#i thought it was a flu because of the sore muscles and stuff

[aaami]

This flu might actually be an abscessed wisdom tooth and I tried calling an emergency hotline to get an ok to go the er to get it checked out urgently (despite being absolutely terrified of dentists, but this is serious with the fever and everything), but haha, there is no emergency dentist in this city during the weekends :))) I’d need to go to another city for it tomorrow, but man, it’s difficult to get there without a car and I don’t even have that kind of money for a taxi to there and back… I could take a train and bus there, but with this stupid ass fever it feels impossible.

”Funnily” the website of the local hospital says that they have emergency dentists available, so wtf??? No mention of there not being such service during the weekends??

Booking a private dentist appointment for tomorrow is an option, but then again… money…

I think I’m gonna cry some more and eat a banana and go back to sleep if I can.

[dogtoling]

hi! i don’t know if you’re still doing biology hcs since i haven’t been on ur blog in a while? but i was wondering if there was a specific illness that can easily infect cephalings? i have one i made called “circulation fever” (kinda a dumpy name ik) and the way it works is that it comes from salmon runs and toxic water and easily spreads between inklings/octolings only because their genetic structure is different from others. it leaves them unable to walk bc muscles ouch and they have 0 bones

I still do them on occasion, just rarely stuff I'm certain enough on or that's canon applicable enough to make full posts on. I like your idea! i did actually consider making a post on inkfish sickness some time ago but didn't get around to it. Not a topic I'm able to go into in depth because I don't know a damn thing about diseases pretty much but it's at least a safe bet to come up with things that target their primary functions, and it's safe to assume that disease spreads extremely easily through ink as it is a body fluid. I do assume a lot of illnesses would easily have you bedridden because the lack of bones makes Inklings very dependent on pure muscle strength and ink pressure. So compared to muscle soreness in humans being mostly annoying and inconvenient it would just actually turn inklings into a noodle, as would being low on ink, which I assume is something that will almost always happen if you catch Squid Flu or whatever.

(Also if you're wanting a cooler name for your fever, since you already have a solidified context for where it comes from, you could tie it to salmonids or the ocean somehow? Just a thought!)

[vicvinegarandhughhoney]

how about jack getting chills (maybe as a vaccine side effect topical) then he gets bundled in blankets and taken to the vet i mean vet i mean vet i meanv- human doctor

Uiscefhuaraithe- Bundled up in blankets: Jack Griffin

Fandom- AP Bio

Ship- Jack Griffin/Lynette Hofstadter

Jack gets chills after a vaccine. That's it.

Title from To Someone from a Warm Climate by Hozier

Read here or below!

Jack gets the stupid goddamn flu shot, because everyone at Whitlock gets the stupid goddamn flu shot (except for Devin, whose Mom apparently believes that they’re a manipulation tactic from the government and so will not allow him to receive any). He sits in the stupid goddamn chair in the gym, takes off his stupid goddamn cardigan and lets them stab him in his stupid goddamn arm before he thanks them for it and saunters off back to class.

He’s greeted by a whole bunch of students all rubbing their arms (Devin excluded, of course) and complaining about how rough the nurse was with them- Jack fortunately doesn’t have that issue at least. His was a strange but oddly gentle man from New York who offered him a ‘sucker’ afterwards and spent half the time Jack was sat there showing him pictures of his dogs from back home.

A few of the class are sat flicking through leaflets, their eyes growing with concern the more that they read.

“Woah, this says you can get a fever after having the shot?? That doesn’t make any sense!” Colin announces, brow crinkling with concern. “I thought the whole point of getting the vaccine was to make sure you don’t get sick?”

Sarika answers him before Jack has to. “The side effects are mild compared to the actual flu, Colin. It’s way better to maybe have the chills for a little while than to get super sick.”

“Still... I didn’t sign up for this.”

As he rests his chin against his folded arms atop his desk, Jack can’t help but agree. He hates getting shots, but it’s something that he has to do- especially after his last bout of the flu nearly took him to the hospital. If that event is anything to go by, though, then the next few days are going to be pretty unpleasant. His body does not react well to anything it perceives as a threat, apparently.

The end of the school day rolls around quickly, and soon he’s driving Lynette back to his place for the night- a tradition they’ve grown accustomed to in recent months.

“You read the leaflet?” Lynette asks him, thumbing through it as they pull up to a stoplight.

Jack glances over, shakes his head dismissively. “Nah. No point. I know I’m gonna experience all that stuff anyway, there’s no point making myself worked up about it.”

His girlfriend quirks a brow. “You’re gonna experience all the side effects?”

He nods, tapping a rhythm on the wheel. “Trust me, Lyns, I always get the vaccine side effects. It sucks but that’s life.”

“So let me get this straight- you think you’re going to experience... here, let me see: soreness,-“

“Yep”

“redness,-“

“You betcha”

“headache,-”

“Oh, definitely”

“fever,-“

“100%”

“nausea,-“

“Mhm!”

“muscle aches,-“

“Yep”

“and fatigue?”

“Absolutely.”

Lynette snorts. “Jack, I think it’s physically impossible for somebody to have all of those symptoms after a vaccine.”

Jack shrugs. “Watch me.”

When Lynette wakes up the next morning, the first thing she does is roll over like always, expecting to find empty space on the other side of the bed where Jack departed in favour of showering early. Instead, she’s greeted with the solid warmth of her boyfriend, who is decidedly not in the shower. In fact, he isn’t even awake yet.

He’s facing her, dead asleep, cheeks unusually flushed, and a stray curl hangs over his equally reddened forehead like the curving tail of a cat. With every even breath, he shudders a little.

Lynette shuffles closer and gently presses the back of her hand to his cheek just to affirm what she already knows. He’s got a fever. Damn. His prediction was right.

“Jack... sweetheart, wake up...”

She moves her hand so her thumb strokes repetitively across his jaw in a vain attempt to rouse him, and when this is met with no more than a defiant little grumble, she leans in to press a kiss to the bridge of his nose- it twitches almost bunny-like, and at last he wearily opens his eyes with a deep sigh.

“H-hmn?”

Lynette furrows her brow sympathetically. “You okay?”

He hums noncommittally and buries his nose back into the softness of the pillow, shuddering again. His eyes flutter closed just as quickly as they opened. “Mm.... cold.” 

“I don’t think you’re cold, sweetheart.” She explains. “You’re actually running quite hot, even if you feel cold.”

“Mmm....”

He’s gone again in another second, falling asleep faster than she’s ever seen him before. While he continues to shiver under the blankets, Lynette takes the opportunity to slip free of the bed and fetch some things to help. 

As it turns out, Jack is right about more than just the fever. Along with flushed cheeks and forehead, the area around the shot site is red too, and according to him, everything aches. Well, according to him when she actually manages to pry any information out of him, that is. Considering how dramatic he is about the prospect of getting sick, he’s always surprisingly closed-off when said sickness hits for real. Like a clammy clam-shell. 

His fever thankfully fades without much intervention aside from a Tylenol, but the chills? God, the chills are apparently here to stay. 

On the third day post-vaccine, they reach a new high, and no matter how many blankets she piles onto his lap, he just can’t seem to get warm. He shivers miserably underneath layer after layer, blankly staring at the TV and looking so out of it it’s almost concerning. And a little adorable, thanks to the fact that he’s cocooned himself like a sick little caterpillar. 

“Still feeling cold?” she asks uselessly. 

He nods, eyelids drooping as if the motion nearly sends him to sleep. “F-freezing.”

“Alright.” She stands up, and offers him her hand. “C’mon, Harvard. We’re going to the Doctors. Need to get you some heavy duty stuff to make you feel better, hm?”

Jack says nothing but takes her hand anyway, the clearest indication that he really isn’t himself. He follows her lead all the way out to the car. 

**

When she arrives back home, it’s with some tablets and an exhausted Jack that she wanders through the door. They don’t bother heading all the way upstairs- they barely make it to the couch before Jack slumps down in it and pulls all the blankets they left there over his shivering form. He’s about ready to close his eyes and conk out, but Lynette manages to keep him awake just a few minutes longer so he can take the medication. 

“Here.” She says, her own voice worn from the exhaustion of being up for what feels like days. “Take this, hon, or you won’t feel any better.”

His trembling hand retrieves the pill, and throws it haphazardly down his throat. He dry swallows it, like a goddamn weirdo, and promptly curls back into his blanket pile to sleep. 

Lynette, meanwhile, yawns, and settles herself on the other couch. There’s only one blanket draped across it but she isn’t a shivering wreck like her boyfriend so it doesn’t matter. As she slips beneath it, she raises the bottle of medication to her eyes and squints to get a look at the writing on the back. 

WARNING: Causes drowsiness. Do not operate heavy machinery while taking this medication. 

She grins, placing it back down on the coffee table and hazarding a wayward glance at Jack. Is he.... drooling? Jesus Christ. 

“Jack. Jack. Harvard. Jack.”

Nothing. Not even a twitch. 

She chuckles slightly and wriggles beneath the blanket. 

When she wakes up, he’ll definitely still be right where he is, and she is going to take so many pictures for blackmail purposes. Mary, Stef, and Michelle are going to lose their minds. 

[purplekiwis]

OMG YES! Damaged goods blurb! Can you do a fluff one where one of them is sick with seasonal flu and the other has to take care of them, but they're being stubborn about it because that's just what they do and how they are 🤧

Okay, okay... here she is! It's a bit meh I think, but I hope you like it! 🥰

*

Harry is sick and grumpy, and Y/N takes care of him (from the Damaged Goods AU)

Harry feels miserable.

He’s worse than miserable, really,

because he has a cold… or is it the flu?! He has never known to spot the differences between the two, but he recognized all of the early signs, of course...

As per usual, it started with nothing but a sore throat one morning when he woke up, that ended up lingering throughout the whole day, then came a headache, and the tiredness, and the chills…

It wasn’t so unbearable at first… but the symptoms only kept getting worse and worse as the hours went by, to the point of leaving him with no choice but to skip his classes in favor of staying in bed… suffering.

The worst part about it? He wasn’t even suffering at home – where his mom could be taking her lips to his forehead every so often to see if he had a fever, and bringing him bowls of soup and fruit cubes on that same familiar bedtray that had accompanied him throughout all his periods of sickness.

Mom would also be making sure he stayed hydrated and took his medicine in time... which by the way, he wasn’t taking any. Logically speaking, Harry knew he should have gone to a pharmacy by now, to get something to make him feel better, but how? When he couldn't even muster the will to get up and go downstairs to fill the empty water bottle perched on his nightstand.

He couldn’t move.

Every single inch of his body hurt.

And now he was starting to get shivery under his bedclothes... for fucks sake.

If only he had Pepper, his spaniel mutt puppy, around to snuggle and keep his body cozy and warm like a hot water bag... then perhaps Harry would've been in a better mood. Yeah, definitely. Pepper would've let him bury his snotty face into its soft fur, and not even think to complain if its owner left a puddle of guck all over said fur.

But well, Pepper isn't there.

And being sick sucks.

Especially because Harry really wants some cuddles... and it hasn't been helping his case whatsoever that in this trying day of illness, his mind has done nothing but think of Y/N.

Pondering over what outfit she must have worn that day and what she might be up to while he’s laying there on his deathbed. He also wonders if she has noticed his absence, and if so… if she’s worried about him.

He huffs once he checks his phone again and realizes there are still no messages from her. She doesn’t have to check on him. He knows that, but he can't help that he likes to be cared for sometimes… and as it turns out illness has a tendency to turn him into a big, needy baby... who really wants to have Y/N taking care of him. It would be so good. She could play with his hair the way he likes, give him forehead kisses, hold his hand…

Harry sighs out loud. Her company would be even better than Pepper's, he believes... although Harry isn't so sure Y/N would enjoy having his snot on her as much as his trusty pup would, but that’s beside the point.

It’s even more beside the point because he knows she's not coming to see him.

She’s mad at him, he recalls now. Stupidly so, if he's allowed to think that - he did nothing wrong, after all. She asked him for a “brutally honest opinion” on a design work she was doing for one of her classes, and he simply gave her what she asked for, plain as that. But of course, then she didn’t like what he had to say and got sulky. Just girls being girls, he guesses…

Harry should've known better than to think that would stop her from coming to see him, though. His girl was a little box of surprises, after all... a true master in the art of keeping him on his toes.

She showed up only half an hour after she was done with her classes... softly knocking on his door before poking her head inside with a smile, only for her jaw to drop in shock at the absolute misery that oozed from his pores.

“Y/N…” His voice cracked sickly, almost comically. Harry could have laughed at it if he wasn't so utterly lethargic. “What- what are you doing here?”

“Well, what do you think?” The girl huffed, shutting the bedroom door behind her and heading towards the end of the bed to get a good look at him, hands on her hips. “Why didn't you tell me you were sick? Here I was, going about my day thinking you had slept in for being a bum, only to find out through your friends that you were unwell.”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek, trying to hide his downright amusement at her worried state. Y/N was worried about him? Well then, perhaps her irritation had passed and she had forgiven him… which meant maybe he’d get to have those cuddles he wanted so bad. “I thought you were mad at me?” He poked, eyebrows arching teasingly the best they could with the little energy the muscles on his face could muster.

“Well, I was and am now even more.” She punctuated. “But I still care, obviously. How am I supposed to leave you by yourself when you look like that?” She put down the bag she was holding at the edge of the bed and kneeled next to it on the floor.

“Look like what?” He frowned again. “All snotty and gross?”

“Precisely… and an awful lot like Rudolph the reindeer as well.” Y/N added, with a soft pat to the tip of his swollen, red nose.

Harry smiled at that, right before his eyes fell on the bag over his bed. “Did you go to the store to get those creepy sheet masks you wanted?”

“Huh?” She muttured confused, before noticing where he was looking at. “Oh no, um… these are just some things I got for you. Just vitamins and those gummies for when you have a sore throat, and also uh…” Y/N's cheeks went a little hot. “I got some chicken soup from the buffet restaurant as well, you know… the one next to the drug store. I thought it might do you good…”

“You went to get all that stuff for me?” Harry asked, Y/N hummed happily in confirmation, her eyes gleaming with tenderness. “Y/N... you shouldn't have. That shit is so expensive, and I'm fine, really. It's just a cold. You dont have to worry, let alone take care of me.”

“No offence, but I think I do.” The girl challenged his statement, picking up the halfway used toilet paper roll placed on his nightstand. “For a start, you shouldn’t even be using this to blow your nose. It’ll only irritate your skin and make it more sore.”

Harry rolled his eyes playfully. “That’s such a mum thing to say…” He grumbled in attempt to mask the fact that the secret big, needy baby in him was loving every single bit of the mom talk, and the same applies to when Y/N clicked her tongue chastisingly once he stubbornly snatched the roll off her hand and pulled out some more paper.

She took the chance that he had moved his arm to move a bit closer, sitting on the edge of the bed next to his pillow. “Is there anything else I can do to make you feel better?” She asked, lovingly running her digits through his unwashed curls. They felt a little waxy and knotty in her hands, but she didn’t mind it in the slightest. She just wanted to make him feel better in any way she could. So she kept playing with his hair, scratching at the roots and combing her fingers through his strands just the way she knew he reveled in - only breaking contact once she was almost certain that he had fallen asleep on her... However, as soon as Y/N began to pull her hand away to check her phone, Harry let out a whine and bumped his forehead against her wrist, in a silent request for her to keep going. “You're such a baby sometimes…” Y/N whispered, proceeding to fulfill his wish.

“Mhm... your baby.” He sighed happily.

Y/N smiled to herself at the state of pure bliss Harry was in. So utterly distracted by the slow puffy nature of his breaths, that she almost didnt notice that his droopy eyes had opened and were now fixed on her. He cleared his throat painfully. “Y/N... can I have one of those gummies you got? My throat hurts and I really want to try one.”

Y/N let out a tiny chuckle at the pleading tone he'd used, nodding as she got up to grab the bottle from the bag. She threw it at him playfully to catch midair, knowing that his reflexes were outstanding. “Ohh these seem nice. I love lemon and honey flavored shit.” He told her whilst inspecting the label.

“Yeah?” Y/N couldn’t help but to grin, feeling quite proud of herself for picking the right flavor. But her smile quickly melted into an expression of concern once she watched Harry crack open the bottle and carelessly throw a bunch of gummies into his mouth. “Harry! What are you- that’s not candy! You can’t eat them by the handful!”

“Oi, chill out… it’s just gummies. What wrong could it do?” He asked as he blithely chewed them. Words coming out garbled since he was speaking in between a mouthful.

“Oh, I don't know, perhaps there could be anesthetics in them... but who knows? It was just a thought.” Y/N ironized.

“Really?” He made a wry face similar to hers, inspecting the label closer. “Do you think we can get high on this shit?” He smirked, still chewing as he rolled the container around to check the ingredients in the back. “Cause I'm not gonna lie, that sounds like a pretty good afternoon plan to me...” He half joked, cracking the bottle open again and dropping a couple more gummies in his palm.

Y/N heaved at the suggestion. “I think it’s more likely that you get a terrible bellyache, and we end up in the ER...”

“You really think so?” Harry asked teasingly, taking another gummy to his mouth.

“Okay, that's enough. Give me that.” Y/N demanded, pushing for him to pass the container, but all he did was shake his head with a mischievous, defiant smirk. The girl rolled her eyes at him. “You know what? Fine.” She shrugged. “Eat as many as you want. Can't wait to watch you shit the bed once those anesthetics give you a loose bottom.”

He chuckled at the warning, amused. “If you’re so bothered, why don’t you come get them from me?” He questioned, but before he could prepare himself Y/N jumped on the bed to try and take the bottle away from his hands, what forced him to abruptly sit up and hold it over his head just so she couldn’t reach it from where she sat. “That was... real cute. Is that all you got, hm?”

Y/N huffed and crawled over his legs until she was practically on his lap. Seeing right through his facade once he happily handed off the gummies without putting up a fight and wrapped his arms around her middle to pull her in for a hug instead. “You must think you're so sly, don't you?” She mumbled in question, going back to petting his hair. “If you wanted a cuddle, you could’ve just said so… I don't mind your germs.”

“I was trying to behave to avoid getting you sick, actually…”

“Yeah right...” Y/N grumbled, dropping her head on his shoulder for a moment. “But I guess, since you've already passed me the germs and all... might as well just give me a kiss, no?” She proposed shyly, waiting for Harry to make the move. He did, pulling away slightly and placing his lips in hers softly. “Mm, more.” She pouted.

“Greedy.” He joshed, pecking the girl's lips again, and again... and once more for good measure. The damage was already done, after all... they might as well just keep doing it. “I feel disgusting, though. If I knew you were coming, I would’ve at least taken a shower and brushed my teeth. Can’t believe you still want to kiss me when I am like this.”

Y/N scratched at the frizzy hairs of his nape. “I promise you don't smell or look nearly as bad as you think you do… and you taste like lemon and honey so, that’s nice.” Harry distrustfully scrunched up his nose at her allegation, sniffing up some in the process before his digits rushed to grab some more toilet paper. He took it to his nose, blowing noisily. “Alright, snotty boy…” Y/N laughed, swiftly crawling off his lap. “How about I go downstairs to plate up our soup while you pick a movie for us to watch as we eat? It can be one of those “guy movies” and all, I promise I won't complain... today only, cause I'm giving you privilege for being sick.”

His eyes strayed towards you with interest, the lower half of his face still covered behind the poorly ripped toilet paper sheets. “I was actually thinking more like a musical or a pixar movie, maybe?”

“God, Harry.” Y/N gasped in awe. “I swear I've never felt more attracted to you in my life. Snot and everything.”

[secretobsessionstuff]

heyy i just saw the list you reblogged and i have a request!

i'm going to put the quotes that i liked here below but you don't have to put all of them in the fanfic! i just put all thst bc it makes thinking about the plot easier bc you just have to imagine a plot with that kind of quotes yk? i'm so bat at explaining omg

but basically, you can do with the characters you want, i just wanted them to be male (yes i'm gay af) and have like a nasty head cold/flu (bc i wanted them to be a little bit nauseous too) with a REALLY high fever accompanied by dizziness and pls i just love sneezy, pukey and feverish characters, they're just so adorable!! but you do what makes you comfortable, okay???

i hope that was not TOO specific... i'm sorry if it was

anyways, here are the quotes:

1. "You don't have to say you're sorry. You're sick."

5. "Hey, are you alright? You look like you're about to fall over."

9. "Hey, look at me. What's wrong? I can tell you don't feel good."

13. "Why don't we own a thermometer? You're burning up.

"20. "Whoa, I got you. Here, sit down, sit down."

(it doesn't need to be on that order!! thank you advance!)

Anon, you're so sweet!! I hope you like the fic! There's actually no emeto in this because the fic just did whatever the heck it wanted lol. Don't worry, there's still adorable nauseous/flu-y fluff though.

I used all of the prompts except #13 because someone else requested a fic with that line as well. But of course I can't resist including fevers in everything I write so there's still that.

The prompts are from THIS lovely list, and I used:

1. "You don't have to say you're sorry. You're sick."

5. "Hey, are you alright? You look like you're about to fall over."

9. "Hey, look at me. What's wrong? I can tell you don't feel good."

20. "Whoa, I got you. Here, sit down, sit down."

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

It was moving day and Shawn’s body did not want to move. Every inch of him ached as he and Mateo carried boxes from the car to the apartment. As luck would have it, the elevator was broken so they had to lug Mateo’s stuff up to the third floor. Perhaps some higher power thought that doubling Shawn’s misery would be a fun thing to watch.

The higher power was right.

Shawn was out of breath within fifteen minutes. He didn’t feel well to begin with. He woke up with the tell-tale signs that he was coming down with something. Scratchy throat, sore muscles, and just a hint of a headache. And to top it all off, that previously mentioned higher power decided to make his stomach hurt just for the hell of it.

After plastering a fake smile on his face, he headed back down the stairs for the seventeenth time. He and Mateo had gotten into this pattern of only passing each other on the stairs when one was going up and the other going down. Luckily, Mateo’s line of sight was partially obscured by the box he carried, so he didn’t see the way Shawn slumped against the wall with a harsh exhale.

“Hey, I was thinking,” Mateo said, stopping in the middle of the stairs like a madman. He didn’t look nearly as tired as Shawn, despite being the one with his arms full. “Maybe we can go out to eat tonight, you know, since all my shit is going to be in the way.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure, whatever,” Shawn said quickly before attempting his escape. It didn’t work.

“Shawn, wait.” Clearly Mateo’s view wasn’t too impacted because he still had the opportunity to give his boyfriend a curious look. “Are you okay? Normally, you get more excited about food.”

“I guess I’m just focused on the task at hand.”

Mateo accepted this, mostly because he got distracted by his own joy. “I’m so glad we’re doing this. I talked to my parents last night and they seemed genuinely happy for me.”

“That’s great, babe. But maybe we shouldn’t stop on the stairs.”

“Oh yeah,” Mateo laughed as if he weren’t giving his arms and legs a proper workout.

They went their separate ways with Shawn feeling even more shitty.

Yes, the nausea in his belly was growing and the mild headache was inching towards moderate, but that’s not why he felt bad. Mateo was so uncharacteristically giddy, and Shawn was ruining the good day. Mateo had only just convinced his parents that moving in with Shawn was what he wanted. Not that he needed their permission, but it helped to quell the anxiety around his family problems.

Shawn wanted to be as excited and optimistic at his boyfriend, but he was finding that harder to do as his symptoms grew worse. Besides, he didn’t want to stop and give Mateo a reason to delay the move any longer. They both wanted this. It was going to happen.

With a huff, Shawn grabbed another box out of the car. The box was as heavy as his head. He could barely lift either. His head felt it harboured a lake, with ripples lapping against the inside of his ears. He could hear a strange whooshing sound for the past half hour.

If his head was a lake, then his stomach was an ocean. The waters were choppy and seasick green, nothing like the calm turquoise waters of dreams. He hated the pressure that the box placed on his stomach, but that was the only way he could carry it up the stairs.

The tiny kitchen was quickly being hidden by Mateo’s things. There was one last space on the table for the box that Shawn carried. He put it down, and leaned on the back of a chair to catch his breath.

The room seemed to darken and swallow Shawn. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling like the floor tilted at an extreme angle. Now he really was at sea. He didn’t know how long he stood still, but he didn’t move until he felt like he was back on land.

Shawn swallowed thickly as he opened his eyes. He shook his head, as if he could make the phantom water trickle out his ear. Then he spun around because there were more boxes to bring up. As he pivoted unsteadily on his feet, he found himself being held up by strong hands on either side of his arms.

“Hello,” Mateo said, suddenly aware that he had caught Shawn before they ran into each other. “That was close, huh?”

“Sorry,” Shawn mumbled as he stepped back. He thought he could squeeze past Mateo on his way out, but his body had other ideas. The floor must have tilted again, because he was forced to put his hand out on the table.

Weirdly, Mateo did not seem affected by the changing sea levels; he only seemed concerned as he watched Shawn sway. “Hey, are you alright?” he asked, tossing his arm out life a life ring. “You look like you're about to fall over.”

“I think I just tripped over something.” Shawn put his hand up to his head as a wave of dizziness crashed into him.

“Right…” Mateo looked down at the floor. There was nothing to trip over. His brow creased as he continued to hold Shawn’s gaze. “Is something wrong? You look flushed.”

“Well, what do you expect? We’re going up and down the stairs with boxes.”

Mateo bit his lip in worry. “I guess…but it looks like you have—”

Shawn quickly ducked away from Mateo’s outstretched hand that was obviously going for his forehead.

It was the wrong thing to do.

He was much too unsteady on his feet, and swiftly ducking under Mateo’s arm was not something he could do gracefully. Shawn was seconds away from losing his balance entirely, and he would have fallen on the floor if it weren’t for Mateo catching him…again.

“Whoa, I got you,” Mateo said. Something was wrong, and he wasn’t going to let Shawn convince him otherwise. The poor boy was practically limp in his arms. He led the two of them over to the couch. “Here, sit down, sit down.”

Shawn didn’t have much control over his body. Nor did he have the will to fight. So, he sat down and put his head in his hands. Even from inside the darkness of his hands, the world still spun. The water still sloshed in his belly and his skull. He felt like his heartbeat migrated to his forehead.

Mateo’s expression fell as he heard his boyfriend moan miserably. “Hey, look at me. What's wrong?” he cooed with his hand on Shawn’s back. “I can tell you don't feel good.”

Shawn slowly lifted his head. There was never any chance that he was going to hide how he felt from Mateo. His boyfriend’s soft voice made him want to tell him everything. So that’s what he did.

“I feel terrible,” he sighed, letting his head fall on Mateo’s shoulder. “My head hurts and my throat hurts. I’m so nauseous and dizzy. I feel like crap. And I think I have a fever…”

“Aw, baby, I’m sorry,” Mateo said quietly. He held Shawn’s head against him and ran his fingers through his hair. The heat radiated off him. “You definitely do have a fever.”

“I hate this.” Shawn buried his face deeper in the crook of Mateo’s neck. “I just wanted today to go well. I didn’t want you to be stressed or worried about anything. I’m sorry I messed it all up. I’m so sorry.”

“You don't have to say you're sorry. You're sick,” Mateo replied. “I don’t care if today wasn’t perfect. We have every single other day to make perfect.”

“Okay…thank you,” Shawn sighed, finally feeling like he was on dry land, or at least making his way to somewhere safe.

[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?”

[jawritter]

Promised

Chapter 4

**Series Warnings!! ** ABO dynamics! Smut, unprotected smut, knotting, claiming, mating, heat, rut, language, overly protective Jensen, age gap! 19-year-old reader, 41-year-old Jensen, virgin reader, loss of virginity, sort of an arranged Marriage, hint at possible mob type settings.

Story Description:

In a world where your presentation can be a blessing or a curse, a newly presented Omega will come face to face with the harsh reality of Alphas, Omegas, and pack alliances that are expected to be upheld with the union of your two families…

A/N: Pt.4!!! Please don’t copy my stuff! Feedback is welcomed! If you want to be added to the series tag list, or just my tag list in general let me know! Cross-posted on Wattpad! Hope you enjoy it!! This is my first ABO series so be nice lmao!

Word Count:2281

Pairing: Jensen x reader

Ran over by an angry truck driver, who once he hit you, backed up and ran you over again for good measure. That's what you felt like when you finally regained consciousness.

You laid there as still as possible, refusing to open your eyes. You were so deeply asleep that when you very first realized you had woken up, you felt nothing but numb until you started to become slowly more alert.

Your joints felt like you had been unhinged and then reattached. Your body felt sore all over like you had the flu and were recovering. There was a dull ache between your legs, nothing like it was though. Your stomach felt slightly nauseated... Did you come close to death, or were you just being dramatic?

The more you became aware of your body the more you remembered what happened the previous night.  You could then feel you Alpha's arm and leg caging you into his body as tight as he could hold you in his sleep.

The rise and fall of his broad chest and breathed deeply in his sleep. His scent that seemed to radiate to your very inner being surrounding you. His body warming yours seemly from the inside out. It felt amazing... If only you didn't need to go to the restroom you could stay there all day.

Being as gentle as you could as to not wake up your Alpha, mostly because you didn't know if he would be angry with you for waking him when he looked so peacefully asleep next to you, so you tried to unwrap him from you. You were successful in removing his arm and were working on sitting up to unwrap his leg when he sat up with you like someone had shot him.

You froze staring at him like you might freak out and faint.

"You okay?" he mumbled, started, and still mostly asleep. You would have found it funny if you weren't a little afraid of him. He was twice your age, and after all, he was an alpha. You had heard that they weren't always nice people.

"Y...Yeah... Uh... I just need to," you pointed to the bathroom and he caught on quickly.

"Oh!!! Oh, I'm sorry," he mumbled, releasing you from his hold and running his hands down his face in an attempt to wake himself up more.

You stood and your world spun as your muscle protested. You could feel his eyes on you, so you tried not to show just how tired you still were even though you had to hold onto the wall to make your way as quickly as you could to do your business.

Once you were done you looked in the mirror for the first time in probably two days. You looked horrible. Your hair was a mess. You were a little pale, with circles around your eyes like you could really use another five or six solid hours of sleep.

Then you saw it. Your claiming mark. Running your fingers over the freshly raised mark slightly you felt your stomach twist with nerves.

It vaguely crossed your mind that you no longer belonged to yourself, but you belonged to him. A man twice your age...

Sure he was attractive, but could the two of you even find a common ground to stand on as far as a functioning relationship, or were you destined to just be his arm candy and a rut bunny for him?

Rut... Shit, you hadn't even thought about that. He would eventually go into a rut and would expect you as his mate to help him through it. The thought terrified you, but in a way, you couldn't stand the thought of another Omega even being without a foot of your Alpha, much less going to bed with him.

A light knock on the door nearly made you jump out of your skin.

"Hey, You okay in there, sweetheart?" his deep muffled voice called through the door before cracking it slightly, but not enough to fully see you.

"Yea, yea, I'm okay. I think I might want to take a shower," you said ideally, looking back in the mirror. You just realized you were wearing a shirt that must have been his, because it was WAY too big for your small farm, coming down almost past your knees. Did he dress you?

He just nodded his head, stepping back into the room, but not going away from the door, which made you a little worried. Was he going to watch you the whole time? Not let you out of his sight? Was he one of those overly possessive Alpha men?

"Okay, I'll order some food while you shower. You haven't eaten anything in two days, you wouldn't let me feed you anything, all you wanted to do was sleep."

Momentarily forgetting about the shower you stepped out into the room, keeping your distance though. It was like having this whole other person attached to you that was a complete stranger. You didn't really know what to do with them, but you were so overwhelmingly drawn to them you gravitated toward them without really even a thought. It was scary, to say the least.

"What do you mean two days?" you asked, your voice small. You hated how you automatically submitted to him when he didn't even do anything but stand there.

"Well, they let your fever get a little too high before they called me... I really don't know why they waited... by the time I got to you, you where exhausted, after we... you know... you fell asleep and slept through the rest of your heat. You'd drink water if I put it up to your mouth, but you wouldn't eat anything... My sister said it was because they let you get a little to far gone before they called me."

You stood there staring at him, trying to process everything he was telling you.

Just like that, those memories flooded you of the past two days. You'd been asleep, but not totally. You remembered Jensen's hands constantly checking you. You remembered him trying to get you to eat. You remembered him washing you in a bathtub. You where aware of all these things, but you wouldn't open your eyes. Your body too exhausted to even get yourself to respond to your mate.

You remembered the fever, and when It would get to high how he'd try everything that he could to bring it down instead of knotting you. Your heart clinched within you. You wondered if you weren't good enough for him if he wasn't pleased with you the first time he was with you. So he'd rather put cold rags on you to bring your fever down, instead of knot you again.

You couldn't help the embarrassment and shame that crept it's way into your features as you set there on the side of the bed. You couldn't meet his gaze. You wanted the floor to open up so that you could take a nose dive directly into it.

You didn't realize you were crying until you felt Jensen's arms pulling you into his lap. Holding you close to him.

"Talk to me sweetheart, what's wrong."

You couldn't bring yourself to tell him you were ashamed that you weren't good enough for him. So you just sat there looking anywhere in the room but at him. You felt his lips brush your claiming mark, and you couldn't help the shiver that ran through your body at his touch. You felt his fingers lift your chin to look at him.

"Y/N, talk to me, please, let me know what's wrong. Maybe I can fix it. I don't like not knowing what's wrong with you."

There was a command behind his voice, and you knew if you didn't open up soon then he was going to lose patients with you. You felt like all you had done was cry since he carried you into this room. That made you feel even worse.

Not looking at him you couldn't bring your voice more than a whisper. You felt like your heart was being crushed in your chest. Afraid that if you told him what was wrong, he would get even angrier with you than he probably already was.

"I'm... I'm sorry... I'm not good enough for you Alpha. All I've done is cry and be a burden to you since you carried me in here. I couldn't even go through a heat properly... If you want to reject our bond and send me home I understa..."

Jensen placed two fingers over your lips to stop you before could break down completely. Your body trembling lightly at his touch.

"First, I'm not going to reject our bond and sending you home," he said, wiping tears away with the pad of his thumb. 

Purring he pulled you closer to him, making you face him, and wrapping your legs on either side of his hips as he leaned back against the headboard, making himself more comfortable. 

Jensen Guided your face into the bend of his neck, close to his pulse point where his scent was the strongest, and a calm enveloping you.

"Secondly, you've been through A LOT. I don't expect you to walk around like stone, and I was more than aware that this adjustment, no matter how long they took preparing you for it, was not going to be an easy one for you." 

His deep voice rumbled against you, running his fingers through your hair. You vaguely noted how small your body was held up against his massive shoulders and strong chest.

"And thirdly, you made it through your heat just fine. You had a lot working against you. They kept you in your house until you fever reached a dangerous level before they called me to tell me that you had presented, your first heat is always hard, and usually very intense, you being somewhat of a late bloomer made it a little rougher on you, and then there is the fact that you had never been with a man before. I didn't want to hurt you, so I tried different ways to keep your fever under control. After the night I brought you here and claimed you, you were past the worst of it. You where exhausted. I wasn't going to continue to knot you over and over again when you were barely conscious. Just because I mated you doesn't give me the right to rape you, and were in no position to give your consent. I'm not some Alpha that just takes what he wants at the expense of his Omega. It's my job to take care of you, your not a burden."

You don't know how long you stayed there like that wrapped up with your Alpha, No sex, no heat-induced hurry, just whispered affections, and soft touches. Finally, your stomach growled loudly and you felt Jensen laugh against you, unwrapping you from himself carefully.

"Go shower, I'll order us some food. There's an olive garden not far from that will deliver to the hotel. You need to eat to regain your strength. I'll be here waiting for you to get back out here to me. I'm not going anywhere."

Nodding your head you stood and made your way toward the shower, this time turning the water on and stepping in under the warm spray. Letting it wash all your worries away some. Beating down against your sore muscles. The water helps you feel a little more human and a little less like the walking dead. Your mind on the Alpha that was waiting on you in the next room. You hoped that he wasn't lying about the last two days and the reason he hadn't knotted you again, or even tried to have sex with you.

Cursing your stupid insecurities and low self-esteem you dry off quickly. Stepping out of the shower you noticed a pile of clothes sitting there folded neatly for you on the sink that wasn't there when you got into the shower. Here he was, still taking care of you. There was also a bathroom bag pack there with your things, toothbrushes, and other essentials from home. You didn't even hear him come into the bathroom.

Your heart swelled in your chest. Thinking maybe, just maybe he wasn't lying about you not being good enough for him. I mean according to the blood test you were true mates. Though you weren't going to bring that up to him.

When you walked out of the bathroom again you looked at the large hotel room that was more of a studio apartment than an actual hotel for the first time. He'd turned the lights on for one, and you don't remember him really having them on the whole time you'd been here, but also this was the most alert you'd been since you got here.

You found Jensen standing at the island sorting the food he'd bought. Chicken parnassian, salad, breadsticks, even raspberry tea for both of you. Smiling when he saw you come around the corner into the room he stepped forward and wrapped his arms tightly around you. The same calm washed over you, and honestly, you could have stood there like that all night long as long as he kept his arms wrapped up around you like that.

"Feeling better?" he asked, burying his face in your kneck inhaling your scent deeply.

"A lot better," you said as he pulled away from you just enough to grab the food he'd fixed for you, leading you over to the couch before grabbing his own and coming to sit down next to you...

You felt more at home at that moment you had in your entire life, and honestly. That scared you a little.

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

Catch up: Promised Series Masterlist

Tag List:

@deanwanddamons​ @imabitch4jensen​

Series Tag List:

@onethirstyunicorn​

[apriorisea]

BTS Imagines: When You’re Sick - Jungkook

“Stop right there.”

    You close your eyes and turn to face your manager, your argument already building on your tongue. “I’m done with most of my active patients---”     “Jennie said this is your third one.”     “She exaggerated.”     She raised an eyebrow. “So, this is...?”     You were caught. “....My second.”     “Just go home,” she sighed. “You’re off in an hour anyway and I don’t want you spreading your germs around the patients.”     This offended you just a little. “I’m being very careful! I won’t get anyone sick, I just needed some extra fluids, and the drip doesn’t get in the way of my work---”     “You look terrible,” she said bluntly. “Just go home. Have a good weekend. If you’re not feeling better by Sunday night, call me. Ok?”      “Fine,” you grumble, carefully pulling the IV from your arm. “Thanks.” You trudge to the staff room, and open your locker tiredly. You hadn’t wanted to admit it, but you really weren’t feeling great. You reach for your jacket, glancing at the calendar you’d pinned inside the door---and freeze. Oh. “Noooo,” you whine to yourself, leaning closer to inspect the date, wanting it to be wrong. It isn’t. Silently, you curse: this was your boyfriend’s one completely-free weekend this month. The only weekend you’d get to have him completely to yourself. And now, you were sick as a dog.      You shut your locker a little too aggressively, and shuffle out to your car. As soon as you’re sitting down, no longer pushing yourself to keep moving, keep working, you feel the illness settle in. This is not going to be a 24 hour thing, you think bitterly.      Even before you see his shoes lined up neatly inside the door to your apartment, you know Jungkook’s there; it was like a 6th sense you’d picked up in the last 10 months of dating him. Still, you’re overwhelmed by the happiness that surges through you when he comes bounding down the hall, his grin wide and happy, to greet you.      “Hi darling!” he says, waiting impatiently while you slide off your shoes. “You’re early!”     “Yeah,” you say, kicking your shoes out of the way. “I got sent home.”     He hears it in your voice. He reaches out to lay the back of his hand gently on your forehead and frowns. “You’re burning up. Why didn’t you come home sooner??”      “I didn’t think it would be this bad,” you admit tiredly, unzipping your coat and trying (unsuccessfully) to get out of it.      Touching you extra gingerly, he helps you out of the coat, tossing it on the couch before pulling you into his arms. “Aw baby, I’m so sorry.”     You let him hold you, feeling your frustration well up again. “No, I’m sorry,” you counter. “This is our one weekend, and I messed it up!”     “You didn’t mess anything up,” he says, kissing the side of your head. “We’re still going to spend the weekend together. Come on, let’s get you to bed. Are you hungry?”     Pulling back a little, you look up at him. “Wait---you got your flu shot this year, right?”     Brushing your hair away from your face, he nods. “Why didn’t you?”     “It was on my to-do list,” you groan, leaning forward to let him hold you again. “And I’m not really hungry right now.”     He spreads several soft kisses across the top of your head then steps back. “I think we still have some cans of ginger ale in the fridge. Do you think you can drink some of that?” When you agree, he smiles gently. “Okay, then let’s get you to bed, okay, darling? You need rest.” Before you can answer, he scoops you into his arms, carrying you easily down the hall to the bedroom.    “What on earth---?” you wonder aloud, looking around the room. It’s a disaster zone, piles of his clothes spread everywhere.      “I was organizing,” he shrugs, setting you gently on the bed. “I thought you wouldn’t be home for another hour.” He starts to pull the blanket over you, but hesitates. “Do you want to change first?”     Looking down at your dingy scrubs, you sigh: “Probably.” He hovers while you get to your feet, but you stop him from following you into the bathroom. “I’m going to wash my face and change really quick. Could you get me one of those ginger ales, please?”     “Absolutely.” He still looks worried. “Anything else?”     “Nope,” you say, trying not to groan as every movement hurt your already-aching joints. “Just that. Thanks, babyboy.”     It takes you longer than usual to change into your pajamas, and halfway through brushing your teeth you realize that this illness might be a doozy. Still, he’s waiting for you when you open the door; he jumps to his feet as soon as he sees you, coming to your side and guiding you back to the bed. When he’s finished tucking you in, he stands back and examines you with a nervous look, chewing on the inside of his cheek a little.     You smile. “I’m okay,” you reassure. “It’s just going to be a longer recovery than I hoped, I think.” You reach for the remote and turn on the TV; it automatically opens to a news station. “Wow, it’s only 5:45?” you groan, glancing at your watch to confirm. “Why am I so tired??”     “Because you’re sick,” he chides, opening the can of ginger ale with a pop. “What else do you need, love?”     “Nothing.”      He doesn’t seem comforted by that answer.      “I mean...you could keep organizing, clean up the room a little bit?” you suggest, reaching out to squeeze his hand.     He holds onto yours tightly. “Okay,” he agrees. “But if you need anything, tell me, okay?”     “I promise.”     Leaning down to kiss your forehead, he says again, “I’m really sorry you don’t feel good.”     You let your eyes close at his touch. “Thanks. I love you!”     For the next hour, you switch between drama reruns on TV and he tries his hardest to focus on cleaning up his clothes mess---but every 5 minutes, he’s back at your bedside, hovering over you anxiously, asking if you need anything, feeling your forehead, and pressing more ginger ale on you. At one point, you mention that you were kind of craving a hot soup---without hesitating, he hurries to order-in your favorite kind, then sits on the bed next to you, worrying over how long it’s taking the food to arrive. When it finally does get there, he insists on feeding you every spoonful until you can’t eat anymore.      “Jungkook,” you say calmly, reaching out to grab his hand. “I’m okay, really. Why don’t you finish putting your stuff away?”     “...Okay,” he hesitates; over the last 90 minutes, you’ve definitely gotten worse, growing more pale and your fever even hotter, and he can’t seem to make himself leave your side.      Sighing internally, you use your best card: “It would really make me feel better, you know, to have the room organized and clean.”     It works. Kissing your cheek, he gets to his feet. “Of course. Do you need more medicine first?”     “No, I’m okay,” you say, snuggling back against your pillows. “I’m actually getting a little sleepy, so I might try to nap if I can.”     He brushes your hair out of your face and leans down to kiss your cheek again. “Okay. Sleep well, darling. I’m right here if you need anything.”     Trying to hide your smile, you nod. “Thanks, babyboy. I know you are.”     You do actually manage to fall asleep, and when you wake up 30 minutes later, he’s sitting next to you again.      “Hi,” he says softly, unable to stop himself from leaning in to kiss your temple. “How are you feeling?”     Terrible. You just groan and shake your head a little.      The worry in his expression increases. He holds something up. “My mom said that a cool cloth can help bring the fever down,” he explains, placing it carefully on your forehead. “But to make sure you stay warm otherwise.”     “Your--your mom?” you ask.      “Yeah. I texted her,” he answers, stroking your face gently. “She hopes you feel better soon.”     You sigh. “Tell her thank you. And she’s right---the cool cloth is helping.” Groaning a little, you roll onto your side, trying to stretch out your sore neck muscles.      He notices immediately. “Let me get the heating pad,” he says quickly. Squeezing your hand, he adds, “I’ll be right back!” Before practically running out of the room.      You watch him, half-amused and half-gently-exasperated. You’d forgotten that he gets like this when you’re sick: all nervous energy, restless and overly helpful. There are worse things, you remind yourself, and reach for your phone.      There are several texts from your mom waiting for you.      MOM: How do you, a nurse, catch the flu? Shouldn’t you have immunity by now?     Half-smiling, you send a message back: Hey! Nurses can get sick, too. I just didn’t get the flu shot yet this year.      MOM: Rookie mistake.      Yeah, yeah. Wait, how do you know I have the flu??     Her next reply comes with several cry-laughing emojis. MOM: Your worried boyfriend has texted me over 12 times in the last hour.      What????      MOM: Yeah. It’s cute. He wants to know what he can do to help you feel better.      You sigh, glancing into the hallway; even from here you can hear the sounds of him warming up the heating pad in the microwave. Please tell him all I need is for him to chill a bit!     MOM: Nah. Like I said, it’s cute. :)      MOM:  But let me know if you need anything, ok? Love you!     Just as you put your phone down, Jungkook reappears, carrying the heating pad with him. “Where do you want it?” he asks intently.      You reach out to take it from him, sitting up slowly to wrap it around your neck. “You texted my mom, too?”     “Yes.” He’s not ashamed. “She’s going to bring by more ginger ale later---we’re nearly out.”     “Babe.” You look up at him seriously. “I’m okay, you know. I’m not, like, dying or anything. Just relax.”     He frowns. “I know you’re not dying,” he says a little defensively. “But I don’t like it when you’re sick.” Sitting on the edge of the bed next to you, he tenderly pushes your hair out of your face. “I just want you to feel better quickly.”     You melt at his soft touch and genuine concern. “I know, I know,” you say. “I appreciate you. Just...try not to worry too much, ok?”     He leans in to kiss your cheek. “I’ll try,” he promises solemnly.     And he really does try. But he can’t help hovering around you anxiously, offering you all sorts of remedies and foods and medicines, jumping at your tiniest request, completely doting on you. When bedtime comes, he snuggles you from behind, holding you close in the dark and pressing little kisses all over you: your cheek, neck, shoulders, face, hair, back, arm, anywhere just to remind you that he’s there. You drift into an uneasy sleep held safely in his embrace.

---

The next morning, the second you wake up, you realize that Day 2 was going to be much worse. Groaning, you roll over and notice that you’re alone: Jungkook was already up. You glance over at the clock: 8:08am. Ugh.     Just as you start to sit up, he appears in the doorway. “Hi darling,” he says, and though he tries to keep his voice soft, you can hear the nervous energy bubbling under the surface. “Here.” He’s carrying your favorite mug and the contents are hot enough to have tendrils of steam coming from it. He sets it down on the side table and helps you sit up. As soon as you’re settled, he leans in and presses his cheek against your forehead. “Oh, baby,” he worries. “You’re still so hot...”     “Thanks,” you joke weakly. “You’re not too bad yourself.”     He hands you the mug---which is full of tea---and then straightens. “I’m going to get more medicine and a cool cloth and the heating pad---is there anything else?” He’s already reaching for his phone. “I can’t remember what your mom said...”     Before you can catch his attention, he’s gone. You smile to yourself and let the tea warm you all the way through. It helps, but you still feel terrible. Grabbing your phone, you send your mom a text: Feeling much worse today. I take it back---please send JK *all* the tips you’ve got...     As if he heard your text out loud, he reappears, arms full with all of the things he went to find. Once you’ve taken your medicine, have a cool cloth on your forehead, a heating pad around your neck, snuggled in blankets, and settled with another cup of tea, he sits on the edge of the bed and turns on the TV. “What do you want to watch?” he asks, reaching out with his free hand to brush your hair back from your fevered forehead.      You shrug the best you can. “I don’t care.”     He hums sympathetically and settles on the first acceptable TV choice before turning back to you. Leaning down to kiss your forehead, he lingers there for a moment. “Just give the medicine time to kick in, darling,” he says encouragingly. “It’s okay.”      It’s like you can see the nerves building back up in his expression, so you smile as quickly as you can. “I know. Thanks, babyboy. I’ll be better soon.”

---

But by 2pm that afternoon, you’re still feeling terrible. You were feeling so awful that you had stopped noticing your boyfriend’s hovering; though you were still grateful for his constant vigilance. You never missed a dose of painkiller, you always had a hot drink, the cloth on your forehead was always cool...You literally wanted for nothing. It was just a shame you were feeling too terrible to really appreciate it.      After he forced you to eat a little dry toast for lunch, he’d gone to the kitchen to clear up and get another can of ginger ale. While he’s gone, you attempt to twist into a more comfortable position; after almost a full two minutes, you still can’t find a position that doesn’t stress out your already-aching muscles. And just like that, you break, every single bit of frustration boiling up in you, and your eyes fill with hot, tired tears. You’re too exhausted to even wipe them away.      “Your mom said she could bring by more ginger ale if we need it,” Jungkook says, coming back into the room with another can, “But I think we’re going to be okay. Because you’re absolutely going to be better soon, right?” He looks up at you and freezes. “Hey.” He calls your name softly, still frozen in the doorway. “Are you...are you okay??”     You nod but don’t stop crying. “I just...I just hate...” You can’t even finish your sentence, the tears and the illness overwhelming you.      Immediately, he’s at your side. Setting the soda aside, he gathers you carefully into his arms and kisses the side of your head. “I know, darling,” he says quietly, holding you tighter. “I get it. It’s okay, baby, it’s okay. I’m here.” Shifting suddenly, he maneuvers you into his lap, still wrapped in a little blanket-burrito, and rocks you back and forth, kissing the side of your head repeatedly. “It’s okay,” he repeats.      You give in immediately, snuggling into his embrace and finishing your cry pitifully. When you’re done, he still holds you fast, with no intention of letting go. Eventually you start to feel a little bit better, the combination of medicine and his comforting presence. After a long time, you softly kiss his collarbone. “I love you, Jungkook. I’m so lucky to have you.”     He squeezes you tight and turns to kiss your forehead. “I love you more. Just relax---I’ll make sure you feel better soon!”     And just like that, his nervous-energy-hovering doesn’t bother you even a little bit. You smile and cuddle against him. “I believe you.”

[acciotonystank]

Soft To Be Strong

Read on AO3

It started with a sore throat, as it always does. On a Wednesday, of all days. Peter didn’t exactly take much notice of it, which he may have done had it not been for the plethora of assignments that currently hung over his head. He just forced down a cup of ginger tea (nasty stuff) and hurried out of the apartment to catch the train to school.

It wasn’t until he was walking across the football field, a tickle in his throat, that Peter came to the realization that he hadn’t gotten sick since before the bite. For a while he’d thought that maybe he couldn’t get sick anymore, but he supposed that was out the window now. And when a cough forced its way from his throat, leaving him wincing slightly, all he could think about was the really inconvenient timing.

Trying to get work done with an irritated throat was one thing, but then the headache snuck up on him, developing into steady, faint throb by fifth period. He hoped desperately that this was going to be it - he couldn’t afford to take time off school right now - but he had a feeling more was coming.

Sure enough, the following morning, he woke to a faint ache throughout his body and kicked the blankets off himself to cool down a bit, despite the grey skies outside his window. When he staggered out into the kitchen to make himself breakfast, May raised her eyebrows at him.

“You don’t look so good, baby. You think you’re okay for school?”

Peter nodded his head, trying to make his voice sound as normal as possible, “I’m fine, May. Just a bit of a cold. Besides, I really can’t miss class right now.”

“Alright,” she pressed her lips together. “But call me if you need anything. If it gets much worse, I might see if I can get out of the trip. It’s last minute, but I’m sure they can fill the spot.”

“No, no, don’t do that,” Peter hastily shook his head. “Really, May, I’m fine. I can take care of myself. Besides, I know you’re super excited about those seminars.”

“We’ll see. You’re going to the tower this afternoon, right? Maybe you can ask Tony if he can keep an eye on you.”

“May!” he whined, ducking away from her hand that reached to feel his forehead. “It’s just a cold! you don’t need to cancel the trip and you definitely don’t need to bring Mister Stark into this. That’s just embarrassing. He’s not my nanny.”

“You’ve got a point,” she agreed thoughtfully, a teasing smile pulling at her lips. “I’ll see about getting you a nanny then.”

“May.”

    “You’re uncharacteristically quiet,” Happy commented, ten minutes after picking the teenager up from school.

Peter let out a small chuckle, only to wince slightly at the pain in his throat. “I’ve just got a bit of a cold, but I’m fine.”

The man just gave him an unimpressed look. “Alright, but don’t go spreading that around. That’s the last thing I need right now.”

“Yeah, you and me both,” he sighed, leaning back.

When Peter walked into the lab, Mister Stark looked up at him with a smile, only to instantly narrow his eyes. And, look, to be honest, he was beginning to feel a bit offended at this point. Did he really look that bad? Without a word, the man just pulled a small bottle out of the draw beside him and threw it to Peter. Reading the label, he rolled his eyes, but squeezed some of the hand sanitiser into his palm and rubbed his hands together. He offered the bottle back to Mister Stark, but he shook his head.

“That’s yours now. You look like you’ll need it.”

“Ouch,” he frowned. “I don’t look that bad, do I?”

“No, but I know you and I know you always downplay everything so I’m just being cautious. Are you sure you wanna be here, kid? You’ll feel better sooner if you just rest.”

“Is this you trying to get rid of me?”

“No, Underoos,” Mister Stark rolled his eyes. “I just don’t want you working yourself to death.”

“I’m fine, Mister Stark, really,” Peter promised. “Besides, May’s a nurse, remember? I’m in good hands.”

“Okay, but I’m making you tea. Apparently lemon and ginger is great for colds.”

Peter groaned, letting his head drop onto his desk.

About two hours later, when Mister Stark brought him a fresh mug of tea, Peter gripped it tightly, holding it close to him for warmth, web shooters cast aside, forgotten about. The older man gave him a calculating look.

“Just twenty minutes ago you were taking off your jacket and now your all wrapped up again and practically cuddling that mug?” he asked suspiciously, reaching out a hand to feel Peter’s forehead. He went to dodge it, but something about that took too long to process, and suddenly the back of Mister Stark’s cold hand was pressed against his clammy forehead. “Okay, you’re done. FRI, what’s his temp?”

“Peter’s body temperature is currently one hundred point six degrees Fahrenheit.”

Mister Stark let out a sigh. “Alright, call his aunt, let her know he’s staying the night.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “What? No! Mister Stark, it’s not that bad, honest. It’s just a cold. I’ve got super-healing, remember? I’ll be fine. Besides, like I said, she’s a nurse, she’ll wanna be able to keep an eye on me. You’re a genius and all, but this is her area, anyway.”

In his defence, none of that was a lie, per se. Mister Stark didn’t need to know that May was leaving the next day for a three-day seminar interstate. If he did, Peter was sure that he would insist on keeping Peter in the tower, and he really didn’t want the man to have to deal with him with the flu. 

“Fine,” the billionaire conceded. "I’ll have Happy take you home. Then I’ll see about getting the lab thoroughly sanitised. And don’t even think about patrolling for the next few days.”

A sarcastic ‘yes, dad’ teetered on the tip of Peter’s tongue, before he realised what he was about to say and snapped his mouth shut and nodded. “Thanks, Mister Stark. Sorry for… contaminating the place.”

“Just take care of yourself, alright, Pete? Rest, stay hydrated… all that shit. And if your aunt gets sick of you, you’re welcome to come here.”

He doubted that would happen, but gave the man a dry smile anyway “Thanks.”

After dinner, Peter tried to get some work done. He really did. But when May had come in to check on him, only to find him asleep at his desk, clammy forehead sticking to his maths book, she forced him to go to bed, despite his protests. To be fair, he knew that he could barely get anything done in his state, but sitting in front of his work staring blankly at it somehow felt more productive than going to bed to rest. Although a substantial part of him felt too tired to shower, Peter felt quite gross and knew he’d regret it in the morning if he didn’t, so he reluctantly dragged himself into the shower, placing a hand on the tiled wall to hold himself up. He cleaned his teeth for what he estimated was somewhere between 20 and 30 seconds before he decided his teeth could wait but bed could not.

There were many words Peter could choose from to describe how he felt when he woke up the following morning. However, he decided that the most accurate and comprehensive word was ‘shit’. Though, if swear words weren’t allowed, then ‘deathy’ would suffice. He was pretty sure ‘deathy’ was not actually a word, but if ‘chillax’ is accepted by the Oxford English dictionary then surely it’d make its way in there eventually.

Despite Peter’s quite rigorous shivers, it felt like his whole body was damp with sweat. His throat felt like someone had shoved sandpaper down it, all his muscles felt achy and weak, and his nose felt stuffy too. He lifted his head up to look at the time, only to find that his skull suddenly seemed very heavy and flopped back down exhaustedly. He desperately wanted some water to soothe his throat, but moving was really tiring and he didn’t want to leave the warmth of his bed.

Fortunately, it was only a few minutes later that May knocked on his door. He let out some interpretive noise that she apparently understood correctly as a ‘come in’ and stopped suddenly in the doorway when she saw him.

“I don’t think I have to tell you this,” she began, “but you’re definitely not going to school today.”

She came back a few seconds later with some ibuprofen, a glass of water with a straw and a thermometer, not even saying a word before, handing him the pills, pushing the straw in front of his lips and then placing the thermometer under his tongue. 

“You’re at one hundred and two point five,” she muttered with a frown, shaking her head slightly. “I’m cancelling the trip, I’m not leaving you like this.”

“No, no, no,” Peter croaked. “I’m okay, May, I can look after myself. It’s just a slight fever.”

“It could get worse,” May argued gently, brushing his damp hair back. “I know you can look after yourself, hun, but I don’t want you to. What kind of parent would I be if I left you alone looking like this?”

Peter forced a playful grin. “Devilishly handsome?”

“Like shit,” she corrected bluntly, rolling her eyes at him. “It’s not a big deal, Peter,  there’ll be other opportunities like this.”

“I don’t want you to miss out because of me. I’ll be fine, honest. And if it does get worse, I’ll call Mister Stark.” He really hoped it didn’t get worse because he wasn’t planning on living up to that promise at all. “Besides, you’re meant to leave in a few hours, it’d definitely be too late to fill your spot now and it’d just be a waste. I’m not dying or anything, I’m just a bit sick, but I’ll start getting better soon and then you’ll have missed out for no reason.”

“Having peace of mind that you’re okay will never be a waste, Peter,” May said firmly.

“I’ll call you, then. I’ll call you every night and you can get updates and tell me what I should be doing and be reassured that I’m okay. How ‘bout that?”

The woman let out a sigh, looking conflicted. “Fine. But if I see fit, I’m coming back early, alright? And make sure Tony knows what’s going on just in case.”

“Okay,” Peter agreed softly.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

      Peter was not doing well late that night. In his defence, he really thought he would be getting better by now. He had thought his healing factor would have kicked in by now and that he wouldn’t have gotten this sick in the first place. Instead, he seemed to be getting progressively worse, his temperature spikes growing more severe, his muscles growing achier, his breath growing shorter and his throat growing more painful. Not to mention the mucus he kept coughing up. His chest had started to hurt from all the coughing, and no amount of water relieved it. When May called him from her hotel room, he had to fight her again to stay, insisting he was fine and could take care of himself and that he sounded worse thane felt (a lie).

A day later, there was still no change, and Peter had hardly eaten a thing. This was for a number of reasons: 1) despite feeling hungry and knowing he needed to eat, he really didn’t feel like it. He was simultaneously ravenous and disgusted by the idea of eating and it was a very conflicting time. 2) just swallowing his own spit hurt his throat, swallowing fluids irritated it even more, he could only imagine how agoniizng trying to get anything more substantial than milk down. And 3) he highkey could not be bothered. Partly due to his perpetual weakness and exhaustion, but also because of the steady ache in his muscles that triggered protest whenever he tried to leave his bed.

So, no, he hadn’t showered since Thursday night, but he was the only one home and given the fact that he wasn’t leaving his bed, his stink would be confined to his bedroom.

Although he was expecting it, when his phone rang and May’s contact lit up the screen, he panicked a little.

“Hello,” he practiced to himself, shaking his head when it came out weak and croaky. He tried a couple more times to try and make his voice sound more normal, but to no avail. He just stared blankly at the ringing phone trying to figure out what to do until it stopped ringing, and his panic rose slightly. If he texted to say he was in the shower or in another room when she called, she would just call back again, but if he ignored it, he knew the woman would probably fret and assume he was dying. Mind you, it didn’t feel too far from the truth.

He needed to respond with something that would reassure her he was okay while also giving an excuse not to call her and not being suspicious as hell about it.

Peter

Hey May! I’m okay, but my voice is gone right now so I can’t actually talk.

May

I can come back, it’s really not a problem

Peter

I’m beginning to feel better, my voice is just really weak but I’m okay. There’s no point coming back now.

May

Alright but let me know if you need anything.

Peter really did hate lying to May, but he didn’t want her missing out on the seminars just because he was sick. Just as he was contemplating the effort of getting up to get another glass of water, his phone rang again, this time it was Mister Stark. He definitely didn’t want him to know how sick he was, because he knew the man would feel some kind of obligation to take care of him and he also didn’t want to be seen in this state - he was Spider-Man, after all. So he didn’t have to wait for it to ring out, Peter declined the call and started to write a text to explain why he couldn’t answer. He was just about to send it when a notification for a voicemail popped up.

“Kid, what the hell?” Mister Stark demanded. “I just got a call from your aunt asking me to check up on you because apparently you’re very unwell and she’s in fucking Michigan for work, which you conveniently failed to mention when you insisted she’d want to keep an eye on you. And she thinks you’re not being honest and now you fucking decline my call? So help me God, Peter Parker, if you don’t call me back in ten minutes I am flying over there in a suit and you will not like it.”

Peter cringed, and deleted the text he had been about to send.

Peter Sorry Mister Stark, I just didn’t want you to worry or feel like you had to take care of me or anything. I’m okay, but my voice is gone at the moment so that’s why I declined the call. Figured it’d freak you out if you tried to talk to me and just heard wheezing on the other end lol

Mister Stark I’m coming over.

Peter I’m fine, Mister Stark, I’m just resting and stuff. It’s late and I’m about to go to sleep anyway.

Mister Stark

If you want people to take you seriously when you say ‘I’m fine’ maybe you shouldn’t say it so often when you’re definitely not fine.

Peter ¯\_( ツ )_/¯

Mister Stark Stop using that thing to respond to everything. And fine but I’m coming over tomorrow. Call me if you need something before then though.

Peter Yea okay, I’ll cough in morse code if I still can’t talk

Mister Stark I’m serious kid

Peter So am I 😤

Mister Stark Bless you?

Peter Lmao that wasn’t a sneeze Mister Stark, it’s a huff of frustration

Mister Stark Whatever.

Peter Goodnight Mister Stark

Mister Stark Night kiddo. Sleep well.

    Peter had thought Saturday was bad, but come Sunday morning, he knew he wasn’t okay. He had been so confident that he would feel at least a bit better, but instead he woke up with the instinctual feeling that something was wrong. He wasn’t exactly sure why this feeling way only now, considering how he had hardly been in a decent state yesterday, but then his heart rate and breathing were even more erratic than yesterday, and the sharp pain in his chest was certainly knew.

He wondered vaguely if he had simply coughed so much that his lungs had been dislodged from their usual position. That would make sense. And look, Peter knew that shivering violently while simultaneously sweating was not a great sign, but by now, he had insisted he was fine so many times that now he’d be facing ‘I told you so’s if it turned that he was not, in fact, okay. Though, at this point, that wasn’t so much of a hypothetical as a fact.

He was not okay, and it was probably time he asked for help, especially considering the fact he hadn’t eaten in over twenty four hours or had a drink on about fourteen, which was very bad news for someone with his metabolism.

Peter fumbled for his phone, opening Mister Stark’s contact and pressing the call button.

It rang. And rang. And rang. And rang.

“You know who I am and you know what to do.”

Beep.

    “I just don’t think meetings should be allowed on Sundays - FRI, do not disturb - I mean, who wants to attend meetings on a Sunday? I certainly don’t.”

Pepper sighed exasperatedly. “As you’ve abundantly clear. Besides, some people have very schedules and don’t have another option.”

“Hey, I have a busy schedule,” Tony defended as the pair walked towards one of the conference rooms.

“Take time in the lab out of that.”

Tony paused. “It’s a bit less busy. But that’s besides the point! My lab time is very important, that’s where I give birth to my brainchildren.”

“Ugh, please never say that again. And I literally saw you and Peter setting up a blanket fort in there one time.”

“He’s a kid!”

“That’s fine, but the problem is you act like a kid too when you’re a grown man.”

“I mean… I never actually grew a whole lot.”

“Exhibit A,” Pepper scowled.

“Anyway, that kid has come down with something and his aunt is away for work so if we could wrap this up quickly so I can make sure he hasn’t sneezed himself unconscious, that would be great.”

“Come down with what? A cold?”

“Something like that. He had a bit of a fever when he came over on Thursday, maybe it’s the flu.”

“Poor thing,” she frowned.

“When I’m sick you always just tell me to woman up,” Tony grumbled.

“And yet...Mr Burgess, Miss Doyle, hi,” she greeted as they walked into the room, shooting Tony a pointed look.

He plastered on a fake smile as he offered his hand and hoped this would be over quickly.

    As it turned out, it was not over quickly. When the two finally left, Tony sighed heavily and slumped back in his seat.

“I do appreciate you being here,” Pepper acknowledged, giving him a small smile. “I know you hate these, so thank you for not making an excuse not to come. Anyway, I need to finish writing my speech for the benefit, but keep me updated on the kid.”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll make dinner tonight?”

Pepper glanced down at her watch and gave him a teasing grin. “It’s nearly noon, Tony, you’d better get started then.”

Tony rolled his eyes, but pressed a gently kiss to her lips before she left. He frowned when he checked his phone and saw he had a voicemail from Peter, eyebrows furrowing in concern.

“Mis-Mister Stark,” he rasped, and Tony’s heart seized. “I dont- I don’t feel well, something’s… wrong. Everything- I can’t-… hurts….”

God, he sounded miserable and the kid’s sniffled told him he was in tears. The message was from nearly two hours ago. Tony swallowed harshly, already jogging out the door, trying not to panic.

Something’s wrong, Peter had said, his tone desperate.

“FRIDAY, why wasn’t I alerted?” he demanded.

“Your current ‘Do Not Disturb’ protocol mutes all calls except those related to Avengers-level threats and emergencies.”

“From now on, all calls from Peter come through, no matter what.”

“Yes, Boss. Protocol amended.”

“Call him,” he ordered, getting into one of his cars.

Peter picked up on the third ring, his voice croaky, but relieved. “Mister Stark?”

“Kid, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”

“I’m… I don’t feel so good, Mister Stark. I thought- I thought I’d be better by now but I just keep getting worse and I don’t feel right. Like obviously I feel like- like shit, but it’s like my spider sense is kicking up now and- I can’t explain it, but I’m scared Mister Stark." 

“I’ll be there soon, Pete. I’m on my way, okay?” I’ll take care of you. “We’ll take care of this. I’m gonna guess given your current state that you actually weren’t fine yesterday?”

“I didn’t wanna bother you,” Peter explained weakly.

“The only time you bother me is when you hide stuff form me out of fear of being a bother and in doing so, causing me to panic.”

“I’m sorry.”

Tony exhaled deeply, something in his chest uncoiling slightly. “C’mon, bud, we’ve talked about this. You need help, you ask for it, you’ll get it. You need to stop with the keeping everything to yourself because I always find out anyway and it just makes me worry.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated with a sniffle.

“What have you had to eat and drink today?” There was silence on the other end and Tony clenched his jaw. “You gotta at least drink something, kiddo. You need to stay hydrated.”

“Okay.”

“I’m gonna ask you something and you need to be honest with me. Did you just say you lost your voice last night so you didn’t have to talk to me and inevitably have me realise that you clearly needed help?”

“In hindsight, that was really dumb,” Peter admitted with a weak laugh.

Tony took in a deep, calming breath. “I’m glad you called me when you did. Even if you don’t need help, it’s nice to have it when you’re sick. Just sit tight and I’ll be there soon, alright?”

While the drive was usually about half an hour, Tony made it in twenty minutes. He would have been calmer if Peter was just sick, but his mention of his spider sense had him on edge. When he arrived at the apartment building, he hurried up to Peter’s floor and knocked on their door.

“Pete? I’m here. Let me in, kid.”

A few moments and a few indistinguishable sounds later the door opened, revealing Peter standing there, gripping the doorknob tightly and swaying slightly. Tony had thought he’d known what to expect based on the teenager’s voice over the phone, but standing there in front of him, he realised it was even worse than he thought.

Peter’s face was sunken, flushed and clammy, heavy bags under his eyes. His lips were dry and cracked and his hair stuck to his sweaty face. He blinked slowly, as if trying to process who was standing in front of him, only to wobble slightly and begin to fall. Tony insanely reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder to hold him up, wincing at the heat radiating off his skin.

“Shit,” he muttered, having to use more of his strength as Peter just continued sinking lower and lower. He immediately fumbled for his phone. “Kid, c’mon, you gotta work with me here - FRI, what’s his temperature?”

“Peter’s body temperature is currently one hundred and six point nine degrees Fahrenheit.”

“Fuck!”

“He is in hyperpyrexia and medical attention should be sought urgently. In the meantime, it is recommended you try to lower his body temperature as soon as possible. I suggest you run a cool bath and apply a cool damp washcloth to his forehead.”

“Okay, okay. Call Bruce!”

Tony hooked an arm under Peter’s knees and carried him to the bathroom, placing him in the bath  still fully dressed and turning on the tap. The boy immediately protested, jerking in response to the cold water and deliriously trying to climb out.

“No, no, Pete, you need to stay, we gotta bring your fever down.”

“Tony? What’s going on?”

“Bruce!” Tony cried out in relief. “It’s the kid - he’s really sick, his temperature is through the roof, it’s at a hundred and six point nine. I’m- I’ve got him in the bath right - stay still, kid - in the bath right now but I don’t know what else to do.”

“First you gotta calm down, you can’t help him if you’re in a panic. Keep him in the bath for now, I’ll get a bed and a team set up ASAP. Get a suit ready so you can bring him straight to the tower on my signal.”

“Okay,” he breathed, nodding to himself and using his watch to summon suit before grabbing a wash cloth and holding Peter down so he could press it against his forehead.

“It’s s-s-so c-cold!” the teenager whined, writhing weakly, reaching a wet hand out and gripping the lapel of his suit jacket.

“It’s not, Underoos, you’re just super hot right now. That’s why I gotta do this.”

“I really am sorry,” he cried, tears forming in his eyes. “I’m sorry, can I p-please get out?”

He stared desperately at Tony, a pleading expression on his face. His eyes glistened in agony, his pupils boring into Tony’s and begging him to make it stop. Tony felt a painful tug at his heart, wanting nothing more than to take away his suffering and feeling utterly useless. While he knew , logically, that the cool bath was meant to help reduce his temperature, an instinctual part of him wanted to snatch the boy out of there and wrap him up. That same part of him sent chilling tidal waves of guilt that crashed angrily in his chest at the fact that he was the one who put Peter here, that he was forcing him to stay in the water that was making him so uncomfortable.

“This isn’t a punishment, Pete, Christ,” he whispered brokenly, finding it progressively harder to watch the boy’s struggle. "I’m only doing this because I have to, okay? The flu can be really dangerous, it can- it can- shit. I’m not mad at you, I promise. But you’re really hot and I know it doesn’t feel like but we’ve gotta cool you down. But Bruce is getting ready to treat you and when he’s ready we’ll get out of here, okay?”

Tony knew there would most likely be further unpleasant methods of reducing Peter’s body temperature, but he didn’t need to know the right now. He began scooping water up in his hands and pouring it gently over Peter’s head and running it through his hair, forcing himself to continue even when he flinched violently and tried to pull away.

“Peter, please, I need you to stop fighting me.”

The teenager stared at him through red-rimmed eyes for a moment before reluctantly nodding his head and weakly breathing out, “okay”. He screwed his eyes shut and tensed his body, only shaking slightly when Tony poured another lot of water onto his hair.

“Doctor Banner recommends that you depart for the tower now,” FRIDAY alerted him. “He will be ready by the time of your arrival.”

“Okay, kiddo, we’re done, how about that?” Tony breathed, helping Peter out of the bath. “I’m gonna get in the suit and fly you to the Medbay where Bruce will fix you, alright?”

Peter nodded weakly as the suit formed around Tony, and let himself be lifted up by his metal-encased arms. Only minutes later, he was stepping out of the suit in the medbay and handing him over to the medical team, who immediately intubated and ventilated him, as well as putting him on a drip.

He heard words like ‘hypoxia’, ’respiratory distress’ and ‘bronchoscopy’ and wondered how he could have possibly missed the kid’s lungs giving out. He had literally been about to leave to go to the kid’s apartment the previous night, but had decided against it when Peter insisted he was about to go to bed out of concern that he would be overbearing or hovering too much. He should have gone anyway just to check, he should have known Peter would be playing it down.

It didn’t matter how many safety measures he set up, Tony would always be worried about Peter getting hurt as Spider-Man. He had imagined every dangerous scenario he could think of, fretted over the many ways Peter could end up severely injured or dead from patrol. Out of all the risks he faced on a day-to-day basis, he had never considered this, never thought that the fucking flu might be what killed him.

“Tony."

The man glanced up as Bruce approached.

“I think I know what’s going on-“

“You ‘think’?” Tony snapped, his face crumpling in guilt seconds after the words left his mouth. “Sorry.”

The doctor just shook his head dismissively. “Most flu-related deaths-“ Tony flinched. “-aren’t caused by the actual influenza virus, rather a secondary infection - usually pneumonia - or an overreaction from the immune system. Usually white blood cells and antibodies are sent out to eliminate the threat and T cells destroy the affected tissue, which is predominantly in the respiratory tract and lungs. However, sometimes the response can be too strong and damage too much tissue, restricting the amount oxygen delivered to the blood, which… given Peter’s accelerated healing-“

“So, basically his body is destroying itself,” he interrupted weakly.

“Essentially,” Bruce nodded. “The bronchoscopy will show the extent of the damage, and if that is the case, then we can put him on ECMO, which basically improves the gas exchange, preventing further hypoxia and organ damage, allowing the lungs to begin to heal. We’ve also got him on antibiotics, ibuprofen and an IV, so once his fever breaks and his body realises it can stop attacking itself, it can work to repair the damage. He’s going to be okay, Tony.”

Tony let out a breath of relief. “You know, you could’ve started with that.”

“Maybe,” he agreed with a small smile. “But then you wouldn’t have listened to anything I said and then ask questions and then I’d just have to repeat everything I said.”

“Sorry, what did you just say? I wasn’t listening.”

    Tony stirred awake from his position beside Peter’s bed when some kind of shuffling noise disturbed his sleep. He blinked slowly, sitting up straighter when he realised the source of the noise was Peter, writing something down on a notepad, restricted slightly by the ventilator. Seeing that the man was awake, Peter tore off the sheet and handed it to him.

This is getting repetitive.

A scoff passed through his lips. “Then stop almost dying."

Peter’s small grin faded, a frown forming gnosis face before he started scrawling something down again.

I’m sorry for lying to you. That was super dumb.

“Kid, you never have to worry about bothering me, okay? I just want you safe and happy, and this whole ‘lying so that you don’t annoy me’ bullshit needs to stop. I can’t help you if you don’t let me, and when I can’t help you, it stresses me out. And for God’s sake, stop saying ‘I’m fine’ when you’re very not fine.”

Peter nodded solemnly before beginning to write again. Did you end up sanitising the lab?

“Yup. Glad I did too. I’m a total wuss when I’m sick.”

Yeah, I bet.

Tony scowled meanwhile Peter grinned, shoulder shaking slightly with laughter. “Don’t test me, Underoos, or I’ll sell your Spider-Man suit on Amazon.”

    Four days later, after being gradually tapered off oxygen support until Bruce declared his lungs to be sufficiently healed, Peter was on his feet, back to his usual restless, bubbly nature. Naturally, May had been less than pleased to find out Peter had been struggling so much and refusing to ask for help, and even more so when she realised how severe the situation had been. To Peter’s credit, the kid had taken the scolding in his stride and acknowledged his mistakes, promising to not let anything like it happen again.

Tony made that same promise to himself.

Which is why, when Peter sneezed in the lab three weeks later, he may have overreacted. The teenager didn’t seem to think anything of it, but then Tony was shoving a box of tissues and a mug of tea in front of him and his eyes widened.

“I’m not sick, it was just a sneeze, I’m honestly-“

“FRIDAY, give me his body temperature.” 

“Mister Stark!” 

“Peter’s body temperature is currently at ninety-eight point five degrees Fahrenheit, sir.” 

“See, I’m fine! No fever.” 

Tony stared at him through slightly narrowed eyes. “Maybe I should get Bruce, just in case.”

“No! I do not need Bruce Banner checking on me for a freaking sneeze!” 

“FRI, call Bruce.” 

Peter let out a helpless whine, letting his head fall onto the desk with a thud. 

“Great, now he’s gotta check for head injury, too.” 

“Mister Stark!”  

[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. 

[phobiadeficient]

SpeedingBullet but make scout completely oblivious for way too long

“so we both have buckets of fried chicken, you wanna do it?” ass bitch over here can’t even spell subtlety let alone understand it so good fuckin luck with that crush sniper

-

Scout’s pickup lines generally consisted of walking up to someone attractive, looking around to make sure they were alone enough to not be overheard, and asking them if they either wanted to go out or wanted to have sex depending on his mood.

So Sniper was pretty sure that wooing Scout wasn’t exactly necessary, but Sniper also generally tried to hold himself to a standard regardless of “necessity”. So he decided to go about it the right way anyways.

One day when he was hanging out in the base for once, Scout ducked into the common room and asked if anyone wanted to go with him to get something “real” to eat. Sniper volunteered. That started a weekly routine of them going off-base every Saturday to get tacos together at the nearest place that sold them, half an hour away.

For Scout’s birthday, Sniper got him a present—a record player, so he wouldn’t constantly need to argue with Heavy and Demo about whose turn it was to play music in the common room. One week, Scout got the flu, and Medic basically quarantined him off so he wouldn’t spread it to the rest of the team. Sniper spent an afternoon digging up the recipe for soup that he had from back home, making enough that Scout wouldn’t need to cook anything for himself for the next week or so until he was allowed at team dinners again, bringing the first serving of it to him and hanging out with the kid even though he knew he might get sick, and on Saturday he specifically called in a favor with Pyro and had them cook tacos so he could bring them by. The team went out drinking one weekend, and he and Scout sat together practically the whole night. When most of the team decided to finally head out, Sniper waved them off and offered to drive himself and Scout back later, promising not to drink too much. Scout expressed an interest in getting up and dancing when one of his favorite songs came up on the radio, and somehow Sniper roped himself into dancing with Scout for long enough that the next morning his legs were sore.

Scout didn’t seem to think anything of it. He stepped up his game.

He asked Scout if he wanted to go out and get coffee at some point. Scout told him he didn’t like coffee, it messed with his stomach, and that energy drinks were totally where it’s at. He asked if Scout wanted to get dinner. Scout agreed that wow it really had gotten late, it was dinner time already, they better hurry up before the rest of the team inhaled the meal.

He asked if Scout wanted to go on a date.

Scout said, man, like you wouldn’t believe! But lately whenever he hit on people they didn’t seem to ever catch on. He asked Sniper if he knew what that was like.

Sniper said, yes. He knew that feeling intimately.

He got tired of it. It had been nearly five months of subtle hints, gentle pushes, pointed questions. A whole five months of light flirting, compliments, Sniper paying for their food and Sniper carving out all of his free time and Sniper constantly, constantly setting himself up and never finding any payoff for it. It was the worst kind of edging.

And yes, he very much wanted to just hop into bed with Scout. But he also very much wanted to date Scout, it would seem. Yes he wanted to situate his body between Scout‘s heavily muscled thighs and drive him absolutely insane. But also he wanted to kiss Scout hello in the morning.

He’d gotten sappy. God damn it. Now it would hurt a lot worse if Scout rejected him. But he couldn’t find it in himself to even be scared of that, because he’d been on an almost seven month dry spell by then, not wanting to be so much of an asshole to go for several people at once without their knowledge, so he was mostly just concerned with getting a yes or no answer so he could move forward in one direction or another.

It was Valentine’s Day. It was after work. He showered, unpacked his nice suit that he sometimes used when he had to go out on contract, bought a bouquet, and marched himself directly through the base to Scout’s room and hammered his fist on the door.

Scout opened the door.

“Do you, Scout,” Sniper asked, “want to go out on a date, romantically, with me, Sniper, tonight on this Valentine’s Day? Please?”

Silence for two seconds. “Oh, fuck. That was flirting, wasn’t it?” Scout asked, apparently coming to a series of realizations.

“Yes. It was. For about five months for what it’s worth.”

“Since we started Taco Days?” Scout asked, eyes widening.

“Since a bit before, yes.”

“Oh god. Oh fuck. Shit, I’m so sorry.”

Sniper felt his heart sink, some of the determination seeping out of his shoulders. “Is that a no?” he asked, a bit less firmly now.

“No, yes, I—no it’s not a no, yes I wanna date you,” Scout clarified quickly. “Uh. Fuck. Shit. Where?”

“Anywhere,” Sniper shrugged. “But the taco place is open. They have a special for couples tonight.”

“You wanna be couples?” Scout asked, a little surprised.

“Ideally.”

Scout thought about it for a second. “I mean, yeah, sure! Okay! Or, I dunno, first date and then if it goes well—shit, Taco Day has been a date hasn’t it? Uh. First romantic date—not that it’s not romantic—“

“Look, it’s already almost six and they’re closing at ten,” Sniper cut in.

“Yeah, I’ll get changed,” Scout agreed quickly, moving to shut the door before catching himself and taking the flowers first, clearly shocked by the entirety of the proceedings. “Fuck. I’m real fuckin’ stupid, huh Snipes?”

“You’re lucky it’s cute,” Sniper deadpanned. “Meet me outside in twenty?”

“Thirty, I gotta shower,” Scout replied, dragging a hand up through his hair self-consciously. “But yeah. Yeah, I’ll see you there.”

“Yeah,” Sniper nodded.

-

The date went fine. The drive over was weirdly quiet, and Scout fidgeted with the radio a lot more, drummed his fingers against his own leg, the same way he sometimes did before confessing that something was bothering him—nerves about the new niece he had on the way, or annoyance about some bullshit that one of the team had said to him, or guilt about some prank gone awry that he hadn’t confessed to. But he didn’t speak, just fiddling, drumming.

Then tacos were basically business as usual. Scout made a joke about what dummies they were, eating tacos in suits, how they were for sure gonna end up with sauce on their nice white shirts, and Sniper laughed, and they didn’t.

Halfway through, Scout started asking questions.

“So dudes, huh? That why you’d never say anything when I started goin’ off about some girl?”

“And jealously, but yeah, that too,” Sniper admitted. He was glad he’d elected to keep his shades on. They helped hide the fact that he was bad at eye contact at the best of times.

“I kinda thought it was because you had a girlfriend or a wife off somewhere that you never wanted to talk about, like how Spy’s a prick about that stuff. I mean, you don’t, right? Have a girl somewhere?”

“No. And not a bloke either, for what it’s worth,” Sniper replied.

“Okay. Cool. Good.” Scout fidgeted with a napkin, took a drink of water. “I mean, didn’t think you’re the type for that anyways, but… yeah.”

Sniper took a drink of his own water. Silence for a moment.

“And you kinda wanna just—you wanna do boyfriend stuff? With me?” Scout asked, confused, as if some part of the proceedings didn’t make sense to him.

“Feels a bit like I already do,” Sniper pointed out.

“I mean, not all the boyfriend stuff,” Scout mumbled, eyes back on his napkin. “I dunno. Maybe it’ll be nice though.”

“What sorts of “boyfriend stuff” have I missed so far that you’d like to see more of?” Sniper asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Like, talkin’ about yourself more. You’re like, practically my therapist.”

“The complaining to me, you mean?”

“Yeah. And you barely ever complain back. Unless you’re agreeing with me that Spy’s a prick.” Scout looked up, baby blues trying to meet his eyes through his glasses. “I wanna hear more about you.”

Sniper couldn’t help but smile a little at that. “Alright. I can try. Besides that?”

Scout looked away, face going a bit red as the silence progressed. He glanced around their vicinity for a second, barely managing to meet Sniper’s gaze before he had to break it again. “C’mon man, you’re gonna make me say it?” he said quietly.

“Five months.”

“Fine, sheesh, I…” He ducked his head a little. “Maybe… kissing and all that crap.”

Sniper raised an eyebrow at him. Scout scowled when he glanced up and saw it.

“Look, I ain’t ever done this with a guy before, alright?” he said defensively, and he’d sunk pretty far by then down into his seat. “I dunno what the hell I’m doin’.”

“We can take it slow if you want,” Sniper suggested, feeling a little bad.

“I didn’t say that, I’m just tellin’ you I’m gonna be a total idiot,” Scout muttered.

“Oh? What all would you like to jump right into then?”

“I’m not sayin’ it in public, that’s all I’m gonna tell you,” Scout said stubbornly, and Sniper laughed, and allowed him to change the subject to something else.

Scout paid the tab, saying it was his turn anyways, As usual, Sniper drove them to the taco place and Scout was the one to drive them back. Conversation was limited, both of them relaxed and satisfied.

Scout surprised him by pulling off the route they took back to instead park them at one of those roadside tourist-y areas where people could stop and stretch their legs on road trips and take photos and read a plaque. It was empty, of course it was, and the second Scout had the car in park and the keys out of it, dropped onto the dashboard, he promptly jumped the gearshift and landed himself in Sniper’s lap.

“Okay,” Scout opened with. “So here’s the thing.”

“Right?” Sniper replied hesitantly, hands on Scout’s waist, glancing him up and down.

“So like, me about guys, that’s usually secondary to the girls thing. Because girls are great. Usually it’s only really hot guys who I’d go for. And I guess I kinda more thought about you as a coworker mostly for a long time, right? Because you were. But then, I dunno, at some point I guess it clicked a little, right? That you’re hot.”

Sniper grinned. “Yeah? What is it, which part?” he asked.

“Stubble’s a big one,” Scout admitted. “And you know how to handle your gun crazy well, and can totally fuck a guy up with your knife. It’s real hot. And you’ve got these shoulders, and like… a lot of things basically,” Scout concluded, hands finding the shoulders in question. “And just, man. You look fuckin’ good in a suit. And I just wanna… I don’t even know what. I wanna do somethin’ to you.”

“Kissing’ as good start,” Sniper suggested, and Scout needed no further prompting, leaning in and spending exactly five seconds kissing Sniper like a good Christian boy before he promptly got filthy with it, pulling tricks with his tongue that made Sniper groan.

He broke away again, breathless. “Hate to take this off since you like it so much,” he admitted, tugging at his own tie pointedly.

“Well I fuckin’ know I wanna do that to you,” Scout said, and started working Sniper’s suit jacket off of him.

Scout mostly moved to toss the components of Sniper’s suit into the back seat carelessly, stripping him to his undershirt before he helped Sniper get off his own dress shirt. He managed to get his own pants undone before he apparently got impatient, nipping at Sniper’s freshly exposed collarbones with those rabbitish teeth of his, making Sniper’s hands fumble where he was at work on his own belt.

“Have an idea enough about how this works to know how you’d like to do this?” Sniper asked, a rumble into his ear that made Scout shiver.

“I dunno, just touch my dick, fuck,” Scout said impatiently, and got back to work marking up Sniper’s neck like he was getting paid, starting to grind down into him. Sniper was distantly aware of the fact that the windows were starting to fog.

The fact that he suddenly realized he didn’t actually have any lube or condoms on him, having assumed they’d get back at least to base before they started making out like horny teenagers, meant that their options were limited, but Sniper wasn’t that worried about it. He just got to work trying to worm Scout’s pants down his thighs, working with the rhythm of rolls that he’d established. He got a bit impatient, grabbing around the back of Scout’s thighs with both hands to lift him up enough to work his own pants down past his knees before letting him back down again, a moan startled out of him as Scout promptly grinded against him, making a similar noise.

“Hold on,” Sniper grunted, stopping Scout with a hand on his hip, raising the other to his own face to spit in it once, twice, before lowering it to slick both Scout and himself, and then he was wrapping a hand around them both as best he could and starting to jerk.

Scout’s reaction was immediate, starting to roll his hips into the wet, slick grip, eyelashes fluttering and mouth falling open around gasps, the first silent and every one after that satisfied.

“C’mon,” Sniper prompted, nosing in just below his chin and kissing his throat briefly. “Help me out with this. Get your hand wet—yeah, there you go—now c’mon, right here. Good. God, yeah, like that. There’s a beauty.”

Scout used his free hand to wrap around Sniper’s shoulder to pull him close, mashing their lips together gracelessly but enthusiastically. Sniper’s free hand moved at first to grip at Scout’s ass, satisfied at the fact that he could now do so, then eventually to toy with Scout’s chest, pinching at one nipple and then the other, wringing all sorts of noises from Scout’s mouth and into his own and enjoying every second of it.

He felt Scout getting close quicker than he did, and tried to make up for the distance by starting to also roll his hips up into his fist, a steady roll that made him groan and pinch harder, grip just slightly tighter. He was distantly aware of the fog that clung to the windows, of the sweat on his own forehead and Scout’s chest beneath his hand, of the squeak of the car’s suspension as they rocked it, but mostly he just focused on the mounting pleasure.

Scout keened against his mouth, gasping damply against him as he stalled out, hips jerking and struggling. He opened his eyes, and the flush on his face, the redness of his lips wound wide around further noises of pleasure, the final gasp of “Fuck, Snipes,” that Scout managed to whimper, the feeling of Scout’s hand shifting to simply hold on to him instead of both of them, it had him finishing within a few strokes, his own noise much quieter.

In a few minutes, they’d start laughing at the cliche of fucking in a car, start struggling to clean up and get to their own clothes, start talking about how next time Sniper would show him how real fucking worked, about how they’d flip a coin to pick who’d be on top the first time.

Until then, they kissed, and at least in the afterglow, Sniper figured the five months were worth it. Just barely.

[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.  

[sunmoon-starfactory]

Stupidly Sick

Guess I’m just putting an FYI because I’ve been on a roll with stuff. The past two weeks I’ve been working on things but I’ve been not feeling well. First I thought it was just a cold. Then I lost my voice for a week. Got tested at work (I work medical IRL) for Strep/Flu/etc..nothing. So we settled on viral laryngitis, treat my symptoms as I had been and rest my voice as much as possible. Voice came back but still felt nasty. Just kept pushing...this past Friday I started having bronchospasm attacks. For anyone who doesn’t know what that means, it basically means my lungs would cease up and I felt like I couldn’t breath and could only wheeze in a breath. Started using my mother’s inhaler to help, which it did a little but on Saturday it all got worse. So I went back to work today on my day off (the same one who had seen me by the way and knew I’d been gross, my office rotates providers) and he was super concerned I was actually getting worse.

So he gave me a steroid shot, a breathing treatment, put me on antibiotics, more oral steroids, something for the cough, and my own inhaler for when I have attacks. Still not running any fever, still not having much other symptoms aside from stuffy, fatigued, and coughing. I felt much better after the breathing treatment and have started my antibiotics. Had another attack a couple of hours ago, so still irritated but it wasn’t as bad as the others. Hurt just as much but that’s because I’ve pulled every muscle in my upper body I think from the attacks. I’m so freaking sore and my body feels like it’s on fire when I cough or have an attack. I think that’s the worse part. Worse than feeling like I can’t breathe.

I’m not one who calls out from work, but he told me he didn’t want me at work tomorrow and that I need to get as much rest as I can to try and kick this. Hopefully a combo helps...it has to do better than DayQuil. Family said I sounded better this afternoon after the breathing treatment than I had all week. So that’s good.

TL;DR my but is stupidly sick and while I’m not exactly tired, I’m making sure I get rest and such. Haven’t had the energy to code hard tea pots that require precise numbers and such anyway. It’s killing me as I’m quite bored between cough medicine naps but a little back at a time is a better path anyway probably. Hopefully this passes now that we’re throwing the whole kitchen sink at me since the over the counter and tough it out method isn’t working.

Tell you what though, at least I have a notebook my brain can get out coding notes on. It’s something creative at least.

[angstmatsuscenarios]

How about an Ichimatsu sickfic? I believe that’s within the limits of the rules. I dunno, maybe he tried to play it off as nothing, but stuff happens? I’ll just leave the rest to you. I rly like this blog and I’m excited to see the ask box open again!

Sickfic is not only welcome but also my forte, hehe. Here is some Ichi sickfic for you, hope you enjoy!

Warning for a brief mention of needles (drawing blood, very brief and non-graphic) under the cut:

At first Ichimatsu didn’t give much thought to the fatigue and sore throat he’d been suffering through all day--it had been annoying, but he figured it was probably just allergies, and had kept his face mask on the whole day. He’d felt lousy for the past couple of weeks, and figured it was nothing too bad.

By that night, though, he felt worse--he’d had no appetite at dinner, and it took nearly all of his energy to follow his brothers to the bathhouse. The soak in the hot water felt good to his aching muscles, but the walk home was excruciating, his legs trudging along slowly and his whole body shivering even though it wasn’t that cold out. When they finally got back home all he could do was crawl into the futon the second it was laid out and curl up in his spot, burying his face deep in the blankets.

“Does Ichimatsu seem okay to you?” he overheard Osomatsu ask the remaining brothers. 

“He looks rather pale, and he’s shaking…” Karamatsu noted, a hint of concern in his voice. “Perhaps he’s fallen ill?”

“Then we should force him to sleep in the other room,” Todomatsu asserted. “What if he’s contagious?”

“Have some heart for once, Todomatsu,” Choromatsu admonished him. “He’s wearing a mask, and besides, when has splitting us up ever stopped us from catching each other’s colds anyway?”

“I’m sure he’ll be okay!” Jyushimatsu said with assurance. “But he looks tired, we should let him rest.”

“Fine...but if we’re all coughing and sneezing by the next morning, don’t blame me,” Todomatsu replied curtly.

Ichimatsu would’ve chimed in with a “shut up and die, Todomatsu” had his throat not hurt so badly. Instead he hunkered down deeper in bed and closed his eyes, willing himself to fall asleep and hoping he’d feel better in the morning.

-----------

Mhhh….I feel horrible….

It was the first thought to flicker in Ichimatsu’s mind as he sluggishly came to the next morning. He felt truly miserable, it had been a long time since he’d ever felt this sick...if he had before, now that he thought of it. He was dripping in sweat and wracked with chills all at once, his throat burned more painfully than it ever had before, and he was aware of a dull ache in his side. Not to mention, he was exhausted.

He sat up, slowly, but that brought on a wave of dizziness that made him feel like laying right back down again. His temples pulsated with an awful headache, and he brought his hands up to rub his bleary eyes and will some of the wooziness to go away. It didn’t.

Dammit….guess it wasn’t just allergies after all….

He groaned, reluctantly crawling out from under the futon. He was alone in the room--he assumed his brothers had gotten up to go eat breakfast and had left him to rest. The thought of food suddenly made him feel nauseous, but as much as he wanted to just go straight back to sleep he knew he at least needed to get medicine.

He stood slowly, the room swaying and his head spinning. He shuffled on wobbly legs into the hallway, pressing his hand against the wall for support. Every step was grueling, requiring so much effort it caused sweat to bead up on his forehead. 

What...the hell...is wrong with me…?

He was close to the stairs, just a few more steps...he gingerly put one foot in front of the other, then again…

But suddenly his legs gave out on him, folding so that he hit the floor with a weak grunt. He leaned all his weight against the wall, unable to support himself, whimpering quietly as he rubbed the sore spot on his side. 

Something’s wrong...this isn’t just the flu, is it…?

“Ichimatsu-niisan!”

Ichimatsu had been so zoned out he didn’t notice Jyushimatsu thundering up the stairs until he was by his side, kneeling next to him with a worried expression on his face. 

“Are you okay? I heard a thud, did you fall?” Jyushimatsu asked, and although he wasn’t exactly shouting his voice was loud enough to Ichimatsu’s pounding head to make his ears ring.

“N-no...don’t feel good…” Ichimatsu managed to groan out a response, his throat stinging so badly it made his eyes water. 

Jyushimatsu frowned. “You look awful...look at your neck, your glands are really swollen. And you’re super pale…” 

Still rambling, Jyushimatsu helped Ichimatsu slowly back to his feet. Ichimatsu was just barely aware as his brother practically carried him back to the sextuplets’ room and tucked him back into bed. All the while he wore an anxious expression that was very unlike the sunny fifth son’s usual disposition.

“I’m gonna get Mom, okay?” Jyushimatsu said, lightly patting Ichimatsu’s head. “She’ll help you, she always knows what to do.”

Ichimatsu only managed a feeble moan in response, closing his eyes. He’d never been this miserable when sick before, and it scared him...even scarier was that he didn’t have the energy to be as scared as he probably should be. He could only hope his mother could help him, though he doubted he would be cured by her gentle touch and homemade soup.

What’s going on…?

----------

After hearing that Ichimatsu had nearly passed out, Matsuyo insisted on taking him to the doctor. He hated doctors, but he was so out-of-it that he simply put up with the poking and prodding and blood-taking without much fuss (that was a real sign of how sick he was--he didn’t put up a fight when he saw the needle, just turned his head in the other direction and kept his eyes shut tight when his blood was drawn).

Fortunately, it wasn’t long before they received a diagnosis...but unfortunately, it was more serious than anticipated. According to the doctor Ichimatsu had mononucleosis. That explained why he’d felt so run-down for the last few weeks, and also why the glands in his neck were so swollen. The doctor went on to explain that it was the reason Ichimatsu’s side hurt, too--his spleen was swollen, a fact that thoroughly freaked him out, though the doctor said as long as he was careful not to injure his spleen and cause it to rupture the swelling would most likely go down sooner rather than later (the word “rupture” only induced more panic).  

There wasn’t much that could be done to treat mono, either--the most vital thing was rest. It could take weeks, even months, for someone to recover completely from mono, Ichimatsu discovered, and while it didn’t affect him too much since he had no job or school to worry about...the idea of being sick for so long was scary. He couldn’t imagine going more than a few days feeling this crappy, but weeks? Months?! Not to mention, it meant staying home and resting that whole time...he wasn’t much for leaving the house to begin with, but not be able to visit his cat friends in the alley, or join his brothers when they went to Chibita’s? He hated the thought of being excluded from all of that for who knew how long.

The doctor tried to be reassuring, insisting it was possible to have a speedier recovery as long as he took good care of himself, but all Ichimatsu felt was dread. It was awful news, he couldn’t even pretend there was a bright side to it. 

When Ichimatsu got home from the doctor, he’d found his brothers had set up a temporary room for him in the spare room. It wasn’t just that his mono was potentially contagious, but they insisted it would be easier for him to recuperate if he had peace and quiet while he rested. He wanted to call bull on that last claim, but was so tired that he just crawled right into his futon in his “new” room and went right to sleep without protest.

Days passed by. It wasn’t long before Ichimatsu started to feel bored and lonely. He felt marginally better than he had the first couple of days, but he was still nowhere near well, and the thought was depressing to him that he’d have a long time of feeling this way.  

He spent most of his time sleeping. He didn’t have the energy for much else. Sometimes his mother popped in to give him food (which he hardly ate—his throat hurt too much and his appetite was pretty much nonexistent), and other times one of his brothers would pay a quick visit (wearing a mask, not surprisingly). It was nice, but not the same as being with them like usual, and once they left he felt sad again. 

Gradually, though, Jyushimatsu began spending more and more time with him. He’d sit at Ichimatsu’s bedside for hours, playing a game or reading a manga or sorting his baseball cards—activities he didn’t always possess much patience for, being as active as he was. He made light conversation with Ichimatsu, though kept it to a minimum, knowing Ichimatsu wasn’t much for talking. It was the quietest and most still Jyushimatsu had ever been.

Ichimatsu was grateful for the company, but he felt guilty as well. Surely this wasn’t what Jyushimatsu felt like doing—this had to be cutting into his baseball time, which he treasured. Ichimatsu didn’t want both of them to be trapped inside all the time, not when Jyushimatsu was well and could do whatever he wanted.

“Jyushi,” Ichimatsu spoke up one afternoon, his voice rusty. Jyushimatsu had been poring over a baseball book, but perked up at the sound of Ichimatsu’s voice. “You don’t have to stay with me all the time...you can go outside and play baseball or whatever you want. I feel bad if you’re staying in all the time because of me.”

Jyushimatsu offered a bright smile. “But, Ichimatsu-niisan, I am doing what I want!” he insisted, crawling closer to his brother. “It must suck being sick in bed for so long. I wouldn’t want to be alone all the time if it were me. Besides, I have my most fun when I’m with you—even if you can’t do much now, I like being with you. And baseball isn’t the same without you there, either.”

“Really…?” Ichimatsu wasn’t so sure about that. How much fun could he be?

“Really!” Jyushimatsu nodded enthusiastically. “You’re my best friend, I’ll always stay by your side! And it won’t be like this forever either, sooner or later you’ll recover and we can get right back to playing! So just keep your chin up, okay, Niisan?”

Ichimatsu blinked, just a little surprised...not to mention touched. Jyushimatsu really did just want to spend time with him, even if that time consisted of doing nothing more than hanging out in the same room together while he slept. Jyushimatsu really was his best friend, and even though he still felt terrible that realization made him feel just a little better.

“Thank you, Jyushi...I’ll try.”

“You’ll be back to yourself in no time!” Jyushimatsu enthused with a grin that made Ichimatsu believe it. “Anyway, why don’t I read to you from my book until you fall asleep?”

“I’d like that. Thanks.”

With that, Jyushimatsu settled down right beside Ichimatsu and started reading, angling the book so they could both see inside. Ichimatsu wasn’t particularly interested in baseball facts and stats, but it was comforting being read to, and Jyushimatsu’s surprisingly soft voice soon lulled him into sleep.

It would take time for him to get better, but with Jyushimatsu by his side, maybe the road to recovery wouldn’t be as awful as it seemed.

[janelevy]

in sickness (and in health)

requested by @homeschooledbookfanatic

summary: this is kind of a combo between two ideas, but both have the same premise - in the first part, connor worries about a sick ava, and in the second part, ava cares for a sick connor.

warnings: none, just general flu/cold illness

also: i’m surprised but also super happy to see an influx of new followers recently! whether you followed me for the dumb shit i reblog, my writing, or the upcoming secret santa exchange, i extend my gratitude to you! don’t be afraid to send me a message or ask to say hi <3

i. Connor was a doctor, and had been one for close to seven years now (not counting all the time spent tirelessly studying before that), so he thought he could tell pretty easily when a patient was sick. There were countless symptoms to scroll through for a whole host of different diseases. He had a keen eye for basic to intermediate illnesses, since the most severe problems were usually internal ones he would then operate on. So, yeah, Connor was a doctor, and he knew how to read a patient’s appearance and mannerisms to determine if they were under the weather.

Somehow, Ava completely slipped past his radar.

She acted like her usual self when they got up that morning. Everything was fine. And okay, maybe he was a little bit distracted considering he had three major surgeries to look forward to today. But just as she always was since they moved in together, Ava was alongside him in the morning, getting up and getting dressed and making coffee and drinking it. She even drove them into work and appeared alert, albeit sniffly. Connor asked about it then, and he should’ve known something was the matter when she used that dismissive tone.

“I’m fine, Connor. Just a little cold.”

Just a little cold. Clearly it wasn’t, because by the end of the day she looked like a train had hit her, turned back around, and hit her again. Of course Connor didn’t vocalize that, because he wanted to live past thirty-two, but he did make sure to inform her that if she felt off by even half a margin, she should tell him and they would call in sick together the next day so he could care for her. Again, she brushed him off, but she didn’t reject the hot tea he made for her when they got home.

Then it was the next morning, and something most definitely wasn’t right. Connor sat up in bed and looked over; Ava was asleep but restless, and heat was pouring off her body in waves. Without hesitation he placed his hand on her forehead, winced, and gently shook her awake.

His girlfriend groaned and gradually opened her eyes. “Mmm... what do you want?” Her eyes slid over to the bedside clock and she sighed. “It’s too early, baby, we don’t have to be awake until...” She trailed off at the look on his face. “What?”

Connor shook his head at her in awe. “Avey, do you not feel how ill you are? You’re running a high fever, your forehead is hot enough to fry an egg on.” He reached forward and prodded gently around her neck. “And your lymph nodes are all swollen.” Her hazel eyes were propped open lazily at half-mast, and her eyelids looked as heavy as he was sure they felt. Connor met her gaze seriously, reaching to hold one of her hands. He wanted to make sure she knew he wasn’t just viewing her as any old patient right now, but as the woman he would travel around the globe for.

“Tell me, did you sleep well last night? Have you had any other issues like fatigue? Chills? Sore throat? Muscle aches?” His eyes rolled to the ceiling as he recalled yesterday. “It seemed like you had a little bit of a cough yesterday.” He sighed, dropping his shoulders in defeat. He felt like he had utterly failed her. “Dammit, dammit. I should’ve noticed sooner.”

Ava rested the palm of her free hand on her forehead and groaned. “Whoa, whoa. Slow down. First of all, you... shouldn’t blame yourself.” Her words came out at a tired, leisurely pace. “And second, it’s not a big deal.” She laughed grimly, if it could even be called a laugh. “I’m just pissed because I did get my flu shot this year. But... it is what it is.”

Connor brushed some hair behind her ear and frowned. “There’s still always that tiny chance a certain strain of the virus will get you,” he said, although she knew that already. He slid off the bed for a moment and ran to the bathroom cabinet to retrieve a thermometer. Within seconds he returned and urged her to slip the proper end of the device under her tongue. After a few moments, it beeped and he read the result, then did a double take.

“Okay, this actually is kind of a big deal, hon. Your body temp is 104 degrees.” At her reluctant moan, Connor grimaced and stroked her arm. “Looks like we will have to go into work today, but not to actually work.”

Ava sighed into her pillow. “You don’t have any operations scheduled today?”

“No,” Connor said. He decided not to mention that he originally had one non-emergency procedure today, but pushed it back just in case this happened. “No, I don’t. All I’m focusing on today is you.”

“You should try doing that every day,” came the biting reply.

“Ha, ha.” Connor peeled the sheets back as she started to sit up. “Okay. Let’s get you to the hospital. You’ll be feeling better soon, I promise.”

In response, she only nodded mutely, probably figuring it was better to let him lead her out of the room than argue. And for that, Connor was glad.

ii. The last time Ava had been super sick, all she’d wanted to do was sleep the day (or couple of days) away. Therefore, she couldn’t fathom why Connor wanted to be awake, let alone standing and doing things.

“If this is some big act you’re putting on just to prove your cold isn’t that bad, you’re not fooling anyone, least of all me.” Ava crossed her arms and leaned on the kitchen counter, watching as Connor rummaged clumsily through the fridge. “Besides, you won’t get a chance to fake it for anyone else, because I’m not letting you out of the house today.”

“Yeah, right.” Connor slammed the fridge door and set down the container of almond milk heavily. He grabbed a bowl from the cabinet and dragged them over to where she was at the counter, standing across from her as he poured corn flakes then his icky almond milk into the bowl. “Just because it’s my day off doesn’t mean I don’t have to leave the house. I have way too many errands to do. And I have to be ready on standby just in case the hospital pages me--”

“That won’t happen, because I called and told them how sick you are.” Ava handed him a spoon and rolled her eyes at his muttered thanks. “Dr. ‘I’m Ignoring the Symptoms of a Common but Severe Cold,’ you are not about to show up there and spread your grouchy germs through the entire ED and CT floors.”

Connor scowled and poked at his already mushy cereal. “Whatever,” he growled. “But I still have the errands.”

“Errands which I will be doing,” Ava corrected, “because I called in sick today.”

He shook his head, but she could spot the ghost of a smirk behind his currently dour expression. “Why’d you do that? The only place you’re sick is in the head.” Connor held a hand up to his red, raw nose, making the hilariously unflattering I’m about to sneeze face, and Ava shoved some tissues at him.

“Oh, very funny,” she said. “The actual reason I called in sick is because of... oh, I don’t know, do you remember all that stuff we said during our vows?” She tilted her head, honey blonde waves slipping off her shoulder. “You know, the whole ‘care for each other in sickness and in health’ thing?” Connor’s only response to that was a monstrous sneeze, and she nodded in amusement. “Yeah. That’s what I’m planning to do today.”

Connor blinked at his wife, forlorn, bloodshot eyes peeking out from in between a scrunched-up tissue and a mop of unwashed dark hair. “Fine,” he grumbled. Then, as a sincere afterthought: “Thanks.”

Ava coaxed him onto the sofa where he lay there like a grumpy old dog for the rest of the day, watching an assortment of shows on the Food Network and HGTV. He was dangerously nearing lame middle-aged dad territory, Ava noted with mirth. That was good, though. The title was just as fitting for him as “Doctor.”

And so she wandered in and out throughout the day, bringing him chicken noodle soup and saltine crackers, tall glasses of ice with cool blue Gatorade (it was his favorite flavor, though all the flavors tasted the same to her), and ice cream. Ava loved caring for him, because he would and had done the same for her - and times like today were when she really felt like the best doctor.

[artificialqueens]

Green-Eyed Monsters and Other Demons (Branjie) -- athena2

A/N: This is a continuation of my vampire verse, based on a prompt from @gradtones, who requested a fic with a jealous ex of Brooke’s. I was so happy to write in this verse again, even if it took me a while to get back into it. (Part 1 Here and Part 2 Here). With that said, three thousand thank you’s to Writ. This fic was a bit of a trainwreck when it started, but you helped me see how to fix it. I don’t think I could’ve finished this without your help.

Please leave some feedback if you’d like, I really appreciate it!

*This does have some minor injury and mentions/descriptions of an unhealthy past relationship*

—

Brooke never thought she’d have one date with a vampire, let alone three whole months of them. But then again, most things with Vanessa are different from what she thought they’d be like.

She never thought she’d be able to tolerate the sheer chaos of Vanessa’s apartment, not even batting an eyelash when one of her roommates runs through the kitchen carrying a frog wearing a plastic crown. She never thought she’d have someone to laugh at movies with, someone to share a bed with. And she never thought she’d be in a thrift shop helping Vanessa find the single strangest item in the store to win a game with her roommates.

“How about these?” Brooke holds up a pair of Shrek slippers.

Vanessa snatches the slippers and holds them to her chest. “These ain’t weird, Brooke, these are a treasure. I’m wearing these in bed tonight.”

“Christ.”

They continue to browse through the store, Vanessa rambling about her day. Even when Brooke can’t see Vanessa, she knows she’s there, not just because of her loud volume but also because of the presence she has, calming Brooke all the while.

Vanessa squeals across the store, and Brooke goes running.

“We got it, Brooke! Let’s see Yvie and her mug of Captain Hook and Peter Pan making out beat this.”

Brooke has to blink several times just to take in the hand-sewn sweater vest with grainy tigers all over the fabric.

“Okay, that’s gotta win. I wish I could burn my eyes out after seeing that,” Brooke says.

Vanessa buys the vest and the slippers Brooke regrets showing her. Brooke’s heart nearly stops when she sees the woman walking in.

Shit. Shit. She needs to hide, she needs to—

“Brooke?”

“Yeah. Hi.”

Brooke forces herself to look at the black hair and cold eyes of the woman she used to let kiss her. Brooke wishes she could scrub those touches off her skin, wipe every memory from her mind.

“How are you?” Brooke is sure she’s not asking because she cares, but because she wants to see if Brooke is suffering without her.

“Fine.”

“Is that your girlfriend?”

Shit.

Though the sheer fact of having Vanessa as her girlfriend makes Brooke want to explode with happiness, she doesn’t want the two of them seeing each other. Vanessa is kind and warm and happy and brings impossible joy to Brooke’s life. Brooke doesn’t want Vanessa seeing the woman who had been a storm cloud over Brooke for months, who sucked all the joy out of her. She doesn’t want Amy poisoning Vanessa too. Brooke doesn’t need the woman she loves more than anything meeting them woman who had never loved her in the first place.

There’s also the issue of keeping Vanessa safe. Amy can recognize the signs of a vampire just as well as Brooke, and she can’t let anything happen to Vanessa.

“She is.”

“Brooke, let’s go, we gotta go home and have our Marvel marathon,” Vanessa says, bounding over to Brooke’s side.

“You still watch those baby movies?” Amy sneers.

Brooke stiffens, heat running up her neck, those words carrying an old embarrassment with them. Brooke knows there’s nothing wrong with the movies she likes, but it had always been like this with Amy, and it brings back doubts Brooke has pushed out the past two years, doubts making her question everything she likes, everything she does. It could be that cocky grin Amy has, the mocking tone always aimed at Brooke. Or maybe somehow, somewhere inside, Brooke still cares what Amy thinks, still wants to prove her wrong, that every mean thing she ever said to Brooke was wrong.

She feels Vanessa’s body tense, her hand closing around Brooke’s wrist in comfort. Brooke’s not sure which one of them she’s comforting, and it’s another reason she didn’t want Vanessa to meet Amy. She doesn’t want Vanessa to see how upset Amy makes her, doesn’t want to dig up old wounds. She knows she’s not, but she doesn’t want to seem weak in front of Vanessa, sweating just because of her ex-girlfriend.

“Who exactly are you?” Vanessa demands. Her usual charm and humor have gone out the window, replaced with a frigid bite in her words, stance defensive. “Besides someone with a bad perm that shoulda been left in the 70’s with those bootcut pants.”

“Let’s say Brooke and I used to be intimately acquainted.” She glares daggers at both of them.

Brooke finds herself shrinking under that glare, just like she used to. She remembers that glare when Amy would criticize her clothes, when she told her to stop worrying already, that she needed to get over things. How she acted so superior when Brooke got excited over superhero movies, said she needed to grow up or things were over. No. Brooke’s not doing this anymore. She stands tall, drawing back to her full height, delighting in being taller than Amy.

Brooke won’t feel bad for liking the movies she likes, for wanting to wear plain black clothes. She’s not letting Amy have that power over her anymore, not going to put on clothes that made her uncomfortable or try to act cool and uncaring like Amy, when Brooke just wanted to be excited and passionate.

She can sense Vanessa getting ready to launch herself across the store, legs bouncing with anger. As much as she’d like to let Vanessa loose, it’s better if they can just get out of here, let the whole thing fade, like it never happened.

“We need to go,” Brooke says quickly, almost pulling Vanessa out of the store, hoping she did it before Amy figures out what Vanessa is, before Vanessa gets suspicious of things.

She gets behind the wheel and finds that she hasn’t taken a complete breath since she saw Amy, air flooding for lungs as she erases Amy’s pointing fingers and mean smirks from her mind.

“Who was that?” Vanessa asks, and Brooke’s heart tenses. She hadn’t been quick enough, hadn’t hidden how upset she was, and now Vanessa knows something is up. She can read the tension in Brooke, her muscles tightening in familiar response to Amy’s voice.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Brooke—”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” It comes out harsher than she means it to, and she wishes she could take it back at Vanessa’s sad face, the pain in her eyes. She’s no better than Amy, making Vanessa feel like this, and it’s not something she wants anyone to experience.

“Okay, okay.”

Vanessa is quiet for the rest of the ride, and the silence is more painful than screaming.

When Brooke doesn’t sleep that night, she blames it on the Shrek slippers rubbing against her, but she knows that isn’t true.

—

It’s a quiet breakfast the next morning. Vanessa is never quiet, and it makes Brooke’s already-sore muscles clench even further.

“Are you okay?” Brooke asks, shifting in her chair. She gives up on eating, her appetite suddenly ruined.

“Me? I’m fine.” Vanessa stabs at her egg, eating without another word.

Brooke knows deep down it’s because of yesterday. She still regrets the way she snapped at Vanessa, the way she was distracted all night, unable to bring herself to cheer and laugh along with Vanessa during Captain Marvel. She wonders what Vanessa is thinking, if she’s still hurt from how Brooke had yelled, if she already has her own ideas on who Amy is and why she made Brooke act like that.

Brooke wonders if she should just tell Vanessa about her ex-girlfriend, about why the meeting in the thrift store made Brooke shut down and had ruined the whole night. But she doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it, doesn’t want to make anything of it, really. Brooke has been trying to forget her ex for two years now, and she doesn’t want to get back into it. It’s easier if she can let it stay buried, forget how Amy would embarrass her in front of their friends, how she made Brooke feel like nothing.

She just hopes things with Vanessa are okay. But judging from the vicious way she slurps her orange juice, they might need to talk soon.

Brooke’s mind is on another planet when she hunts that night, clutching her stake for dear life as she almost loses a few fights. She’s dropped down to hunting just three nights a week now, and it’s more of a stakeout, making sure no humans are in danger. Being with Vanessa has changed some of her views on vampires, but there are still bad ones out there, and Brooke has to keep people safe from them. She’s usually laser-focused, but she calls it quits early tonight.

Two vampires got away, and she winds up with a cut on her arm and more bruises than usual. She’s lucky it isn’t worse, considering how unfocused she is, how she can’t concentrate on anything other than her ex.

“Want me to do that?” Vanessa asks, appearing in the bathroom. She must have woken when Brooke knocked over the first aid kit in her struggle to bandage her right arm with her left hand.

“I got it.” Brooke has never asked for help. But it had never been offered to her, either. She’s always just dealt with injuries herself. She even knew how to give herself stitches. It’s her own fault she got hurt anyway, that’s what Amy always said.

“Let me do it,” Vanessa insists, taking the gauze out of Brooke’s hand. She’s calm and gentle, her coldness from the morning gone. “You lucky you got this antiseptic cream stuff. Back in my day, people just poured whiskey on it. Stung like a bitch. Come to think of it, they used whiskey for everything. Infection? Whiskey. Cold and flu? Whiskey.”

Brooke snorts as Vanessa spreads the cream on her arm. “You sound like a boomer.”

Vanessa swats her shoulder. “Hell, I remember when they started doing flu shots. Before that, you drank whiskey or you were shit outta luck.”

“Okay, boomer.” Brooke smiles as Vanessa wraps her arm up, and all she can think is that it’s 1am and Vanessa is up taking care of her, acting like it’s nothing, even after their tense breakfast. No one has ever done this for her, ever cared this much, Brooke often bandaging herself and popping a painkiller to numb her aching body before collapsing into bed alone. It’s a nice feeling, to be cared for, and maybe Brooke can get used to it. Maybe it’s okay to ask for help, to let someone else share the burden.

“Thank you,” Brooke says, placing her hand on Vanessa’s arm in the hopes it shows how much this means to Brooke.

“Yeah, of course,” Vanessa says nonchalantly. “You need anything else?”

Brooke shakes her head. “Just sleep.”

Vanessa’s hands make their way to Brooke’s shoulders after Brooke sinks into the mattress with a groan. Her cool hands rub away the tension Brooke has been carrying since she was 18, worsened now with the words she can’t say to Vanessa, words that make her burn with anger.

“You sure you’re okay, baby?” Vanessa asks in worry. “Your muscles are really tight.”

“M’fine,” Brooke mumbles, Vanessa’s touch bringing on a calm sense of peace that inches Brooke towards sleep.

Vanessa presses a soft kiss to her neck. “Sleep. You need it.”

Brooke is asleep before Vanessa’s lips leave her skin.

—

A few weeks pass, and Vanessa doesn’t bring up that day in the thrift store again, so Brooke leaves it alone. There’s definitely something unspoken between them, some sort of chill or pointed stare whenever they look at the vest Vanessa bought. Vanessa cancels on two dates at the last minute, and her touches seem hesitant, kisses reluctant. But they’re managing.

Brooke is hoping things are fine, despite the unease she’s felt, the way she’s been doubting whether she’s good enough every time she looks in the mirror. But she’s managing. She hasn’t seen her ex in two years, and maybe it was just a one-time thing. Nothing to worry about.

Until Brooke’s hunt–though it’s more of a patrol now, really, watching from the trees to make sure no vampires attack a group of teenagers having a party in the woods.

Her body has been grateful for the lessened nights and decreased fighting. She even gets more sleep now with Vanessa in her bed, sometimes nine whole hours on her off nights. Vanessa makes the bed cozier with her presence, even when she kicks Brooke half the night, and even though she can’t sprawl out with her long limbs everywhere anymore, she loves getting to see Vanessa first thing in the morning.

This is her last patrol of the week, and she’s about to pack up when a flicker of movement in the woods draws her attention. Brooke inches toward the trees, crossbow ready.

“How the hell could you leave me for one of those monsters?” A person demands as they come out of the woods, and Brooke’s heart sinks as Amy appears.

“They have more of a heart than you do,” Brooke says quietly.

“Funny,” she snarls. “Brooke Lynn Hytes, Little Miss Rule-Follower, going out with a vampire? Do you know the trouble I could get you in?”

Brooke’s hand tightens on her bow, palms sweaty at the thought of any trouble not only for her, but for Vanessa as well. She’s never had another person to worry about, never had someone she would do anything to protect. Her heart clenches in fear, but it’s also comforting–powerful, even–to know she has someone she cares that much about.

“You can’t do anything,” Brooke says. “Or did you forget that the Guild kicked you out after–”

“Oh, fuck them. I can still hunt even without them backing me. And you know, I bet they’d take me back if I bring in the last of the Mateo clan.” She spits. “I’ll be on the lookout for Miss Mateo. She’s hard to miss, with that mouth.”

All Brooke can see is Vanessa being hurt, her smooth skin covered in blood, her loud laugh silenced. She thinks of Vanessa no longer curling around her in their bed, no longer taping up memes in her kitchen, no longer taking in stray dogs and helping them get homes or helping people get medical care. She thinks of the person she tried so long to get over, to forget, taking away the person who makes her life better, who gives Brooke the real love she is deserving of, and the anger explodes in her. Vanessa is too kind, too pure, and she doesn’t deserve even an ounce of pain.

Brooke slams Amy into a tree, rage blocking all out her senses. “If you even touch her, I swear–”

“Swear what?” she mocks. “You don’t harm humans, B.”

“I’ll make an exception,” she says fiercely. Her blood boils beneath her skin, body pulsing with the urge to tear apart whoever she needs to in order to keep Vanessa safe. “Stay away from her.” She shoves Amy on the ground, delighting in her wince.

“We’ll see,” she says before disappearing into the woods.

She has to warn Vanessa. Brooke’s heart is still pounding, mind racing with all the terrible things that could happen to Vanessa.

Brooke tears through the city to Vanessa’s apartment. Even through her fear, she smiles at the memory of Vanessa making fun of her slow driving on their first date and wonders what she would say now.

Brooke opens the door and immediately senses something wrong. There’s always some kind of noise in the house—Silky trying to sing, Yvie watching conspiracy videos on YouTube, A’keria and Vanessa blasting music. But it’s silent as a tomb, the air thick with disappointment, making the usually cheerful kitchen, with its bright memes and newly-added disco ball centerpiece on the table, seem eerie and wrong.

“Vanessa?” she calls, stepping inside with her hand tight around her stake, heart speeding back up just after she got it to calm down.

“You were with that woman again,” Vanessa says, and Brooke can hear the pain in her voice.

“Vanessa, please let me explain,” Brooke begins, heart breaking when Vanessa steps back from her.

“The game was tonight,” Vanessa says. “You never showed up, never answered your phone. And I can smell her on you.”

The thrift store game? That wasn’t tonight, Brooke knows it’s tomorrow, she had worked her hunting around it…no, it isSaturday, she realizes. She’s been mixing up days lately, even forgot one of her weapons hunting last week, her entire mind shaken like a snow globe since that day she saw Amy.

“I’m sorry, Ness, just please let me explain. Please,” she begs. She can’t lose Vanessa, she doesn’t want to see those tears in her eyes or that heartbroken look on her face. She doesn’t want Vanessa to be hurt, ever, and the fact that she’s the one hurting her almost brings tears to Brooke’s eyes.

“Do it,” Vanessa says, crossing her arms.

Brooke takes a deep breath, wondering where to start. “The woman you saw is my ex-girlfriend. She–”

“Are you still in love with her or something?” Vanessa demands, hands jabbing angrily. “Is that why you keep meeting her?”

“No. No. It’s nothing like that. Please,” she says, putting her stake back in its holster and raising her hands in surrender to Vanessa. “Please let me keep explaining.”

Vanessa nods.

“She’s my ex, but she…I don’t really know where to start. We were together for two months. I didn’t love her or anything. To tell you the truth, I don’t even know if I really liked her. We never talked about personal stuff, or feelings or anything. I just…I never thought anyone would love me, so I went out with her.” Brooke looks down in shame at how she had been so desperate to have someone that she went out with an asshole who didn’t even like her. “I thought she cared about me, but she didn’t. I was the top hunter, and she wanted my status.”

Vanessa’s eyes widen, her expression softening.

Brooke bites her lip. “It was small stuff that tipped me off about how she felt. That tore us apart. She made fun of the movies I wanted to watch. She’d leave messes because she knew it bothered me. She’d say mean things about me in front of people, and I just pretended they were funny, but they weren’t.” She pauses, all the things she had moved past and forgotten coming back and hitting her in the face, her body burning with anger. Brooke can remember how small she felt, like she wasn’t worth anything, when Amy would tease her. “We always had to do what she wanted, and she wanted us both to be the top hunters. She was always pushing us to hunt more. We’d go every night, and I was exhausted and miserable, but I wanted to keep people safe. I thought that’s what she wanted too.”

“You don’t have to keep going,” Vanessa says, a soothing hand on her shoulder, any previous anger gone.

Brooke shakes her head. “I want to.” She takes another breath. “So, one night, we found this group of vampires in an old barn. Amy wanted to burn the place down to kill them, so we could get the glory. But I told her it was too risky, in case humans were inside. She said she didn’t care about them.”

Vanessa gasps, and Brooke nods grimly.

“She lit the place up even though I said not to, and the fire got out of control. But there was a kid inside. I could hear her screaming and I knew it was a human. So I went inside to get her. The barn collapsed, part of it fell on me, but I got the kid out okay.” Vanessa squeezes her shoulder. “I broke three ribs and had some lung damage. I was in the hospital for a week. I ended things with Amy, and she was kicked out of the Guild,” Brooke finishes.

Brooke can still recall that week, the scratchy hospital blanket, how each breath set her lungs on fire and made her wince, and the satisfaction when her shaking voice told Amy it was over. Then Amy walked out of the hospital room after trying to suck up some glory for herself, and Brooke realized she was relieved to be free of it all, relieved not to have to put up with Amy anymore and pretend things were fine in front of other people.

“Holy shit, Brooke,” Vanessa mutters. “You’re like a damn superhero.” She pulls Brooke into a hug, Brooke safe and secure in her arms. “I’m sorry she did that to you. And I’m sorry I doubted you.”

“It’s okay.” Brooke buries her face in the top of Vanessa’s head, breathing in her coconut shampoo. “I should’ve been honest with you from the start.”

“I just got really jealous when I saw you with her. But I get why you didn’t want to talk about it. And I love you, and I know you love me.”

“I love you too,” Brooke whispers. It’s their first I love you, and it’s just three words, but they warm Brooke’s whole body and cement Vanessa’s love in her, let her know she has someone who really does love her now. That she never has to live the way she used to again.

Vanessa stretches up and kisses her, soft and tender and real, nothing like the showy kisses with Amy.

Brooke pulls back with a gasp, remembering what she came here for. She can’t let Vanessa get hurt, she can’t. “Vanessa, you have to be careful. She’s mad at me for getting her kicked out, and she knows who you are, and–”

“Shh,” Vanessa soothes. “I’ll be fine. We’re both gonna be fine. Besides, I lived through polio and shit and two Bushes being President. I can survive anything.”

Brooke laughs, and she carries Vanessa to the bedroom, her mind finally clear at last, thoughts full of Vanessa.

—

Brooke can’t sleep that night, despite Vanessa’s reassurance that she ‘ain’t afraid of nobody with can-I-speak-to-the-manager-hair’. She keeps tossing and turning, shivering a little because Vanessa is a blanket hog. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees something horrible happening to Vanessa; a stake in her heart or arrow in her chest.

Brooke doesn’t want to risk having a nightmare. Sometimes she thrashes around when she has them, and she doesn’t want to wake Vanessa. Brooke had woken up, gasping and sweating, after nightmares about her parents once or twice with Amy. She had always been pissed, banishing Brooke to the couch so her sleep wouldn’t be interrupted.

Brooke shuffles to the living room instead, some sickly-sweet cotton candy scent almost burning a hole in her nose. She’s only been on the couch for 10 minutes when Vanessa comes in after her.

“Brooke? Why are you on the couch?”

She considers lying but knows Vanessa will see through her. “Couldn’t sleep. I was afraid I was gonna have a nightmare and I didn’t want to keep you up,” Brooke says, lowering her head in embarrassment.

But Vanessa just looks at her with a deep kindness that makes Brooke melt.

“Nightmares can suck. Believe me, I know. But you come back to bed right now, okay? I don’t care if you start fucking yodeling in your sleep, I ain’t letting you stay on the couch. ‘Specially after Silky over-sprayed her perfume in here yesterday. It’ll fuck up your sinuses.”

Brooke snorts and gratefully accepts. She knows Vanessa would never make her feel bad for something like that, would never get mad at Brooke for waking her up.

Vanessa’s arms hold her extra tight that night, holding Brooke together as she drifts off.

—

She and Vanessa sinks back into their rhythm of movie nights and another round of the thrift store game with her roommates, A’keria taking top prize for a figure of Jesus riding a dinosaur. Brooke is happy things are normal again, but she can’t quite relax, can’t stop looking over her shoulder every time they go out.

When she suggests staying instead of going out for the third night in a row, Vanessa puts her foot down.

“Baby, we can’t live in fear forever,” she says.

“I know, I just…I don’t want anything to happen to you. I can’t…” she trails off, her mind filling with images of Vanessa hurt again, while Brooke stands there, unable to help.

“Brooke,” Vanessa begins hesitantly, “I have an idea. It’ll keep us safe and get rid of your ex, but you’re not gonna like it.”

—

“This has to be the dumbest idea ever,” Brooke mutters, sitting down a bumpy log.

“That’s ‘cause you weren’t there when A’keria and Silky tried to ride down the stairs in a laundry basket,“ Vanessa retorts. “Yvie put little cardboard flames on the sides and everything.”

“The most shocking part of that statement is that the four of you actually own a laundry basket.”

Vanessa cackles loud enough to rustle the leaves.

“Quiet!” Brooke hisses. “Do you want someone to hear us?”

“That’s exactly what we want, baby, remember?”

Brooke sighs. “I still think this is too risky.”

“I know, but this is the best option–fuck!”

Brooke hears the arrow whiz past them both, swiping Vanessa’s arm and releasing a slow trickle of blood down her sleeve.

Brooke snaps up and throws herself in front of Vanessa, crossbow raised. An arrow lands in her thigh, Brooke hissing in pain, but she can’t feel it with her senses heightened, each thought only to protect Vanessa, stop anyone from hurting her.

Amy comes out of the shadows. “You must be losing your touch, B. Out in the open like this with that loudmouth.”

Brooke can feel Vanessa place a protective, calming hand on her back. “Don’t call me nicknames,” Brooke says, her finger on the bow-trigger. “You don’t get to call me anything after what you did.”

“After I set that barn on fire? Please. You’re the one that had to go save that dumb girl. It was your own fault.”

“I almost died!”

“Still your fault. Just leave them like I did. I’d still be in the Guild if you didn’t have to be a stupid hero.”

“You don’t deserve to be in the Guild,” Brooke says, trying to hide her nerves, waiting for Amy to take the bait dangling there.

“Neither do you, with the company you keep! I’ll show them. I’m gonna kill that vampire bitch of yours, and then I’ll be back in. And I can keep this dangling over your head, B, and I can do anything I want with you. Now, move, and let me kill your little girlfriend.”

Brooke steps back, Vanessa moving in unison with her. Amy follows, and Brooke holds her breath as she steps into place—

“What the hell?” The net swoops up from a tree and hoists her into the air.

“It worked,” Brooke mumbles. “It really worked.”

“I told you it would! You can’t doubt A’keria’s rope skills. I mean, she doesn’t usually use them for this–”

“We get it.” Brooke grins in relief, approaching the net to deliver the final blow.

“We have this on tape. You confessing to the fire, threatening me, threatening Vanessa, and blackmailing me,” Brooke begins. “Now you can leave and never come back. Or we release the records, and I let Vanessa get some revenge. She really wants it, as you can imagine.”

“I sure do.” Vanessa bares her fangs menacingly. “So you better leave and never bother me or Brooke again.”

Brooke grins as Amy realizes she’s caught, no way out of it. “Fine. But mark my words, B, you’ll get caught eventually. Even if it’s not by me.”

Vanessa slaps her across the face. “Girl, shut the fuck up. Your voice like nails on a chalkboard.”

They’re safe. They’re safe, and the enormous relief washes over Brooke, wiping out some of her adrenaline, and she groans as the throbbing pain in her thigh worsens.

“Let’s get you home, baby,” Vanessa says with worry. “Have fun gettin’ out of that net, bitch! It’s made of A’keria’s favorite sex knots.”

Brooke snorts, checking to make sure Vanessa is okay. Her wound has already stopped bleeding and Brooke breathes a little easier despite the arrow still stuck in her thigh. She eases into the passenger seat, taking a breath as Vanessa enters race car driving mode.

But she holds Vanessa’s hand over the console, quickly adjusting to the nauseating speed, and Brooke feels safe. Completely and utterly safe with someone she loves.

“I love you, Brooke,” Vanessa says.

“I love you too.”

Vanessa winks. “After we get your leg fixed up, if you’re up for it, maybe I’ll try out some of A’keria’s knots.”

Brooke’s heart skips a beat. “Oh, I’ll be up for it.”