#blankets are too hot and my fevers ALWAYS come with muscle aches but also they make my muscles feel like jelly

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Fever Dream

(Written for @sicktember prompt #1 - Fever! I finished it in time for the first but didn't have the energy to edit.)

--

Angels didn’t get sick, precisely

They didn’t have bodies that were, strictly speaking, physical, and therefore couldn’t harbor any of the illnesses that plagued mankind and other earthly creatures.

An angel could, however, burn through enough of his own grace that his corporation began to malfunction.

He would then, as it were, fall ill.

This happened to Aziraphale far more often than to other angels.

A weak constitution was the general explanation; too much time mucking about on the strange old planet, not enough time bathing in the glorious healing light of the celestial sphere.

When he was down on Earth, he was always prying, poking, trying new things, many of which had never been approved, could have any manner of ill effects. He knew he should show some proper restraint, withdraw a bit more from the world, but he couldn’t help himself.

And when he did return to huddle miserably in a recovery ward, waiting for the chills to pass and his temperature to stabilize, Gabriel would always visit, dropping broad hints about the pressures of fieldwork and the under appreciated glory of a solid administrative career. Offering all kinds of advice as to what, exactly, a proper angel would cut out of his life if he wished to better focus on his ordained duties.

And so, when the symptoms next came upon him—muscle aches, irritability, sweat and chills until he didn’t know if he was hot or cold—Aziraphale decided to wait it out on Earth. It would only take a few days to recover and, anyway, he had business to attend to. Important business that could not wait.

“Angel, are you sure you’re alright?” Crowley demanded, a glint of gold just visible between black lenses and furrowed brow.

“Yes, I’m perf—” he turned his head to cough lightly, but an odd spasm came over his throat, transforming it into something deep and hacking that left his ribs aching and his brow dripping with sweat. “…tickety-boo,” he muttered, turning back to his mug.

“Keep it down,” hissed the demon, glancing around the common room of the inn. Perhaps one or two people had glanced over, but nothing out of the ordinary. “People will think you have the plague.” The last two words he barely mouthed.

“My dear fellow, do be serious. I have hardly any symptoms of the plague.” Only the last part sounded more like sybtobs otha blayyyg.

He cleared his throat and tried to sniff, which started a complicated chain reaction that ended with a mouthful of what he hoped was spit.

As Aziraphale’s eyes went wide with alarm, Crowley quickly pulled out a deep red handkerchief, which the angel gratefully spat into. Unsure what to do next, Aziraphale folded it over and offered it back, but Crowley leaned away, face contorted in horror.

“Oh, ah… thank you, then?” He took a quick glance inside and immediately wished he hadn’t, grimacing at the color of what his body had produced.

“Just… just eat your soup,” Crowley muttered, waving a hand at the bowl he’d been toying with until it was hardly above room temperature.

Aziraphale had ordered it thinking a bit of warmth would be lovely, as he’d been shivering fit for midwinter morning. But after one mouthful, he’d found himself sweating, tugging at his collar to relieve some of the heat. Now he could feel the shivers coming on again, but he couldn’t warm it back up. Until the illness passed, any miracles would just make it worse.

“Right,” Crowley said as Aziraphale poked at something that might have been a parsnip. “I’m going to be out of town for the next few weeks. Temptations all up and down the continent. Might take the rest of the season. Unless…” Using that lilting voice that suggested a coin flip might be imminent.

“Mmmh.” Aziraphale looked mournfully into his beer, finally hazarding another sip. The taste of hops struck him at the back of the throat and he quickly expelled the rest back into the mug. “Sorry, m’dear. Not this time. I got…” he waved his hand, waiting for the rest of the words. They didn’t appear to be forthcoming. “Things,” he finally said. “In the city. Until at least…” He rubbed his forehead, but it was hard to think when it was so cold. He pulled his heavy coat back on, bundling up.

“Oh, well. Things. Obviously can’t take you away from things.” Aziraphale nodded miserably, trying to focus on his bowl. “Angel, look,” and as Crowley leaned close, there was something new in his voice, something that sounded rather like concern. “You sure you’re alright? I mean, there’s nothing… nobody…”

Aziraphale blinked, his eyes feeling… sticky. What was Crowley getting at? He should really be more direct, clever Serpent, it was hard enough to think in all this heat. He struggled out of his coat, dabbing uselessly at the sweat on his forehead.

“Oh for Satan’s—are you cursed?” He hissed the last word even softer than he’d said plague.

“No,” the angel said, resting his head on his hand until his neck recovered enough strength to hold it up again. “M’not. S’just… things!”

In his attempt to gesture with both hands, Aziraphale forgot one was already occupied and very nearly wound up face-first in the soup.

“Azir—!” Crowley rounded the table in an instant, tugging him upright again. “What has come over you?”

“S’rry. People staring? S’not… not… proper.”

“Angel, you’re—you’re burning up!”

“Not. S’cold.” Then an icy hand touched his forehead and cheek, and Aziraphale groaned, trying to pull away.

“What the Heaven is going on?”

“Toldya. Things. Illness. From… from…” he tried to gesture with one arm, but it weighed too much to lift. “Being a… bad angel…”

A heavy sigh. “C’mere, you.” Crowley hauled him to his feet.

Aziraphale was pleased to find he could stand, just that his spinning head and aching limbs made it unpleasant. He couldn’t remember where he was supposed to go, but there was something solid nearby to lean on and a hand on his waist, guiding him forward.

It wasn’t until they reached the stairs that he realized something wasn’t right. “Crowley! This is—we—we can’t—where—what are you—”

“I’ve got a room upstairs.”

Aziraphale squinted dimly towards the upper floor. “Yes…?”

“Yes. And you, Angel, are in need of a bed.”

But.

But it was improper! Scandalous, even, talking of rooms, and beds, or rooms andbeds, or any combination thereof, particularly in the singular form. What if someone saw? An angel and a demon, bad enough, but two allegedly respectable gentlemen?

Or, wait, was one of them currently presenting as a woman? Likely not Aziraphale, though he sometimes lost track, but Crowley, well, that could also be hard to tell, but he seemed to have a good amount of jewelry and no facial hair, so there was a chance.

Still, male or female, angel or human, there would be rumor, gossip, talk about the town! It would get back to Heaven! This was worse than being thought weak and improper, Gabriel would think him some sort of reprobate!

Crowley paused, one hand on a door. “This is me. Um. I’ll go back down if it makes you feel better.”

What? And have all the rumor with none of the satisfaction? The shame of spending a night in a demon’s bed without the pleasures—oh, he knew what Crowley got up to. One of the Seven Sins that was, and Aziraphale would not be tempted into joining. No, not he!

“Right. Nh. Going to help you out of some of these layers, then I’ll go.”

Go? Go?After Aziraphale had come all this way, come so very close? No, he’d spent centuries imagining how it would be, and he’d never be truly satisfied until he had a reality to compare it to. Aziraphale very much wanted to know what Crowley looked like while he slept.

Yes, Crowley, Sloth is one of the Seven Sins, a demon should know these things.

And while Aziraphale had the general idea clear enough, he still had questions. Did Crowley snore, or did he breathe softly? He certainly would sleep on his side, curled up, but how heavy would his head be, pillowed on Aziraphale’s chest? If they talked, would his words become slurred as he drifted off, or would he listen quietly while Aziraphale spoke, running his fingers through bright red hair?

Come to that, how did his hair feel, or his cheek, or his lips? Aziraphale hadn’t thought much about lips, generally, but now that Crowley was always hiding his eyes, well, they had become the focus of his face, and that presented fascinating possibilities, ones that Gabriel certainly wouldn’t approve of, but he’d always been too curious for his own good. And really, what was a harmless little experiment between—

Oh, good Lord, was Aziraphale talking out loud?

He clapped his hand over his mouth, eyes wide with horror.

But Crowley chuckled, resting a hand on his shoulder; in only his undershirt, he could feel it so clearly—ice cold, but not unpleasantly so. “Your secrets are safe, Angel. Lay down.”

Too embarrassed to object, Aziraphale crawled into the bed and let Crowley pull a blanket over him. “Keep that on, yeah?”

“S’hot,” the angel whined. His voice sounded very odd, slurred, weak. Perhaps that meant Crowley hadn’t understood his rambling before.

“I know. Just try.” Something cool and damp wiped his face and Aziraphale sighed with relief. “Has this happened before?”

“Mmmh. Over an’over an’over.” In Heaven, they would assign him a recovery room, to sit alone and reflect on what he’d done to earn himself the illness, on what he could do to better serve in the future. Gabriel always had good suggestions.

The being alone. That was the worst part. Hated that.

Crowley was talking. Something would be right there, beside the bed. That was probably important, but the angel was already asleep.

In Aziraphale’s dream, Gabriel told him over and over that he’d failed again, that this was his own fault, that he was a terrible angel who didn’t deserve… something.

Possibly anything.Again and again, the Archangel took everything he valued—his books, his sweets, his day at the theater, the beauty of the sunrise, the way humans smiled at each other after many days apart, and something else, something far more important, but the name was forbidden—

Again, something cool pressed to his forehead, his chest. Fingers raked through his hair, helping the sweat to evaporate. “See?” A voice murmured. “Better already.” But everything was getting grey and distant again.

Now Aziraphale was in a room, an enormous room, empty but somehow still cluttered. All the things he loved were here, hidden, and Gabriel ordered him to find them all or they’d be destroyed. He searched frantically, among endless piles of brown packages, and found most of them—books and smiles and sunrises—mixed in with kettles, mittens and (for some reason) cat whiskers. But the last thing, the final thing, the important thing was still missing, and the room grew hotter and hotter—

“Try this now.” Something supported Aziraphale’s back as he sat up, leaning against… a thing… a thing that meant warmth and safety. A mug pressed to his lips. He wasn’t sure what he drank, but it felt good. “Now let’s get you settled again.”

He didn’t go down easily, though, reaching and writhing, somehow grasping the safe thing, pulling it close. If he let it get away, Gabriel would destroy it.

“I see. Alright. You stay there.” Fingers through his hair again, more resting lightly on his shoulder. “I got you. Nothing’s going to—”

Reality tumbled away and he was falling, possibly Falling, the voices of Gabriel and Michael and Uriel all around him, insulting him, taunting him, asking him why he hadn’t filed form HX-3 in triplicate. He clung desperately to the thing he needed as the temperature rose, more voices joining in, every voice. The Hellfire licked at him, even as he trembled and shook uncontrollably. This was the end, he would die here, he’d never said—

“Crowley!” He called, desperate. “Crowley don’t—don’t leave me!”

The thing he held shifted, and now there were arms wrapped around him, protecting him. “There we are. Not going to leave.”

It was too hot to bear, but still he burrowed closer. “Crowley, please. I can’t—I—I need you!”

“Not going anywhere, Angel. Not ever.”

“Crowley!” The Hellfire burst within him, a flash of heat up and down his body, his limbs, his soul—

And then he was… exhausted.

The shaking faded, the heat and cold gone, though he still found himself covered in sweat. Nothing remained but a strange sense of calm.

Still clinging to his lifeline, Aziraphale drifted off into a proper restful sleep.

He opened his eyes to find the late evening sun slanting through an open window. The blanket was largely twisted around his legs and the bed below him was oddly hard and lumpy, even if it was nice—

“You’re looking better.”

Aziraphale scrambled up in horror to find that the thing he’d been laying on—clinging to for dear life—was six feet of rumpled, uncomfortable-looking demon. A demon he vaguely recalled saying some very revealing things to…

“Oh, good Lord.” Aziraphale’s face burned again, but not from fever. He covered, his eyes turning away. “Crowley—you—you—how—”

“Gah! M’sorry!” He heard Crowley push himself upright, sliding away. “I—I—I shouldn’t have—didn’t mean—”

No of course not. It wasn’t as though Crowley shared his strange desires, his secret obsessions, his awful curiosity. Crowley was a—a perfectly normal demon who would have no interest in prolonged contact, particularly with a most clingy, damaged angel…

“What must you think of me?” he moaned.

“Stupid, stupid demon,” Crowley grumbled. “I saw you panicking but I didn’t know—shouldn’t have assumed—”

“What is wrong with me?”

“Crossed a line, and—and now look—”

“I’m a terrible, foolish, needy…”

“Didn’t want to take advantage—I’m sorry!”

“I’m sorry! Wait…” That wasn’t right. Aziraphale cautiously lowered his hands to see Crowley sitting frozen with the glasses halfway to his face. “You’re sorry?”

“Mnh. Yeah. Cuz… cuz I’m the one who…” his eyes dropped. “You seemed upset. Scared. I just… I made it worse, didn’t I? Shoulda known you wouldn’t want…”

“But…” Aziraphale swallowed, trying to recall anything clearly. “I… I seem to remember… propositioning you. Repeatedly.”

Crowley’s face turned red, but he smiled. Not his confident swaggering smirk, but something awkward and genuine that Aziraphale hadn’t seen since Eden. “Not… repeatedly. N’I’d hardly call it… besides it was… you know. But!” His fingers twisted on the metal frames of his glasses. “But, look—I don’t—you aren’t responsible for—for the things you say when you’re sick, ‘specially things you don’t mean—and I—s’my responsibility not to—” He ducked his head even further. “Just wanted to help. Shouldn’t have assumed… that you meant… what I wanted…”

“What…” Aziraphale reached out but couldn’t quite touch him. “What you want?”

“Um.” Golden eyes flicked up. “You’re… not the only one who wondered about… the sleeping stuff. Who doesn’t like to be… alone.” He cleared his throat. “Or, at least, I thought—”

“I believe I told you I needed you.” His hand hovered over Crowley’s shoulder. “I meant that. Precisely the way you took it. I—I meant most of it.”

Crowley’s eyes blinked, very slowly.

And the next moment, they were swept into each other’s arms, Aziraphale once again clinging to his friend like a lifeline. “I don’t think you’re stupid,” he managed.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale pressed closer. “Thank you for staying.”

When they broke apart, Crowley was as bright red as Aziraphale had felt at the height of his fever, glasses back in place, staring fixedly at his own legs. “So. Mmmmh. Now what?”

Aziraphale considered that question more carefully than he’d ever considered anything.

“I think… I’m recovering…”

“S’good.” Crowley shifted as if to stand.

“…but still very tired. I should probably rest another night?”

“Yeah. Um. Yeah. Do you—I can go?”

“Do you have somewhere to be?” His heart started to fall, until Crowley shrugged.

“I do, but… not urgently.”

“If you have the time there’s… there’s something I’m curious about.”

“Well. Big fan of knowledge, me.”

Aziraphale carefully lay down again, keeping his arms wide. A moment later, Crowley took a deep breath, set aside his glasses and joined him.

It turned out that Crowley’s head on his chest was the perfect weight. That he did indeed curl up, though in the most convoluted ways. That in his sleep, Crowley’s breaths were gentle and soft, much like his hair, and he tried very much to keep talking on the edge of consciousness even when he didn’t have much to say.

As for the kissing, well—certain observations did not need to be made public.

(AO3 link later today...)

[beelsnack]

Obey Me! Boys Taking Care of a Sick MC

In honor of me no longer having covid, I decided to write down how I mentally coped with having the plague  some headcanons about our boys and a sick MC. Because I’m all about the hurt/comfort life.

-----

Lucifer: “You should be resting.”

The human scowled. Of course Lucifer was standing guard at the bottom of the staircase.

“I’m just going to get some water,” their voice sounded like sandpaper against wood as they spoke. They felt like the living dead, and judging by the cool stare Lucifer was giving them, they looked it, too.

“No, you’re just going back to bed.” He caught them by the elbow as soon as they were within reach. “I’ll bring a pitcher of water to your room for you.”

“Lucif--” their complaint was cut off by a sudden coughing fit. The force of it made them double over, and they clutched at their chest with one hand while the other went to cover their mouth. Demons couldn’t catch human illnesses, but old habits die hard.

It wasn’t until their lungs stopped trying to eject themselves from their body that they realized that Lucifer had sat them down on the bottom step. He was rubbing slow, soothing circles on their back, a rare look of concern in his dark eyes. “Easy now, my dear,” he murmured as they caught their breath. “You’re shaking, are you chilled?”

“...Just a little,” they wheezed. They must not have sounded very convincing, because Lucifer quickly removed one glove and gently pressed the back of his hand against their forehead.

“Your fever has come back.” In one quick, fluid movement, he had taken the cloak from around his shoulders and wrapped it around them like a blanket. “Go back to bed, now. I’ll bring you water and something to bring your fever down,” he spoke softly, like raising his voice would trigger another coughing fit.

It was too bad they were too sick to appreciate Lucifer’s soft side.

Mammon: “…A’ight, that should be everything.”

Admittedly, he might have gone a bit overboard. But, could you blame him? He’d never nursed a sick human back to health before!

…Okay, so Lucifer may or may not have let Mammon use his credit card to get stuff for them. And he may or may not have taken a few liberties. It was for the human though!

“Mammon, holy shit,” they mumbled, poking their head out from the blanket burrito they had cocooned themselves in. “Is there anything left at the convenience store or did you buy them out?”

“Shut it.” he set the last six-pack of Gatorade (well, the Devildom equivalent of it, anyway) at the foot of their bed. “Ya’ weren’t specific, so I just got one of each!”

Their room looked like a doomsday prepper’s bunker. Cans of soup, a myriad of flavors of instant noodles, a portable heater, the works. Maybe they should have been more specific.

“Do ya’ need anything else?” Mammon sounded vaguely annoyed, but underneath the gruff tone he spoke with, his concern was obvious. They had given him a scare when they first came down with the flu two days ago, temperature so high that they ended up collapsing on their way to RAD. He had been fussing over them since. They weren’t even sure if he had slept.

“...Just one more thing.”

“Yeah?” he perked up like a dog waiting for an order from its master. “Whaddaya need?”

Instead of speaking, they wiggled their arms free of the blankets and held them out. For a moment, Mammon just stared at them in confusion. When what they were asking for finally clicked, his face grew so hot they could use it as a space heater.

“What are you, a little kid?” he grumbled, but there wasn’t even a moment’s hesitation as he climbed into the bed with them. They settled themselves against his chest, sighing contentedly. Sleep had taken over in a few heartbeats.

“...Get better soon, you hear?” they didn’t, obviously, and Mammon took the opportunity to gently pat their head, like they so often did for him. “If you’re gonna be all cute and stuff, I want ya to be conscious of it.”

Leviathan: “You know, I really thought you would take longer to go through all of these.”

The human looked like a whole new person compared to the last time Levi had seen them. They were sitting upright, although they looked ready to slide back down into their previous coma-like state any minute, and the number of blankets wrapped around them had been reduced to just one instead of three. They managed to shoot him a weak grin as they handed over the manga he had let them borrow.

As much as Levi loved staying locked away in his inner sanctum, it was only an enjoyable experience if one’s source of entertainment was also locked away with them. And he couldn’t, in hood conscience, let the human die of boredom instead of dying of illness, so he had ventured out of his lair armed with his collector’s edition box set of I’m A Scholarship Student At An Obscenely Rich School and Now I Have To Work Off A Debt Because I Broke A Vase That Belonged To A Host Club!

That had only been a few days ago, but this morning he had gotten a text from them saying that they were finished.

“It’s not like I have anything else to do, Levi.”

“Pretty sure you could have been sleeping, but okay.”

They stuck their tongue out. “I couldn’t put it down.”

“Right?” Levi nodded enthusiastically, clutching the box to his chest like it was worth his weight in gold. Actually, knowing him, he probably paid his weight in gold for it. “I definitely bawled my eyes out at the end. You have to watch the anime next, the music really brings the scene together. And, like, I’m not usually into pastel themes, but the color scheme actually really fits the mood, and - “

Somewhere in the middle of Levi’s overly-excited info dumping, the human’s eyes had slipped closed. By the time Levi realized he was geeking out, their breathing had evened out and they had slumped against the headboard.

…Oh. They looked really cute like that.

“Sheesh, c’mon, normie,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I bored you to sleep.”

He set down the box on their nightstand and, very carefully, so he didn’t wake them up, inched them down to lay were laying against the mountain of pillows they had. Once they were settled into a position that wouldn’t give them a crick in their neck, he pulled the blanket up to their chin.

“There,” he nodded to himself. “You rest up, because you and I are going to have an anime marathon, and I won’t forgive you if you fall asleep in the middle of it.”

They mumbled, but otherwise stayed unconscious. Levi had definitely seen this in an anime before. His heart was pounding somewhere around his throat, but he wasn’t getting this opportunity again any time soon. Gently, like he was approaching a wild animal, he leaned in close and pressed his lips to their forehead.

“Seriously, get better soon.” he murmured. “I don’t like seeing you sick.”

Satan: His leg was falling asleep.

He had been sitting in the same position for at least an hour, and if it were anyone else he simply would have shoved them off and went about his day. But, how could he push the human away when they were curled up like a kitten in his lap?

They had been complaining about being bored, since they had been too feverish to attend RAD for the past few days. So Satan, always the man with a plan, had arrived in their room ready to binge watch his favorite crime drama. Even though he had seen this show at least eight times, he still found himself getting absolutely sucked into the plot. So much so that he didn’t notice the human starting to nod off until they landed against his side.

“Honestly, you could have just told me you were tired.” he muttered, gently rearranging them so their head was resting in his lap. They made a small noise in their sleep, but otherwise remained unconscious.

It was so rare that the human was still. They seemed to have an endless source of energy, able to be embroiled in all of the shenanigans that tended to happen around the family without absolutely disintegrating. To have them finally at rest, even sick, was quite the treat. Satan couldn’t quit help himself as he reached down to pet their head.

Well, if he was going to be stuck here until they woke up, at least he had a good show to watch.

Asmodeus: “Asmo, I can bathe by myself.”

“Yeah, no, don’t even try it.” Asmo shook his head as he ushered the human into his bedroom. “You passed out in the shower the other day, darling. This is the only time I’m grateful for Mammon’s snooping, because you might still be there if he hadn’t heard you fall.”

They subconsciously touched the sore spot on their shoulder where they had collided with the wall. The pain blended in with the rest of their body aches, but the bruise certainly didn’t.

“Besides,” Asmo sat them down on the chaise lounge. “A nice, hot bath with some quality oils will rejuvenate you like nothing else. Now, go on, strip.”

When they gave him a clearly unamused look, he just laughed. “Not while you’re sick, darling. You know full well being with me requires you to be at peak energy.”

With a sigh, they began peeling themselves out of their days-old pajamas. Admittedly, they did feel like a bath would help them feel a little better. They were pretty sure they read somewhere that the steam from hot water would help clear out all the gunk in their chest. And if anyone knew the intricate rituals of bath time, it was Asmodeus.

While they were stripping, Asmo had made his way over to the Grecian temple that was his bathtub and turned on the tap. After a few moments of running his hand under the stream to test the temperature, he stood and began browsing his impressive collection of bath accoutrements. “Hm, let’s see, let’s see…here it is!”

Asmo turned around, holding up the little bottle like he had just found buried treasure. “Eucalyptus, to help clear out the lungs. It’s good for muscle aches, too!”

With a flourish, he put a few drops into the water. “Alright, ready. Can you get in yourself or do you need my help?”

“I’ve got the flu, not the plague, Asmo.”

“You. Fell. In. The. Shower.” he punctuated each word with a poke to their cheek before holding out his hand to help them. Although they grumbled, they were still feeling kind of weak, so they allowed Asmo to pull them up.

“There, now, easy does it,” he spoke softly as he guided them to sit on the edge of the tub. If this were any other situation, they would be painfully aware of the fact that they were completely naked in front of the Avatar of Lust. But, the fragrant steam rising from the water was beginning to ease the ache in their chest, and Asmo’s soft hands had begun massaging their shoulders. They barely even noticed when they were fully seated.

“You’re not coming in?” they murmured sleepily as Asmo sat himself along the edge of the tub. He just laughed.

“Next time, darling. Now, you just relax and let me take care of you.”

Beelzebub: The phrase “don’t have much of an appetite” just didn’t make sense to Beel. How could someone not want to eat? Maybe he was a bit biased, being the ever-starving Avatar of Gluttony, but still. Humans needed lots of nutrients to get better when they were sick, right? He was pretty sure that was what Satan told him.

Beel scowled, scrolling through the eighteenth listicle about foods to eat when sick. Honestly, he was making himself hungry, but he was starting to get the general idea. Looks like he’s making them some soup.

The kitchen was separated into “human” and “demon” sections, after the one time that they almost used cyanide instead of salt. Human cuisine took less time and involved less magic, so Beel knew his way around the human spice cabinet. Making the soup was the easy part, making sure it got to its intended recipient was another matter.

Climbing the stairs to the human’s room felt like a Herculean task, but he did it - mostly. He may have taken a few bites here and there. But he had purposely put more in the bowl than he knew they would be able to eat, so it was fine, right? He knocked on their door twice, listening to them shuffle around before they finally called out weakly that the door was open.

“I brought food.” he said, shutting the door behind him. “You haven’t been eating much lately.”

They poked their head miserably out of the blanket burrito they had wrapped themselves in. A thin sheen of sweat covered their forehead, but they were shaking, which meant their fever hadn’t broken yet. Did humans always take this long to get better? Another question for Satan.

“I’m not really hungry, Beel.” they mumbled, voice thick and gravelly due to the sore throat they had. “You can eat it.”

Shaking his head, Beel sat himself down on the bed beside them. “I had some already.”

“Have some more.”

“No, I made it for you.” his stomach growled, completely undermining his words. “It’s basically just broth, you can drink it.”

They wiggled around for a bit before they managed to extract themselves from the absolute cocoon they had made. “…What kind of broth?”

“Just chicken, I promise.” he laughed. “I wasn’t about to try to get you to eat a Devildom recipe.”

Finally, they got themselves into a sitting position, but even that seemed to wear them out. They flopped against Beel’s shoulder, and he definitely didn’t like how hot their skin felt against his. Their breathing was ragged as they tried to get the energy to sit up.

“Here,” Beel dipped the spoon into the broth. “I’ll help.”

“I’m not a baby…”

“No, but you are really weak.” he replied gently. “Let me help you.”

He could feel the urge to protest vibrating through their body - their independence was definitely an endearing quality of theirs. But, eventually they must have come to the conclusion that a content of tenacity between the two of them was going to take longer than simply waiting out their illness. With a huff, they opened their mouth and let Beel feed them.

“Oh, wow, this is pretty good.”

“I’m a good cook if I don’t eat the ingredients first.”

Belphegor: “I thought humans slept a lot when they got sick.”

The bags under the human’s eyes were almost as intense as they glare they gave him. When the rest of the brothers had begun arguing over something stupid, Belphegor had taken the opportunity to bundle them up and whisk them away to the peace and quiet of the attic. His intent had been to take a nice long nap with them, but apparently their lungs had a different plan.

“We should,” they groaned, sounding like their throat was made of sandpaper. “Every time I feel like I’m going to fall asleep, I start coughing.”

“That sounds counter-intuitive.”

“Tell me about it.”

Belphie rolled over so that he was lying on his side, facing them. “Well then, you picked a good nap partner.”

They blinked blearily up at him. “Why is that?”

“Come here, I’ll show you.”

He reached out, tugging them towards him until they were settled comfortably against his chest with their head tucked beneath his chin. Although he wasn’t the tallest of the brothers, he had enough height to basically surround the human. “Can you hear my heartbeat?”

“I’m too tired for you cheesy lines, Belphie.”

“No, seriously, just listen.”

He could practically hear them roll their eyes, but they quieted down. Once he was sure they were synced up with the steady ba-bump, ba-bump of his heart, he began to work his magic - literally.

He brought his hand up to cup the back of their skull, fingertips tingling as he focused his magic their. They squirmed for a moment before sighing as the cool rush of Belphie’s special brand of sleep magic washed over them.

“I told you, being tired isn’t the prob - “

“Hush,” he murmured, letting them feel his voice rumble through his chest. “Just relax for me, okay?”

Belphie massaged their scalp like he was washing their hair, working his magic into their skin. Slowly but surely he felt them soften, the tightness in their chest easing. Finally, their slightly labored breathing evened out, and the poor human finally succumbed to sleep.

“About time,” he kissed the top of their head. “You need to rest if you want to get better, so let’s sleep as long as we like, okay?”

[hoe-doroki]

this clock never seemed so alive

pairing: Shouto x fem!Reader

wc: 1.3K

genre: comfort, fluff

summary: You and your boyfriend, Shouto, always walk to class together, but today you haven’t yet left your dorm. When he checks on you, he finds you awake, but curled on your side, suffering from period cramps. Some things, it seems, are more important than class.

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

“Y/N?” you heard, muffled through the door. “Y/N, are you awake?”

You heaved out a grunt in response, but the tightening of your muscles to expel the air, the shuffle of organs to make room for your expanding lungs sent waves of pain through you. You winced, holding your breath as they rolled over you, waiting to experience the relief of the sharp stab receding, falling back in with the rest of the dull ache in your belly.

The sound was enough to show that you were awake, though, and you heard the click of your doorknob opening accompanied by a monotone declaration of, “I’m coming in.”

You were faced away from the bed, knees halfway to your neck, torso under the blankets while your arms and feet hung out, simultaneously too hot and too cold. Luckily, you didn’t need to look to know who it was.

“Are you ill?” Shouto asked and you heard him shuffling over, wearing his slippers despite the fact that you were sure that he already had his U.A. uniform on. “You should have texted me. I had to convince Iida not to come up here and drag you out himself. Luckily, he thought it would be inappropriate to enter by himself.”

You hadn’t texted him because you kept your phone across the room from you once it was time to go to sleep. Not because it hadn’t occurred to you. Since you had awoken, many hours ago, you hadn’t moved save for kicking your blankets. That action had angered your womb enough that you’d vowed never to move again.

The best you could give him was a raspy, “Sorry,” and you felt the needling pinches at the back of your throat of someone who hadn’t had any water since last night. And whose body was currently losing fluid at a prodigious rate. You had a water bottle, but it was also across the room, packed up in your school bag.

You heard rustling from that area and then the the squeaking of the cap being untwisted. You raised a hand to take the bottle Shouto then held out, blessing the boy in your room, and drank as quickly as you could without lifting your head.

“He didn’t think it would be inappropriate for you to come in my room?” you asked, sounding a bit more yourself as you raised the water back up for him to take.

“He did,” Shouto answered. You heard the tinny noise of him placing the bottle on your desk. “But I reminded him that it wouldn’t be for the first time and then he had Mineta to contend with, so I slipped away.”

That sounded about right. Mineta would be happy—or, more likely, very disappointed—to know, though, that all the time you and Shouto had spent together in your room thus far had been totally innocent. You’d only started seeing each other a month or so ago; there had been nothing but tender kisses and sweet touches between the two of you.

“Do you know if you have a fever?”

Shouto couldn’t touch your forehead to check, since his temperature regulation was so different from someone without his family’s brand of quirks, but you knew that you didn’t have one, even if your symptoms felt similar.

“Period cramps,” you whispered.

“Oh,” Shouto said, completely nonplussed. “I understand that exercise is actually good for one’s menstrual—”

“Shouto,” you groaned. “No.”

Shouto was probably the one boy in the whole class who would be completely unaffected by references to periods, and you liked him dearly him for that. But what you did not need right now was his incredible ability to remember any helpful fact that he heard one time. You’d heard that same theory as well, and maybe you’d keep it in mind tomorrow if your cramps weren’t so bad. But today, Shouto and his not-so-fun facts could eff right off.

“It’s been four months since my last period,” you began, wincing as another contraction cinched your organs and squeezed the breath out of you, “and this one decided to take all those missed ones and add them together, okay? I’m not going to class.”

Your periods had never been regular, almost always coming weeks and weeks apart from each other, sometimes over the span of many months like this one. Exercising as much as you did at U.A. only seemed to exasperate that. Your irregularity didn’t usually lead to a mega period like this one, but it appeared today was your lucky day.

“I see,” Shouto said, and then you heard his light footsteps retreat from the room. 

Well, that wasn’t wholly unlike him. He usually had the manners to say goodbye, but he always had the bluntness to end a conversation he was done with. You’d tell him later that he could have said something more before heading to class.

Except you didn’t have to. A minute later, he was back, this time with an apple and a bottle of painkillers. “You shouldn’t take them on an empty stomach,” he said.

He put them both on your pillow and then you heard the sound of him moving your desk chair next to the bed and sitting down. For a second you weren’t sure what he doing, and then he reached over with his left hand and put it on your stomach. You could feel its unnatural heat even through your thin blanket and it was like a salve over the low ache of your core ripping itself apart. He was acting as a heating pad or a hot water bottle right where you needed it the most.

“Is it too much?” he asked.

“It’s perfect,” you hissed. Your voice sounded pained, you knew, but it was a strange feeling, pain leaving your body in a rush and lapping back in small waves. If he’d been touching your skin bare, you wouldn’t have been able to stand it. But through the thin linens pooled around you, it dispersed evenly and broadly as it spread to your insides, relaxing them.

You reached for the apple, taking a small bite, not caring as the the juice ran down your cheek onto your pillow. With the pain in your abdomen being what it was, you couldn’t grasp onto a sensation of hunger, and you probably wouldn’t have thought of food for hours. You’d eaten a decent dinner the night before when the bleeding had begun, before the pain, but surely your stomach was nothing but roiling acid by now.

“Shouto,” you said reluctantly, catching a glance at his watch. “You have to go to class.”

“I do,” Shouto agreed, and you couldn’t hear in his tone if he was disappointed as well, but he had yet to move his hand from your middle. “Aizawa-sensei will understand if I’m five minutes late.”

“You’d need a teleportation quirk if you wanted that.”

“Ten minutes.”

“Then you’d have to leave right now.”

“Fifteen minutes.”

That was all of homeroom and passing time to first period, and you knew that Aizawa would not forgive Shouto quickly for skipping without reason. Shouto certainly knew that too, but he kept rubbing your belly, looking for all the world like there was nowhere else he needed to be. And even though you’d probably be a better girlfriend if you encouraged him to leave, you couldn’t bring yourself to. Instead, you took a painkiller and swallowed it dry, chasing it with a bite of apple. Then you put your arm over Shouto’s, bent on holding onto the warmth of it for as long as you could stand, and you closed your eyes again. You were feeling better already.

[destiniesfic]

132 Hours, Chapter 10

It is not better in the morning.

Previous

Read chapter 10 on AO3 or read below (but be warned, there’s mature content in this one):

Once again, it’s hard to sleep. I dream of kissing Cardan, who is actually Locke, and I am wearing Taryn’s pink prom dress. And that’s the tamest of them; I have more graphic nightmares that I won’t recount here, except to say that they are awful. Every time I wake up I am either too hot or too cold. I eventually decide I am most comfortable with one leg pushed outside of the blankets and fall into a light doze.

About two hours into my botched attempt at sleeping, I awaken to some odd noises and realize that Cardan is also awake. A moment later, I realize he must think I am still asleep, because when I look over at him there can be no other explanation for what he is doing.

As before, he is in slightly sharper focus than everything else in the room. I thought I’d find him lying down, but he is sitting up with his back against the wall, and his head is bowed forward. He is definitely trying to be quiet, but it is very clear to me from his weird breathing and the sound of skin on skin and the movement of his hand what is going on.

I shouldn’t watch. I know I shouldn’t. But I woke up turned on my side toward him and I can’t turn over or he might realize I’m awake. I can’t even imagine what would happen then. Would he stop? Would he come over? Would I invite him over? I don’t know which possibility terrifies me more.

His breathing grows more labored and he brings his free hand up to his mouth to muffle the sounds that fall out of it. I hate the way my heartbeat skips at every one, the way every muscle in my body clenches with want, with need. I stay quiet, though, watching with hungry curiosity as he curls over himself and makes a strangled sound, almost but not entirely swallowed up by his palm. His shoulders shake.

When it’s over—and I am marveling at how I just watched him jerk off—he sighs, a long, exhausted sigh that somehow really endears him to me. I want to crawl over to him and nuzzle at his neck. I want to drape my body over his body so we can keep each other warm. I want to lick his hand clean, a thought that I recoil from even as I have it. That can’t possibly taste good, and yet—

“Ah, shit,” he whispers. He’s looking down at his hand, and my delusional omega brain wonders if I should go offer to lick it. But then he pulls off one of his already dirty socks and uses that. He got a shower today, but being stuck in a dirty room the size of my stepmother’s walk-in closet negates that fast. Honestly, after being stuck down here for days, I’m not sure we’ll ever be clean again.

Cardan’s head falls back against the wall. His clean hand grabs for something at his side, and when he presses it to his face, I realize it’s my sweatshirt. He exhales again, and it must be my imagination, but it sounds suspiciously like my name. He takes a few, deep breaths, then puts it back down and curls up on his side, using it as a pillow.

I feel like I have been holding my breath this entire time, but I keep holding it a little longer, just in case. There is a pulsing, demanding heat in me, concentrated between my thighs, but, as I always do, I push it to the side. I curl my knees to my chest, and hope it will be better in the morning.

---

It is not better in the morning.

When I open my eyes, it is to the migraine that threatened me yesterday finally breaking, like someone’s jammed a railroad spike into my left eye. The fever is roaring, too, and I pull my leg back inside the blankets and wrap myself up tight, but my shivering doesn’t stop. My muscles have acquired a dull ache that makes me think they’d be bruised if I could peel my skin back and look.

I think I half-expected to find that Cardan had crawled on top of me in his sleep. Then I would wake up, then he would do it, and it would be an awkward thing to work around while kidnapped but at least the worst of my symptoms would abate. But Cardan is still by his corner where I’d seen him fall asleep last night, except now he’s curled up in a ball around my sweatshirt. So there would be no morning hump session, which is good, because I am not yet at the point where that seems more alluring than scary, awkward, intimidating.

My mouth is dry, and I turn over to reach for the water bottle, but it is empty. When had it emptied? Did I empty it?

“Cardan,” I whisper. That’s all it takes to jolt him out of sleep. He sits up, and rubs his eyes, which then widen when he looks at me so I must look really terrible.

“Shit,” he says again, which brings back echoes of him saying it in the night, which just makes my entire body seize up because he’d been jerking off—over me? or over the situation?—and there was an increasingly urgent part of my brain wondering why he’d had his dick in his hand when he could have put it in me. And then, ow, a cramp on top of everything else. As if everything else weren’t enough.

I paw for the pills the Bomb left me and swallow them dry, hoping for some relief from the headache, even though it won’t be immediate. Then I start to push up to my hands and knees.

“No, no,” says Cardan, shoving out a hand but not coming any closer. “No, you just— just wait, I’ll get them. I’ll get you more water.”

“I can do it,” I insist, but it’s taken so much effort just to get this far up and I’m trembling holding myself in place.

“Jude, you look—” He trails off and shakes his head. It must really be that bad. I want to tell him he doesn’t look much better. The circles under Cardan’s eyes have deepened, and he’s already sweating so much that his curls cling to his forehead. But he just sets his mouth in a line and says, “Let me do it.”

In almost any other circumstance I would hate being bossed around by him, but I just flop onto my belly and groan, “Fine.”

Cardan, however, is wired. He must feel as jagged and sleep-deprived as I do, but I can see the extra jittery energy in his every step. I did make that joke about thrusting, but what happens when you box an alpha in rut in a basement with no outlet? Where does that energy go?

Apparently into his fist, because when he pounds on the door it’s so loud that I nearly jump off the mattress. My head throbs. “Hey!” he calls. “Jude needs water!”

There is no answer for a solid thirty seconds. When Cardan glances at me, I am frowning. “They’re usually right outside,” I say, and my stomach plummets at the thought that we’ve been locked in here and just left with no food or water.

“They’re coming,” Cardan replies, probably to reassure himself. He bangs on the door again, this time with even more urgency. “Hey!”

A few seconds later the door opens, and it is not the Bomb standing there, but the Ghost, dressed in black, his face an inscrutable mask. “Alright, I heard you.”

Cardan takes a half-step back from the door, toward me. I pull the blankets tighter around myself and flatten my back against the wall. This was the outcome we had worried about. Everything Cardan had said and done yesterday was to keep our captors out, and especially to keep the Ghost away from me.

“You need to leave,” Cardan snarls, his hands balling into fists at his sides. I am surprised at the ferocity in his voice. I’ve seen him angry. I’ve seen him hurt people with a shove or a cruel word. I have never seen him like this.

But the Ghost is unimpressed. Probably because if it came down to a fight between the two of them, he would definitely win, even though Cardan has more muscle. “You can relax,” the Ghost says. “I’m a beta.”

Cardan blinks, and so do I. But then his eyes narrow. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

The Ghost sighs. “Ask your girlfriend if I smell like anything. Her receptors are on overdrive. Even maskers wouldn’t help.”

I expect Cardan to protest that I’m not his girlfriend, and I’m about to open my mouth to say he isn’t my boyfriend, when he looks at me and asks, softly, “Jude?”

The urge to deny anything is knocked right out of me, and I inhale, concentrating. It’s difficult to get anything beyond Cardan’s scent and mine, both of which hang heavy in the stagnant air, but I do pick out something. I look up at Cardan. “Just hand soap. He smells like hand soap.”

Cardan looks skeptical.

“I’m less of a danger to her than you are in this state,” the Ghost says. “I can help her out of the room. Let me.”

In this state. He has to know, then. Uneasily, Cardan moves aside to let the Ghost into the room, tracking him as he walks over and crouches at my side. The Ghost presses a cool hand to my forehead while looking at my sweaty, tangled hair.

“Why didn’t you say you’re a beta?” I ask, shivering.

“Wasn’t relevant. When did you last take medicine?”

“A few minutes ago. What about the Roach and the Bomb?”

“Do you introduce yourself to people by telling them you’re an omega?” It’s a rhetorical question, because he then says, “We have to get you into the shower. I’ll help you up.”

I nod. I know what I look like and what I smell like, and I am not so proud that I won’t accept his help.

“Hey,” Cardan begins, when the Ghost reaches out to put an arm around my shoulder, but I give him a look and he doesn’t say anything else, although the set of his jaw tells me he’s unhappy. He crosses his arms.

“Cardan,” the Ghost says, “can you go turn the water on for her? The old heater takes a while to get started. Make it warm to start, not hot. She can turn it up if she needs to.”

“Right,” Cardan says, and over the Ghost’s shoulder I see him nod and leave.

“He listened to you,” I marvel as the Ghost peels the blankets from my body and helps me to my feet. I should feel more self-conscious that I’m wearing only a tank top and underwear and my thighs are definitely crusty with residue, but he isn’t making a big deal of it, so neither am I. Besides, between my shaky legs and my bad ankle, I am a little distracted by the effort of not toppling over.

“Alphas. Temperamental, but they like to feel like they’re doing something.” It seems like a joke, but he doesn’t smile when he says it. He supports my weight easily, and with his help I hobble out of the room.

“You really don’t smell like much,” I inform him. “It’s weird.”

“I’m used to it.”

“Right.” Mentally, I kick myself. And the Ghost doesn’t say anything else, so I don’t either.

As he helps me across the little room, I am very conscious of my body pressed against his and his arm around my shoulder. My hormonal brain, ecstatic that I am being touched, is swimming, trying to tell me I am attracted to him. Am I attracted to him? I mean, I think he’s handsome, objectively. Should I have sex with the Ghost? I probably shouldn’t have sex with the Ghost.

But, of course, those images are provided to me unbidden because the omega part of me is ecstatic that I am willing to actually entertain my horniness. What if the Ghost helped me into the shower and he stayed there with me? And Cardan also stayed? And then what? My rational brain scolds. I don’t know anything about the logistics of having a threesome in a shower. It seems like an easy way to get more injured than I already am.

And while having sex with the Ghost would be simpler from an emotional standpoint because I barely know him, he is a beta, so it would not actually solve any of my current, heat-related problems. Also, Cardan would be sad.

Do I care that Cardan would be sad? That’s an uncomfortable thought.

“Oh, thank god,” I say, when we finally reach the bathroom and I see Cardan pacing back and forth in the little hallway and hear the shower stream hitting the old yellow tile in the bathroom. I can’t wait to be clean. I can’t wait for these heat-induced intrusive thoughts to go away either, but unfortunately that’ll take a little longer.

“Do you need any help getting undressed?” the Ghost asks, in a tone so dispassionate that even my omega hindbrain wilts at how obviously uninterested he is.

“I think I can manage,” I say, mostly because I can, but also because Cardan looks like he’s on the verge of tearing the Ghost’s throat out, and I still think the Ghost would win that fight but I’m suddenly not sure. We’ll all be glad when this is over.

So I limp into the bathroom, close and lock the door behind me, and tear off my sweat-soaked tank top and my underwear. Instead of standing in the shower, I grab the soap and sit right down, not caring if the floor is gross. I nearly start crying when the water hits my skin, and am almost surprised it doesn’t start steaming around me. It feels cool, so I turn it up a little until I’m comfortable. Then I begin scrubbing myself all over.

It takes a long time before I feel clean. My body still reacts to the lingering traces of Cardan’s scent that cling to my skin and hair. But I discover that someone’s stocked the shower with a set of floral shampoo and conditioner that claims to be “scent-dampening.” Small text on the back advises that they “may have diminished effect during periods of heat or rut,” but I pour a good third of the bottles out into my hands and wash and condition my hair, detangling it with my fingers. I wash my pubic hair, too, just in case it’ll help.

When I step out of the shower, feeling much better, I eye my gross clothes and dread putting them back on. But on the closed toilet, neatly folded, someone has left me an alternative: one of those loose maxi dresses you can find hanging on a rack in the back of a Walgreens, for cheap. I pull it over my head; it’s olive green, and too long, but it fits okay otherwise. There are also some soft black shorts, which I put on under the dress. There’s no replacement for my underwear, so I wash it in the sink, wringing it out as best I can, and leave it to hang dry on the towel bar.

When I step out, Cardan, who has now taken to pacing the main area with his head bowed sulkily forward, perks up. “Hey,” he says. “You look… wow, a lot better. Your scent’s— you’re better.” His nose wrinkles. “The shampoo’s a little weird, though.”

“Not a fan of lavender?”

“It just doesn’t really…” He gestures vaguely. “...like, go with you. It’s the opposite of what you are.”

I limp over to an empty chair and ease myself into it. Because I am so tired that my filter is totally worn away, I ask, “What do I smell like to you, anyway?”

“It’s…” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and fidgets. I notice his feet are still bare, and nearly blush, remembering what had happened to his sock. “It’s hard to explain. I mean, I probably smell like a lot of things at once to you, too, right?”

I nod. “But if you had to choose,” I press, and brace myself, trying to anticipate the worst thing he could say. Methane gas, rotten fish, a dump?

“Cinnamon, I guess,” Cardan admits.

“What?” I sit forward in my chair. “You hate the smell of cinnamon?”

“No, I.” He looks flustered, but tries to channel it back into haughty and irritable. “Don’t be stupid. I’m going to go shower.”

“But—” I begin, perplexed, but Cardan has already disappeared.

The Ghost, who had been leaning silently against the wall, pushes off of it to approach me. “I should change your bandages,” he says, crouching down to expect them. I open my mouth, but he anticipates me and looks up, adding, “I know you have questions, but I’m only going through this once. Better wait until Cardan gets back.”

I press my lips into a thin line. I can be patient when it’s important, but I am feeling frayed right now. As he is re-wrapping my leg, I blurt out, “How do you know what to do if you’re a beta?”

“What, with your leg?”

“No, with—” I look down at him and find him raising his eyebrows. He had been joking. I sit back in my chair, pouting.

“My dad was an omega,” he explains. “My mom was an alpha. I saw all sides of it growing up, even if I didn’t go through it. Three days every few months I’d be on my own.”

“Was that hard?”

“It was what it was.” He gives me another look. “Now wait.”

I scowl at him. “Can I have a mandarin?”

Maybe happy not to be talking, he gets up to get one from a bag slumped on top of the mini-fridge. I catch it when he tosses it to me, and alternate between picking at it and taking sips from a fresh water bottle until Cardan emerges from the shower, damp and cleansed of sweat. He sits down across from me, and I scrunch up my nose. Lavender doesn’t really suit him either.

“I told Jude I’d only go through this once,” says the Ghost, who seems happier to remain standing. “But I think I can guess your first question. Yes, we all knew what was going on. Pretty much from the get-go. We didn’t say anything because you guys were being cagey for some reason, but we figured we could get you the supplies you needed anyway, no harm done. I only said something because I’m the only one here, and Cardan wasn’t going to give me access otherwise.”

Cardan shifts. I ask, “Why are you the only one here?”

The Ghost blinks at me. That wasn’t the follow-up he was expecting. “The Bomb and the Roach were called away.” He shrugs. “Might be good news, might be bad. Hard to say. They figured I could handle things alone while you were in heat. It’s not like either of you are in a state to go anywhere.”

“So, what, you’re all betas?” Cardan asks, cutting me off before I can follow up.

“Yes.”

He frowns. “We thought you were using maskers.”

“It wasn’t a bad assumption,” the Ghost says. “People in our line of work often do, so we can’t be traced by scent. Betas make good spies, too. Any profession that requires stealth.”

I hadn’t thought about that, but it makes sense. “So were you recruited because you were a beta, or…” My stomach sinks as I consider another possibility. “You were all, like, born… nobody made you this way, right?”

The Ghost hesitates, then says, “I was, yes. The others’ stories aren’t mine to tell.”

Cardan gawps at me. “You’re thinking they were… what, de-designated? Why? To make them better at… crime?”

I shudder. Forcible de-designations were categorized as human rights violations by the United Nations in the early 1970s after certain unethical human experiments came to light. Sure, there are de-designation therapies out there for people whose designations cause extreme dysphoria or health complications, but they take months. The forcible de-designations are quick, and brutal, and painful, and if the subject survives the physical complications, they might not survive the psychological.

“I hope not,” I say, quietly, telling myself that my discomfort is brought around by the idea of anyone suffering such a painful ordeal, not because I like our abductors. I change the subject. “But you were recruited?”

“Yes.”

Man of few words. I hug my arms around my stomach. “Must be nice.”

“The job opportunities or being a beta?”

“Not having to deal with…” I peel one hand away from my abdomen and gesture vaguely.

“No, I don’t envy that.” The Ghost looks between us. “Although I do sometimes wonder what I’m missing out on.”

I glance at Cardan, who, to my surprise, actually looks angry. “If you had fresh clothes for Jude the whole time, why didn’t you give them to her?” he demands. “Why didn’t anybody stay with her? She was stuck in her gross clothes and she was alone, all day.”

Again, the Ghost looks slightly taken aback, although he smooths his face into his usual inscrutable mask in an instant. “The Bomb got these for her yesterday, but she was curled up in her nest and we didn’t know if she’d want to move or be bothered.”

“My nest?” I frown. “No, that’s not right. I don’t have a—”

“It’s a sad nest, but you did pile all the bedding in the room up in one corner.”

“No, that wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t—” I look at Cardan in horror, as he is the one who put all the blankets and pillows on me, but he is looking away from me. I shake my head, and some wet hair falls into my face. “It’s okay that I was alone. I think it was better. Don’t worry about it.”

I feel the Ghost watching me closely, and shift in my seat. “It’s not shameful, what’s happening to you,” he says at last. “Plenty of people go through it all the time.”

“Not you,” I retort.

“Maybe not, but I’ve been around long enough and seen enough to know there are upsides to being an omega.”

“Oh, yeah?” I ask. “Like what?”

The Ghost’s eyebrows shoot up. “You want me to tell you?”

“Yeah.” I glance at Cardan, who’s slouching in his chair and pretending to ignore both of us. “Tell me how my life doesn’t totally suck right now.”

He looks at me, then at Cardan, then says, “I guess I don’t have anything better to do.”

Next

[fizzyxcustard]

37. Keep talking, your voice helps me sleep. -This would be lovely! Ideally Guy, please, would also be happy with Raymond. Thank you!

(I’m going to just play around here with Modern!Guy and see how it goes. If you don’t like it, then by all means let me know and I won’t use him again, and I’ll stick to the ‘normal’ Guy)

You lay in bed, shivering under the covers as a fever took hold. All day had been you slipping in and out of sleep, chills, fierce heat, banging headache, popping medication. Whenever you tried to look at the television screen or your mobile phone, the light caused searing pain behind your eyes. Everything seemed to be bothering you; light, anything touching your skin, sounds. All of your senses felt as though they were re-wired to your pain centre. 

Later on that day, just as you began to drift into another nap, your front door knocked. With a groan, you dragged yourself out of bed, pulling the blanket around yourself like a long, thick robe. You shivered and groaned as your muscles ached on your way to the front door. Dizziness set in, making you stop for a second in the hallway. You shut your eyes tight, re-gaining your balance and then proceeded to answer the door. 

You instantly felt yourself smile as you saw that all too familiar smirk. Your boyfriend, Guy, was on your doorstep, wearing his leather jacket and biker boots. You had tried to persuade him multiple times to wear brighter colours, but he brushed it all away and kept on wearing black constantly. 

“How’s my girl?” he asked. “I tried calling earlier and you didn’t answer.” 

You turned around and began to plod back inside towards your bedroom. The cool air which had come rushing in from the open door was making you shiver more uncontrollably now. “Please, just let me get back in bed,” you begged. From your head to your toes was burning hot, but any slight breeze felt like icicles. 

Guy watched you get back in bed and approached the bed. You curled up in the covers, rolling in them. 

“Can you read to me?” you asked through chattering teeth. 

“Read to you?” Guy asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, helps me relax.” 

Guy looked on in confusion. “Okay,” he replied, and then sat down on the edge of your bed, grabbing your book from the bedside table. It was the novel you were currently reading: The Silmarillion by JRR Tolkien. 

You watched Guy for a few seconds and smiled at him. You began to think back on the first time you met him, which was when he came into your old firm. He was the accountant, or so he had told the manager he was, and then a few weeks later, the firm had suddenly gone into administration and never re-opened. Guy rarely talked about his work, and you never asked because he became defensive whenever you broached the subject. 

His voice made you feel as though you were drifting on the sea, bobbing with the waves. Tingles flooded from your head down your neck and back. His voice was divine and always had this affect on you. 

Suddenly he stopped, thinking you had gone to sleep. 

“Keep talking. Your voice helps me sleep,” you insisted. 

Guy merely did as requested, giving out a little sigh. Anything for his girl. 

[dyavania]

Hello! Can I request an imagine for Hector and his female s/o taking care of him after he gets sick? He falls ill due to overworking and lack of sleep & collapses at the forge. She basically babies him back to health and cue fluff as Hector finally gets the experience he was deprived of as a child. Thanks! (Bonus: She sings him a lullaby so he could fall asleep faster)

I guess this works anon ;) And here you go! You can find the song I used here if you’re curious. For context, the reader is Hector’s neighbor in this, she visits him frequently. They’re basically dating, they just don’t live together/aren’t married. Yet. I hope you will enjoy the result, and thank you for the request!

The forge was unusually quiet when you walked in. Usually, at this time of the day, it was filled with the sound of Hector’s hammer, and you had come to find it comforting. You could hear it from outside, when you neared his house, and its absence was unsettling. Worry pooled in your stomach as you stepped inside, carefully. He’d probably just taken the day off, he was probably outside, walking with his dog,… Everything was fine. Probably.

“Hector?” you called, carefully, and his dog’s high-pitched whine answered.

You quickly walked around the table, now genuinely anxious, and a gasp escaped your lips when you saw Hector, laying face-down on the floor, the dog licking his master’s face, as though trying to wake him up.

You wasted no time in kneeling by his side, checking his pulse first, then his breathing. You were relieved to find that he was still alive, but his forehead certainly felt too hot under your touch. You took a second to assess the situation. You doubted you would be able to move him all on your own, and you certainly couldn’t leave him here.

You ran to the well to get some water, wet a cloth, and pressed it against his forehead. He stirred at the cold touch, but didn’t open his eyes. Finding a cup, you took some more water and tried to get him to drink, wetting his dry lips.

Finally, he lifted his eyelid. His eyes seemed blurry, unfocused, but he still recognized you.

“(Y/N)?” he asked, slowly and uncertainly.

“It’s me,” you replied gently. “How are you feeling?”

A shiver ran through him.

“C-cold. My head…”

You nodded as you slipped your hand behind him, helping him to lift his head so he could rest it in your lap.

“That’s the fever,” you whispered, applying the wet cloth against him again while running your fingers through his hair in a soothing manner. “Did you fall?”

He relaxed in your touch. Everything felt strange, unreal, distant. Everything but you and your hands, grounding him in reality.

“I… might have.”

“Hector, we need to get you to bed, okay? Do you think you can get up for me?”

He grunted and tried to push himself up. It took the two of you a little while until he was standing, holding on to the table. You moved under his arm to support him.

“It’s okay, you can lean on me,” you encouraged him.

He hesitated, and then he slowly moved more of his weight on to you. He heard you groaning, but you didn’t let him go. His head was swimming for every difficult, stumbling step he took towards his room. Your own legs were wobbly, but you did your best to keep him up, refusing to let him fall. One hand was holding onto his wrist, the other arm was wrapped around his waist. He was very hot to the touch, you realized, and that just worried you more. He definitely needed some rest.

You were relieved when you finally got to the bed, and you laid him down as carefully as you could. You just took off his boots before covering him with the blanket and tucking him in. Searching the room, you found spare blankets he kept in a chest, and added some more for good measure. You checked his temperature again, briefly, then moved towards the door. You needed more water, needed to make a soup, needed to find some herbs… Hector’s pleading call held you back.

“You’re leaving?”

His voice sounded so broken all of a sudden that you could do nothing but go back to his side, grabbing his hand, letting him know you were there.

“I’m going to take care of you,” you promised. “I just need to get some things first.”

“Don’t go,” he begged, voice broken. “Please, please, don’t leave me, please…”

“It’s okay, Hector, I’m here,” you said as tears welled up in your eyes. You squeezed his hand tighter. “I’m not leaving. I’ll be right there.”

He didn’t let go of your hand, and you didn’t try to move. He struggled to keep looking at you, like he was afraid you would vanish if he glanced away even for a second. You stroked his cheek, softly. This wasn’t good. He needed to sleep. Forcing himself to stay awake could be really bad. Your lips parted, and you started to sing the song your mother used to sing to you to get you to sleep. Your German was a little rusty, but you doubted he would notice.

“Dat du min Leevsten büst, dat du woll weeßt. Kumm bi de Nacht, kumm bi de Nacht, segg wo du heeßt…”

His eyelids fluttered, and his grip on your hand relaxed.

“Kumm bi de Nacht, kumm bi de Nacht, segg wo du heeßt.”

You kept singing for a while, even after he’d fallen asleep. You needed to go, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to leave his side. Surely, you could stay here, just a little longer…

The next days were a blur for Hector. He remembered the cold, the pain, the thirst, remembered the ache in his muscles and falling out of bed when he tried to move. He also remembered your hands, fresh and pleasant, the wet cloth on his forehead, and your voice, guiding him through it all.

When he woke up, in the morning of the third day, you were asleep, sitting on a chair, head resting in your arms on the bed, and he marveled at the sight.

You’d stayed. You’d been here throughout his whole illness, and you’d never left his side. That wasn’t something he could say of— well, of anyone in his life, really.

He lifted his hand, then hesitated, keeping it in mid-air between you and him. Finally, he carefully put it on your head. You jumped the second he touched you, and then a bright smile appeared on your face. Without a warning, you threw your arms around him, and he froze, before wrapping his arms around you.

“It’s good to see you awake,” you said, voice a little muffled in his neck.

He’d drifted in and out of consciousness for the past days, but there had always been that haze in his eyes, and you were happy to finally be able to see the blue orbs shining without an obstacle.

“It’s good to see you,” he mumbled. “You… stayed.”

You nodded as you pulled away. There was a slight blush on your cheeks.

“I did. I couldn’t leave you.”

He swallowed.

“Thank you. I think I— I will be fine from here.”

“What? Certainly not. You’re not getting out of bed today. You need at least a day of convalescence.”

He blinked and tilted his head.

“I’m sure everything—”

“Hector.” You leaned forward, grabbing his hand. “I’m not letting you put yourself in danger. You’ve clearly been working too much. I’d suggest you take the entire week off, but since I guess I won’t be able to stop you for that long, can you please rest for today? For me?”

Heat spread to his cheeks. How could he say no when you looked him like that? How could he say no when all you wanted was what was good for him?

“I— Fine.”

You grinned.

“Great. Give me a minute, I’ll get you something to eat.”

He stopped himself before he grabbed your hand to keep you from leaving. He was ridiculous. You… You’d come back. After all, you’d stayed through it all, so certainly, that meant… That meant he could trust you.

It was like a huge weight was lifted from his chest all of a sudden, and when you walked back in with a bowl of soup, he didn’t find words to express how he felt, how thankful he was, how much you meant to him. He took the bowl from you and drank from it without a word. It was nice and hot, and it had been an eternity since someone else had cooked from him. Somehow, it made it a lot more enjoyable.

“Careful,” you warned him, “you’ve barely had anything recently, so don’t drink too fast.”

You were… looking out for him. He guessed others would have found such attentions annoying, but he didn’t. It was all so new for him.

He could get used to it.

“Thank you,” he said again, though you probably didn’t know how important it all was to him.

“You’re welcome,” you said happily.

He grabbed your hand and kissed it. It was brief and soft, and he let go quickly, but the gesture left you surprised and blushing. Hector rarely initiated physical contact between the two of you, so you knew how much it meant to him.

“You know, if you— If you stay a little longer, I’d, erm, probably rest.”

He didn’t want to sound needy, didn’t want to make you feel like you had to stay. You had already done more than enough, after all. Perhaps he was selfish, but he wanted you to take care of him just a while longer. He’d be back to full health soon, but even then, if you still cared, still wanted to be around, he’d love to welcome you in his life a while longer.

Then doubt filled him. By offering, he was opening himself up to refusal, to rejection, and he wasn’t sure he could take that, coming from you. He was about to take back the proposition when you replied.

“Sure.”

“R-really?”

“If that’s what it takes to get you back to health, of course. But you’ll owe me.”

You were smiling, and though you weren’t sure what you’d use your favor on, it would probably be to go for walk, perhaps to help you at your place. In the end, just another excuse to spend more time with him.

“Of course,” he said, but his grin told you that he was well-aware of what you were thinking.

“You should sleep,” you said gently, squeezing his hand.

He nodded. He hadn’t been awake that long, but he was feeling tired already. You were right. He needed to rest.

“Can you sing for me?” he asked almost childishly, and in return, there was something almost maternal in your tone.

“Sure, Hector.”

He laid back down and you cleared your throat.

“Dat du min Leevsten büst, dat du woll weeßt. Kumm bi de Nacht, kumm bi de Nacht, segg wo du heeßt…”

His eyes fluttered shut, and you kept singing.

“Kumm bi de Nacht, kumm bi de Nacht, segg wo du heeßt.”

He fell asleep, knowing you were there, knowing you cared.

Knowing he wasn’t alone anymore.

[imnotwolverine]

In sickness and in health

Henry Cavill x OC Lisa - multi-chapter fic

Author’s note: Lisa is overworked and sick as a dog, while Henry is the ever-loving, doting caretaker. A little fluffy fluff on the Thursday morning, because I couldn’t sleep (surprise Henry sneaking in on Snyder’s watch party, I hold you responsible). 

Word count: 1.842

Disclaimer: fluff 

--

This is part 15 of the Tea for Two story. 

You can find the Masterlist here. 

--

< Go back to part 14

‘You’re not okay,’ He said softly, pushing my boggling body back in the pile of pillows on the bed. 

I knew he was right. I was somewhere in between a heavy cold and fever-town, but that definitely did not stop me from being obnoxiously stubborn. I wanted to go out for heaven’s sake! Right now my sexy heels should be carrying me through the restless city streets, ready to go to a party. To have fun! But no. It was New Year’s eve and here I was, sitting in bed, looking like a wet rag. And it sucked.

‘Well then at least you go. I won’t accept that I am spoiling this night for you too.’ I tried, my voice coming out too brittle for my liking. Henry’s face scrunched up. ‘You are a piece of work woman.’ He chuckled, giving me a loving look. ‘Thankfully..I can be just as stubborn as you are. And I. Am. Not. Leaving.’ ‘But Jason organised this whole party. And you so wanted to go. You’ve been talking about it for weeks now.’ ‘I know. But there will be more parties. And right now, you first need to get better.’ He cupped my cheek, trying to sooth away my frustrations.

I huffed in annoyance, moving my face away from his hand as I turned on my side, rolling away from him. ‘I hate this.’ I sulked, pulling up the blankets as I felt another cold shiver rush over me. Henry was quiet, his hand gently folding a bit of hair behind my ear, his eyes burning into the back of my head. ‘Can I get you anything love? Tea? Soup? ..A hug?’ His voice was gentle, unfazed by my moping.

I quietly shook my head, my head burning hotly beneath the blanket that I had dragged up to my chin.

It had been a while since I had felt so bad. Actually… Come to think of it. The last time was about a year ago, also during my holidays. I knew I was a bit of a workaholic. I knew I probably should take a few more weeks off in the year, to recharge. But then there always was this new cool project. Or I just couldn’t refrain myself from opening a few e-mails, which then totally escalated again to the point that I was having hour-long work calls. Yes. I was really bad at my work-life balance and my body paid the price.

I felt Henry’s body lift from the mattress as he got up again, his feet shuffling out of the bedroom as he let out the quietest sigh. From that sound alone I knew he was feeling upset and it made me feel crazy guilty. Guilty for him having to see me like this. Guilty for being the major cause of this. Why did I have to be so darn stubborn?

‘Henn?’ I called out feebly.

I heard his footsteps stop mid stairway.

‘Yes dear?’ He answered, his feet immediately moving back to the bedroom.

I rolled around so I could look at him.

‘I’m sorry.’

My jaw clenched as I saw him look at me with those big puppy eyes. It was more than evident that he was feeling worried about me, his nose flaring in discomfort as his eyes trailed over the small sweat drops on my temples.

‘Don’t be. Baby. Just..relax. Try to sleep a bit.’ He moved back to the bed and folded back the blankets, his hand picking up the washcloth from the nightstand, gently dabbing the sweat off my forehead. ‘No..I’m really sorry. This happens every time I take a holiday. My body just crashes. I… I work too much.’ I sighed, my eyes looking anywhere but at Henry, my hands fumbling with the covers. Henry sat down again on the edge of the bed, continuing to dab my head as the sweat drops kept rolling.

Gods I was feeling so shit. My head felt like a ton of bricks, my throat sandpaper and my muscles were aching so badly it felt like I had been hit by a truck.

‘I’m just so darn stubborn.’ I croaked, finally looking back at him. He smiled again. ‘Yes you are. And.. I like that, I do. Just not when you get ill because of it. I want to have you around for as long as is humanly possible, you know?’ His tender words made my heart buzz. ‘I know.’ I nodded slowly, rubbing my head into his hand and closing my eyes for a moment.

We stayed like that for a few minutes. His hand dabbing the sweat of my forehead as he began to hum a slow tune. I felt all worries wash away as the cold cloth gently travelled across my aching hot skin.

‘Could we at least move to the couch? I miss Kal.’ I hummed, finally opening my eyes again.

Henry chuckled. ‘If you promise me you’ll stay put.’ I shrugged. ‘Not like I can do much else.’

‘Okay then.’ He said, sitting back a bit so he could fold away the blankets. I pulled up my feet to get up, but before they even touched the floor I felt myself being scooped up by Henry. ‘I can walk.’ I protested, pouting my cracked lips. ‘And I.. like carrying you.’ He retorted, smiling smugly.

—

The tv was set to its lowest volume as we sat snuggled up on the couch. Henry was wearing a simple black sweater and jogging pants, his arms protectively wrapped around the pile of blankets I was wrapped in. I didn’t know whether I was comfortably toasty, or sick toasty, but I didn’t really care. Henry seemed more than a little happy he could have his arms around me and keep me safe. Ever the knight in shining armour.

‘Your mom told me you were a great fan of King Arthur and his knights when you were young.’ I said with my raspy voice, looking up at him as he peered at the tv. He sniffled, giving me a crooked smile. ‘I was..and still am by the way.’ His smile grew wider as he saw the amused look on my face. ‘How are you feeling?’ His hand brushed away some hair that was sticking to my forehead. ’Okay now. I don’t think I have felt this safe and cosy in my life.’ I snickered, nestling my head back in the nape of his neck.

‘Then I am doing a good job.’ He kissed the top of my head, resting his lips there before moving up ever so slightly. ‘What else did you talk about with my mum?’ His curiosity seeped through his semi-casual tone. I shrugged. ‘Girl things.’

‘Oh don’t give me that. We would have no secrets, right?’ The smile was evident in his voice. ‘Mmmm. Well I wasn’t the only one with secrets. You were pretty..open towards your mom about your secrets while I was asleep on your lap.’ I pushed myself up a bit, my arm shaking with effort. Immediately I felt Henry’s arm wrapping around mine, steadying me as my body trembled with effort. ‘Easy, easy.’ He whispered.

His eyes gave me a quick full-body scan to see if I was alright, before looking back into mine.

‘I’m okay.’ I confirmed with an amused tone as I laid a weak hand on his chest, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips. Henry shifted slightly in his seat, careful not to shake me up, before licking his lips and looking back at me. ‘Well..I hope that didn’t catch you by..surprise..’ He breathed, checking my reaction. My smile grew wider. ‘No. But you were right about one thing..’ I looked down at my hand on his broad chest, my fingers grazing gently over the soft cable knit. He wore this sweater so often the threads were baring thin at some points.

‘We haven’t really spoken about it all that much.’ He filled in for me. I nodded, looking back up. His tender eyes had gotten a whole lot more stormy now, his nostrils flaring.

He lowered his eyes, licking his lips again. Was he nervous?

‘Well just to confirm. I do want kids, another dog AND a house with a nice garden.’ I nodded, feeling my already hot cheeks burn as his hot gaze quickly peeked back at me. I folded one of my hands around my cheek, feeling the skin burn. ‘I’m not even sure anymore if I’m blushing or blazing.’ I snickered. He smiled, letting out a small breath as he leaned towards the sidetable to grab the cool washcloth and dab it on my heated face again.

‘Good. And marriage..still okay?’ He peered into my eyes as his hand gently pressed the cloth against my cheeks. ‘Of course. I could do with a different last name.’ I shrugged, feigning disinterest. He chuckled, his hand turning my head so I could see him raising a handsome eyebrow in challenge. ‘What?’ I chuckled, leaning into the coolness of the cloth, the moisture forming drips on my salty skin. Two can play that game, I thought, giving him my most seductive gaze. Henry swallowed harshly as his hand froze for a moment against my cheek, our eyes just looking deeply into one another.

In the back of my mind I half-registered the tv had started a count down. But his eyes. Those eyes. I couldn’t look away.

The sound got a touch louder as we heard the neighbours following along top lung, their count down sounding through the living room wall.

‘9..8…7..’

Henry sat up a bit, moving away the wash cloth.

‘6…5…4..’

Our eyes blazed as our lips were curled in stupid smiles. Blue meets green. Boy meets girl. Husband meets wife?

‘3..2...’

I let out a small gasp as Henry bent over.

‘I want it all with you Henry. I do.’ I whispered against his lips, our kiss forming a perfect seal of promises made.

‘HAPPY NEW YEAR!! WOOHOO YEAAAAAA!!!’ The neighbours went berserkers as a loud pop sounded of a champagne bottle.  

Meanwhile our living room was a whole lot more quiet. Much to our amusement. We let out a soft chuckle as Henry’s hand sneaked around my head, pulling me as close as he dared.

‘Happy new year love.’ He smiled, his cheeks showing those cute dimples as he pressed the wash cloth back against my heated skin, our noses touching.

‘Hmm..’ I hummed, leaning into the cool cloth and closing my eyes. ‘Happy new year.’

‘And..’ He sat back a bit. ‘I have a first proposal to make.’

My stomach did a little summersault as I gave him a confused look. ‘Now..?’ I asked, unsurely. He chuckled. ‘Now’s as good a time as any.’ He sat back a bit more and pulled my hands into his, giving me an intent look. ‘Dear Lisa. Would you, please, go on a holiday with me?’

I burst out laughing.

‘Oh by Merlin’s beard! Henry, you! Hahaha.’ I rolled my eyes, before nodding “yes”.

--

Part 16 > 

[totally-incorrect-theatre-quotes]

Sick Day (fanfic)

While the votes were very close the sick day prompt won out last night, and I was kinda grateful because I had already started writing some of it before I got most of the votes. I’m sure you guys were looking for something more fluffy since my last fic was nothing but sadness and while I delivered some what this is still gonna be kinda sad, but I promise it has a sweet ending! I’m not sure if I’ll post this one to Ao3 but we’ll see :)

TW: sickness, mentions of death, mentions of Nosocomephobia

____________________________________________________________

The one thing that makes getting the flu even worse is getting the flu during spring break. No missing school because school is already out, so the days off just get wasted laying in bed with one stuffed up nostril, a pile of tissues sprawled on the bed, and the blankets half n and half off because it’s somehow both too hot and too cold. Lydia didn’t get sick often, but when she did it was never fun. Two days before she had felt a fever coming on but decided not to say anything because she still wanted to hang out with Wendy that night, but the next morning she woke up shivering and turns out she had a temperature of one hundred and two. Not the end of the world, but to say Lydia was annoyed was an understatement. Growing up her dad was always paranoid about germs, something Lydia thankfully didn’t inherit, but she still didn’t want to deal with him, lovingly, quarantining her. She took the thermometer, wrapped herself in a blanket, and went to seek the guidance of the ghosts. Ghosts can’t get sick, so they should have nothing to worry about. 

Barbara instantly pulled Lydia over to the couch while Adam ran around frantically trying to think of what sick people need, even though all Lydia asked for was a drink of water and maybe some Tylenol to bring her fever down. She ended up with a bowl of chicken noodle soup, slippers, about four different kinds of flu medication, and a cold compress. The first night she just slept on their couch, begrudgingly comfortable as a result of all the stuff Adam brought up to the attic. She would wake up every hour or so feeling crappy but she did get some sleep that night, hoping that maybe she was just tired and not actually sick, she read that online somewhere before. Unfortunately, when she woke up the next morning she definitely was still sick and it was not getting better as quickly as she would have liked. Her throat was all scratchy, she had a terrible headache, and she felt her body burning up under the blankets. She kicked the blankets off her and winced when her warm feet touched the freezing cold ground, she forgot that the Maitland’s couldn’t really feel the temperature so it was always a guess if it would be a sauna or the arctic up there. She coughed into her arm and shuffled downstairs to grab something small to eat, even though she was sick to her stomach she knew that she couldn’t take any medicine on an empty stomach. She managed to eat about half a piece of toast before feeling like she was going to puke, and she quickly swallowed down two pills. She sat down at the table with her head in her hands.

“Not feeling good?” Delia asked form behind her, Lydia simply groaned in response her throat too sore to even speak at this point, “Yeah I heard the flu was going around, I thought you got your flu shot though?”

She rolled her eyes not wanting to get into the debate of how the flu shot isn’t 100% effective and if she hadn’t gotten it she would be much sicker than she was right now. Instead, she just let Delia ramble on about what essential oils and crystals she thought might help ease the symptoms. It was almost soothing monotony as Lydia downed her second glass of orange juice hoping that maybe the extra vitamin C would destroy whatever virus was wreaking havoc on her immune system. Instead, it just made her stomach feel worse. By the time her father came down for the morning Lydia was almost passed out leaning on the table despite the fact she had just woken up maybe fifteen minutes before. Charles walked up to his unusually pale daughter and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead.

“Honey, you’re burning up.”

“I‘ve got a fever.” she mumbled, “Barbara thinks it’s the flu.”

Charles stopped dead in his tracks, he didn’t mean too but he couldn’t help himself from thinking about the past, and what signs he had missed, and now he was starting to overreact. This was a flu, people get the flu all the time, not every fever is a death sentence. Not every stomach bug is a sign of...he wasn’t going to let himself get sucked into it again. He didn’t want to frighten Lydia. Besides she knew as much about the whole ordeal as he did, if she thought something more besides a flu was wrong she would have told him. He forced himself to put on a sympathetic smile, “I’m sorry sweetheart, I hope you feel better soon. Will you be okay if I go to work?”

Lydia nodded knowing fully well that even when Delia and her dad went to work she still had the Maitland’s in the attic if she needed them. Her plan for the day was to either pass out on the couch or in her bed under all the blankets and preferably with her cats to keep her company so she didn’t feel obligated to make conversation. The first day or two of the flu was usually the worst, so she just wanted to sleep through it. She could see the look in her dad’s eyes though, he was worried about her. It would have come off to most people as fatherly or even endearing but to Lydia, it was nothing but a source of anxiety when her father worried about her like that. She sighed a breath of relief when he did eventually go off to work. She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, scooped up Cation in her arms and figured if Kraken was roaming somewhere around the house and would come join them whenever she saw fit. She had just about settled on her bed when her phone went off and she saw a text from her father asking if she was alright. She replied with a quick yes, hoping it would satisfy him for now, but she was rewarded with a series of four more texts asking if she needed anything, if she wanted to go to the doctor, if he should come home, and once more asking if she was feeling okay. Not wanting to fuel his compulsive questions but not wanting to make him even more worried she tried to reassure him that if something bad was happening he would be the first to know, she did also gave to his one question and requested some popsicles for her sore throat. 

She put her phone on silent, started watching a movie on her laptop and drifted off to sleep after about forty-five minutes. She wasn’t sure if it was the fever or the flu medication she had taken but she had the strangest dream, and that was a statement coming from the girl who lived with ghosts, and had been to the underworld before. It was nothing out of the ordinary at first, she was at school but instead of all the uniforms being white button-up shirts and black plaid skirts/ black pants they were an ugly green and yellow color. The details were fuzzy but the dream ended with her math teacher marrying the Sandworm and somehow Lydia was the maid of honor. It was very confusing but also entertaining so Lydia was slightly annoyed when she was woken up by a particular demon whom she had forgotten she had promised to hang out with the afternoon.

“Sorry BJ, I can’t really hang out today unless your idea of hanging out was sitting on the couch and watching TV while I pretty much sleep the whole day.”

“What the hell is wrong with you kid? You look like you saw a ghost.” BJ laughed very hard at his own joke and even though she was super out of it she still had it within her to fake gag at his lame attempt at comedy. 

“I’m sick.”

“Well, that’s pretty pathetic. I were you and I was still a living human I simply wouldn’t be incapacitated because of some bitch-ass virus Like RIP to you but I’m different.”

“You’re also already dead and didn’t you live like during the black plague?”

“And that sure as hell didn’t kill me. It would take a lot more so some dumb virus to take me now.”

“I think the plague was bacterial,” Lydia replied, straining her voice to argue with him. Under no circumstances would she not argue with Beetlejuice. 

“Same difference,” he waved his hand dismissively, “Anyway since you aren’t going to be any fun today while you milk this fake illness I’m going to go bug the Maitland’s. And while you’re at it...can you tell that bastard cat of yours to stop staring at me? It gives me the creeps.”

“Don’t be a jerk, Kraken loves you!” Lydia snapped defensively, pulling her cat up and presenting it to BJ, “She’s just a baby…”

“Look, there’s only room for one bastard in this house and that role is already taken.” BJ glared once more at the cat who seemed utterly indifferent to the presence of the demon. He walked through Lydia’s door but just to be a prick when he was outside of it he opened it partway and flipped her off. Grumbling Lydia got up to shut the door, hoping she’d be able to fall asleep again. She couldn’t, her cough was getting worse and it was making it impossible to lay down comfortably without feeling like she couldn’t breathe. She had to compromise and sit up in bed with her pillows stacked up behind her. She watched the clock with an almost obsession counting down the minutes before she could take another dose of the cough medicine and get some kind of relief from the symptoms. By the evening it felt as though she had been hit by a bus. Her muscles ached, she could hardly keep her eyes open, and her whole body felt like it was on fire. Barbara had tried to make her something for lunch but she could only manage a few bites before pushing the rest of it away, even the smell making her feel like she was going to throw up. 

“Maybe you should see a doctor when your dad gets home.” Adam suggested, “Not much they can do for the flu but maybe the can give you something stronger for your cough just so you can get some sleep tonight.”

“I’ll be fine!” Lydia snapped a little too harshly, “I’ll be fine, it’s just the flu. I don’t need to go to the doctor.” Adam backed off and left Lydia alone in her room. She couldn’t stop shivering even though she was boiling under the blankets. Her teeth clattered against each other and she felt a dizzying pressure building up in her forehead and sinuses. The hours in the day seemed to drag on with cruelty, she tried to distract herself with videos on her phone but she couldn’t keep focused on them long enough. She wanted to sleep but every time she was about to drift she would need to cough or her stomach would get upset, or her head would start pounding. She would alternate between her bedroom and the attic but nothing was comfortable. By the time her father and Delia got home from work Lydia was huddled out on the couch, her knees tucked into her chest and she was muttering feverishly in her half-awake half-asleep daze.

Charles rushed over to Lydia and his heart sank down to his stomach as images of Emily flashed through his head. He felt Lydia’s forehead and quickly grabbed the thermometer to check her temperature. He was devastated to read out that Lydia had a temperature of one hundred and three. Instantly fearing the worst he shook Lydia awake and told her that they were going to the hospital.

“Wait, what?” Lydia mumbled, still not completely aware

“The hospital, you’re burning up. You look like you’re about to faint, come on get your coat and shoes on. Can you walk?”

“Can I wh-? What are you talking about, of course, I can walk. Dad for god sake I have the flu. I feel like crap but I am not dying!” Charles tensed at those words and Lydia glared at him, shakily standing up with the blanket still draped around her shoulders

“Lydia, you’re not making sense. Please, just for me. Can we just please go to the hospital, I’m worried about you.”

“Dad you’re being ridiculous right now! You’re always worried about me!”

“I’m your father! It is my job to worry about you, now can you please get in the car so I can take you.” He was begging her at that point, he didn’t know what overcame him and Lydia wasn’t sure why she was so opposed. She felt awful, a fever at high was not a good thing, she logically knew that there was nothing wrong with going to a doctor but some part of her was shouting at her not to. She felt tears welling up in her eyes and she didn’t understand why, she wasn’t upset she was annoyed. She was annoyed at him for being so overbearing. Charles noticed this and went over to her, she slumped into his arms just taking in the much-needed hug. Lydia just kept repeating that she didn’t want to go to the hospital, and he nodded, “Okay, okay no hospital alright? But can we please go to the doctor or the urgent care? Honey, I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

After a brief and silent car ride Lydia was sitting in the urgent care waiting room with a mask over her mouth and nose to keep her from contaminating anybody else in the waiting room. It was already dark outside and Lydia leaned up against her father’s shoulder while they waited to be called back. She stared blankly at the wall trying to ignore the fact he was staring at her, even though we was pretending to scroll through his phone. He had one arm wrapped around her, rubbing her shoulder comfortingly and while she wanted to be stubborn and pull away she really did find comfort in him holding her. He was never unaffectionate while she was growing up, he would give piggyback rides and carry her, and hug her but he was slightly more distant since her mother had died, any kind of affection she got from him was cherished, even if she wanted to be a sullen teenager. 

“Deetz?” the male nurse called out

Charles helped steady Lydia while they walked into the examination room. They took her temperature and Charles explained a list of symptoms after Lydia tried too but couldn’t speak as clearly as she was trying to. The nurse scribbled some notes down, swabbed the inside of Lydia’s mouth and said that the doctor would be in shortly

“Man they take you from one waiting room to another huh?” Charles tried to joke in an attempt to ease the tension. Lydia was having none of it and she kept her eyes down on her phone while she was ranting to Barbara about how annoyed at her father she was. Though Barbara quickly proved to not be the ideal ranting partner in this situation so she turned to BJ who she knew would always agree with her no matter was as long as he got to complain too. After another twenty minutes of waiting the doctor came in holding a sheet of paper in her hands, “Bad news, you definitely have the flu young lady. Luckily it looks like it’s a mild strain even though I know it sure doesn’t feel like it huh? I’m going to prescribe you something to help you with that cough and something to work on killing the infection. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

Lydia was about to shake her head no when Charles interjected, “Are you sure it’s just the flu?”

“Pretty positive, flu swabs are fairly accurate why?”

“But you’re sure it’s not something else, like something I don't know..” “He wants to know if you think I have cancer.” Charles jolted his head and looked at Lydia with such disbelief that she had to scoff, “Don’t act so shocked dad, that’s what you want to know. You want to know if I have what mom had.” She turned her attention back to the doctor and in her strained and scratchy voice, she said, “My mom she had non-Hodgkins lymphoma and apparently she started out with just flu symptoms too, she died. He’s worried that I’m going to die too, so can you just tell me if I do or don’t have cancer?”

Stunned the doctor fumbled a response, “Mr. Deetz Lydia has the flu. I am truly sorry for your loss and while I cannot say for absolute certain without doing blood tests I am fairly confident that Lydia simply has the flu. She doesn’t have any of the other tell-tale symptoms of the condition that your wife had. Now, do you have any other questions?”

“Yeah can I go home now?” Lydia demanded

The whole ride back home Lydia sat with her arms crossed and her head leaned against the car window. Her father wouldn’t talk to her, she wouldn’t talk to him. It was obvious to everybody else that something happened between them the minute they walked in the door. Lydia instantly went towards the stairs but Charles went after her, insisting that they need to talk. She waved her hand and slammed her door shut, complaining that she didn’t feel good and wanted to go to bed. She didn’t lock the door though, she knew it made everybody in the house angry if she locked the door when they were fighting. They respected not to come in if she didn’t invite them, but the rule was not door locking. She curled back up on her bed, cuddling with a chatty Kraken who was already lounging on her mattress. Within thirty seconds there was a knock at her door, and she threw her pillow at it in response.

“Lydia we need to talk about this, we need to talk about what you said at the doctor today.”

“What I said?” She laughed shaking her head, “Just come in dad, I know you’re not going to go away until you do and I feel like shit and want to go to bed so let’s get this over with.”

Charles cautiously opened the door and sat down on the edge of Lydia’s bed, mindful of the collection of tissues and bottles accumulating throughout the room. Having felt better since taking the medication the doctor prescribed she sat up in her bed and looked at her dad, waiting for him to scold her for behaving like a child in the doctors. She wouldn’t deny it, she acted very immaturely but she was so sick of how he was treating her that day. 

“Can we talk about it?” she questioned, “That’s what you wanted isn’t it?”

“I wanted to say I was sorry, Lydia. I know that I probably made things a lot worse for you. I know you aren’t feeling good and I didn’t mean to scare you with the whole...anyway it doesn’t matter the details. I shouldn’t have overreacted when you told me it was the flu, I trust you to know your body. I just don’t know what came over me, seeing you looking so sick and pale, it had me terrified. I just couldn’t imagine losing you too.”

“Dad I’m okay.” she tried to explain, “I’m fine.”

“I just, I don’t understand why you got so worried when I suggested you go to the hospital, you had a really high fever. Lydia, I understand that our relationship is going to require a certain give and take but when it comes to safety I think we need to make some more compromises. I was probably jumping to conclusions when I thought the worst but even the nurse was concerned when he saw how high it was, we should have gone to the hospital.”

“I didn’t want to go to the hospital.” 

“But I don’t understand why.”

“Yes, you do! And it kills me that you can’t understand it, you think it scares you when you see me getting sick and having the same symptoms mom did, imagine how I feel! I am terrified any time I get a cold or I have a stomach bug or even a bad headache because I worry that the same thing that happened to mom is gonna happen to me. I know there’s a genetic link, it’s not a high one but it scares me too dad but the thing is you’re supposed to be the calm one. You’re supposed to be the one convincing me it’s just the flu and that I’ll be okay in a few days, I shouldn’t have to convince not only me but my father too. Any time I’m sick I dread telling you because I know exaclty how you’re going to react. That’s not good dad! It’s making me afraid to come to you and god forbid I do get sick like that how long am I going to unintentionally ignore the symptoms because I’m afraid to tell you! I don’t want to go to the hospital dad because I’m afraid I might not come back, and I know that’s crazy. I know I’m being dramatic but that’s what happened with mom. She was fine one day and the next day you’re driving me to the hospital and she tells me she has maybe a few weeks to live? Can’t you get why I might not like hospitals so much anymore?” Lydia was trembling slightly now weak from the flu and the medication she was on, “There’s a line in the sand dad, there has to be because the worst part about being sick right now is that you looking at me like you might blink and I’ll be dead. Do you no understand how stressful that is?”

He bowed his head, “Lydia I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you but it’s been so hard since Emily died to not go right to the worst-case scenario.”

“And I do the exact same thing, but the difference dad is that I’m your kid. I need you to have a level head about this, and I don’t mean to just attack you because you all kind of do it. You all smother me with attention when I’m sick or hurt, I love you all but it’s suffocating sometimes when all I need is to stay in bed and take some Tylenol.”

“I’m sorry, I’m going to try harder to be better about it, alright? I promise, but I need you to promise me that you won’t hide things from me. Your mom tried to mask the signs, tell me she was okay, and not that it would have saved her but you can’t lie to me alright? We’re in this together, okay?”

Lydia nodded and hugged her father, rubbing at her eyes both in fatigue and in an attempt to clear away the tears welling up in her eyes. For the rest of the night, she and Charles sat in the living room wrapped in blankets, watching reruns of old movies on the television. Lydia burrowed her head the crook of his arms and eventually dozed off into the first peaceful sleep she managed to get that day. Though he was incredibly uncomfortable in that position he just relished in the closeness he felt in that moment. He couldn’t help but to remember when Lydia was small and he and Emily would spend hours trying to soothe the fussy baby, both of them completely exhausted when she would finally fall asleep but neither of them able to look away from the tiny human they had created. She was so grown up now, so funny and intelligent, wise beyond her years, but despite all of that when he looked down at his sleeping daughter’s face he could still see that little baby he cradled all those years ago. 

[purrincesscatitude]

a Thought: the weird nonsensical things ronan brings back from fever dreams. Idk i’m tipsy and wanted to share my thought also I adore your fics.

Anon, that is a good thought. Ronan pulls weird things from his head all the time, so you would think that when he’s feverish it would just be...more. Stranger, darker, more unsteady. Feverish nightmares brought to life. He rips monsters from his head when both his body and mind are perfectly healthy, so when he’s too exhausted to control it, one would think it’d make it all worst.  

But it’s not. He brings stuff back, sure. Not every time; exhausted and ill as he is, sometimes he doesn't sleep for long enough, or heavily enough, to be able to dream. But nightwash doesn’t give a single goddamn fuck if he’s the pinnacle of health or preparing his deathbed of tissues and cough syrup, so he must keep creating. Oddly enough, though, his mind seems less dangerous when it’s burning.  

“It’s like, it’s all blurry,” Ronan tries to explain—sick with a virus that isn’t the flu but still fucking terrible—when he’s been woken from fitful sleep by a long coughing fit. “Like they’re all sick, too. Or don’t want to come into my head when it’s so fucking hot and all staticky.”  

Adam could imagine it. Lindenmere behind a screen of television noise, the channel disrupted and flickering with white snow.  

“Let’s hope they keep staying away, then” Adam says softly, rubbing a hand through Ronan’s buzzcut before placing a cool cloth across his forehead.  

This virus is no joke. TKO’d in just over a day: congestion, sore throat, aches, pains, fever, the whole nine damn yards. Ronan’s been laid up in bed for two days, now. His fever is a persistent bastard, cooling off with meds but stubbornly warming back up at the end of 4 to 6 hours.  

Adam sits next to him in bed, thumbing through a worn and scribbled in copy of Ulysses he found on the bookshelf in the study. He’s waiting. Ronan will need more tea, more soup, another dose of medicine soon. Ronan, however, is asleep. He’s been asleep for over two hours, now. Which means... 

Ronan freezes beside him. He's not mid-thrash or halfway to sitting up—which Adam is thankful for, because that’s always a bit too Linda Blair for his tastes; he hardly changes at all, easily mistaken for sleeping. But Adam has seen it enough to know.  

The ley line energy first sags, then spikes, then returns to its steady thrum. Reality bends over backwards and twists inside out as the empty bed is suddenly filled.  

An apple, rust colored and without any shine, that floats an inch off the bed. It bobs and bumbles as if drunk, and squishes like it’s rotten when touched.  

A shoe like Adam’s red converse, desaturated and fuzzy along its edges. Its tongue lolls; its mouth hangs wide. It drips but doesn't leave any residue behind. 

A half-formed ball of sickly green yarn, threads gummy and floppy like cooked spaghetti. It unravels slow as molasses without anyone touching it.  

A croaking gramophone, edges all round and wood warping as if damp. Old music warbles in slow-motion. Matte black music notes tumble from the tarnish horn, drop on the floor, and disappear. 

Everything is dulled and foggy, oozing and melting like a Dali painting brought to life. It fills the bedroom with a strange heat that’s both too warm and not nearly warm enough. It makes Adam’s skin break into goosebumps, sends shivers down his spine, beads sweat along his hairline if he’s near them for too long. 

Ronan groans softly and turns onto his side with a grimace and a half-hearted cough. Certain now that the manifestation is done, Adam gathers the dreams in his arms. Aches sink deep into his bones. His vision goes hazy at the edges. He’s wondered, over the past day or two, if the dream objects carry the same contagion as Ronan. Not that it would make a difference; Adam thinks it would take a miracle at this point to keep him healthy after all the time he’s spent within three feet of Ronan’s painful, rasping coughs. It’s more a passing curiosity. What might he find if he brought a sample to a lab? What would happen if he dumped the apple in a vat of Lysol, or injected a vaccine beneath the winkled skin? 

He carries it all downstairs. Music notes fall onto his arm and dissolve, leaving a patch of fever-hot skin behind. Out back, next to the kitchen door, Adam pulls the bungee cords off a metal trash can, releasing the lid and dumping the armful; his brain clears, his sinuses stop burning, the aches leave his muscles. He feels perfectly normal. Tired, but normal.  

The can is already half-full of other mushy, floppy dreams. The gramophone brings the pile almost to the top. He’ll take it to the long barn and dump the dreams once he gets Ronan settled. He puts the lid back on top and secures it with the cords. So far, nothing has been dangerous or desperate to escape. But one can never be too careful.  

Adam brushes off his hands and shakes off the shadow of the fever from his limbs. He puts the kettle on in the kitchen, heats up a can of soup on the stove while it boils, and pours Ronan tea with honey once it whistles. He can hear Ronan shuffling around upstairs, feet dragging him from bed to the bathroom and back across the creaky wooden floors.  

“Hey,” Adam says, soup in one hand and mug in the other as he pushes open the door with his hip. Ronan grunts, or moans—he’s burrowed under blankets and has shoved his face into a wall of pillows, making it difficult to define what noises he’s making. Adam puts the mug and bowl on the bedside table, and presses his palm to Ronan’s forehead. It’s warm again. Ronan nuzzles against it with a hoarse whimper.  

“You can take more Dayquil,” Adam says gently, “but you need to eat first.”

Ronan groans, and it’s clearly in protest.  

“Don’t give me that shit, asshole.” 

Ronan harumphs, but slowly pushes himself into a seated position. He squints at the bed, looking around like he’s lost something. “The dreams?” he rasps. 

“Taken care of.” Ronan doesn’t ask anything more. He eats his soup, takes his meds, and sips tea while watching some daytime court drama Adam pulled up on his laptop.  

Adam kisses his forehead and tells him he’ll be right back.  

He drags the trash can to the long barn. He dumps the sickly dream objects in a pile with the others. The empty can goes back to its place right outside the door.  

Ronan is almost asleep again when Adam gets back. Adam moves the laptop and the dishes, stays on top of the covers while Ronan nestles deeper within them. He curls against Adam’s side with a contented little noise that makes Adam’s heart skip a few beats. Adam rubs Ronan’s scalp. Still warm, but cooling once again.  

Adam picks up the book once he knows Ronan’s asleep. Finds the dogeared page, and begins to read once more.  He’ll have to put the kettle on soon. But it can wait.  

[imaginesmai]

Modern!Hvitserk-Octopus

Second part of the @elyonsstuff request! I hadn’t thought about doing it, but it was requested by 2 anons. It’s pure fluff, so you can read it without reading the first part; I recomend to do so though, because there are some details you won’t understand. Enjoy it!

Part 1

Plot: Hvitserk is sick and just wants cuddles. 

Hvitserk had always been cuddly when he was sick, so you weren’t really surprised when, fifteen minutes after the film was finished and he had said he wanted to sleep on the couch for safety health reasons, you heard the door open and stockinged feet shuffle in. The blankets were lifted and the mattress dip as Hvitserk laid down next to you, groaning lightly at his aching muscles. You pretended to be asleep for a second, wanting to see what he would do next. Even if Hvitserk was the cuddliest person in the world, he was also the politest boy you had ever met; so he didn’t touched you yet, only called your name softly.

“You’re really an octopus, aren’t you?” you said, smiling and looking at him through half closed eyes.

Since you had finally ended things with Magnus, Hvitserk and you had moved in together in his apartment. It wasn’t as big as yours, and sometimes you missed your bed; but waking up next to his handsome face each morning was worthy. You rolled onto your side to face Hvitserk, allowing him to scoot even closer.

“A typhoid octopus” you reached out and touched delicately his forehead. “-with fever. A very high one, actually. I thought I told you to wake me up if it got worse?”

“I was fine” he moaned, closing his eyes. “I just- damn, I can’t sleep without you. Look what you’ve done to me”

“Oh, as if you don’t like it”  you stuck out your bottom lip in an exaggerated pout, half of your face smashed into the pillow.

Hvitserk smiled at you and one of his hand touched your cheek. He entered in a daydream where he could only focus on your face, looking at him with such an adoration that he thought he could die like that.

The last months had been difficult. You breaking up with his half brother had given him a lot of problems; Bjorn had sided with him, so he had been kicked out of the races for real. It didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would, what bother him was that in his house he couldn’t even breathe in peace. There seemed to an incoming war between his brothers, and he had been spending more and more time in his apartment, hiding away from them and from the guilt of getting to kiss and hold you every day. Not that he minded any more.

You let your hand drop from his forehead to the back of his neck, massaging gently. Hvitserk moaned and sighed, as he relaxed into the soft bed. He turned onto his stomach, giving you access to his back and shoulders too, which made you snort in laugher.

“Can’t sleep, huh?” you asked. “I thought you said you wanted to protect me from the horrible germs in you.”

“Yeah, I changed my mind” he mumbled, eyes closed. “It’s just, ugh, everything hurts and I can’t sleep even if I want to”

“Have you taken your medicine?”

Hvitserk nodded, remembering the awful drink you had made him take twice a day; even if it was true that it made him feel better, just by the smell he wanted to throw up. He opened his eyes slowly and offered you a small smirk.

“I read the instructions, you were doing it wrong.”

“And how is it?” you raised your brow, amused.

“They say take with a full glass of water, twice a day and a acompained with sex”

The first laugh turned into a second, louder, and soon you were laughing with tears in your eyes. It had just come out so casually, that you couldn’t help it. Hvitserk watched you with a cute smile, the one which Ubbe would mock him. You had a full belly laugh for a few minutes, until tears were running down your cheeks. Hvitserk’s head hurt more at the sound, but he hadn’t met a more pleasant pain.

“Oh God, Hvitserk” you chuckled. “Can you think about anything else?”

To be truthful, he didn’t feel like having sex. In all his previous relationship sex had been the main pillar, but with you it was different. He didn’t feel the need to be close to your naked body every second of the day; it was enough to touch your hand.

“There is an alternative though” he kept talking. “Heard from my brother that it might work, not sure”

“And what is that? A blowjob? Public sex?” you wondered, smile not dropping.

“No, actually just snuggles” he shrugged, feeling much more shy. “If you want to, we don’t-“

“Come here” you huffed a weak laugh. He slid closer to the centre of the bed, meeting you halfway. “Can’t believe I heard you say snuggles”

Hvitserk wasn’t sure when the feel of your body close to him -warm, cold, clothed or naked, it didn’t matter- pressed into his side became so familiar. But it felt like the first notes of his favourite song, the scent of his favourite shampoo. The second he nuzzled his red nose into your neck, he relaxed into that little piece of home and felt much better.

“I actually love snuggles” he muttered. “When I was a child, I saw a documentary about two snakes snuggling. Thought it was the cutest thing ever. Then Ubbe told me they don’t have arms to hug each other and I cried for a week.”

You chuckled and wrapped your arms about your boy, who hummed content. You rubbed a palm up and down Hvitserk’s spine, feeling the hot skin burning the tips of your fingers. His heartbeat was the only thing you could hear in the room, and focused on it. You counted his heartbeats and looked down at his face.

His fever colour high cheeks met you, his hair a rat’s nest from tossing and turning all day in that awful couch. He was already looking at you with half-closed eyes, and you knew in five minutes he would be asleep.

“You sleepy?” you asked, and felt him nod against your breast.

“This is my new favourite place” he moaned. “They make the best pillow, princess”

You blushed under his words, not growing used to them. He was too perfect, too different from Magnus; who had treated you as if you were the last priority for him. Hvitserk always made sure to have your drawer of pads full, left the best side of the couch for you and without thinking changed your side when you were walking close to the cars.

“If you had to pick a place in the world, where would it be?” Hvitserk asked, interrupting your thoughts. You blinked surprised, a little taken aback. “Come on, Y/N. Anywhere. Even in the Fiji. Where would you go?”

“Probably Italy” you said, thinking about it. Hvitserk saw your face screwing up and waited for you to keep talking. “I’ve always heard it’s a beautiful place, and I would love to see it for myself.”

You started telling him about Torvi, your roommate, who had been there twice with his brother. With the corner of your eye, you saw Hvitserk’s eyes started to drop, and you guided your hand to his blonde hair. It was mattered from being laid down for so long, and the usual bun he wore was undone.

So, as you spoke about your dream-travel, you unknotted his hair until he was purring in pleasure, and still kept going. Hvitserk’s head had the amazing quality of always being soft. And you couldn’t get tired of it.

“I’m gonna take ‘ou” you head him mutter under his breath.

“What?”

“Um, I’m… I’m gonna take you. ‘ere” he repeated himself, words slurry. “I’m gonna ‘ave money ‘nd take the most ‘tiful girl to the most ‘tiful city”

Your heart expanded on your chest at his words, knowing that he wasn’t joking. Hvitserk was a prankest by nature; you had woken up more than once with whipped cream on your feet and had found salt on your coffee. But he didn’t joke with those things, and he managed to open one eye to prove it to you.

“I’m gonna ‘ake you anywhere you want”

You pressed your lips against his forehead, and he finally fell asleep. It didn’t took you long to follow, drifting away to a dreamland that wasn’t so different from your reality.

Want to know more about me? Here is my Masterlist! Feedback is always appreciated!!

[chibistarlyte]

let me love you (without having to say it)

just a fluffy kiribaku sickfic i wrote today for my wonderful friend kat @sunshineijirou. i hope i did your boys justice and i hope this helps cheer you up, my friend. <3

.

Bakugou was surprised when he didn't get a good morning text from Kirishima. 

It had become habit at this point. The two often slept in the same room—usually Bakugou's, but on occasion they'd stay in Kirishima's as they had the previous night—but Bakugou was the earlier riser of the two. At least, if he hadn't been plagued with nightmares the previous night. He was usually out on his morning run when a text from his boyfriend would vibrate in his pocket, disrupting the music streaming into his headphones. And Bakugou was happy that he was always alone on his morning runs, because then no one could bear witness to the fond smile that inevitably made its way onto his usually scowling face. 

But by the time he returned to the dorms, his phone has remained mysteriously undisturbed.

Maybe Kirishima was still sleeping?

Deciding to give his boyfriend a bit more time to wake up, Bakugou made his way to his room to retrieve his uniform and toiletries so he could hit the showers before breakfast. He ran into Sero and Kaminari in the communal bathroom after his shower, where they were having way too animated a conversation for the early morning. 

He checked his phone again on the way back to his room, but there was still no text. 

Now was about time for Bakugou to be worried.

"Is everything okay, Kacchan?"

Bakugou looked up from his phone and found himself face-to-face with Deku, who'd just come off the elevator with Todoroki in tow.

The blond bit back his usual biting response of, "Everything's fine, you damn nerd!" and sighed. "You guys seen Shitty Hair this morning?"

Deku tilted his head, touching his finger to his chin in thought. "Come to think of it, I don't think I have?"

Bakugou's worry intensified. 

"Thanks for nothing, nerd," Bakugou said gruffly, though he did reach out to ruffle Deku's hair just a little as he stepped onto the elevator. 

"Let us know if you need anything, okay, Kacchan?" Deku offered. Behind him, Todoroki gave an agreeing nod. 

Bakugou gave a nod of his own, this one in thanks, as the elevator doors closed before him.

His palms were sparking at his sides, and he had to focus to keep from melting the button for the fourth floor. He worked on his breathing the entire ride up, trying to force all the catastrophic guesses as to his boyfriend's whereabouts into things not so worst-case.

Bypassing his own room and heading straight for Kirishima's, Bakugou stood in front of the door and knocked twice with his knuckle. There was some kind of musical noise coming from inside, though he couldn't hear it well enough through the door to identify it. "Oi, Eijirou, I'm coming in," he announced, mentally smacking himself at the shakiness in his voice. There was no response even as he opened the door.

Everything was just as Bakugou had left it when he went out for his morning run. That included the unmoving lump under the garish covers that was his boyfriend. The unknown noise was the alarm on Kirishima's phone, blaring some sort of heroic tune that looped infinitely on itself. And the fact that the scene was pretty much the same as before was worrisome.

Kirishima never slept through his alarm, let alone allow it to go off for twenty straight minutes. Bakugou saw it on the screen when he picked up Kirishima's phone to dismiss the alarm.

"Ei…" Bakugou said quietly, kneeling down next to the bed. He lifted the camo blanket enough to find his boyfriend's sleeping face, cheeks flushed and sweat beading at his hairline. Kirishima's breathing was somewhat haggard, as if he'd just finished sprinting twenty kilometers instead of sleeping through the night. And though he felt abnormally warm, he was shivering.

The poor idiot looked sicker than shit. Bakugou felt a boulder of guilt settle into the pit of his stomach. How did he not notice earlier, when he’d woken up that morning? 

He was a terrible boyfriend.

Kirishima stirred when Bakugou moved to sit on the bed, phone in his hand as he quickly typed out a text.

To: Shitty Deku tell sensei eijirou is sick and i’m taking care of him today so we won’t be in class

“Katsu...ki...?”

Bakugou put his phone in his pocket turned his attention to Kirishima, who was looking at him blearily. The whites of his eyes were almost as red as his irises. “Hey…” he said softly, moving some of Kirishima’s vibrant hair away from his sweaty forehead.

“What time is it?” Kirishima asked in the raspiest voice Bakugou had ever heard.

“Almost eight-thirty,” Bakugou responded after a moment, trying to remember what time it was when he texted Deku.

Kirishima shot up in bed. “What?!” he exclaimed, hurriedly throwing off the covers and making to stand. “Fuck! Katsuki, why didn’t you wake me up?! I’m gonna be—oh…”

As soon as he stood up from his bed, Kirishima’s eyes nearly rolled back in his head as he swayed forward.

“Shit!” Bakugou yelled, moving with cat-like reflexes to catch his boyfriend before he hit the floor. “Uh-uh, get your ass back in bed. You’re sick, idiot.”

Kirishima, unable to support his own weight for the aches and weakness in his muscles, leaned on his boyfriend and allowed himself to be maneuvered back into bed. “But…” he said, only to have his rebuttal interrupted by a small series of coughs.

“Shut the hell up, you have a fever and you’re not going to class,” Bakugou said firmly, tucking the blankets tightly around Kirishima’s prone form. “And I’m taking care of you today, no ifs, ands, or buts, you got it?”

“But…” Kirishima tried again.

“Oi, what did I just say?” Bakugou said, more exasperated than anything.

Letting out a sigh that was punctuated by a cough, Kirishima let his head fall back against the pillow in defeat. “Alright…” he acquiesced. “Sorry to be a burden…”

Bakugou combed his fingers through Kirishima’s hair, blunt nails gently scratching his scalp. “You’re not a burden, so fuck off with that kind of talk, alright? I’m gonna go make you some tea and soup, just...just try and go back to sleep, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay…” Kirishima agreed almost too easily, coughing again as he turned onto his side and nuzzled against Bakugou’s hand.

With a gentle kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead that lasted quite a few more seconds than intended, Bakugou got up and headed for the door.

He nearly shit his pants when he opened the door and nearly ran right into Todoroki.

“Oi, Icyhot! What the fuck?” he said without any of his usual heat, just surprise to see the two-toned boy standing outside Kirishima’s dorm. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class or some shit?”

Instead of giving a verbal answer right away, Todoroki held up a container full of ice that had a few damp washcloths sitting on top. “Izuku said Kirishima was sick, so I brought these for you. To help with his fever.”

Bakugou blinked, standing stock still for a moment. That was...unexpected.

Brain finally connecting with the rest of his body, he took the proffered container into his own hands. “Uh. Thanks, half-n-half. I...you didn’t have to do that.”

Todoroki shrugged in that nonchalant way of his. “Kirishima’s a friend,” he said cryptically, then turned to leave. “I gotta go or I’ll be late. See you later, Bakugou.” And with a wave, Todoroki disappeared down the hall and into the elevator.

Once Icyhot was out of sight, Bakugou ducked back into the room and set the container on the floor next to the head of the bed. He knelt down and grabbed one of the washcloths, testing to make sure it wasn’t too cold before bringing it up to Kirishima’s forehead.

Bakugou heard Kirishima’s sharp teeth chattering as soon as the washcloth made contact with his feverish skin. Almost as an unconscious defense mechanism, Kirishima’s Quirk activated and hardened the patches of skin that were touching the cold cloth.

“Stop using your Quirk, you’re gonna wear yourself out…” Bakugou chided softly, mostly out of worry. Kirishima was already low on stamina with his body fighting off his illness. If he used his Quirk for any amount of time, it was bound to make things worse. 

“S-sorry,” Kirishima muttered, his shivering evident in his croaky voice. “It’s just...cold…”

“Just try to keep it on, it’ll help with the fever,” Bakugou said, satisfied when he received a weak nod from Kirishima.

He then, finally, left his boyfriend’s dorm and made his way downstairs without any further interruptions. It was almost nine o’clock at that point, which meant that everyone was already in class. He checked his phone and saw a message from Deku.

From: Shitty Deku aizawa-sensei says to take good care of kirishima-kun! you two can borrow my notes for today if you need! :D

Bakugou rolled his eyes, more out of fondness than anything. Not that he’d ever admit it to anyone, ever.

Lost in his own thoughts, Bakugou meandered about the kitchen and gathered the ingredients to make a simple soup for Kirishima. He also set the kettle to boil for some tea. He liked cooking a lot; it helped him center himself, helped calm him down when he was feeling restless. It made him feel useful, to be able to provide something for someone else. It made him feel like he’d accomplished something, no matter how small the meal actually was.

Kirishima had been there for him enough times. It was about time he returned the favor, at least in some way.

Time passed, and soon enough Bakugou found himself balancing a tray of a bowl of soup, a glass of water, and a mug of steaming hot lemon tea with honey as he headed back up to the fourth floor. Kirishima was asleep again when Bakugou returned to the room, which was a good sign. Sleep was always the best medicine, as Recovery Girl usually told them.

Bakugou decided to let Kirishima sleep for a few more minutes, leaving the tray on the floor at the foot of the bed and running to his own room to grab a couple spare blankets. He also dug around for a couple over-the-counter pills to help with the fever and congestion. Treasures found, he went back to Kirshima’s room.

“Shitty Hair,” he called softly as he headed over to the bed. He set the extra blankets over his boyfriend with such care that anyone else would have found it appalling, coming from a tough ass like himself.

Kirishima stirred at the sound of his voice, slowly blinking his eyes open and staring at Bakugou with his lids at half-mast. A groan was all the sound that escaped him.

“I brought you food and medicine. You don’t have to eat if you’re not hungry, but...you should at least take the medicine,” Bakugou said, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding Kirishima’s tired gaze.

Coughing a little, Kirishima answered, “Medicine, please. No food right now.”

Complying, Bakugou brought his boyfriend the pills and glass of water. Kirishima had a hard time swallowing the pills with how sore his throat was, but finally managed to get them down. He flopped back onto the bed with a sigh, still shivering with fever. Bakugou took the opportunity to change out the washcloth, setting the old one back on its bed of ice. Kirishima let out a hiss when the freshly cold cloth hit his skin, but thankfully his Quirk behaved itself this time.

Once Kirishima was settled and tucked in again, Bakugou climbed onto the bed and laid down between the wall and Kirishima. Barely a second later, his sick boyfriend was cuddling up to him in search of comfort.

“You shouldn’t be in bed with me, I’ll get you sick,” Kirishima complained, but his actions didn’t align with his words in the slightest.

Smiling a bit, Bakugou wrapped his arms around the blanket burrito that was his boyfriend and pulled him closer. “I don’t give a shit, just get better, okay?”

Kirishima nodded, tucking his head under Bakugou’s chin. The cold cloth hit the bare skin at Bakugou’s unbuttoned collar, giving him goosebumps.

“You’re the best boyfriend ever…” Kirishima rasped out, voice trailing off. The blush that made itself known on Bakugou’s face was almost as red as Kirishima’s fever-induced flush.

Thankfully Kirishima fell asleep again before he could see what a flustered mess his boyfriend had become at such sentimental words, and Bakugou, finally allowing the words to sink in, followed him into slumber soon after.

[writingsofmyimagination]

Sweet Histamine

Sooo this was for the kwritersworld spring fic exchange!

My writing partner was @njssi . Sorry for jumping the gun :P The keyword Pollen Allergies with BTS pairing was an interesting one, but naturally because i’m going to hell I had to make it smutty! Enjoy!

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Summary:Who would have thought forgetting to take your hay-fever tablets could end so sweetly. 

Word Count:2663

Warnings:Smut (hot and heavy nothing too extreme), PWP. Swearing.

The sun was raining in through the window, sprinkling you with the glorious rays warming your skin. Your apartment overlooked an expansive park, clouds of leaves atop ancient trunks. The bustle of families, lovers and friends enjoying the parks greenery amongst the flowers and the centre piece fountain which offered a consistent flow of children wishing their pennies away.

“Achoo” you blew your nose and stuffed the tissue into the back pocket of your denim shorts.

“You forgot to take your antihistamines again didn’t you?” Jimin wrapped his arms through your and clasped around your waist from behind.

“Well in my defence someone was distracting me this morning” you twirled round in his embrace knocking his lips from your neck and redirected them to give your lips some much needed attention

“Don’t blame me, have you taken some?” his mahogany irises glimmered with a shy sense of amusement littered with sincerity. His hands dropped and rested at your hips as yours were linked softly at the back of his back.

“Yes, I’ve taken some, what time are we heading over to the dorms?”

“In about ten minutes if you’re ready?”

“I’m ready, all snacks packed and accounted for” you beamed “Achoo” When you looked up a smirk had crept on his face.

“Go and lie on the bed baby” Jimin demanded softly, tracing the outline of your figure with equal pressure.

“What?, We don’t have time for…” you protested

“It’ll take less than ten minutes I promise” his saccharine smile comatosed you into complying, like a puppy you just couldn’t say no.

“Lie down, eyes closed, no peeking” You rolled your eyes searching for a hint of his intentions before shutting them. You heard drawers open and close, the bed depressed as Jimins weight left the floor. His fingers teased open the button on your shorts, your hands flew to his in protest

“How is this going to take less than ten minutes” the words rushed out forcibly. You sighed audibly when he pinned your nuisance hands above your head and absorbed any more contesting by enveloping you into a heated kiss; which you naturally arched yourself into.

“I promised didn’t I? I just want to make your pollen allergies more…fun” Okay now you was confused. “Now are you going to behave and let me carry on or this will take more than ten minutes?”

Such a brat you thought.

He took your silence as the answer he wanted and you allowed him to slip your shorts and underwear off with no more complaints and one more sneeze into the back of your hand.

His lips first ghosted at your navel which was exposed thanks to the black off the shoulder crop top you’d decided to wear. His lips danced downward and you ceased to care about time. He knocked your legs further apart and your hands gripped round the pillow above you as his tongue continued to dance fluidly over your bundle of nerves. The interval was all too soon, pulling a wanting sigh past your lips as his left you. Before you could whine about anything his fingers took over the lead. You heard a satisfied moan of approval

“Always so wet for me baby, ready?” you didn’t need reminding.

“Mmm” was all you mumbled, not really knowing what you was agreeing so amenably too.

“Fuck Jimin!” you cried, the shock jumbling with pleasure. You’re eyes flew open and you rested on your elbows to get a better view. Jimin was sat on his legs, wicked grin plastered on his face, the wickedness also mimicking through his eyes. Your body adjusted to the feeling of Jimin’s great idea.

“I bought you some kegal balls, I was going to wait until your birthday but with you sneezing like nothing else I thought this would be a good opportunity to play with them to see if they’re fun” Jimin explained triumphantly.

“Seriously?, we’re going to be out?” you affirmed, your sudden anxiety glued your body in place.

“Exactly, I can’t wait to watch you become a flustered mess. You’ll be begging me to take you home”

Oh so he wants to play today

The possibilities of the next few hours flashed through your mind, working like acetone and unstuck? Your muscles into their normal state.

“I could just take them out” you challenged, fishing for his reaction.

“You will do no such thing, I’ll ruin all your orgasms for three weeks” Well. That told you. Lips pouting, he just looked at you bemused for a moment before climbing further and kissing the pout away. His knee pressed generously in between your thighs to feed of your gasps.

“Come on, we better get going” he starved you of anymore affection jumping up and offering you his hand to pull you up.

“Agh” Jimin’s palm burned into your behind, you exclamation was more the results of the balls shifting inside you. The feeling was like a half satisfied itch, it left you craving much more. Jimin’s smirk turned wicked as you finally realised how much torture you was going to have to endure.

“I hate you” you joked.

“You won’t be screaming that later, I promise”

 As soon as you arrived at the dorms the aroma of BBQ teased your senses and woke up your apparent hunger, especially when you saw that Yoongi was head chef at the grill through the large panel windows onto the balcony.

“Achoo…aah”  

I’m not going to last all evening

You brows furrowed, aiming directly for Jimin who met your gaze with a miniscule tug of his bottom lip between his teeth. Your blood heightened to a few more degrees, he knew what he did to you and how to get you.

“Where do snacks live?” you inquired holding up the bag of goodies.

“Just bundle them on the table in the living room with the others” Jungkook directed, carefully trying to decipher the snacks beneath the plastic with inquisitive eyes. J-Hope’s unmistakeable laugh ricocheted through the open plan living room and kitchen, drawing your attention from the large flat screen playing a standard music channel.

All the boys apart from Yoongi and Jungkook were lounging in the metal garden chairs, drinks in hands. Jimin tapped his knee and you sat obediently. One arm worked round your waist to sit lazily, fingertips ministrating slowly against your skin. You pleaded to your antihistamines to stop any more sneezing. Jungkook handed you a glass of soda, it sucked you was driving.

Food was cooked, food was eaten and everyone was full of delicious goodness. Now was the debate of what film to pick

“So Jurassic World two or Incredibles 2” RM announced.

“Obviously Jurassic World” Jimin blurted out in a high plea blanketing the pair of you on one of the corner sofas and slumping down at your side. Yoongi was sat non-chalant at the edge of the sofa quietly scrolling while the children squabbled amongst themselves.

“We’ve waited like 15 years for incredibles” Hope added.

“Yeah what’s wrong with you hyung, Incredibles all the way!” Jungkook blurted at Jimin and added in a slap on his legs for good measure before resuming his position sprawled on the floor on his front with V; both had pillows hugged at their chest resting their chins. He leaned into you as he flinched and his adorable laugh caramelised through your veins, the viscosity did nothing to slow your heart rate throbbing in your chest and the blood flooding down in-between your thighs.

“Y/N it’s all on you, you’re the guest, and we’ll be here for hours otherwise” RM suggested from the other sofa

“No pressure then” you leaned forward reaching for a bag of cool Doritos. “Obviously Incredibles” all you got in response from Jimin was a pair of bambi eyes with his lips at a pout.

Serves him right.

Jin drew the curtains and plunged the room into near darkness, the gentle glow from the lamp at the end of the other sofa chased away most of the shadows. The two of you were seated furthest away from the light, leaving you with the most shadows interrupted only by the rays of the TV.

“Achoo… bless me” your thighs squeezed together to cushion the sensation of the balls hitting your walls, you fidgeted your entire lower half until the hit had done its damage. A breathless moan reached Jimin’s ears and your peripheral vision discerned his lips creasing upwards.

“Want me to fuck you yet?” his whisper ghosted the skin on your neck causing a ripple of goosebumps to stand to attention. You turned your head to him quickly, your eyes sheepishly scanning the room for witnesses.

“Anyone need more popcorn?” you asked, your cheeks tainted a light pink as you got up and grabbed the two empty bowls on the table and headed to the kitchen completely ignoring his question.

The ache was becoming unbearable, but you were determined not to let him beat you. The microwave was whirring happily with you leaning against the side checking your social media to pass the time and distract yourself. Your boyfriend emerged in the kitchen not long after, sinful expression slapped on his face and grabbed at one of your belt loops propelling you into him, your dropped your arm to avoid your phone hitting his face.

“Can I help you?” you asked unperturbed.

“Yeah, I want you to answer me” his lips mere centimetres away from yours holding then in a desperate limbo. Your eyes sparked off each other, dangerously close to igniting.

“Why don’t you find out for yourself” you quipped, taking his hand and teased it down beneath your waist band. You knew he wouldn’t be satisfied with just a touch. Before he starting to tease with his fingers and before you’d completely cave and let him have you in the kitchen you pulled his hand away, kissed him in a heated burst shutting off his whine and not allowing a pout to form from his lips. The spark in his coffee eyes burst.

I have him

“Two can play the tease game my prince”

DING! Before he had a second to react you grabbed the popcorn and bowls and returned to the living area your chest puffed slightly and an accomplished grin sneaking through.

 “Hey guys is it okay if we make a move, I definitely underrated my lack of sleep last night” Jimin was at the living room doorway framing his small stature, he rubbed at his eyes and threw his arms up into a full body stretch.

From the shadows your head shook with a one sided coy smile.

He’s unbelievable

“Remember we have practice at half seven, rest well hyung” RM well wished.

“I will, I’ll just go pack some things, Hobi did you move that attack on titan replica to our room yet? Y/N’s been asking about it”

He really is unbelievable but he knows how to get me where he wants me

“Yeah it’s in there” Hobi replied.

“Come on then babe” Jimin prompted. He did not have to ask you twice.

As soon as the door to his bedroom was shut, he was on you, he pressed into you with a primal roughness you rarely saw from him. You tried to push back a little to stop from slamming into the door and hopefully cushioning the sound. Your hands were both scrambling at each other’s sides. His brown hair was silk underneath your fingers as they crept up the back of his neck. His lips scattering desperate kisses at your collar bone. You pushed him back harder this time.

“Not here” you half pleaded in between struggling breaths “Someone could walk in” You tried to take a few more steps into the neat light pastel pink room. You were always more cautious about these things at the dorm, naturally; especially when Jimin doesn’t have his own room when him and J-Hope are the only two who share.

“I am NOT waiting until we’re back at yours” He unbuttoned your shorts gripped at your shoulders and spun you round to face the wall, instinctively your hands flew to the wall, palms flat against the cool surface. “We’re not exactly going to be long are we?”

I definitely wasn’t

His hands entangled in your hair and with a yank your neck in full extension releasing a strangled groan from your throat. His lips next to your ear, his body tight against your own, his desperation digging into you.

“But you’ll have to be quiet, don’t want us to get caught again princess, can you do that for me?” your skin flushed with heat

“Mmmhmm” you answered, he relinquished his grip on your hair and your forehead rested against the wall as your shorts and underwear were hastily sent pooling at your ankles. The humidity shrouding you both was near suffocating, there was nothing but hot blooded need flooding through your system. You needed him to fuck you and you needed it now. His hands locked onto your hip and pulled you back slightly and pushed your back, you bent at his touch so willingly. Your fists contorted into balls as his hands stroked through your heat from behind

“I think we’ll use these again” he said as he pulled at the silver chain.

“Aa…” your hand secured over your mouth cutting any more noise from falling out. The emptiness you felt was anything but a relief.

“Jimin, I swear to god if you don’t hurry up and fuck me” he’d gone to his bedside table to grab condom “We don’t need ..”

“I’d rather not deal with the mess” he rushed, it was his turn to scramble at his clothes, his belt buckle clinked, the noise only served as to heighten your anticipation and impatience.

With his cock finally against your buzzing nerves, you tilted your hips in a fluid motion to get more contact.

“Always so impatient”

“Fuck” you breathed in a forced whisper. Jimin’s moan was flooded with relief, the fingertips that were digging sweet half crescents into your skin held you firmly in your place. Every thrust it was becoming harder and harder to filter out your moans through pursued lips. You were neglected of the usual beautiful sounds that Jimin would give you in moments like this, the sweet high notes that would escape him, the desperate and satiated whines.

You grabbed behind you, clawing at the side of his behind as hips began jerking unevenly as he was racing towards his end. You was both chasing that impending high.

“Stay with…me baby…I’m so close” you panted barely holding on to your own control.

More and more volume was slowly creeping out amongst the gasps and pants

“Fuck Jimin, I’m….” your body gave in to an onslaught of pleasure that threatened to buckle your knees. The pulsing of your core around him knocked him falling into his own release he’d so desperately held off for you. His body still behind you, breathless obscenities flowing from his lips under his grunts. The pressure at your hips lifted and a more delicate pressure enveloped your waist his head dropped onto your back, savouring the afterglow of the heat as it dissipated.

“I love you soo much you know that” he spoke into your back. Your body satisfied and no longer clouded with uncontrollable lust, sense and social awareness seeps back in; bringing back with it a rush of self-consciousness.

“I love you too” you rushed out “but maybe let’s get redressed and get your stuff” You pictured the content grin you knew he’d be wearing.

“It’s not like you to get shy baby, but fine!” he huffed, exposed your skin from under your shirt to bury a kiss against your skin. He separated from you and allowed you to cover yourself restoring all dignity.

“And for god’s sake remember to put those balls away, I will literally die of embarrassment if Hobi sees them”

[salamanderskin]

Winter Returning part 4

Looks like I did actually post some of this, years ago. So let’s continue. Here’s the blurb: original sickfic, low on sneezing and heavy on fever, injury and mutual lesbian pining in a vaguely high-fantasy setting.

 The Kingdom's peace is uneasy kept only by the recently-deceased king’s scouts, headed up by Lieutenant Kay Winter. They have little time for romance, but in a time of need the Lieutenant finds a reason to return to the arms of her former lover.  Part 1 and 2, Part 3,

Part 4 Kay It was like something from a dream. I think I did sleep there in the cold, or at least sank deep into myself and lost the world around me for the world inside until all I could feel was the throb of my head and a more distant pain from my core that was pulsing and almost warm. Then Thea was there and she was taking me into the house and looking at me with her dark eyes all big and worried. 

I felt her hands guide me inside and into the chair and I sat down heavily. The sudden movement sent a bolt of pain through my arm that seemed to find both my stomach and the roots of my teeth. I swallowed against the nausea, gritting my teeth so I did not moan. I would not. Nor did I when she undressed me and cleaned my wounds, not until I sneezed and felt like I was being torn in two. Thea clenched her hands when I did that as though it pained her too. Just as well it was a one-off. I didn't intend to do it again. 

She went off for a minute and came back with two steaming mugs of tea which she placed by the hearth in front of us. Thea moved along the wall of bottles and jars in her healer's store and traced the labels with her fingers like a blind woman, though I suspected she could find what she wanted with her eyes closed well enough. Her brown dress blended into the shadows and polished wood furniture and I was as lulled by watching her as I was by the hot drink which I sipped gingerly, cradling it with my hands to sap the warmth from it. At length she returned and came to stand behind me. A hand on my chin tilted my head back so that she could look into my eyes and then at the bruise on my forehead. Her fingers probed it very gently. I expected a shock of pain but it was not so bad, just a dull throb now. Nothing broken but my pride.   

“'tis nothing.” I tried to tell her, but she gave me a no-nonsense look I was in no state to ignore. Before I could say anything else she drew up a stool and came to sit behind me. I felt the warmth of her chest on my back as she leaned up against me, then something warm and damp as she cleaned the blood away from the wound in smooth, efficient strokes. She smoothed the cloth right out to the tips of my hair, not that's it's all that long. I was aware of everything about her- her warmth, the slow, even pulse of her breathing, the scent of her. It was so familiar. No one had touched me like that for a long time. I closed my eyes. She dressed the wound with a gauze bandage. When she rose and took her warm presence from me I felt a pang like loss, but she was only circling around to the front of me to look me over again, satisfied. She dabbed something cold and herbal-smelling on the bruise. “Open your mouth.” She said. I complied automatically and let her look into my throat. “Mm” was all she said, shaking her head. Her fingers migrated from the back of my head to the tender underside of my jaw, probing the glands there. A separate soreness I hadn't been aware of surfaced and I shrugged away. “I- what are you looking at?” “Do you feel feverish?” She asked. Did I? I shook my head. I'd have noticed.      “I suppose it's just a touch, for now.” She confirmed it with the back of her fingers on my cheek. They did feel cold but then she always used to have cold hands. I remembered that. She used to slide them into mine, into my pockets, like creatures seeking a nest. Then the numb, full feeling in my sinuses flared and I batted her hand away in a panic so that I could turn my head into my shoulder to sneeze again. I fought to swallow the sound and came out with a strangled “ --Idgsh!--IDgsh!--DSTch! ” that really wasn't worth the effort. Thea actually smiled, patting me on the other shoulder. “Gods bless. I was going to say you're certainly catching a chill. I suppose it isn't surprising.” I sighed. Damn it all, she was probably right. I wanted to tell her that I didn't catch ill, not like that, that I hadn't for years. But there was no point, and a small part of me loved the tender way she looked at me then. Dressing the wounds had been work for her, but apparently this was personal. If it kept her close to me I wasn't about to complain. We were caught like that for a long time, just looking at each other. Thea was close enough for me to see each dark eyelash where it lay on her cheek, the sweet cupid's bow of her mouth, the... my eyes kept sliding out of focus and my head was throbbing again. “You need to sleep.” “Uhuh.” That wasn't words. I shook my head to clear it but that just made things worse and I think I swayed in the chair. Thea's arm caught me at any rate. “Come.” Her front room, the healer's room, hadn't changed much since I was last there. Dark panelled walls, the back wall lined with jars of herbs, a heavy desk with many drawers and shelves and shelves of leather-bound books. Thea did not lead me to to the little couch by the window but toward the back of the cottage, through a curtained-off doorway into her private living quarters. She carried a lit candle, shielding the flame with one hand. The glow showed through her fingers like sunlight through a shell. Next thing I knew she was pushing me down on what I knew was her own bed. It was curtained on three sides and pushed against the wall, a nest of wool blankets and a quilt worn soft with age and use. This place held so many memories it made my head hurt again. The hours I had spent there with her. I think Thea could feel it too. She had given me a thick nightdress to wear but I still shivered. It started small but built until my teeth rattled in my skull where I sat on the bed. My nose was running down my lip again and I dabbed it sheepishly with the balled-up handkerchief in my hand. “Get under the covers, and try to get warm.” Thea prompted. I complied. The sheets were like ice, offering no comfort though I curled in on myself. From beneath the blankets I watched her undress. She unbound her hair and it fell in a cascade over her shoulders, thick and so brown it was nearly black. The waves stood out like ripples in the sand. Should I avert my eyes? It wasn't as though I'd never seen her naked before. Thea solved the question by turning her back on me to slip out of her dress and into a long white nightgown. I couldn't seem to pry my eyes from the cello curve of her back. When she turned she caught me staring and a blush painted her cheeks, visible even in the dark. She sat on the edge of the bed and cupped her hand over my forehead, gauging. “Up.” She said, “But it'd be better for you to sweat it out if you can. Fever is the body's way of fighting. Do you need something to help you sleep?” “That's not going to be a problem.” “But your head must hurt, and your stomach?” I shrugged. “Don't worry. I'll try not the roll over too violently and ruin your work.”    She winced. “Very well. Goodnight then. Wake me if you need me.” Not likely. Unless something had changed, Thea slept like she was dead. I suppose she had no sins on her soul of the kind that kept a soldier awake. At any rate she lay down beside me and snuffed the candle with spit-dampened fingers. Then the room was dark and I made out her shape only by the relative brightness of the night seeping through the drapes at the window. She lay on her back beside me with her hips tilted just to one side, inviting. Before I knew what I was doing I rolled in toward her and rested my head in the crook of her shoulder as I had when we were lovers. She said “Oh,” very quietly. She didn't push me away. I didn't know what to make of it, but I was suddenly warm, warm as I hadn't been for months. Thea curled around me and I felt my body relax as if I were sinking into the mattress. It was very strange- I was both supremely relaxed, my limbs heavy with tiredness and flickering aches from the bruises only now beginning to form, yet also hyper-alert to the sound of her breathing, the feel of her skin against mine. I wanted badly to sleep, but it seemed like such a waste of this opportunity. Who knew when I would have this chance again? No, I was not going to sleep, not yet, even if she wanted me to. I would at least lie and savour this moment. The scent of her was all around me, her sweat and the oil she used on her skin, the incense she burned on charcoal disks.. Her hands were at the back of my neck, sifting in and out of hair and rubbing at the nape, venturing little trips up around the back of my ears or down my neck to the tops of my shoulders. It was good- my head throbbed dully from the blow as well as within my sinuses. As I became aware of that fact, I ran a mental check over the rest of my body. My calf muscles were relaxing painfully from cramped knots and the stabwound in my abdomen was sore and hot. There was an uncomfortable tightness in all my muscles and also in my head and throat. Dizziness came and went in waves. And my nose, Gods damn it all. I didn't want to move from her, didn't want to indulge my body at all. I worked so hard to be my best around her, and there was nothing to do. The feeling grew in intensity until I couldn't deny it any longer and longed simply to be rid of it. I sat up in time to draw one sharp inhale and I managed to sneeze away from her. “hhTSCHh!”One arm was still under her but I managed to reclaim the other and so shield her from me. “...excuse me.” Ugh, and now my nose was running. Damn it, damn it all. “Gods bless.”   I made to settle down once more when the need overtook me again. “htzSscH!” “Gods bless.” Thea repeated, and something about it was so sincere, so gentle that I could barely comprehend it. The motion of sitting up too quickly caught up with me as the room gave a lurch and I closed my eyes, willing the walls to stop swaying so. Although my limbs were still prickled with cold, the covers were a sick, unbearable heat on me. I fought to push them off me but her hand found mine and pressed it. “We need to keep you warm.” She told me. I was about to tell her that I was more than warm enough, that I was boiling alive in her arms, but the words couldn't push their way through the tiredness and I rolled over instead to make my point known. Strangely, the moment I moved into a space on the mattress not already flooded with body heat the cold made my skin, and it seemed, my very bones, ache. I must have exclaimed, or gasped, or perhaps it was simply that Thea was an expert at reading my body still, even after all this time apart, for she moved to me and held me, wrapping her arms around mine and sharing her warmth and her touch. I suppose I must have fallen asleep. ….

[sam-whump]

Rw part 13: Care

Sam had been placed in bed and two doctors had been called in by Jason. They checked her vital stats and then went on to cleaning and bandaging wounds, while also trying their best to make her drink, despite her half-awake state. After they did what they could, they left the room. Jason had not let them get out of his sight for a single moment.

"Get me another blanket. She's freezing cold." Jason told Kaylan who did as he was told. It was rare for anyone to see Jason like this. He normally had someone else take care of hurt people.

He also ignored what most doctors had said, that it was better to let her go, it would be less pain for her. But Jason did not want to let go.

Sam was vaguely aware of everything that was going on. She kept drifting in and out of sleep.

Kaylan just did what he was told, not quite understanding why Jason was so protective all at once.

And Jason just kept giving out orders. He wanted her to get better as soon as possible. He was determined to get her back to health. Even if it meant staying inside the room for days straight, as long as Kaylan was at his side.

As they day passed, Sam got better and worse at different times. Sometimes she wasn't even awake and was hot because of the fever, while other times, she just seemed tired but fine further. Jason had been busy all day adjusting the amount of blankets to her temperature.

As the night came, it made him feel scared. For some reason, the night always seemed to bring along trouble. Kaylan had said Jason good night and had gone off to sleep in his bed. Jason made a mental note to talk with Kaylan later and explain everything. He just needed to focus on her first now.

He had been holding her hand since the moment she came in, with short breaks when he adjusted the blankets.

"Hmm." Sam muttered as she opened her eyes again. She still felt like shit, every muscle ached and her mouth was as dry as the desert. "Wa?" She asked. Saying the whole word cost her too much energy.

Jason nodded and jumped up, almost running to get a glass of water. He helped her sit up and even held the glass to her lips. "Little sips. I don't want you to choke on it. Take it easy." He told her and Sam did what he said. It took a few minutes until they finished the glass, but they did it.

Jason helped Sam lay down comfortably again and even stroke her hair. She just smiled a little bit at him and seemed to enjoy the gentle touch. She drifted asleep again and no matter how tempting it was, Jason stayed awake.

It was only when the morning came and the doctors entered to check up, that he allowes himself to close his eyes for a while.

Sam was getting better bit by bit. They gave her some more water and even fed her some already cut food that was easy to chew and swallow.

They were a little worried about the infections that seemed to form on the wounds. They weren't surprised as she had crawled through dirt with them, but they had tried everything to prevent infection.

Jason was starting to grow more and more tired every day as he barely slept. At one point, he had fallen asleep in the chair. Kaylan had seen it and had placed him in bed next to Sam. Nothing could happen anyway as both were asleep. But Kaylan was not having it. He was fine with Jason wanting to take care of someone, but not if it cost him his own health. He planned on having a harsh conversation when Jason woke up again.

Except that he never did. The moment Jason woke up with his hair all over the place and saying good morning with his hoarse voice, Kaylan promptly fell in love with him again.

"Morning, beautiful." Kaylan smiled and helped Jason get out of bed. "How was your nap? I hope you don't mind that I put you in bed. You looked rather uncomfortable in that chair." Kaylan explained while holding Jason in a loose hug.

"You did great. Thank you. Can I have some water? I think I snored. My throat feels rough." Jason replied. Kaylan nodded and got him some water, which Jason happily drank.

"There is just one thing I don't understand, Jas. Why are you so caring about her when before you were torturing her?"

"Well. You see. She is basically my property, got my mark and everything. I am the only one who is allowed to hurt her. And she came back on her own, meaning something really bad must have happened. I want to know what." He explained.

Kaylan nodded as he understood what Jason was saying. He was just about to ask what would happen after she was back to health, when Sam woke up.

She managed to push herself up with difficulty, but smiled proudly as she managed to do so. "Water?" She asked again. Sam still had a bit of a headache, but it was becoming less. She would normally have used healing magic on herself, but wasn't strong enough for it at the moment.

"Sorry." Jason whispered as he let go of Kaylan to fetch a glass of water and give it to Sam. She drank it without needing any support, spilling a little here and there, but that didn't matter to her. Her health was clearly improving again, despite the nasty infections that sometimes caused her to have fever and almost make it seem like she wasn't healing at all.

But as a week passed by, Sam was feeling better again. She felt fine, but was in reality still weak with a light fever. Sam by now could walk little parts of the room, almost far enough to reach the tap for water herself.

Jason had managed to let it go a little and was spending more time with Kaylan again, the two never got enough from each other.

One afternoon, Jason walked in again as Sam was just waking up. "Hey. How was your nap?" He asked before sitting down in the chair.

"Nap? It feels like I slept for a week and still am tired." She laughed. "But it was good. Thank you for asking."

"Okay so uhm. I was wondering if you wanted to tell me what happened that made you come back here." Jason told her. He decided that being honest was the best at the moment.

"They wanted to execute me. They threw me into one of the dirty cells and no one even bothered to feed me or give me water. I still don't know for sure how I made it all the way over here without dying. Anyway. The third day finally someone, Blake, came. But he didn't bother listening to me. He thought I had betrayed Eloreth and had joined you and Goem. He sentenced me to be executed, but I got so terrified. It all happened so fast and suddenly I was just on the run. I can't even remember what happened exactly." She explained. It was not the first time that she had used magic and not remember what happened afterwards, she needed to get a better control over it. But those things took time, and Sam never had the patience for it.

"Wait. No one bothered to come and give you water for three days straight? Monsters." Jason muttered the last part. "Good thing we're at war with them. They'll pay dearly for this. I'll make sure they get my revenge." He spoke, not even meant directly at someone.

"You shouldn't. I want to, Jason. I want to make them feel my revenge for what they did. For leaving me there to rot. Even you came to visit me when you held me here." Sam sounded rather determined. All the love she had felt for Eloreth had evaporated and replaced with hatred.

Jason nodded. "Alright. But you get better first. I'll make you one of my knights and you're not doing anything until I tell you. Okay?"

"Wait. Really?" She smiled and hugged him. "Thank you so much. I'll tell you every weakness I know about the kingdom, so that we can burn it down to the ground and dance on its ashes."

Jason was a little surprised by the hug, but smiled after all. He felt weird, like an odd warm feeling was growing inside of him. He knew what love felt like, he had Kaylan after all. But this was different. He decided that he could talk with Kaylan about it later.

"Sounds like a great plan, go back to sleep for now. You'll need the strength. And just know, I want to make you the best, but that doesn't come without a price." He told her.

Sam happily nodded. She was willing to give him anything she could possibly give. "Goodnight." She layed down again and closed her eyes.

Jason gently moved some hair out of her face. "Goodnight." He replied before standing up and walking out.

[amazingdanielhowell]

Interactive Illness

Summary: Dan and Phil are back from their world tour and editing the video for Interactive Introverts. Phil is feeling a bit ill, but pushes it off so that he can help Dan with the editing. Dan picks up on Phil being slightly off, but doesn’t think much of it until he finds Phil on the bathroom floor.

“Here babe,” Dan smiled at Phil setting a piping hot mug of coffee in front of him kissing the top of his head.

“Thanks,” Phil mumbled clicking the computer mouse rapidly to move back to the frame he needed. “So many camera angles.”

“I know,” Dan sighed taking a seat next to Phil, taking a sip from his own mug. “But it’s going to look great when we’re done. You look like you’re getting sleepy.”

“Yeah, a little,” Phil lied rubbing his dry, tired eyes. “Wanna take over for a bit?”

“Sure,” Dan replied standing up to switch chairs with Phil who looked more pale than usual. “You alright? You look…off.”

“Yeah I’m fine,” Phil lied again. “Just need to let this coffee get through me.”

Since coming home, Phil had felt what he considers ‘pre-sick’. The feeling one gets right before a bad cold or flu where the entire body aches, the back of the throat has an unending tickle feeling, a slight pounding headache always present, and a general, full body fatigue. Today, the ‘pre-sick’ moved into the next stage, full on illness, and Phil felt awful. Every time he stood up, he felt dizzy; his eyes felt tired, no matter how much sleep he got. The tickle in his throat turned into a full on, nearly debilitating itch where, if he could without gagging, would shove his finger down just to scratch the hell out of it. While he didn’t really feel like eating, coffee went down (and stayed down) without any trouble, and since they’d been so busy editing, Phil was able to just drink coffee and avoid food without alerting Dan. Today, though, Phil’s stomach felt like it was on a roller coaster, dropping and flipping with even the thought of food, so taking a sip of coffee felt more like swallowing tar and sat heavy in his stomach.

Phil took a seat in the chair next to Dan feeling his entire body shiver at the temperature difference. He’d gotten used to the body heat he accumulated from sitting in the first chair for so long, that now, moving chairs made him feel like he had gone outside in the middle of winter without a jacket. He wrapped his hands around his coffee mug watching the steam rise out of it and disappear into the air. Normally he loves this smell, the smell of fresh, hot coffee, but now, all it did was nauseate him to the point of needing to hold his breath so the once lovely aroma, now putrid stink, wouldn’t turn his stomach.

“Be right back,” Phil announced as Dan continued editing and shuffled out the door.

Phil  took a deep breath and shakily made his way to the bathroom trying to remember if they had anything in the medicine cabinet for nausea. Or anything at all. At this point, anything would be better than nothing, Phil thought to himself.

Despite the thick socks covering his feet, Phil felt the icy cold tile penetrate through the socks, through his skin, making him shiver once again. Phil took a quick look at himself in the bathroom mirror noticing how red his eyes were, how sunken his cheeks looked, and how pale his lips were. He truly looked like the human embodiment of death, but he couldn’t be bothered to fix himself up. He opened the cabinet and dug around shuffling through some expired antibiotics one of them must have gotten at some point, pushed past the boxes of contacts, and found…nothing. Nothing that could help him shake this sick, tired, gross feeling encompassing him. Another wave of nausea swept through Phil’s body, feeling heat run from his head down to his stomach where it settled for a moment before rising back into his chest. Dropping to his knees, Phil clutched the side of the toilet and shut his eyes tightly as his abdominal muscles pushed the small bit of coffee he’d had from inside his stomach to inside the toilet. He blinked away the tears that pricked his eyes and took a few more deep breaths, unsure if it was safe to get up, or if he would need to be sick again.

“Oh babe.”

Phil slowly lifted his head to see Dan standing in the bathroom doorway, a pitied expression on his face as he took in the sight before him.

“It’s not—”

“I knew something was off,” Dan tutted bending down to squat next to Phil. “You should have told me you weren’t feeling well.”

“I’m fine,” Phil lied shaking his head. “Just a little stomach upset. Come on, let’s just finish editing so we can—”

“The movie isn’t going anywhere,” Dan hushed as he comforted Phil rubbing small circles on his back, pressing the back of his hand to Phil’s forehead noticing a slight fever. “Come on, let’s get you into bed.”

“I’m fine,” Phil repeated. “Really, I just got a little sick, but I’m good now.”

Dan stared at Phil for a moment and caressed his cheek. Phil leaned into his warm touch like a kitten wanting more attention and closed his eyes, feeling for just a moment, at peace. He let out an involuntary sigh and let himself lean into Dan, feeling warmth as Dan’s arms circled around his shivering boyfriend. Dan pressed a kiss to the top of Phil’s head and brushed his hair off his face with his fingers.

“Come on,” Dan coaxed standing up, holding out a hand.

Phil took Dan’s warm hand and stood up, allowing himself to be wrapped in Dan’s embrace once again. As they walked, Dan rubbed his hand up and down Phil’s arm trying to stimulate blood flow to warm him, but the walk to their bedroom was short and Phil was much too cold for anything short of an electric blanket in the heat of Australia’s winter to warm him.

“You get changed, I’ll find something for your fever,” Dan ordered making Phil open his eyes, unaware of him closing them in the first place.

Phil nodded and moved to the dresser where he found a pair of his long pajama pants and baggiest night shirt. He changed as quickly as possible and slid into bed, pulling his duvet over him wondering how long it took bones to warm up because at this point, Phil felt his chill extending past his skin and muscles, settling deep into the intricate structure that made up his skeletal system. Dan returned moments later changed into pajamas of his own with an extra blanket, his Interactive Introverts hoodie he had worn most of the tour, a bottle of Tylenol, and a small glass of water.

“Thanks, Dan,” Phil smiled watching his boyfriend set everything up. “You’re cute.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dan blushed draping the extra blanket over Phil. “Put my hoodie on. I just took it off so it should still be pretty warm.”

Phil took the hoodie Dan tossed over to him and poked his head through, smiling when he inhaled the familiar scent of Dan, an aroma that never got old, one that he could never get sick of. Once his arms were through the sleeves, Dan handed him some medication and the water cup which Phil took without a fight. While Phil hates being sick, he does enjoy how loving and protective Dan gets when he is. Everything else in the world melts away; no responsibilities, no e-mails to answer, nowhere they have to go or anyone they have to see. It’s just the two of them, Dan and Phil, the center of each others’ worlds.

Dan silently crawled into bed next to Phil and grabbed onto his hips, pulling his shivering boyfriend into him once again. Phil wrapped his legs around Dan’s and felt the heat of Dan’s hand underneath his shirt, tapping gently on his protruding hip bone. Dan slid his other arm under Phil’s neck so that Phil was using the fleshy part of Dan’s arm as a pillow, which also allowed Dan to give Phil a little back rub.

“I love you,” Phil sighed, smiling, feeling just a tad bit better now that he was laying down with Dan.

“I love you,” Dan said kissing Phil’s forehead.

“Thanks for taking care of me. If you want to go back and edit for a bit—”

“Shh,” Dan hushed him, moving his hand from Phil’s hip to his lips, then rested it on Phil’s cheek. “It’s not going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere. Rest, love.”

Phil nodded, closing his eyes, pressing his body closer to Dan taking in his warmth, his comfort, his love. While Phil’s body ached, his stomach hissed at the thought of food, and his throat felt like a thousand feathers were tickling it, he felt relaxed, at ease wrapped in Dan’s arms. Dan pressed his forehead against Phil’s watching as his breathing slowed as he fell deeper and deeper into a restful slumber, then finally closed his own eyes giving the tip of Phil’s nose a kiss falling into a peaceful sleep of his own.

[sunstriderling]

The princess and the hitman Au for Gency? Or maybe just a fluff of Genji confessing to Angela ^^

+ @nappi​‘s request for sick!Angela & caring!Genji. :> Writing this took 7 000 years but to be honest I’ve been really sick myself for three weeks straight and my brain’s ability to put together coherent sentences was non-existent, so, uh, here we are.

( AO3 )

It’s late, well past ten in the evening - after a mission, most of them would be in bed at this hour. Yet here they are, both her and Genji, in the medical bay; the cyborg busying himself with the drink dispenser, the day’s newspaper, and a blanket-covered chair as if he’s set to move in, and Angela, well, cross-legged on the elevated hospital bed with multiple plush pillows piled behind her back. It’s uncomfortable. Unbelievable, really; it’s as if she’s forgotten completely what it feels like to be ill. All these years she’s tended the sick and the wounded and truly, she’s seen it all, but a mere cold, at worst a flu, something so ordinary and mundane and, most of all, survivable, now feels to her like she’s dying.

How long has it been? Fifteen years?

The puncture wound in her lower back aches like a gunshot wound, only so much smaller, like the infected bite of a mosquito or a horse-fly. It throbs with her fever-stricken everything, a drumming inside her brain and bones, an ache in her muscles, and she sniffs idly with glassed-over eyes, finding the whole situation… ironic, almost amusing. No, whatever was in that dart wasn’t poisonous. It did nothing but stunt her body’s artificially improved regeneration rates, her boosted immunity system, perhaps in the hopes that she’d get shot or just break a bone, leaving her vulnerable or, in the best case scenario for Talon, dead. What she’d actually become was just… sick, like her stellar immunity collapsing on her meant nothing to the lurking germs sticking to her but the open opportunity they’d waited for for a good half of her lifespan. Suddenly, it was as if her basic, unmodified biology no longer knew how to handle a simple virus.

This was a flaw in the design of the regenerative design she’d previously regarded as a succesful experiment. She’d realised it the first thing after noticing the aches in her joints, the thickness in her throat, and the slowly growing soreness everywhere. She’d have to fix that, this sudden immunity collapse syndrome, at once when she wouldn’t be shaking madly with the sickness anymore. When her brain worked again. When something worked again.

Everyone had been quite concerned. They couldn’t recall ever seeing her sick and even though surely they had, they may have not noticed it; sickness had never stopped her from working, she’d just chosen projects that didn’t risk her patients on those days, or her colleagues. Sickness made her antisocial, brought her mind back to the workings of her own body, what it was going through, and how she could turn this intimate knowledge of the process of the illness in her and the stages her body took towards recovery into the building bricks of medical science. Even now, that was where her mind had been, and perhaps it was that fact that had calmed the team down in the end. They’d all gone to bed, hadn’t they? She’d told them she’d be fine self-medicating and sleeping the fever off in the medical bay, and they’d told her they’d see her in the morning, wished her a swift recovery, and disappeared into their little holes inside the Watchpoint like a strike team of exhausted foxes.

Everyone except Genji.

He’s got tan lines over his cheeks and forehead, Angela notes as he sits on the side of her bed, offering her a steaming cup of hot chocolate from the dispenser. It’s summertime, and after settling in, after growing comfortable with his companions once more, he’s spent quite some time outdoors with his visor off. She wonders if sunlight still hurts his modified eyes; she didn’t quite know how to fix that after the repairs, after the improvements. She simply told him to get used to it.

Retrospectively, she always felt guilty about that, yet - he doesn’t seem to squint as much anymore, if at all.

“I am afraid it is not Swiss. I keep disappointing,” Genji says with a hint of a grin.

She chuckles, rolls her eyes and lets out a gentle cough that masks the desperate pressure in her throat demanding a much bigger, much sharper relief. She’s not holding it back for him as much as for her own body’s sake; she’ll cough hard when it helps some, but for now, the only thing it does is bruise her from the inside out.

“Silly. I wouldn’t be able to taste it, even if it was Swiss - my body will hardly know the difference,” Angela huffs in response, bringing the cup to her lips and taking the smallest sip to try how hot the drink is.

Quite.

Genji chuckles.“Are you telling me that there are no magical healing qualities to Swiss chocolate, Angela? For all the praise you’ve had for it…”

“I am telling you that, yes.”She thinks it over for a moment before taking another sip and placing the mug between her crossed legs, over the baby blue blanket thrown over her.“You do know that I will do just fine on my own, Genji. Go to bed.”

“No,” Genji replies casually, picking up his own blanket; it’s fuzzier, and sand brown; “I’ll stay here. I know you would do just fine on your own, Angela, but it is a special kind of loneliness, being alone when you are feeling under the weather. So I will be here and accompany you, so you can focus on getting better. It is what a friend would do, is it not?”

She smiles. Then, slowly, she nods.“I had forgotten all about that. I never let myself have it; my career left no time for sick leaves, and it left very little time for friendship, too. So I worked while I was ill and… the kindness you’re showing me is like remembering something from childhood. All those nights as a little girl, with my mother or my father bringing me cold medicine or soup to eat.”

It takes her a moment to get back to the present day, but when she does, she sees Genji tilting his head with a gentle expression on his face.“Tell me more,” he prompts her, “I have never heard you speak of your childhood.”

A quiet chuckle escapes her and she shakes her head, lowering her gaze to her steaming drink on her lap. She waits for some time, perhaps for her mind to start working again, to form a thought one way or the other, but it seems - feels - as if there’s some technical issue with her functions, the whole of her mind reduced to a blank state of white noise. Finally, she brings the mug up to her lips again, shaking a little at the contrast of the hot drink touching her otherwise so cold-feeling body.

“There is not much to tell, Genji. Or - perhaps there is, but it all seems quite mundane and so distant that I wouldn’t know what to talk about. Surely you have similar experiences. Surely nothing I had was that special. I had a mother and a father once, and I was small, and I was cared for and sometimes I was sick, and my mother would sit by my bed singing me lullabies, my father would read me lighthearted poetry from children’s books, and I - would fall asleep and have nightmares. I had a lot of nightmares as a child, from fevers, I remember that being the worst part of being ill. Strange dreams, that you wouldn’t think were scary; objects from the real world beginning to spin around the room, levitating. Impossible things. My blankets and bed turning to thorns. Those dreams scared me then, but I grew out of them.”

She lifts her gaze and examines him.

“What about you? Would you share some memories from your past with me, too?”

Genji’s eyes narrow, but the lingering smile on him is both thoughtful and a little bit amused, as if she’s challenged him.

“When I was a child,” he begins then, “being sick was the only time when my brother would stop pushing me around. Literally. I was our father’s favourite as a young boy - he gave me much of the attention he would not give to my brother, who had to be raised tough for the future of our bloodline, you see. So maybe I was raised like a little girl, too. I did not care for poetry, however. I remember playing video games and being bored out of my mind through illnesses, my body going through phases of fever chills and floods of sweating… Funny, I have not recalled these things in a long time. I have not had to.”

He eyes her, and a small chuckle escapes him as well.

“I suppose that is on you, Doctor Ziegler?”

Angela nods slowly.“Your body’s regenerative abilities -”

“I understand.”

They’re silent for some time, and Angela leans her sore back into the pillows, rests her head and breathes deep, as deep as her itchy lungs allow her from the spasms in her chest threatening her with coughing fits. No, not yet, she tells her body and relaxes; all of that will come soon enough.

“I quite missed your company,” Genji tells her then, his voice softer, quieter now, as if he’s either not quite sure how to approach this subject, or if he’s not sure if she’s asleep and doesn’t want to wake her up.

She peers at him lazily through a partially opened eye, then closes it again, nodding. The nod compresses her throat and she coughs unwillingly, but it passes quickly, letting her relax again.

“It seems strange, all those years we exchanged letters and yet I feel as if I am just now meeting you for the first time,” the cyborg continues.

“It is all quite different since we last met, face to face,” she mumbles, cheekbones burning with fever and most her attention directed towards the fact, “Much has changed; we are older, but we are also very different people. You are no longer lost, and I am no longer an overgrown child.”

“Was I lost when we last met? Were you an overgrown child?” Genji asks her, his voice amused.

“Would you contest either of those claims?” she asks him back.

He thinks for a moment.“No,” he says then; “With confidence, I can say that I was lost. And perhaps I saw you differently then, but now that I have met you once more, you are indeed a woman. I am not quite sure I saw you that way before. You were my doctor, but you were very young, and you seemed out of your comfort zone, even when you were the most experienced person in the room, doing what only you could do.”

“Precisely. I have grown since, Genji. Not quite like you have, and yet, if I could meet my younger self from those days, I would have much advice to give that silly girl.”

They look at each other, and there’s warmth in Genji’s eyes, acceptance, and somehow, Angela realises she needed to see that. She smiles at him before reaching for her hot chocolate again.

“Back then it seemed absurd that there is merely a year or so between us,” she says then; “in my eyes you seemed - immature. Boyish, as if you were stuck in the worst of your teenage years. And I was not done growing up myself. I quite never gave myself the chance to experience youth, and I suppose that made me young for a very long time in the developmental sense. I thought I could bypass the nonsense that other teenagers got caught up in, so that when I turned 20, then 25, all that unspoken rebellion and most of all the confusion and insecurity that I’d never worked through was still there. Yet I still thought of myself above you, because my way of carrying myself was so controlled, so pretentiously mature, and you were caught up in your unpredictable moods like you had no skills in fighting them. Trauma does that to people, and yet I allowed myself to think that this was simply who you were. A silly boy, to project away the truth that I was also a silly girl inside. I hope my words don’t offend you.”

Genji shakes his head.“No. If you’d spoken them to me then, I would have become very angry, but I see the truth in what you say today. I was very lost and I was very afraid, Angela. Perhaps I took much of that out on you.”

“You were angry at me very often.”

“You were safe to be angry at. And you had that annoying professional smile every time that just made me more frustrated. I hated that smile, the way it implied that you pitied me, the way it highlighted how unstable I was, how it made me aware of my behaviour. I hated it, and I knew that you wouldn’t leave me if I showed just how much.”

She nods.“You are not angry anymore,” she says.

“And you don’t give me that professional smile either,” Genji tells her, his eyes twinkling.

She laughs, a careless act that leads to another cough. When she recovers, she nods again, barely noticing the man’s fingers touching her arm with concern and affection. 

“Trust me,” she says to him, “I am even more capable of giving that look today than I was back then; that pained look covering up my frustration with a difficult patient. I give that same smile to my male colleagues who think they can outperform me by the grace of their XY chromosomes as well. I have practiced it, Genji, and I have practiced it long and hard.”

He lifts his brows, looking playful.“Which must mean that I do not frustrate you anymore. Am I wrong?”

“You are quite correct. In fact, I find myself quite fond of your company. I was nervous to meet you again after all these years; what if we wouldn’t have the kind of a - how would I describe it? That kind of a connection that was so apparent to me through our letters. I waited for them so eagerly each time, but the thought of seeing you in person after being separated for such a long time…”

“The fear that the person you were in writing would not be the person you were in flesh, I understand. I felt that too. I had butterflies in my stomach when I landed here, in fact, and the worst of them I felt when I had to shake your hand.”

Her smile softens, turns quite strangely gentle. She feels it linger on her lips even when she runs out of words, as if he’s said everything there is to say.

“Angela,” he begins then, if only to prove her wrong; “I have a confession to make.”

“And what would that be?” she asks him, sipping her drink with her eyes never leaving his.

He seems more confident now, but there’s a tension in his act of relaxedness, a relapse to that nervous tension he described before.

“There is another reason I was so nervous to meet you once more. It is a long story but I think the sum of it is very short indeed. Would you mind if I spoke it now, or would you rather sleep off the fever, and talk with me once you are in a clearer state of mind?”

Angela squints at him, then shakes her head.“My mind is quite functional. I would not work with it, but when it comes to mere interaction, I am not that far gone quite yet.”

He smiles at her, but his smile shivers and shrinks fast, and he seems to second-guess his intentions before regaining confidence.

“That boy you knew years ago, Angela, grew quite fond of you. He would always wish that perhaps we would have a chance to meet again under different circumstances, when he wasn’t quite so angry, and when you wouldn’t see him as that bed-bound project that he felt like then. After all, you were a girl, and he was a boy, and you spent much time together outside the professional framework. He enjoyed those times and when he left this place, those were the times he regretted losing the most.”

Her breath hitches a little, matching the inconvenient pause between her heartbeats, but she says nothing; the cold that grows in her fingertips, her toes and the tip of her nose has nothing to do with the fever chills now.

“That’s why he sent you the first letter,” Genji continues. “Over time, that boy became me, and his affections became my affections. I don’t feel the same way about you as he did, for many things changed since, and the girl he knew is not the woman who sits before me tonight. And yet, the affection is still there, and like myself, it grew over time, and as I learned more about you, it seemed to feed off all those new, wonderful things that I discovered. This is an awful time to ask, Angela, but I was wondering if, once you are feeling less ill, you’d like to have dinner together, or perhaps watch a movie with me? This - I promise you I used to be much better at this, but I also promise that I am doing my best, and yes, I am asking you out for a date. Of course if you’d rather do these things only as friends I understand and I would not mind, and -”

“Genji.”Angela closes her eyes, slipping deeper into her bed; the pillows rub at her raw back and her throat feels sandpapery and sickly, but for the time being, the dizziness, the cold, and the frantic beating of her heart aren’t connected to the illness.“I have a lot on my mind right now, but the first thing I found myself asking while listening to your rambling was that I can’t quite believe you are looking at me like this, with my swollen eyes and red nose and disheveled hair and dry lips, and yet decide to ask me out anyway.”

He gasps a little, physically pulling back from her.“Oh,” he says clumsily, “I - I understand, I should have waited, I don’t want it to look like I’m trying to pressure you while you’re not feeling up to it, I’m… very sorry, Angela, that was not my intention.”

She throws a bored look at him, her eyes unfocused but judgemental.“Calm your nerves,” she tells him, but there’s a hint of amusement to her harsh tone, “Like I said, I am quite in my right mind. What I am not is in my right anything else; I am a sniffling, sneezing, coughing, gooey mess of sweat. And yet, you see this, and you think, yes, this is still the woman I would like to take to movies with me.”

Genji’s quiet now, quite still; she enjoys the confused, yet increasingly hopeful look on his features.

“Of course I’ll join you for a dinner, or a movie, or a dinner and a movie, once my condition improves. I would like nothing better, Genji. As friends, or else; we will have to find out about the details later. Who knows? You are charming, and I’ve more than occasionally felt weak in your presence, or inspired, or yet something wholly different. I didn’t think you might feel something like it too - I never let myself linger on it, thinking it inappropriate.”

“Inappropriate?” Genji lets out, and by the sound of it, the word is his first exhale in a very long time.

She nods.“Trappings of my profession, I fear. I quite simply don’t see myself as… dateable. Psychologically speaking, I think that may be something I need to work on in the future.”

A breathless laughter escapes the cyborg, and he shakes his head.“Trust me,” he says, his eyes playful once more as he looks at her, “You are quite dateable indeed.”