#male ocs
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Three (m/m, cold)
And now, for something completely different.
Well, not completely - it's still a cold fic lol. This one is specifically for @ghostlychill who has asked for more Matt and Mark. This is basically the saga of how they ended up together, and it is certainly out of my wheelhouse because it actually has romance lmao. A pre-warning, this is plot heavy (for me) and a little sneeze light. There are a few Greyson cold sneezes, and Matt is sick for the latter half, but it's more of a romance sickfic than a true snz fic. But I hope you like it if you read it; let me know if you all want more Matt and Mark. They were honestly really fun to write, and I banged this monster of a fic out in just a few hours so the muse was musing.
Ok, done rambling. Enjoy :)
CW: Male, M/M (not sexually explicit, just kissing), colds, contagion, coughing, fevers, light mess. 4.3k words under the cut.
Three
Their first kiss was an accident.
Post-brunch. Pre-holidays. “Grab a beer?” Mark had asked as Matt stuffed his dirty chef coat into his backpack. It had become a bit of a ritual for the two of them to grab a drink after a long shift in the past few weeks; usually it was under cover of darkness, but this brunch had been particularly brutal and Matt was craving not just a beverage, but some commiseration. He shrugged, hoisted his backpack onto a shoulder.
“Sure. You’ve got first round.”
One round had quickly turned to two, then three, and before five pm hit they were drunkenly crashing their pint glasses into each other and talking much louder than the half-full pub required to be heard. Matt drained his fifth beer and looked to Mark, smiling sloppily. “One more?” he asked.
Mark pushed his hair out of his face and leaned his head into one hand, taking the other man in. “If it’ll keep you in my line of sight,” he said, emboldened by booze, “I’ll stay here all night long.”
When the bartender finally kicked them out around eight, the two men were so drunk they had to use one another as walking sticks to get down the block.
“We’re way too drunk to be on the street,” Mark laughed, putting a hand over one eye. “I’m seeing, like… quadruple.”
“That’s wild, ‘cause I can’t see at all,” Matt said, looping his arm through Mark’s. The two of them laughed and stumbled until they hit a bench near well-lit central park and flopped down.
“I can’t remember where I live,” Matt admitted, placing his head on Mark’s shoulder. Their arms had stayed looped. Mark gently placed his head atop Matt’s.
“Me either,” he said. “But… can I tell you a secret?”
Matt looked up. Nodded.
“I don’t want to go home,” Mark said, letting a slow smile spread across his face. Matt felt his cheeks flame; he let a beat pass before he smiled back.
“Me either,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Later, they wouldn’t remember who initiated it. All they would remember was when their lips pressed together, everything else melted away.
***
“Oh! Oh, shit, fuck, sorry guys I didn’t -”
“Chef, shit! Oh, fuckin’ hell -”
Greyson slammed the door to the bathroom shut, leaving Matt and Mark to stare at one another, eyes wide as saucers – the silence between them thick as the cigarette smoke that hung in the air outside that little room.
Finally, Mark broke the silence. “Um… do you think he saw anything?”
Matt couldn’t help it; he barked out a laugh. Mark slapped a hand across the other man’s mouth, making him laugh even harder. He really didn’t know what he’d been thinking following Mark in here in the first place.
Much like the stupid party they were hiding from in the bathroom, their second kiss was clearly a mistake.
The New Year’s Eve party had been Elijah’s idea, much to the surprise of literally everyone at the restaurant.
“What?” Elijah had asked when his announcement during pre-shift had been met with a stunned silence. “I thought you all loved parties!”
The servers and cooks eyed one another in a way they all hoped wasn’t completely obvious, until finally Greyson said what everyone was thinking. “Boss, yeah, everyone loves parties… except you.”
Elijah had scoffed at this. “You guys obviously don’t really know me; I love parties.”
Of course, Elijah didn’t love parties and it ended up moving from his roomy condo to Greyson’s tiny Brooklyn apartment at the last minute. Post-service on New Year’s Eve, Matt helped his boss load extra bottles of champagne, vodka, and tequila into the back of the restaurant’s van all while Greyson grumbled about Elijah.
“Fuckin’ Elijah,” Greyson said for about the fiftieth time that evening. “Why the fuck would he even mention a party if he wasn’t a thousand percent sure he wanted to ho – hh-”
Matt glanced up at his boss, who held an arm midair in anticipation. This was the real reason Greyson, who threw parties at his place at least three times a year, was pissed about having to host the work shindig: he was sick.
“Hh-! HhhITSZZH-ue!” Greyson folded over into his elbow, sniffled, and cleared his throat.
“Bless,” Matt offered, placing the rest of the alcohol into the back of the car. “Chef, I’m sure that everyone will understand if you don’t feel up to having twenty people in your apartment. There’re tons of parties right around here, why don’t you just… call it off?”
Greyson, stubborn as ever, just shook his head. “I said I’d do it. They’re already on their way.”
So Matt loaded into the van with Greyson, and Mark got in Elijah’s car with the GM while the rest of the staff hopped on the subway for the party that no one really wanted to be at. Greyson, who’d been able to keep his illness at bay for most of the shift thanks mostly to the Sudafed he kept slamming, started coming down hard the moment they began their drive to Brooklyn.
“Hh...hhITSZZH-ue! Huh-! ETSZH-ue! Fuck mbe,” Greyson muttered, using his sleeve to wipe under his nose with one hand while he drove through the busy Manhattan streets with the other.
“Um… do you want to pull over so I can drive?” Matt asked, a little more pointed than his boss was used to him being. Greyson shot his sous chef a look.
“Ndo,” he said. “I’ve got it.”
Matt was hardly a germaphobe – working in a kitchen bred that out of you pretty quickly – but he couldn’t help but cringe away with every sneeze and cough that came from his boss’s side of the car. He found himself thinking about Mark; they had plans to hang out in just a few days, plans that both of them had been forced to cancel multiple times already, and Matt could just feel Greyson’s germs making themselves at home inside his body. He really didn’t want to cancel on Mark again; he wasn’t exactly sure what they were, what he wanted them to be, or what Mark thought they were, but whatever it was, he didn’t want to fuck it up. Matt was entirely too good at fucking up a good thing.
“HRRSHH-ue!” Clearly, that one snuck up on him, because that time Greyson barely covered his mouth. Matt shrank into the door and considered pulling his shirt over his nose and mouth in a desperate attempt to keep his boss from infecting him. Greyson glanced over at Matt and coughed out a laugh.
“Sorry, kid,” he said, patting Matt’s leg, “but you’re probably already fucked.”
Eventually, they made it to Greyson’s walk-up and after what felt like an eon, they got everything inside. Elijah immediately recruited Mark to help pour champagne for everyone, and Greyson left his sous to go outside and smoke on the patio – Matt had no choice but to just start drinking.
By the time the cooks and servers made it to Greyson’s apartment, Matt was half in the bag. He floated sloppily from group to group, telling jokes and prompting everyone to take shots with him, all while keeping one eye on Mark at all times. Elijah had been keeping his liege busy; Mark was bartending, putting appetizers in the oven, picking up trash… everything except hanging out with Matt. So when he finally got to take a bathroom break, Matt threw back his tequila soda and, emboldened by liquor, followed behind him.
“Hey, it’s occ-” Mark started to say when the bathroom door opened right on his heels – but he was cut off when Matt swung him around, grabbed his face in both hands, stood on his tiptoes, and pressed his lips firmly on the other man’s.
Mark certainly wasn’t pulling away; in fact, the moment their lips touched, Mark grabbed Matt by the hips and lifted him onto Greyson’s tiny vanity to make the kiss easier on both of them. Matt pulled away for just a moment to look at Mark – his black-framed glasses were askew, his hair was wild from Matt’s hands coursing through it, and his face was flushed with lust. Matt was sure he’d never seen anyone so beautiful.
“What was that for?” Mark asked, his voice low. Matt’s face cracked into a smile.
“I haven’t gotten to spend any time with you tonight,” he said, pushing Mark’s hair away from his face. “And I’m probably gonna have to cancel our plans on Monday.”
Mark’s brows knit together, confused. “Why?” he asked. “Is this, like, a fare-thee-well, this is the last time this will happen kiss situation?”
Matt laughed, shook his head. “No,” he said, cocking his head towards the door, where the party rumbled outside. “I’m, like, 99% sure Greyson infected me with his disgusting illness on the long-ass drive over here. I wouldn’t force you to hang out with me when I’m inevitably sick.” He shrugged. “So I figured I’d sneak some time with you where I could.”
Matt didn’t wait for Mark’s response about his impending doom; he just leaned in again. This time, Mark parted his lips and slid his tongue in to meet Matt’s. Matt allowed a quiet moan to escape his lips, let his hand feel its way down to Mark’s shirt, and began unbuttoning when the door flew open once more.
“Oh!”
Greyson.
***
“Chef, I am not in the mood today.”
“Oh c’mon, if I can’t poke fun at your drunken antics then what’s even the point of living? You make fun of my drunken antics all the time.”
Matt put down his knife and gave his boss a pointed look. “Yeah, maybe for like a day after they go down, but New Year’s was three days ago. Are you planning on ever letting it go?”
Greyson shrugged as he pushed onions into a deli container and snapped the lid shut. “Probably not. I mean, it’s just too good – caught red handed in my bathroom. Like, it couldn’t have happened more perfectly if I wrote it myself.”
Matt rolled his eyes; while Greyson living for his embarrassment was annoying, it was kind of the last thing on his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about Mark – after the bathroom kiss situation went down, he’d slipped out of the party and hadn’t mentioned anything about it to Matt since. Matt assumed he wanted to put it out of his head. Maybe the kiss – both of the kisses – hadn’t felt to Mark like they did to Matt. Maybe Mark was put off by how drunk Matt had been both times. Maybe he just wasn’t into him.
All Matt knew was, he desperately wanted to talk to Mark – but despite working the same hours in the same tiny restaurant, Mark had managed to avoid him like the plague.
Speaking of which.
“HTSHH-uh! Hh! Hh’ITSHH-uh! ETZSH-ue!” Matt turned away from the food to sneeze into his shoulder, then his hand, then finally his elbow. Greyson stepped over and plucked Matt’s knife out of his hand while the younger man was compromised.
“You’ll take someone’s eye out that way,” he chastised, placing the knife on Matt’s cutting board. The sous rolled his eyes, sucked in through his nose, and trudged to the sink to wash his hands.
“I don’t want to hear it from you, Chef. You’re the fucking plague rat of this restaurant,” Matt murmured, pulling a hand down his face. This was the other issue: Matt and Mark were supposed to hang out tomorrow, but just as he predicted, Matt had been gifted the cold Greyson had on New Year’s. If Mark didn’t want to talk to him when he was healthy and just a few steps away, he certainly wouldn’t be traversing the city tomorrow to hang out with Matt when he was fever-addled and snot-ridden.
“Rude,” Greyson said, continuing his prep. “But not entirely untrue. Sorry you’re sick.”
“Whatever,” Matt grumbled, his bad mood amplified by his pounding head. “Can you just drop the bathroom situation?”
Greyson bit his cheek to keep from smiling. “I can certainly try.”
Matt knew that meant ‘no’, but he’d take what he could get. He picked his knife back up to start chopping broccoli, but almost cut himself when Mark slipped into the back kitchen.
“Chef?” he asked, prompting both Greyson and Matt’s heads to shoot up. Matt’s face flamed when Greyson swiveled his head to meet his sous’ eyes with a cheeky grin – he put his head back down, pretending to focus on his work.
“Yes, Mark, how can I assist you?” Greyson asked, wiping his hands on the towel next to his cutting board. Matt felt Mark shoot a quick glance his way; his cheeks burned with the knowledge.
“Elijah is looking for you. Says he has a question about tonight’s ten-top with the prixe fix?”
Greyson rolled his eyes, but abandoned his prep for the moment. “When doesn’t Elijah have a question about a prixe fix?” he asked to no one in particular. “I’ll go talk to him. Thanks.”
The chef exited the back kitchen, leaving a sniffling Matt and a stuck-in-place Mark in his wake. Matt was the first to break the silence – unwillingly.
“Hh-! NTSHH-uh!” The sous attempted to stifle a sneeze into his palm, but only succeeded in making a mess of himself. His face reddened impossibly deeper, and he was forced to put down his knife and head for the sink.
“Bless you,” Mark said as Matt pulled a paper towel from the dispenser and blew his nose. Matt swallowed painfully, washed his hands again, and nodded.
“Thanks,” he said, clearing his throat.
They lapsed into silence once again, neither one looking at the other. “Um,” Mark said, finally, “are you -”
“I have to get this work done,” Matt interrupted, though he couldn’t explain to even himself why he wouldn’t let Mark ask if he was okay. “Have a good shift, okay?”
Mark blinked, taken aback, but nodded. He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and turned to leave the back kitchen without a word. Matt didn’t let himself watch the other man go.
***
It was like watching a train wreck.
“Matt,” Greyson called from his spot at the expo board. “Where are we at on the halibut for 63?”
Mark’s eyes darted behind the line where Matt was doubled over, coughing into the collar of his chef’s coat. The sous chef had started the evening looking very much under the weather and quite a bit worse for the wear, but now, at nine PM he looked like he was ready to keel over right there on the line. Mark bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything.
“Matt!” Greyson called again, and Matt stood, shakily, to place the likely-overcooked halibut onto its plate. He pushed it through the window and gave his boss a pointed look.
“The food has to cook, Chef, you gotta give mbe a minu – uh! ETSZCH-uhh!” Matt collapsed once again into his collar, righted himself quickly, and sucked in through his nose. “A mbinute,” he finished, his voice cracking.
“Halibut doesn’t take twenty minutes to cook, Chef,” Greyson snapped, snatching the plate from the line. “I expect my number-two to be able to keep ticket times under fifty minutes so the fucking restaurant doesn’t shut the fuck down.” Greyson handed three plates to Mark, who took them wordlessly and slunk out of the kitchen.
Mark dropped the food at its respective table, the guilt of not saying anything to Matt slowly eating away at him. He counted the tables left in the restaurant who still needed to eat – definitely more than he was hoping for. He really, really didn’t want to go back to the kitchen.
“Hey, Lij?” Mark said, approaching his boss at the host stand. Elijah was moving reservations from table to table on the iPad, configuring the remainder of the night.
“Hmm?” Elijah murmured, only half paying attention. Mark pursed his lips, weighing whether he should say anything.
Finally, he said, “Do you think you could ask Greyson to kind of… cool it with Matt? I mean, he seems like he’s really sick and Chef is like… totally berating him.”
Elijah raised an eyebrow and looked away from the iPad to meet Mark’s eyes. “You want me to ask Greyson to stop yelling at Matt… now? In the middle of service, when there are tables who have thirty-plus-minute ticket times?” The GM huffed out a laugh. “Man, Greyson told me about the whole bathroom situation, but I figured you guys were just drunk. I didn’t realize you were down so badly for him.”
Mark’s face flushed crimson; Elijah smirked at him, and turned back to the iPad. “Matt’s a big boy, Mark,” he said, not looking the floor manager in the eye. “He can handle Greyson yelling at him.”
“Yeah,” Mark muttered. “Okay.”
Mark trudged back to the kitchen to grab more food, the sound of Greyson’s frustrated voice hitting him before he could even step foot through the swinging doors.
“Order in! Two filets, two tofu, one halibut! Matt, I swear to God I had better see table twenty-six up in the next three seconds, Chef, it’s already at twenty-two minutes.”
“Yes, Chef,” Matt mumbled, barely loud enough for anyone to hear.
“I can’t hear you, Chef,” Greyson yelled back, tweezering herbs onto a dish.
“Yes, Che – ITZSHH-ue! HRETSZH-ue!” Matt ducked down below the line to sneeze, the sound painful and desperate. Mark could hear the crackling cough he was trying to hide all the way from where he was standing; his heart sunk. He wished like hell that he’d had the balls to say something – anything – to the other man this week. He wished he wasn’t such a fucking baby when it came to his feelings, or relationships, or standing up for himself or anyone else. He wished he was anyone but himself.
“Bless – Chef, do you need to switch spots with me?” Greyson asked, his voice finally softening at the sound of Matt’s coughing.
“Ndo, Chef,” Matt managed, standing. “I’mb fine. Twenty-six, up,” he said, slamming the plates onto the pass.
“Great,” Greyson mumbled. He garnished the plates and shoved them into Mark’s hands. “Twenty-six, go,” he said, not looking at the floor manager.
Mark nodded; he took the plates out into the dining room and dropped them; as he did, he made a promise to himself and, silently, to Matt: maybe there was nothing he could do or say during the shift to make Matt feel any better, but he would figure out a way, post-shift, to do something to help him. He would grow some balls, if it killed him.
While Elijah was still busy looking at reservations, Mark slipped into the bathroom and pulled out his phone. He put in a grocery order, to be picked up at ten the next morning. He typed out a text to Matt, scheduled it to send at the same time he would be picking up the groceries so he wouldn’t be able to wimp out and unschedule it. Then he put his phone back in his pocket, opened the door, and went to finish the shift.
***
His phone was ringing.
Matt groaned as he came to; he was covered in sweat, he could barely breathe, and he was stiff as a fucking board from passing out on his couch. Who the fuck was calling him? It was his one day off, could Greyson not leave him alone for one fucking day?
He grabbed the phone off the coffee table, ready to throw it across the room, when he realized the name on the screen wasn’t his boss’s.
Call from: Mark, Work.
Matt’s stomach jumped into his throat. The phone continued to ring while he squinted at the clock in the corner: ten twenty-three AM. Had he and Mark spoken last night? He could barely remember a fucking thing about the previous night, other than being utterly and completely miserable. The two of them definitely hadn’t spoken; he remembered giving Mark the cold should before service started, remembered the pitying look Mark had given him as Greyson screamed the restaurant down, remembered flying out the door the moment Greyson told him to go. They hadn’t spoken, their plans were obviously off, so why the hell was Mark calling him?
The call went to voicemail. Matt coughed into his elbow, a chesty sound that he really didn’t like, especially since he didn’t have health insurance. After a minute or so, another notification popped up: one new voicemail.
Curiosity got the better of him. Matt opened his phone and hit ‘play’.
“Hey, Matt, it’s um… it’s me. I know this is super weird, like I don’t know why I did it at this point weird, but, uh… I’m outside your building. I texted you, but now I’m realizing you’re probably asleep. Uh… I mean, if you get this I’m gonna, like, hang out out here for a bit. I brought soup! I can’t cook, so it’s from a deli, but I figured you might need something to eat, and you probably don’t want to cook since you’re sick. Your place is nice, by the way. Um. Okay. If you get this, cool, if not, I’ll uh… I’ll leave in a little bit. Okay. Bye.”
Matt felt his heart near-explode in his chest. Mark was sitting outside his building, with soup? What was this, a Hallmark movie?
He did it without thinking; he pulled up his text conversation with Mark and typed, hey, im awake. sorry I missed ur call. ill buzz you up :)
Mark was up the stairs in record time. He knocked, and Matt stood from the couch, forgetting until he was vertical that he was still in his work clothes from last night. Gross, he thought, but it was too late to change now – he took a few shaky steps towards the door and opened up.
Matt barely recognized Mark at first; he was only used to his floor-manager getup, button-downs and ties and slacks, his hair gelled back. Today, Mark wore jeans and a jean jacket over a Brighton University hoodie – did he go to college in England? - with black high-top converse. His curly hair was in his face, and he was carrying two full grocery bags. Mark smiled.
“Hey,” he said. “Can I come in?”
“Yea -” Matt attempted, not realizing his voice was completely shot until he tried to use it for the first time that day. His hand flew to his throat and he attempted to clear it, to no avail. “Shit, sorry, apparently I can’t talk,” he whispered.
Mark pursed his lips, obviously concerned. “That’s okay,” he said, stepping through the front door. He placed the bags on Matt’s tiny kitchen table and began pulling out supplies. “I come bearing gifts.”
There was the soup, like he said, but Mark also pulled out dayquil, and sudafed, and cough drops. He pulled out a box of tissues, bags of tea, and cough syrup – quite literally the whole nine yards. “I didn’t know what you had, so I figured I’d grab one of everything,” Mark said, embarrassed.
Matt didn’t know what to say. “Mark, I – hh! hhIGTSZH-uhh! Hh’TSHH-ue!” Matt crumpled into his elbow to sneeze, hard, and lapsed into a fit of coughing. Mark pushed the cold supplies towards him, smiling a bit.
“Bless you,” he said. “I’m sorry you’re so sick.”
Matt took a moment to blow his nose and uncapped the cough syrup. He chugged a bit, righted himself, and shrugged, embarrassed. “Not your fault,” he croaked. “Thank you for bringing all this.”
“It’s the least I could do,” Mark said, not looking into Matt’s eyes. “I’m really sorry for ignoring you the past few days, Matt. I… I mean, I don’t want to scare you off or anything but I haven’t really had, like, a real relationship in a long time. Like, a really long time.” He looked up, caught Matt’s red, watery eyes in his, and gave up the whole truth. “Like… ever.”
Matt nodded slowly, processing. “So… you don’t hate me?” he asked, the fever tossing to the wayside any filter he might have once had. Mark’s face colored; he laughed.
“I don’t hate you,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Like… I really don’t hate you. I – I mean, I really, really like you, Matt.”
It was Matt’s turn to flush bright red. “Even like this?” he asked, coughing into his fist. Mark smiled.
“Even like that.”
The two of them stood there, smiling twin goofy smiles, for a moment before Matt ducked once again into his elbow.
“Hh – ITSZHH-ue! Guhh.” He wiped his nose on the back of his hand, not caring how disgusting he looked. “I, umb, I really like you too, Mbark,” he said, coughing again. “Like… probably mbore than is normal or rational.”
This time, it was Matt who was caught off-guard. Before he knew what was happening, Mark had his hands on either side of Matt’s hot face and was tipping Matt’s head up to meet his. This one was different; while the first two kisses felt hungry, dangerous, this one was soft; an invitation. A promise of a future yet to come.
Matt pulled away to catch his breath. “You’ll get sick,” he muttered, eyes closed and hands around Mark’s thin frame. Mark tipped Matt’s head up, pushed his sweaty, dishwater blond hair out of his eyes, and pressed their foreheads together.
“I know,” he said, and pressed his lips against Matt’s once again.
Their third kiss – well. That was the one they would tell everyone at the wedding about.
#whiskeyswriting#snz#sickfic#snzfic#coldfic#snez#snzblr#male cold#male snz#m/m#male ocs#contagion#mess#i'd love to hear any feedback good or bad on this one bc i haven't written romance anything in a very long time lol#and idk if this sucks or not lmaooo
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1000 follower special!
So I decided to make this huge headcanon post for Yandere ocs(since my Yandere stories are part of why I got so many followers). I’ll probably do a part 2 later. Thank you to everyone who took the time to read my pieces of writing.
Yandere Jock🏈🏉
Brad is horny. He will literally beg you to let him have sex with you.
Luckily he does have every contraceptive and pregnancy prevention medicine possible.
A new oral birth control comes on the market, he gets it for you. You want to get an IUD? He makes an appointment.
As you get further in the relationship, eventually he will get therapy for himself because he got sick of seeing you so embarrassed whenever he tries to fight other guys who look at you back in your college years.
Thankfully said therapy changes him for the better.
Pre-therapy Brad would’ve been happy that you got pregnant and wouldn’t even think of an abortion.
But with therapy, when Brad finds out you’re pregnant, he immediately asks if you’re ok, do you want the baby(Cus if you don’t he’ll pay for the abortion and take care of you afterwards)
If you choose to keep the baby, he’s putting his marriage Pinterest boards to use.
If you thought bridezillas were bad, then you haven’t met Bradzilla.
“I can’t stress my fiancé out with all the wedding stuff! She’s pregnant and I can’t risk her and babies health!”
He makes sure everything is perfect and even buys a new house for you and the baby.
Brad waits on you hand and foot. Literally watches all the Instagram reels for baby hacks.
Yandere Vampire🦇🩸
Nos feels guilty about the wedding.
He literally tries to make up with your grandma and family.
Let’s just say you had to pull your grandma and every male relative off Nos.
Nos’s family treats you wonderfully.
They even help you through your vampire pregnancy.
Meanwhile, your family eventually accepts Nos and tolerated what he did to you.
Nos is rich af and he treats you like he is.
Even though you’re married, you’re going on midnight dates.
You are wined and dined.
He even cooks meals for you
Nos makes strawberry sorbet mixed with blood of your choice.
He is definitely a kiss man. Literally loves kissing your cheeks and neck.
Nos does apologize for scaring every boy away from you. You had to understand it was so he could marry you and your village wouldn’t be destroyed silly-
Guides you through being a vampire and even helps you get powerful enough to be in the sunlight.
Which pleases you greatly because you loved your village’s summers.
Yandere Werewolf 🌕🐺
The switch between Aaron’s personality when he’s a human vs a werewolf is like night and day.
The minute Aaron goes back to normal and sees you, NAKED, in his cave….oh boy…
“Aaaahh! I’m sorry I glanced at your body!”
You almost start to miss the werewolf him. Almost.
Aaron’s semi traditional values kick in and he immediately proposes and starts wedding plans so it will look like the baby was conceived AND born in wedlock.
The good side is that with marrying Aaron you get the amazing villa out in the French countryside surrounded by beautiful flowers.
The bad side is that Aaron has free reign to control his werewolf abilities.
And that’s when his shy personality becomes more dominant.
I mean you find it hot, but the amount of body hair he sheds makes you irritated.
At least he takes good care of his hair and washes it. And he goes through the effort of waxing and shaving his legs just to appease you(take that body standards!)
He gets even hotter when living in the woods because he lets his hair grow out.
Aaron even lets you pull his back length hair during sex.
He’s also a great father. He will chase and play with pups while you rest up.
Your children love their papa and mama. Aaron lets the pups climb on his hair.
Aaron also teaches you how to breastfeed, change diapers, etc.
He actually took a parenting class before he got bit.
Aaron also took care of you during the pregnancy. Literally snuggled, gave you food, took you to appointments, fed you prenatal vitamins. He even acted your body pillow.
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Are all of my Redacted OCs guys?
Yes.
Am I still putting most of them in wedding dresses??
You bet your fine ass I am.
#gender roles??#who tf is she??#we dont know her#and dont care to💅#redacted audio#redacted asmr#redactedverse#gendered listeners#male listeners#male ocs#redacted angel#redacted baabe#redacted sweetheart#redacted lovely
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༅ 𝒞irce 𝒴ué'li 𐙚 ˙
♱ all sobriquets + pseudonyms. ࿓ fang/master yuè’li ( legendary title + formal title ), circo/mr. circo ( playful + respectful, via yashmi ), sir ( his dogs + formal others ), sir circe/ sir yuè’li ( formalities/commonly respectful ).
ᰍ overall notables. plays an electric guitar (named it delune). has a bloodhound named babydoll and a doberman named yìzé. works as a part-time music teacher for 2nd - 3rd graders. asanbosam’s (the type of vampire he is) are more agile in trees and high places, so he’s kind of clumsy otherwise. often recommends products (notably the brand anzhong, originated by an upcoming oc of neso’s), random cleaning tips, or even seasonings. considers calling off of work a lot, though he knows if he does they’re bound to fire him this time. circe also doesn’t socialize too much, and he’s very territorial about his cottage (and so is yìzé— wonder where he gets that from). he’s a little too territorial actually, seeing as circe usually sucks the blood of/eats any trespassers that ignore his precaution signs. he does so by jumping down from the roof of the cottage or a tree and pinning them. (even friends get tackled if they don’t give him a heads up that they’re on the way!)
ᰍ standard physical facts. 6'3. retractable wings with a 20 foot span, which are black and grey with red, pink and silver undertones, and retractable iron hooks for feet. tips of his hair turn auburn when he’s experiencing intense emotions. always smells like anzhong products- particularly colognes. has a chinese tattoo on his inner forearm that translates to damu héxián qín. his nails are painted black, but they get chipped easily because he’s really hands-on daily. lastly, he has a deep, relaxed and very distinctive voice which can be heard here!
დ genshin au notables! n/a ( temporarily ).
დ spider-verse au notables! n/a ( temporarily ).
დ jujutsu kaisen au notables! n/a ( temporarily ).
ᰍ age appearance. twenty-five ( 25 ).
ᰍ birthday. may 9th.
ᰍ nationality, race, + ethnicity. ( varies per au ), asanbosam, + senegalese and chinese.
ᰍ gender, prns, + sexuality. male (amab), he/him, + omnisexual.
ᰍ sun sign. taurus.
ᰍ MBTI. istp-a, the assertive virtuoso.
ᰍ likes. his electric guitar (delune— yes, he named her); playing the guitar is considered his biggest hobby, adoration and talent. his old doberman, yìzé, and his bloodhound babydoll. his cottage. alone time. blood oranges. ironically, loves garlic bread + garlic based dishes (especially pasta). scaring trespassers, or making his friends jump with jump-scares and shoulder-taps for a good laugh. coal black, wine red, and sometimes pink! strawberry icecream. philosophy and sacred music, especially within the selenian race. feminism. boots. silver jewelry. having his hands in aesthetically pleasing positions (pockets, behind his head while laying down,arms crossed, etc). anzhong products. people who use manners. sweethearts, but especially male sweeties (he just wants to pinch their cheeks ugh). MOTHAFUCKING INDIGO! <;3
ᰍ dislikes. random space invaders/leeches. too many home guests (or any really). yellow. stalkers/yanderes/yandere-coded people (specifically when targeted at him). pushy people. paranoia, pessimism + assumptions. difficult/slow learners (as a music teacher he struggles with younger kids that don’t process so easily). jellies and jams. the taste of vanilla. misogyny and misandry. bad hair days. getting stuff under his nails, especially when freshly done. vengeance, gossip + untrustworthiness. cooking for people, especially when there’s a lot of em’— no, even worse if they’re too picky.. bicycling. hot, summer days. being caught in the rain without a stylish umbrella. loud noises. dogs that bark too much.
･ﾟﾟ❥ quotes.
After It Rains ୨୧ “Jeez, what a mud bath. *Looks at his dogs.* Glad you two are out of your piglet puppy days heh heh. Guys? *Theyre walking away from him and he’s holding back laughter.* Was it something I said? Come ahhnn! I’m saying you liked the mud!”
About Jihane ୨୧ “The last time we spoke she foretold that my aura was yellow indefinitely. She was wrong. .. It’s red. *Looks off at something in the distance and pauses.* I’m not delusional.”
About Circe: Signature Dish ୨୧ “Nah. That’s a myth, just a little misconception. I use garlic in a lot of my dishes, especially pasta. The best kind I’ve tried thus far? Cherub Sin, easily. It’s a faultless dish. I personally believe the best noodle for any garlic and parmesan pasta is angel hair, and that dish recognizes it perfectly.”
Good Night ୨୧ “Hm.. Remember the night routine I showed you. Ice. Your. Face. Top priority, right? Alright then, and I bid you goodnight. *Nods off salute-like with two fingers and walks away.*”
oc masterlist. extended details. visualizer.
⑅ leman productions. all rights fucking reserved, do not plagiarize.
#/ᐠ. .ᐟ\ ฅ lemanwrites.#oc x oc#vampire oc#male ocs#asanbosam#mythology#mythical oc#mythical creatures#sasonbosam#african mythology#black oc#black ocs#black vampire oc#poc oc#oc imagines#oc headcanons#modern oc#modern vampire oc#gay vampires#gay oc#original characters#my original oc#my oc stuff#ocs#oc#my ocs#oc info#oc profile#original character concept#original character
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Some sketches of some ocs. Trying to get back into drawing my male ocs but I still don't know male anatomy 🤡💀.
#anime art#animedrawing#character art#artists on tumblr#digital art#charecter design#oc artwork#male ocs#males are hard to draw frfr#so I'll start with my favs until I get to a point I'm comfortable enough
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SO APPARENTLY I'VE HAVE A HIDDEN TALENT FOR ALSO DRAWING XY CHROMOSOMES ALL MY LIFE AND MY HANDS WERE BEING STUBBORN LIL SHETS
#fun fact: his name is Holox and he's Starqra's father#male ocs#boy ocs#hehe#sketches#paper sketches#traditional art#nottes art#nottefierr
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I'm so happy with how this new banner looks. It's a huge step up from the previous one.
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Lucian Archie Bane
Name: Lucian Archie Bane
Nicknames: Luci, Luci Lu, LuLu, Lu, and LuLu Lemondrop
Birth Date: 03'11
Birth Place: Hell (Pride Ring)
Star Sign: Pisces
Race: Demon/Angel
Occupation: Striper/Hooker/Pornstar
Status: Alive
Age: 28 (Looks)
Gender: Male
Pronouns: He.His.Him and They/Them
Sexual Orientation: Pansexual & Polyamorous
Height: 5'5
Weight: 150 (depends)
Skin Tone: Caramel Tan
Hair Colour: Ebony Black, With Pastel Icy Sky Blue fading to Indigo Puprle for the bangs
Hair Style: shaggy mullet, down to his ankles, and scene/emo bangs
Eye Colour: Pastel Icy Sky Blue
Eye Shape: siren
Features: freckles all over his body, and a heart shape beauty mark under his right eye, a clover beauty mark on his left upper hip, and a rose beauty on his back side (upper right hip)
Weapons: Double Swords and Scythe
Skills:
Abilities: Neon Green fading up to neon blue with gold sparkles (Shadow Flame) and Magic
Last Resort: Potions/Weapons
Strengths: Is knowledgeable and fast. Can fly and shapeshift
Feats: is to afraid to show his true form and use his real powers.
Weakness: Wolfsbane and Silver
Family: Chaos and Nyx Sterling
Love Interest: Castiel (His Contract Holder.) (Not actually in Love)
Crush: Adam (First Human/Man) & Lucifer Morningstar
Enemies: Lute & other angels
Lucian Bane's Backstory:
Lucian was born in hell because of his mother, Nyx. (Who is the Demon/God of: Darkness/Abyss) She was once married to Chaos, the creator and the destorier. She birthed Lucian and his twin brother Nova. Nova became born angel fronting. And second form demon. Lucian was born fronting as a demon. The second fronting was angel. Lucian doesn't get along with the angels as much as the demons. The angels find him an obamnation and tainted. That he is bad blood. And he should be killed. But the demons don't care as much. But they do ignore him depending on the demon.
Lucian most of his life played alone and did his own thing. Being a hellborn also means watching others be killed by other demons or angels. It was annoying and very upsetting. He hated how it was. But probably at that age couldn't really change anyone's mind. So he kept it to himself.
As Lucian grew up learning how Heaven and Hell actually was. He didn't trust anyone. Not even his mother's new husband. Which was whatever. He could take care of himself as he always did. Just because he lived with his mother and her servants caring for him. Doesn't mean he can't do anything on his own. And take care of his business alone. He didn't ask for help. At least outloud. He was alone a lot. And that made him realize no one can hurt him that way.
Lucian did end uk making mistakes. Falling into an angel's trap. His name is Castiel. Who has male skin, crimson red eyes, and long blaxk hair to his shoulders. He was an Arch Angel. Who has with black wings with red tips/ombre. Who seeked out Lucian for years. He made a deal with him. And now his soul belongs to Castiel. He would have to go to heaven and help Castiel make money there and in hell. It was dirty and really bad.
Bur over time he got over it. Abuse or not. It was the life he chose.
And one day he ended up meeting Charlie ans Vaggie. And some spider demon named Angel Dust. They invited him to live with them at a hotel. To redeem demons.
Lucian did shit on it. Because heaven was shit. But that was fine. At least he could be away from the world outside.
Over time he did form friendships and bonds with everyone.
And the world Changed underneath Lucian when he met Adam and Lucifer.
Personality:
bubbly, flirty, confident (most of the time), Timid/Shy (sometimes), cocky, random, playful, temperamental, funny (kind of), and outgoing
Quotes:
"Come on! I so had that! He really wanted my fake drugs. How dare you!" Lucian to Charlie
"Cigarettes and Cock Rings are a turn on for me." Lucian To Adam
"Folding was never an option." Lucian to Lute
"Did you see that!? He wanted to suck my dick!" Lucian to everyone at the hotel about some creep
"Sorry? What? I can't hear ya. I think the lines are breaking up." Lucian to Castiel (when in the same room together.)
"Would you like Coconut and Caramel Cream Pie in your mouth?" Lucian to Lucifer (Lucian's scent is coconut and Caramel along with his taste.)
Likes:
Bubble gum
Music
Singing
Dancing
Movies
Sex
Kissing
Blow jobs
Gaming
Cooking/Baking
Cuddling/Snuggling
Plushies/Stuff Animals
Blankets/Forts
Diskikes:
Abuse
Fighting
Yelling
Death
Angels
Hobbies:
Sewing
Collecting Stickers
Collecting Crystals
Writing
Reading
Fears:
Losing his loved ones
His life to angels. (Castiel or Lute)
Rejection
Trivia:
Lucian has a pet hellhound/wolf (feral wolf)
Named: Storm
Favorite Animal on earth: Frog
Favorite Drink: Blue Raspberry Juice, Dr. Pepper, Orange Juice, and Chocolate Milk
Favorite Foods: Tacos and Chili
Goals: To save others and to escape Castiel hold on him.
If you like to know more. Just ask.
I do write stories, songs, poems, rp/role-playing.
Canon and Fanon ships. Yee!!!
Art is by my partner. Their name is (TimidLittlePupen/LittlePupen) CrystalLunaStark
#original character#persona#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel oc#traditional sketch#sketch#w.i.p art#oc#male ocs
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Thanks (m, cold)
Hi guys, thank you again for voting on which scenario you wanted to see for this fic! It's a bit of a slow burn, and idk how I feel about the ending, but Elijah is staunchly miserable by the end so hopefully that makes y'all happy 😅 let me know if you like it 🫶
Ps I've been writing this for literally the past 12 hours so I cannot look at it anymore, I'll read it over and edit errors in the morning but I need to get it out before it drives me insane lmao. 5.5k words under the cut :)
CW: male snz, colds, coughing, fever, contagion
There was nothing quite as depressing, Elijah decided, as the days leading up to Thanksgiving dinner service in a restaurant. Well, unless you were Greyson.
“Goooood morning, boss! Two days til the Big Day; are you pumped?”
Elijah turned his chair slowly towards the door, where the chef stood grinning unironically. He thought, not for the first time, that Greyson was likely some sort of dog in a past life – a golden retriever, or possibly a lab. One of those ‘no thoughts, just vibes’ dogs.
“Am I pumped?” Elijah asked, glaring at Greyson. “For a day that should be spent drinking shitty beer and eating my weight in carbs spent instead putting on a fake smile for people who don’t even think of us as human? For people who go out to eat literally once a year, and make sure they do it on a holiday so they can feel powerful by forcing a restaurant to serve them, then complain about the price and stiff my servers? Am I pumped to barely break even, even though the restaurant will be packed from ten am until close, because those same people staunchly refuse to pay more than eighty bucks a head to stuff themselves silly? Am I pumped to listen to my staff complain all day, despite the fact that when each of them was hired, they were told in no uncertain terms that they would be working holidays?” Elijah clicked his pen closed loudly, stood to let Greyson through, and sat with him in tandem, his face set in anger the whole time. “No, Grey. I am not, in fact, pumped.”
Greyson broke their eye contact to wake his computer, the lecture obviously unexpected. “Clearly I should’ve read the room before opening my mouth,” he said, glancing back over at his boss briefly. “My bad, boss.”
Elijah, embarrassed that he’d let himself sink into such a state about something as stupid as a holiday service, pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Fuck. Sorry, Grey. You just caught me at a bad moment. I had two servers call out for today, I’m fuckin’ sweating because we really need everyone here for Thursday and neither of them are sure they’ll be good to come back in two days.”
“Hmm,” Greyson hummed, his eyebrows threading together. “That’s weird. I had Victor and Elise call out on my way in.”
Elijah felt his heart thump in his temple. “Did they say why?”
“I didn’t ask,” Greyson said, turning his chair to face his boss. “But I guess I should’ve. Did the servers say why they couldn’t come in?”
“Some sort of fever-cold thing, is what Jason said he had. Ashley just said she felt like shit.” Elijah pressed his fingers into his eye and sighed. “I need a cigarette. Care to join?”
Greyson, never one to turn down nicotine in any form, stood from his chair. “Thought you’d never ask,” he said.
The two of them walked through the empty kitchen in silence, Elijah entirely too wrapped in his own thoughts to continue their conversation. There was an ongoing joke, a trope, at this point, about holidays in the restaurant; everyone was always sick for them. Last Easter, the servers all had bronchitis, and a couple of Valentine’s days ago, Greyson had so many cooks call out with the stomach flu that they’d had to hire last-minute temps to fill in on the line. Despite doing nearly 300 covers, they barely made enough to cover the immense labor that seven temps on a holiday cost.
“Lij,” Greyson said as the two of them stepped out the back door and sat on the milk crates littering the loading dock, “it’s not going to be like Valentine’s. I can see your fuckin’ gears turning.” The chef pulled a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, handed his boss one, and lit them both up. “Relax.”
Silence, once again, fell upon them as they smoked and watched fat snowflakes disintegrate on the asphalt. Elijah hoped that Greyson was right, that everything would be fine and he was overreacting – but he knew better than to hope. More likely than not, it was going to be what it always was on holidays: a shit show.
Matt and Mark, hand-in-hand until they spotted their bosses by the door, turned the corner and waved to their counterparts in tandem like well-trained circus animals. Elijah couldn’t help but smile as their fingers unwove from one another.
“Morning,” Elijah called, stubbing out his cigarette. Greyson did the same, and the two of them stood to let the younger men into the building.
“Aren’t you freezing?” Mark asked rubbing his hands together as he pushed the door open. Elijah shrugged as he held the door open for the other two and walked in behind them.
“My rage keeps me warm,” he said, prompting a laugh from Greyson and an eye roll from the younger men. “How’re you guys?”
Mark shot a look at Matt as they all walked towards the office at the front of the kitchen. “I’m well,” he said, pointedly. Elijah nearly stopped in his tracks when he glimpsed Matt glaring at his boyfriend.
“Matt…?” Greyson asked, an attempt at giving his sous chef a get-out-of-jail-free card. There was silence as the three of them turned, expectantly, towards Matt.
“I’mb good,” the sous said, his voice cracking on the second syllable. Elijah audibly groaned, Mark winced, and Greyson bit his cheek to keep from laughing at the absurdity.
“Well, you certainly sound great,” Greyson said, palming Matt’s shoulder aggressively. “Would you like to go home and sleep that off?”
“Yes, he -”
“Ndo,” Matt said, cutting Mark off and shooting him a look. “I wandt to help prep.I’mb – hh! hh’NGTSH-uh!” Matt turned and pulled his coat up over the bottom half of his face to sneeze, then quickly gathered himself and stood up straight. “I’mb fine,” he said, convincing no one.
Elijah closed his eyes briefly and sighed through his nose; fortunately or unfortunately, he knew exactly why Matt hadn’t called off.
The week prior, Elijah and Greyson had dolled out raises and bonuses for the staff; this year was Matt’s fifth as sous chef. Greyson had basically written a dissertation of why his sous chef should be given a new title – Executive Sous – along with a significant raise and bonus. It hadn’t taken much convincing; Elijah knew exactly how hard Matt worked, and staying at the same restaurant as a sous chef for five years was nearly unheard of in this city, especially for someone as young as Matt. He and Greyson had agreed that Matt’s loyalty to the restaurant deserved to be compensated, and had surprised him before his day off with the new title and pay.
Matt had been surprised – shocked was probably a better word for it, honestly – and had confided in Elijah after Greyson had dipped early to meet up with a date that he felt like he didn’t deserve the raise.
“You do,” Elijah had said, laughing lightly. “We wouldn’t have given it to you if you didn’t deserve it.”
The younger man had shaken his head. “I just… I mean, Greyson is here way more than me. I get two days off mostly, and he doesn’t let me work longer than ten hours. And I love it here, you guys don’t need to, like, worry about me leaving if that’s what this is about.”
Elijah had given Matt a confused look. “Greyson should be here more than you, first of all he’s a partner, not just the chef, and secondly, he gets paid very well to be here eighty hours a week. That’s his choosing. You’re his employee – if you were here as much as he was and getting paid significantly less, that wouldn’t be fair. And we’re glad you love it here, but that’s not why we gave you the raise. We gave it to you because you’re a hard worker, and you deserve to be compensated for what you do.” Elijah had smiled at Matt, patted his knee, and finished with, “Don’t sell yourself short.”
Matt had just smiled back and nodded, but Elijah knew he hadn’t changed his mind about ‘being undeserving’. Elijah knew, via background checks that were performed by his off-site HR company, and via Mark being a blabbermouth the second he got a glass of wine in him, that Matt had been a bit of a troubled kid; he’d been bounced from one foster home to another as a kid, and then one juvenile detention hall to another as a teenager. Only when he’d dropped out of high school and gotten a job as a dishwasher at a Denny’s did he finally decide it was time to shape up. He’d worked his way into the diner’s kitchen, then a slightly nicer kitchen, and when he was 20, he’d shown up at the front door of Elliot’s in an ill-fitting suit with a speech about how he was ready to work somewhere that he could hone his passion, even if they couldn’t pay him a dime. Greyson had hired him on the spot, not even consulting Elijah, despite only having been the executive chef for a few months.
Elijah knew Matt felt that he owed Greyson, not the other way around, and this promotion and raise was the nail in that coffin of doubt. He knew there was no way Matt would go home, no matter how shitty he felt.
Greyson just shrugged at his sous chef’s denial of being sick. “If you want to stay, I’m not going to make you leave,” he said, walking into the office and changing from his sweatshirt into his chef’s coat. “Just don’t sneeze on the food.”
Matt rolled his eyes and stripped off his jacket to put his own chef’s coat on. “Yes, Chef,” he said, coughing into his elbow. Mark and Elijah exchanged sidelong looks.
“Are you feeling okay?” Elijah asked his junior manager. Mark smirked, hiked his laptop bag further onto his shoulder, and started towards the dining room – his makeshift office.
“Never better, boss,” he said, pushing through the swinging doors. “Never better.”
***
“So, is he coming in tomorrow?”
Greyson lolled his head to the side, hands still on his keyboard, and deadpanned Elijah. “The fuck do you think?”
Elijah pulled a hand down his face and nodded. “Yeah, okay, just wanted to check.”
While Matt had been relatively fine the first few hours of the shift, by the time the last guests had eaten, the sous had been so staunchly miserable that Greyson had marched his ass into the office, thrown his jacket over his shoulders, and pointed towards the back door. “Go. Home. Now.”
“Chef, I – HTSHH! Hh-! GTSH-uh!” Matt wrenched to the side, collapsing into a post-sneeze coughing fit that made the cooks flinch from five yards away.
“You’re not fine,” Greyson insisted. “You’re sick, and you’re going to get everyone else sick.”
Matt nodded, miserable, and hung his head. “Sorry, Chef,” he muttered, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his jacket.
“Go,” Greyson said. “And come back when you’re well.”
Mark had taken Matt home in an Uber, and the cooks and servers had been able to leave relatively early, which left Elijah, Greyson, and a bottle of whiskey between them on the desk to figure out how they were going to handle the rest of the week.
Greyson sighed and reached for the bottle as he pushed away from his computer screen. He took a long pull and handed the bottle to Elijah, who followed suit. “I just… I don’t understand why he’d come in that sick,” Greyson said, pulling his hair to the top of his head and securing it with a rubber band from their drawer of office supplies. Elijah had to pull the bottle away from his lips to laugh. “What?” Greyson asked.
“You, of all people, can’t understand why he came in sick?” Elijah asked, incredulous. “You?”
“What do you mean me?” Greyson asked, snatching the bottle back. “If anything, he learned it from watching you.”
“Oh, spare me, Greyson,” Elijah rolled his eyes. “For awhile there, you literally came in sick three weeks a month.”
Greyson scoffed. “At least I’ve never passed out on the kitchen floor.”
“Yes, you have.”
“No, I almost passed out. You actually fuckin’ swooned. Collapsed in a puddle. Full damsel in distress.” Greyson took another pull and placed the bottle back on the desk. “So don’t come for me unless I send for you.”
Elijah guffawed at this. “Who taught you that saying?” he asked. Greyson shrugged.
“I heard one of the servers using it. I like it.”
“The servers are twenty years old, you dinosaur. The last thing they want is Grandpa Greyson using their jargon.”
“Fuck off, if anyone here is a grandpa it’s…” Greyson stopped suddenly, held up a finger, let his eyes flutter shut, then let out a shaky breath. “Fuck, that’s annoying.” He rubbed his nose on the back of his hand, then raised an eyebrow at his boss, whose face had drawn into concern. “What?”
“What was that?” Elijah asked, glancing over at the bottle of whiskey they’d spent the past hour sharing.
“I just thought I was going to – oh,” Greyson’s eyes widened. “No, dude, relax, I’m totally fine. I feel great.”
“‘Buzzed’ and ‘great’ are two different things, Grey,” Elijah said. He reached up to feel Greyson’s forehead, prompting the chef to lean back in his chair.
“Great as in healthy,” he insisted, shooing Elijah’s hand away. “Seriously, I’d let you know if I – HRRTSHHH-ue!” He caught the sneeze in his elbow – barely – and choked back an irritated cough. From the crook of his arm, he heard Elijah swear.
“I’m going to end your fuckin’ life, I swear to God,” Elijah muttered, pushing the bottle further onto Greyson’s side of the desk. “You let me drink from the same bottle as you, you dick.”
“I’m fine, Elijah, Christ it was one sneee – hh! - hh…” Greyson tipped his head back in anticipation, then lowered and shook it when the feeling once again dissipated. “See? Totally fine.” He sniffled – convincing, Grey – and immediately changed course. “Plus, it’s alcohol. It’s an antiseptic.”
“It one million percent is not,” Elijah said, rubbing his temples in defeat. “Greyson, you cannot be sick. We cannot be sick. How the hell are we going to be able to run Thanksgiving?”
“Elijah,” Greyson said, “listen. I am fine. Everything is going to be just fi – ITSHH-ue!” Greyson pitched forward into his palm and cringed. Elijah, begrudgingly, slammed the box of tissues they kept on a side table in front of the chef.
“Bless you,” he said while Greyson cleaned himself up. “And, I mean this from the bottom of my heart: fuck. You.”
***
“Hhh-! Huh… hnnn.”
“Bless you.”
“Oh, screw you, Lij,” Greyson muttered for the millionth time that day. He grabbed what felt like his hundredth tissue and blew his nose – only for the feeling to reignite. “Huhhh! Hhh...hh… guhh.” Greyson rubbed his nose again and angrily spiked the tissue into the trash can beneath his prep station.
“Bless you,” Elijah said again, mocking.
“You kndow,” Greyson said, turning towards his boss, who was seated in the office, not looking Greyson’s way. “Karma is going to combe for you for being an asshole to mbe.”
At this, Elijah glanced towards Greyson. “Karma? No, karma is having a cold and not being able to sneeze because you let your friend drink out of the same bottle as you when you knew you were getting sick. That’s karma, and you got what was coming to you.”
“Fuuhhh! Huh! Hh...fuck,” Greyson grumbled, coughing into his shoulder.
“Karma is also giving your sous chef a lecture about being sick at work, only to be get sick and have to come into work because you’re technically the most well of all the sick cooks and chefs.”
“Are you finished?” Greyson asked, throwing his hands in the air. “I get it. And to be fair, I did ndot kndow I was getting sick.” The chef sucked in painfully through his nose and collapsed into coughs once again.
“Mmhmm,” Elijah mumbled. When it seemed like Greyson wasn’t going to be able to stop the coughing, he took pity and got up to make the chef tea.
“Here,” Elijah said, slamming a paper cup in front of Greyson. “Drink it. Sickie.”
Greyson, unable to come up with a proper comeback, just did as he was told. “How mbany on the books tonight?” he croaked. Elijah sighed, pulled up his phone, and slid it towards Greyson. “Fuck,” Greyson said when he saw the number.
“All the people in the city who aren’t coming in tomorrow decided tonight was the night, apparently,” Elijah said, taking his phone back and putting it in his pocket. “Are you going to be okay?” he asked, in earnest.
Greyson nodded. “It’s ndot too bad,” he said, taking another sip of tea. “Just wish I could fuckigg sndeeze.”
Elijah huffed out a laugh. “You’re sure you don’t want to call Matt in?”
“Definitely no – hh! Huh...hhhITSHHHZUE! Oh thank fuckigg God – HUHHESTCH-ue! Hh! Hnn...HuhhhETSCHH-ue! HTSSHH-ue!”
Elijah whistled, long and low, and pushed the box of tissues towards Greyson. “Wow,” he said. “Bless.”
Greyson rolled his eyes as he took a handful of tissues and cleaned himself up. “See?” he said once he’d thrown them away and washed his hands, “Good as new. HTSSHH-ue!”
Elijah chuckled. “Sure, Chef,” he said, moving towards the doors to the dining room. “Whatever you say.”
***
In his thirty-nine years on earth, Elijah had learned a lot about himself. He’d learned that he was a hothead, and he had to really think about the repercussions of what was going to come out of his mouth if he wanted to keep the person he was talking to in his life. He’d learned that he was incapable of whistling, juggling, or any other party trick – but he could pull out a fantastic rendition of Queen’s Somebody to Love during karaoke, and that was enough to make him seem like he was fun at parties. He’d learned that he loved to have his own space, and should he ever find a partner, he knew they’d have to have separate bedrooms. And he had learned exactly what it felt like when he was getting sick.
Like… really sick.
When Greyson said things like, “I didn’t know I was getting sick,” it truly did not register to Elijah. Maybe it was because Greyson’s illnesses always seemed to be some sort of mixed bag – starting differently every time, with symptoms that varied wildly – or maybe it was because he just didn’t tune in to how he was feeling. Greyson always said he basically tried to ignore his body until it forced him to pay attention; maybe that was something that Elijah needed to attempt. Because Elijah… Elijah knew exactly when and how badly he was getting sick every single time.
It had started that afternoon, mere hours after he’d given Greyson shit about exposing him to this illness, the way it always did – with the type of sore throat that made you feel weak in your knees. Elijah had swallowed, then immediately felt dizzy with the pain that surged in his throat. Oh, he thought, touching his neck. Oh, no.
He was, of course, a creature of habit and attempted all his usual ways to quell the pain – cups of tea hidden in paper sleeves, lozenges he hoped Greyson was too stuffed up to smell on his breath, handfuls of ibuprofen – to no avail. By the time dinner service came around he could hear the rasp in his voice and, despite the ibuprofen, could feel the ache in his joints that meant he’d already made it to stage two; fever.
This was how he knew he was going to be down badly. If he could ride the sore throat past the fever and straight into congestion, he might be able to get away with just a normal cold. But if that fever set in before any other symptoms, it was all over.
“Yo,” Greyson said, approaching his boss post pre-shift. “Cand we quickly talk about the semantics of tomborrow’s buffet before people get here?”
Elijah lifted his heavy head from his pre-shift notes and blinked in Greyson’s direction. “Okay,” he said, brilliantly. Greyson’s eyebrows knit together, concerned.
“You good?” he asked, rubbing his nose on the back of his hand. Elijah nodded slowly – surely, if Greyson was able to push through this illness with such ease, he was just being a baby about it. He swallowed through the knives in his throat and nodded.
“Just a headache,” he said. “What do you want to talk through?”
“Just wanted to see how mbany cooks you think I should have on the buffehh....ETSZHCHH-ue!” Greyson directed a massive sneeze into his elbow, and Elijah’s head about exploded with pain.
“Christ,” Elijah muttered, pressing his palm into his eye. Greyson muffled a cough into his sleeve and shook his head to clear it.
“Fuck, ‘scuse mbe,” he said, looking back at his boss. “Umb. Did I get you or something?”
Something like that, Elijah thought as he shook his head. “No,” he said. “You’re just loud, and my head hurts.” He pulled out his phone, looked at the cover spread for the next day, and said, “Three cooks on the buffet. One for omelets, one for prime rib carving, one for dessert bar.” He looked up at Greyson for his confirmation. “What?” he asked.
“You just… look like you’re in pain,” Greyson said, carefully. “Did you take -?”
“Yes, I took ibuprofen,” Elijah cut him off. “Go make sure your guys are ready for tonight. Take a decongestant so they can understand you. I’ll be back there in a minute.”
Greyson pursed his lips, but didn’t argue. “Yes, sir,” he said, and left Elijah to brood.
By some stroke of luck, the third inevitable stage of Elijah’s illness didn’t hit him until after they’d finished service. He was checking the lead server’s station so she could go home, when suddenly it felt like a thousand bees collected in his sinuses.
“Yeah, looks good Riley, thanks, see you in the mo – IGTSHH-uhh! HSTSH-ue! HhhhINTSZH-ue!” Elijah wrenched to the side, the sneezes so sudden he barely had time to cover his mouth.
“Yikes,” Riley said, taking a step away from her boss. “Bless you.”
“Thanks,” Elijah muttered, pinching his nose to quell the itch.
“You pick up whatever has everyone else out this week?” she asked, taking off her apron. Elijah shook his head.
“It’s nothing,” he said. “Have a good night.”
With all the servers gone, Elijah slunk back into the kitchen and sunk into his office chair, his head in his hands. He was not prepared to do a whole holiday service feeling like this. This was nightmarish, and he’d only felt sick for nine hours. Tomorrow? Tomorrow was going to be -
“Hey, bless you,” Elijah sat up and turned around at the accusation to see Greyson standing at the office door with his arms crossed. “Could’ve heard those from fuckin’ space.”
Elijah rolled his eyes, painfully. “Whatever,” he said, powering his computer up to finish the night’s paperwork. “You’re one to talk, I don’t think you’ve gone three seconds without -”
“HRRSHH-oo!” Greyson cut him off with a comically-timed sneeze directed into the collar of his shirt.
“-that,” Elijah finished.
Greyson grabbed a tissue and wiped his nose. “Yeah, but it’s been well-established that I have a cold. I was under the impression that you were still -”
“HTSHH! HRSHH! Huh-! HuhhESTZHH-ue!” Elijah once again collapsed in on himself, head both buzzing and pounding, the explosive sneezes grating the back of his throat.
“- well,” Greyson finished, and moved into the office to sit by his boss. Just as Elijah looked up from his lap, Greyson slapped a hand on his forehead.
“Enough,” Elijah said, pushing Greyson’s palm off. Greyson put both his palms on his knees and gave Elijah a knowing look.
“So, you’ve been sick all day, or…?”
“Greyson,” Elijah said, clearing his throat, “I’m fine.”
“You have a fever, Lij. Like, a pretty significant one.”
He knew, and he had known, but the words made Elijah’s eyes well and his throat close all the same. God, he hated having a fucking fever and all the stupid, ridiculous emotions that went along with it. Elijah took a breath, closed his eyes to collect himself, and addressed the chef.
“I’m not feeling 100%,” he said. “But I will be fine. You are sick – if I’m not 100%, then you must be at like 10% at this point.”
“I don’t have a fever,” Greyson pointed out, taking Elijah’s hand and placing it on his cool head. “See?”
Elijah bit his cheek to keep from snapping. “Alright,” he said. “Whatever. Still, you need to go home; it’s a big day tomorrow.”
“I will when you do,” Greyson said, shrugging. Elijah, completely spent, and done arguing, just turned off his computer – paperwork be damned for the night.
“Fine,” he said, putting his hands up in surrender. “Let’s call it a night.”
Greyson, clearly confused, just raised an eyebrow and nodded. “Alright boss,” he said, grabbing his jacket. “See you tomorrow.”
***
If there was one thing Greyson knew about Elijah, it was this: if you wanted him to admit defeat, you had to corner him.
When he woke up at oh-dark-thirty that morning, Greyson felt lucky that he was no worse for the wear then he was the night before. Was he stuffed-up to the gills? Yes. Did he have an incessant, grating cough? Yeah. But ultimately, it was a cold, and he’d work through far worse many more times.
So, despite the fact that it was still dark out, Greyson donned his hoodie and set out for the restaurant. On the way to the early-morning subway, he called Matt.
“...Hello?” Matt answered on the third ring. “Chef?”
“Mbornin’ sunshine,” Greyson said, coughing into the receiver. “How’re you feeling?”
“Uh…” Matt said, attempting to gather his bearings. “Better. Am I supposed to be at the restaurant now? I thought I was scheduled at eight.” Greyson heard him push back a blanket and plant his feet on the floor. “You sound like shit, by the way. Sorry about that.”
“Inevitable,” Greyson said, a brush-off. “And you aren’t scheduled til eight, but I have sombe very important, pre-work, Executive Sous shit I ndeed your help with.”
“Sure, boss,” Matt said, and Greyson could hear him changing clothes, using mouthwash, and whispering goodbye to Mark. “Anything you need.”
“Good man,” Greyson said, pausing at the top of the subway steps. “Could you pick up cough drops, Mucinex, and a hot water bottle, if you see one? Oh, and a real blanket. I’ll Venmo you some mboney.”
“Uh, sure, boss. Is this… for you?”
“Not for me,” Greyson said, coughing into his sleeve. “For Elijah. He’s down bad.”
“Oh. Oh, shit,” Matt said. “Yeah, okay, for sure boss. Whatever you need.”
“Thanks, mban. Hey, I’mb about to head down to the subway, text mbe if you have any – hh! HTSHH-ue! Fuck, sorry,” Greyson wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “Mbaybe grab more tissues while you’re there,” he amended.
“Sure, Chef. Bless.”
“You’re the best, Mbatt. Always knew you’d make a perfect number two.”
Greyson could hear the eye roll through the phone. “Don’t get sappy, old man,” Matt said. “See you soon.”
***
To say Elijah felt like shit would’ve been the understatement of the century.
When he woke up that morning, Elijah was fairly sure he was dying. The fever he’d crawled into bed with hadn’t budged, his sinuses were packed, and he’d officially acquired the final gem on his sick-as-fuck gauntlet: the cough. This day was going to be absolute hell.
Elijah did his level best to get ready for the busy service; he managed to take about half a shower before he had to sit down, dizzy from exertion; he’d gotten one contact in before sneezing so hard he almost poked his eye out and settled on glasses; he’d even found the strength to put on a pair of pants, though a button down was entirely too much for his shaking hands, so he settled on a cardigan that looked passable enough. God he hoped the servers – and Mark – would be able to hold down the fort out front, because this was nothing short of tragic.
Unwilling to deal with the subway and unable to drive safely in this state, Elijah settled on calling an Uber to work. It was early, a little before eight, but he knew if he didn’t get there now, he’d never make it.
“Happy Thanksgiving!” the driver said, leaving Elijah to immediately regret his decision not to drive. “Pretty early to be up and at ‘em. You heading to see family?”
Elijah cleared his throat as best he could before begrudgingly responding to the driver. “Ndot quite,” he said, his voice strained and congested. “Worki – HGSTHH-ue! HRSSH! ETSZCH-uh!” Elijah attempted to hold back the sneezes, unsuccessfully. Sans any tissues, he wiped his nose on his sweater sleeve. “Excuse mbe, sorry.”
“Working and sick on a holiday?” the driver said, shaking his head. “That’s rough, man. Bless you.”
Elijah’s face flamed, but he was in no state to deny. “Yeah,” he said instead. “Thangks.”
The rest of the drive was in blessed silence, and Elijah made sure to tip the guy extra for being exposed to whatever plague he was walking around with. When he finally pushed through the back door of the restaurant, Elijah felt like he’d already lived a lifetime today; he really wasn’t sure how much he’d be able to take.
“Elijah!” Greyson’s voice reached him before Elijah could even see his face. “Happy Thanksgiving, you sick old fuck!”
Elijah turned the corner and almost burst into tears – there stood Greyson, his face pale and nose bright red, and Matt and Mark looking no better, outside of his office; his office that had been, essentially, turned into a cozy-looking bedroom.
There were blankets on the floor, the chairs removed, and medicine on the desk. The harsh office light had been shut off, and instead one of the lamps from the host stand glowed gently from behind the computer. And, perhaps most heart-rendering, in Greyson’s hand was a bowl of steaming soup, and in Matt’s, a cup of tea.
“I know you hate working the holidays, and feeling like shit is just insult to injury,” Greyson said, setting down the bowl so he could guide Elijah into the office. “So we thought we’d mbake it just a little less shitty.”
Elijah allowed himself to be lead in, unable to find the words to thank his friend. He turned into his elbow to cough, a welcome respite from the tears he could feel threatening to spill over. “Grey,” he said when he’d gathered himself. “I… this is so… you guys…” he swallowed around the lump in his throat and shook his head. “I don’t kndow what to say,” he said, looking up at Greyson. “Thangk you.”
“Ah, save it,” Greyson said, placing a hand on his friend’s back. “You’re always looking after us. Call it our Thanksgiving to you.”
Elijah smiled a little, punched Greyson’s arm lightly, and allowed himself to be pulled into a hug. Heading to see family? the Uber driver had asked him. Maybe he had been, after all.
#whiskeyswriting#snz#sickfic#snzfic#coldfic#snez#snzblr#male cold#male snz#male ocs#original character
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More character designs for my upcoming webcomic idea! this time a couple of guys who can come turn into a cerberus like hell hound! has some soul fire powers and stuff.
#I randomly obtained car powerz#Irandomlyobtainedcarpowerz#cerberus#male ocs#Men#digital art#digital drawing#characterdesign#character design#OC art
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YumiPop MYO - Barton (AU)
Finished my YumiPop just before approvals and the masterlist were closing of the species B,) ! He's technically an existing character of my own but I felt like a YumiPop version of him fits !
You can read more about him here: Barton-Profile
Artwork & Design © GreaserDemon
YumiPop Species © fuuwaku (Toyhou .se)
- Do not use, copy nor edit my works
#yumipop#originalspecies#original species#yumi-pop#humanoid#goth#goth guy#ocs#male ocs#goth ocs#original character#originalcharacters#men in corsets#bones#digitalart
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Which of your male OCs be considered “the mentally unstable” like how bad is their sanity? (Kinda optional tbh)
and the other question
Who is the most likely to frame one another for something they didn’t do?
I think of all of them, Remy is the one mostly considered mentally unstable and most willing to frame others for crimes or things they did not do.
But ngl I wouldn't put it past many of the boys to do these things at least once. In particular: Dev and Alfred? Definitely would. Jon and Kamui? Maybe but they have their reasons. They are all pretty mentally unstable in their own ways LOL
#asks#anon#ocs#male ocs#remy#dev#kamui#jonathan#alfred#yeah many of my male ocs are actually like fucking evil#yandere or just plain evil killers or whatnot#remy is evil but he is like...weird#very self destructive very insane and paranoid#but idk they all have their unique insanity stories period#but ngl i think remy would be the first one my friends would call out as the most insane
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One for the money, two for the show… [Malena, Homura, Haru, Béliath, Hideyoshi]
❝𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥❞ (JoyxCelestia on Wattpad)
❝𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐎𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐥𝐥❞ (JoyxCelestia on Wattpad)
❝𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝’𝐯𝐞, 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝’𝐯𝐞, 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝’𝐯𝐞❞ (JoyxCelestia on Wattpad)
❝𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐬 & 𝐃𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬❞ (JoyxCelestia on Wattpad)
❝𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭❞ (JoyxCelestia on Wattpad)
Original Video : TikTok : @joyxcelestia
Have a great day !❤️
#live action#aesthetic#amor doce#amour sucre#my candy love#mcl kentin#mcl castiel#mcl lysander#ocs#mcl armin#faceclaim#face claim#female oc#male ocs#castiel veilmont#nathaniel carello#lysander ainsworth#kentin lerhay#armin keenan#my candy love kentin#my candy love nathaniel#my candy love lysander#my candy love castiel#mycandylove#corazon de melon#mcl lysandre#mcl nathaniel#nathaniel mcl#amore sucre#sweet amoris
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Working on break-dancing Angel and a past Honey :>
[Gendered listeners | he/him]
(Shush about Honey's chicken legs, it's still a wip and it'll be fixed-)
#gendered listeners#male ocs#male listeners#redacted audio#redacted asmr#redactedverse#redacted angel#redacted honey#redacted fanart#redacted art
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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐘
warnings: none
word count: 2.6k
“Alright, everybody! Wake up! Time to get ready for school!”
Cameron Nolan dutifully rushed through the house and knocked on every still closed bedroom door available. For effect, he opened them at the same time and let some of the light stream in.
Entering his own bedroom, his husband was still lying in bed, turned to the other side.
“Mnh-nh,” he grumbled when Cameron tried shaking him awake.
“Yes-nh,” he softly coaxed. “Come on, get up. You’ve gotta set a good example. Also, the kids need breakfast.”
“You make breakfast,” Dylan grumbled, but he threw back the covers and sat up, nevertheless.
Cameron laughed softly. “Yeah, right, after that pancake-disaster when we were still dating?”
“It’s offensive you would even call what you made pancakes,” Dylan retorted, and pressed a sweet good morning-kiss to his husband’s lips.
“See?” Cameron grinned, “That’s why you’re the cooking man in this relationship.”
“Mhm. And what man does that make you?” Dylan asked, as he shuffled to their bathroom. He squinted at the lights blinding his eyes.
“The successful lawyer husband that will probably have to bail you out of jail at some point in our relationship.” Cameron came up behind Dylan as he brushed his teeth and wrapped his arms around his husband’s waist.
“Also, your arm candy at times.”
Dylan leaned forward and spit into the sink. He turned in Cameron’s arms and grinned at him. “That’s more like it.” Cameron smiled, and they both met in a loving peck.
“Alright, now I’m gonna go and make some edible breakfast for our kids.” Dylan wiggled out of Cameron’s arms. “Could you get Jake, please?”
Cameron pouted. “But I need to get ready!”
Dylan threw him a look. “Babe, you just need to get him awake and carry him downstairs. You’ll manage.” Another peck as he passed him by.
“Love you, you’re the best!”
Cameron groaned.
The Nolan Residence might be one of the most contradictory buildings in all of Westport. On one hand, the house included half a dozen different leisure spaces, like a cinema hall, pools for different occasions and moods, and hell, a small museum with collectibles from all over the world – most of them brought home by Dylan.
On the other hand, and here comes the controversy, they cooked their own meals. Crazy, right? In a town like Westport, it was. Why would you even have money if not to pay people to do the most basic tasks for you?
No, one of the first things that Dylan Nolan had established when the family first moved here, was that they would indeed not just lazily lay around and do nothing but look pretty.
Dylan Nolan liked cooking; he loved it. He caved, though, on one point, when they would have guests over, they would indeed hire a personal chef. Too much stress, Cameron had argued. It was a compromise.
Just as Dylan prepped some neatly cut strawberries next to the fresh waffles, footsteps neared the kitchen, and his daughter stood next to him. “Morning, Dad!” She greeted, and muttered a “Thanks” after he carefully placed the plate of waffles in her hand.
“Alright, that’s one,” Dylan counted, when she sat down at the table. Just then, Cameron walked in, a babbling two-year-old in his arms.
“Here you go, number two,” he said, and placed tiny Jake in his highchair opposite his sister.
Dylan also positioned a much smaller portion waffles in front of the toddler, cut in easily accessible pieces.
“Who’s taking them to school today?” He asked his husband, who had changed his clothes into an elegant suit.
“Can’t,” Cameron answered, “Some couple is suing their housemaiden because she made their morning coffee too hot. Say it was an attempt at ‘severe or even fatal injuries’.” He shrugged.
“You know, sometimes I ask myself why we moved to Westport,” Dylan remarked, “And then you tell me about court cases like this, and that makes me remember.”
Cameron smiled and pressed a kiss to his husband’s cheek. “As soon as I see the check, I stop asking any sort of questions, babe, believe me.”
Dylan tilted his head, agreeing, and frowned. “Alright, we have kids one, two – where’s number three?”
Without waiting for an answer, he strode over to the bottom of the staircase and shouted, “Cooper! Come down, breakfast’s ready!”
“Well, alright then.” Cameron leaned over and pressed a kiss into each of his children’s hair. “Have a good day at school today, sweetheart, have fun.”
“Thanks, Papa!” Kendra spoke. “You too, at work.”
“Will do ma’am.” And with a last kiss goodbye to his husband’s lips, Cameron Nolan was out the door.
“Papa!” Jake babbled after him from his seat.
Dylan put his hands on his hips and threw a look on his watch. “Samira should be here any minute to watch over Jake while we’re away. Kendra, are you all ready for school?”
The young girl nodded her head, and swallowed her last bite of waffles. Dylan raised an eyebrow.
“Really? Homework packed, Teeth brushed, two matching socks?” He added. Kendra rolled her eyes.
“Dad, I’m twelve!”, she complained. “You don’t have to check me every morning.”
Dylan lifted his hands in defense. “I’m just saying. It’s nothing that didn’t happen before.”
Kendra groaned but jumped off the chair and put her plate in the open dishwasher anyways.
“Alright, go put on your shoes.” Another glance at the watch. “Looks like your brother is coming with us, Samira is late. And where the hell is- Cooper!” He yelled again, this time before he even reached the staircase.
“Cooper Bradford! Our estate is like five minutes farther from the school than yours, and I don’t wanna be late! I really do not need to have that talk with Principal Ablin again! That guy makes me want to smash all my eardrums in with a plastic fork.”
“But Dad, you only have two eardrums.”
“I know sweetheart, it’s just a thing that Daddy says. Cooper!”
“I’m here, I’m here!” The thumping footsteps announced Cooper’s arrival before Dylan could see him.
“Finally! Boy, what took you so long?”
“I’m sorry, but my hair wouldn’t blow-dry right.” Cooper apologized, emphasizing his statement while fixing a loose strand. “Beauty like this takes time.”
Whatever you think of doing, don’t do it, Dylan reminded himself. “Alright, whatever. Waffles are over there, take some and then-“ Another glance at the watch. “Nope, forget it, you’re gonna have to eat the waffles in the car. Now, put on your shoes!”
Cooper rushed to the kitchen isle, snatched himself two waffles, and then sped to his sneakers. Dylan grabbed the car keys from the shelf, lifted Jake into his arms and walked out the door. In the time it took Kendra and Cooper to finally leave the house, he had already secured his youngest son in his car seat.
“Kids, you have to squeeze in the back. And-- uh-uh.” Dylan blocked Cooper’s way with his body and raised his eyebrows. “I warn you, Cooper Bradford,” he said. “One crumb of that thing-“ he pointed at the waffle, “- in my car, and you clean it. You understand?”
Cooper nodded eagerly. Maybe a bit scared.
Good.
When Dylan stepped away, the boy made a show of entering the car extra carefully.
“Alright, people! Everyone’s seatbelts fastened?” Dylan asked after he, too, sat down in the driver’s seat.
“Yes.” Came the unison answer from the back. At 8:05, the car finally left the driveway.
Bringing the kids to school was, by no means, as terrible as it could be. Both Kendra and Cooper had passed the age where he had to escort them to the doors, and had not yet reached the age where they would be embarrassed to be seen with their parent – or, in Cooper’s case, a guardian.
“Alright guys, have a great day at school!”
“Thanks, Dad!” “Thanks, Dylan! Goodbye!” Both car doors slammed shut, and only when he saw Kendra and Cooper take their places between their friends, he looked at Jake through the rearview mirror.
“Alright buddy, and what are we going to do now?” The loud honking of a car horn sounded over his youngest son’s silence.
“Alright, I’m going, Jesus Christ!” Dylan yelled back, at no one that could hear him, and made his way out of the line. “Be glad that my kid’s in the car with me, otherwise I’d swear at you.”
They turned out to run some errands. Cameron had wanted to change the curtains for a while, and Dylan took Jake with him to look at different samples of fabric and color. Jake was a big help, obviously, babbling at some beige tones, and pointing at a blue one with stripes yelling, “Papa!”.
Dylan sent his husband a picture of the fabric with the caption
Your son recognizes you by your tie patterns, by the way
When they returned home, Samira was there. She apologized a thousand times for being late, and Dylan told her that it better not happen again, because by God, this wasn’t the first time she had shown up late. And he couldn’t keep an unreliable babysitter hired, it’s not like there was a guarantee that he was always able to watch over Jake, that’s the exact reason she was here. Also, he wouldn’t say that the salary he paid was bad for the job she did.
Around the time Dylan wanted to get lunch started, his phone started ringing. It was Kendra on the other end of the line.
One of their teachers got sick, so her and Cooper got to go home earlier.
Amazing.
Don’t judge for that lack of excitement.
So, he put lunch on hold, told Samira to keep a close eye on Jake, and rushed to the car, which he then rushed to Westport Unified.
Like very sophisticated and well-behaved children, Kendra and Cooper were patiently waiting next to the parking spot when he pulled up and got in the car. Unlike very sophisticated and well-behaved children, they were both arguing as they did so.
Dylan took off, trying not to pay too much mind at the visible physical fight that was going on over who had claiming rights over which side of the car seat.
He had to notice with a disappointed frown that the house still looked the same when they came back, and no cleaning fairy had taken it upon herself to fix that mess of sneakers, or put away the newspapers sprawled over the coffee table.
Times like these, he cursed his own stubbornness to not hire someone for this.
Dylan made his way to the kitchen to pick up where he left off: preparing lunch. Too bad that his two devil tornadoes had something other in mind.
“Da-ad?” Kendra drawled, and batted her eyelashes at him. Dylan looked up from his cutting board. He raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“Could we get the key to the gaming room, please? Coop has a new game he wants to show me!”
Oh, so suddenly he was Coop again. Dylan put his knife down and perched his palms on the countertop. “Absolutely not,” he said, and their faces fell.
“You can’t just come home from school and demand to play video games the second you’re here. That’s way too much screen time for kids your age.”
“Well, we don’t have anything else we could do.” Cooper argued.
“You know what?” Dylan whirled around and pulled something from a lower shelf. He slammed a handful of books right in front of them. “Pick one. You’re both gonna go outside and read. Until I’m done with lunch. After that, I want your honest to God opinion on what you thought of it.”
“And what if we don’t want to?”
“Well, then I don’t care. Go outside and read. And, for the love of God, choose different places in the yard. Otherwise, that’s going to end in a disaster.”
With that, Dylan turned around and started cleaning the marble kitchen isle. Whatever they did from now on was not his problem anymore.
Cooper gave the books in front of him a suspicious look. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of those.” He picked up the one titled ‘Death on the Nile’ and turned it in his hands.
Kendra shrugged and pulled ‘The Body’ closer to her. “This one has horror. I’ll take it.”
She made her way to leave the house but stopped dead in her tracks and turned to Cooper one more time before she left. “Oh, and just so you know-“ She grinned, “I’m also taking the lakeside.”
Cooper gasped. “That’s not fair!” He objected, “That’s the pleasant side of the garden. I’ll have to take the streetside, where my only view are old houses and cars rushing by.”
“Not my problem. Called it first.” Kendra shrugged, annoying grin still plastered on her face, and went outside.
Cooper clenched his jaw and looked down at the book still in his hand. ‘Death on the Nile’.
Maybe it includes a guide, he thought.
With a last glance at his Godfather working in the kitchen, he, too, left the house. The path to the streetside of the estate was earthy ground, mostly created by children’s feet running through the grass way too often and keeping it from growing.
Cooper knew the way like the back of his hand.
On the end, a small bench was placed, it had been there since he could remember. Every crack in the old wood seemed to tell a story, the small K and C evidence of two children that were as close as siblings immortalizing their relationship forever in the hard material. Cooper sat down, cross-legged on the bench. The book weighed heavy in his hand, geez, it had many pages. But hey, nobody said he had to finish reading it. Just bridge over the time until Dylan had lunch ready.
The sun was reaching its highest point of the day, and burned down his neck, but Cooper didn’t notice. He was too busy gasping at the sudden death of Linett Ridgeway. He didn’t even realize when other people or cars passed him by.
Back in the house, Dylan had freshly bought pieces of meat sizzling in the pan. The salad had already been placed on the table, and Samira had been nice enough to set the dishes before she had gone home again for the day. Only thing missing were the fries, God, no meat without fries for his children.
Dylan grabbed next to the pan, where the sack of potatoes was placed, but his hand reached into emptiness. Confused, he looked around. On the kitchen isle, next to the salad dressing, under his cooking book. He laid his head back with a heavy sigh.
“Don’t tell me I forgot that goddamn thing in the car,” he muttered. Tell you what, something like that only happened to you when you had three kids to take care of.
Grabbing the car keys for the too maniest time today, Dylan left the house and made his way to the garage. The Ford Mustang was usually parked neatly next to Cameron’s Jaguar XF, that meant, when he was home.
With a sigh, Dylan opened the door to the backseat, and “Yes” found the sack of potatoes he’d been looking for. He was just about to close the car door again, and leave things be, when he saw it.
Dylan did a slow double take, but it was still there when he looked a second time. Throning on the cushions of the left side, basically laughing at him, was a smudge of whipped cream. On the floor, waffle crumbles spread all over the plastic mat.
Dylan slammed the car door shut with way more force than necessary.
“Cooper!”
I don't know why all the trees change in the fall
But I know you're not scared of anything at all
Don't know if Snow White's house is near or far away
But I know I had the best day with you today
-The Best Day, Taylor Swift
#cooliver#cooper x oliver#cooper bradford x oliver otto#american housewife#male ocs#female ocs#snow on the beach#the best day#taylor swift#cooper bradford#oliver otto#yourmomxx
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