.

“Thank you – sorry.” Kim delicately wiped his lips with the back of his hand, letting Harry take the glass back off him.

“Kim…how long have you been feeling this bad?”

Kim looked at him, and Harry realised that he was sans glasses. His hair, normally slicked back, hung loose in a messy shock over his forehead, and his face was unshaven, several days of stubble growing in alongside his standard pencil moustache. His nostrils were chapped, pink and raw. Harry would have found his dishevelled appearance painfully attractive were it not for the overwhelming concern that was currently squeezing his heart in a vice-like grip. Kim sighed.

“Since Saturday evening. I was hoping it would go away on its own, but-!”

Harry swore and reached out to support him as Kim was cut off by another round of coughing, mercifully shorter than the previous attack but still leaving him shaking against the larger man when it finally released him.

“Fuck…” Kim muttered. He burned under Harry’s touch.

“Shhh – I’m gonna get you some water, and some tea, okay?”

“Harry – you don’t need to, I can- “

“Kim.”

Harry almost shocked himself with the authoritative tone with which he silenced the Lieutenant. Thank God for the gift of his irrepressible (and irresistible) masculinity - it ever so occasionally came in clutch for him. Kim shut his mouth and didn’t seem pissed off in the slightest that Harry had cut him off. He looked at him expectantly, like a dog awaiting a command. That alone was as clear an admission of illness as any to Harry.

“I know I don’t need to do anything.” Harry started. “But I want to. You could have called me. I was calling you. You’re – you’re really sick right now.”

Kim huffed.

“I’m not that sick.”

“Sure, and I’m Dolores Dei herself.”

“Hm.”

If Kim had been even the tiniest bit more prone to immaturity, Harry was sure he would have rolled his eyes at him.

“Will you please get back into bed and let me help you?” He patted the bed behind them, inviting Kim to crawl back into it. “You help me all the time.”

“I’ll let you help me when I actually need help.” Kim rasped, but dragged himself back under his duvet all the same. Harry watched him, the undignified crawl of defeat paired with the stubborn backchat causing him to reassess his recent impression of Kim as an obedient dog. No, he was instead a recalcitrant cat – if he’d had a tail, it would have flicked back and forth with displeasure as he nestled into the sheets. The thought was endearing, and almost comical enough to make him laugh.

Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi was, in fact, a huge, stubborn baby when sick. This was a delightful new discovery which made Harry both despair and rejoice in equal measures. He’d had years of experience (only some of which he could actively recall) of Jean vehemently denying affection and assistance when he needed it the most. Hell, he himself was an expert in pushing people away whilst simultaneously (and paradoxically) demanding their perpetual assistance. Kim, it turned out, was only marginally less emotionally constipated than either of them. The only thing for it was to match that stubbornness head on.

“There.” Harry crooned as he tenderly organised Kim’s duvet around him. “Doesn’t it feel nice being tucked in?”

Kim looked up at him with tired eyes. Harry could see that he was a conflicted mix of embarrassed and grateful. Good. This would be easier than anticipated. Unable to help himself, he leaned forward and peppered Kim’s warm face with tiny kisses. He nearly died when the tickle of his unruly facial hair made Kim actually fucking giggle in response.

“You’re adorable.” He murmured against Kim’s mouth, stroking his cheek.

“Detective, I’m a 43-year-old police officer.”

“An adorable 43-year-old police officer.” Harry corrected, pressing a quick kiss to Kim’s chapped lips. His voice was nasal, nose miserably clogged – Harry didn’t want to deny him oxygen any longer than need be.

“You shouldn’t be kissing me.”

“Why the hell not?” Harry kissed him on the tip of his poor, red nose, melting as he watched it wrinkle and squirm in response. “I gave you this cold in the first place.”

Kim sighed. Harry did not like the way his chest seemed to wheeze.

“I fear it’s become something worse, at this point.”

“Yeah.” Harry frowned at him, rubbing his thumb in gentle circles on Kim’s cheekbone.

Abruptly, he stood up, tossing his blazer into the corner of Kim’s room and rolling up his shirt sleeves.

“I’ll be back in a minute. You just rest, okay?”

“Okay.”

~~~~~

Harry fumbled about in Kim’s kitchen, trying not to make a racket as he hastily put together a cup of tea. He also filled a pint glass with water, cursing under his breath as Kim began to cough from the other room - a nasty, punishing sound that seemed to go on and on. He needed to see a doctor, Harry thought. He’d breach the topic with Kim in a bit.

He'd helped him sit up in bed, first to drink some water, which Kim sipped gingerly. Harry could tell he was dreading every cough that threatened to burst out of him. He’d taken the glass from Kim and exchanged it with the tea, asking him to drink as much as he was able.

“Have you taken anything for this?” He asked, watching Kim with a worried frown.

“…Not since Saturday. I didn’t have a lot of medicine on me.”

‘I rarely need it’ went unsaid, but Harry heard it all the same.

“When did you last eat?”

“…Yesterday. I’ve been meaning to go grocery shopping, but…” Kim sighed, wincing as the tea rolled down his throat.

“Well, shit. I’m running out to get you meds and soup as soon as you finish your tea, okay?”

“Detective, you have a job.”

“Jean-Jean gave me explicit permission to come and check up on you. He told me not to bother going back today.” Harry grinned at him, pleased both by Jean’s leniency and the way Kim could no longer leverage work to get him to leave. Kim sighed.

“Honestly, you’re acting like I’m terminally unwell. I’ll b-be…I’ll be f’fi-hh!”

Harry’s eyes zoned in on Kim’s flaring nostrils in an instant. Despite it all, despite the concern, he couldn’t help the way that ominous catch of breath went straight to his cock, twitching briefly in his trousers in anticipation. Kim was unmistakably going to sneeze.

“Ohh, can you - !”

Harry took the mug of tea from Kim and placed it safely back on the bedside table. He watched through unblinking eyes as Kim’s eyebrows rose, mouth dropping open and revealing his pink tongue as it cupped itself in ticklish preparation of the sneeze to come. It really didn’t get old, watching Kim like this. His poor, reddened nostrils twitched devilishly against the cold-induced tickle, urged along by the warm vapours of steam.

He took in one final, sharp little gasp, briefly waving his right hand in front of his face before pitching to the side, away from Harry and into the protective cradle of that same hand. Harry reached out to place a strong arm around his trembling shoulders, half in support and half out of the raging desire to be touching him every time he sneezed.

“HgGK’TSSChh!! Hpt’TSCHGHHh!! Hagk’TSCHOOouuu!!”

They shuddered through him, the vibrations running through Harry in turn and leaving him to break out in an excited rush of goosebumps from head to toe. Kim was miserably congested, and the sneezes were much thicker, much more nasal than usual. The definitive sneeze of that violent little triple was deliciously desperate and vocally rich. Harry was almost entirely hard when Kim snuggled into him, snuffling into his hand and trembling against the crook of Harry's neck.

“Ough. Désolé.” He muttered, sounding entirely wiped out.

“Bless you, honey.”

The pet name rolled out of him so naturally that it took Harry a whole few seconds to realise that he had even used it at all. He tensed in sudden anxiety, kicking himself for the slip-up. Were they ready for ‘honey’ yet??

When Kim didn’t pull away and instead snuggled even closer, he let himself relax, circling both arms around Kim and holding him for several moments. It was only when Kim sniffled again, keeping his hand securely over his nose and mouth, that Harry realised he’d probably made a spectacular mess of himself.

He pulled back, rubbing Kim’s back and looking around the room. It didn’t take him long to locate a handkerchief, half buried in the bed sheets, which he held out to Kim. The Lieutenant reached for it gingerly, uttering a small “merci” before skilfully obscuring his face from Harry and indulging in a quick nose blow. It was crackling and thick, but judging by the sound of it, not awfully productive following the initial few seconds. He sighed, swiping at his twitching nostrils for a couple of seconds longer before folding the handkerchief shut and snuggling back into the crook of Harry’s neck.

They sat together for a few moments before Harry cleared his throat.

“Ready for more tea?”

“Yes. God…I’m so tired.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Harry cooed, reaching out for the mug, helping Kim into position and nobly ignoring his throbbing erection.

~~~~~

After he’d finished his tea, Kim had been exhausted enough to fall asleep within minutes. Harry stood over his bed and watched him sleep for a while, feeling a little like an invasive creep but also finding no fucks left to give. Now that Kim was unconscious again, the all-consuming panic was returning.

He hurried through the store in a daze, buying an assortment of different foods and canned soup for Kim. He bought cough medicine, decongestants and tissues before saying ‘fuck it’ and buying a huge carton of orange juice for good measure.

Kim was still sleeping when he got back. As he set about making him soup he listened to him snore, the sound so congested even through the wood of his bedroom door that it made his chest ache.

Harry left the pot to simmer for a while, collapsing onto Kim’s sofa with a heavy sigh and dragging the palm of his hand up and down his face a couple of times in exhausted resignation. He wouldn’t let himself lie there for long, knowing any more than five minutes in a supine position was a dangerous game to be playing if he didn’t want to fall asleep for hours on end. The soup would be done soon enough, but the waiting was agony. He was happy that Kim was able to sleep but he just wanted him awake; he wanted Kim to reassure him that everything was okay. Stupid. Childish. He needed to snap out of it. He slapped his own face in reprimand and immediately regretted the power in his swing, cursing the sheer size of his palms.

His body jerked violently, suddenly, a terrible falling sensation. The shock of it had him scrambling to his feet. He’d been dozing off, exactly what he’d been hoping to avoid. He glanced frantically at the clock on the wall and was relieved to see that at most he’d been borderline moribund for no longer than 10 minutes – just enough time for the soup to be done.

He ladled a decent portion into one of Kim’s pristine bowls and helped himself to a spoonful. Not bad, he decided; the flavour could be a little stronger but Kim likely couldn’t taste much anyway. He placed it on a small tray with a clean spoon and another glass of water.

The domesticity of it all made him nervous as he carried the tray out of the kitchen; it was like he was a little boy again, nursing his first serious infatuation. He must have done things like this for Dora – unavoidable, in a relationship that long, and yet. Thoughts of her still ached. He pushed the blurry, blonde image away, replacing the vague outlines of her with a clearer impression of thick glasses and slick black hair. He would overwrite her, record over their memories together the same way he would have eventually recorded over their wedding tape – had he been good enough for her to marry in the first place.

Kim was still asleep when Harry entered the room and placed the tray gently on the bedside table, careful to avoid disturbing the Lieutenant’s glasses. He was facing Harry, but only partially visible, tangled up in the cocoon of his blankets. It was fucking adorable. He looked like the world’s weariest caterpillar. His mouth hung slightly open to accommodate his poor stuffy nose, painfully pink and nuzzling into the fabric of his bedding. Harry buried the devious thought of waking Kim up by teasing his sensitive nostrils into a sneeze, instead reaching out and gently shaking his shoulder.

The Lieutenant was an incredibly light sleeper normally, so when he hadn’t woken upon Harry’s entrance and only cracked open one bleary eye after twenty seconds or so of increasingly vigorous jiggling, it was another nail in the coffin of Harry’s soaring anxiety.

“Heyyy, sleepyhead. How are you feeling?” He smiled as encouragingly as he could muster at his sick boyfriend, who groaned and promptly launched into a lengthy coughing fit. Harry swore, helping Kim to sit up and stroking his back.

“Here, Kim, fucking hell…” He handed him the glass of water and the Lieutenant gulped it down greedily, panting when he was done. He was struggling valiantly to maintain an even breathing pattern between the warring hindrances of his blocked sinuses and tickly throat.

“Better?” He asked when he’d helped Kim relax back into the pillows he arranged between his back and the headboard.

“A little. Thank you, Harry.” Kim smiled at him. “I’m okay.”

That meek little smile was clearly manufactured for Harry’s benefit, and that only made it feel worse, somehow. Kim yawned into his duvet, one hand clutching the fabric to his face.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“About an hour and a half.” Harry answered, turning to retrieve the soup. “I made you something to eat – wanna give it a go?”

He proffered the tray towards Kim, taking in his surprised expression with pleasure.

“Did you cook this?”

“Well, it’s canned soup, technically, but I tossed in a couple of things to spice it up.”

“You didn’t have to, you know. I could have done this much.”

Harry sighed, waiting for Kim to take the tray.

“A simple ‘thank you’ would have sufficed, you stubborn ass.”

Kim flashed him an apologetic smile and took the tray.

“Sorry, sorry. And thank you. I really do appreciate it.”

“That’s better.” Harry huffed, adopting the authoritative tone he used to whip out whenever his high school students were testing him. “Now eat your damn soup.”

Kim grinned.

“Yes, sir.”

It took Kim an exceedingly long time to get through even half of the soup – he kept needing to cough, and Harry decided to permanently hold the tray in place for him whilst he ate. It was much easier than repeatedly leaning forwards and backwards in anticipation.

It was as he held the tray in place, angled over Kim’s lap and several inches away from his face, that Kim’s breath started to hitch. Harry barely had a second of recognition before Kim was swallowing frantically, dropping his spoon onto the tray a moment too late to be able to catch the desperate sneeze in the palm of his hand.

“Hah’AEGK’TSChhuu!!”

Harry shivered, eyes closing reflexively against the delicate smack of spray that misted his face. On the technicality that he was needed to hold the tray in place and prevent Kim from spilling the soup, he didn’t bother moving. The second sneeze baptised him in much the same manner, barrelling out of Kim almost immediately after the first.

“hAGK’TISHHH’Uuu!!”

The brief hesitation as Kim sucked in air to fuel a definitive third sneeze allowed Harry to open his eyes, taking in the Lieutenant’s tortured expression, his damp, flaring nostrils stretching to their limits. Instinctively, he leaned even closer, watching as Kim’s face froze for a moment in a rictus of irritation before he was sneezing hard enough that some soup sloshed over the rim of the bowl. He had managed to bring up a hand last minute, but the covering was lazy at best, spray escaping through the gaps between his fingers and misting Harry again.

“hHH’GKKT’TTSschoouu!! Ugh, excuse me…”

He snuffled miserably, blinking away a few stray tears. Harry handed him a clean tissue, feeling giddy and electric but trying his absolute best to disguise it. He was doing a horrible job; he was entirely hard, painfully so, and he could feel the smug grin that parted his lips despite his best efforts to remain placid. He tried to subtly wipe his face clean with his shirt sleeve as Kim busied himself with blowing his nose.

“I take it you enjoyed that?” Kim asked suddenly.

Shit. He’d been even less subtle than he’d hoped. Harry winced and cast a guilty ‘well shucks, you got me’ grin his way, relieved to see that Kim didn’t look bothered in the least. If anything, the cheeky lilt of his voice and the smile that reached his eyes seemed to imply a sense of endearment and satisfaction.

“I did. Sorry. Bless you three times.” He wiped the spilled soup away with another tissue, offering out his hand to Kim to take his own used tissue and tossing them both.

“Mm, Thank you. No need to apologise, detective. It’s quite nice, you know. To feel desired at one’s most disgusting.”

“You’re so not disgusting right now. But trust me, Kim – I get it.”

They smiled at each other until Kim broke eye contact, reaching for his spoon and clearing his throat. Naked adoration, both giving and receiving, was still relatively uncomfortable for him - Harry understood this implicitly - but the tension of his mouth belied how much effort he was putting into repressing a most persistent smile. Noticing this just made Harry beam at him even harder.

~~~~~

To Harry’s dismay, Kim’s condition only seemed minutely improved after eating. He’d cuddled with the smaller man until he’d fallen asleep again, then pulled up KIm's desk chair and sat beside his bed, leafing through one of the Lieutenant’s books on Aerostatic Pilotage. It was good to distract himself like this as his boyfriend wheezed and snored several feet away from him. The endless stream of information that he filed away in the recesses of his brain was always a decent method of channeling his focus within the relative chaos of his noisy mind. Besides, it was much less destructive to overload his system with facts than substances. He tried not to think about the cooking wine he'd seen in a kitchen cabinet earlier.

A sudden whimper from the pile of bedding and limbs that was Lieutenant Kitsuragi had him mobile in an instant, hovering by Kim’s bedside as he groaned again, opening his eyes ever so slightly and panting for air. Before Harry even reached out to touch him he could feel that he was boiling, burning up as the heat radiated off of him. He was damp with perspiration, loose hair plastered to the skin of his forehead.

“Oh, sweetheart…”

Kim turned towards him, eyes unfocused and glassy with fever. When he didn’t say anything, just peered miserably in Harry’s general direction, almost through him without the aid of his glasses and with the sickness fogging his brain, Harry had to dig his nails into his palm to prevent a full-blown panic attack.

“I’m gonna get you a cold compress, okay? Just hold on a minute.”

He scrambled round the small bathroom for a face towel before rushing back to the kitchen, filling a bowl with ice cubes and water. The bowl was too small and the towel a little too big, but it would have to do.

~~~~~

Kim’s attempts to convince Harry that he was fine eventually came to an end. As Harry cupped his cheek and lay beside him on the bed, adjusting the compress and supporting him through the occasional bout of coughing, the Lieutenant’s resolve finally broke.

“Harry…” He started, and before Harry’s eyes he seemed to physically shrink down into the bedsheets. It was as though the determination and stubbornness left him all at once, his energy positively depleted. “I feel terrible.”

Kim’s eyes squeezed shut. Harry didn’t know if he was cringing, humiliated by his own admission of defeat, or whether he was trying his best not to cry. It might even be that he had a migraine coming on. It didn’t matter. None of that mattered – all that mattered was making him feel better. His chest physically ached.

“Okay. It’s okay.”

He kissed Kim’s burning cheek, took one of his clammy, limp hands in his own and laced their fingers together.

“Will you stay here tonight?”

“I can’t believe you even felt the need to ask.”

“Mm…apologies. I’m not used to this.” Kim spoke gently, squeezing Harry’s hand softly, far too softly.

“What - being looked after?”

Kim smirked at him just a little.

“’I can’t believe you even felt the need to ask.’”

“Ha ha. Funny man.” Harry deadpanned, pressing their foreheads together, forcing Kim’s eyes to cross as he stared at him down the length of his nose. The Lieutenant huffed a small laugh against his lips, just as Harry had intended.

“Listen, being a lonely, touch-starved, middle-aged man is my shtick, okay? If you come for my gig like that I’ve got nothing.”

Kim closed his eyes and smiled against Harry’s mouth.

“Not even communism?”

“Political alignments alone do not a personality or archetype make.”

“So find a new archetype. Maybe the loving, doting boyfriend.” Kim muttered. “You’re doing a very good job of it right now. It suits you.”

Harry moved down to nuzzle his face into the crook of Kim’s neck. His skin was sweat-slick, hot, and smelled distinctly unwell, but it didn’t bother him. He wanted to bite down into the flesh and taste him. He wished he could physically crawl into Kim and live inside of him. The feelings that overwhelmed him brought stinging tears to his eyes.

“You think so?” He asked round the lump in his throat.

“I do.”

They lay there for a little while longer, jostled only by another round of coughing from Kim that urged Harry to prop him up in bed again. The change in position seemed to shift the congestion in his poor nose, and with it, triggered an irritating tickle. Harry watched in adoration as Kim’s expression twisted, then gasped softly as Kim turned and sneezed twice against the column of his throat.

“Hupt’TSHHUuuu!! HGKk’Tschoouu!! Ohh…”

He rubbed his runny nose against Harry’s skin, causing him to stiffen and moan in pleasure. Kim now had intimate knowledge of exactly how to drive him crazy, but he sensed that this particular, miserable little motion as his boyfriend attempted to quell the tickle in his nose was simply enacted out of sheer exhaustion, rather than any active desire to work him up. Somehow, it just made him even hotter – that Harry was simply a means to an end in that moment, a substitute for a tissue or a hastily raised fist to rub against his nostrils was – well. His pants were torturously tight.

“Bless you, baby. You poor thing.”

With all the willpower he could gather, he lay Kim down again and wiped his dripping nose clean with a tissue. He couldn’t help taking his time, luxuriating in the sensation of playing with his nose through the thin material. He swallowed back a groan when Kim’s nostrils flared wide, flexing under his fingers and pushing them apart. He didn’t sneeze again, for which Harry was grateful – that might have been the final straw before he was forced to sneak off and rub one out in the bathroom. Not that Kim would have minded, he was sure. Enabler.

“You should try and sleep now, okay?”

“Yes.”

“I’m gonna stay here until you’re out and then I’ll crash on your couch.”

“Do you need – there are no clean sheets –“

“It’s okay, Kim. There’s a throw blanket, and it’s getting warmer. I’ll be fine, honestly.”

Harry stroked his cheek, something that Kim seemed to like a lot. The Lieutenant nuzzled into his palm and hummed an affirmative. Harry clucked his tongue softly - he was still much too hot, burning into him.

“Gonna take you to a doctor in the morning, honey. You’re not well at all.”

“Okay.”

“You sure? Gonna let me drive you there? No complaints, and no apologies?” He teased, relaxing just a little bit when Kim’s lips twitched into a tiny smile.

“I’ll behave.”

“Good boy.”

#this was challenging to write but hey I tried my best!!#there is sneeze but this is definitely more of a general sick fic and heavy on the whump so yeah be prepared for angst #lots of saccharine caretaking too #nametakenfic #d/isco e/lysium #sneeze fic #sneeze kink #snz fet #snz kink #snz fucker #snzblr #sneeze fucker

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moriartyluver · 1 year

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Hello, you’re one of the very few accounts I know that write for Moriarty the Patriot and I really enjoy your writing. If you have time, could I request a William x Reader comfort? I just had an argument with my parents and they called me ungrateful and selfish and said that I owed them what they’re asking of me because they raised me, and I could really use some comfort. I’m asking for William because he seems like he would understand what it feels like to be around those kinds of adults but if you have another character in mind feel free to write for them too. The format can be whatever is easier for you with this type of request. Thank you!

A/N: hey nonnie! I understand how you feel. Having emotionally abusive parents really sucks but you’re really strong. Thank you for your request and i really hope things get better for you in the future!

Prompt: how would William comfort his lover who just had an argument with their parents?

Character: William James Moriarty x reader

Genre: hurt/comfort

Format: oneshot

warnings: emotional & physical abuse, bad parenting, arguing, angst at the beginning, reader’s gender isn’t specified, some cursing, mentions of violence, reader could be seen as implied female (forced marriages) but isn’t explicit, reader is engaged to William.

“Dammit (name)! You’re so ungrateful! Most parents would have thrown you out into the streets!” Your father yelled down at you.

Tears of a mixture of anger and disbelief welled in your eyes. You blinked them away and rubbed at them with your sleeves in an effort to not seem weak.

“Seriously, (name)! Listen to your father! The least you could do is get married to someone wealthy! Our family business is going to crash and all you can think of is yourself!” You mother agreed “We used to be nobles living lavish lifestyles! You owe us for all those years we raised you in comfort when deep down we knew you were a selfish child!”

Smack.

You held a hand up to your now red cheek. It stung so painfully that the tears you were holding back couldn’t take it any more. The tears could only make you cheek sting even worse.

“Damn you all.” You whispered to yourself. You voice was wavering and your throat felt as though there was a lump in it you couldn’t swallow. You sat up from the chair beside your mother and left in silence while those parents of yours watched in disbelief.

“Where in God’s name do you think your going?!” Your father demanded. You said nothing. You didn’t even turn back.

There was a slam of the manor door and then you were gone. Hopefully your parents would never see you again.

An hour or so later, you managed to turn up on the doorsteps of the Moriarty family manor where your fiancé lived. Strangely enough, you were planning on telling your parents of the engagement later that night at dinner, but after that disrespect, you decided they deserved nothing. They didn’t deserve you.

But even then you still felt somewhat guilty. Your mother had been feeling unwell due to the stress of your family going bankrupt and your father was terrified he may have to pay back loans with his own life. Could it really have been your fault? Were you really the selfish one?-

“(Name)? What are you doing here, my love?” The door opened to reveal a tall gentleman with blonde, somewhat messy hair ( he had been working intensely on a plan of his and fallen asleep earlier after overexerting his mind.)

At that moment, the tears came back. William looked somewhat confused, but let you wrap your arms around his neck and cry into him while he guided you to your soon to be shared bedroom.

“…so that’s when you left and ended up here, is it?” William repeated back to you once you finished your story of how you ended up crying on his doorstep. You were sat beside him on a lounge chair, wiping your tears away with a handkerchief.

His scarlet eyes softened when he gazed at your upset self. “Dear, whatever you may be thinking due to your own feelings of guilt, please know that you did nothing wrong..” he brushed a few strands of hair behind your ear with hand and held yours with the other “no matter how much your parents were struggling, they should have never taken it out on you.”

William placed a chaste kiss on your non- swelling cheek and another on your forehead. “(Name)… you aren’t selfish at all.. your parents are.”

“Thank you William, but now that I’ve walked out, I would rather not return. My issue is that I haven’t the faintest idea of what to do from now on…” your hand fell in your lap as you started down at your feet. “Knowing my parents, I doubt they would ever let me come back..”

“Then stay here, with me.” William offered “All we would need to do is move the wedding forwards and I can have Albert pull a few strings to ensure you get the life you deserve. You wouldn’t mind that, would you?”

Your eyes lit up at the proposal. “You mean it..?” The blonde nodded. You wrapped your arms around him in a close hug while muttering “thank you” over and over again and peppering his face with kisses of gratitude while he chuckled at your affection.

(And if your parents were to ever cause you any trouble….well they don’t call him the Lord of crime for nothing…)

#moriarty the patriot #william james moriarty #william moriarty #william moriarty x reader #yuukoku no moriarty x reader #sherlock holmes #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori x reader #moriarty the patriot x reader #mtp william

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taylorswiftstylequestions · 7 months

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so, the mayor said that Taylor is not feeling well because of the passing of a fan yesterday. as in, she’s sad. I’m Brazilian and that’s what he meant. of course, take it with a grain of salt because I have no idea how much contact he has with Taylor or her team, might just be his view of the situation (and I have no doubt she’s down about it - she even posted about not being able to talk about her grief) xx

—

I speak Portuguese and the translation for what the Mayor said is: "the artist, it seems, is not feeling well due to yesterday's ocurrences". It remains unclear if he is referring to Taylor feeling bad emotionally about what happened at the show, or if, in addition to that, she is physically unwell.

—

Ty for these translations friends! I’m not sure his intention in invoking Taylor’s feelings here (tone-wise) but I imagine Tree would have preferred he stuck to speaking only on his scope of responsibility on the event and the handling of it which does not include speaking to Taylor’s emotional or physical state.

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bekkathyst · 8 months

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Hey everyone I just want to say a couple things.

First of all thank you all for your condolences for the loss of our cat 💜

I mostly spent yesterday and today grieving and resting. This has been difficult emotionally but I’m also physically unwell for unrelated reasons so it was best for me to take it easy today.

I’m behind on some shipping and definitely behind on answering messages. I still need to get the Autumn jewelry collection posted on the website this weekend but it’s possible I’ll post it on Sunday instead of tomorrow.

I want to catch up with everything this weekend, and I really appreciate the patience.

The bulk of the jewelry collection will be posted this weekend during the release, but I will be finishing up smaller pendants and rings that will be listed throughout the week. Unfortunately we have a lot of vet bills and other obligations that we really need to get on top of, so I decided to make some extra budget friendly pieces that will be listed after the main release.

I appreciate all of you so much 🙏💜

#original

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justme-1723 · 9 months

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I see a lot of discussion surrounding whether or not Ray was ever actually in love with Mew…

I understand why this is a hot topic. Defining love can be tricky, especially when you have little to no experience receiving it in a healthy way.

The phrase “in love” is so subjective.

For me, it’s more about reciprocated love. Loving someone who will never love you back is painful, but loving someone who is capable and willing to return that love with equal or greater intensity… that’s terrifying. It’s exciting. It’s overwhelming. And it takes work to maintain.

I think whatever it is he feels for Mew… is real for Ray, but it’s not mutual and as much as that hurts… it’s something Ray is used to. Mew has stayed consistent in his rejection of Ray’s romantic feelings. It’s almost safe because if Mew doesn’t love him back, he can’t ruin it. He can’t lose Mew in that way. Nothing changes between them.

Sand is a wildcard and I can’t wait to watch Ray navigate his feelings (and Sand’s) once he finally realizes there is something more than friendship between them.

Sorry. Just some random rambles before the new episode tomorrow. Also, why is SandRay not in the preview post GMMTV posted today? I’m emotionally: unstable. I’m physically: unwell. Please let them have peace 🥹

#only friends the series #ofts #sand x ray #ray x sand #raysand #sandray #first kanaphan #khaotung thanawat #firstkhao #gmmtv #gmmtv series #first khaotung #khaotungfirst #khaofirst #only friends series

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latibule79 · 1 month

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Since last year, life has been throwing me one challenge after another, and things took a turn for the worse in October. Dealing with grief, health issues, and trauma has been draining, to say the least. While there are probably more astrological transits that I’m not even aware of, the recent events - the lunar eclipse in Libra, solar eclipse in Aries, Mercury retrograde, and the Jupiter-Uranus conjunction - seemed to amplify everything. Then, yesterday’s full moon in Scorpio intensified it all even further.

Last night, I hit a breaking point. I seriously considered checking myself into a mental health facility. Thankfully, amidst the chaos, I still had moments of clarity. Instead of acting impulsively, I decided to take a proactive step and made an appointment with my doctor for next week to discuss my mental health.

These past few days have been emotionally heavy. Lots of self-reflection, tears, and feeling physically unwell. It’s been like a mental and physical cleanse, leaving me utterly exhausted. But I’m thankful to God for giving me the strength to keep going and for not losing my mind. I trust that I’ll come out of this stronger, and I have faith that I’m divinely protected. Holding onto this belief is what keeps me going, even in the darkest of times.

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scionshtola · 4 months

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just being annoying about corishtola and my own fic. also shb spoilers.

ever since i finished that last fic i posted i’ve just been like non stop thinking about how difficult shb is for them and how much they love each other through it anyway. in spite of it and because of it. cori just bursting to tell shtola they’re in love with her but not wanting to cause her more pain if they succumb to the light poisoning and being so conscious of how exhausting an excess of aether is for her that they hold themself back to keep her safe.

and shtola doesn’t know the why to any of this but she knows cori is in pain and she’s one of two ppl who can see just how much it’s affecting them. and even though it does hurt her both physically and emotionally to see that she’s not going to turn away from them. it’s rotten work but she’ll do it because it’s cori and she would never leave them to deal with it alone. and her just straight up telling cori this before the last dungeon is basically a confession of love and also more important and more what cori needed to hear than an actual confession of love.

they just love each other so much i’m so unwell about it all the timeeeeee

#they’re soooooooooo. in love.#i don’t have time to be like this about them i’m trying to watch vpr ahdhdjks #i just can’t stop thinking about itttt i wish i could draw so i could draw shtola touching lightbulb cori’s face agdhsj #i need a text post tag

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