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reds-writings · 4 months

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sunday kind of love

(pairing: rust cohle x fem!reader)

a/n: finally a bit of pure fun and fluff! this kinda applies to the jealousy, jealousy universe but it can totally be read as a standalone! requests are open so hit my inbox if you so choose! enjoy!

word count: 1.3k ish (a lil treat)

warnings: light cursing but not much else! the ending felt kinda weak so i apologize for that lol (minors begone!)

“Y’know…today is supposed to be one of rest…given that it’s a Sunday n’ all. Just in case you might’ve forgotten.” You remarked in your half-drowsy state, your porch swing swaying idly as you lay draped across it like some lazy house cat.

The day had you hotter than a sinner in church. The sun sat high and bright in the sky, certainly having no mercy on all the melting folk of Louisiana. Even the breeze that had the old wind chimes you’d hung up ages ago tinkling idly in its gusts was relentless in temperature, offering no aid to your sickeningly sticky skin. With the way you’d been running the AC and numerous plugged-in fans in your house over the past few days, you were sure to rack up one nasty-looking electric bill in due time. Even with all that operating nearly 24/7 it hadn’t made much of a difference in the old rickety house. You’d give just about anything right now if it meant not being so grossly miserable and sweaty in all the worst places.

The only reason you weren’t inside the slightly cooler haven that was your home was because of a certain pigheaded man who decided today would be the day he busied himself with fixing up your lawn. How ridiculous. One offhand mention of the front yard being a little unruly and your flowers looking a bit lackluster had Rust up and working as if you were Pavlov and he the infamous dog. There was no fighting him when he set his mind on something so you assigned yourself the role of making sure he didn’t drop dead from heat exhaustion like a fool.

“I’m serious, Rustin. We should head on inside. Ain’t no need to get all of this done today.” You called out again, tipping your head to the side and looking over your sunglasses to see that he had now moved on from getting all the lawn clippings into a trash bag to planting some new flowers he claimed would thrive during the season. The way the muscles under the tan skin of his arms moved and the look of utter focus painted on his handsome features had you smiling something horrendously lovesick. Despite his bullish nature, you knew this was just one of his many underlying ways of showing that he cared for you. Loved you even. You could say that now after certain admissions had been made some nights ago and you found yourself no less giddy after the fact as you thought on it what had to be a million times over at this point.

Some Linda Rondstat tune played from the old radio that sat propped up on the porch’s railing, causing your bare feet to tap in tandem with the country star’s divine voice. Rust continued to work in silence as you started humming, sitting up to then swing your legs off the bench��s edge.

You flipped your sunglasses to lay stationary at the top of your head, “I’m feelin’ awfully neglected right now, darlin’.”

That had him finally snorting, “I’m sure you’ll live.”

“You don’t know that. If I were to keel over right this minute cause a certain cowboy won’t give me the time of day, I bet you there’d be some sorta scientific explanation behind it and it’d have you feelin’ just awful. Gutted even, I’m tellin’ you.” You wagged a finger at him as you went on your theatrical tangent. You saw him shaking his head, continuing to work as if that could hide his growing smile from you.

“You find this funny but I’m bein’ dead serious. I’ve got one of the most handsomest men in Louisiana on my lawn and he’s too busy diggin’ holes in my garden. Those flowers are gettin’ more felt up than your poor girl over here and that don’t sit quite right with me-”

“Quit it, woman.” He cut in with feigned exasperation though you knew such outward declarations of flirting made by you had him more than a bit flustered. You could live out this whole scene forever if you could. It might’ve been hotter than hell but the landscape was lush and beautiful. The weeping willow taking up a good amount of space on the front of your property danced in the light afternoon wind. The sunlight was hitting everything just right and it had you grateful to call this all yours. The man opposing you only added to the fuzzy feeling dancing in your veins. Snapping out of your sappy thoughts of admiration you saw Rust finally get up from his position and make way towards the garden hose.

You huffed out a dramatic sigh as you forced yourself up and made your way down the weathered porch steps. He stood over the new thatch of colorful flora, thumb half over the hose’s nozzle to spray down his hard work of the day.

“If I quit it then just how else am I supposed to bug you with my affections?”

“I couldn’t tell ya. Shame that is.” He drawled, seemingly amused with feeding into your impatient antics.

Eyes squinting at him, you tried to fight the quirking of your lips as you ambled on over closer to him.

“You must got some hidden thing for the works of sadism, mister. Leavin’ me hangin’ for hours on end with no-” You nearly shrieked at the sudden cold of the hose’s stream being flicked at you. The offendant stood opposite of you, too smug for your liking as he took in your half-soaked form. The old tank top and denim cutoffs you had on already left little to the imagination prior to his attack, you could only imagine the form of indecency you found yourself in now.

“Oh, that’s it. C’mere you little- HEY!” You screeched as the cold spray hit you again. The momentum with which you charged at him had water flying between you both when he got you again. You wrestled each other for the hose, causing more than enough of a mess in the process. The joy in your laughter had Rust’s chest squeezing almost painfully. The stretch of his grin felt foreign to him but he couldn’t manage to control himself.

As you made numerous attempts to jump up and snatch the tubing from his grip you overestimated your step and slipped on the newly muddied grass, causing you both to topple over. Your belly ached from how hard you found yourself laughing. You almost felt like a child again, drenched beyond belief with streaks of mud and grass finding a new home on your body. A few deep rumbles sounded from the depths of Rust’s broad chest as he pushed some of the sopping-wet hair from your face, looking at you as if you were the only thing in the world that made sense to him. As if you were all the answers to his universe wrapped up into one person. The intensity had you knocking his chin with your knuckles softly and wiping some water from his face.

“You’re an ass, y’know that?”

“And you’re one sore loser.”

“Loser?! I’ll have you know I managed to take your lanky ass down in one fell swoop-”

You were silenced by the sudden press of his kiss. It was hard to reciprocate as you felt yourself smiling harder but he persisted despite the clumsiness of it all. Moments like these were something you’d never take for granted. Any chance to see the man in front of you free of all of his persistent burdens, even if just for a moment, were times you could hold on to forever. You felt nothing short of lucky that he let you in. That you were able to cross paths and choose each other in this life.

You had a feeling there were probably other lifetimes in which you danced this similar dance as different people or different beings. Destined to always find your way back to each other come hell or high water. Damn. Rust's daily cosmic ramblings and otherworldy mumbo jumbo were starting to really get to you.

Though you couldn't help but wonder if he happened to feel it too.

a/n: late night post but we love silliness and laughter! as always feedback is greatly appreciated! hopefully, this wasn't too ooc!

#reds-writings #rust cohle x reader #rust cohle imagine #fanfic #true detective season 1 #true detective imagine #matthew mcconaughey #true detective #rust cohle

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117luv · 7 months

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flowers for you

genre: fluff, established relationship

warnings: none

pairing: enha hyung line x fem!reader

a/n: hey loves! posting after being ia cause life just gets busy but we move forward lol and i hope everyone enjoy this and love ya! also hbd to my babyboy jake <3

heeseung

heeseung had always shown his love for you in various ways, from little things such as having your hairtie on his wrist to buying your favorite snacks whenever he went shopping, even if you didn't tell him to purchase them for you. as a small token of your appreciation for him being the best boyfriend, you decided to pick up flowers on your way home. you opened the door and were met with silence, which means he hasn't gone home yet, and you quickly hid the bouquet of lilac flowers before he arrived. his footsteps were heard while you were cleaning things, and you immediately greeted him in the living room. "hi baby, i missed you so much. also, how's work today?" as you hugged him, pressing a kiss on his shoulder. "it was okay, and i miss you more," he replied while hugging you tightly as he took in your scent. you let go of the embrace and quickly ran into the kitchen, grabbing the flowers, and quickly ran back to him. he was confused at first and asked, "what are the flowers for, love?" to which you replied, "they're for you, my love. i just want to show you my appreciation for being the best boyfriend, so i picked these flowers on my way home," as you gave them to him. he couldn't help but pull you for another embrace as he showers your face with kisses. "thank you for the flowers, baby. you just made my day 100 times better. i love you," he said as he placed a kiss on your forehead. "i love you more," you replied as you kissed his lips.

jay

it was the final day of their fate concert in seoul and you wanted to surprise your boyfriend. he had asked you if you could come to their concert, but you declined due to your work overlapping the schedule, which turns out to be a lie because you're planning to surprise him by coming there when he least expected it. as he heard you apologize for not being able to, he reassured you that it was alright and understandable, despite the fact that, deep down, he wanted you to see him perform. as you arrived at the concert venue, you felt as though you were their fans in the crowd. the concert was amazing, and the boys did great, especially jay when he started playing the electric guitar. you were quickly escorted to the back stage, grabbed the bouquet of blue hydrangea flowers from the staff, and walked towards their dressing room. he was wiping off his sweat when he saw your reflection in front of the mirror with a bouquet in your hands. his eyes widened, and he quickly ran towards you as he hugged you tightly. "congratulation, baby. im so proud of you," you said as you gave him the flowers. he felt like a young boy having a puppy crush as his heart beat faster while grabbing the flowers. "they are so beautiful, angel. thank you for giving me this; i will surely treasure this day," he said as he pressed a kiss on your cheek. as the adrenaline died down, he asked you about how you were here when you had work, to which you replied by lying about it in order to pull off this surprise. he just pulled you back to him and started asking about your day.

jake

the members wanted to pull off a surprise for jake's birthday, and you are more than happy to help the boys pull it off. jay and sunghoon decided to prepare the cake; sunoo and jungwon prepared the place, while ni-ki prepared the gifts. you had assigned heeseung to be the person to lure jake towards the surprise. as everyone is trying to fix everything, you took the flowers and quickly took care of the rest. suddenly, heeseung texted you that they were 5 minutes away and put everyone in their place. jay was holding the cake while the others had the poppers ready once he entered the room. jake entered the pitch-black room, and as the lights turned on, he was met with the members as they were holding up a cake and popping the poppers while greeting him a happy birthday. his eyes searched for a familiar figure, and he slightly pouted when he failed to find you amongst his members. all of a sudden, there was someone poking in his shoulder, and as he turned around, he saw you with a bouquet of roses in your hands. he couldn't help but flash you the biggest smile as he hugged you. "i thought you wouldn't be here," he said while pulling you closer. "why would i miss my favorite boy's birthday and flowers for you. happy birthday, baby," you said while kissing him on the lips. he grabbed the flowers and thanked you for giving them to him, and as the party started, he held on to you the entire time while pressing kisses on your cheek. it was truly a great way to end his birthday alongside his members and the person he loved the most.

sunghoon

it was your second anniversary, and you had a whole day planned for the two of you. sunghoon had cleared his day just to spend it with you, which means a lot due to his hectic schedule as an idol. he had come home later than usual and is currently curled up in your arms with his face hidden in your neck. as much as you loved to stay like this forever, you wanted to prepare breakfast and the flowers you had bought yesterday for him. you quickly lifted his arms and replaced it with your pillow to not wake him up. he stirred a bit but went back to sleep momentarily. you made your way to the kitchen and started to cook breakfast for the both of you, and after a few minutes, you had finished the meal. it's now your time to wake him up as you carry the tray towards your shared bedroom. you gently woke him up, and he started to slowly open his eyes. his eyes were met with yours, and you kissed his lips while he was waking up. the kiss had definitely woken him up, and he quickly stood up. "can you give me a warning next time? i cant have a heart attack at 7 in the morning," he said, to which you replied, "love, we have been dating for years now. you shouldn't be surprised with my kisses," while placing the tray in front of him. "oh, what's this? you didn't have to do this for me," he said while staring at the food in front of him. "you deserve it, baby, and here are flowers for you," as you gave him a bouquet of yellow daisies, which caught him off guard. "darling, what did i do in my past life to deserve you?" he said as he pulled you for an embrace and said, "happy 2nd anniversary, my love." he said after placing a kiss in your forehead.

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threadbaresweater · 11 months

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midnight | geto suguru

It's not love, but its more than just a casual thing. Being stuck somewhere in the middle is harder than both of you are willing to admit, so you'll stay in a codependent limbo for just a little while longer. Cw; reader has self-esteem issues (obviously), Suguru is manipulative. Dubcon (just in case. It's not explicit, but there is an implication). Codependent relationship dynamic. Reader gender isn't specified, but it's written with a female in mind. 1.1k words

He only comes to you at night, long after the sun has tucked its light beneath the horizon and the melancholy blue of moonlight casts an ethereal glow over the city. It's when you're the most vulnerable, the most receptive to his advances, and he knows this as well as you.

There's still plenty of noise, but it's less intrusive now– muffled sounds of car doors and muted conversations and the electric buzz of a street lamp trickle in through your open window on the third floor, and you're quietly thankful that you decided to stay in tonight. The week has not been kind, and the more your friends try to coax you out of your ruined mood, the less you respond to their tactics. After a few hours of bickering, they leave you to your own devices with the promise that they'll check on you in the morning. You agree with a simple "ok" and take a long, hot shower before climbing into bed. The cool, soft cotton of your sheets feels like heaven, and you succumb quickly to the relief that sleep brings.

He's careful to close the door quietly, the subtle click of the lock still echoing a bit louder than he intended. Dark brows pinch together as he toes off his shoes in the entryway, and he pads toward your bedroom only to find this door slightly ajar, as if you were waiting for him. You'd never admit it, of course, but there's a small part of you that hopes he'll show up. He does, eventually, but it's always long after you've given up hope. Days and weeks go by without a word, and just when you think he's forgotten you, he's on your doorstep again as if no time had passed between you.

Maybe it's some kind of game he plays, or maybe it's his way of staying just out of reach so you don't get too attached to him. Maybe he's trying to deny the way you've bled into his soul, because the more he sees you the more he wants to, and he's much too stoic to admit that he needs you the way that you need him. Regardless, his head feels like static when he sees you sleeping, one leg free from the confines of your blanket, a table fan whirring nearby. He doesn't approach at first; he leans against the doorframe, a fond, small smile lifting the corner of his mouth. As much as he doesn't want to disturb you, there's another part of him that craves your embrace, the way your gentle hands seem to smooth out every ounce of tension from his body. His chest aches; with a sigh, he pushes away from the door and crosses the room.

Perched on the edge of your bed, he's able to study the way your face looks free of all worry and stress. Your breath is steady and even, lips slightly parted, lashes fluttering every so often. He wonders what you see in your dreams, wonders if he's part of the world that lives behind your eyes. He touches your lashes with a delicate tenderness, sweeping his thumb across your cheek. Your next breath is a bit longer and more deliberate, but you make no indication otherwise that you're aware of his presence. Gingerly, he moves to lie beside you and drapes an arm over the swell of your hip. This close, he smells the floral undertones of your shampoo and can't resist bending closer to press his nose against your hairline, lips brushing against your ear. He wants to melt into you, to wrap himself around you and allow you to fix all of his broken pieces, to make a home inside your chest and hide there in your protection for the rest of his days.

The thought scares him, and when he holds his breath, his body grows rigid and his fingers press firm against your hip. When he pulls his face away from yours, you wake. Through narrow eyes you perceive him, but for a moment you feel like you might still be dreaming. You blink and open your eyes a little wider; he huffs a quiet laugh when he sees the furrow in your brow, the sleepy confusion written in the way your mouth works but no words are spoken. You're cute when you're sleepy.

"Suguru…?" You say his name as if you still aren't convinced he's real. You touch his upper lip with fingers that tremor ever so slightly, feel the curve of his smile when he takes hold of your wrist and moves your hand to his cheek. "What, I– what time is it?"

"Late. After midnight," he says, his eyes never leaving your face. Every second that passes makes you more and more aware that no, you're not dreaming. He's here, in the flesh. Your heart does a funny little dance and a lump forms in your throat, fingertips pulsing against his cheek.

"You–" You clear your throat and wrinkle your nose, feeling the prickle of tears as your lip twists to stave them off. There are a hundred things you wish you could say to him, but all that comes out is, "Missed you."

His reply is a kiss; it's tender and delicate and practiced. He knows how you like to be kissed, and he'd never want to disappoint you. Soft lips move against yours, a curious tongue licks into your mouth, a broad hand cups your cheek. Long fingers lace behind your ear to draw your nearer to him, to bring you into his presence where you're overwhelmed and overcome.

You hate that you love him. You hate that you spend your days pining for a man who you're certain views you only as some sort of safety net, a steadfast presence in his unpredictable life that he can always come home to when it all gets to be too much.

You hate how you let him work his hands under your shirt, how you spread your legs and allow him access to your most intimate areas, how he draws pleasure from you in ways you've yet to experience with anyone else.

And you hate how he lingers in your bed, his nakedness pressed against your own, face buried in your shoulder.

You hate that it can never be anything more than this. But in his arms, you're content for a little while longer. Each time he returns, your heart feels light and the world seems a little brighter. And each time he leaves, he takes another part of you with him. Soon there won't be enough left for him to come back to, but you'll keep giving anyway. You give and you give and you give, all in the name of love, and in the hopes that one day, he'll love you, too.

#jjk x reader #geto suguru x reader

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moonlit-mystery-writer · 1 month

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Varia Bedroom Headcanons

@myrmyrtheorca @childe-of-saulot @tangomagnolija @unwrathful @srtruth

I gotta be fully honest, accidentally put all my energy into Mammon's room lol. I tried to spread the love, I did, but how I imagine a lot of their rooms can be summed up quickly. Meanwhile, Viper's has layers lol.

Viper/Mammon

Viper’s room is painted in dark indigos and deep violets, making it look really dim. Also making it look dim is the fact they only keep about three lamps in there in total and all the tapestries on the walls and ceiling. Most of these tapestries are old items from the others. A stitched up blanket Squalo had once ripped in frustration, old curtains Lussuria tried to toss out because he didn’t like them anymore, and other items of categories like that. In fact, that’s how they get a lot of their furniture. Wobbly coffee tables fixed via putting a book under it, an electric fan that only works half the time, and stuff like that. There’s a chest at the foot of their bed full of old uniforms and clothes. Bel’s old uniform from when he was a kid? They have that. Some clothes Lussuria planned to donate to a thrift store? Mammon’s got them tucked away. They might have a bit of a hoarding problem… But that’s something to be addressed another time!

They have the second biggest bed in the Varia base, the number one spot obviously belonging to Xanxus. It’s a canopy bed, only adding to the things that hang down in their room. The bed is also pressed right up against a wall that has a window seat that they’ve added more cushions and pillows to. They mostly sleep on said window seat, mostly using their bed as glorified storage space for things like books and their money. The bed is also home to their copious amounts of blankets, yet again, mostly ones they’ve stolen from the others or ones they’ve put back together.

The crowning jewel of their room though simply must be all their books and trinkets. If a shelf isn’t stuffed full of books and reading materials, it’s lined with little things they’ve found. Almost every surface in the room has trinket trays that hold a cacophony of things. Little metal thread spools, cheap rings, cool rocks, and more. You can find just about anything in their room! In fact, it’s practically guaranteed if you lose something small in the Varia base that it’ll end up in their room. Good luck getting it back though, they don’t like others getting into their room.

TYl/Future Arc Fran

Fran actually keeps a lot of the things from Mammon’s room there still. He lessens how many blankets he uses, removes a lot of the tapestries, and little changes like that. But the most he adds to the room are little things like posters or his own odd decor and trinkets he finds.

Belphegor

So! In canon, he’s ranked the second in having the messiest room, so ignoring the mess that’ll be there! I feel his room is, rather stereotypically for him, painted in a deep red. He doesn’t have much in terms of furniture outside of his bed, a desk, a tv, and an armchair. He does however have a ton of posters and pictures on his walls. Bands he’s listened to once, tv shows he’s never fully finished, pictures of missions he liked, and more. Though, the set of photos he likes the most and that he has hidden in a corner of his room under a poster are photos of him and the rest of the Varia. He finds it too cheesy to admit to any of them how much he likes the pictures, hence the hiding.

One of his odder decor pieces is a dart board that he uses for knife practice when he’s bored. The wall around it has holes from said practice that he claims are intentional. Whether that’s the truth or not, no one knows as he never uses it when there’s someone else in the room.

He does have some fairy lights in his room, but he doesn’t use them often. 1. Because he yet again doesn’t want the others to know about them. 2. Because I personally headcanon as having a sensitivity to light for various reasons. Maybe him and his brother throwing rocks at each other’s heads as kids wasn’t the best idea… But that’s a health problem to be handled later!

Lussuria

(For pronoun clarification, I use all pronouns for Lussuria lol) His room is the definition of cozy and warm. Lots of warm colors that aren’t too bright, sun shaped wall decor, lots of mirrors. I imagine her room either has multiple windows or one big one, either way, it gets a lot of natural light. They also have a lot of potted plants like succulents, an assortment of fresh herbs, different flowers, and some ivy. Lussuria also has a collection of soft things, normally those plush things you can microwave to help with muscle aches. They help her a lot after training sessions or missions when she can’t use too much Sun flames.

Levi A Than

I’ll be fully honest, I have very few headcanons for Levi’s room. He’s a hard character to decorate for. However!! I feel like his room would be green, but like a dark and dull green. And obviously, he has a Xanxus shrine/a lot of photos of him on one of his walls. Also we know in canon he has and uses 116 alarm clocks apparently. So I can only imagine he has enough surface space to match. So either, a lot of tables or they’re set up all around his room and even on some shelves. Outside of that, he really just feels like the type of guy to keep his room rather plain.

Squalo Superbia

Much like the others, I feel like Squalo’s room color matches his flames. However, it’s far more of a grey-blue than a bright blue like Rain flames. He also feels like the kind of guy to keep things simple. A desk with a chair, some framed photos, rather average bedding, and such. The stand out feature of his room is his giant fish tank that takes up a good chunk of the room. Whether he simply has multiple fish or some mini sharks, they’re painfully spoiled for aquatic pets. Only the best for his babies! This also means in his room there’s always the faint sound of his tank’s filter.

Xanxus

And finally, the darling boss’ room! Breaking the trend of his subordinates, I feel like his room is a dark color like a deep grey or black. And, as mentioned in Viper/Mammon’s section, his bed is the biggest. I feel like he keeps his room rather simple, but not plain. Fancy style dressers, stylized shelves, and things like that. Things you’d expect to see from someone given not only his personality, but also given the fact he was raised to be Vongola Decimo. Plus, look at the dramatic chairs he has in canon. His other furniture simply has to match.

#katekyo hitman reborn #khr #khr xanxus #khr varia #khr viper #khr mammon #khr belphegor #khr levi #khr lussuria #khr squalo #superbia squalo #khr fran

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fizzycherrycola · 4 months

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Malaysia/Singapore, 1921

On a dark, rainy night, Singapore finds himself in desperate need of a warm meal and a bright smile. Luckily, he has someone who cares for him very much.

Originally intended to be part of a Hetalia fan anthology, however I missed the deadline long ago. You can find it at @hwsrazzledazzle . This is my first time writing Malaysia and Singapore, so I hope I've done them justice. Please enjoy! If anyone notices inconsistencies or cultural mistakes, please let me know and I'll fix them right away.

December Rain

Singapore; 16 December 1921

“Governor, is there really no other way? We are in peacetime, so surely-”

“Unfortunately, this is the way it must be. Perhaps if relations between London and Tokyo improve, then these restrictions may be lifted. But from what I understand, it is unlikely that either of us will witness such a thing happen in the near future.”

“...I see.”

“I know this is all rather irregular, but even so, I trust you will follow these new regulations once they come into effect. Won’t you, Singapore?”

“Yes, Governor Guillemard, of course.”

“Good. Very good! I had the sense when we first met that we would get along well. That you were an honourable, hard-working young man – or colony, I should say – and that you would cause no trouble. I’m delighted to see that is still the case.”

—

A torrent of water falls from the heavens in rippling sheets. People dart about, some on bicycle and some on foot. They splash through the wide puddles of the civic district, anxious to be home before the dark night sets in. The lucky ones squeeze onboard the bustling electric tram with their elbows and umbrellas poking through the open windows. Unfortunately, Singapore was not one of those lucky ones today.

Clasping his cold hands together, Singapore rubs his knuckles. He huddles in the seat of his hired rickshaw, grimacing at his situation. The spats covering his shoes are terribly soggy and the rain has soaked his grey trousers up to the thigh. He leans back in his seat, sheltering beneath the rickshaw’s canopy, hopelessly trying to stay as dry as possible. Normally it wouldn't be an issue, but tonight... Malaya is visiting for dinner. It’s the first date they’ve had in months.

There is a tightness behind his ribs and Singapore takes a steadying breath. He needs to dispel the stress of the business day and the terrible news he was given.

None of that matters at the moment. Even though his disheartening meeting with the Governor went on for much longer than expected, he should still make it home before Malaya arrives, because that silly oyen is often late himself. And to the rickshaw puller’s credit, they are speeding down the muddy streets.

Eventually, Singapore’s abode reveals itself wedged amongst a long row of shophouses. The vehicle’s rickety wheels slow to a halt and the rickshaw man glances back expectantly. Quickly, Singapore tosses a few coins his way. Then, he hops out of his seat, over the gate, and dashes through the five-foot way.

He pushes open the wooden door to his house and pauses, holding his breath. The darkened front hall is quiet and none of the oil lamps appear lit. Thank goodness. Tension floods from his shoulders and he releases a sigh.

He slips off his shoes and carries them inside, hoping to wipe the leather dry and preserve his valuable Oxfords. His bare feet tap terracotta tiles as he pads through the front office, then the smell of firewood hits him, mingled with the aroma of red chili and garlic. Peeking into the hallway, he sees dim light and steam emanating from the kitchen in the back.

His hairs stand on end and a second later he’s bursting into the warm room.

“Why are you here so early?!” Singapore demands.

Malaya flinches and glances up from the stove. “Oh, you’re here!” A bright smile blooms across his face, putting his crooked fang tooth on full display. “Welcome back!”

“You’re never early! How did…?”

“Ah? I thought I was late. You said we would meet in the afternoon.”

“No, we said it would be in the evening.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” Malaya chuckles. “I thought it was strange when I walked in and nobody was home.”

“Wait, what are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m making dinner!”

“But I was going to....” Singapore’s words fail him as he gawks at his kitchen. The mortar is smudged with trace remains of crimson spices and his stove is lit with the smoky haze of burning charcoal. Malaya tosses peppers into the wok and effortlessly works the sizzling heat like he was born for it. Singapore sighs. “Never mind. Let me take over from here.”

Malaya laughs incredulously. “But I’m almost finished!”

“It doesn’t matter. This is your first time in my new home! You’re my guest.”

Malaya quirks an eyebrow and gestures to Singapore with the backend of his chuan. “Singa, you’re dripping wet. You’ll get rainwater in our food.”

Baulking, Singapore looks himself over. His suit is darkened and heavy, leaking droplets onto the floor.

Grimacing, he deflates. “...I’m sorry.”

“Ah? You don’t need to apologise.”

“No, I should have arrived earlier. I had plans for our dinner together; I wanted it to be special.”

Smiling wider, Malaya seems to melt on the spot. “Sayang….”

“I can take over after I’ve changed.”

“No. This is my cooking now.”

“But–”

“It’s fine. You work too hard!” Malaya steps away from the wok and nudges Singapore out of the room. “Quick! Go change out of those clothes before the food is ready.”

Reluctantly, Singapore trudges upstairs to his bedroom, glancing back at the kitchen as he goes.

Once upstairs, he takes a moment to tend to his Oxfords, the higher priority, before his own comfort. When he’s satisfied that the leather is dry enough, he peels off his wet business attire, shivering despite the humidity, and then towels his damp skin. Throwing on something clean, he pauses in front of a small mirror to tame his dark hair before returning downstairs.

The dining area is bathed in warmth and an array of dishes decorate the table. Dinner is set out before him: tomato rice with ayam masak merah, a mix of chicken and dried chilies sambal. The saucy red soup glistens in the lamplight and Singapore’s belly rumbles. Malaya snickers, placing the finishing touches on the table and telling him to dig in.

With a flush rising to his cheeks, Singapore thanks his companion and relents. He takes a bite of the chicken, and a burst of rich, creamy, spice hits his tongue. It’s so delicious that he sighs, the flavour bringing back memories of other rainy Decembers, long past. When it was just the two of them, huddled beneath a small, thatched roof.

“Abang, it’s so good,” Singapore says. “Thank you.”

“Anytime!” A wide grin graces Malaya’s face as he produces a gorgeous bottle of tapai rice wine and pours both of them a healthy glass. Then he sits as well, going for his tomato rice, and talking unabashedly between massive mouthfuls of food. “You know, I think your last house was better.”

Singapore pouts. “Don’t say that, lah. I was hoping you would like it here.”

“Well, ah… it’s not what I was expecting.”

“I was able to get this because my markets have been paying well. Would you prefer it if I returned to a timber attap house? Go back to my old kampong?”

Malaya sheepishly raises his hands in mock surrender. “No! It’s just very… different?”

“It’s closer to the city centre. And it’s modern.”

“Okay, okay! I’m sorry.” Malaya leans in and gives Singapore a quick kiss on the cheek – an apology. He leaves behind a few sticky grains of rice, and Singapore rolls his eyes before brushing them off. “You worked very hard for this, so I’ll admit, for a city house, it is really spacious and fancy.”

Singapore swallows a few more bites of food while considering his companion’s sentiment.

Indeed, the new dwelling takes some getting used to. Bought last July, Singapore’s abode stands three stories tall and has an elaborate, ornamental façade. Decorated with colourful tiles and plasterwork, it is more stylish than his previous place. If only the floors were worn in, and the rooms smelled of the forest, perhaps then this mass-produced building would feel more like a home.

It’s no matter, though. He will adjust. As if reading his mind, Malaya pokes his elbow and gestures to the open courtyard. “Plant a garden in the spring; that will help.”

Singapore glances at the bare space and imagines it filled with kang kong, lemongrass, and chili plants. It warms his heart.

“That would be nice.”

Malaya polishes off his rice and sets the bowl down. “So, you meet with Guillemard today?”

“Ah… that’s right.”

“Mm! I’m meeting with him in a few days, too. What did he say?”

Singapore ducks, suddenly very interested in the wood grain of his table. “I’ll tell you after dinner.”

“Come on, tell me. Is it good news?”

Weight settles on Singapore’s shoulders and bears down on his neck. “No, it’s bad.”

“Now I have to know!”

Singapore sighs. The locks in the back of his mind slowly release, allowing a bitter slurry of unease and gloom to trickle forth. He’s been holding onto this all day and he was never good at hiding things from his dearest.

“You’re not going to like it.”

Malaya downs a swig of rice wine. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

Singapore follows his lead, taking a sip from his own cup and allowing the burn to roll down his throat. He swallows, and means to slam the cup down, but it settles with a skittering series of taps. Is he nervous, or just upset?

“Guillemard said… beginning next week, we cannot have any contact with Taiwan, Korea, or any other kingdoms under Japan’s control.”

The statement falls wet out of his heart to splatter ruin onto his new, tile floor. Malaya blinks, silent for a while, his eyes going wide.

“No, that can’t be right.”

“Personal contact lah,” Singapore clarifies. “We can’t send them letters, telegrams, or schedule any visits.”

“Not even letters?”

“None.”

Malaya gapes. “Why would he say that? Did he have a reason?”

“I couldn’t get all the details.” The morning and afternoon were like a whirlwind. Questions flew around the rooms of the Governor’s estate, from not just himself, but even the groundskeepers who he caught whispering in the halls. “I heard there was a conference,” Singapore continues, “and a treaty was signed. Somehow, this new treaty ended the alliance between England and Japan, but it was more than that. Apparently, there has been tension between them for a long time, maybe years. So, it is possible… perhaps a combination of different things ....”

“Wait, wait!” Malaya cries, jolting Singapore out of his recollection. “Tahun Baru Cina!”

It takes Singapore a moment to understand. “What about it?”

“Taiwan invited us to celebrate with her. You remember; we were meant to visit her in that city... what are we calling it these days?”

“Taihoku?”

“That’s it!”

“I’m guessing that will be cancelled.”

Malaya releases a puff of air. “They can’t just cancel the New Year!” He slumps, staring forlornly at his empty rice bowl. He looks like a cat, longing for more food, as though that would be enough to fix all the problems of the world.

“Someone else might host,” Singapore suggests.

“This is terrible,” Malaya mutters.

Singapore frowns at his wine, cloudy and glistening in the lamplight. He imagines it reflecting a sea of red lanterns as they ripple in the night air, a dream of years past. If he concentrates, he can recall the clamour of jubilant voices, the thrum of drums, and the crackle of firecrackers.

Gathering under one roof to welcome the New Year was a tradition they shared. Who started it and when, Singapore does not know, but every house he visited would be brilliantly decorated in a rainbow of colours, and every table would be packed to the edge with food. Different people would host and attend each year; a variety of familiar faces that came and went. Philippines, Vietnam, Siam, Manchuria, Korea, of course China, and more. Sometimes there were so many of them, there were not enough seats to go around!

Occasionally, the turnout was smaller due to war, famine, or sickness, but it was always a pity when it happened. It’s still a pity now. Singapore sighs, again. “I’m sorry for ruining the evening with depressing news. This date was meant to be special.”

Malaya blinks, returning to life, and shushes him. “You know, if you keep stressing out, your hair will turn white.”

Something in Singapore's face must be betraying his feelings, because Malaya’s smile falls almost as quickly as it appears. He shuffles closer and secures a steady arm around his lover’s shoulders.

“Abang….”

Rain pitter-patters on the courtyard stone. The distant sounds of city life grow quieter as night falls. Is it raining in Taihoku as well? Is there a little girl on the other side of the sea mulling over the same sad news? Poor Taiwan. She’s still just a child; she won’t understand.

A knot has lodged itself in Singapore’s throat. Times like these serve as a potent reminder: it is the spiderwebs of alliances that shape their uncertain destinies. Of course, he is not a revolutionist. Order, harmony, and life are too precious to him. All he must do is keep his head down, work hard, and if he does that, he can get by. But sometimes… sometimes….

Without prompting, Malaya whispers, “I know,” and hugs him, lean muscle cradling Singapore’s thin frame. And Singapore doesn’t realise he is clenching his jaw until Malaya strokes his cheek and it slackens. Heat radiates through his ribs like an antidote. A rattling breath escapes his chest and his eyes fall shut. Their bodies slope together.

They stay that way for long minutes. The weariness of the day begins to levy its toll on Singapore’s consciousness and his head droops. Safe in his companion’s arms, sleep tempts him. He almost doesn’t hear when Malaya whispers: “When do these rules start?”

“Next week,” Singapore murmurs.

Malaya’s lips press gently to his temple. “Then we will send Taiwan and the others some letters. We will wish them an early Happy New Year, before these awful new rules take effect.”

Shifting, Singapore meets his brilliant golden eyes. Dark umber bangs brush the tips of his eyelashes and a firecracker lights in his heart. His oyen is so handsome. They kiss and Malaya’s inviting mouth tastes faintly of chilies.

“Can I stay with you for more than a few days?” Malaya whispers.

“Of course,” Singapore says. “But is that okay? Won’t you get in trouble with the sultans?”

With a wave of his hand, Malaya dismisses the notion. “I’ll just keep begging my bosses until I manage to annoy them into letting me stay. Besides, my sayang is worth it.” A smile dawns on Singapore’s features and they entwine their fingers. Malaya nuzzles his hair. “And after I go, I'll come back in the spring to help you build your garden. We can plant some red hibiscus together.”

“...That would be nice.”

Suddenly, Malaya squeezes him tight and peppers his face with kisses until he’s laughing. And the spark in his heart becomes a booming firework display, so bright and colourful that it threatens to burst from his soul.

Eventually, Singapore has to push him away, before things get heated and they make a mess of both their clothes and the dining table. He suspects there are red chili smears decorating his face. Malaya relents only after leaving a suggestive bite to his neck, practically purring with delight.

They gather up the dishes from the table, and as Singapore follows his companion back to the kitchen, he finds he is able to stand straighter. Malaya has a kind of resilience, a living strength that courses along the lines of his shoulders and blooms in the curve of his toothy smile. And Singapore has always found it captivating. Despite their misfortune and the struggle of navigating life, his oyen thrives and endures. How lucky he is to share delicious dinners and squander time with this special person.

Singapore’s thoughts drift to the feathery bed that beckons them both and suppresses a shiver of excitement. Hurriedly, he plunges a bowl into the water basin and scrubs it clean, eager to indulge in the rest of their evening and the precious days ahead.

As long as he has Malaya, everything will be okay.

End / Fin

~~~

Author’s Notes

Laurence Guillemard was the British-appointed “Governor of the Straits Settlements” and “High Commissioner for the Federated Malay States” from 1920 – 1927.

“Abang” and “sayang” are Malay terms of endearment.

Malaya/Malaysia’s national animal is a tiger, which is why Singapore calls him “oyen,” meaning: orange cat.

The first Singaporean shophouses were built starting in the 1840s, under the original ordinances laid down by Sir Stamford Raffles. Over the years, architecture styles changed but the houses remained popular until the 1960s. They are now considered important heritage pieces and are valued as historic examples of architecture.

An attap house is a traditional dwelling made with attap palms, which provide wattle for the walls and leaves for their thatched roofs. They are often found in kampongs (traditional villages) throughout South East Asia.

The Anglo-Japanese Alliance was a pact between the British and Japanese that was signed in 1902. Both parties benefited in various ways, including defensive strategies, trade, and cultural exchanges. However, over the following decades, the relationship would slowly deteriorate. It was viewed as an obstacle at the Paris Peace Conference following WW1, and then battered further by the 1921 Imperial Conference. It finally dissolved on 13 December 1921, when the Four-Power Treaty was signed in Washington DC.

Lunar New Year! In Malaysia, the holiday’s official name is “Tahun Baru Cina”.

Taihoku was the name given to Taipei while it was under Japanese rule.

“...your hair will turn white.” It’s my personal headcanon that Singapore got his trademark streak of white hair from overworking himself in the 20th century.

#aph malaysia #aph singapore #hws malaysia #hws singapore #historical hetalia #hetalia #hetalia fanfiction #my writing

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definitionsfading · 1 year

Text

bite-sized bullet train fic master list (lemon/tangerine) 🍋🍊✨

as this fan space gets older and more disjointed as the months pass by I figured I’d keep all my lemon/tangerine titles in one place for future reference. there are only four of them! but I’m proud of what small diversity they brought to this fandom, so here they are (each title is a hyperlink)

pretty bubbles in the air || 24K || Explicit

And then Lemon's mind is somewhere outside the imaginary hospital morgue, lost among the train wreckage, knowing he has to go back and knowing that he can’t because it’ll be swarmed with the feds by now, or whatever the Japanese equivalent of the fucking feds is, and if he wanted to claim the body he should’ve already—

A door to his left opens abruptly, letting the sound of steadily beeping monitors out into the hall, and the nurse emerging with a machine on wheels nearly runs into him head-on.

Lemon curses under his breath and falters as they avoid collision, and it’s only in the split few seconds the nurse fumbles there in the doorway that he looks up, with a crystalline line of uninterrupted sight straight into the occupied ICU room, and sees a lank shock of chin-length, light brown hair resting against a white pillow.

Thomas taught him a lot, yeah, but nothing much about how to keep your world from shrinking down to the size of a pinhead and shattering into a million pieces in a moment like this one.

notes: post-canon, Tangerine Lives, fix-it fic, whump, healing, hurt/comfort, trauma & coping, rekindled romance, not a siblings fic

under your skin || 4.2K || Explicit

This is the silent secret, Lemon thinks, that nobody but the two of them know when people in the industry call them The Twins. This is what he’s willing to kill for and would’ve died for again and again. It’s something that runs deeper than the surface layer, this thing he and Tangerine have got—a kind of truth that anchors itself and settles like a sharpened barb under your skin.

notes: post-canon, Tangerine Lives, injury recovery, first time (in a long time), emotional sex, crying, not a siblings fic

citrus and blood || 2K || Mature

The unspoken truth that he’s too weak to bathe himself properly stands in the room between them like a third silent body. Tangerine almost wishes his vocal cords were truly thrashed and ruined so he wouldn’t have to acknowledge it aloud, wouldn’t have to admit defeat before the battle ever began.

He’s sitting beside the tub, awkwardly wedged between the toilet and the wall, head lolled off to rest on a towel folded under his cheek there on the edge of the bath. Breaths come shallowly, almost in haggard pants from the mix of nausea and exhaustion. Everything still smells like hospital antiseptic, blood, and electrical fire. It’s been three days since the train went off-rail—at least according to Lemon’s dodgy appraisal of time—and Tangerine still can’t burn the scent of near-death out of his nose.

notes: post-canon, Tangerine Lives, injury recovery, bathing/washing, caretaking, blood, emotions, ample tenderness, Gentle Lemon, not a siblings fic

right hand man || 3.2K || Explicit

“How ‘bout instead of plotting premeditated murder off the clock, why don’t you think of something creative to do with that emancipated right hand of yours,” Lemon says, tucking back into his plate. “Take a pottery class, learn to watercolour. You wanna point and shoot so bad? I’ll buy you a camera.”

“I’m gonna point and shoot on your smart arse when we get home,” Tangerine says darkly from the corner of his mouth, eyes cutting across Lemon at a bawdy angle. “Mark my words on that one.”

notes: post-canon, the Twins return to London, smut, banter, frottage, hand jobs, Lemon gets a massage and a few other things, not a siblings fic

#bullet train #lemon and tangerine #fruit cocktail #lemon x tangerine #lemon bullet train #tangerine bullet train

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peterman-spideyparker · 2 years

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Congratulations on 2000+ followers!! I'm so happy for you, hope your account will go on

May I request Loki with Y/N, who is a hedge witch, and they're friends "kissing each other to prove there’s nothing there, accidentally proving that there was, in fact, something there"

I think it would be cute with two magical best friends and then boom, there's something there

Thank you for the kind words and the request!💜💜 This was so cute to write, and I'm a big ole sucker for the "there was, in fact, something there" shtick (I mean, anything sweet and fluffy like that, really, sign me up). I did have to Google what a hedge witch was, and I found some different things, so I blended them together. I hope you enjoy it!

Yeah, "friends" (Loki x Witch!Reader)

Maybe it’s because you both have powers that you get along so well—no one else on the team can function like you two can. Granted, your magic compared to Loki’s could be considered marginal, but in the area of overlap, you have extremely fine-tuned your craft. Compared to Loki, your healing powers were instantaneous and left no lingering pain. Whether it was as small as a paper cut or as severe as internal bleeding, it was nothing you couldn’t handle; Loki, on the other hand, broke a sweat the harder he concentrated on healing. You don’t blame him—illusion is more his thing.

“Please stop letting people clock you right on the nose,” you ask Clint kindly as you fix the broken cartilage, straightening it out to its regular position.

“Trust me, it’s not intentional,” he sighs, crinkling his nose repeatedly as if he’s just smelt something foul. “Thanks.”

“It’s what I’m here for,” you smile, applying a light balm to his skin. “This is to help with itchiness, and it works well with oil control, too.”

“Ha ha,” Nat chuckles dryly as she enters with smoothies. “You’ve got oily skin.”

“It’s a natural glow,” Clint counters, taking the drink.

“Oily skin.”

“(Y/N)?”

“Big pores?” you try, hiding your smile behind your smoothie.

“Ouch. I thought you were supposed to be the nicest out of us all,” Clint pouts.

“Oh she is,” Tony breathes as he and the others come up from the gym, glistening in sweat, breathing heavily, and desperate for water. “Ask Reindeer Games. She’s made his heart of ice melt.”

“Tony,” you chastise.

“I don’t mean that derogatorily, I’m just saying he was never terribly friendly until you came here.”

“Tony’s right,” Bruce interjects before you could react. “He’s a lot less rough around the edges than he was when he first got here.”

“He’s just gotten used to life in the tower and on Earth, that’s all,” you try. “It must not have been an easy adjustment, especially given his past with the planet and then his home being wiped off the map.”

“It probably helps having someone else around that knows how to use magic, too,” Steve tries. He’s not Loki’s biggest fan by any means, but he is sympathetic to being treated differently by others for what he can do. Hell, the whole team knows that feeling—Steve just seems to be the one most cognizant of it.

“Oh, yeah, that’s what it is. Not because he thinks (Y/N) is pretty or anything and wants to get into her good graces,” Nat hums.

“Firstly, he’d have to be blind or tasteless if he didn’t think I was pretty,” you say. “Secondly, Steve is right—it’s nice to know someone that knows how to do the same things I do. He’s easy to talk to.“

“And flirt with,” Clint goads.

“Loki is a friend,” you insist.

“Mm, yeah, ‘friend’,” Tony mocks.

You know better than to argue with him—it’ll only make Tony and others believe you hold a deeper affection for him. When you see Loki walk in with a book in one hand, an idea suddenly strikes you.

Without a second thought, you get up wordlessly, hold his face in your hands, perch up on your toes, and kiss him. As soon as your lips meet, you feel electricity shoot throughout your body and a warmth spread in your chest. What was meant to be a quick kiss is one that lingers, leaving both Loki and you stunned and breathless after you part. You could easily get lost in his eyes as you stare at one another with your lips tingling and your hearts beating fast, and you want to lean back in in the worst way imaginable. Instead, you turn to the group watching in stunned silence, removing the small array of jasmine flowers that appeared in your hair during the kiss.

“Friends,” you say simply before you leave the common space.

Definitely not friends.

Definitely more.

Those are the only thoughts running through your head for the rest of the day. No matter what you do to busy yourself, your thoughts are consumed with Loki and the feeling of his lips against yours, what it would feel like to have his arms wrapped around you to hold you close and never let go.

Letting out a deep exhale, you get up off of your bed and pad across the floor. You just need some tea—a good cup of chamomile will help clear your head and help you think straight. You gasp when you see Loki standing at your doorway in his pajama pants, looking as if he’s just about to knock.

“Loki,” you breathe, his pale skin seeming to glow in the moonlight.

“I’m sorry to have startled you,” he says, his blue eyes slightly downturned at the corners. “If you want, I can—.”

“No, don’t leave,” you stop him, gently placing a hand on his wrist. “Come in.”

He gives you a small smile and a nod, moving into your room like he has so many times before to talk about books and magic or whatever else we wanted to.

You watch him as he moves, seeing the toned muscles of his back gently shifting under his skin as he moves, the line down his spine looking more defined with the nighttime shadow.

“Is everything okay?” you ask gently, closing the door behind you to join him by your bed.

He pokes his tongue between his pink lips, licking them carefully before speaking. “I’ve been thinking about that kiss all day,” he breathes. “I don’t understand it.”

“O-Oh,” you stutter. “I—.”

“You don’t need to explain what or why, because it won’t matter depending on the answer to what I’m about to ask.”

Your breaths are shallow and your skin is warm, his hands sliding into yours as you wait with bated breath.

“Did you feel something when we kissed?” he asks, his voice silky and soft.

He felt it too.

Crashing your lips into his, you hold him close and move your hands from his to run your fingers through his hair. Loki moans against your lips while his arms snake around your body. This embrace is everything and more than the kiss you shared in the morning. Loki’s hands squeeze your sides in an effort to fuse your bodies together, himself desperate for the embrace.

“Can I take that as a yes?” he asks with a breathy laugh, resting his forehead on yours.

“Yeah,” you hum in delight, your fingers playing with the loose waves in his raven hair. “I felt it. Little jasmine flowers don’t just pop up in my hair for anybody, you know.”

Loki lets out a little chuckle as he gently nudged his nose against yours. “Good.”

With a bright smile, he wraps his arms around you once more and presses his lips to yours, exchanging all of your affection with a simple action.

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itadore-you · 1 year

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'ᴴᵃⁿᵍ ᵃˡˡ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐⁱˢᵗˡᵉᵗᵒᵉ/ ᴵ'ᵐ ᵍᵒⁿⁿᵃ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ʸᵒᵘ ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ, ʸᵉᵃʰ/ ᵀʰⁱˢ ᶜʰʳⁱˢᵗᵐᵃˢ'

It's cold outside, but that's nothing to stop you and Yuuji from enjoying your winter holidays together. So why not take the fun indoors, and see what lies in store?

P.S: A drawing I did inspired this fanfic, so if you're a fan of this header, go check it out in full here!

pairing: aged up bf! itadori yuuji x fem!reader w/c: 4.3k t/w's: there's some fluff to begin with, but smut is included, so mdni! (includes: food play, oral (m!receiving), riding etc)

Nothing could compare to Yuuji’s touch, especially in the cold of the Winter, during the Christmas season. Through the crunch of snow, when he tried to reach for you as you accidentally slipped - resulting in both of you laughing as you ended up a tangled mess on the ground, holding hands as you made snow angels. He wound his woolen scarf around you afterward, reminding you that "we haven't built a snowman yet, so don't get cold", as he shuffled around collecting the freshly fallen snow, and of course, you went to join him.

"Don't they look amazing?" Yuuji's eyes shone upon admiring the result of both your hard work, the smiling snowman. He slung his arm over your shoulder to pull you close.

"Definitely," you agree, smiling up at your boyfriend. "But I just need to tweak a couple of things-"

You reached for the dotted 'mouth' of the snowman, spacing out a final pebble to perfection. "There."

"I don't see the difference."

"Me neither, really. I was messing with you."

With a laugh, both of you started heading back to the warmth of indoors, gloved hand in other gloved hand.

"We forgot a carrot for the snowman nose!"

—---------

So after a quick rendezvous with your snowman, the two of you returned home. The doorway was decorated with coloured fairy lights and best of all, a sprig of mistletoe which you eagerly redirected Yuuji’s attention to. Earlier in the month, he had cheekily taped it to your front door to use it as an excuse to smother you in kisses, often the perfect segway to your bedroom activities soon after.

Taking your face into his hands, he grants your wish with a quick kiss on your lips, which tingles from the sensitivity of the cold. He draws back, noticing how much you’re shivering, and ushers you into the warm living room, the electrical heater already switched on. Both of you are then nested on the couch, Yuuji holding your hands in an attempt to warm them.

"We really should've stayed out for less time, I forgot how cold it's gotten recently."

"Aw, but it was worth it, y/n!" he pouted at you, clenching your hand a little tighter as he gave you a tender kiss on the cheek. "And I would do it with you all over again."

You could feel your cheeks glow at his sweet, affectionate words.

“Love you, Yuuji. Thank you for always knowing how to warm me up.”

“I love you too, baby. To the moon and back.”

Yuuji places a kiss on your knuckles, with an earnest, lovesick expression fixed on his face.

Even his lips were warm against your skin, so warm that you just wanted to feel his mouth against yours, kissing you slowly and with the same passion he always had when intimate with you. Yuuji knows that you’re giving him that look, the one with the eyes that silently beg and beckon for him to get closer, for him to kiss you all over and satiate your desires. He knows what you want, because every time you give him that look, you can see his eyes are hooded with lust; he’s rendered speechless as his hands start to move on their own and caress your body. It reminds you of one time that Yuuji’s mind had clouded with thoughts of you to the point that he actually drooled a little, eyes wide as he got lost in his daydreams.

The familiar tension between you diffuses as Yuuji pulls you from the sofa instead.

“We were gonna bake some gingerbread and cookies, right? Lemme go get my apron on.”

“O-oh, yeah, sure,” you reply, left a little dumbfounded. It was a bit odd, after all, from him. Once he was turned on, usually it got difficult for Yuuji to restrain himself.

The ingredients are already lined up on the counter from earlier: rolling pin; shape cutters; piping bag as well as bowls and whisk at the ready. You get started with the cookies, knowing that Yuuji prefers to do the gingerbread using the recipe handed down to him by his grandfather. He always loved cooking and baking for you, always excitedly telling you new variations he had discovered and feeding you his newest creation from the kitchen. By the time you’re adding the chocolate chips to the dough, Yuuji’s hurriedly coming back down the stairs tying the back of his ‘hot stuff coming through’ apron that you bought him as a gag gift last year.

“Lookin’ good, baby,” he compliments you, hands holding your waist as he presses a kiss to your neck. “And I meant that for the cookies too, of course.”

You’re left flustered as Yuuji goes to start on the gingerbread, whistling a festive tune as he settles into the familiar rhythm of baking. Even forgetting your own cookies mid-roll as you watch your boyfriend fluidly whisk the ingredients with his strong arms, cutely sticking out his tongue from the side of his mouth as he concentrates.

“Y/n? Do you want any help with your cookies?”

You hadn’t even realised how intensely you were staring at your boyfriend, and accidentally blurt out ‘yes’ to his innocent question. It turns out to be a blessing in disguise, watching the emphasised veins in Yuuji’s arms as he puts his characteristic strength into rolling out your dough. Even under his apron and loose shirt, you can see the hint of his biceps as they flex underneath. Truly a sight to see.

Eventually, you regain a hold of yourself, reminding yourself that perhaps it wouldn’t be so sanitary to pounce on your boyfriend and be bent over the flour-covered counter, next to the baked goods that you were planning to not just eat later, but also give out to friends and family. Taking hold of the dog paw-shaped cookie cutter, it feels like a warning from Megumi himself to not follow your temptations. Yuuji returns to the beginnings of his gingerbread dough with a smile, while you line your tray for the cookie shapes.

Yuuji’s fast. Not just in terms of his sprinting speed, but your well-practised baker of a boyfriend already has his gingerbread men lined up on another tray, ready to be put into the oven beside yours. He checks that a timer has been set for the next 15 minutes, and is already pouring the icing sugar into a bowl to make the cream cheese frosting.

“Let me help, Yuu,” you plead. “I’ve got the butter right here.”

“Sure thing, baby!” He adds it to the mixture, whipping all the ingredients together. It makes your heart beat just that little bit faster as you watch him again.

“You have a try!” He holds the bowl out to you, a kind grin on his face.

As much as you love watching him have all the fun, why not have your turn? You thank him as you take hold of the bowl, scraping down the sides and thoroughly whisking to the best of your ability. Meanwhile, Yuuji takes a moment to check the oven, relieved to see that nothing’s burning, then turns his attention back to you.

“Wanna have a taste?”

You’ve got Yuuji’s head spinning. When you were busy whisking the frosting, some of it had escaped the bowl and splashed onto your chest, which you promptly wiped off with your finger. And now you’re licking it off your finger, the same look as before more prominent in your expression and he wants you, needs you so bad it hurts him. He grips the counter, leaning against it for support from the sudden loss of all senses. You giggle, telling him how good it tastes. You know that you drive him crazy.

“Y/n,” His voice weak, “You missed a bit right-uh, right there.”

You hum innocently, wiping off the stray drips of frosting from lower down your chest. Instead of holding it out to Yuuji so that he can lick it off of your finger, you wipe it onto his cheek and it’s straight-up erotic how you run your tongue along the streak of frosting.

“Couldn't help myself,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth whilst you wrap your arms around his neck, and comb your fingers through the bottom of his undercut fondly. Yuuji can’t help letting out a soft groan - he can’t seem to help himself either as he quickly hoists you onto the counter. He collects the remaining frosting left on you in one deft swipe of a finger and pops it into his mouth. Before you know it, he’s leaning into you again as he shares the taste of the sweet icing, slipping his tongue into your mouth and licking sensually as your tongues find one another. You’re both lost in the kiss, hands now gripping at his locks of fluffy pink hair to force him closer, and Yuuji’s palms dust the sides of your waist with remnants of flour and muscovado sugar. In his eyes, you’ve become his sweet little treat, and he can’t wait to unwrap you as he fights with himself to not raise the hem of your shirt further.

It takes a while before you finally break apart, still connected by a trail of spittle. Heaving chests and wandering hands freeze once the timer beeps, bringing you both back into the presence of the moment before time stood still. They do say that time flies when you’re having fun, but it’s not fair that the fifteen minutes cut right into the middle of a steamy make-out session with your boyfriend. You wanted him all to yourself for far longer.

Yuuji looks so cute when he’s dishevelled, mind scattered as he searches for the oven gloves that happen to be right beside you. Mindlessly you’re kicking your legs against the counter as you watch him, amused for several seconds until you hand it out to him, and he facepalms at his forgetfulness.

“Good thing we timed the oven - would’ve definitely burnt otherwise,” Yuuji sighs in relief. The baking tray births a plume of steam as he places it on the countertop, the sweet-smelling air not only filling your kitchen but invading all your senses, causing your mouth to water at the notion of such yummy food. Seeing the freshly baked goods adds to the desire, like an aphrodisiac, the way how it makes the blood rush through your veins at the sight. Reaching out a hand to try one, Yuuji stops you by shifting the tray away from you.

“You need to wait for them to cool down first, baby!” His warm brown eyes soften as he apologises to you. “We gotta decorate them too!”

“But don’t we have to wait for them to cool before that, Yuu? That'll take so long...”

“Yeah, exactly. Y/n, I know something extra for us to do to pass the time.”

The implication behind Yuuji’s words leaves you rigid. He’s taking hold of your hands again, the same beautiful smile on his face as ever, but mischief dancing in his eyes as he gazes at you. His voice is pitched slightly lower when he continues,

“Is it okay if we take this to the bedroom, cutie?”

—---------------------------

Sweet and spicy, like the smell of the ginger and sugar long forgotten in the kitchen, love is the aroma that fills all your senses; it’s the warmth that cloaks your cold hands and cheeks when you’re with your boyfriend, Yuuji.

“You need to close your eyes, baby, or it won’t be a surprise anymore!” He whines as you sit impatiently, longing to peek from behind your hands.

“I’m not looking Yuu, I swear!”

Yuuji hums doubtfully, and the mysterious rustling sounds continue. What was he planning for you? Curiosity was a dangerous plague, deadly when paired with time.

“Just a few more seconds, and - there! Okay, you can open your eyes now. Happy holidays, my love.”

Before you stands a shirtless Yuuji, a proud grin on his face. You’ve always loved eyeing his muscled torso, feeling his abs flex underneath your fingers. This time Yuuji’s firm chest is tightly restrained by a satin red ribbon, the smooth fabric shining against his skin, his pectorals straining with every movement against the ribbon. At the centre of his torso, the ribbon is tied into a pretty bow, focussing your gaze further down his impressive body. The top button of Yuuji’s trousers is left unbuttoned, exposing his enticing V-line even more. The expanse of his skin is a beautiful landscape, one which you could stare at for hours and touch for longer.

Your hands are experienced adventurers, well acquainted with Yuuji’s body, and your eyes an expert on every single feature. It’s almost crazy how you missed it the first time - slightly above the left side of Yuuji’s chest, faint marker outlines spell out one word which makes your heart race like it never has before.

‘Yours’

Yours.

Yuuji. Itadori Yuuji, Your boyfriend. The love of your life.

The five letters spelled out what felt like a pledge to eternity itself. A whisper in the dark of night between two lovers as they held each other tight. Seeing the word written on Yuuji, the same letters had tattooed themselves on the inner walls of your heart for him in return.

“You like it?” Yuuji says quietly. “I left you some other gifts under the tree for later, but I also wanted to be your surprise this Christmas.”

He notices that your eyes are still tracing the letters on his chest, and he sheepishly rubs the back of his head.

“It rubbed off onto my shirt a bit earlier, but yeah… I’m all yours, y/n.”

Actions speak louder than words, a virtue that you hold true as you kiss him deeply, tugging the waistband of his trousers so he can remove them for you. Yuuji obliges happily, leaving the bottoms crumpled on your bedroom floor. In his excitement he kisses you roughly, the kiss becoming messy as your mouths move against each other desperately. Soon enough he’s helping you out of your clothes, eager to feel your bare skin touching his. Yuuji’s boxers are clearly tented when he leans back on his haunches to take in the sight of you; he was clearly unprepared to see that you are wearing a new set of lingerie to drive him wild. His eyes dart between the red ribbon sitting in the centre of your lacy bra, to the straps of your matching garter that extend down your thigh. You were supposed to be unwrapping him like a Christmas present, but the roles are reversed as Yuuji drinks in the sight of you before him, toying with the strap of your bra on your shoulder and running his hands all over the rest of your sexy underwear.

“You like it?”

You’re repeating the same words back to him now, a coy smile on your face. And similar to your previous response, Yuuji’s body speaks for him loud and clear. His erection has escaped the confines of his boxers, the tip now visible as it strains toward his abdomen. He sounds winded as a ‘yes’ escapes his lips, and he pins your body down to the mattress completely to envelop you in another deep kiss, grinding himself against you. Both of you are moaning as your bodies move against each other in synergy, consumed by one another in the throes of passion. Completely breathless, he finally pulls away to gasp for air, and your eyes are encaptured by the movement of Yuuji’s chest as if he were in a debt to oxygen.

“Wait… I wanted to try out something,” Yuuji pants, reaching over to a can of whipped cream that somehow made its way to the bedroom in advance (probably when Yuuji told you to close your eyes). “I liked what you did earlier, and-”

His sentence trails into thin air as he sprays it onto you, along the slope of your neck. It’s a bit cold, but Yuuji’s warm tongue seeks to resolve the sensation as he laps at the cream fervently. From the way he’s sucking on your neck, you’re sure that there’ll probably be a mark in its place tomorrow. Yuuji feels inspired to spray more whipped cream onto your body, now shaping the swirls of cream into a copycat sweetheart neckline, above your bra. Your breath is caught in your throat as he slowly licks it all up, tongue following the line of cream fluidly. But his show of patience is only feigned for a brief amount of time; he slips down the straps of your bra and lets you sit up a little so that he can unclip the back. Yuuji is well trained, easily detaching the clasp closure as he has practiced on you many times before when he used to fiddle with the contraption for ages until you would just do it for him, or he’d rip it off of you in frustration, promising to buy you a new one later.

Now he’s spraying the cream around each nipple, licking it up after and wrapping his tongue around each sensitive nub. It’s driving you absolutely crazy, making you moan with each lick he layers onto your tits. He would happily continue sucking and licking at your chest if you let him, but as you reach for the can of whipped cream, you get a new idea.

“Did I do something wrong? Why’d you want me to st-, o-oh-”

Yuuji moans mid-sentence as you start to slather the whipped cream all over his buff chest, unravelling the ribbon so that you can do it properly. He lays back on his elbows so you can sit up and start to lick all over him, and he loves it, low hums escaping from deep within his chest as he tries to hold back his moans of pleasure.

As you trail the squirty cream down from Yuuji’s chest and abs, you near the waistband of his boxer briefs. Ignoring his large erection is difficult, especially as Yuuji shifts his hips closer to you, desperate for your touch. You opt to tease him for a little longer before you eventually give in to his desires, spraying cream along his sculpted v-line, and your tongue darts out to lick up your mess.

Yuuji unconsciously starts to guide your head toward his dick, groaning lowly in anticipation. He doesn’t mean to do it, retracting his hand soon after and starting to mumble his apology. But he’s back to begging for your touch when you take his dick out of his underwear, pumping it slowly. It’s so large that your hand just about wraps around the girth, and when you give it a light squeeze, pre cum beads impatiently at the flushed tip.

You waste no time spraying cream along his length, swirling it around the top of his dick. Yuuji hisses at the cold sensation of the cream on his intimate area. Before you get started licking it off, you squirt your initials onto his chest, smiling.

“You’re all mine, Yuu?”

“Always.”

With his promise, you suddenly go to lick at his leaking tip, then trail your tongue down his dick agonisingly slowly. You repeat on the other side of his cock, preparing yourself to take him into your throat. Several more licks at the very tip of his dick, and Yuuji’s falling apart, legs shaking from how turned on he is. Twisting the base of his shaft heightens his pleasure as you coat his dick in your saliva, even going as far to take him deep into your throat. What doesn’t fit into your mouth you pump with your hand, stimulating him from glans to base. He starts to piston his hips into your mouth frantically, nearing his orgasm.

“Wait, Yuuji,” you plead, hands stroking his thighs. “I wanna ride you.”

He almost cums right there and then, eyes melted into a golden yellow as he looks at you.

Yuuji is already gripping your ass cheeks, steadying you on top of him. You’re grinding onto his hard-on several times, increasingly wet and then he finally pushes into you. Feeling full, you take a moment before you start to rock yourself back and forward on his dick. He tries to crane his neck forward to lick and suck on your nipples as you spray your spit-slicked chest with more whipped cream and he smears the cream onto your skin, quickly returning his hands to your waist to encourage you to move faster.

Short gasps start to sound from you as you ride him, curving your back into the perfect arch so that you can feel his cock even deeper, successfully rubbing against your G-spot over and over. Grinding your hips onto him even harder is your priority - you need to feel all of him inside of you, hitting the sensitive parts of your walls in coordination with your clit rubbing against him, driving you to paradise. Your thighs squeeze against his sides with the building feeling, and Yuuji lets you hold down his arms above his head as you put even more energy into riding him. In your own ecstasy, you can see that he’s getting close too, his face blushing scarlet and eyebrows slanted upward. His large palms then move to cup your ass, and he moves you on his dick to consistently keep fucking you to an orgasm. He fully takes over once your thighs start to tire from holding you up, moving you as if you were completely weightless with those strong arms of his, his natural athleticism revealing itself. Before you know it, a familiar feeling is taking over your senses, making you feel light headed and dizzy with elation. Yuuji’s hips falter and spasm as he sends you to your release, followed by his own shortly after.

After the first few spurts of cum that leave Yuuji’s cock, you think that he’s done and you climb off of him but he keeps going, probably overstimulated as his eyes turn glassy and his body convulses with each twitch of his dick releasing cum. With his final stream of release, he moans loudly, shuddering in relief as his sticky cum strings all over his lower stomach. Yuuji tends to cum a lot, so you already have a towel stashed by your nightstand for him. He’s still a bit disoriented, coming down from his high as he thanks you for cleaning him up, twitching when the material comes into contact with his sensitive cock.

“Fuck,” he says under his breath. Swearing comes rarely for Yuuji, the curse word foreign in his mouth, but so hot when he uses it in these rare moments. His mouth hangs open as he breathes, trying to compose himself from all the previous actions.

“Stick out your tongue for me, Yuu.”

You spray the remains of the whipped cream onto his tongue and then press a small kiss to his lips after he swallows. Yuuji’s cheeks blush a little pink, matching his hair. He’s cute, the way how such small acts can make him flustered especially after sex. He entwines his hand with yours as you lie on the bed together, bodies warmly pressed underneath the sheets. You lay there like this for a while, both content in each other’s embrace. Nothing compares to Yuuji’s touch.

“Brat,” A deeper timbre of voice breaks through the comfortable silence, belonging to the mouth that has appeared on Yuuji’s face. “You said you would give me some of the good-tasting food that you made with the woman.”

Yuuji rolls his eyes at Sukuna’s intrusion, getting out of bed with a scowl.

“Stop making it weird for y/n and me! I told you to not disturb us when we’re… y’know!”

“Hi, Sukuna,” you call out to the hangry King of Curses, the mouth on Yuuji’s cheek curling into a grin.

“You. Be a good girl and feed me, now.”

“Sukuna! You can’t talk to my girlfriend like that! And I’m going to get you some now, so shut it!”

Yuuji turns to you after scolding Sukuna, apologising that he will be back soon as he makes his way to the kitchen. You can hear Yuuji continuing to squabble with Sukuna in the kitchen, which makes you giggle as you huddle further into the sheets to try and recover the warmth of Yuuji’s body since he left your side. Getting into a relationship with a vessel for a powerful curse sure sounded a bit intimidating at first, but you had settled into Sukuna’s occasional interruptions by now, as he didn’t seem to be irritated by you and Yuuji too often.

Yuuji reenters the room, plate of your cookies and his gingerbread in hand along with some wet wipes. He’s chewing on one of your cookies, complimenting the gooey chocolate chips that you had added in. Taking one of his gingerbread, it tastes just as perfect as they always are, the mellow ginger flavourful on your tongue.

“We better not get too many crumbs on the bed,” You sigh, biting into another piece of gingerbread. “I could just lie in bed and eat these all day long, they’re amazing.”

Yuuji shakes the container of whipped cream, trying to squirt the very last of it onto his cookie and pulling a face when the aerosol pitifully releases tiny drops of cream, clearly at its demise.

“I need to get you all cleaned up anyway, cutie,” He frowns at the empty can before throwing it into the bin across the room. “Don’t need any more of that whipped cream when I have you, just as sweet.”

You’re in his arms again, warm as you cuddle. Snow falls outside of your window, fleeting flakes falling through the dimmed skies. The coldness of it all will never catch you, not when you’re with him.

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

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nanfixit · 11 months

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shawfamilyhomerepair0 · 29 days

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softsnzstuff · 2 years

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Whining/Crying

@sicktember Day 19

Fandom: Stranger Things; My New Broadway AU

Summary: Broadway!Eddie is leading a musical but is so so sick and wants to sleep BUT he also doesn’t want to disappoint his fans or give a bad performance. Steve is a backstage volunteer. (Established Steddie) Based on my own experiences in theater. 🖤

Comments: Feel free to send me any asks about this new AU because I love it

Word Count: 1.7k (oops)

“Igt’sch’IEW! H’etsss’EW!!”

Eddie sneezed into the sleeve of his jacket. They sounded undeniably sick, due to the fact that the young actor had been losing the fight against this cold for a few days now.

“Bless you! Are you sure you don’t want to call in your understudy?” Steve rubbed a hand on his boyfriends back as they walked the several blocks to the theater.

“I’ll be fine.” Eddie sniffled thickly against his wrist.

Steve felt his chest fill with concern. The dedication that his partner had to the craft was one of his favorite traits, but it could also end up being his partner’s flaw. “You sound worse today, Eds.”

The older man coughed, “Gee thanks.”

They arrived at the theater at 5pm, entering through the stage door. They had two hours before curtain call. The men headed down the stairs stage right that led partially to the dressing rooms below.

“Try to take it easy, okay?” Steve kissed Eddie on the cheek as they went their separate ways - Eddie to his dressing room and Steve to go find the other volunteers.

Eddie’s dressing room was his safe space. He’d been in this role for a few months now, and he’d turned the little room into his home away from home. He had a cheap sofa inside, a sink, a little rack of his costumes, and of course the makeup table with mirror and lights.

Currently his makeup table was half-covered by an assortment of cough drops, tissues, and teas. The long haired man filled up his small electric kettle with water and turned it in.

Today’s pre-show was a lavender and chamomile day for sure. He’d been so sneezy the last few days and his throat was killing him, both from post-nasal drip and from the sneezes themselves scraping his throat as they came out.

While he waited for his tea to steep, he leaned against the table and looked at himself in the mirror. God if it was even possible he looked sicker than he felt…and he felt pretty bad.

“HRD’zzIEW! Isssh’EW! snFF TSCHEW!!”

“Bless you! I was gonna ask how you were feeling but I guess that answers that.”

Eddie jumped slightly, started by the sudden company. Robin was leaning against his doorframe.

“Jesus Robin, warn a guy…”

He plucked some tissues and blew his nose as she waltzed over to him. She had a small role in the show, but they’d been friends for a few years. She looked over his shoulder at the steaming tea.

“Oof, chamomile and lavender…you feeling that bad??”

Eddie nodded, a sigh triggering a wet cough. He ran a hand through his hair looking up at her, “Feel like shit, Birdie. Gonna try and power through this one though since tomorrow is an off day.”

His counterpart raised an eyebrow, disapproving of his too-literal ‘the show must go on’ attitude. “Okay,” she shrugged, “Let me know if you need anything.”

---

By 40 minutes to curtain, Eddie was mostly in costume. He had Roger’s plaid pants with wallet chain on, as well as shoes and the tank top. He just needed the fleece sweater when it got closer.

Steve was sitting at the hair and wig table with one or two other volunteers. He was pinning a straggler strand of hair back in a wig when a wet sneeze made him look up.

“Bless-”

“IKT’schi’EW! snorFF”

“Bless you.” Steve frowned as his boyfriend approached, looking like a sad puppy.

“Can you help me fix mby bangs? I tried and they aren’t staying in place it’s so stupid.”

Steve tried to hold in a chuckle. Was Eddie whining?? It sure sounded like it. “Have a seat babe.”

Eddie sniffled again and sat in the hair chair, Steve pulling out some hairspray, a rounded brush, and a few Bobby pins. He started to use his hands to move the bangs into place, but pulled back.

“Eddie.” The older man looked up, confused, “You have a fever now.”

“That would explain why I feel so gross.” Steve shot him a look and Eddie knew exactly what it meant, “I’ll be okay Stevie. I just don’t want to let down the audience by giving a bad performance.”

“They’ll love you Eddie.”

---

Eddie peeked from backstage, seeing the full house. He took a deep breath and rubbed at his nose, grabbing his guitar and taking his place on stage in character.

The show opens with Roger tuning his guitar sitting on a table so that’s what Eddie did while the house lights were coming down getting ready for the show.

The first numbers went decently well. With all his experience, he was more than used to discretely sniffling where it wouldn’t be picked up by the mic. “One Song Glory” definitely strained his voice a little more than he’d hoped for, but he managed to hit all the notes with no issue.

After “You’ll See”, Eddie stepped backstage and quickly grabbed a few tissues from the box Steve had stashed in the wings for him. He buried his face in them as his breath hitched.

“H’NxxT! NxxxT! IxxxxT! snffSNF H’MPTSCH!”

“Bless you.” A few of his cast mates whispered.

He nodded his thanks and headed downstairs, blowing his nose. While “Tango Maureen” was going on, he touched up the makeup around his nose.

This went on every couple of numbers. By the time they’d reached “Christmas Bells”, Eddie was really feeling worse for wear. His energy was depleting, he felt too hot and too cold, and his throat was so sore and scratchy.

The most energetic number was coming up, and he wasn’t sure how capable he would be. He took a swig of water before going onstage for the act one closing number.

“La Vie Boheme” was split into two parts, A and B, with one of Eddie’s songs in between. His voice cracked once as he was singing and he tried quickly to recover and pretend like it didn’t happen.

As soon as the curtains closed for a 20 minute intermission, Eddie bolted off stage and went down to his dressing room and sat on the couch. Steve had been watching from the little tv backstage and followed Eddie to his room.

“Eddie?” He spoke softly, knowing the other man was feeling extra sensitive right now. A shaky breath came from the couch where the long haired man was in a ball, hugging his knees.

“Aw Eds… don’t cry.” Steve sat next to him and pulled him into a hug, rubbing his back. “What’s wrong?”

Eddie looked up, quiet tears rolling down his cheek, nose streaming. Steve got up to grab the box of tissues and returned, handing some to Eddie.

“I… I don’t feel good.” He said between sobs.

Steve hated this. He hated seeing Eddie sick, hated seeing Eddie upset, and he didn’t know what he could do.

“I’m sorry babe.” Steve pulled the older man closer, Eddie burying his face in Steve’s chest.

“My performance is so shit! Did you hear my voice crack? That’s so embarrassing!” Eddie looked up at Steve, the younger of the two wiping away a stray tear with his thumb.

Eddie put his face back in Steve’s chest as Steve stroked his hair. He didn’t like the heat radiating off his boyfriend, but he would handle that later.

“I feel so sick, Steve. I’m sweating but I’m freezing and my throat hurts and I keep heh H’ikk’shiew! KT’chew! H’aktch’IEW! snfff doi’g that.”

Steve froze as he felt a warm, wet patch form on his shirt. Eddie sniffed soupily and Steve handed him another couple tissues, Eddie coughing into them.

Steve did a quick glance at his watch. They still had maybe 12 minutes left of intermission. “What do you want to do Eddie? Do you want me to tell Murray you need your understudy to take over? Extend intermission a little bit?”

“N’do N’do I can do it.” He had stopped crying and was trying to compose himself.

“Okay. Why don’t you use your steam inhaler until you need to go up? I’ll fix your hair and makeup while you do that.”

Eddie nodded. The steam inhaler was on his table. Steve filled it with water and turned it on, Eddie pressing his nose and mouth to the inhaler hood. Steve knelt down and touched up the makeup that had come off from Eddie crying. About five minutes later, he stood up and touched up Eddie’s hair.

A knock on the open door and another volunteer said, “Five minutes, Eddie.”

“Tha’gk you five.” He said, muffled through the vaporizer.

“Okay, I think you’re all set if you’re ready!” Steve took a step back, looking Eddie up and down, making sure they didn’t forget anything.

Eddie turned off the steam inhaler and blew his nose one more time. He pulled the man into a big hug, “Thank you Stevie.”

---

The rest of the show went pretty smoothly, Eddie was still a sneezy mess, but he was able to sing easier after the steam inhaler. When bows were done, Eddie got changed back into his civilian clothes - loose jeans, a crewneck and his jacket.

“Eddie, the stage door is wondering if you’ll be signing tonight?” One of the volunteers asked.

“Umb… not tonight. Sorry. I feel like anyone who gets an autograph would also get this shitty cold.”

The girl smiled and nodded, heading back upstairs. As she left, Steve walked in. “There’s my talented guy! Ready to go home and get some rest?” He reached out and felt Eddie’s forehead again.

Eddie leaned his head on Steve’s shoulder. “Oh mby god, rest sou’ds so good. Let’s go home.”

He threw on his backpack and turned off the dressing room light, rubbing his nose against the sleeve of his jacket. “IGT’chiew! snlrp ughhh… this is gonna be a lo’g weeke’d…”

---

When they got back to their shared apartment, Eddie dropped his backpack by the door, steve hanging up his blazer. He pulled Eddie into another hug. “You, Eddie Munson, need some cold medicine and a nap.”

“And a ndew ndose…”

The older man looked at the slightly darker spot on Steve’s button down shirt. He traced it with his finger, “What happe’ded to your shirt?”

Steve laughed, clearly Eddie had forgotten, “You sneezed on me during your breakdown, silly.”

“Oh…” Eddie’s voice suddenly got all small, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay Eddie, let’s get you to bed!”

#NEW AU #sicktember 2022 #Broadway AU #Broadway!Eddie #Backstage!Steve #kb AU’s #not me thinking about Steve catching the cold #and they both have to call out #s/tranger t/hings #s/teve h/arrington #e/ddie m/unson #snzblr #sickfic #colds #kb writes #steddiesnz #fruity 4

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eurovision-revisited · 10 months

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Birmingham 1998 - The stage and set design

Wow. Just wow. The Point Theatre was dark, enclosed and resembled the late lamented Industrial Zone on the Crystal Maze. In contrast, the BBC have gone to town with the light bulbs.

In layout, the stage most resembles that used in Millstreet in 1993 or Wembley in 1977. Big, open and surprisingly huge with the orchestra tucked slightly behind and to the side in a highly bespoke orchestra pit. Yes, there is still an orchestra.

There are so many cameras. Audience cameras, crane cameras, standard fixed cameras, shoulder-mounted mobile cameras that the director can send into the orchestra pit to film the percussionist wrestle with his huge cymbals while the drummer smirks.

There's some latitude with what the delegations can do on stage. Malta have brought massive wrought-iron candlesticks with actual candles for instance.

There's dry ice available. I haven't checked in detail, but I think this may be a first for any Eurovision. Several of the acts make use of it to create a light and mystical fog around their ankles.

The postcards are fantastic, combining the best of contemporary UK pop (finally Britpop on Eurovision!) along with the standard tourism scenes. There's a delightful guessing game how the national flags will be revealed as part of the scene, sometimes in surprising ways. They're some of the most fun postcards that have been created since they started in 1970.

Then there's this. The most shocking sight of the evening. Product placement on the BBC, even if the scoreboard can do maps and animated little stars with each of the countries' points, this was a flabbergasting sight in the UK. The scoreboard is situated up high, on the gantry that Guido Horn scaled successfully during his performance.

Behind the stage, there's a custom built green room to allow the artists to relax and watch the contest on big screens, with a huge central bar.

One less obvious innovation was that the BBC consulted with fan groups and gave them tickets to the front rows to ensure that the cameras could see the fans get excited and wave flags. The National Indoor Arena is one of the biggest venues for Eurovision yet. There's an electric atmosphere only heightened by the edgy humour, the risk of televoting catastrophe, and the tense finish to the voting with the home singer involved until the final votes.

It's a high wire act that comes off - even if the winner was somewhat late for her trophy.

The designer was Andrew Howe-Davies. It's as if he and the BBC have gone back to look at the last five years worth of Eurovision and nicked all the bits that worked.

Then added dry ice.

#esc #esc 1998 #eurovision #eurovision song contest #birmingham #birmingham 1998 #United Kingdom #BBC #National Indoor Arena #postcards #stage design #production

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oliviajames1122 · 2 years

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5 Typical Errors That Will Ruin or Damage Your Motherboard

If the CPU (processor) is the brain of your computer, the motherboard is its heart, serving as the point of connection and communication for all of its many components. Therefore, if your motherboard has a problem, it is a bigger issue than just replacing one component.

In general, motherboards are resilient to the damage caused by regular use. There are a few steps you can take to make sure it keeps working properly, though. Before any other component, the motherboard needs to be safeguarded against damage.

If you avoid any of these common mistakes that could damage a computer motherboard, you'll save yourself a lot of trouble many business listings.

1 - Look for short circuits.

While laptops do occasionally experience this issue, desktop PCs tend to have it more frequently. There is a potential of a short circuit if the PC hasn't been installed correctly, regardless of whether you prefer to build your own or purchase one assembled from somewhere.

Sometimes faulty CPU coolers cause irreparable motherboard damage. This is why it is important to check for loose wires and make sure they are connected to the proper ports before constructing computer business listings.

You must correctly fit the motherboard into the case while constructing your PC. You may secure the motherboard to the case with a few screws. Make sure every screw is in place and that it is tight. A motherboard can be destroyed by a single unsecured screw; it does occur!

In other words, your computer's inside should be orderly and tidy. A short circuit may result if the motherboard accidentally comes into contact with something.

2 - Beware of Power Surges.

The motherboard of your computer is connected to the power supply unit (PSU). It's essential to buy the right PSU for your requirements because if your components need more power than the PSU can provide, the motherboard or the components could break down.

The more frequent problem with motherboards, though, is power surges. Your home may have power-hungry items like refrigerators and air conditioners. Have you ever noticed that your lights start to flicker as soon as these devices turn off? They had to draw more electricity as a result, which caused a spike.

The current needs a few seconds to regulate when they turn off. And during those few intervals, it is diverted to other electronics, such as your computer or lighting. The simplest reason of a power surge is as stated above.

The majority of motherboards and power supply units alter their voltages to handle minor power surges. However, if it's a huge one, it can destroy your motherboard and every piece of equipment attached to it. It's a significant problem and one of them that we frequently fail to appropriately account for. Investing in a reliable surge protector for your PC is the only remedy free business listings.

3 - Make sure the vents are clean.

Electronics are harmed by heat. To function effectively, computer components need to remain cool. However, they produce a lot of heat on their own. Therefore, heat dissipation, whether by fans or heat sinks, is essential for computers.

You should clean the ventilation vents on your laptop or computer if it frequently overheats. The motherboard can occasionally become damaged by excessive heat, leaving you with a shorted motherboard that is challenging to fix. In addition, you can swap out and install a better CPU cooling fan to maintain a reasonable temperature.

4 - Compatibility Issues

Another error that some users commit is attempting to install inferior or incompatible parts on a motherboard. Before putting a PC together, it is crucial to confirm that all of the parts are compatible.

Make sure you purchase high-quality components for your motherboard as well. Don't skimp on components like premium RAM or a reliable power supply if you're trying to create an expensive computer.

As was previously said, heat is the enemy of electronic components. When purchasing components like graphics cards, keep this in mind. Due to fan design and other factors, some graphics cards are more prone to overheating. Try to stay away from these.

5 - Inadequate Handling.

Are you interested in learning how a motherboard is damaged? In addition to the aforementioned causes, poor installation of a motherboard handling is another potential. Make sure you have an anti-static mat and wristband on hand before you assemble your computer.

When handling your motherboard, always place it on an anti-static pad. Your motherboard may sustain irreparable damage from a single static shock.

Avoid touching the motherboard's circuitry is another crucial consideration. Hold it by the edges whenever you lift it. Additionally, when installing the motherboard, tighten each screw evenly across the board's corners; that is, don't tighten one screw all the way before adding the next.

#Many business listings #business listings #free business listings #promote your business

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