#'extra strength cold & flu' MY ASS

[theygender]

Why is it called a "common cold" when this is the worst hell I've experienced in my life. My nose and throat are burning like I snorted chili powder and gargled wasabi. My head feels like someone is inflating it with a tire pump and it's pushing all my brains out through my nose. This is worse than when I've had COVID, strep, flu, or pneumonia. What kind of hell are they putting in colds these days

[celest1all]

hii, can i please request a spencer x female reader fic where reader is sick and spencer has to take care of her and ends up confessing he's in love with her? thank youu 💗🥺

oooh i love this. soft spence makes me wanna cry.

Sickness Bug

spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of phlegm, fluff, mentions of the flu. not much else.

authors note: hope you enjoy!! i hope i did this justice <3

You hated the winter, but more specifically, you hated flu season around the winter. Everyone you came across was either sniffling, coughing or sneezing. It was -- quite frankly -- revolting. And you couldn't stand it one fucking bit.

Luckily for you, it was a simple paperwork day. Finishing up reports, writing some consults you had been asked to analyse. Not so luckily for you, however, somewhere along the way you had caught a bit of a cold. Well, that's all you hoped it was, that's for sure. Your throat had recently started to feel like you had swallowed a thousand pieces of straw and your head was banging like it was being hit repeatedly with a blunt object.

It was hell.

You were currently just sat at your desk, eyes dropping in and out of focus of the paperwork sat on your desk. There was a box of now empty tissues next you and a bottle of cold medicine that was close to being finished on the other.

You tried clearing your throat to soothe the pain but it instead just made it worse. In fact, it made it worse ten fold.

"Fuck," you mutter to yourself, hand coming up to your throat, rubbing to attempt to ease it.

"You okay?" a voice come behind you, startling you from out of your seat. You swivelled around and narrowed your eyes to try and see who the voice belonged you, breathing heavily out of your mouth as your nose was blocked.

Through the blurry mist of your vision, you could see a head of messy curls and a worried look. "Spence?" You ask, almost wondering if it was a figment of your ill-ridden brain.

Spencer took in your appearance. Your hair was up in a messy ponytail, there was a bottle of extra strength cold medicine on your desk and your trash bin was full of used tissues. You, on the other hand, looked (for lack of a better word) terrible. Your eyes were blood shot, you were breathing rather heavily, pale and also clutching your forehead.

"You're sick." He says, looking at you, sympathy swirling in his iris.

"Pfft, no." You reply, avoiding eye contact. "I'm the fit of health."

Spencer hummed in response, not needing to profile you to know you were lying. "No, seriously, it's just a bit of a col--achoo!" You both looked at each other, neither one of you saying anything. Fit of health my ass...

Spencer looked around, one hand still clasping his beige satchel, before zeroing back on you. "Uh, okay. You should go home."

You narrowed your eyes again, before shaking your head and slightly coughing. "No. I'm staying." Your voice was croaky and dry, "I've got a shit load of paperwork to do from the last case and Hotch will shoot me if I don't do it." You wipe your sweaty forehead with the sleeve of your sweater, whilst slightly shivering. "A-Are you cold? I'm cold."

Against his better judgement, Spencer took his coat he was wearing before he came into work to fight against the harsh DC winter and wrapped it around your frame, rubbing his palm up and down on your upper arm in an attempt to warm you up slightly. "Okay, let's get you home."

With that, Spencer helped you get up from your chair in the bullpen and got your bag for you and put it on his shoulder, whilst the other was still wrapped around you. "W-What about the p-paperwork?" Your teeth were chattering relentlessly now.

"Fuck the paperwork, you're sick. You might have the flu, and having the flu in a building full of FBI agents might not be the best idea." He says, ushering you towards the elevator.

Spencer pressed the button for you and let you in first, him following closely after.

"I can take the s-stairs. I know you don't l-like germs." You state, warming up slightly from the doctors coat.

He chuckles slightly, "I'd rather get the flu than Morgan kill me because you collapsed whilst walking down six flights of stairs."

You laugh, causing phlegm to get stuck and making you cough. It was disgusting. After a few seconds of coughing, the elevator dinged to signify you had arrived to the ground floor.

Making sure there was nothing that could trip you up or inconvenience you in any way, Spencer helped you out of the elevator and towards his car. Every now and then, he would check on you. You were rather out of it, anyone could tell you that. This cold was kicking your ass rather spectacularly.

Once you had both arrived at his car, Spencer opened the passenger door and helped you inside, then buckled your seatbelt. Unknowingly, the act of trying to buckle the seatbelt, he could smell the perfume you used. It smelt divine, it was a smell he would want to smell for the rest of his life.

Clearing his throat, he got in the car and started the car. He looked over at you, who was now sleeping, and smiled fondly to himself. Shaking those thoughts away, Reid pulled out for he garage and began his journey to your house.

The journey was uneventful, it wasn't rush out yet so the ride was quick and easy. That he was grateful for.

Once he had parked the car in your driveway, he got out of the drivers side and made his way around to you. He opened the door and carefully unbuckled the belt, picking you up bridal style.

He grabbed the keys out of the bag that was on his shoulder and unlocked your front door, shutting the door behind him. Spencer briefly looked around your house and chuckled at the different posters you had on your wall, all of the artists and tv shows you had talked for hours about were there. It made his heart warm.

Reid walked over to the couch and delicately placed you onto it, grabbing the blanket on the back of it and covering you in it. Unconsciously, you snuggled into it, the soft material providing you great warmth in your sick state.

Whilst you slept, Spencer had cooked up some soup for when you awoke. He had no idea how long you would actually be asleep for, but he could always heat it up for you when eventually wake up.

He also sort of cleaned, well, tidied the living room so it wasn't as cluttered. He hoped that you didn't take it as a sign of rudeness or disrespect. Fuck, what if you did? What if you thought he was being disrespectful? Was this the wrong thing to do? What if--

"Spence?" You ask groggily, hand rubbing at your tired eyes.

Spinning around, Spencer makes his way over to the couch and sits down beside you. "Hey," he says softly "How are you feeling?"

Trying to sit up, you gasp at the sudden throb of your head, making you wince slightly. "Tired." You admit, smiling at the doctor.

"That's to be expected, you most likely have the flu and you had spent almost every waking hour at the office so it's highly likely that the two--" Spencer cuts himself off at the look on your face and clears his throat awkwardly, "I made you some soup."

Your eyes widen, and you smile wholeheartedly at him, "You did?"

Reid nods his head and smiles back, "It's still warm so would you like some?"

"Fuck yes."

Spencer chuckled and gets up to grab it and som napkins incase you might make a mess. He hands it to you and you thank him before tucking in.

"It's my mothers recipe, she used to make it for me when I was sick. Well, the one time I was sick." Spencer smiles fondly at the memory, before shaking his head and looking over at you. You looked cute, all wrapped up in a blanket, sleep still costing your features.

After finishing your bowl of soup, which lasted probably ten seconds, you place it on the ground and wrap yourself tighter in the blanket. "Why are you helping me?"

The question took Spencer off guard, making his brows furrow. "What do you mean?"

Readjusting your sitting position, you continue. "You took me home, right? So you helped me out of the office, out of Quantico, and presumably into your car, out of your car, into my house, onto my couch and then made me soup. Also taking into account that you are a germaphobe, so that begs the question; Why?"

Spencer blinked at you. And then again. And once more. "It's not a trick question, Spence, no one has ever done that for me. Not previous boyfriends, no one. So why?" Spencer took note of the almost guilty look in your eyes, like you felt bad that you put him out like this.

Reid avoided eye contact and looked around the room, swallowing hard. A million answers ran through his brain and not one of them seemed viable for question asked. Spencer rubbed his hands together, anxiety flooding his senses. Fuck it.

Turning to face you, Spencer breathed in and closed his eyes. "I like you." He opened them again, but still avoided eye contact with you. "Not as in how I like Morgan, not in that way. But the way you make me breathless every time you walk into the room, the way you make me smile and forget everything I have ever known whenever you look at me with that goddamn smile on your face."

You widen your eyes at his confession, mouth ajar in shock. Spencer continued rubbing his palms together and breathing heavily. How long had he wanted to admit this?

Not wasting another second, you take one of his sweaty palms in to yours and hold it there, causing him to look over at you with this soft puppy dog eyes he always does. You smile at him, the one that always makes him have butterflies in his tummy. The one he will never ever forget, not in this life, not in the next.

"Spencer, I like you."

It was his turn to widen his eyes, "What?"

"I like you." You reiterate, eyes flicking back and forth between his.

"You do?" He asks, almost to ensure that this wasn't a massive wind up, one that he would probably never forget, even on his death bed. He shivered just at the thought.

"Mhm," You nod at him and smile brightly at him again.

Going out on a limb, Reid leans in to kiss you. But before he could do so, you put your hands on your chest to push him away slightly. His heart falls out of his ass. Had he read this all wrong?

You watched his face fall and sadness fill his features. Eyes widening in realisation, "No!" You shout louder than you thought you were going to, causing your head to throb that much more. Spencer's eyes snap to you. "Fuck," you wince, shaking your head to ignore the pain, you look into the eyes of the saddened man infront of you. "I do want to kiss you, just don't think it's the best idea. I don't want you to get sick."

Spencer's heart beats a bit faster at that, but really, he couldn't care less. All he wants, is to feel your lips on his. That's all he can fucking think about right now. "I don't care. If kissing you meant getting sick, then I don't care. I would do it in a heartbeat."

Your heart fluttered in your chest. Maybe it's the sickness, maybe it's the headache, maybe it's the lack of sleep, but that sentence made tears start to prick at your eyes. "Kiss me then."

Smirking, Reid leans in and places his lips onto yours. The kiss was a sweet, but euphoric one. Your lips were soft against his, the feeling of it making his tummy do somersaults. If he could kiss you for the rest of his life, he'd be damn sure he would.

Pulling away, you lean your forehead against his. "That was..." you were breathless, the kiss taking all ounce of oxygen out of your lungs.

"Amazing." He finished, smiling down at you. You smiled back at him and curled up next to him, still relatively cold. Spencer wrapped you up in his embrace and the blanket a bit tighter, kissing the top of your forehead.

God, he hoped that this was going to be the first day of the rest of his life.

[rodr1cks]

Sick Day | 2.1k

fluff!! you’re sick and rodrick comes to the rescue.

warnings: vomit, being sick in general

All day you had been feeling extremely ill. The nurse at school was being impossible and refused to send you home, despite your pleas.

“Please Mrs. Williams, I feel terrible you have to believe me!”

She was extremely skeptical, “Child, do you know how many times I hear that in a day? You don’t have a fever, back to class.”

And just like that, you were dismissed. Sent to endure the rest of your classes in misery.

The day went by painfully slow after your trip to the nurse. The fluorescent lights berated your pupils making it impossible to concentrate and worsening your headache.

It was sixth period, the last class of the day. Also your least favorite class of the day. You couldn’t stand the teacher. Mr. Wright. He was your classic asshole history teacher.

You were completely zoned out, trying to focus on not vomiting. Your name being called pulled you out of your haze.

“Miss y/l/n? Do you care to answer me? Unless you’re busy of course.”

Condescending bastard.

You held your tongue, swallowing any smart-ass comments that threatened to spill past your lips. You cleared your throat.

“I’m sorry, what was the question.”

He went through the whole “this is a learning environment” lecture after that. Again, you didn’t listen. You couldn’t have even if you wanted to. Thankfully, he left you alone after that.

Finally, the last bell of the day sounded through the school. You lept from your seat and ran to the bathroom. You practically body slammed the door open. Luckily, the bathroom was empty, most kids having already filed out of the main doors, eager to begin their weekend festivities.

You were hunched over one of the white porcelain bowl, tears filling your eyes.

Today could not get any worse.

After taking a few deep breaths, you were able to compose yourself enough to exit the bathroom.

You crossed your fingers, hoping that the halls had been completely evacuated.

You crept through the empty corridors and out into the parking lot. You were especially dreading the walk home today.

You were walking through the parking lot, enjoying the fresh air when you saw him. Rodrick Heffley.

The two of you were best friends in elementary school but you drifted apart after a while. You honestly developed a certain distaste for him, as he had you.

Please don’t notice me, please don’t-

“Y/n!”

Shit.

“Rodrick!” you feigned enthusiasm.

His brow furrowed, “You look… paler than usual?” You rolled your eyes, classic Rodrick. You wanted this interaction to end, immediately. “Yup. Not feeling well.” You deadpanned, providing little detail.

Rodrick hesitated for a moment, “Well, let me drive you home, kid.”

Kid. Who did he think he was?

“I think I’ll pass, weather is nice today.” The weather was far from nice.

“Oh really, the weather is nice, y/n? Where are you right now? Because it’s raining where I am.”

He sighed, “and I also saw that little performance Mr. Wright gave you...”

Oh so he pities me.

“Rodrick, If I get in your van will you stop talking?”

He motioned, pretending to zip his lips up and throw away the key. A small smile spread across your face but you didn’t let him see that.

A few minutes into the drive, you decided you were glad you let him take you home. The sky had opened up and it was storming.

Oh God.

“Rodrick, pull over, now.”

He looked over at you and could tell what was about to happen. He pulled over quickly and you opened the door. You leaned over and vomited right onto the grass patch parallel to the road, in the pouring rain.

Coyly, you returned to your seat in the van. You were unsure if you should apologize, so you stayed silent.

“Y/n, are your parents home?”

He knew they never were. Ever since you were a kid, your parents had been anywhere but home. Business trips, vacations, retreats, you name it.

You looked down at your shoes, water dripping from your hair, and shook your head.

“Alrighty then, change of plans.”

You protested, “Rodrick that’s really not necessary I’ll be fine.” Part of you knew there was no point in arguing. If he was one thing, it was stubborn.

He reached out, placing the back of his hand on your forehead to prove a point, “Y/n, you’re burning up. You’re coming with me.”

You were closer to his house anyways. That’s how you justified it, at least.

His van pulled into The Heffley’s driveway. Rodrick got out and rushed around the vehicle to open your door.

“Come along, y/n. I know somebody who will be very happy to see you,” he grinned.

The front door swung open and you were hit with a wave of nostalgia. The Heffley’s house was always warm and always smelled spectacular. Somehow, Mrs. Heffley was always baking or cooking something.

“Y/n? What a nice surprise this is!” Mrs. Heffley beamed. She had always loved you. “How I’ve missed seeing your face around here!” She said, placing her hands on your checks.

“You’re soaking wet!” You nodded awkwardly in response. “And goodness, you’re burning up! Are you feeling alright?” She felt your forehead and cheeks, then squeezed your shoulders gently.

From a young age, Mrs. Heffley had looked after you as one of her own. Nothing had changed it seemed.

“No, actually,” you smiled half-heartedly. Mrs. Heffley frowned at you. “Rodrick, get her some dry clothes, would you?.” Rodrick nodded, leading you up the stairs.

You stood in his room, obviously uncomfortable. He was knelt in front of his dresser, digging around for something.

“Ah! Here it is.”

Rodrick whipped out a t-shirt for you to change into. He grabbed a pair of black sweats from another drawer as well.

“Here you are, mademoiselle.” He stuck out the wad of clothing in your direction. You couldn’t lie, you were happy to have some dry clothes to change into.

You stepped into his bathroom, taking a moment to examine your appearance. You looked rough. Intense bags hung low under your eyes and you truly did look more pale than usual. Fantastic.

You emerged from the bathroom, Rodrick’s clothing drooping slightly from your frame. Rodrick was sitting on the end of his bed and he patted the surface.

You joined him on his twin mattress, only because you were exhausted.

“Rodrick, why are you being nice to me?”

He looked guilty. “You’ve had a rough day, y/n…”

He sucked in a breath, “...and y’know I’ll always care about you.”

How could he still care for you? You completely wrote him off when high school began.

“Listen, y/n, the past is in the past, okay?”

A genuine smile appeared on your face. Before the moment could become too sentimental, Rodrick interjected.

“Oh! Be right back,” he chirped.

He ran downstairs and came back with an orange soda and some cold & flu medicine.

Rodrick explained himself, “Orange! Like, vitamin C, right?” He looked too happy with himself, you couldn’t bring him down. At least his heart was in the right place.

Concealing your laughter to the best of your ability, you accepted the beverage and medicine from his hand.

You hated this kind of medicine with your whole heart. The orange soda could be useful honestly, just not for its nutritional value like Rodrick intended.

Rodrick measured out the appropriate amount of the medicine for you as you cracked open the can. He handed you the small cup full of the thick, red liquid.

You threw back the grotesque cherry flavored solution, grimacing as it coated your throat. You chased the medicine with the orange soda. See, it did come in handy.

You leaned back into Rodrick’s pillows, trying to relax.

About fifteen minutes later you felt extremely drowsy. “Rodrick, can I see that bottle?”

“Uh, sure,” he said, confused.

You read the bottle and instantly threw your head back in annoyance. “Rodrick this is the drowsy kind!” You continued inspecting the bottle, “and it’s extra strength!”

With each second passing, it got increasingly difficult to keep your eyes open.

Everything was blurry and you were teetering between consciousness and sleep.

“Rodrick,” you slurred. “I’m so sorry I stopped talking to you… stopped being your friend. Felt like I wasn’t cool or pretty enough… didn’t deserve you.”

Rodrick was extremely confused. You thought you were too good for him? He had to hold back a laugh.

He couldn’t conceal his smile, “Excuse me? Y/n, that must be the nyquil talking.” He rolled his eyes and brushed off your comment, contemplating the sentiment for a mere moment.

You eventually drifted off, unable to ward off sleep any longer.

When you woke up, you first noticed rodrick. He was sitting on his beaten up couch with his headphones covering his ears. You could hear the muffled baseline from your spot across the room.

How are his eardrums still intact?

Rodrick had a shoebox on his lap and he was shuffling through the contents, smiling to himself.

You cleared your throat, obtaining his attention.

“Oh, y/n! You’re up!” He smiled at you, ripping off his headphones.

You nodded slowly, knuckling your eyes sleepily.

“What time is it?”

Rodrick glanced at his watch, “It’s only 8:30.” You nodded again, continuing to rub the sleep from your eyes.

Rodrick stood, picking up the box and walking over to you. “Look,” he said softly. You peered down into the small shoebox and numerous photos and letters.

“This one here is my favorite,” he said quietly. It was a picture of you and Rodrick at the roller rink. You recognized the photo immediately.

“Seventh grade kick off,” you smiled. You took the box from his lap and began looking through each photo, braided friendship bracelet, concert ticket.

You laughed as each item brought back memories you had long forgotten.

You stopped at a photo of the two of you dressed up in ridiculous outfits. You wore a sequined hat and Rodrick held his drumsticks in hand.

“Was this when we saw Good Charlotte?” You asked.

He giggled, “It sure was. I remember thinking I looked so hot that night. Guess not huh.”

“What are you talking about, you looked incredible Rodrick. Seventh grade me was dying to jump you right then and there.”

His face lit up, “Really?”

“No,” you flashed him an expressionless look before breaking out into side-splitting laughter. He joined you.

You missed this feeling of pure, unadulterated joy. Rodrick was the only person who you had truly experienced that with.

You sighed to yourself. Come tomorrow, you’d be back to strangers. Tears welled up in your eyes and your lip quivered. Rodrick was oblivious until a single tear drop fell onto the photograph below you.

He immediately tried to comfort you. He placed an arm around your shoulder, dragging you into his larger frame. It caught you off guard but you allowed yourself to melt into his touch.

Rodrick distracted you from your sorrow. “Look at this one right here.” It was a photo of you and the Heffley Family in their backyard. You and Rodrick were around fifteen, if you remembered correctly.

“This was the day that I realized I had a big, fat crush on you.”

He followed up, “S’lame I know…”

Heat flooded your cheeks, this time the heat was not a result of your illness. Was it anxiety? Happiness? Both? You couldn’t decide.

“You never really explained why you stopped talking to me and coming by my house.”

You shrugged at him, feeling like your explanation would make him mad. “Well, Rodrick, you started getting new friends. Friends that were better than me or cooler than me.”

“Y/n that is probably the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. I could never replace you. To this day, nobody’s ever come close.”

He gave you a playful smack over the head.

“...anyways, to be honest that crush never really went away?”

Before you had time to process the sentence he was gently grabbing your chin, turning your head.

You were facing him now, your lips only inches away from his.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Y-yeah, yes, I think so, yeah.”

He laughed at you and leaned in slowly. Rodrick used one finger to gently move your hair out of your face.

The kiss was gentle and filled with emotion.

You felt like you hadn’t known what you were missing out on until that moment. You felt completed.

“Oh shit, I better not get sick!”

[nonsensicalobsessions]

A Symphony without Strings, Chapter 1

Author’s Notes: as ever, I have music selections for you if you care to listen. As you might guess from the title, music will weave its way in and out of the plot and the characters’ lives, the way they speak, and what they do. For this opening, I have two pieces for you. The first is https://youtu.be/ohQSPR0Z1zM, and the secondhttps://youtu.be/srq45XPUNqM is  which is quite short. 

                          *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Tom received a terse text from Luke:

     Take the call, twat.

He answered with, “Rude. I wasn’t avoiding you, you hadn’t even rang yet...”

Luke had no time for pleasantries. “What are you doing right now?”

“Well, I was...”

“Cancel it. I need you in my office. Now.”

Tom was bewildered. “Luke, what the hell? I have plans for the afternoon, I was...”

“And I said cancel them, and get your ass in here. Now!”

Tom was left staring at his phone. Luke had hung up.

He had just finished cleaning up after his morning run, and was preparing to spend the day with his mother and sister, working in their garden. They were not going to be best pleased about his backing out. He sighed before he rang them, and decided to have them vent all their spleen at Luke. He would make sure they had his personal mobile number. There was no way he was going to take the fall for whatever had Luke’s boxers in a twist this time. His conscience was clean. There had been no incidents with wine, women, or song. 

Quite depressing, really. He needed to get out more.

Once he arrived, he was aware that everyone was avoiding his eyes. Usually there was an air of bonhomie in the office, and he enjoyed the camaraderie. But the tension could be cut with a knife now, and his stomach twisted. What was going on, he hadn’t done anything!

In desperation, he turned to Luke’s executive assistant. “Come on, Carlotta, help a bloke out. Everyone is behaving like I was caught buggering a sheep on the BBC. What in the devil is going on?”

She shook her head and sighed. “Luke is on the warpath, and everyone is seeking deep shelter. Just go on in, he’s waiting for you. And Tom? I know all sheep are safe with you.” She gave him a sympathetic smile. “I’d offer you tea, but...just...go on in.”

Once Tom shut the door behind him, she murmured, “This goes well beyond a cup of Earl Grey.”

Tom entered Luke’s office, demanding, “What the hell, Luke? Your office is behaving like I’m persona non grata, Carlotta said you have your staff looking for a fallout shelter...and I haven’t done a single thing wrong. Not one thing. I’ve been living the life of a fucking monk. I get up, I go to work, I go home. I run, I walk my dog. I visit my family. Why are you glaring at me like this?”

Luke said through gritted teeth, “What is the one thing I have asked of you from the beginning, Tom? The one thing I have begged you not to do, the one thing I have repeatedly warned you against?”

“Not to sing ‘The Bare Necessities’ after I’ve had too much to drink?” Tom quipped.

Luke’s glare deepened to the point that the mild mannered man looked almost demonic.

Tom sighed. “Not to have some woman arrive at your doorstep claiming she’s knocked up. But that is impossible, Luke. I haven’t been with anyone. In months. Christ, it’s absolutely humiliating to think about how long it’s been since I’ve gotten laid, thank you very much. I just can’t take the chance. Obviously someone has come out of the woodwork, claiming that I’m her baby daddy, but whoever the female in question is, she’s a very bad liar, and thank you for thinking so little of me. You should have done your homework better before losing your mind...”

“Let’s hit the way back machine, Tom,” Luke interrupted, his voice a deadly calm. “Five years ago. You were filming and met a young woman who was working as an extra while studying music at the local university. Her name was...”

“Meredith Skye...Merry,” Tom whispered, in shock, as memories came flooding back to him.

He had met Merry at the canteen as they both shivered, getting a cup of tea. It was bitterly cold that day. He thought the way she’d smiled at him and then looked down and away was adorable, although he knew better than to say so. He followed her with his eyes as she took her cup and walked away. Later, he approached her and offered to take her out for a coffee or tea, and she agreed. It was the beginning of an intense but short lived relationship. Both of them knew there was no future for them. She was in graduate school, hoping to be a conductor someday. She as proficient in piano, violin, and a brilliant cellist. It gave Tom the greatest pleasure to watch her perform pieces in her tiny rowhouse, sometimes in the nude, after they had lain in her small bed together...A tiny woman, Tom used to joke her cello would crush her someday...he would get lost in her music, and her eyes...she had such a sweetly lush form, to her despair. He loved that she wasn’t rail-thin, he would praise her, claiming that she had a figure that Titian would have immortalized had he seen her...Tom loved her wild, curly red hair, and her clear blue eyes that he could lose himself in as he lost himself in her body. It was such a wrench when he had to leave, but they both knew it had to be...she could not, would not, leave her studies. She was so close to her degree, so close to attaining her dream, as she was performing more and more, and her talents were being admired and even requested in very high circles...and he had to continue filming. They didn’t even consider trying to keep in touch, but felt it best to accept that theirs was a beautiful, idyllic moment in time. They were young, and had their lives ahead of them.

“No strings.” That was their understanding from the beginning, and sometimes even said with an ironic smile, as Merry would caress her instruments, and he would caress her as she played them...

“I don’t understand,” Tom shook his head. “Why would she get in touch with you now...and why are you talking about babies popping up? Merry and I were careful, and anyway, that was ages ago. We parted as friends.”

Luke’s voice was stern. “She wanted to just give you this letter.” He slid it across his desk. “I strongly advised that she speak to you, in person.”

“Merry’s here? Right now?” Tom’s head spun around, as he searched the empty office. “Where is she?” A pleased smile was on his face at the thought of seeing her again. He’d missed her.

“Which would you prefer, Tom? The letter, or to hear it from her own lips?”

Tom took a deep breath. “I really cared for Merry. If she wanted to tell me in a letter, then I will honor her wishes.”

Luke’s face could not be more disapproving, his lips pursed in a frown, but he slid the envelope towards Tom, who eagerly opened it.

Dear Tom,

I hope this finds you well. I have been following your career avidly, and I have been so very proud to see you go from strength to strength. I have kept our trysting close to my heart, even as I have longed to crow to all I see, “I know this man! He is just as amazing in person as he is on screen! He deserves every accolade, every word of praise...he is truly the best, most accomplished thespian of our age.”

Since we parted, I finished my degree, and was able to achieve my dream: I was honored to be the conductor of the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra. I enjoyed every moment, and confess that I was ever looking upward, hoping to move to an even more prestigious company. You know me, always looking for a bigger brass ring, even while reveling in what I have. Ambition, how we spent many hours talking about it, remember?

However, there are a couple of things that changed in my life, and they are the reasons that I have broken my promise to not contact you again, and once you hear them, I think you will understand, and I pray you will even forgive me.

The first, and most important. I do not know how to tell you this, Tom, so I will simply come out and say it, and I ask you to please sit down.

Tom, you are a father. You have a son.

Tom stopped reading. Stopped breathing. He looked up at Luke, completely stricken.

“That...this is impossible. It can’t be. We always used protection, always. Luke,  I cared about her, I wouldn’t put her in that situation...”

“Keep reading,” Luke ordered, his voice and face implacable.

I understand your shock and disbelief. I felt just the same when I realized that my symptoms were not some bizarre flu but the signs of pregnancy. The only explanation I can come up with is that night we spent in front of the fire when you were very...playful, before you actually put the condom on...? I don’t know, Tom, that’s my best guess. I will have Liam available for any paternity test that you wish to have run to validate my claim...but I think once you see him, you will know without a doubt that he is yours. Nevertheless, I understand the importance of having the legal proprieties observed.

Liam’s arrival only slowed my stride, he did not stop me. I simply took him along, and I daresay he has not suffered for the ride. He has definitely acquired a taste for music, that’s for sure! At four years of age, he can play simple tunes on both the piano and violin, but I let him set his own pace. He isn’t pressured into anything, I won’t have it. Of course it goes without saying that he is the most brilliant boy that ever was, walking at seven months, talking fluently by fifteen months...but I won’t bore you with my proud mama babble. I have given a photo to Luke so you may see it if and when you are ready.

When he was born, I did not list you as the father. Perhaps that was wrong of me, I don’t know. What I do know is when we parted, it was meant to be for good, and our mantra was, “No strings.” A child is not a string, it is a cable, and I did not wish to inflict such upon you. It didn’t seem fair. You didn’t ask for this. I refused to tie you to me when we had agreed to part and go our separate ways.

So, why am I contacting you now? This brings me to the second reason.

I’m afraid I’ve gone and gotten leukemia, Tom. 

For the second time, Tom stopped reading, the air sucked out of his lungs. “Merry. Merry, no,” he gasped. As much as he was shocked with the first revelation, this one hurt his heart. He had cared deeply for the bright young woman, and the thought of her being mortally ill, her light being diminished and perhaps ultimately leaving the world, was a knife to his soul. He looked at Luke. “You did see her, right? Did she look all right? Does she need anything? I mean, is there...”

Luke interrupted. “Keep reading.”

Tom returned to the letter, anguished.

My prognosis is 50-50. I am hopeful, but I also have to be realistic. Should I not be able to beat this, I have to make sure that Liam is taken care of, and I could not in good conscience give his care to another without telling his father about his existence first.

I am not foisting his care upon you. I am not asking you for a single thing—not child support, not acknowledgment, anything. Tom, you must understand this. All choices are yours. If you would Iike to be a part of his life, that does not mean you have to be an intimate part of mine by extension, whether I live another month or a hundred years. I simply cannot let this situation continue. You can be as deeply involved as you wish. The decision is solely at your discretion.

Please forgive me for the decisions that I made. I always made them with love, with your best interests in my heart. I have always wished you well, and still do.

Sincerely yours,

Meredith Skye 

Shaken, Tom lowered the letter. It was handwritten, on pale blue stationery. Of course, Merry would not have something so personal typed on plain white paper. That was not her style.

“May I see the photo?” Tom asked quietly.

Luke slid over another small envelope. It contained a professionally printed wallet sized photograph.

Tom swallowed hard, and looked, heart roaring in his ears.

It could have been a photo of himself, when he was the same age.

A smiling young boy sat on a chair, with a bear in his lap. He had blonde hair, with a touch of red, cut short but you could see the tips were trying to curl. He had his mother’s clear cerulean eyes, and an open, brilliant smile...but Tom could see his features clearly stamped on the little boy’s face.

A storm of emotions were warring in his breast, but all he could think to say was, “Well, hello, there, Liam. I’m your dad.”

Luke remained silent, even as tears coursed down his best client’s, his best friend’s, face.

Tom scrutinized the photo, looking at the child’s hands (long fingers like mine, if he wants to keep up with his music studies that can only be to his advantage), his legs (I can’t see how long they are in the photo, is he going to be a bean pole too?), his ears (ah, sorry, kid).

Tom looked up and hoarsely asked, “Is Merry here? May I see her?”

“She’s in the conference room,” Luke replied. “She wasn’t certain you would wish to see her. I was certain you would. I was also certain if she left the building, you would go haring off after her and God knows what kind of public scene you would create, so I implored her to stay here and wait for you, which is why I was so adamant you come right away.”

“She’s been there all this time, Luke, that’s uncalled for...!” Tom stood up immediately.

“Stop it, Tom,” Luke stood as well. “I made sure to keep her very comfortable, complete with every refreshment she wouldn’t ask for, and had both a sofa and recliner brought in for her comfort. Come. I’ll bring you to her.”

Like a chastened child, Tom allowed himself to be led from Luke’s office to the conference room, feeling simultaneously as though he was being brought to the headmaster’s office from his past, and about to see his future, all at one go.

Luke opened the door, and stepped aside.

“You’re not coming in with...?”

“Oh, no,” Luke replied grimly. “This is all yours. It’s your life, your decision. I just get to spin it.”

Tom squared his shoulders and walked in, thinking in the recesses of his mind if he had any idea how momentous this morning? afternoon? was going to be, he would have dressed for it. A white button up and black jeans hardly seemed appropriate for this.

Once the door was shut, he looked around, and still saw no one.

“Merry,” he called out softly.

“Tom.”

She stepped out from behind the room’s divider. “I didn’t know who would come in, so I thought it best I slip behind here, just in case.”

As much as Tom had been hit with revelation after revelation, this one was the cruelest.

Merry was but a shadow of how he remembered her. A bright head covering failed to conceal that her glorious head of hair was gone. Her face was pasty white, and her clothes hung on her frail frame. Her once bright smile was tremulous.

“Are you just going to stand there, then?” Her voice was also less sure, not the confident, laughing one that he remembered so fondly.

He crossed the room in four quick strides, and took her into his arms gently but firmly.

“Merry,” he whispered brokenly. “I can’t take everything in yet, but seeing you like this is hardest to fathom.”

“Oh, I know I look...different,” she laughed, and he wasn’t fooled for a moment.

“It’s not that, I just can’t bear to think of you hurting...Come, sit down, and let’s talk,” he urged her.

Merry had been in agony ever since Luke had left her in the room to await either his return, or Tom’s arrival. She had no way of knowing which it would be. The Tom she had bid farewell to had been nothing but warm, tender, and generous, and she hoped that he had remained the same, but it was impossible to say. With his skyrocketing fame, and fairly disastrous love affairs, she could easily see where he might no longer be so. She had sent a missive to Luke’s office, requesting a private meeting with him with regards to her past association with Tom, assuring the publicist she meant Tom no harm and no scandal, but it was important she get in touch him as soon as possible. She gave her name, and the dates and location that they had been together, hoping it would be enough to prove she was legitimately connected to Tom at one point, and not being deceitful. Apparently it was enough, for Luke got back to her swiftly, albeit tersely. Well, she could understand it. She explained she was in the area, and wished to drop off a letter. All she wanted was his word he ensure Tom receive it. Luke was quite firm she come into the office, even to the point of sending a car for her. Once she arrived, she was ushered into his private office. She could tell her appearance took him aback. Hell, it took herself aback, she looked like death on toast these days. She had just gotten the okay to travel after another round of chemotherapy, and she still flew wearing a mask, not that she had any faith in them.

Once she gave him the letter, he skillfully extracted the nature of the contents, and sighed. Merry hastened to reassure Luke that there was no incipient scandal, she was not about to sue for child support, paternity, anything. She simply wanted to let Tom know of his son’s existence. End of story.

“Mr. Windsor...”

“Luke,” he reminded her again.

“I implore you trust me. I know you must meet all sorts of people, with all sorts of agendas, and many of them self-serving. I have nothing but Tom’s best interests at heart. I would never do a thing to hurt him, or his career. The time we spent together was very special, and I hold those memories close to my heart. We parted as friends and I would never do anything to hurt him, it would be like hurting myself. I just cannot take the chance of my health deteriorating and him not knowing, any longer. If he wants to continue his life as it is, then so be it, and no hard feelings. If I had talked with him about Liam from the beginning, that would be one thing...but I didn’t. I took that decision away from him. I take full responsibility. If Tom would Iike to see Liam from a distance, well, all I would ask is that he not hurt or confuse him by being in and out of his life. I don’t see Tom doing that to a child, not with his own background...anything more than that, is his decision.”

“What if Tom should decide to battle you for full custody?”

Merry had grown even whiter, as impossible as it seemed.

“I will cross that bridge when, and if, I come to it,” was her reply. “I would hope it would not come to it.”

“He has more resources than you,” Luke pressed on. “After all, he is well known, and certainly enjoys popular opinion, the Internet’s Boyfriend and all that. He has quite an enviable bank account. The fact that you hid his child from him, well, I’m afraid that it would not look good for you. Combined with your ill health...perhaps it would be best if you, and your letter, simply walk away. Of course, I can help you with any expenses you may have occurred with your journey here, all you would have to do is name the figure...?”

Merry had leaned back, appalled.

“I don’t want to name a figure, I never wanted money, any money. You’re disgusting, Mr. Windsor. I have enough of my own money, and I cannot buy my health back, at any price. My request remains as is was when I approached you. Please just give the letter to Tom. Shit, have him read it in your presence to ensure it says as I’ve told you, or better yet, give me another envelope, I’ll open this one so you can read it yourself and I’ll seal it in another to give to Tom, and then I’m gone.”

Luke leaned back in his chair, and actually smiled for the first time.

“Congratulations, Merry.”

“What?”

“You pass.”

Tom was livid.

“I am going to kill him,” he vowed.

“You will do no such thing. He protects you, Tom. And I daresay he does it not because you are his client, but because you are his friend, and he cares about you. After all,” Merry paused, and looked down and away, in a gesture that Tom remembered painfully well, “you are very easy to care about.”

Tom leaned forward and took her hands in his. “Tell me about Liam.”

“Before I do, do you understand why I made the decision I did?”

Tom looked deeply into her eyes. “No. Yes. I don’t know, I...I want to say no, Merry, I really do. I want to say you had no right to keep him from me, I would have stuck by you, you must have known that. I could have been a part of his life from the very beginning, I could have been there when he took his first breath, I could have been there for you. What was it like for you, going through it alone? Did you have any help, any support at all? I know your family was a non-starter.”

“I managed.”

“I would have helped, though,” he earnestly replied. “You know that...”

“Tom, think. What I know is during that time, you were busy non-stop. You were shooting, doing film promotion tours...I was paying attention, believe me. Every time I thought, this is it, I cannot, I can’t do this alone anymore, I would stop and look to see where you were, and I saw it would be the height of selfishness to drag you away from your work.”

“It took both of us to create Liam,” he reproached her. “And, as you commented, it probably was my carelessness that made the situation possible.”

“Yes, and it was my decision to keep said situation going,” she responded evenly. “There was no way, no way at all, I could reject our child. Not as long as I had breath. Was the timing convenient, no, but...”

“So why does it get to be inconvenient for you, but not for me?” Now Tom was becoming agitated.

Merry shrugged, her expression rueful. “Biology, Tom.”

Tom snorted, unable to argue her point. Merry always did have a trenchant wit. And when he stopped to think about the time frame she referenced, she was absolutely correct. Should she had reached out to him during her pregnancy, would he have been excited? Pleased? It was a safe bet to say his response, at least at first, would have been one of blind panic and agitation, rather than acceptance and support. (His first response would likely have been, “Luke is going to kill me!”) Merry knew it, and had acted accordingly. She had protected him at her expense. It wasn’t fair, but he understood.

“I don’t like it, Merry, but I understand. Thank you, for coming to me now. Please know what Luke said would never, will never, come to pass. I would put ground glass in my tea before I tried to take Liam from you.”

Merry felt an enormous weight fall from her shoulders. “Thank you, Tom, for saying so. I didn’t imagine you would, but thank you just the same.”

“What about you, Merry? What can be done for you?”

She looked away from him, and Tom gently took her chin to guide her face to force her eyes to meet his again. “Please, darling. Seeing you this ill breaks my heart. What is being done for you? Is there someone in your life now, someone who is giving you the love and care you deserve?”

Merry broke away from his gaze once more. “Damn you, Tom. Always with the difficult questions.”

“How are these difficult questions?”

“You asked them before, you know. ‘Where is your family? What do you mean, they abandoned you, who could ever abandon a treasure like you?’ I remember, Tom.”

He wrapped his arms around her more and gently guided her head to his shoulder, hearing the slight tremor in her voice. She hated to cry, loathed dropping her guard unless she felt absolutely safe. Once upon a time she had felt such with him, but... “I remember, too. It’s still me, you know. Your Tom. I know how you insist on doing everything you can alone, rather than ask for a single bit of help. So I ask again...is there anyone in your life, Merry? I promise not to be jealous. Much.”

She laughed a bit. “No, no one. I was seeing a flutist for awhile. Dreadful mistake that was. Never date a flutist, Tom. The ego, dear God.”

“Noted,” he gravely agreed. “Did you fly here from Baltimore, then?”

“New York, actually. I’ve been going to Sloan Kettering for my treatment. There’s been some breakthrough protocols there and my physician at Johns Hopkins referred me. As soon as it was safe for me to travel, I left.”

“Alone, then.”

“Not alone, exactly,” she hedged. “I did have some travel companions.”

“And those would be...”

He felt her take a deep breath as she sat back to look at him steadily. “Clara, my healthcare provider. Sloan Kettering insisted that I be followed because of the clinical trial I’m in, you see...”

Tom nodded slowly, a sick feeling in his stomach. He hadn’t realized until now her treatment was experimental. It did not bode well for her, the fact she was placed in an experimental treatment, that standard care was no longer a viable option.

“I am glad you aren’t alone,” he replied simply.

“And...” she faltered.

“And,” he gently prompted.

“Aiden...”

“How does Aiden help you?”

“Aiden isn’t here for me, exactly.” She closed her eyes, then opened them again. “Aiden is here for Liam. He’s Liam’s tutor, music coach, and wrangler.”

Tom was stunned. “Liam is here? In London?”

Merry gave a very slight nod. “I never go anywhere without him, Tom. Yes, Liam is here. Right now,” she checked her watch, “they are flying kites in Regent’s Park. Or feeding ducks. Liam loves to feed ducks.”

Once more, Tom’s heart was roaring in his ears. “Can I...may I see him? Meet him?”

She leaned back into the sofa, doing her best not to wince. It was shaping up to be a long day, and Merry was exhausted. “I don’t know, Tom. How do you want to meet him? As a friend of his mother’s? Then yes, certainly. As his long lost father? Then I’m not so sure.”

Tom’s eyes snapped with anger. “Why not?”

Ah, there was the temper she recalled. “Because this isn’t a ‘try before you buy’ situation, Tom.”

“How can you dare say that to me?”

With his rage, the door came open. Tom’s head snapped around, to glare at Luke. “Eavesdropping, then?”

“Please,” Luke rolled his eyes. “Although with that last bellow, I’ve no doubt the entire floor heard you. I opened without knocking when I heard you lose your temper, yes, but I was coming to remind you that Merry is undoubtedly weary and to ask her if she would like to be escorted back to her hotel. If she wants your sorry self to accompany her, then no accounting for taste. If she would to rest for awhile first, I can arrange for a discreet location for you to meet later. If an intermediary is a good idea, I am happy to offer myself, or...”

Tom hung his head. “That won’t be necessary. My apologies, Merry.”

“All is well, Tom. Truly. I should not have been flippant with you. So much has been thrown at you today.”

As both Luke and Tom looked at Merry, they could see how very tired and uncomfortable she looked. Tom spoke diffidently. “Merry, where are you staying?”

When she told him, Tom and Luke exchanged a look.

Luke spoke quietly. “Merry, that is a lovely establishment, and I am ready to have a car drive you back so you can get some rest. But I would Iike to offer you an alternative, at least for awhile. Prosper has a suite on retainer here in the city, and I can get you and Tom there easily, where you can continue your discussion without being worried about being seen by photographers. In fact, if you choose, I can have the rest of your party moved there at your convenience, if you will require any...future meetings to take place.”

Merry’s smile was growing wan at this stage. “Luke, I truly appreciate it, but I need to return to my suite. I have my medications there, and it will be time for my next doses soon.” Tom was crestfallen at her reply, and looked hopefully at Luke, who took a deep breath.

“I will be in touch with you soon then. I have your number, and you have mine. Please do not hesitate to contact me, should you need anything, and I do mean anything, no matter how small.” Luke held out his hand, and ignored Tom’s bristling as he helped Merry to her feet. Both men couldn’t help but notice how she was shaking upon rising. “Dear lady,” Luke murmured sympathetically. “I will help you to the car.”

Tom opened his mouth only for Luke to cut him off. “No, Tom, you most emphatically will not escort Ms. Skye to the vehicle. We are keeping this quiet, remember?”

Pressing his lip into a thin line, Tom quickly circumvented Luke to stand before Merry. “May I have your contact information, at least? And give you mine?”

“I have it in hand, Tom,” Luke scolded him. “She’s exhausted already. Let me get her to the car. I’ll be back shortly.” 

Tom leaned forward and kissed Merry gently on her cheek. “You will hear from me soon. I am not going to let you escape from me so easily, Meredith Skye.”

The flush and smile she gave him was the same as the one from years ago, and made his heart swell in the same manner. “I’ll hold you to it, Tom Hiddleston.”

tagging my beloved cheerleaders, @hopelessromanticspoonie​, @yespolkadotkitty​, and @just-the-hiddles​

[janelledarling]

You know what sucks?

(And this is going to sound ridiculously selfish but it is what it is.)

Taking care of someone sicker than you when you are also sick.

You don't get the time to recover for yourself because you're too busy making sure they are completely cared for. I have a journal I'm using to keep track of the symptoms that they are experiencing, when they took their meds, what meds were taken, etc. I'm making sure everything is disinfected, everyone is eating and staying hydrated. I'm the healthiest sick person in this house, but I'm still sick too. I need to recover also. I need rest also. I've only been getting 4 hours of sleep a night because not one single person in this house can make it through the night at this time without either a fever, meds needing administered, uncontrollable coughing or needing a bath to try and break said fever. I'm exhausted. I'm wheezing like the Wheezy toy on Toy Story when I cough. My chest is rattling when I exhale. I have to use my CPAP machine through the day sometimes when my lungs need some extra help not just during the night for my SA. My body is sore. I can't taste or smell anything. Sprite is like fuzzy nothing right now. It's all just a lot.

We are in an immuno-compromised home and we have followed every single precaution. We are avid mask wearers. We wash our hands. We we use click-list or have our groceries delivered. I work from home. Other than picking up groceries and picking my children up from their visitations with their father. We don't leave the house. Yet, here we all are with COVID. How did we get here you ask? Well, shitty story! Just because we followed all the protocols to ensure the safety of our home and others, didn't mean everyone else is doing the same. My children were exposed at their weekday visitation (a literal 2 hour window) by their father. Not only did he not inform me that he was feeling under the weather. He got tested 3 days later and low and behold, was positive for COVID-19. We immediately scheduled tests for all of us, all of which were initially Negative. $140 a piece. We started showing symptoms that same day. The Doctor said they feared they might be testing too early and to come back and re-test 3 days later (and pay the additional $140 per person). After going back to re-test my youngest who started showing symptoms first, he then (as expected) tested Positive. The rest of us started showing symptoms the following day. So now we're here! The whole house is infected. The children have been slowly on the mend. The adults are struggling. I wouldn't wish this shit on anyone. For me (it's effecting all of us differently) it's like a combo of pneumonia, the flu, and a horrible cold. If you pray, please pray for healing and strength for my household. If you don't, I'll take a strong order of good vibes, good juju, good whatever you call it to get us through this healthy, happy, and at 100%.

Thanks for your time. Happy New Year!

TLDR; I'm the healthiest sick person in this house, but I'm still sick too. I'm taking care of everyone and unable to take care of myself adequately. I'm exhausted. Wear a mask. Wash your hands. And if you aren't feeling 100% even if you think it's the fucking sniffles, keep your ass at home and don't go visit with anyone.

[ifritini]

Ardyn x Reader

No one asked for this except my sorry sick ass who caught whatever this is from a friend (after stealing some of her sunny d). Asked smbd else to choose between Ignis, Ravus, Luna, or Ardyn and here we are with spicy trash man.  Note: A solid 5% of this fic stems from a very nice thought of ‘what if Ardyn has but a small fragment of his former healing powers? Why not incorporate that to a drabble when my brain can barely form coherent thoughts

Words: drabbe 1693

With every move came a backlash from your muscles, punishing you with your illness pricking your flesh with a myriad of tiny needles. On top of that your voice was almost all but gone, accompanied by a sore throat making it only harder to voice your discomfort. Only primal grunts and vague gestures would get you by, but even those were spared for desperate situations lest you coil back in agony from hyper sensitive muscles.

You groaned turning your head to the side. The glass of water stared tauntingly back at your dejected hues, with an equally full jug just behind serving as an additional reminder to your beloved previous words. ‘Drink lots and rest, dear. We wouldn’t want you bedridden all week, now would we?’. Ardyn spoke to you in such a surprisingly soft voice, one so different from his usual theatrics of words drawn from honey that enticed you in the first place. He even treated you to a gentle kiss against your forehead before leaving in a rush. For a moment you felt relief, energy flowing back through your body in an instant and numbing out those previously tender muscles.

Sadly a few minutes after being left in your lonesome you were left with a disaster of a body riddled with germs to keep you (un)pleasant company. At least you made it to the sofa before your body gave up under your own weight.

With a snort - or rather a grunt you swore came out of a dying animal rather than yourself, you turned your body the opposite way staring at the sofa pillows, burrowing back under the covers. Like hell I will, you thought, ignoring the little hint of guilt already welling up at the pit of your stomach. Of course Ardyn only meant well, but the sensation of fire running down your throat from such a mundane task as drinking a simple glass of water was not what one would consider ‘well’.

Several times you closed your eyes, further using either blanket or a second pillow over your face to block out any stray light the blinds failed to block out. Whether poorly timed coughing fits jolting you from the brink of sleep or a horrible discomfort overtaking your entire being no attempt to fall back to slumber seemed to work. Several times you considered wasting the day to watching whatever channel piqued your interest on your lovers millennium old television, and maybe part of your boredom afflicted misery would subside… If the remote wasn’t left carelessly lying on the stand a few feet away. Of course you weren’t being lazy, simply too pained to bother moving.

Hours drag on like days as you twiddled your thumbs undercovers till you picked up on keys jamming through the keyhole, turning the lock to open. With whatever energy you had left, you turned to your back as quickly as possible and sat up with an undignified grunt.

“W-lc-m- h-m-.” You called out in a pathetic whisper, most words lost to your throat protesting in agony the moment you saw Ardyn’s figure appear ‘round the corner.

The pity in his eyes after taking one good look at your arms barely raised above your head in a greeting, trailing from the tip of your fingers to your weary face was nigh comedic. Your hands flopped back down, one unfortunately banging against the table on the way down earning a hiss from you. The asshole had the gaul to chuckle at your misfortune, earning him the best glare you could muster up through half-lidded eyes

“My, my, seems you’ve gotten worse Y/N.”

“I’ll cough on you, smartass.” you strained your voice, hoping your frown conveyed your threat rather than warp your features into the stiffness slowly sinking into your back.

“Biting the hand that feeds you?” He tutted, walking over raising a hand to display a bulky paper bag it was clutching, “Most unwise of you, dear.”

Medicine.

You were quick to soften up on him, dropping any frown (or smile for that matter) down to the neutral face of discomfort. He of course thought it was a fantastic idea to toss you the bag rather than hand it over, earning a second chuckle at your delayed reaction finally registering it was thrown your way just after it resided on your lap. With an equal amount of enthusiasm you opened the bag and peered inside. You were greeted with a variety of syrups, some for coughs others as simple soothers, for flus, just about anything.

You looked back up at your lover already halfway through ridding himself of the coat, unnecessary two scarves, and ridiculous amount of other layers and discarded everything on the couch opposite from you before finally he was left with but a shirt. He carelessly kicked off his shoes to the side and finally walked over to the sofa, taking a seat where you once laid before you could catch up with his intentions.

“H-y…” a grumble left you instead of an actual, human language. “-S my spot…”

“Oh, how rude of me. Here I thought I could treat you a far more exquisite pillow.” his voice mimicked insincere hurt, further letting you picture the smirk plastered on his lips. “If you insist on cold feathers, then your wish is my-”

You swung your hand back as you caught on the cushion beneath you sinking down as he shifted his weight, ready to stand up. You aimlessly reached out to slap Ardyn against his thigh. Your impressive show of strength was displayed by a simple pat. “St-y.”

This time he sank down into the sofa, getting comfortable on your request time time with no intent on leaving your side any time soon. You turned back to the bag before you, rummaging in to take out what you deemed best - cough syrup. You gently placed the bag down on the table mindful of the glass bottles clustered inside. The box for your medicine was however chucked to the side with little care leaving you with the elixir of life. Or something close to it.

Without reading any manuals you assumed a single bottle cap would be enough every… Three times a day. Yeah, that was reasonable enough. Without a second thought (and ignoring the gaze you felt against your back as Ardyn undoubtedly stared inquisitively at you), you popped the cap open and filled it to the bring and drank it all down. The horrible taste hit you almost immediately, earning a violent cough out of you.

“Tastes… l-ke ass…” your nose scrunched up as the taste mercilessly lingered on your tongue.

“The price to pay, dear. I would rather have you take the effective horribly tasting medicine.

“-S if th- t-st-” you were abruptly interrupted by a coughing fit. Fortunately no intelligent speech was lost.

You heard a sigh from Ardyn, almost audibly voicing an eyeroll. “Come here.” he ordered not before placing a hand against your shoulder urging you to lay back down with a tug. You didn’t need to hear the order twice to flop back down, this time having your lover’s thigh substitute a pillow. “Close your eyes.”

If past experiences - from the past few hours no less were any give away the feat would bring little, but you obliged to his words, fully letting your muscles relax and body sink into the couch. You felt fingers gently entwine with your hair, eerily gentle to avoid pulling at any knots in their way as he proceeded to caress you.

“E’rythn huuurts.” you whispered through strained breaths. Only hushing yourself let words come out more or less pain-free, leaving your throat in mild irritation. Sadly the both of you damn well knew a little setback like this won’t stop the string of complaints.

“Then drink water.” he replied, voice flat. “And perhaps next time don’t nick off with bottles other sick people drank from.” There it was, the smugness playing back behind Ardyn’s words. The bastard knew your body was too weak to muster up even a gentle slap against his shoulder, abusing his power for snark while he still could.

Instead of voicing your annoyance this time, you started out with a fake cough in his direction, but it quickly morphed into a genuine fit. Not truly wanting your horrible fate to befall on the poor Chancellor you turned to your side, covering your mouth over with your hands for extra measure.

“Ah, you do care!” his voice was nigh a sing-song, almost enough to have you believing he was genuinely touched from something so silly.

A grunt in response.

No, that didn’t convey your complaint as well as words would. “I’m g-nna slap y- l-ter.”

“Then I suggest resting if you so wish to ‘slap me later’, Y/N.” he mused, leaning back into the pillows behind. “And drink up, as suggested earlier.”

Another grunt only this time showing defiance. No matter the cost, you refuse to endure the pain of swallowing down even a sip of water. You turned your body to your side, facing away from your lover rather than being greeted with a faceful of fabric. You felt the hand brushing through your hair still for a moment, allowing you to get comfortable as needed. You finally stopped shifting around in one spot, letting all tention escape your body along with a single sigh. Once you closed your eyes, nuzzling down against his thigh the petting resumed.

The last you cared to hear out of Ardyn was a content hum, sounding more like a rumble from his chest from your closeness. You were sure he was speaking to you, judging by distant murmurs your mind refused to pick up on. The wisdom of the ever great Chancellor were lost to you, as your mind mercifully decided to embrace sleep. Though through the nearing haze you felt that previous discomfort in your muscles fade away. It still lingered on, but you would happily take even the smallest of victories.

“Rest well, dear.” his last words sounded distant to your ears and your mind finally went blank to the clutches of sleep.

[sunspill]

#19 Clexa (a sickfic please? I need some comfort in my life right now?)

“I’m not sick,” Lexa says, from under the duvet. Her hair peeks out the top, her voice muffled and thick with congestion. “I’m taking a mental health day, that’s all. Gonna get caught up on my housework.”

“Your housework,” Clarke repeats, her tone overflowing with dubiousness.

Lexa tries to swallow a sneeze and fails. “It’s not like you’re gonna do it,” she accuses, still burrito rolled into the comforter. She coughs four times in a row and badly smothers a groan.

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Okay, you big fat liar. Time to get up.”

Lexa burrows deeper, more of her hair disappearing. “No!”

Clarke props her hands on her hips. “Why? If you’re not sick you could get up right now, no problem. Prove you’re not sick.”

The lump that is Lexa pauses its wiggling. “I’m sleeping in,” she tries, weakly.

Clarke snorts. She pokes at the lump, vicious, until Lexa yelps. “Get up!”

Lexa growls, less deadly and more weak kitten. It kicks off another round of coughing. Clarke grabs the edge of the duvet and hauls, ripping it halfway off before Lexa pops up like a jack in the box and latches on with a deathgrip. “Clarke!”

“Get up! You need shower and fluids and medicine.”

Lexa heaves at the comforter. “No I don’t! I’m not sick!”

“Liar,” Clarke hisses, and falls on her ass when Lexa abruptly lets go. “Ow, Lexa, Jesus Christ.” She sits up with a groan, her ire fading away as she gets a good look at Lexa. Red nose and pale and sweaty, misery etched into her face and coughs that wrack her whole chest.

Lexa sniffles and wipes at her runny nose with her wrist. “I feel great.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Can you feel great in the shower?”

Lexa frowns. “Maybe.”

Clarke sighs. “You’ll feel better,” she tempts. “Nice hot shower, long as you like? And when you get out I’ll have made you something to eat.”

Lexa considers her offer. “I want soup.”

Clarke nods, very serious. “The food of the vigorously healthy.”

Lexa glares. “I want greek lemon soup. From the place on the corner.”

“You drive a hard bargain. I accept.”

++

When Clarke returns Lexa is sitting on the hallway rug. “I’m testing it,” she tries, when Clarke raises an eyebrow. She sighs and holds a hand up. “I got dizzy.”

“I’ve got you,” Clarke says, and helps her over to the couch.

“Soup?” Lexa asks, hesitantly hopeful.

“Mmhmm. And something else.”

Lexa perks up. “A present?”

Clarke produces a package of extra strength cold and flu medication. “Ta-da!”

Lexa glowers. “I hate you.”

“Shut up and take it,” Clarke says. “I’m not above sitting on you, you know I’m not.”

“Fine,” Lexa mutters. “But we’re watching what I want to watch. And I want to watch documentaries about how clocks are made.”

Clarke groans.

[lightningcola]

((I said I’d post info on my ocs eventually so here it is lol. Also here’s a link to all art I have posted of them.))

ღBasic Infoღ

Full Name~ Sommy Childs/Booker Meaning~ none

Nickname/Preferred Name~ Sommy

Age~ 24

Age They Look~ 17-19, they age way slower than they should

Birthday~ February 13th Zodiac Sign~ Aquarius

Gender~ nonbinary/agender Pronouns~ they/them Sexuality~ aro/ace

Ethnicity~ generic white

Voice~ nasally, annoying. Loud when they're trying to be Extra™, no particular accent

Known Languages~ English

Theme Song(s)~ Young and a Menace - Fall Out Boy, Monster - Imagine Dragons

Theme Color~ bright green

ღPhysical Appearanceღ

Species~ human Skin color~ pale, pallor, a little sickly

Birthmarks~ none

Hair color~ black and green Hair length~ right above their shoulders, slightly curly and choppy, it grows super fast so they’re constantly trimming it, sometimes they get lazy and it grows out pretty long

Hair Texture~ generally kinda greasy, the dyed part is fried

Hair Dye(s)~ green streak on their left side Eye Color(s)~ dark purple Height~ 5′2 Weight~ 120 lbs but it varies pretty drastically

Body Build~ they’re short but they’re pretty strong

Blood Type~ AB-

Freckles~ none Tattoo/Scar/Piercings~ scars below left eye, right cheek, and hands from being thrown out a window. Scar on neck from getting their head almost chopped off by a couple cult weirdos. It gives them a raspy voice and affects their breathing, they just start wheezing sometimes. Scars on palms from themself. Scar on right shoulder from getting shot and scar on left thigh from getting slashed that causes their arm and leg to get stiff if it gets cold or if they don’t move it for a while. Glasses/Contacts/General Eyesight~ no glasses, good eyesight

Dominant Hand~ right

Scent~ coppery or metallic, hair bleach

ღFashionღ

General Description~dark clothes with collars or scarves

◇Formal◇ Switches between dresses and suits. They prefer dresses that they can run in, normally with long sleeves and a collar to cover up scars. ♧Pajamas♧ T-shirt and boxers usually, their favorite sleep shirt is an old Fogbank one ♤Usual Clothes♤ Turtleneck with black jeans and their usual trench coat, also their terribly edgy boots

ღHealthღ

Smoker?~ heavy Drinker?~ yes Drugs?~ used to do party drugs, due to their healing factor though drugs affect Sommy less and less as the time goes on. Endigo still affects them, though they only take it occasionally since it heightens their abilities then wipes them out for like a whole day, also they get pretty sick afterward, like the world's worst hangover. Issues?~ boi u bet

Allergies~ none

Mental Disorders~ none diagnosed

Physical Disabilities~ none Medication?~ sleeping pills, they have to take like way more than the recommended dose

Addictions?~ smoking, drinking Diet~ whatever's cheapest and closest. Since they use a lot of energy healing, they have to eat a lot more than the usual person.

Sleeping Habits~ They really don’t sleep well ever, they have a lot of nightmares. They actually need more rest than the average person so the lack of sleep double affects them. Sommy lives off mostly coffee and energy drinks. They can really only sleep comfortably when they’re around other people they trust. Because of this they always fall asleep when people hang out with them. Most people think it’s pretty rude, Rinnah especially. Sommy never explains why they fall asleep like that either so that doesn’t help anything. Void and Azariah do their best to accommodate this and often just hang around Sommy so they can actually get enough sleep. Neither really mention that they go out of the way to do this because Sommy would probably get super defensive. Sommy secretly really appreciates it though.

ღLifestyleღ

Bus?~ sometimes Train?~ sometimes Car?~ if they can steal one Others?~ would Love to ride a motorcycle

Neighborhood~ Usually a sad motel or a shitty apartment Upper/Middle/Low~ middle? I guess?

Education Level~ didn’t finish high school

Occupation~ hitman, works for Adelaide, professional older sibling to a bunch of mutant kids

Past Occupations~ bodyguard, courier

Dream Job~ FBI agent

Income~ $30,000 minimum each job

Goals~ not be such a terrible person, make a difference in someone’s life, help all the kids their parents fucked over, kill Adelaide 

Living with~ their own self-destructive ass, later they sorta kinda move in with Void.

ღTraitsღ

Optimistic or Pessimist~ pessimist Dangerous or not~ dangerous Daredevil or Cautious~ daredevil Introvert or Extrovert~ extroverted introvert Unorganized or Organized~ unorganized Logical or Emotional~ wants everyone to think they're very logical but they actually get emotional quite a lot Workaholic or Relaxaholic~ neither Confident or Shy~ tries to present themself as confident but it's just false bravo Stressed or Relaxed~ can get overwhelmed easily especially if they’re tired, which is all the time. Normally they’re pretty good at compartmentalizing stress but not all the time.  

Timid or Assertive~ assertive but in the most asshole way possible

Loud or Silent~ loud Naughty or Nice~ naughty (not sure how I feel about this wording tho) Bookworm or Not~ not Philosophical or Realistic~ realistic Believer or See to Believe~ see to believe but boi have they seen some shit

ღPersonalityღ

Usual Mood~ Tired™, grumpy, existential despair Habits~ scratching their skin off because they like to watch it heal, falling asleep around others, nail biting (like their hair, their nails grow super fast as well)

Values~ really skewed sense of justice, everyone is bad in some way, they blame themself for their parents' mistakes and do their best to try and fix it at all times Social Skills~ bad, like really bad. They usually come across as arrogant or sarcastic though they can act pretty well if needed. So it's more like they can fake social skills if they care enough but normally they don't

Strength~ good fighter, loyal, very rel8able if you get to know them, would die for you if they could actually die Weaknesses~ bad, mean, addictive personality, won't take their problems seriously ever, blames themself for too much shit, would fight you over nothing Soft Spots~ people who actually care about them, fuzzy socks, cats (they like to feed the stray cats that hang out in the alleys where they stay) Angry when~ someone goes after their friends/family (cliché, I know), being mislead, gaslighted Relaxed when~ with friends, in quiet places, cats Nervous when~ in large crowds, asking people for things, talking about themself

Phobias~ crippling loneliness, the inevitability of life, people they care about hating them

Pet Peeves~ people misgendering them, people hitting on them, people touching them in general, loud drunk guys

Likes~ fighting, funny socks, sitting around with people they like, when they actually get real sleep, cats, they love cats

Dislikes~ nightmares, themself, most of the people they work with, Murder Mom

Natural Talents~ fighting, being weird

Skills~ being the unwilling older sibling to a bunch of random mutant kids

Secrets~ they’re kind of a depressing open book if you ask the right questions, they would tell you most things about themself, they just get really anxious and nervous when they do it

Biggest Secret~ the fact that they’re still alive and who their adopted parents are (they’re hiding from Booker)

Does Anyone Know?~ Void

Regrets~ their entire life

ღFavoritesღ

Color~ bright green, black, muted greyish colors

Season~ fall

Holiday~ Halloween

Food~ anything home cooked

Animal~ cats

Book Genre~ mystery/thriller

Movie Genre~ horror

Music~ emo bs, Fogbank but only on the dl

ღLeast Favoritesღ

Color~ any bright color that’s not green

Season~ Summer

Holiday~ Valentine’s day

Food~ gas station sushi, they keep buying it and it keeps making them wicked sick

Animal~ rats

Book Genre~ romance

Movie Genre~ romance

Music~ sappy love songs

ღPowerღ

Type of Power~

Hemokinetics: they can control their own blood and any they touch. Usually, they form stake-like weapons since they're the easiest to make though they can make sharp edged weapons as well. Anything complex takes more energy and focus. They can only lose so much before they pass out from blood loss though they can absorb other people’s blood. Sommy can also sense injuries and illness in others and track people. They can also warm and cool their body temperature which allows their emo ass to wear their trenchcoat in the middle of summer.

Healing Factor: they heal faster than a normal human, but not at Deadpool or Wolverine levels. A cut or scrape takes anywhere from a minute or two to an hour or two to heal, bigger wounds take maybe a couple days. Cracked bones take about a day and broken bones can take up to a week depending. The problem with their healing is they can heal wrong very easily, like shattered bones can cause bone fragments to get lodged in muscle or joints which cause a lot of pain and they’re really hard to get out, bones can heal crooked which means Sommy has to re break them. When they were younger, they healed by producing a lot of scar tissue which is why old injuries still affect them/get stiff and stuff. They assume they got some bad internal injuries when they were a kid because they just get stabbing pains or they cough up blood. They know they can’t die from this but it scares the fuck out of Void. Sommy also can’t really have surgery or anything unless they counteract their healing ability, which they can do but since they still have old internal injuries they get pretty fucked up from that. They’re immune to blood borne illnesses but they can still get colds, the flu, stuff like that, they just recover faster. If they get too injured and don’t have enough energy to heal, their body starts to eat away at itself, if it gets too bad they go into a coma like state.

Other: They’re immune to mental manipulation from other anomalies, often the result is the feeling like someone is scraping at their brain. It’s not unbearable just uncomfortable and annoying. This goes for all anomalies.

Flaws~ they have to keep account of how much blood they've lost or else they will Die™, their healing factor will fuck them up if they’re not careful Accuracy~ relatively accurate? Control~ they're really good at the crude stakes and blades but anything too complex is difficult even if they're not fighting, though they get better with practice, they’re working on a claw thing

ღWeaponღ

Choice of Weapon(s): •hunting knife •handgun •shotgun, if they wanna get fancy Favorite/Main Weapon~ handgun Control~ pretty good Accuracy~ they are a great shot Flaws~ they always frickin run out of ammo because they never bring enough, they usually have to use a gun or something if they don’t plan on killing the person because they’d rather not show them their freaky blood power

ღRelationsღ

Mother~

Carol Childs. Sommy's birth mother, she was not ready for a kid and didn't want one either. She mostly liked to watch Sommy react from her yelling at them. She wasn't pure evil but she didn't have many good qualities either. She was the enforcer and the business part of the family business.

Joyce Booker. A police lieutenant, Joyce turned to adopting kids after witnessing too many shipped off to foster care. She tried her best in raising Sommy and Ophelia, giving them all the help she could think of, though she could be too over enthusiastic and overbearing at times. Sommy regrets not telling her how much they appreciated her. She was the kind of mom that the kid thinks is a little embarrassing but everyone else thinks is really cool.

Father~

Lyle Childs. He was a master scientist, the creator of the drug that caused Sommy’s powers. Sommy would have loved to hate him but he didn't interact with them long enough for them to know anything about him. Though Sommy did look him up after they were adopted, reading up on all of the terrible stuff he did.

Craig Booker. He was a quiet man, always worried about saying something wrong. However, he did love his children and tried to express that as much as he could, even when Sommy had gotten into Another fight and he had to go pick them up early from school again. Sommy liked just sitting with him because they felt like they didn't have to talk or say that everything was great.

Sister~

Ophelia Booker. She was 3 years older than Sommy, however, they both got along like they had known each other forever. They could talk to each other about all the stuff that had happened to them. Ophelia supported Sommy any way she could and Sommy did their best to lend a hand in Ophelia's cyborg rights activism. Even after they ran away, Sommy still donated to her cause every year. People would try to convince Ophelia that they were dead but she wouldn't listen and continued to look for Sommy for years. She was eventually rightfully pissed off when she found out they were still alive and had been hiding from her for years.

Cousin~

Connie “Void” Greenglass. Sommy and Void didn't really talk outside family get together's before Sommy disappeared. To be fair, Void was 3 years younger than them. However, they reunited after Sommy found them 7 years later. In that time, Void was working as a reporter, mostly writing fluff pieces, waiting for a big story. Sommy brought them the story of a criminal empire that had its fingers in almost every facet of the city. After minor convincing, Void agreed to write the story as long as they managed to dig up enough evidence. In their “investigation” time they saw more shit than they ever wanted. One of the worst times was when Sommy got their side ripped open by the guy they were supposed to be following. Void is a bit of a doormat and doesn't really call Sommy out on a lot of the shit they probably should. They also promise Sommy not to tell Ophelia about what they've been doing, which really does not go over well when Ophelia eventually finds out.

Friends~

Rinnah Iyver. Sommy and Rinnah don't get along due to their clashing personalities and the fact that Sommy's super annoying. Also due to the fact that Rinnah knows they’re involved with Endigo. Since her father was killed due to her mother’s inability to pay back her debt owed to Loorka, and her mother was in debt because of her drug addiction, Rinnah tends to blame the substance and anyone related to it. However, they both kind of have to get along because Sommy is best friends with Rinnah’s brother and Rinnah is dating Sommy's sister.

Cypher Nox. Sommy has a weird feeling around him, like someone’s scratching the back of their brain every time he talks, also they can't shake the feeling that he looks really familiar. Despite this they both get along well enough, often bonding over traumatic childhoods which Cypher is really cryptic about.

Viper Anguis. Sommy deemed Viper the “coolest” of the group. They often join him and Cypher for a drink. They also like to spar with him because he's a skilled hand to hand fighter due to his experience in an underground fight club.

Lacy Rosecrans. Sommy met her after hearing reports of weird mass mood fluctuations. After investigating the area they found Lacy, an anomaly with empathic abilities that she couldn’t control. Since she was one of the first anomalies Sommy had found at that point, and the most understanding and, well, normal, they bonded pretty quick, Sommy being like an older sibling to her. They both talk often and Sommy will do whatever is within their power to help her when she occasionally loses control over her abilities.

Asher Iravit. One of Void’s closest friends, after he told them about his ability to turn invisible, Void introduced him to Sommy. Ash is a bit too goofy for Sommy but they get along well, especially with having Void as a sort of buffer. He’s often called to “babysit” Sommy by Void when they’re especially worrying them.

Margot Mentior. She’s a counterfeiter who provides Sommy with passports, fake IDs, and other documents. They both met when she tried to ask Sommy out at a bar, after declining, Sommy and her began talking. They found out both their jobs were outside the law and Sommy did their best to warn her about Adelaide. Margot appreciated the advice and offered Sommy a discount if they ever needed her services. They stayed in contact and she is one of the few people Sommy trusts almost absolutely.

Best Friend~

Azariah Iyver. Sommy saved his life after he was attacked by a couple assholes. He lost an eye but probably have lost more if Sommy hadn't stepped in and kicked their asses. After recovering, Azzy realized he had never thanked the person who had saved his life. Using his computer skills and connection to other hackers, he tracked Sommy down. They didn't remember saving him and he didn't bring it up. They talked for a long time online. They told him about Adelaide and he convinced them to do something about her. Azzy is probably the only one who believes Sommy has the capability to change for the better.

Enemies~

Adelaide Creed. Originally Sommy viewed her as a parental figure. She taught them the ins and outs of the criminal business and started to groom them to be the second in command of her empire. After a while though, Sommy realized that she really wasn't as nice as she had originally seemed. They realized she was a monster. Adelaide had made Sommy her project and spent her time gaslighting and manipulating them into what she wanted.

Other~

Needlehands. He's a back alley monster doctor who does as much experimentation on his patients as he does actually fixing them. After his creator died, Needlehands tried to continue his work. He met Sommy when they were bleeding out from, what looked like, a half decapitation. He was amazed how they were still alive and patched them up. After finding out about their abilities, he just wanted to study them further. Needlehands made a deal with Sommy, he'd fix them up and help them out and they would let him look into what actually happened to them in regards to their abilities. After a while, Needlehands began to get really protective over them so now Sommy has a monster dad. He also helps Sommy research Endigo, its effects and a way to counter it.

Lewis “Trace” Harvey. He's a mediocre hacker employed by Adelaide. Sommy started blackmailing him to get him to do things for them. He's a disrespectful, insensitive asshole but Sommy has to put up with him if they want anything techy. However, after they meet Azzy they planned on killing Trace to make sure he didn't spill any info on them. Lucky for him, Void stepped in to watch him which they later regret.

Hydrea “Drea” Vannie. She is obsessed with Sommy, constantly trying to be their girlfriend. Too bad for her, Sommy absolutely despises her. They would love to kill her but Drea’s dad is a high ranking politician and she's also employed by Adelaide. Sommy assumes she was hired just to annoy them as Adelaide has said she finds her “very amusing”.

Johnny Clayborn. He also works for Adelaide and is one of the few people that genuinely scare Sommy. After he first got hired, Sommy was tasked to follow and observe his methods. Turns out he’s a cannibal that eats most of the people he kills and dissolves the rest. His love of zombies and weird, quiet nature really doesn’t help the unbelievably creepy vibe he gives off at all times. Sommy tried to hide the fact that he scared the piss out of them, especially when he kept inviting them for dinner.

Crushes~

none

Past Relationships~ none

Current Relationship~

none

Relationship Status~

single, forever

ღLifeღ

Birth/Infancy~ Sommy's birth parents were about as criminal as you could get. Involved in drug cooking, they were both hailed as geniuses due to their creation of a new drug, named Endigo. Taken as an adult, the side effects could vary from sleep paralysis type hallucinations to seizures. However, children exposed before birth and who have suffered traumatic events can develop brain anomalies leading to strange abilities and for some reason, strange eye color.

Childhood~ Sommy was involved in their parents' drug manufacturing, doing small tasks like packaging and the like as soon as they were able. They saw more than their fair share of shit during that time though they don't remember much. When they were 9, their parents were caught and arrested. Sommy seemed to be headed for an orphanage when they were adopted by a couple, the Bookers. Mrs. Booker was the Sergeant involved in the arrest of Sommy's birth parents. Along with new parents, Sommy now had a sister as well, Ophelia Booker, she was 2 years older than them. The Bookers did their best to take care of Sommy and help them recover. Teenhood~ Sommy was a handful as a teenager. They were rebellious and often lashed out at those around them because they didn't know what else to do. Their parents tried to curb this behavior by signing them up for fighting classes, hoping that they wouldn't have to fight other kids then. In this time Sommy's powers were also developing, though they keep this mostly to themself in fear of being seen as a freak, especially by their new family. They didn't want their irrational fear of being abandoned because of being so terrible to come through. At the age of 16, both Sommy's parents were killed in a home invasion gone wrong. They were out with their sister at the time. They always suspected there was more to it than that though. A lot of evidence just didn't add up. Infuriated by everything getting swept under the rug, Sommy ran away hoping to find out the truth. AdultHood~ After killing the man who was directly responsible for their parents' death, Sommy realized that they couldn't go back home to Ophelia like this. They viewed themself as a horrible person and was at a loss of what to do with their life. They felt like they didn’t deserve their adopted family’s love so they started using the Childs name again. Spiraling down, they started taking jobs as bodyguards for low lives and then that escalated to doing hit jobs. During that time, they made friends with a monster of a back alley doctor nicknamed Needlehands who did just as much experimentation on people as he did actually patching them up. Obviously, Sommy raised him up to be their father figure. They also fell into business with a woman named Adelaide Creed. She ran an empire on the backs of criminals, getting her hands on anything she could use to further her power and wealth. As more of a personal project, she warped Sommy's sense of purpose and self-image and gaslighted them until they couldn't remember the person they used to be. She wanted Sommy to be her successor, especially after finding out about their abilities. Eventually managing to snap out of the bloody haze they had been in for seemingly years, Sommy realized how much of a monster Adelaide really was. They decided they needed to tear her down from the inside. It was around this time that Sommy started to notice vague reports about kids with strange abilities. Realizing there were more people like themself, Sommy started looking for answers, eventually realizing it was their parent’s drug that was causing the anomalies. They took it upon themself to help these kids and keep them out of the government’s, or anyone’s radar. By blackmailing a chemist with reports of him falsifying results causing children's deaths, Sommy managed to get a sort of reverse version of Endigo that nullified abilities for a short while. They still had all their parents research that they had stolen years ago. Sommy killed the chemist after he gave them instructions on how to make the stuff. They then set out to help as many kids as they could because if they weren’t gonna do it who was? They also saw it as fallout from their parents, which fell on them to clean up.

OldHood~ Sommy continues to deal with the anomalies even after they outlive everyone they had known. Due to their healing ability, they can’t really die and just focus on moving forward and doing what they can.

[abovethesmokestacks]

Sweet Dreams - Assorted Flavours (7/9)

Title: Sweet Dreams - Assorted Flavours Pairing: Bucky x Reader Rating: General Audiences (for now at least) Warnings: Fluff and feels. The usual suspects. Spoilers: None

Oh my darlings. You have no idea how long I’ve waited to finish this chapter. Or, well, some of you probably know, since I’ve bitched about it. A lot. In short: long-ass cold, not one but TWO drabble/mini series and a stubborn-as-all-fuck writer’s block. At least I can console myself with the fact that my cold served me well in writing this chapter once I had regained the higher brain functions necessary to actually do some writing. Recipe will be added as soon as I can compile it!

Tag list at the end of the chapter. If you want to be tagged in future chapters, send me an ask, and I’ll add you to the tag list.

| read on AO3 | | not read Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)? | recipe |

VII. Tread Gingerly

Ginger: a herb in the Zingiberaceae-family, known for its aromatic, underground stem. The stem can be used fresh or dried and ground as a spice. Ginger goes well with apples, lemon, pumpkin, chocolate and dates.

You tried not to push as weeks passed after the incident in the shop. Bucky had said he would try, and you knew he did. He would tell you how he'd slept each time he came in, sometimes sounding so proud for managing two hours, sometimes sounding so utterly wrecked because all of his progress had shattered and he'd had a bad night. You tried not to keep track, but it was hard. With each night, you took his offered update, compared it to the one before, and your heart sank when realizing the good nights barely outweighed the bad ones. You tried to tell yourself it was okay, that he was doing okay, that good and bad nights in equal measure was still better than just bad nights.

It was something to hold on to, and you needed it.

There was no shortage of work, people suddenly crowding to the shop. Valentine's Day came and went, and much as you would have loved to spend it with Bucky, the year's most romantic day was condensed into sharing a pink cupcake and a quick kiss in the kitchen before you had to rush to get everything in order. He'd sat in the shop for a couple of hours, sneaking out while you were in the kitchen to fetch a new batch of pink lemonade cupcakes. Returning, you'd found his seat empty, napkin folded neatly on the small plate you'd served him a chocolate cupcake on. Scrawled onto the tissue was a simple ”Open me”. It had brought a smile to your face, remembering his first visit, and the message left on the napkin. You had taken the plate with you into the kitchen, picking up the napkin, expecting it to be another message. To your surprise, there had been weight to it, something flat and hard wrapped in it. Tearing away the improvised wrapping, you had gasped as a metal disc suspended from a thin ball chain fell into the palm of your hand

JAMES B. BARNES 32557038 T42 43 A                              P

One of his dog tags. Ignoring the steady trilling of the bell above the door, you'd pulled your phone from your pocket, calling him with a lump in your throat.

”Hello?”

”Thank you.”

”You found it.” You could hear the smile in his voice.

”It's... You didn't have to get me anything, Bucky.”

”I wanted to. You've been working so hard, and I wanted you to have something when we couldn't spend the day together.”

You smiled, turning the tag over in your free hand, the pad of your thumb running over the indentations of the stenciled letters.

”Well, James B. Barnes, 32557038, T 42, 43, A, P. Thank you.”

He gave a short, barking laugh. ”It's not the original. Couldn't keep anything that could be used to trigger me back. Though I wouldn't be surprised if it's gathering dust in some old Russian HYDRA compound somewhere. But it's the same information. Still accurate. Still...”

”Still what, Bucky?”

The line had crackled as he exhaled and drew a breath again. ”It's a thing soldiers did, still do, I think. Give one of their dog tags to their girl before shipping out. I- I remembered, there was this guy shipping out at the same time as me. We were supposed to embark, but his girl wouldn't let go of him, crying up a storm, and he tried to get her to calm down. Could tell the fella was close to tears himself. Eventually, he got his tags off, unhooked one and pressed it into her hand, promised her he'd come back, that she'd have a piece of him with her always.”

Closing your fist around the tag, you had pressed it against your chest. There hadn't been that many Valentine's Days spent with a significant other, and any gift you had received now paled in comparison. Bucky had given you part of himself, showing his affection in a way that had your heart beating wildly in your chest.

”Doll?”

”I love it,” you said, voice shaking with emotion. ”It's- thank you.”

From that day, the chain hung around your neck, the cool weight of the tag against your chest a sweet reminder of the man you loved. No matter if he was there or not, no matter how busy the shop was, you'd stop for just a few seconds to feel the metal on your skin. If Bucky was there for the night, he'd smile sweetly at you, at the hand touching the tags hidden under your shirt. It became as much a sign of affection as the kisses and hugs you shared, and for you, it became something of a good luck charm that held you over even during the most stressful nights.

Until one day, it didn't. March was slowly coming to an end, and though you had managed okay, it felt like the month had drawn on for way longer than it should have. You felt tired, the telltale signs of a cold weighing down on you. Being sick was not an option, not when you were the sole employee, and so you did everything you could think of to preemptively stop the cold from flaring up completely. If you had been the only one fighting a cold, it might have worked, but with literally everyone and their mother getting hit at more or less the same time, you were fighting a losing battle. Tea sales spiked as tired customers dragged themselves in through the door for something soothing to drink and something sweet to keep them awake long enough to last through the night.

”It's unfair,” you complained to Bucky one night, head feeling like someone had poured concrete into it.

”Unfair that I went through horrible human experiments, brainwashing and had my memory shot to hell for the slight perk of being able to resist the common cold?” he joked, looking a little too smug as he took another gulp of coffee.

”You know what I mean.” You refilled the tea kettle, setting it back onto the base and turned it on.

”I do, I'm just teasing you. If it's any consolation, I rarely got sick before the serum either. Made it all through the war without getting sick, and at one point I had to share a tent with Dugan, who had the flu for two weeks.”

You mock glared at him, pursing your lips and crossing your arms over your chest. Bucky merely bit his lower lip, apparently your attempt at looking stern had little to no effect on him. Kind of like the cold remedies you had gulped down by the gallon. Your hand drifted to the tag underneath your shirt, fiddling with it and silently asking it for strength for the remaining hours. End of shift could not come soon enough.

You made it through two more days before it got to you, although you steadfastly refused to admit defeat. Despite your limbs feeling like they were laced with lead, you got up, took a fever reducer and set about baking tonight's cupcakes. For days you had been subsisting on soups and gallons upon gallons of lemon-ginger-honey tea, something that you brought into your baking tonight, using ginger preserve to create a cupcake that tasted akin to what getting better felt like. It was slow work, your head drooping, your body forcing you to take short breaks to regain strength, running up the stairs to sneeze. By the time Bucky came around, half an hour before opening, you were still rushing to get the last batches of cupcakes mixed.

”Overslept?” he asked, taking in the disarray surrounding you.

”Sick,” you replied, exhaling heavily and crashing into him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

”Then why are you open? You should be upstairs in bed, doll.”

”Can't.” Your voice was muffled against his warm sweater. ”Have to stay open.”

”Sweetheart...” he began, but you shook your head, looking up at him.

”I need to stay open,” you reiterated, trying to sound firm. ”Either way, it's too late to do a 180 now. I've got the cupcakes almost all done. I can't let them go to waste.”

Sniffling, you turned and walked back to the bowl with half-done cupcake batter. Bucky really shouldn't have mentioned bed. It was all you could do not to abandon everything and go upstairs like he'd said you should. Sleep was... complicated when you were sick, always waking up every two or three hours feeling like you'd both gotten way too little and way too much sleep, never quite finding a happy middle. Sensing Bucky following your every move, you let out a little sigh, looking up again. Sure enough, he'd parked himself in his usual spot, arms crossed over his torso, peering at you with a perturbed expression on his face.

”You're hovering,” you told him flatly, swallowing to suppress a cough.

”I'm surveying,” Bucky rebutted, demonstratively placing one foot over the other to cross his legs.

”Well, then, can you go upstairs and survey me some tea? My throat's killing me.”

Bucky pursed his lips, eyes raking over you before answering. ”What kind?”

”I have a cup by the kettle. It's- there's a strainer in there with chopped ginger that should be good for another cup. Just heat up water, add it with a bit of lemon juice and honey. They're both in the cabinet to the left of the stove.”

He gave a sigh, his own kind of non-verbal protest, but nevertheless disappeared up the stairs. Letting out a long breath, you squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, inhaling again as best you could. It was okay, you could still make it. No extra flourishes for the remaining cupcakes. No one would care, it was okay to keep it clean and simple. A shiver travelled up your spine, and you shuddered, shaking your hands before returning to the unfinished cupcakes.

Bucky returned not five minutes later with a scalding hot cup of tea, trying in vain to at least get you to sit down while you drank. You reiterated how there was no time, commenting that maybe you should dress up in white rabbit ears to make your point. Instead, you had him help where he could, carrying the trays of finished cupcakes out to the case. Part of you felt a little guilty for bossing him around, but he seemed happy to help when you refused everything else. It would be fine. You'd make it through the night. Just a few more-

”Doll?”

”Wha'?”

You looked up, head spinning with vertigo as the shop was brought into focus, Bucky's concerned face taking up most of your field of vision. Next to him, someone cleared their throat, and you whipped your head around, the movement feeling unbearably slow. It was Stan, again, his fingers tapping against the counter. Wait, when had Stan come in? You gave a weak smile, surreptitiously looking around. There were a handful of customers spread out at the tables, Bucky sitting in his usual spot by the counter. You became aware of something clenched in your fist, looking down to find a crumpled ten dollar bill, your other hand hovering over the cash register.

”I hope you're not trying to skin me,” Stan joked, eyes glittering behind the perpetual shades he wore no matter the season and time of day.

”N-no!” you stuttered, almost managing to hide it behind a laugh, forcing your fingers to tap quickly so the register opened and you could give the man his change.

”You should take a day off, darling, you don't look so hot,” he remarked, holding out his hand to take the coins.

You couldn't help but shoot a dirty look at Bucky for that one, who only shrugged in response.

”Oh, don't you know, Stan? I am in fact a robot. Place closes down, they come in and turn me off, stuff me in a cupboard out back.”

”Well, hell, maybe you should tell them to take you in for maintenance.”

”I am going to assume you said that out of concern,” you mock-grumbled, placing your right hand on your hip, the left grabbing hold of the edge of the counter when your world once again began to sway.

”As you should,” Stan smiled, and nodded his head, grabbing the cupcake he'd bought. ”Thanks for this.”

You managed a weak smile, waving the old man off as he headed for the exit. To your right, you could feel Bucky's eyes burning a hole in your side. Stifling a sigh, you let your gaze flicker back to him, and sure enough, he had that expression on him where he wanted to argue.

”I'm fine,” you told him in a low voice, pushing the cashbox closed.

”You're not,” he replied gently, reaching over to take hold of your hand. ”You spaced out, doll, you were gone for almost twenty seconds.”

”'S not that much...” You looked down, blinking a couple of times to reestablish focus.

”It is. Count it out, see how long you just stood there.”

You reluctantly obliged, counting quietly to yourself. It got unbearable by the time you hit ten, and you pulled a face, clenching your free hand into a fist. So maybe you were a little sick.

”I can't close down, I'm-”

”I know, you're the only one here,” Bucky finished for you. ”I swear, if you and Steve had met back in the day, you'd've given me a heart attack.”

His comment pulled a snorting laugh from you, causing another wince as vertigo struck again. You faltered, your grip on Bucky's hand tightening as you slumped forward. Breathe. You gotta breathe, you told yourself, your left hand letting go of the counter edge to pillow your head as you leaned down. Your forehead felt uncomfortably hot and clammy against your hand, but the position provided a small sense of relief. Just a moment, just a couple of seconds-

”Doll!”

Bucky's frantic hiss made you bolt upright, head swimming at the too-fast motion. You swayed, squeezing your eyes shut as a throb behind your eyes surged through you. Had Bucky not been holding your hand in his, you were sure you would have toppled over.

”I'm fine!” you blurted out automatically, only to whimper when the throbbing in your head protested the statement wildly.

Bucky simply looked at you, a plea in his gaze that just begged you to reconsider. You had your retort on the tip of your tongue, another pointed comment about your situation when your eyes fell to the clock on the wall. You were barely one and a half hour into your day. The realization sank like a stone in your stomach. There were still hours to go, and you already felt like you'd been through the grinder. The bell above the door chimed, and you let out a heavy sigh as you saw five women hustle inside, looking way too perky and alert to be real.

”Sweetheart, please, you're gonna run yourself into the ground,” Bucky said under his breath, having noted your defeated expression at the influx of customers. ”I know you don't want to, but-”

”I'll close.”

To say he looked a bit shocked was an understatement. Bucky squinted his eyes to look at you, perhaps checking to see if you were pranking him. You couldn't blame him, you'd probably also think someone was messing with you if you were in his position. Much as you had your principles and plenty of work to do, you also had your limit. Five new customers coming in to the tune of a ache that wouldn't give, that in fact seemed to be spreading instead. Maybe it was because you were finally admitting defeat, allowing yourself to feel as sick as you really were, and it spread like wildfire through you.

”You need help?” Bucky asked, nodding to the customers seated at the tables.

”Don't scare them away,” you mock-warned him, poking him in the arm. ”Just because I close early doesn't mean I don't want them to come back.”

”Oh, you wound me! I swear on my blessed Ma's grave..!”

”Are you gonna help or not, Barnes?”

Bucky merely gave you goofy grin and spun his chair around to jump off it and go inform the patrons that you were closing. You couldn't help your own little grin, however quick it was. The five ladies that had entered approached you, and you explained you would be closing early due to illness. You offered to sell them cupcakes if they were okay with takeaway. Thankfully, they were nice about it, picking out a decent sample box of cupcakes. Feeling bad, you threw in a discount before bidding them goodnight.

Hearing the bell chime again, this time knowing it was because people were leaving, was a bit of relief, until you looked back at the display, remembering the mess in the kitchen you hadn't had time to completely clean up before opening. There was so much to do still, and now that you were finally allowed at least one night's rest, you couldn't fall asleep right away. The cupcakes needed to be put away, the shop needed to be cleaned, the kitchen needed tidying, you had to count the cashbox and check the locks and the alarm, and-

”Hey, hey, what's the matter?” Bucky's voice, tinged with concern, drew your attention.

”There's... there's so much to do,” you answered, sounding way more defeated than you meant to. ”I-I can't, I don't want to...”

Ducking under the counter top, Bucky came up next to you, wrapping you in a tight hug. His embrace, while usually effective in easing your worries, didn't quite reach through to you. Sure, it helped a little, but the ache and the ever-present sensation of vertigo made it hard to focus and your thoughts were a jumble that kept going in circles, always returning to the disarray that couldn't be left to tomorrow.

”Shh, shh...” Bucky soothed you, letting a steady hand run calming circles over your back. ”What do you need me to do? What do you need help with?”

”Everything.”

”We'll be here all night, and that kinda defeats the purpose of you closing early, don't it?”

”I can't leave it, Bucky, the cupcakes-”

”So we put away the cupcakes,” he interrupted you, pulling you away slightly so he could look at you. ”We do the absolutely necessary things, nothing more, nothing less. Think about it, what can't you leave until tomorrow?”

You wanted repeat your answer, but he had a point. If you took on everything, even with Bucky's help, you'd be here for at least an hour, and your body was steadily giving out on you. Taking a deep breath, you ran through your end of night ritual, willing your racing mind to slow down, to match the steady heartbeat thumping under Bucky's shirt.

”Cupcakes,” you began, trusting Bucky to remember things better than you would at this point. ”We need to put them in the fridge, and... and lock the doors and check the alarms. I... I don't remember if I left something out. If I did we need to throw it away.”

”Cupcakes, doors and trash,” he summarized, stroking you over the crown of your head. ”Sounds doable.”

You nodded meekly against his chest, unwilling to leave now that you were there. Still, you knew you had to get started, and you extricated yourself from his hug. Bucky insisted he put away the cupcakes, urging you to lock up since you knew the system better. Too tired to argue, you gave another nod, dragging your feet to the front door to lock and deadbolt it, then twist and pull the handle an inordinate amount of times to really make sure it was locked. A slow crawl later via the till to at least pull out the cash drawer, you were in the kitchen, barely noticing Bucky as he scooched past you. After hiding the money, the procedure was repeated on the backdoor. Lock, twist, pull, repeat.

”It's locked, darlin',” came Bucky's gentle voice behind you.

You turned, finding him with one tray in each hand, a small smile in place.

”'M just being thorough,” you told him, feeling your cheeks burn slightly.

”I know,” he appeased, setting one of the trays down to open the fridge. ”Look, I'm just about done, only got three trays left. Why don't you set the alarm and go upstairs, I'll come up as soon as I'm done.”

”You'll need the code, do you remem-”

”954772.” Bucky shot you a grin. ”Memory might be a bit shoddy, but some things still stick. Go on, go upstairs and get to bed. I'll be up before you know it.”

If you'd had more energy, you would have teased him for that accidental innuendo, but as it was, you hummed and headed for the door that led upstairs. You punched in the sequence that would set the alarm and headed up the stairs while Bucky kept his eyes on you for as long as he could, knitting his brows together when the door finally swung close. He had to work fast. It was only a flight of stairs and small distance between your door and your bedroom, but god only knew what you could get up to in your state.

He hurried to fetch the rest of the cupcakes from the case and the windows, snapping a quick pic of the packed fridge that he sent to Stark with the caption ”I assume you can afford these?” He could accept bringing home a small box of leftovers, but this was more than he'd feel comfortable taking home without offering any compensation. Stark, not surprising, got back to him in seconds with a ”if this is a joke, I'm kicking you out”, followed almost directly by ”You don't toy with a man's emotions like this, so this better be real” and ”I'm writing a check now”. Bucky smirked, tucking the phone back in his jeans pocket. The kitchen, while still in a bit of disarray, could wait until tomorrow. There was nothing left out on the counters that needed to be thrown away immediately, although his fingers twitched with the need to help and tidy up. Bucky shook his head. He'd promised he'd be up as quickly as possible. Everything that had to be done was done. Giving the room one last once over, Bucky quickly punched the code to the alarm, opened the door an hurried up the stairs.

Making a beeline for your bedroom, his heart almost dropped when he saw your bed empty. Mind running a mile a minute, Bucky's eyes began scanning in the room, the tactical training that had been part learned, part forced upon him taking in the minute details of the room. Window closed, no sign of forced entry. Bed made, sheets still neat, no struggle. Point of extraction unlikely. His body started moving almost of its own accord to continue the meticulous search in the living room, hand already back in his pocket to call Steve and assemble his team mates to tear down the city if that's what it would take, when a soft whine diverted him.

It felt like his heart stopped completely when his eyes found you, curled up like a cat on the couch. The tension that had gathered in him bled away, jaw unclenching and lips pulling up into a soft smile. You looked so small to him, and Bucky couldn't help but see the similarities to Steve as his friend existed in his choppy memories; easily shrugged off as frail and weak but with tenacity to fight the entire god damn world. He hesitated before pulling the blanket from the backrest, scrunching up his face as he saw the hole still there. Why you still kept this couch was beyond him. Bucky shook out the blanket, draping it over you and pressing a kiss to your forehead, memories supplying context: his ma, kissing him and Becca just like this to test their temperature. You're warm, not quite burning, but it's getting there. He set off for the kitchen and seconds later, the kettle was bubbling. Quickly, Bucky found the ingredients needed to make you a fresh cup of tea, tiptoeing to the bathroom to rifle through the mirror cabinet. The telltale click of the thermostat shutting off sounded just as he pushed a fever reducer from the foil capsules.

”Sweetheart?”

Bucky gently stroked your cheek with his right hand, making sure to carefully set down the mug he held in his left on the coffee table. You gave another whine, curling together more and trapping his hand between your cheek and your shoulder.

”C'mon, sugar, wake up...” Another protest. ”Just for a little while. Got you some tea and something for your fever.”

”Bucky?”

Your eyes fluttered open, blinking until they finally settled on him, bringing out a dopey smile. A stronger man than him might have been able to keep a straight face, but Bucky conceded then and there; he was not a strong man, not when you looked at him like that.

”Got some tea and medicine for you,” he repeated. ”Think you can sit up for a little while?”

Nodding, you pushed your upper body down before trying to launch yourself up into sitting position. It took a couple of tries, a whole lot of suppressed grunts and Bucky gently helping you along and making sure the blanket stayed on you. When you were all seated, cup of tea in your hand and medicine swallowed, Bucky joined you, sitting down on your left. You hummed contentedly, letting your head droop and fall against his shoulder, your eyes once again falling shut.

”C'mon, drink a little more tea,” he coaxed you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

”Wanna sleep,” came the slurred answer, followed by a heavy sigh.

”I know, I know. Just a few more sips, okay? Then I'll tuck you back in.”

You held onto the mug with both hands, taking a few token sips before holding out the mug for him. Bucky shook his head and gave a small scoff. Yeah, Steve and you would have gotten along swimmingly, probably put him in an early grave. He took a sip of his own, humming as the combined taste of ginger, lemon and honey hit his tongue.

”Don't... Don' want you gettin' my icky germs.”

”Got immunity, remember? Your germs can't get to me,” Bucky told you, placing the mug on the table. ”Let's get you to bed, okay?”

You hummed, but made no move to get up from the couch. He tried cajoling you some more, but you were almost fast asleep again and pretty much dead to the world. Seeing no other way to get you from the couch to the bedroom, he gently shifted you so he could snake one arm under your knees and the behind your back to lift you up. You barely let out a huff as Bucky carried you the short distance, only turned a little in his grip when he sat down to pull the bedspread aside, and giving a shallow sigh when you were finally laid out like Sleeping Beauty. As he reached to pull the comforter over you, you shifted again, rolling onto your side, your hands coming up to clasp something at your neck. In the soft light from the lamp posts outside, the metal of the dog tag only glinted dully, but to Bucky it may as well have been the sun. 

He'd spotted the chain around your neck every time he'd visited since Valentine's Day, barely able to conceal the joy that shot through him. You always kept the tags under your shirt, but he could understand why, and the thought that you carried him with you where you went warmed him more than he'd expected. Bucky reached out, letting his fingers drag over your closed fist, feeling the metal of the tag, still warm from your body heat, under his fingertips. His left hand dipped inside the collar of his own shirt, pulling out the matching necklace with the second tag.

The idea had come to him when Steve had dragged him along to once again go through boxes of stuff from their time. It was mostly photos and trinkets, but at the very bottom were Steve's own dog tags. He'd gotten them, but never really taken to wearing them while out in the field, and after the Valkyrie went down, all of his belongings had been packed and filed away in storage. Bucky found himself missing his own tags, this simple sign of identification. Name, service number, vaccinations, blood group, religion. A solid sign that he existed. His own tags were lost forever, but Steve had pointed out he could probably get replacement tags if he wanted. It had taken some wrangling to get them, and seeing them looking so... new felt strange. He still remembered his own tags, a little banged up, the metal having lost its intial shine. Giving one of the tags to you had been an easy choice, and Valentine's Day provided the perfect time to do so.

Bucky leaned down, planting a soft kiss to your forehead. Your temperature seemed to have gone down a little, and you hummed under your breath.

”Please, don't go,” you murmured, leaning in to the sweet kiss.

For once, Bucky's first reaction was not to deny you. A stronger man might have been able to, but as he'd established, James Buchanan Barnes was not a strong man. He didn't care if he wouldn’t sleep a wink, he wanted to be here, wanted to do this. It was domestic, intimate. Forehead kisses and tea and someone who wore proof him right by their heart. He smiled against your skin, pressing another kiss there.

”I'll be on the couch, darlin'.”

His statement calmed you, allowing you to slip back to dreamland while Bucky eased himself off the bed and tiptoed out of the room. Lying down on the couch felt easier than before. He didn't expect to sleep, instead lounging and listening to the sounds of your rhythmic breaths while letting the tag flick between his fingers.

Proof he existed, a promise he'd always come back.

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[amarie-bee]

A (rather long) account of being sick and remembering how good it feels to breathe

Three weeks ago I caught a nasty cold that flattened me in the span of about twelve hours. Fearing that it was the flu going around both my schools, I dragged myself to the doctor which apparently is a thing that people do often in countries where there is good health insurance.

When I showed up to Tada Clinic, the small doctor’s office down the street from my school, the waiting room was full. I went up to the two girls in uniform behind the reception desk.

“Hi,” I said. “I have the chills and my throat hurts. Can I talk to the doctor?”

One of the girls handed me a thermometer to put under my armpit to take my temperature, which was a rather embarrassing ordeal since my hands were full, I had on four layers of clothes, and was standing in front of about twenty people, but I managed to somehow accomplish it. Then I sat in the back of the room, waiting for about thirty minutes before a smiling nurse in light pink scrubs called my name.

“Amber-sama,” she waved, knowing exactly who I was as the only foreigner in the building.

The doctor told me that since I didn’t have a fever, it seemed I didn’t have the flu after all, and prescribed me three days’ worth of ibuprofen and a powdered Chinese herbal remedy meant to help with the chills. When I got home, I examined the prescriptions. The ibuprofen was half the strength of the over-the-counter ibuprofen I had brought with me from America, and I had no idea how to take the powdered herb mix sealed into a series of silver packets.

“I think you shake it into your mouth and wash it down with water,” my friend texted me after I asked her what she thought I should do with the instruction-less packets.

“You should mix it with hot water and drink it like tea,” texted another friend.

“How am I supposed to know?” said a third.

I tried both of the first two methods, and they each seemed to work fine, and the herbal mix tasted faintly like snickerdoodles thanks to the cinnamon inside, which gave me a pang of homesickness. I googled it and discovered that Japanese doctors often prescribed kanpo, specific blends of herbs according to Chinese medicine, and that these blends were approved by the country’s Ministry of Health and manufactured by pharmaceutical companies alongside Western drugs.

“Wow,” I thought. “How holistic,” all of a sudden inspired to re-balance my chi and fight off this cold the ~natural~ way.

I stumbled through that week somehow, which also happened to be the last week of classes for the ninth-graders, who graduated on a beautiful sunny day. I cried throughout most of the ceremony, voice gone, shaking from the chills, secretly yearning for DayQuil and emotionally exhausted. After work, I wanted nothing more than to fall face-first into bed, but instead decided to stop by a pharmacy on the way home.

“Fuck kanpo,” I said to myself in my car. “I need some real medicine.”

I told the woman behind the counter that I had developed a cough that kept me up at night, so I needed whatever their strongest cough medicine was and stat. She immediately produced a purple glass bottle from a shelf behind her.

“You need this,” she said. “Take it right before bed, and every four hours as often as you need. It’s the strongest thing we have. Hey, do you teach English?”

I cradled the cough syrup the whole way home like the sacred elixir I believed it to be. That night, just as the pharmacist directed, I took a dose before bed, and then took an extra swig too because, hey, Japanese medicine was weak as shit.

Yesssss, I thought, propping up my pillows and turning on my humidifier. Sleeeeeep, beautiful sleeeeeep, come to me finally!

But I did not sleep that night. I felt the medicine working as my cough subsisted, but as the minutes stretched into hours it began to feel as if my whole body was on fire. My heart began to race.  My palms were sweaty. I couldn’t stop my brain from conjugated every Japanese verb that came to mind and also reliving every conversation I’d had in the past few weeks.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” I texted Marcus frantically around two a.m. “I feel like I’m going insane.”

“Are you okay???” he replied, by some stroke of fate still awake. “It’s okay, I’ll stay awake until you fall asleep.”

Talking with Marcus calmed me down and I felt my heartbeat slow to the kind of range expected for a person lying in bed, but I only slept for three hours that night, finally falling asleep sometime just before five a.m.

The next day, with dark bags under my eyes, we drove to the city to watch an annual bilingual musical in Kitajima. Somehow wide awake, I snuck the cough medicine in my purse inside the theater, where I took sips from the purple glass bottle throughout the show, trying to calm my lungs down. By the time evening came and we left the city for the long drive back to Mima, I felt the sleepless night come crashing down on me as I tried to pay attention to the narrow country roads in front of me, trying to ignore the feeling of my face melting off. This is it, I thought. I’m exhausted. I’m finally going to sleep tonight.

I put on pajamas. I washed my face. I measured the cough syrup dosage in a little plastic cup, and then doubled it for safe measure. I crawled into bed and pulled the comforter up around my chin.

At three a.m., as my heart body lay there jittering once again, I admitted defeat and turned on my lights and made myself a cup of tea. What the actual fuck, I thought, and then decided to google the cough medicine I’d been swigging like juice.

The main active ingredient in my elixir turned out to be codeine, meant to suppress severe coughing, which immediately made me wonder why on earth I could buy liquid codeine over the counter but had to have ibuprofen prescribed to me by a doctor. I decided to look up the other ingredients to see if there was something else that would make my body react so poorly - and as my eyes scanned the back of the purple glass bottle, actually reading the Japanese on the back for the first time, my jaw dropped.

There it was. The last active ingredient listed. 90 mg of caffeine per 60 ml.

WHAT THE FUCK, I wanted to scream. WHY THE FUCK IS THERE CAFFEINE IN NIGHTTIME COUGH MEDICINE. I quickly did the mental math and realized I’d been drinking the equivalent of about two cups of coffee every four hours ever since I bought the goddamn bottle that Friday after work. No wonder I was lying in bed heart racing, brain on fire, unable to sleep.

I texted just about everyone I knew to complain, and then went to the bathroom and took two sleeping pills I had with me leftover from my insomniac days in America. I dragged my futon to the living room floor where I finally slept for ten hours in an uneasy, medicated haze.  

The next day I asked Mika why on earth a Japanese pharmacist would tell me to take cough syrup loaded with caffeine right before bed, but she didn’t seem to understand what my problem was. “So the caffeine made you unable to sleep?” she asked me.

“Yeah,” I said. “Of course.”

“What do you mean of course?” she said.

“What do you mean, what do you mean?” I said. “Caffeine wakes you up, like drinking coffee in the morning.”

“You drink coffee in the morning to wake up?”

“Um, yes,” I said. “Why do you drink coffee in the morning?”

“Um, because I like the taste,” said Mika.

“It goes well with bread,” added her husband. “We drink it before bed too and sleep fine.”

After a brief survey of my coworkers, who it turned out all drank coffee before bed to no detrimental effect on their sleep, I was left to wonder if caffeine somehow affected Japanese bodies differently than my own. Or perhaps Japanese people were simply so exhausted from their long overtime hours that nothing could prevent them from falling asleep once they were horizontal.

“Oooooh, you’re like a child!” they said, amused, when I told them I couldn’t sleep after drinking coffee.  

For the next week, I tried every other non-cough-syrup remedy I could think of to stop the coughing and get some sleep. I drank honey tea before bed. I cranked up the humidifier. I vacuumed and washed every corner of my bedroom to collect any dust that might be making it harder for me to breathe. I took sleeping pills at night. My Japanese mother gave me a home remedy of diced daikon in honey, which I drank before bed to no avail. I went back to the pharmacy and bought cold medicine without caffeine. One particularly difficult night, I began to get a piercing pain in the right side of my chest when I inhaled. I slept about four hours and tried not to cry the entire next day at school as the pain continued.

“Don’t get any more over-the-counter medicine from the pharmacy again,” Bando Sensei told me that day. “The medicine from the doctor is so much better and cheaper.”

“You’re not in America anymore,” the other teachers told me. “We go to the doctor when we’re sick here!”

And so I dragged my ass back to Tada Clinic. The same girls who were working before smiled at me from behind the reception desk. “Hi,” I said. “I’m back.”

I stumbled through another appointment with the doctor, who listened to my breathing with a stethoscope and then closed his eyes, furrowed his eyebrows, and rested his face in his hands.

“It sounds like you have asthma,” he told me in Japanese. “Did any doctor in America ever tell you that you had asthma?”

“………………No…………….” I said.

“Your right lung is damaged from coughing so much. It’s probably a complication from the seasonal allergies,” he continued, pulling a laminated sheet with colorful charts off his desk, covered in kanji I couldn’t read. “Course – course of treatment –” he said suddenly switching to rusty English. “Treatment One. You’re wheezing.”

I left the clinic with a prescription allergy medication and an inhaler to try to calm the inflammation in my lungs over the next two weeks. The girls at the reception rang me up.

“That’ll be five hundred and ninety yen,” they told me. Five dollars.

That night, I stood in front of the mirror in my bathroom, hands curled around the plastic purple inhaler, and when I flipped the lever that released the medication and took a deep breath in, I felt the effects immediately. My lungs stopped shaking. The choking feeling in the back of my throat went away. This is so much better than kanpo, I thought. I slept on and off all weekend, the bags under my eyes slowly disappearing and the pain in the right side of my chest getting better with each passing day.

“You’re getting genki again!” my friends and teachers told me.

“I’m 80% genki!” I’d tell them. “Almost there!”

Each night, when I used the inhaler and sank into my futon, able to breathe again, I couldn’t help but feel pretty damn lucky to live in the age of modern medicine, and also pretty damn lucky to live in a country where my two doctor visits, three prescriptions, an inhaler came to a grand total of about $45.

“You are pretty lucky,” agreed my mom on the phone.

“Even if the cough syrup does have caffeine in it,” I conceded.