#my fever is gone but i am still brain soup

[silverskye13]

hi! I'm on my third reread of rns right now and a question occured to me. at the start of the story tanguish talks about how he isn't used to feeling a full range of emotions since he didn't up until he gets stronger then tango. do all helsmets go through that kind of process? if they do, what was it like for helsknight/the colosseum fighters and if they don't, what was unique about Tanguish?

It's not an all helsmets thing! It was a Tango/Tanguish thing. It felt like it matched the nature of their relationship to progress that way. Tanguish started as like, a stand-in for companionship. He was relatively 2-Dimensional in that he was only there to make Tango feel less alone, and didn't keep many opinions of his own -- until he starts getting stronger, and his strength leads to taking on more Tango-like things, his range of emotions.

Helsknight and Welsknight I always imagine feed off of each others' emotions. They can feel what the other is feeling, and respond to it. It's part of what makes them so bad for each other -- they're an ouroboros of bad feels, constantly feeding itself. When they're together they spiral, and keep spiralling, until something forces them to stop.

EB probably always felt his own range of emotions? All the Xisuma helsmets feel to me more like snapshots of him at different points of his life. EB would have been relatively emotionally intelligent and comprehensive, but he was ruled specifically by pride when he was first made, and all his feelings and actions circled around feeding his pride.

Martyn and hels!Martyn are almost exactly the same person, a carbon copy, but one never escaped 3rd!Life and the other, mostly, did. Hels!Martyn has emotions that are constantly augmented by a feeling of survival. Everything he feels has to do with that survival. Anger is bigger and more violent. Logic is prioritized over impulse. He feels like he's under a constant state of threat -- though that feeling has waned a bit now that he has the Colosseum.

Red is mostly Ren's mourning, loss, and feelings of helplessness, all tempered by loyalty and the desire to protect... Something. Something that doesn't exist anymore, given he was born out of the tragedies of 3rd life, but it's a hole he's seeking to fill. I feel like his emotions err on the side of the morose and macabre. He doesn't feel happiness right, if he feels it at all.

[365partygirl305]

I Got You

(MattyxReader)

This is my first fic I’m writing. Might write more. Starting with a sick fic because fuck it why not since I like fluffy stuff.

Basically you came down with a shitty ass fever and your bestie takes care of you

Warnings: pure fluffy content, evil cold, touch starved, friends to lovers

(Trust me when I say it’s really cute, also don’t mind me adding time skips bc my thumbs can be lazy sometimes and so is my brain)

Waking up to a cold is never good isn’t it? That feeling when you feel like your body is betraying you because the muscles are sore and you can’t really do anything other than to stay in bed is a pain. I really wish my bestie is here right now.

My bestie, Matty! Why didn’t I think that before?

I ring him up while I suffer in bed with the evil fever. “Bestie, everything ok?” He asks.

“Can you come over please? I’m really lonely at home right now.” I croak, my voice raspy from the soreness of my throat. He tells me, “I’m on my way now, darlin’.”

When he arrives…

He enters my room only to see me like death is about to reap my ass out of my body. Pale as shit, everything hurts. He placed his lips on my forehead, his cold touch against my hot skin.

“You’re burning up, my love,” his voice said softly. I open my eyes to see him in front of me, those curls, those beautiful eyes, the chest tattoo peaking a teeny tiny bit from under his shirt. Usually whenever he comes over, I’m all smiles, but in this case, now, I’m very weak to do anything.

“You’re here,” I say as I reach his hand. “I feel like absolute shit.”

“I know, love.”

He lays himself on the other side of the bed as he wraps an arm around me. He always does this when I’m having trouble sleeping, waking up from nightmares, or whenever I’m sick, just like today.

“Anything I can do for you, my love?” He asks as he kisses my forehead. I nestle into him, though part of me worries he would get sick too. “Stay, please.” My voice is almost gone at this point.

“M’not gonna leave you, darling. I’m always here for you, even when you’re like this.” He whispers against my hair, his fingers gently stroking it. A tiny shiver escapes my body from his soothing movements. I feel his heartbeat in his chest as I play with his fingers from his free hand. He hums a calming melody, lulling me to sleep. I love hearing his voice, especially when he sings. Phone call or physically. I had fallen asleep once it ended.

Two hours later…

Gone is he. I had awaken, the fever dying down a little. I think about my feelings over everything. Matty’s the sweetest guy I’ve known for a long time. Though he may be busy with tour or work, he’s always here for me. I have developed a crush on him over the years. I always waited for a kiss on the forehead, his little thumb strokes that I like. I always wonder what it’s like to kiss him on the lips… My face turned red. Why am I thinking about that?! I’ve been trying to hide it for so long. When can I tell him?

He has returned to my room with only his joggers on, his bare chest revealing the tattoo I like. He sits down on my side with the tray in his hand as he places it on my lap. “Brought you the broccoli soup you like and chamomile tea. Along with painkillers for later on.” He smiles at me. My heart warms up seeing him smile like that. What a sweetheart he is.

Matty gently places the bowl on my hands only to realize I’m still weak from the fever. The pains haven’t disappeared yet. I whimper from the pain as he lift the bowl from my hands, placing it back on the tray and strokes my arms. “Shhhhhhh,” he whispers. “It’s okay. It’s okay, darlin.’ I got you.”

He takes the spoon to feed me. It’s strange to some people but believe me when I say this. This is the most sweetest thing a man can do. Even if the other is being fed like a baby. The princess treatment, even when not asked, is really the best treatment ever for me and I feel so grateful for that. Content with what I’ve eaten, he hands me the tea as I take sips of it. I went straight for the throat, basically kissing him on the cheek as if to say thank you for taking care of me. Before thinking what to say, he gently claims my lips with his own. Soft and passionate it is. His lips are so gentle against mine. I can’t stop thinking about how good it feels to have his arms around me as we kiss. We pulled away as our foreheads connect. “I love you so much,” I whisper. “You have no idea how long I wanted to be with you. You’re the best thing to ever happen to me.”

“I love you too, my love. I would love to be your boyfriend.” He whispers back. I nod and nestle into his bare chest. We both lay on the bed in each other’s arms. “Wonder what the guys gonna react now that we’re together.”

I think they’ll be happy for us.” I reply. I yawn all of a sudden, thinking the food and the tea made me sleepy. He chuckles at my sleepy eyes. “So adorable when you’re cuddled up with me in these blankets,” he coos as he strokes my head. “I promise to always be there for you and love you forever.” I smile at him.

“I know this is gonna sound weird,” I began. “but will you sing me a lullaby? Please?” It earned another smile from him.

“Not weird at all. I think it’s cute you would like that. You don’t mind any song do you?” He asks. I shook my head and tell him that I don’t mind any song.

“In case I fall asleep, goodnight in advance, babe.”

“Goodnight in advance, darlin.’”

He continues stroking my head and begins singing softly.

Now is the hour

When we must say goodbye

Soon you'll be waiting

Far across the sea

I love the vibrations from his chest when he sings. I play with his fingers a while.

While you're away

Then, remember me

When you return

You'll find me, waiting here

I feel my eyes begin to close. I begin to drift off to sleep as Matty sings the final chorus.

Now is the hour

When we must say goodbye

When you return

You'll find me, waiting here

[finsterhund]

I think the fever is finally gone.

It was real bad for the past few days but I'm feeling a lot better. Still dealing with significant respiratory stress though. But it's in the "coughing up globs of bright green slime" way and not in the "lying down feels like I'm drowning in mucus soup" way. Still mentally out of it and tummy still hurts real bad but I'm not gonna die from this.

Thank you to Fishy for sending me money so I can get more food and iced tea. Real hero here.

The fever actually gave me very vivid shit in my brain and I might actually want to try drawing again when I am better. It basically was like "here is the most horrifying creature you could put in your Underbed project" and I'm like "damn bro this is a pikmin enemy but like, kindertrauma."

If you're familiar with pikmin creatures it's like a fucking er... puffy blowhog water wraith combo that's big and eats humans the way gelatinous cubes do kinda. Maybe playing pikmin while fever and cold meds is the way to go... I kid but seriously I love when my brain gives me cool HoDcore monsters and it does this more when i am zonked out of my mind and struggling to breathe.

Science side of Tumblr... Actually no don't explain this let it be my little treat.

[1-800-imagines]

sick | nate jacobs imagine

author's note: i write a romanticized version of nate. in my fics, he has still a dick but waaaay different than the show. isn’t abusive / all the other things that make him really yucky, very non-cannon.

if you don't like that, find a different fic to read!

part 2

you hadn’t seen or heard from nate in 3 days. this wasn’t super uncommon as he would normally shut down after a fight with his dad, but normally by the second day he’d be climbing back in your window to take his mind off of everything.

you had sent a few texts just trying to make sure he was okay, but had received nothing back. nate wasn’t one to flat out ignore you. he was better than that. you were able to give him space when he needed it, but this was just weird.

you grabbed your keys and drove over to his house. his truck was in the driveway but the light in his room wasn’t on. your eyebrows furrowed together. you hadn’t texted him that you were coming over either.

you walked to the front door and knocked, not wanting to give him a warning if he was up to anything shady.

nate’s mom, marsha, opened the door, “hey sweetie, is everything okay?”

“yeah, i just haven’t heard from nate in a few days. i’m worried about him.” you said, attempting to look up the stairs as you shifted back and forth on your feet.

“oh, he said he told you. he’s sick. i think he has strep throat. i doubt you want to see him right now. he’s been locked away because of how sick he is.” she answered, frowning a little.

you frowned and sighed, “no it’s fine. i’d like to see him, if it’s okay with you?” she nodded and opened the door so you could come in.

you walked up stairs and carefully opened the door to find your boyfriend strewn across his bed in just some basketball shorts. you smiled a little bit. his hair was all over the place and his cheeks flushed.

you closed the door behind you, softly and gently got into the bed beside him, trying hard not to wake him up. almost as an instinct, he wrapped his arm around you and pulled you closer.

he was burning up. you reached up to touch his forehead which was even hotter than his body. he no doubt had a fever, but you didn’t want to wake him up to get him medicine.

nate slept about 30 minutes before you had to shift because your hip was aching. “you shouldn’t be here” he said, not opening his eyes.

“and why not?” you said, moving away from him and sitting up. you put your hand on his forehead again and pushed his hair back.

“i’m sick. don’t wanna get you sick. don’t want you to take care of me. i’m fine.” his words were jumbled together.

you shook your head, “yeah you seem fine. you’re burning up, nate. just let me get some stuff for you, please?”

he opened his eyes to look up at you, “i don’t wanna take anything.”

“if your fever is high enough, you’re gonna melt your brain.” you joked and leaned down to press a gentle kiss to his lips, “pretty please?”

“okay. fine, but only if you stay and play sexy nurse.” he smiled and grabbed your hips to pull you closer.

“of course. who do you think i am?” you kissed him again and got up, “i’ll be right back.”

he pouted a little bit as you walked out of his room to go downstairs. marsha was in the kitchen drinking a cup of tea, “everything okay hun” she asked, looking up.

you smiled, “yeah, i was just gonna grab some meds and stuff for nate. maybe make some soup if you have some?”

“he’s gonna take medicine?” her eyes widened, “and don’t worry about soup. i’ll make you both some and bring it up. he hasn’t even gone to the doctor. he refuses. if you could convince him, you will be my hero.” you could tell she was worried sick about her son.

you nodded, “of course, mrs. jacobs. i’ll see what i can do.” she stood up from her seat and walked over to you.

she pulled you into a hug, “you are so good for him, sweet girl. i don’t know what this family would do without you. thank you.”

you hugged her back, “of course. i love him. and i love you guys.” you smiled. she pulled away and pointed you towards the medicine cabinet.

you gathered your supplies of a thermometer, tylenol, and some general cold medicine, along with two waters. “i’ll bring the soup up as soon as it’s ready.“ she called after you as you started to walk up the stairs.

when you went into nate’s room, carrying your arsenal of medicine, he was sitting up in his bed.

you sat across from him and dumped the stuff out, he frowned. “your mom said you haven’t gone to the doctor. why?”

“don’t need to. just need to sleep and it’ll go away.” he said, gruffly.

you rolled your eyes and put the thermometer in his mouth, “i love you, but you’re kinda stupid.” it beeped. it was 101.8. you swore, “fuck nate, it’s almost 102. that’s not good. open your mouth.”

he was about to hesitate, but you furrowed your eyebrows at him so he obliged. you shined your phone’s flashlight in his mouth and sure enough, white spots covered the back of his swollen throat. his mom was right, it was strep. “how much pain are you in? be honest. don’t downplay it.” you asked, bringing the flashlight down and touching his cheek.

you ALWAYS caught strep so just being this close to him meant you were going to catch it, not even factoring in that you had kissed him. “a lot,” he groaned, “head hurts. body hurts. hurts to swallow.” he hated admitting these things. it made him weak.

“baby,” you frowned. you put two tylenol in his hand, “this will help for now, but you have to go to the doctor. you need antibiotics. you’re only gonna get worse.”

he took the pills and swallowed them with the water you had brought, “then if i get better who will play nurse?” he joked, trying to avoid the topic of the doctor’s office.

“well since it’s most likely strep, i need you to get better so YOU can be the sexy nurse when i get this because i always catch strep.” you grinned.

nate’s smile disappeared, “this is exactly why i didn’t want you here. i knew i’d get you sick and i didn’t want that.”

“cut that shit out, jacobs. i chose to come over. and besides that, YOU haven’t been telling me what’s going on. it’s been 3 goddamn days. i know you’re sick but you could’ve texted me and told me.” you hadn’t intended to call him out.

his eyes dropped to look at the bed, “i know. i just knew you’d come over if i told you and i didn’t want to lie. i’m sorry.”

you tilted his head back up, “i’ll take care of you whenever. that’s what you do when you love somebody. besides i’ll catch strep from you a million times over.”

“now text your mom and tell her you’ll go to the doctor.” you said finally.

def gonna be a part 2

[criminalmindzjunkie]

Love Sick

Masterlist

Summary: A story about how Spencer’s worst decision ever somehow ends up being his best.

A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day, my loves! This fic is loosely based on a request I got about Spencer faking an illness to keep the reader from going on a date.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: swearing

Word Count: 4k

Spencer has done a terrible, awful thing.

He wants to argue that he doesn’t know what came over him, but that would be untrue and he’s already met today’s quota on little white lies. Spencer knows exactly what possessed him to call you up at seven thirty on a Saturday night, and it wasn’t so that the two of you could discuss the weather or the recent upward trend in the stock market. Spencer’s spontaneous (panicked) phone call to you was a brazen attempt to abate the green-eyed monster that had been whispering dreadful things in his ear for the better part of a week.

To put it simply; Spencer is jealous, and he’s dealing with it rather poorly.

So poorly that he’s resorted to sabotage.

As he sits on his couch and worries at a hole in the bottom of his designated lounging sweatshirt, Spencer attempts to justify his actions. His tiny fib won’t hurt anyone . . . except, perhaps, one annoyingly perfect and stupidly handsome veterinarian. But Spencer can live with that. Potentially scorning an animal care specialist isn’t the thing that has his stomach in knots. That, he can live with. Spencer doesn’t even have pets, so there’s no longterm consequences as far as the vet is concerned. The notion of lying to you, on the other hand? 

Spencer is positively sick with nerves.

He’s not sure why. Spencer’s gotten rather good at lying to you. Several months of pining for you from across the hallway of your shared apartment complex has turned him into quite the master of deceit, after all. He was a sucker from the moment he opened his door and lay his eyes on you, arms outstretched and wielding a plate of homemade sweets. The cookies were lovely, but the breathtaking smile on your face is what really did him in.

Since that first day, Spencer’s gone out of his way to ensure that he’s on the receiving end of that smile as often as possible. His efforts are never in vain; for reasons unbeknownst to him, you seem to enjoy spending time with him just as much as he did you. This mutual fondness results in most of Spencer’s off days being spent in your company. Spencer was certain that, with time, he would work up the nerve to ask you out on a date. He’s halfway to convincing himself that you might even say yes when your cat makes the unfortunate decision to steal a brownie from your plate and gulp the whole thing down.

Enter, aforementioned veterinarian.

The sound of your door opening from across the hall has Spencer breaking out into a cold sweat. His hand is halfway to his forehead, ready to wipe away the perspiration when he pauses. His body’s anxious reaction might just help him sell his story. Yes, Spencer thinks, this is a good thing. Authenticity, and all that.

Several soft footsteps are muffled by the door that separates him from you, and then his doorknob jiggles as you struggle to fit your key into the lock. A jolt of adrenaline surges through Spencer and in the blink of an eye he’s on his feet and sprinting to his bathroom in the name of authenticity. If he wants to keep up this ridiculous façade, and he really, really does, Spencer is prepared to fake it until he makes it. The alternative is far too mortifying. Failure is not an option.

Spencer cringes when he lifts his eyes to meet his reflection. He’s been told more than once that he’s an absolutely terrible liar, and the wide, guilty eyes that stare back at him confirm this. All it will take is one look at him and you’ll know something’s amiss. Perhaps it isn’t too late for Spencer to come clean. It would be embarrassing, yeah, but no less embarrassing than it would be an hour from now when you call him on his shit. But then again, there is always the possibility that you will get angry with him and leave, and Spencer isn’t willing to risk you walking away from him. Not tonight.

Spencer barely has the time to splash some cold water on his face and dive to the bathroom floor before you’re pushing open the door to his apartment and calling out his name. His brain, the part that isn’t rendered useless in his panicked state, reminds him of just how many germs can be found on the average bathroom floor. It’s enough to make him pause, but only for a moment. He takes a deep breath before slumping over against the toilet.

Showtime.

“M’ in here,” Spencer calls out in his croakiest voice. It comes out exactly as he intended, all rough and pitiful. Maybe he can pull this off, after all.

The soft pitter patter of your bare feet makes his heart rate increase exponentially. Spencer steels himself, recites a reassuring mantra in his head. I can do this; I can do this.

Spencer’s poor, overworked heart gets a much-needed rest when you step into the doorway. In fact, he’s almost certain it stops completely at the sight of you in a tiny red dress. A tiny red dress that leaves very little to the imagination. Spencer can’t even see past his mounting panic to enjoy the way you look. That damn red dress serves as a brutal reminder of why he’s sitting in his bathroom floor, clutching his toilet bowl and damn near drowning in a nervous sweat.

The thing is, Spencer hadn’t intended on sabotaging your date with the vet. He had every intention of staying in, wallowing in his sorrows and waiting up for you. Spencer even said this to Derek, who was kind enough to call him and remind him of how big of a jackass he was. Spencer didn’t need the reminder. He was well aware.

But then Derek said something that made Spencer’s blood run cold.

“And what exactly do you plan to do if she doesn’t come home?”

So, really, it’s Derek’s fault that Spencer promptly ended the call and dialed your number. It’s also Derek’s fault that Spencer is about to give the most convincing performance of his entire fucking life.

“I’m sorry I called you, but I didn’t know what else to do. I just feel so awful.” And he does feel awful, just not in the way you think.

You’re quick to close the distance between the two of you, dropping to your knees and brushing stray pieces of hair away from Spencer’s clammy forehead. His skin sings where your hand grazes it. If he didn’t have a fever before, he will if you don’t stop touching him.

“Don’t ever apologize, Spence. I wish you’d have called me sooner,” you murmur. Warm, concerned eyes drag across Spencer’s bedraggled appearance. “How long have you been feeling sick?”

Spencer gulps. “A few hours, I guess. I ate my leftovers from last night for lunch. Maybe that’s what’s wrong.”Lies, lies, lies!

Your brow furrows. “That’s strange. I ate mine, too, and I feel fine.”

Spencer doesn’t really have an argument for that, so he fakes a pained groan and rests his head against his arm. He closes his eyes and prays the intro to theater class he took in high school will pay off.

You must deem his act convincing enough because you press a soft kiss to the top of his hair and stand. Spencer hears the sound of a cabinet opening, followed by the sound of running water.

The tender touch of your hand on his shoulder has him raising his head and looking up at you, inquisitive. You place a cold washrag to his forehead, and Spencer melts into the touch. It feels heavenly against his hot skin.

“Do you think you could manage to take a shower?” you prompt, earning a feeble nod from Spencer. He doesn’t even have to fake the way he trembles as you run the damp cloth down his neck. “I think I have some broccoli and cheddar soup at my apartment. I’ll go change and grab it while you shower.”

Elation spreads through Spencer, pouring from his heart until it reaches the very tips of his extremities. He can’t believe his scheme hasn’t blown up in his face already.

With the help of your outstretched hand, Spencer rises to his feet and braces himself against the shower door. You make no move to remove your hand from his, and that gives him the courage to ask his next question.

“What about your date?”

You shrug and an easy smile spreads across your face. Spencer feels faint. He blames it on his imaginary illness.  

“Don’t worry about that. The only thing I’m concerned with right now is taking care of you.”

Spencer bites down hard on the flesh of his cheek to keep a smug grin at bay. This is a victory he’ll have to celebrate at a later date.

--

Spencer enters his living room, freshly showered and donned in clean pajamas, to the sound of your voice speaking quietly into your cellphone. He halts just before he enters his kitchen, straining to catch a snippet of your conversation. As he leans closer to the sound of your voice, Spencer halfheartedly chastises himself. First, he deceives you, now he’s resorting to eavesdropping. Rock, meet bottom.

He’s just about to wrench himself away and retreat to the couch, when:

“I really am sorry about cancelling, especially on such short notice.” A short stretch of silence follows. “Next Saturday? Oh. Um, yeah, I’ll let you know, okay?”

Spencer is very much like a popped balloon; the earlier feelings of elation leave him in a harsh gust. Next Saturday? He barely managed to derail this Saturday’s date! No way he could get away with it a second time.

In the midst of his inner turmoil, Spencer misses you exchanging goodbyes with the vet before collecting Spencer’s bowl of soup. He’s still standing there, absolutely crestfallen, when you round the corner. You nearly collide with his chest, narrowly avoiding it by skidding to a halt in front of him. Your eyes run up his frame, assessing him, until they rest on his face.

“You scared me, Spence,” you chuckle. You cock your head to the side. Spencer imagines his expression is none dissimilar to that of a disgruntled frog. “You feeling okay? You’re not going to puke again, are you?”

Honestly, he might. The idea of you rescheduling your date with the vet is about as vomit inducing as it gets.

“I’m fine,” Spencer says on an exhale. Funnily, it’s probably the biggest lie he’s told all day. “The shower helped.”

His delivery is flat, but you don’t seem to mind. You smile up at him, relieved, and Spencer’s chest aches.

“I was thinking you and I could watch a movie?” you offer, and Spencer nods his assent. He can’t fathom turning you down. Not when you’re wearing an old sweatshirt you stole from his closet and a pair of fuzzy socks with little hearts on them. The ache intensifies.

“What are we watching?”

You plop down on the couch and look at him expectantly. He follows in suit, settling in beside you.

“I was thinking that you could choose,” you murmur as you place the bowl in his hands. Spencer shoots a teasing smile your way as he raises the spoon to his mouth.

“You mean, you’re actually going to let me pick the movie? I should get sick more often.”

His cheek earns him an exaggerated roll of your eyes.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter. “You always pick the movie.” 

He can count on one hand the amount of times he’s gotten to pick the movie.

Spencer is about to launch into an impassioned rebuttal when the feeling of your fingers scratching against his scalp renders him speechless. His eyes dart to your face as you concentrate on scrolling through the TV guide, seemingly unaware of the effect the simple act has on him. Meanwhile, Spencer’s brain is short-circuiting.

You begin to read off a list of potential movies to him, but Spencer barely hears you. He’s practically purring as you twirl his curls around lithe fingers, his eyes threatening to flutter closed as an intense feeling of euphoria washes over him. Maybe it’s because he’s touch starved, or maybe it’s because it’s been so long since someone just looked after him. Whatever it is, Spencer embraces it wholeheartedly.

“-heard it’s pretty good. So, what do you say, Spence?”

Spencer pulls himself back to the present, blinking lazily at you. You’re looking at him, expectant, and Spencer’s eyes flit to the TV. His eyes skim its contents, reading briefly about a movie in which some family moves into a haunted house.

His face breaks out into a grin and he nods, because Spencer’s known you long enough to recognize that watching a horror movie usually results in you pressed tightly to his side and clinging to his hand. He also knows that nine times out of ten, you choose to watch a horror movie over anything else. No wonder he always lets you choose.

And sure enough, not even ten minutes in, Spencer is ditching his bowl of soup and pulling you into his arms. Once you’ve draped a blanket around the two of you settled in, you glance up at him.

“How are you feeling, Spence?”

Spencer responds by saying that he’s suddenly feeling much better. 

Spencer Reid - 1, Veterinarian – 0

--

Spencer’s not sure at which point he fell asleep. All he knows is that he certainly does not remember sprawling out across your body, nor does he remember tucking his head into the crook of your neck. But this is how he finds himself when the sun begins to pour in through his windows the next morning, and Spencer can’t bring himself to care about how he came to be there.

Spencer guesstimates that it’s no later than seven in the morning. You’re still fast asleep underneath him, your chest rising and falling rhythmically with every breath. It’s early, and it’s Sunday, and Spencer can’t think of a single reason to wake you. Instead, he snuggles in closer, because he’d be a fool not to enjoy this while it lasts.

Unfortunately, the shrill sound of Spencer’s ringing phone shatters the serenity. He prays that it won’t disturb you, that you’ll remain oblivious and continue to sleep, but that hope is shattered when you begin to shift underneath him. Spencer makes quick work of peeling himself off of you before dashing to his kitchen and snatching his phone off the table.

He’s prepared to verbally assault whoever has the audacity to defile the sanctity of lazy Sunday mornings when a quick peek into the living room finds you still fast asleep on his sofa. He smiles, soft and fond, before pressing the accept button and bringing the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“I was beginning to wonder if you were still alive.” Spencer’s smile transforms into a grimace. Apparently, Derek Morgan doesn’t believe in lie-ins. “I was preparing myself for a rescue mission.”

“It’s seven in the morning. I was asleep.”

Derek lets out a low whistle. “Who pissed in your Cheerios, Pretty Boy?”

“You, when you decided that it was acceptable to ring me before eight,” Spencer whisper shouts. He knows that he’s being touchy, to say the least, but who can blame him? Five minutes ago, he was cuddling with the most beautiful girl he’s ever had the privilege to lay eyes on. Now, he’s shooting the breeze with a colleague. Obviously, Spencer would prefer the former to the latter.

“Jesus, kid. I’m going to take a wild guess and say that girl of yours didn’t make it home, after all. You okay?”

The guilty feeling returns and Spencer cringes. “Uh, define ‘okay.’”

Derek curses on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry, kid. Try not to beat yourself up about it, okay? There’s plenty of fish in the sea, you’ve just gotta put yourself out there. How’s this; you and me will go out next weekend and bar hop. I’ll teach you some Derek Morgan tricks of the trade. Soon enough, you’ll have forgotten all about her.”

“I don’t know, that might be hard.” Spencer scratches the back of his neck. “She’s asleep on my couch right now.”

A long stretch of silence comes from the other end of the line, and Spencer thinks for a moment that the call dropped. Unfortunately, he isn’t that lucky. A booming laugh erupts from the speaker and makes him jump out of his skin.

“My man!” Derek laughs, incredulous. “I didn’t think you had it in you, I’ll be honest.”

“It’s not what you think-”

“How did you manage that? Did the Good Doctor make a grand romantic gesture? Damn, I really hate that I missed that.”

“No, there were no gestures. And it’s not-”

Derek cuts him off. Again. “How’d she take the news? I’m assuming she took it well, if she stayed the night.”

“I didn’t tell her anything!” Spencer spits out, frustrated. “I… I told her I was sick. She came over to take care of me, and we fell asleep on the couch.”

Spencer’s proclamation is met with another long silence.

“So, you sabotaged the date?”

Spencer winces. “I did not sabotage it. I just… manipulated the situation a little.”

“Oh, you certainly did,” Derek chuckles. “How did you pull that off? I’ve seen you try to lie. That shit is laughable.”

Spencer opens his mouth to defend himself, but the pitter patter of socked feet approaching him from behind has his mouth running dry.

“Yeah, Spencer. How did you pull that off?”

Spencer had been correct in his earlier assumptions. The inevitable moment in which you called him out on his shit has arrived, and it’s every bit as mortifying as he expected. So mortifying that he can practically feel the blood drain from his face. And the thing is that he knows he deserves whatever you’re about to throw his way… it’s just that the thought of you being angry with him kind of makes him want to cry. And that would only add to the mortification.

He turns around slowly, his body rigid, until he’s met with the adorably rumpled vision of you with your arms crossed and your hair sticking up in all directions.

Spencer’s never seen anything quite so mesmerizing, and it hurts because he knows he’s ruined everything. He’ll never get to watch another scary movie with you tucked neatly against his side, or wake up in your arms again. He’ll never get to kiss you.

And the worst of all; Spencer will never get to tell you how he really feels. It’s a crying shame, because he thinks he could have been really good at loving you.

“Hey, Derek, I gotta go.”

Spencer presses the end call button and immerses himself in what has to be the most awkward stand-off of all time. You stand there, arms crossed, head cocked to the side with one hip jutted out. Spencer isn’t sure how you manage to look intimidating and endearing at the same time. He supposes the fuzzy socks are to blame.

Minutes pass, but they feel like hours. Spencer is approximately three seconds away from dropping to his knees and groveling when you finally speak.

“You sabotaged my date.”

Spencer lets out a strangled laugh. Perhaps humor is the way to go? It couldn’t hurt to try. In his opinion, the situation couldn’t possibly get any worse. “I think sabotage is a strong word. I prefer the term obstruct.”

You let loose a laugh of your own, but this one holds no humor. “And I prefer keeping the company of people who don’t lie to me.” Okay, maybe it can get worse.

Spencer visibly deflates. It was a stupid idea. He’s never been a funny guy.

“I am so, so, so incredibly sorry.” Sorry for lying to you, that is. Spencer isn’t in the least bit apologetic for ruining your date. Given the chance, he’d do it again - in a more tactful way, of course. Preferably, in such a way that didn’t involve him laying in his bathroom floor. 

Spencer attempts to take a step forward, only to be rooted to the spot when you fix him with a look. He’s not funny but he is smart – smart enough to know better than to push it. 

“Why did you do it?”

Spencer was really hoping you wouldn’t ask that.

“I-I…”

Apparently, an eidetic memory doesn’t stand a chance when it comes to confrontations involving pretty girls. One quirk of an immaculately plucked eyebrow and Spencer loses the ability to recall a single word of the English language. It’s tragic, really.

“Spit it out, Spencer.”

“I didn’t want you to go on the date.” It’s like ripping off a band aid, the way the words tumble from his lips. It’s painless at first, but then the sting sets in when he realizes what he’s done. 

Your lack of reaction doesn’t help. Your face remains passive, as if he didn’t just offer himself to you on a silver platter. Spencer squirms uncomfortably.

“Why didn’t you want me to go on the date?”

God, this is excruciating. You’re clearly out for blood, and the twinkle in your eye shows just how much you’re enjoying this. Spencer would have never taken you for a sadist.

“Because…” Spencer trails off and allows his eyes to drift closed. If he’s going to do this, he’s going to do it his way. With his eyes closed, because he can’t bear the thought of looking you in the eye when you reject him. “B-Because I like you. A lot.”

Spencer hasn’t had a lot of practice at being wrong. In fact, he’s spent the majority of his life being right. It seems the universe is making up for that now, because he can’t seem to get a single goddamn thing right today.

You laugh at him. You actually laugh in his face. Mortified doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

“You like me.” It isn’t a question.

Spencer keeps his eyes shut tight.

“Y-Yeah.”

You know how they say if you take away one of a person’s senses, all of the others are heightened? Spencer couldn’t disagree more. In the midst of his despair, he’s completely unaware that you’ve crossed the room and are now standing directly in front of him until you speak again.

“Well, that’s rather unfortunate,” you sigh. Spencer inhales a sharp breath when he realizes you’re close enough to touch. Still, he keeps his eyes closed.

“Uh, why is that?”

Spencer nearly jumps out of his skin when your hand reaches up and caresses the side of his jaw.

“Because, Spencer,” you murmur, silky and sweet. “I was hoping you just might love me.”

Spencer’s eyes fly open and he’s greeted by a lazy, contented smile. It’s similar to the one that greeted him when he opened his front door on that very first day, but it’s better somehow. Later reflection will determine that it’s better because it’s the kind of smile reserved just for him. And that’s all he’s ever wanted, really.

“W-What?”

“You heard me.” You tilt your head up and rest your palm on Spencer’s chest. His heartbeat is erratic, thundering hard against his ribcage. He’d surely be embarrassed if he wasn’t about to faint from shock. “Do you love me, Spencer Reid?”

Spencer doesn’t even have to think twice.

“More than anything.”

“Good.” Your thumb brushes across the apple of his cheek, eliciting a full body shudder. “I was beginning to think you would never catch up.”

Spencer must be hallucinating. That, or this is all a dream and any second now his alarm is going to go off. He subtly pinches himself on the thigh to test the theory. You can imagine his surprise when nothing changes. He doesn’t wake up in a pile of his own drool, and now the skin on his thigh stings.

“You . . . You like me, too?”

You shake your head. “No, Spencer. I love you, too. Why do you think I bake you cookies and spend all of my free time in your apartment?”

“Because my couch is better than yours?” Spencer deadpans.

“I mean, that certainly doesn’t hurt. But it’s not the only reason.”

“What about the vet?” It must be his guilty conscious talking, because Spencer cannot conjure up any other reason he has for asking such a moronic question. He, personally, could not care less about the vet. Full offense intended.

“Cameron is a nice guy, sure,” you trail off. Spencer doesn’t miss the way your eyes drift down to his lips before returning to his eyes. “But he’s not really my type.”

“And what is your type, exactly?” A giddy grin finds its way to Spencer’s face. He’s notorious for being chronically clueless, but even the master of imperception himself can see where this is going. 

You snort, and it’s adorable. “Liars, apparently.”

It’s impossible to determine who moves first, but that doesn’t really matter. What does matter is the end result of Spencer’s lips colliding with yours. It’s earth-shatteringly lovely; slow and sweet and tentative. There’s no rushing, no frantic fumbling of hands. Just the reverent drag of your lips against his, warm and intoxicating. 

Spencer eventually regains the use of his limbs and when he does, he’s snaking one arm around your waist as the other entangles itself in your wonderfully unruly hair. 

You sigh a happy sigh against his lips and Spencer’s heart soars. In a completely unforeseen turn of events, the possibility of more lazy Sunday mornings is now back on the table. Thank God he’s better at lying than he gave himself credit for. 

God, and Derek Morgan’s meddling ass. 

-

-

-

[reidgraygubler]

Spoonful of Sugar (spencer reid/reader)

Title: spoonful of sugar

Request: yes! (a super fluffy spence x reader one shot in which she's sick with the flu, a high fever or something similiar, so he has to take care of her. Usually i'm not that super whiny and wouldn't request things like that buuut i'm in a desperate need for spence to take care of me while i'm ill and home alone.)

Couple: Spencer Reid/gen-neutral!reader

Category: fluff

Content Warning: spencer’s pov, anxiety about an ill partner, none that I can think of. If something does need to be tagged, please message me

Word Count: 1,638

Summary: Spencer stays home from work to take care of his partner, who’s sick with the flu

A/N: sorry this took so long to get posted. i forgot I had it written and it was just sitting in my drafts. it is a little on the shorter side... thank you all so much for the support! i really do appreciate it. check out my masterlist!

{***}{***}{***}

The person who usually slept beside me did not sleep last night. I only know that because whenever they tossed and turned, it’d wake me up. But also, they kept stealing all the blankets from me. Whenever I tried to take them back, they’d wake up and steal them again. Or they’d be suddenly up in a coughing fit. And then, they finally fell asleep around the time I had to get out of bed for work. Leaving me with another restless night of sleep. I was used to it at this point, but not because of them.

When I left the bedroom, I made sure to be as quiet as possible. I didn’t want to be the reason why they woke up for the day. Clearly something was on their mind and keeping them up. I also made sure they had all of the blankets on their body. While I did that, I sneakily rested my hand on their forehead, and the back of their neck, just to check their temperature.

They were on fire. I’d never felt someone as hot as that in a very long time. It would explain why they got no sleep and kept waking up, and stealing the blankets. They’d need to get medicine and fluids in them, and quickly. But I’ll do that when I’m finished getting ready. They just fell asleep and I’d rather them sleep off their fever.

So that’s what I did. I quickly got ready for work, doing all the necessary things I had to do. I wanted to make sure my person had everything they needed before I left for work.

Which meant a quick stop at the market down the street. The market had their favorite soup, juice, and snacks. If I was going to go into work today, I needed to make sure they had everything they needed before I left for the day. And if they wanted me to stay, I’d do that for them.

“Hey Emily, I’m going to be late to the office today,” I said into my phone as I grabbed a basket. The store had several people, just enough for me to be cautious of where I was going. And it pressured me to be even quicker inside.

“Oh! Of course! Is everything okay?” Emily asked, the concern in her tone sounding genuine. I sighed before nodding.

“Yeah, just... Just need to take care of someone who’s sick,” I explained as I grabbed a bottle of orange juice.

“Take all the time you need! We got everything covered here.”

“Thank you so much.”

“Of course, call me if you need anything!” She proclaimed before bidding farewell. I sighed deeply before pocketing my phone and headed towards the deli to get some soup. They always gave me chicken noodle, with the good thick egg noodles. Since they also enjoyed White Chicken Chill, I got that for them, too. Anything to make them feel better sooner.

Once I got both soups, enough juice for a small household, and plenty of healthy snacks, I made the trek back home. Whether they enjoyed the things I got them or not, I knew they’d enjoy the thought. Because that’s all that matters, right? The thought?

When I got home, I prepared the chicken noodle in a bowl, and grabbed a bottle of juice with electrolytes, and brought it to the bedroom. They were still asleep, however slightly stirring. Instead of just leaving right away, I waited a moment for them to wake up.

“My head is pounding,” they groaned as they brought a hand to rest on their forehead. “Like I drank a fifth of whiskey,” they added. I held back my chuckle and sat on the edge of the bed.

“You’re hot.”

“Thanks so are you,” they blew me a kiss. I rolled my eyes before shaking my head.

“You have a fever, Dear,” I corrected as I handed them the bottle of juice. “I got you soup, juice, and healthy snacks.”

“You’re too kind, Spencer,” they hummed as they struggled to open the bottle. I watched as they sighed and handed the bottle over to me. I smiled as I cracked the bottle open.

“I have to go in, but if you want me to stay I can.” I handed the bottle back to them. They smiled brightly before taking a big sip of the juice.

“No, no, you’re the breadmaker here. You’d be no use to me here.”

“I can help you,” I breathed out a laugh. They lazily smiled before shrugging. “I’m gonna get you medicine.”

“If you don’t come back with Day and Nyquil, don’t come back at all,” they teased. I laughed as I looked back at them.

“Eat your soup, I’m getting you medicine,” I repeated as I pointed at the bowl of chicken noodle on the nightstand. They glared at me before picking up the bowl. I was quick, grabbing the medicine they asked for and a bottle of Aleve.

“Do you need anything else?” I looked down at them as I placed the bottles on the nightstand. They shook their head as they looked back at me, watching as I sat back down beside them.

“I’m all good here.”

“I can stay if you need me to,” I whispered as I looked over at them. They looked away from the bowl of soup with wide eyes. “Surely Emily won’t care. Family first.”

“As much as I’d love for you to stay, Spence, they need you just as badly there,” my person slurred their words. I could only imagine just how congested their sinuses and how blocked their nasal passages were. Which would only cause a migraine. “Besides, I don’t want to get you sick. You’re a baby when you’re sick.” They smirked at me.

“Am not!” I exclaimed as I looked at them. They shrugged before rubbing the underside of their nose. Should have grabbed them tissues while I was at the store. “Seriously, I’ll stay.”

“Seriously, go to work.”

“If I didn’t know any better it sounds to me like you’re trying to get rid of me.”

“I am,” they mumbled as they blew softly onto their spoonful of soup. I rolled my eyes before standing up off the bed.

“Okay, okay, I’ll go.” I lifted my hands as a sign of surrender. They looked up at me with a soft smile. “Good to know you can get rid of me so easily.”

“I’ll call you if I need anything.” They placed the soup back on the nightstand before shifting down the bed.

“And I’ll let Emily know I’ll be on desk duty.”

“Spencer,” they warned.

“I’m going! I’m going! Gone! See! Gone!”

“Love you!”

“Love you, too!”

I should have stayed home.

{***}{***}{***}

Okay, maybe Spencer should have stayed home because… I really miss him. I thought I’d be fine if he went in, and I’d get by… But I really want him. God I’m never whiny and asking for things, and the only thing I want… I sent it away.

I could call him… He’d drop everything and come right over. But… He should work. There is a reason why I sent him to work. That was where he was most needed. What if I was wrong though? What if he was most needed here, with me? No, no he’s the brain of the BAU.

But it’d be really nice if he stayed home with me.

Yeah, I made a mistake sending him to work. I’ve never felt so clingy in my entire life. Damn my stupid clinginess.

Did he know I was thinking about him? I must’ve, because he was calling me. Probably just checking in on me. I could ask him to come home. Unless he’s in the middle of helping a case and can’t come home.

“How are you feeling?” Yep, just calling to see how I was doing. It was probably a good thing that he was calling me. He probably just knew I wasn’t feeling any better.

“Could be better,” I paused as I looked over at his side of the bed. It was made but a little tousled around because of my sleeping. “Kinda wish you stayed here,” I whispered, mostly to myself.

“Already on the way home,” he stated like it was no big deal.

“Really?” I asked, feeling a little bit of excitement in my tone. Surely it just sounded like I was stuffy to Spencer. He laughed.

“Finished early. And… Emily noticed I was too distracted thinking about you. I’m about halfway there, do you need anything?”

“You… To get here quickly and give me all the cuddles in the world,” I dramatically sighed as I curled in on my side. “But… Safely!” I quickly added.

“I will be there soon, Dear,” Spencer mused before chuckling lightly. “Do you need anything?”

“No, I should be okay.”

“I’ll be home soon."

“Okay, bye,” I whispered before hanging up. I tossed my phone into the empty space beside me before curling back onto my side. Now that I knew Spencer would be home any minute, maybe I could sleep. Or maybe I should stay awake and wait for him.

Whatever, it didn’t matter. I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew, Spencer was crawling into bed beside me and I was slowly waking up.

“Shh, go back to sleep,” he whispered as he pulled the blanket back over me. Although it felt like I was on fire, the blanket felt safe over me. Or maybe that was Spencer’s arms wrapped around me that made me feel safe.

“No, no,” I mumbled as I moved as close as possible to him. Spencer laughed lightly before pressing his lips to my forehead. “Don’t leave me again,” I whispered into his chest.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

{***}{***}{***}

if you have any comments/questions about this part, let me know here! please consider reblogging or leaving a comment if you’re a part of the taglist. it’s so much work tagging everyone.

not able to tag: @isabellasimps

@thebluetint @mggsprettygirl @muffin-cup @misshale21 @spenciegoob @reidspoet @ash19871962 @babebenhardy @flipperpenguins @kuolonsyoja

@broken-stardust @beepbooptoop @ray-lia

[bosspigeon]

not if it's you

Prompt: Day One: Cooking, Day Two: Cuddling💕 Pairing: Mason/Male Detective Words: 3293 Summary: Mason is sick. Mason's not supposed to get sick, but magic tends to not give a shit if you're a big, tough vampire man with a reputation to maintain. A prompt fill for @wayhavensummer that I wasn't sure I'd finish, but I'm glad I decided to. I combined two prompts into one, along with the inclusion of the bonus challenge, "love languages!" Juni's love language is Acts of Service~ CW for emetophobia. Nothing actually happens, but it is discussed!

“I’m not a vampire, Mason,” Juni said to him when he clicked on the lamp on his dresser and Mason growled loudly in protest. “I’m sorry, but I can’t see in the dark.”

Mason's growl became a long, low groaning noise as he dragged a pillow over his face. It helped more than he cared to admit, being immediately plunged into soothing darkness and smothered in the warm, sweet scent of the detective buried in his pillow.

Still, he feels like absolute shit.

The illness should run its course in just a few days, from what Juni’s relayed to him about Nate’s research—since he won’t leave Juni’s apartment (he’s not going to say can’t, because that implies weakness, implies that he couldn’t even if he wanted to, and he could, he just won’t, and that’s all there is to it) until he’s well, and refuses to go crawling to the Agency when he just needs to wait things out.

If he went to the Agency, he’d just be “waiting things out” the same as he is there, only he’d be doing it alone in a stiflingly empty observation room, bored out of his fucking skull until someone decided to come poke at him for science. At least here, he’s got Juni fussing over him.

It’s sort of… nice, being fussed over.

And Juni would be fussing whether Mason was here or not. He’d probably be driving himself crazy with worry, making himself sick with it, if Mason were stuck at headquarters without him, and the thought of that makes Mason feel even worse than he already does. It’s really best for the both of them that the vampire is here, buried in a metric fuckton of blankets (because even if he feels like he’s going to burn alive, the second he leaves them the sweat cools on his skin and leaves him trembling) looking into the blank, beady eyes of a patchwork plush cat.

His entire body aches, throbbing dully from the top down, but he reaches out with a heavy arm and turns it around so it’s not fucking staring at him anymore.

Juni’s been gone for a while, but Mason can hear him over the low ringing in his ears, puttering around in the kitchen. His senses are weakened by the bizarre magical illness Juni’s likened to the flu after hearing the symptoms, but he hears the detective humming quietly to himself, smells some spices and herbs he’s too exhausted to bother identifying over the low thrum of something metallic and familiar.

Mason's stomach growls at the same moment it churns. Hungry, but the very thought of consuming anything, blood included, makes him feel nauseous.

He doesn't know how Juni managed to sweet-talk Adam into handing over Mason's blood rations for the few days it would take this sickness to work its way through his body, but it makes him faintly irked he'll have to disappoint the detective when he tells him he doesn't even think his traitorous stomach can handle it, no matter how hungry he is. Juni always looks so pitiful when he can't help, soft doe eyes and pouty mouth and genuine, heartfelt distress rolling off him in waves. Mason groans into the pillow and comforts himself by drawing another detective-scented breath deep into his lungs.

And then Juni knocks on the doorframe (of his own fucking bedroom, because he's ridiculous, and Mason's chest squeezes) and calls, "Still alive in here?" softly teasing, his voice carefully lowered in deference to Mason's throbbing skull.

He makes a rough noise and tosses aside the pillow, because the only thing better than being buried in Juni-perfumed sheets is taking in the scent of him right from the source.

Juni always looks so different when he's at home. He relaxes, softens, like a bird coming to roost. His shoulders aren't so tense, his eyes stop darting like he's waiting for an attack (something Mason noticed even before Juni was actually under attack every other week) and he just, he looks settled and safe. After the shit he’s been through, he deserves to feel safe.

He opens his mouth to say something, but Mason just awkwardly squirms his way out of the blankets to free his arms enough to reach out.

"C'mere," he grunts.

Juni laughs, and the way his cheeks curve, the way they make his eyes crinkle at the corners, makes Mason hate whatever magic bullshit allowed him to get sick in the first place with a burning fury that feels like it's immolating him from the inside.

Or maybe that's the fever.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Juni teases when Mason growls. It's not as fierce as he hoped it would be, which is more than obvious when Juni only smiles indulgently at him.

He perches on the edge of the bed and smooths a hand over Mason's clammy forehead, making a soft, commiserating cooing noise. Mason wants to be annoyed, wants to growl again, complain about being coddled, but the sound that comes out of him is not a growl, or a curse, but a soft moan. He pushes up into Juni’s hand and closes his eyes.

“You’re still burning up,” Juni sighs, sinking his fingers into the vampire’s hair and scratching at his scalp. He moans again, lower and rougher. A little awkwardly, he adds, “Nate said you should, y’know, drink something.”

Mason’s stomach turns, and he grits his teeth and shakes his head.

“Mason.”

He shakes his head again, turning his face into the pillow again when it starts to make him dizzy. He wants to break something. He feels so pitiful.

“Mason, you’re not gonna get better if you don’t—”

“You ever seen someone puke blood, detective?” he snaps. Juni’s hand retracts sharply, and Mason keeps his eyes closed. He doesn’t want to see the hurt streaking across that soft, expressive face. “It’s not pretty,” he adds gruffly, and it takes all the strength in his flagging body to roll over and turn his back.

Juni’s quiet for a long moment, before soft fingers are sliding into his hair again,rubbing at the nape of his neck. “I had kind of a weird idea that might help, if you think you can stop pouting long enough to hear me out,” he says.

“You sure know how to sweet-talk a guy, huh?” Mason grumbles, but his body, an aching knot of sweaty tension, starts to slowly loosen up under the gentle petting.

Juni goes quiet again, and then, with a little laugh, he says, “Would it make you feel better if I told you you’re really cute when you’re all whiny?”

“How fucking dare you,” he snarls impotently into the pillow.

Juni laughs, and when Mason rolls over again to glower at him, he snorts trying to stifle it. “Do you want to hear my idea or not?”

“Not exactly in any position to stop you, am I?” Mason scoffs.

The detective pokes his nose. “Nope!” Mason nips at his finger, but his reflexes aren’t exactly great at the moment, and Juni just pulls it back with a smile. “I wanted to ask before I, like, ruined one of your blood rations for a weird experiment, but I’ve been doing research on different recipes that use blood—” “Why?” Mason interjects.

Juni flounders a bit, shoulders drawing up to his ears. “I… Well, I know you don’t like to eat human food, for good reasons, but sometimes I can convince Felix and Adam to try stuff I make, and Nate likes to eat sometimes, and I like… I like cooking for people? And I can’t really do that for you, because I know how overwhelming your senses can be, but you’ve said they’re kind of dull right now, so I thought maybe I could make, well… sort of a blood soup?"

Mason blinks at the detective.

Juni nervously babbles on to fill his befuddled silence. "If I thinned it out with a mild broth, I figured it would go down easier. And I know ginger is really strong on its own, but it also settles the stomach, and with the blood and the broth, it might help? I thought about adding some other things, but I tried to be picky with it, because even if your senses are dulled, I don't want to overwhelm you."

Mason chews it over, and even though he can tell his silence is making Juni nervous with every second that ticks by (fidgety, fussy, open and honest to a goddamned fault, a ball of nerves Mason wants to drag into bed and shield from the world) he can't really think of much to say, except, "Sure. Why the fuck not?"

"That's okay! I figured it was a long shot anyway, and—" Juni freezes, his knee-jerk anxious capitulation cutting off like he’s run into a brick wall. "What?"

"I'm already overwhelmed, sweetheart," Mason groans, and honestly, even talking is getting exhausting, his aching throat protesting every word he can manage to eke out. He wants Juni closer, wants to bury his face in his neck and hide like a wounded animal crawling its way home. "It honestly can't get worse at this point. If you think it'll help, I'll try it."

Juni still looks stunned, but is also clearly jangling with nervous excitement. Nate's used the term "puppyish enthusiasm" before when describing the way Juni lights up when he's actually able to help, and it's almost comically accurate.

Juni's bolted from the room before Mason's sluggish brain has a chance to even process the humor at the observation into a snort.

He's alone again, and if Juni were still here, he'd call what Mason's doing pouting, but he's scowling, damn it. Not that anyone's around to see it save for Juni's stuffed animals. He pulls the pillow to his chest, half-burying himself underneath the blankets again. He keeps his foggy focus stretched far enough to hear Juni in the kitchen again, making a game effort not to clatter around noisily and failing spectacularly. It's the thought that counts, Mason supposes.

It doesn't actually take all that long for him to come back, but it still feels like ages with how shitty Mason feels. He's painfully aware of every single ache in his body, radiating down to his bones, of the fever burning him up, the mutinous turning of his stomach even as it gnaws itself apart with hunger. He’s becoming so bogged down in the prison his ailing body has become, he almost doesn’t notice Juni pattering his way back into the room. Almost.

The second he crosses the threshold, Mason senses are honing in on everything they can about him, his smell, his warmth, the way his cozy sweater (it’s midsummer, for fuck’s sake, and sure the AC is cranked due to Mason’s fever, but it always is, because Juni’s body regulates temperature like a goddamned lizard and he hates the heat almost more than Mason does) makes him look soft and touchable. It takes him a long while to even notice the detective is carrying a tea tray with a bowl on it, as well as a glass of water, and when he does, he’s honestly not sure what to make of the smell.

Human food is overwhelming, usually. But usually, Mason’s sinuses aren’t swollen and borderline useless. Juni is walking as carefully as he can, and there is a palpable relief when he sets the tray down on his bedside table without incident. “I made the broth already, because I didn’t want it to take too long if you said yes. It actually smells, like, really good? Is that gross of me to say?”

Mason tries to push himself upright, and his muscles protest loudly enough that he can’t quite bite back a grunt of pain. Juni makes a sound like he’s been shot, and his hands are on Mason with an urgency that vibrates through his skin. Still, his touch is an instant balm to the vampire’s overwrought senses, his hands gentle as they ease him upright and fussily pile pillows behind him to support him. It fucking sucks to be so weak, but at least it’s only Juni seeing him like this. He can’t quite express why, when it feels like his head’s stuffed full of cotton, but he thinks it would suck a lot more if he were riding this out alone, or in a sterile room at HQ. He lolls his head towards Juni, his cheek smashing against one of a half-dozen goddamned pillows piled around him, and laughs weakly. “Gonna feed me too, Nurse Fenn?”

Juni blushes, and the usual rush of his blood doesn’t smack Mason in the face like usual, but it washes over him in a gentle wave of warmth, that tempting smell tickling the back of his tongue. “Do you need me to?” he asks, and it’s pretty clear he’s trying to make it sound teasing, but it comes out much more earnest than anything else.

Mason almost wants to say yes, but he also doesn’t want Juni to be in the splash zone if his stomach decides it can’t handle the detective’s little experiment. “Nah, I got it,” he grunts, reaching for the tray. It trembles dangerously when his shaking hands lift it, but Juni’s quick to steady it and guide it to his lap. He mutters a quiet thanks, and Juni mercifully doesn’t rib him for his uncharacteristic politeness. “You’d make a cute nurse, detective,” he says to cover the strangely loaded silence.

Juni laughs and sits on the edge of the bed, close but not quite touching. “I’m too squeamish,” he offers with a shrug that rubs their shoulders together.

“You just made me soup out of blood,” Mason says dully.

“I also have a borderline breakdown giving myself the same shot I’ve been giving myself every week for the last decade,” Juni retorts. “Do you really think I could do it for someone else?”

Mason snorts. “Probably not. Would kill to see you in one of those little dresses, though.”

The only thing protecting Mason from getting a hilariously ineffectual swat on the shoulder is the bowl of soup in his lap. He’s not even sure his current feeble condition would be enough to stop Juni otherwise. “Eat your soup, asshole,” Juni groans, covering his burning face with his hands. He peeks through his fingers after a moment’s hesitation, “And maybe I’ll show you the Halloween costume Tina got me as a joke a couple years ago when you’re feeling better.”

Mason’s whole body reacts to that, and he can’t be sure if the chill that rolls down his spine is due to the illness, or something else entirely. If nothing else, choking down some soup will be worth it, just for that promise.

The first spoonful goes down surprisingly easy. He doesn’t really taste much, at first, not even the coppery tang of blood. It’s thin, as Juni promised, so it doesn’t quite coat his mouth the same way fresh, raw blood would. Juni’s watching him with obvious concern, eyebrows scrunched together and plush bottom lip caught between his teeth. Either concern that Mason’s body is going to reject it fully, or he just won’t fucking like it. Probably both.

“It’s not too hot, is it?” Juni asks, touching Mason’s knee lightly through the blanket. He swallows his mouthful hard and bites down the urge to ask the human not to stop touching him.

“S’fine,” he grunts, trying to parse what exactly he makes of it at all. The warmth feels nice, soothing his raw throat. He takes another bite. He thinks he can sort of make out the individual spices underneath the taste of the blood and the broth (slightly watered down bone broth, he;d guess) but he can’t really smell them either. The ginger, at least, is obvious. He knows the smell enough to guess the taste, even with the complete lack of culinary experience. It’s, strangely enough, not horrible. It does taste mostly like thinned-out blood, which is weird, and gives him a sense of dissonance from the texture he expects blood to have. “Weird.”

Juni doesn’t seem to take offense to that. “Well, you’re not spewing it across the room like you’re possessed, at least, so weird is better than bad?” he laughs, squeezing Mason’s knee. “How’s your stomach?”

Mason takes a second to consider. “Not great, but not terrible.”

Juni almost deflates with relief. “And the taste? It’s not too much, is it? I can be kind of heavy-handed with my seasoning, so I tried to be really careful. It’s really only a pinch of salt, sage, and ginger, with a little bit of licorice root, which I know is kind of weird, but it’s good for sore throats?”

“Tastes like…” Mason screws up his face, realizing he has absolutely no context to work with. “I don’t know. I think I like it?”

Juni smiles like the goddamned sun, and it somehow makes his snarky little pet name for Mason that much funnier. “Really?”

Mason’s not sure he’d be saying the same thing if his senses weren’t dulled to near-uselessness by his traitorous body, but the way Juni looks, like he couldn’t be happier to be dealing with a sick, cranky vampire hogging his bed and sweating in his sheets, makes him bite his tongue. There’s always a brightness to the human when he brings food to the warehouse for Nate and Felix, he smiles so wide his face almost cracks when Adam crumples under the weight of those puppy eyes and takes the smallest portion of whatever concoction Juni’s brought to nibble on, and offers the most awkward compliment he can manage. Juni just likes doing things for people, providing for them any way he can. Food is his usual go-to, but if he can help at all, he’s happy.

I can’t really do that for you.

It almost makes Mason wish he could enjoy whatever the detective whips up in his cramped little kitchen, just to make him smile.

Christ, his brain must be more addled than he thought.

He manages a few more spoonfuls of soup before his stomach starts to feel uncomfortably full, but the gnawing hunger of going too long without drinking has gone away, and he doesn’t feel so much like he’s going to puke like he did earlier. He feels heavy, and tired, and honestly that’s one hell of an improvement. Juni’s quick to take the tray and spirit it off back to the kitchen, bending to press a quick kiss to Mason’s cheek before he goes, and when he returns, the vampire is slumped in his pillow nest and half-asleep, eyes shuttered to thin slits.

He feels more than he sees Juni approach, and when a gentle hand smooths over his clammy forehead, he pushes up into it with a raw, weak noise he has zero energy to be embarrassed by anymore. He reaches out blindly, tangles his fingers in the knit of his detective’s sweater, and tugs. He can’t be sure how it happens, a jumble of movement and complaining muscles, but Juni winds up in bed with him, slouched comfortably against the pillows so Mason can rest his head on the soft curve of his belly. The human plays idly, sweetly with his hair, twirling damp curls around his fingers.

“I’m sweaty,” Mason halfheartedly protests. Juni’s stomach rises and falls beneath his head. It feels like being on the ocean, like being rocked to sleep on quiet waves.

“I don’t mind,” Juni murmurs, thumb stroking the shell of his ear.

Before he can think of anything to say to that, he’s being pulled under, dozing off between one breath and the next.

[numptypylon]

Epilogue

I added a short epilogue to Reunion and Intersection today, but I also wrote a much longer one, full of fluffy comfort, to get through the angst-writing in the first two chapters. It’s unedited, unfinished and ridiculously self-indulgent, and I don’t think it really goes with the story, so I elected to not post it, but I’m attaching it here, under the cut, for those interested. Keep in mind it’s a reject for a reason though; this is what my writing looks like in the explorative phase where I’m looking for the point, and in this case I didn’t really find it XD

~2K under the readmore

Callum got there early. A lot of people eyed him warily, but a letter from Queen Janai was a good smoother-of-grumpy-elf-tempers.

No-one had seen Rayla, so… she was probably not here yet.

He went to the inn, bought a large room, lit a roaring fire in there, activating the Sunfire rock he used to keep warm at night under the covers of the bed, and calling for the tub to be filled. It had the usual Skywing heating arrangement, only needing a good Fulminis to heat the water.

He resisted flying out to find her. He risked missing her again, and her leaving town before he got back.

It was about… hitting the point of intersection.

So, he waited at the city gates. He didn’t have to wait nearly as long as he expected, considering the distance she would have had to traverse. Maybe she had recovered and had travelled faster than he thought.

It was definitely her though. A small, lone figure on the mountainside.

He intended to wait for her until she got to him, but then she stopped to lean against a tree and he realized that she had not recovered and was up there sick in the snow… and that resolve evaporated like it had never been.

Like he would ever let her struggle alone a moment longer than she needed to.

 **

 It was a measure of her exhaustion that she didn’t notice him until he was basically right in front of her, and even then, her reaction was so much slower than usual.

It still… it was hard to believe it was real. For her too, surely more so.

He numbly pulled his scarf off, packing it around her neck and head. He grazed her cheek and felt it and she felt it and… she felt it, because the tears that had built up in her eyes spilled over at his touch, slipping down her dirty and flushed cheeks.

She looked ready to drop, and felt it too, when he put his arms around her and her disbelief gave way to relief. Whatever ridiculous level of stubbornness had kept her upright for the last day and night of walking through snow and up mountains when she should have been in bed… fell away and she slumped almost completely in his arms.

She sobbed hoarsely for a bit, and he let her.

And she let him, when his hand cupped the back of her head and her hair tickled his fingers and it hit him too that… it was really real, she was here.

They needed to… get to the inn though, so he pulled away and wiped his face. They could… and probably would… have a longer cry and a longer hug later. But she was sick and cold and there was a roaring fire and a filled bathtub two minutes of flight away.

“Let’s go,” he said. “I knew you were coming this way and that you were sick. And I booked a room for… you.” For them both, he hoped, but-

“What?” she blubbered. “But… aren’t… aren’t you mad?”

“I mean, of course I am, but… that’s not really… that can wait.”

“I’m…” she laughed weakly, more tears spilling over. “I’m so happy to see you and there’s… so many things I would like to say and… and I’m such a mess right now and so tired and I’m just… I’m so tired I cried earlier just because a stupid pine branch hit me in the face and knocked me off my sled and it continued down the mountain without me and I’d have to walk instead and-“

“Hey, hey!” He stroked down her flushed, wet cheeks, along fresh scratches where presumably that branch had hit her. Sledding, huh… she always was extremely resourceful and oh so daring. And that explained how she got here so fast. “Rayla, it’s okay. You can rest first. I’ll take care of things… of you. For as long as you want me to, but… definitely for the next few days.”

“How c-can you… are you… here-”

He leant his head against her forehead, relishing in the feeling of contact, even if her skin was clammy and too-hot. “That’s… complicated,” he said. “And also simple. You called me here. I came.”

“Manis. Pluma. Volantis.”

 **

 She staggered, when they set down, steadying herself on his shoulder, and Callum was glad he had elected to land in front of the inn instead of at the city gates.

She definitely wasn’t well yet, her breath rasping in her throat, her forehead beading with sweat, cheeks and ears flushed. The fever had maybe broken, but it hadn’t quite left. And she was exhausted, trembling with the effort of staying upright, her eyes dull and glassy.

People were staring, when they went inside, but the innkeeper came over and recommended the soup of the day, and their house-made herbal tea blend with Sky Yak milk, and assured them it would be brought to their room shortly, with a look of very obvious sympathy at Rayla.

And then the door shut behind them.

“I owe-” she started, but he cut her right off.

“No. You’re owed,” he said tightly.

“Owed what?” She sounded… nervous.

“Soup. Hot tea. A warm bed and a fire someone else made. General fussing. Love. Forgiveness. Kindness. A damn break, for once.”

“L-love?”

“Yeah, love.”

Her clumsy fingers fumbled at the clasps of her armor. They were still ice cold when he touched them, the skin red and no-doubt sore.

But she for once didn’t resist any help he gave, sinking gratefully into the tub he had prepared. A warm bath was possibly not great for her fever, but… it was pros and cons and he needed to warm up her hands and feet.

She was barely conscious when he helped her back out of the tub, so he just put her down on a towel on the bed, drying her hair as best he could. He at least managed to get her awake to pull off her own wet underwear and pull his clean night shirt over her head.

 **

 “Callum?” she asked, because… she wanted things, and she could have them. “Stay with me? Please.”

He pressed against her back, warm and real.

His hands engulfed hers, big and soft and familiar.

Full of real little details that her brain hadn’t accurately recreated.

The callus at the side of his right index finger, from his charcoal pencil. The scar from a clumsy sparring accident at the second knuckle.

His voice when he said her name and when he told her it was okay.

His kinda… snuffling non-snoring sleep-sound.

And new things, that she hadn’t known to add.

His arms, still skinny, but stronger than they had been.

His too-long hair flopping over his ears.

And things she had yet to find out.

 **

 “Morning-“ she muttered, as she woke, feeling warm. And her throat felt a lot better, too and most of that sticky, gross fever feeling was gone, although there was still some sluggish daze, everything just a bit vaguer and floatier than it should have been.

“Afternoon,” Callum corrected lightly, but there was something not so light underneath. “You slept for… 14 hours. I bet you’re hungry.”

“I bet… you were worried.” That was a long time to worry and not wake her to assuage it but just sit in it, watching her sleep.

She reached out to stroke his furrowed brow. Her hands were bandaged though, so she couldn’t touch him properly. She didn’t remember, but did recall something about Callum saying he had called a doctor, and then she must have conked out pretty hard and slept through it.

She clenched and released her hands experimentally. Seemed alright except for being stiff and sore?

“What’s wrong with me?” she asked, staring down at the thick bandages.

“Except for the illness that nearly killed you because you’re such a massive dummy? Lots of things.” He took her hands, starting to unwind the bandages. “For your hands, hopefully only frostnip. I’m supposed to check that, when you woke, take you back to the doctor if there’s signs of deeper frostbite.”

There was some thick ointment, probably the reason for the bandages. Her hands looked reddened, the fingers a bit swollen, but… not so bad. Nothing was white or black or blistered, so really, nothing to worry about, where frostbite was concerned.

Callum wasn’t satisfied with a visual inspection though, cupping her hands in his, methodically checking she could feel all her fingers and make a full fist.

“I think it’s okay,” he said, breathing out, relieved. He did tend to catastrophize- “No… no risk of amputation this time-” His fingers slid across her left wrist, the faint whitened scars from where the binding had dug into her skin and where the sunforge blade had burnt her.

“It’s definitely okay,” she said. “Barely hurts.” She cupped his face, feeling his skin just fine against her fingertips. “It’s not like back then, okay?”

“How do you feel today?”

“Better. Way better. I’m ready to go, if-”

“What?!” He stared at her in disbelief. “Absolutely not. You didn’t hear what the doctor said. But I did, she got here while you were sleeping. And absolutely not.”

“What-“ Was it not just a regular bug?

He breathed, slowly and deliberately. “You’re okay, it’s a regular winter infection going around. But you did a number on your own immune system with the hypothermia and mountain climbing and… she said you were undernourished, dehydrated, stressed and critically exhausted. And that you would do well to take a week or more to fully recover, during which you should eat and rest plenty, stay warm and keep stress down. Does that sound like your regular travel, to you?”

Well… not so much.

“So, I’ll ask again, how do you feel today?”

“Tired,” she sighed. “My hands are stiff and achy. My throat hurts. My legs are wobbly. My head feels full of snot.” She smiled, despite all that. “My heart is happy to see you. It’s okay if you’re- I know… that it’s complicated.”

“It is. We have… some things to talk about. Promise you won’t leave until we do?”

“I promise.”

“Okay. Then, I think we should put the complicated things away for a few days. Until you’re better and it doesn’t hurt your throat to talk. Because… we have a lot of talking to do.”

“You don’t… need to stay. For those few days. If it’s hurting you to-”

He sighed heavily. “It does.” Yeah, he couldn’t say that it didn’t. Being around her with so much… unresolved. She didn’t want that for him. She didn’t… want to have those long and hard conversations right now either, when she was still tired and fevered and liable to burst into tears at the slightest provocation. “But it would hurt me more to leave. Didn’t it hurt you? To leave?”

“Yeah.” So, so much.

He reached out to pack his scarf around her throat more closely, the soft, warm knit a soothing feeling against the raw ache.

“Lie down, okay? Be sick? I’ll read you a story. It has murder and dismemberment in it, I asked the innkeeper specifically.”

[cuddlepilefics]

Laryngitis

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Jisung

Caregiver: Minho

Prompt @sicktember

No one's POV.:

Ever since Jisung had woken up that morning, he had been incredibly quiet. To Minho that was truly unsettling, knowing the younger was usually loud and energetic. If he really thought about it, his dongsaeng had already started to act a little off during the previous day but that had been nothing in comparison to how he acted now. The dancer was at a loss. If something was wrong, Jisung would come talk to him, right? Wracking his brain, Minho tried to find a possible explanation for the rapper's behavior. They had spent most of the previous day together and although he had been quiet, Jisung hadn't necessarily seemed down. There also had been no incident that could have sparked the younger's anxiety, at least not that Minho knew of. And yet, the rapper had avoided talking to any of his members and had even gone out of his way to avoid having breakfast. Something wasn't right and Minho was determined to figure out what it was.

Over the course of the previous day, Jisung's throat had started to bother him. At first it was only a light ache and he figured he must have strained it during his vocal practice earlier. The longer the day progressed though, the worse the pain got and by the time evening rolled around, he limited himself to only saying the bare minimum, mostly answering questions by nodding or shaking his head. Talking hurt, as did swallowing but he figured he'd be fine after just resting his voice for a while. He knew he had to stay hydrated and fought to drink a glass of water before going to bed no matter how badly swallowing hurt. The water hadn't helped much, except force him to get up and go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. When he woke up in the morning, his throat was at least as sore as before, if not worse. Talking seemed like an impossible task and barely being able to force down a few sips of water, Jisung didn't even dare to think about having breakfast. Still, he thought he had done a remotely good job at playing it off but apparently, he didn't.

Feeling a bit shivery, Jisung used the time while his group ate breakfast to bundle up in a warm, oversized sweater and wrap a big, fluffy scarf around his neck. He could just pretend it completed the outfit besides, it was cold outside anyway. The rapper was so deep in thought that he didn't even hear Minho slipping into his room. "Sung", the older spoke up, chuckling when Jisung startled, "Sorry, didn't want to scare you but I have to talk to you." Jisung nodded his head as an invitation to continue. "You've been acting a bit off and I wanted to see if everything's alright. Didn't think calling you out in front of everyone would be a good idea, so I tried to catch you alone", Minho hummed, sitting down on his dongsaeng's bed. Jisung couldn't help the small smile that played around his lips. He wasn't happy that someone had caught on, yet his hyung was considerate enough to ask him in privacy. Plopping down on his bed next to the dancer, Jisung rasped: "I-I can't really talk, my voice is shot." – "Ohh, that's why you've been so quiet?", Minho concluded, eyes wide with realization. The younger nodded, smiling at his hyung's surprised face. Tapping his chin, the dancer frowned: "That really doesn't sound good though. Want me to talk to Chan-hyung and ask if you can stay home today?" Jisung shook his head. Yeah, he felt a bit cold and tired but aside from his throat hurting, he didn't really feel sick, so there was no reason to miss out on work. "We have dance practice though. I mean it's better than singing for you right now but probably not the best activity for you while sick", Minho reminded, making the younger frown. Maybe he felt a bit more tired than he wanted to let on. Still, that didn't mean he could easily skip. Noticing Jisung's hesitation, the dancer added: "I won't let you go there without eating breakfast. It's going to be challenging and you need the energy." – "Hyung, my throat hurts so bad, I can't even drink water", the rapper forced out, voice barely above a whisper. Looking at the younger in shock, Minho shook his head and insisted: "Sorry but I'm definitely talking to Chan-hyung now. I hadn't realized it was this bad."

Minho had already disappeared before Jisung could argue back. Not that he'd really have enough voice left to do so anyway. Sighing, the rapper pulled out his phone to pass the time till his hyung would come back. When Minho came back, he brought Chan with him, who gave his dongsaeng a long scrutinizing look before asking: "Minho said you weren't feeling well, can you tell me what exactly is bothering me?" Not in the mood to torture himself again, Jisung pointed at his throat, so Minho recounted what the younger had told him. Biting his lip, Chan stepped forward and placed his palm against the rapper's forehead. "Well, you also have a slight fever and considering we're dancing today, I'd rather have you sit out today", the leader frowned. Watching Jisung stiffen and open his mouth to argue, the Aussie added: "Let me rephrase that, you are staying home today. Since I don't trust you to rest, Minho will stay here and keep an eye on you. He has aced the choreography already anyways." Now looking downright offended, Jisung pouted at his hyungs. He wasn't that sick and he really doubted he had a fever. "Come on, am I really that bad?", Minho asked in mock-hurt, clutching one hand to his chest. The rapper could only roll his eyes at that. Great, he'd be stuck with the other for the rest of the day.

When the rest of the group had left for practice, Jisung didn't feel as annoyed by Minho's presence anymore. He was starting to feel run-down. Too run-down to really do much but too awake to take a nap. The rapper figured having some company wasn't so bad after all. Especially when the older got comfortable on the couch with Jisung's head in his lap and let the younger choose which movie they'd be watching. Jisung decided on Howl's moving castle and relaxed, while his hyung's hands carded through his hair. When the movie was over though, Minho insisted that the rapper had to eat something. Jisung couldn't help but cringe at the thought of forcing anything down. Seeing the horror flash across his dongsaeng's face, the dancer sighed and got up, so the younger was left to pout after his hyung who was now bustling in the kitchen. Why couldn't the older just continue playing with his hair? Minho was gone for a few minutes, so Jisung made his way back to his room and collected his fluffy blanket. He had started to feel colder and wanted to be comfy for their second movie of the day.

When Minho joined him, he was only carrying a tea pot and a cup, agreeing: "It's okay if you really don't want food right now but will you drink your tea if I add extra honey?" Giving a small smile, Jisung nodded, glad that his hyung was so understanding. "Can we watch another movie though?", the rapper rasped, grimacing in pain. Shaking his head at his dongsaeng, Minho sat down and let the younger lay on his lap again, warning: "Yeah, we can but don't talk, your throat is getting worse." Jisung was satisfied with that and got comfortable. He started to drift off around halfway in but the dancer never stopped running his fingers through his hair. He even let the younger nap on him when the movie was already over and only shifted him out of his lap when lunchtime came around. Having had an early breakfast, Minho was hungry and decided to eat a bite while his dongsaeng slept. The rapper would have to eat something soon too and this time, Minho wouldn't let him get out of it. He understood that it hurt but if it hurt this badly, it wouldn't be better anytime soon and Jisung couldn't go completely without food until he recovered.

Minho had just finished doing the dishes when he heard shuffling from the couch. Quietly making his way over, he sat down next to his dongsaeng and ran a hand through his hair before feeling his forehead. Surprisingly, the rapper barely had a fever. "Hey, how do you feel after your nap?", he hummed softly, when Jisung sleepily blinked up at him. Sitting up, the younger shook his head before a single tear trailed down his cheek. Brushing it away, Minho frowned: "Is it getting worse?" Jisung nodded, bringing one hand up to massage his throat. "Sung, I don't know but I'm really worried. I think you should see a doctor. You can't eat, you can barely drink, .... This seems serious. Singing is part of your life, so you should be mindful of your voice and take good care of it", the dancer sighed, tired of seeing his friend in so much pain. Rubbing his face, Jisung reached for his cup. The tea had long since gone cold but he wanted to try. If he couldn't drink properly, he'd listen to his hyung's advice. Taking a tentative sip, the rapper almost choked on it and gave a painful cough that brought tears to his eyes. There was no reason to lie anymore, he felt downright awful. Pulling out his phone, he opened a notes app and typed that he'd gladly go see a doctor because he couldn't stand the pain anymore and was starting to feel hungry too. "Do you want me to come with me? I don't mind coming with you but if you're alright by yourself, I'll use the time to make you some soup", Minho offered, "Maybe you'll get something for the pain, so you can eat when you get back." Smiling slightly, Jisung typed that he'd be fine by himself and that he'd hope to be able to eat some of his hyung's soup. The dancer nodded and fixed his dongsaeng's scarf for him, reminding: "Get back safely, yeah?" Nodding, the younger bundled up in a thick coat and left the dorm.

Turning on some soft music as a distraction from the pressing silence at the dorm, Minho busied himself in the kitchen. He had texted his mother for a suitable soup recipe, wanting nothing more than to nurse his dongsaeng back to health. The dancer was a bit worried about sending the younger out by himself and not going with him but tried not to think about it. He just hoped whatever was wrong with the rapper wouldn't be too serious. As the soup simmered, he made his way to the living room to clean up a bit. He'd make some fresh tea and spotting the blanket on the couch, Minho took it to the bathroom and threw it into the wash. Adding in a generous amount of fabric softener, he left the bathroom. He'd throw it into the drier as soon as Jisung would text him that he was on his way home, so that he'd have a nice and warm blanket to curl up under after having to go out in the cold. As he absentmindedly stirred the soup, his phone dinged. Jisung texted him that he was on his way back. He had been diagnosed with laryngitis should avoid straining his voice too much. He had also gotten a prescription for a numbing throat spray, so he'd be able to eat something when he got home and was looking forward to his hyung's cooking. Minho couldn't help a loving smile spreading on his lips and went to throw the blanket into the drier.

When he made his way back to the kitchen, he heard the front door click. Walking over there, he was startled by Jisung throwing himself at him. Minho returned the hug as the younger clung to him and smiled when his dongsaeng lifted his head to look at him. Opening his mouth to say something, the rapper was cut off by Minho reminding: "Ah ah, no talking, remember?" Jisung pouted and pulled out his phone, typing: 'I missed you, hyung!' – "Aww, Sungie. You've barely been gone for what?", Minho chuckled, glancing at the clock, "That wasn't even a full hour." Furiously tapping on his phone, the rapper held it up for his hyung to read: 'That's a lot in sick people time, okay? :(' Tightening his hug, Minho cooed: "I'm sorry, how about you have some soup and then we can continue our movie marathon. I put your blanket into the drier, so it should be nice and warm to cuddle under." Burying his face in the dancer's chest and nodding, Jisung almost teared up. His hyung was so caring and he already looked forward to getting his cuddles. Maybe the older would play with his hair again too. "Alright, let's get you some food first but you'll have to let go of me for that, Sungie", Minho chuckled, trying to pull away. The rapper's hold on him was too strong though, so he wrapped his arm around the younger's shoulders and simply pulled him to the kitchen with him. The faster they could get some food into Jisung, the faster they'd be able to cuddle properly.

[pixieungerstories]

Quarentine - 1

They always say ‘buy the worst house on the best block that you can afford’ and god knows this place was a total shit hole.  1200 square feet on an overgrown lot surrounded by McMansions.  Hell, I paid less for the place that the land was worth.  I’m amazed someone hadn’t bulldozed the place years ago.

To make a long story short, I did not look a gift house horse in the mouth.

I mean, it wasn’t a total write off.  None of the windows were smashed.  There were mature fruit trees in the backyard.  If you ignored the weeds and rotting fruit, there was a lot of potential.  The plumbing was lead pipes and the electrical was knob and tube, but I know people and I could trade favours to get that replaced.  The foundations were good and the roof barely leaked.

I spent the summer camping in a tent in the back yard and slowly getting the place winterized enough that I could move it.

It was still a creepy ass house when I did.  It had a boiler.  I had no idea how to deal with that, but I was learning.  And I learned how to ignore the whistles, hissing and banging sounds that went with having a boiler.  The old rads were cast iron with pretty little details in the corners.

There were holes in the plaster, but I just ignored them.  It wasn’t worth fixing when I was going to gut the place and put up drywall eventually.  It just made it easier to get at the plumbing.

I started just living in the kitchen and ignoring the rest of the house.  I had disconnected the rest of the electrical and plumbing and was using that as a home base while I renovated outwards from there.

There is nothing quite as creepy as sleeping in a sleeping bag on what were probably asbestos tiles in an old house that makes the weird noises that old houses make.  I kept reminding myself that they only seemed louder than normal because the place was empty and there was nothing to muffle the sound.  The shrieking had to be the upstairs window that didn’t quite shut properly.

I had the feeling that something was watching me and prayed to god it wasn’t rats.

I was in this for the long haul.  Get up, shower at the gym, go to work, come home, renovate until it gets dark, shower at the gym, camp out in the kitchen.  Not exciting, but satisfying.  Let’s face it, this was the only way I was ever going to be able to afford a house.

When the work from home order came, I had to actually get a phone line installed so I could have internet access.  Me, my laptop and a kitchen table I rescued from the curbside a while back.

The creepy feeling was worse.  I told myself it had to be the isolation kicking in.  I skyped with my best friends at night to make up for it.  The power was still a bit dodgy and kept going out, but that’s what laptop batteries and cell phones are for, right?

I was sure the cough was from the dust.

The guy delivering groceries left them on the sidewalk instead of the porch.  It was fine.  I understood completely.  I hadn’t done much work on the outside of the building at all. 

I realized I was sneezing a bit when I started having to use toilet paper as kleenex.

I was fine.  I was young and healthy.  I didn’t have any sick days at work so I was determined to just push through.

I tried to get more rest.

I dreamed about something laying a cool hand on my forehead.

The grocery store was out of thermometers.

I mean, did it really matter if I had a fever?  I wasn’t leaving the house to share with anyone.

My cough got worse overnight.  I was vaguely aware of someone lifting me up and holding a cup of cool water to my lips.  I was so fucking thirsty. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” I mumbled.  “I don’t want you to get sick.”

“I won’t,” a rumbling voice assured me.

I didn’t remember making soup, but I jolted into awareness sitting at the table with a steaming bowl in front of me.  Chicken noodle out of a can.  It’s not that hard to make.  I’m sure I could add water and heat in my sleep.  Apparently, I just did.

I was so cold that night.  I don’t know where the extra blankets came from, but they were there in the morning.

I don’t know how I ordered a bed while I was sick, but it was there and on my credit card.  So was the mattress and sheets.  It must have been the fever talking when I ordered them.  I would not have picked out anything that old fashioned looking.

How did I get all this stuff up to the second floor bedroom?  I’m sure I don’t remember stripping the paint off the closet doors.   I must be losing my mind.  I slept, I ate, I stopped logging in at work.  I just needed to concentrate on getting better.

By the time I was able to stay awake for more than an hour at a time, the city was shut down.  I was confined to my house whether I liked it or not.  I was suddenly glad my fever addled brain had ordered a bed while I still could.  

The watched feeling was worse.  I ordered some rat traps with my groceries.  I didn’t catch anything.  They didn’t take the bait.  I swear I heard snickering when I checked them in the morning.  That was a new sound for the boiler to make.

“I am losing my mind,” I repeated to myself.  Then blushed when I realized I had said it aloud.  “And yes, I also talk to myself,” I added for good measure.  “At least it is some sound,” I muttered.  “I should turn on some music or something.”

Work was officially shut down but I still had the dumpster outback.  I spend my awake time cleaning out the other rooms.  The advantage of living in a construction zore was all the dust masks.  When I needed to actually go out, that might help.  In the meantime, I carefully sorted through the things the previous owners had left behind.  Some of it was just trash, but there were some old photographs, lost buttons, even a single antique earring.

“No chance of finding a pair, I bet.  Still this could be made over into a necklace or something.”  Shit.  I was talking to myself again, wasn’t I?

I still got tired easily.  I dreamed about my mom stroking my hair as I slept.

The footprints I couldn’t explain away.

I had taken down a section of wall and spent the day carrying out the chunks of plaster before microwaving a pizza pop and tucking in early.  In the morning there were footprints in the dust.  They weren’t mine.  They were huge and it was hard to believe they were human.  Weird long toes, with the claw tips a little in front were not what I was expecting.

That was the first time I had wanted to leave the house.

I grabbed my stuff and made it to the front yard before I was spotted by a passing patrol car and ordered back inside.  I had no idea how to explain that I thought there was some sort of monster living in my house.  I was shaking as I went back inside.

“Hello?”  I called from the doorway, ready to run.  I had no idea where I could even run to.  “Um…  Is anyone there?”  I don’t know what I was expecting.  “Hi?  Um ….  I bought the house, I didn’t know there was any … thing living here.  I have been trying to fix it up.”

“I know.”

Fuck.  The scratchy, rasping bass voice was not what I was expecting.  “I … uh…  I can go back to camping in the yard,” I suggested.

“No.”

I waited to hear if he (?) was going to say anything else.

Apparently not.

“Uh … no I can’t stay here?  Or no, you don’t even want me camping in the backyard?”

“If I didn’t want you here, I would have had many opportunities to get rid of you.”

Shit.  That wasn’t ominous or threatening at all.

With a low chuckle the voice asked, “Did you mean to say that out loud?”

I froze and tried to remember what I had said.  Oh.  “No, that was an accident.  I’m not used to having anyone around to hear me.”

“I always hear you.”

I closed the door and went out to sit in the garden for a moment to think about that.  I ended up pacing, swearing and wishing for a cigarette.  I hadn’t smoked in years.    The sun started to go down and the bugs came out.  I was being eaten alive outside.  Going inside was scary but he was right.  He had lots of time to …

I flung open the door.  “Did you order furniture on my credit card?”  I demanded.

The laughter that rang out was a whole other level of creepy.  I shivered and thought about going back outside.  The door pulled itself closed behind me.  I spun to look at it and didn’t see anything.  I could hear something breathing. I turned again.  Nothing.

“If we are both going to live here, can we at least agree on some ground rules?”

“Like what?” was almost purred in my ear.  Looking around wildly, I still couldn’t see anything.

I was shaking now.  “Is there a way for you to be less scary so I don’t have a heart attack?” I squeaked.

There was nothing but silence.  Still my sense of the presence suggested it was gone.

I didn’t sleep that night.  I would just start to nod off then jerk myself awake and look wildly around the room.  I never saw anything.

Six am, my alarm went off and I could smell coffee.

All the dust had been swept up.

“Hello?” I whispered.

Nothing.  I had coffee and cereal and tried not to think about my surprise roommate.  I was so tired, I passed out at my computer in the kitchen at some point that morning, only to wake in bed upstairs in the afternoon.  “I don’t want you to touch me while I’m sleeping,” I mumbled, painfully aware that there was dick all I could do to stop it.

“Alright,” the voice said, coming from somewhere in the direction of the closet.  “But don’t fall asleep at the table then.”

I breathed a faint sigh of relief.  I wasn’t expecting the next part.

“You need to eat something now.  You are still recovering.”

There was a can of soup heating on the stove.  My breakfast dishes were gone.  I found them clean and dry in the cupboard.  “Thank you,” I whispered.  He didn’t reply.  As I ate lunch, I was psyching myself into going upstairs to look in the closet.  The door had been painted shut when I got the house, but at some point had been stripped down to the bare wood.

I hadn’t worked up the nerve by the time I was done eating.  Or washing and drying the dishes.  I found myself at the bottom of the stairs staring up at the second floor.  Did I really want to see what was in that closet?

No.

But it would be better to look during the light of day.

Eventually, I made it up there.  I put my hand on the knob and tried to turn it.  It didn’t budge.

“You want rules?” the voice growled behind me.  I spun, there was nothing there.  “Do not open that door.  Do not come into my space.”

I went from trembling from nerves to bolting down the stairs in an instant.  I nearly tripped, but felt something - him? - catch me and set me on my feet.

“Careful,” he purred.

I spent the rest of the day in the garden again.  I was still out there when the sun went down and the back light turned on.  Then the kitchen light and for a moment I could see something outlined against the antique curtains I hadn’t replaced in the kitchen.  I tried to remind myself that he wasn’t necessarily that big.  He might just be closer to the light and casting a bigger shadow.

I didn’t believe it, but I tried.

I crept back into the house like a scared child who wasn’t sure how angry their parents were going to be after they had done something wrong.  I turned on all the lights on the main floor and stayed in the kitchen away from the stairs.

“Planning on staying up all night?”

I jumped.  “How are you always behind me?”

“I live in the shadows.  Go to bed.”

“Um…  I was thinking, that should be your room, really.  Your closet.  You picked out the bed.  I can just camp down -”

“No.  Go to bed.”

“Do you really think I’m going to be able to sleep in a room with a closet that must not be opened?  I have read Blue Beard, you know.”

“So have I.  The wife gets the house and lives happily ever after.”

“The last wife does,” I pointed out.  “The first dozen or so didn’t.”

He chuckled at that.  “We made a deal, remember?”

“Are you teasing me?  What deal?”

“I don’t touch you in your sleep.  You don’t sleep in the kitchen anymore.”

“How big are you?”

The lights flickered and went off.

“Do you want to see me?”  he purred, so close that I could feel his breath on my neck.

“Not in the dark,” I squeaked.

“Go to bed.”  

The light snapped back on, leaving me blinking.

I spent the night sitting on the bed with my back pressed against the headboard trying to see the whole room at one.  Eventually, I fell asleep.

My alarm did not go off at six.  It had been turned off.  The coffee was ready but not turned on when I went down stairs.  The air smelled faintly of solder.  There was a post-it stuck to the coffee maker.  Fine copperplate handwriting told me:

I have replaced the plumbing

I stared at it dumbly.  I had replaced the plumbing to the kitchen sink and the downstairs powder room and had been washing out of the sink since I had been forced to stay home.  The only other plumbing was down to the washing machine in the cellar and the upstairs bathroom.  I pushed the button on the coffee maker and slowly crept upstairs.

Sure enough the stack of copper pipe waiting in the other bedroom was gone. 

Well, not gone.  I could see it installed through the holes in the walls.  I turned on the tap to the sink and sure enough, I had water.  I now had an upstairs, working bathroom with a clawfoot tub.

And no walls.

“I don’t like the idea of you watching me bathe,” I called out.  Then I felt like an idiot because if whatever it was had voyeur tendencies, it could have been watching me for months.  I tried all the taps and the toilet.  Everything worked.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, unsure if I was talking to myself.

“You’re welcome.”  It was the least creepy, most normal thing I had heard from him.

----

When I got back downstairs, there still wasn’t coffee but there was a new note:

Humans who do not sleep start to hallucinate

I crumbled it up, threw it across the room and jabbed the on switch on the coffee maker.  Nothing happened.  I growled as I plugged it in.  The power went out.

“Oh come on!  Withholding coffee is cruel and unusual punishment!”

“Sleep.”  It sounded like the whole house had murmured that last bit.

I wish I could say I handled it gracefully, but I didn’t.  I stomped back up to the bedroom like a petulant child.

I woke to bright sunlight streaming in through the window.  The house was quiet and it felt empty for the first time in days.  I had a bath and washed my hair and I felt better than I had in days too.  Clean and dry and dressed, I bounced into the kitchen to try and turn on the coffee again only to see my laptop snap shut.

It was with a lot of trepidation that I opened it.  I was expecting a ridiculous online purchase which is why I stared dumbly at the screen unable to process what I was seeing.

It was a CGI woman with her hands tied to something over her head being railed by a monster who was fingering her clit with one hand and fondling her breasts with the other while her belly distended in rhythm with his thrusts.

“Ugh!  Dude!  You can NOT watch porn on my laptop!” I shrieked as I frantically tried to close the window.

“Would you rather I watch you?” he asked calmly from somewhere to the left of me.

I breathed out a shaky breath.  “OK.  Let’s talk about private browser windows and how not to get a computer virus.”

When I got to the end of my tentative explanation, I asked, “Do you need … some alone time?”

There was another house shaking howling laugh.

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“You need to eat.”

That brought up a whole other issue.  “Do you?  Eat I mean.  Do you eat?  What do you eat?”

“Don’t worry about me.  I am not going to eat you.  Unless you ask nicely.”

I blushed even further but got out a pan and a skillet meal from the fridge.

I spend the rest of the afternoon weeding the garden.  I came in when it got dark, heated up my leftovers from lunch and tried to figure out what to do with myself.  The nap had meant that I wasn’t tired for the first time in days.

I wondered what he would do if I watched a movie.  I hunted through the cupboards and found a bag of microwave popcorn from before the virus started.  Right! I thought.  Bowl of popcorn, a movie, skype with a few friends.  Pretend none of this was happening.

I wasn’t surprised when the lights went out.  That was just a thing now.  My computer was still illuminating a bubble around me and B99 was still hilarious.

I wasn’t expecting the bed to dip next to me.  That once again raised the question of how to deal with him around others.  I hit the mute button.  “What are you doing?” I asked icily.

“Not touching you.  What are you eating?”

“Human food.”

“Hmmm.”

I unmuted my computer to answer Penny’s question about how stir crazy I was going.

“12/10 on the looney toons scale,” I offered.

She just laughed.

All of the popcorn was gone.

“Ah hell.”

“What’s wrong?” Penny asked.

“All my popcorn is gone,” I grumbled.  I didn’t add that I had more than half a bowl left a moment ago.  Not eating me, I reminded myself.

“That sucks.  Need to pause and get more?”

“I don’t have anymore.”

She just laughed, “But do you still have toilet paper and hand sanitizer?”

I chuckled, “Toilet paper, at least.”

“I should go.  It’s getting late,” she said with a yawn.

“Yeah.  Good night.”  After Penny signed off, I just let Netflix autoplay the next episode.

“Do you need to sleep?” The whisper seemed to come from the direction of the closet but the bed was still dipped under his weight on my other side.

My heart leapt to my throat.  “How many of you are there?”

“Just me,” he purred too close to my ear.  I flung myself away from him and toppled out of bed.  Two hands caught me.

Two other hands caught my laptop.

I stared as it was placed back on the bed a little way in front of me.  The hands on my arms were cool and smooth.  “What are you?”

“I am me.  I have not asked your name.  You will not ask mine.”

“My name is on the mail.  And my credit card.  You know my name,”  I pointed out keeping my eyes locked on the screen, fighting the urge to look around.

“Nonetheless.”

This wasn’t going to work, but I had to try.  “I would like to be alone now.”

The bed shifted as the weight was removed from the side.  The black shadows that could be fingers moved from my computer.  The voice said, “Good night” from the direction of the closet.  

I sat frozen.  “In the morning, I’m moving the bed to another room.”

“Why?”

“Because the closet is yours and it’s scary being here with you,” I admitted.

“I have never done anything to harm you.”

“You scare the shit out of me multiple times a day.”

There was a long pause before he replied, “And yet you haven’t left.”

“The city is on lock down.  I can’t leave.”

“Hmm.”  

I jumped as my laptop snapped shut.  I fumbled in the dark trying to find it on my bed, “What are you doing?” I demanded.

“Taking this downstairs.  I will not bother you tonight.”

“What-” I started to say, then snapped my mouth shut as the realization that this may be his ‘alone time’.

This time the “Good night,” came from the bedroom door.

In the morning the only thing in my browsing history was netflix.  This was less comforting since I had shown him how to clear the cache.  I told myself at least the keyboard wasn’t sticky.

[skellebonez]

Since it's been a while since I prompted you, 38/51 for Traffic Light Trio and Spicynoodleshipping?

It’s also been a while since you... sent this... I am getting through my prompts slowly but surely! Hopefully the wait was worth it, it has been a while since I have written TLT or SpicyNoodles alone so this was really enjoyable! I apparently missed this more than I realized as this is quite long! (There are references to a past fill as well, but this can be read stand alone.)

If you move from that spot, so help me, I will tie you down/Can you two save the kissing for later?

“For the love of- stop trying to get up Noodle-Brain!” Red Son snapped, albeit more with exasperated worry than anger this time. “You’re only going to make it worse!”

“No, really, I’m fine!” Xiaotian insisted, moving to once again attempt to stand.

He was not fine and his face soon came into contact with an impromptu date with Red Son’s open palm, catching him before he landed on the floor instead. Normally Xiaotian would have pulled his face back with a muttered "sorry" or "thanks" or "wow Red that was shockingly nice of you".

Instead he groaned and allowed himself to just kind of... hang there, his weight being held by that palm that probably felt oddly normal temperatured to him at the moment. Understandable given that his face was flushed red and that even to Red's naturally warmer body temperature touch he felt overheated in fever.

This was not quite the sight Red Son had expected to see when he had ventured out into the city on his own, just wanting to have some kind of time away from his work to gather his thoughts about... well, a lot of things. Ever since the entire fiasco with the Lunar New Year festival his mind had been wandering back toward when he worked with Xiaotian and Xiaojiao and things that happened afterwards.

He still had the phone he had accidentally kept from the green dragon and they had talked a few times. More than a few times. ... ok, maybe they had been texting near daily and had calls every other night and maybe he started watching her streams out of curiosity, and maybe he had been added to a group chat with the Noodle Boy and started to text him too, but he didn't really have anyone else to talk to outside of the his parents and Bull Clones! They were still enemies, just friendly ones! Frenemies! And it had been... nice. To talk to someone who seemed interested in what he wanted to say. And maybe understood him a little. Maybe possibly... didn't actually dislike him as much as he had believed initially.

... and maybe Red Son was deluding himself when he said he didn't actually like either of them, but that was neither here nor there! His thoughts were getting away from him!

The point was thus- he'd gone into the city for a break with the intention of heading to his private apartment he had for such occasions, happened upon one Noodle Boy laying face down on the seat of his (otherwise empty and clearly not being used for work that day) delivery vehicle looking absolutely miserable and burning up, and against his better judgment he took him back to said apartment. That was shockingly easy considering Xiaotian was pretty much passed out due to the high fever combined with his moving around and the fact Red Son could lift the vehicle himself if he wanted to (he didn't, he just took the keys with them so no one would make off with it).

And so that was how Red Son found himself in this predicament. In his apartment with the AC on just enough to be slightly uncomfortable, one sick Monkie Kid doing his best to remove himself from his couch with a cold compress on his forehead while insisting he was fine when he clearly was not, debating on whether or not he should have taken this dumbass to the hospital instead. If only because he was being frustrating to keep still.

"You are most clearly not 'fine', now lay back down," Red Son said with a warning growl, pushing his rival (gently, he wouldn't be so callous as to kick someone while they were down like this) back into the mound of pillows he had laid out for him. He never had visitors so he may as well make the best of this and pull out what he had in storage so they could be used for once. "If you move from that spot, so help me, I will tie you down."

"... ok," Xiaotian finally acquiesced, closing his eyes and laying back into the plush around him and looking even worse than he had before he had been trying to convince the other he was fine. (Though had he not looked clearly sick the sight would have been almost cute to-NO! Red was not going to think that.)

Red Son didn't know what precisely was wrong with him, though based on his symptoms and reactions it was likely a basic but now out of control flu (regardless, he knew he himself was in little to no danger of most human illnesses) and helping him recuperate here (because no one except Red Son was allowed to defeat the Monkie Kid, not even an illness!) was looking like a more reasonable idea now. But he couldn't help but wonder how had the other man allowed himself to get this bad. Why had he even gone outside in his state? He wasn't working, his lack of normal uniform or delivery orders was evidence enough of that, so it wasn't as if he had been forced to go out by his boss. Was he just too stubborn? Did he think he would be ok for a few minutes and not realize he was this ill? The delivery boy was of no help in that regard, brushing off every attempt from the fire demon to learn the answers to those questions. He wasn't delirious, he just refused to answer!

So instead of trying to push again Red Son sighed and stood up. When Xiaotian opened his eyes to look at him in curiosity he frowned at the deep dark bags under them (had he ever been sleeping?) and the dull sheen they seemed to have before he held his hand up in a "stop" motion.

"You stay right there. I meant that threat. I am going to be back in 10 minutes. Do not test me..." Red stood, lifting both his arms for a moment before giving the other another glance. "And don't, uh... die, I guess."

And then Red was gone in a wave of his arms and a flash of fire.

~

He landed at the entrance to a nearby convenience store, not somewhere one would normally think he would frequent but convenience was convenience. And they had very good coffee to grab when he ran out in his apartment. Yes, he was a Villain with a capital V and could just torment the staff for free goods... but he knew that if he did that long enough the stores would start causing him trouble or close down and that would negate the convenience.

No, it wasn't because the first cashier that greeted him was willing to pay for his goods believing he had forgotten his wallet and thus felt guilty for his first attempt at doing so. And he would deny that until the day he died.

That wasn't his goal for the day, however. Red Son may not get ill the way humans did, but it felt useful to him to know how how to treat the more common ailments in the event his family may be forced to work with one. So he grabbed a basket and made a quick beeline straight for the nearest aisle with medicine.

In even less than the 10 minutes he cited he had a basket filled with flu medicine, more cold compresses, soup broth, and much more. Yes, all of this was absolutely necessary. He didn't care that much about his nemesis, he just wouldn't let an illness make him weak. Nope. That was the only reason. Nothing else. He totally wasn't caring for someone he considered a friend, he didn't have friends, not even Xiaojiao was a-

"Red?"

Crap.

"What are you doing standing in line at a convenience store?" Xiaojiao asked, and as Red turned back to her he saw that she had... some very similar items in her own basket, plus some comics. At his eyes widened in realization she looked down at his own basket and sighed. "... either this is a very interesting coincidence or Xiaotian did something he shouldn't have."

~

Red entered his apartment through the door, the noise rousing the apparently lightly sleeping man on his couch.

"Red? You're back alrea-!?" Xiaotian snapped his mouth shut as he turned his head and opened his eyes to see the wide smiling face of a, clearly to someone who knew her well, angry Xiaojiao. "... I'm in trouble aren't I?"

"Oh you have no idea," she replied lightly, setting down the snacks and books and other assorted items she had purchased while Red made his way into the kitchen with his purchases. "I told you I would be at your apartment with stuff after I finished covering your shift for you, so would you like to explain why Red Son found you nearly passed out in your tuk-tuk half way to the nearest store?"

Though her words were sharp and snappy, it was clear to the listening Red that they were so in genuine concern for her friend. There was a mutter from Xiaotian and a questioning sound from Xiaojiao before the man cleared his throat and repeated himself.

"You already helped me out... I just wanted to try to get that stuff myself so you wouldn't have to do more. I was feeling pretty ok until I drove for a while..."

Ah. So that explained it. Xiaotian had just been going out for medication himself. Not the best idea with a fever of his magnitude, but understandable if he believed he could handle something that simple. Red had begun to wonder if he had been trying to head to Flower Fruit Mountain with bow evasive he was being, but this was a much less disastrous answer.

"Xiaotian, you're my best friend," he heard Xiaojiao say in a much softer tone, and there was the sound of the shuffling on the couch. "I wanted to help you, it didn't matter to me how much it was. I've helped you get to Flower Fruit Mountain and kick demon ass! A delivery shift or two and a convenience store run is something I'd do in a heartbeat. Now open your mouth, I grabbed a thermometer so we can see how bad off you actually are."

There was an agreeable sound and a chuckle, then silence as Red continued what he had been doing. Taking out a dose of medication and preparing something for Xiaotian to eat. Or, rather, drink along side the tea he was also preparing for himself and Xiaojiao. It was little more than chunks of tofu and soup broth with some mild flavoring, something simple and easy to make and eat while sick and-

Red Son held his face in his hands and groaned softly as he waited for the broth to warm. What was he doing? His greatest enemies were in his living room, one sick with fever, and he was preparing medicine and food for him. Frenemies? Only he could defeat them? Is that really what he was telling himself to justify his actions? That they were friend-enemies and they were his to beat?

That was a bold faced lie and he knew it. Had known it for a while. Maybe since he first called Xiaojiao just to speak with someone who would listen to him. Maybe since he first watched her stream in curiosity. Certainly, though, since he accepted being added to the group text she had named "Traffic Light Trio" (really? What kind of name that that?). He would have never done that had he not considered them his friends, he knew that deep down. He just didn't want to admit it (and he super did not want to admit that he maybe felt his own face warm up when they complimented him or that he had butterflies in his stomach the off times they called him by nicknames).

As he turned off the now lightly boiling broth and set it to the side to cool, Red Son began to admit to himself that maybe he was just as much of a dumbass as the Noodle Boy. It seemed that out of the three of them Xiaojiao had firm hold on the only available brain cells when it came to interpersonal relationships.

But that train of thought was not helpful at the moment, so he pushed it down (deeeeeeep down) as he gathered everything up and made his way to the couch again.

The sight that greeted him gave him pause Xiaojiao sitting on the arm of the couch and running a hairbrush through Xiaotian's tangled hair, Xiaotian looking slightly better thanks to the compress against his forehead and smiling softly against the pillows.

There were those butterflies. Oh. Red Son had it bad.

"So?" He asked, drawing their attention to himself as he sat everything on the nearby table. "How bad is it?"

"Not enough to take him to a doctor yet," Xiaojiao answered with a chuckle as she hopped down. "Though I think what you did before helped with that."

Red flushed a bit himself in response, grumbling under his breathe as he shoved the medicine and a cup of water into Xiaotian's hands. "WELL. Take this and. Maybe it’ll stay that way!" He attempted to sound as snappy as normal but the looks on both his guests faces told him he failed miserably in that regard.

"Thanks, Red," Xiaotian said with an earnest smile, and the butterflies were back and Red Son couldn't help the slight sparking of his hair in response.

"Don't mention it. Ever." He grumbled a bit, taking the cup before sighing and helping Xiaotian sit up straighter. "You shouldn't eat half laying down." He maneuvered the pillows to make a little wall between Xiaotian and a space next to the arm of the couch. A space he quickly occupied himself before handing him the bowl of broth over his shoulder. "So you don't have to move more."

The other two looked at each other with surprise on their faces before Xiaojiao smiled and sat on the other arm as they grew silent. Xiaotian eating, Xiaojiao playing on her phone, and Red... well. He tried to look like he was doing something on "his" phone, the one he took from Xiaojiao and replaced the old case with a showy flame covered one. But in reality he was just sitting there staring into space thinking "holy crap this is happening what have I done what happens next oh crap".

"Hey Red?"

"YES!?" He asked far too loud and quick with a squeak in his voice as his hair flared at Xiaotian's words, clearing his throat before repeating himself in a much more appropriate tone (only to earn a giggle from Xiaojiao).

He felt the other man lean back against him, and before he could even begin to fight his flush on his face he heard him chuckle as well. "I appreciate your help."

"L-like I said... don't mention it..."

Xiaotian chuckled again in reply and sighed, leaning completely against Red Son and as he looked over and down he saw his relaxed face and flushed deeper and... it felt nice.

He wondered why he ever pushed down his feelings before.

Xiaojiao grabbed the dishes with a knowing smirk, heading into the kitchen with a few parting words.

"Can you two save the kissing for later? Maybe when Xiaotian isn't sick?"

Both men flushed as deep as they could and sputtered out denials in response, and if that wasn't an indication that Xiaotian maybe felt similarly to Red as Red did to him...

[bestiesenpai]

Gojo lyric challenge

I found this cute lil challenge on Pinterest! A picker wheel chose Gojo, I excluded repeating lines or else I would have gone mad, and the song I chose was medicine by shawn wasabi :)

“I’m so- so sick!” Sniffling like a toddler with a wicked cold on a Friday night wasn’t what you had in mind when you imagined how your weekend would go. Wrapped tightly in a blanket, you shivered on your couch as sweat began to form on your brow.

“How bad is it, (Y/N)?” Satoru asked over the phone, running a worried hand through his hair. You sounded awful, much worse than when he talked to you the day before. Your voice was shoddy and he could hear you breathing through your mouth.

“I’m cold sweating and I love it.” Rolling your eyes, you crumpled into the couch cushions with a groan. “One moment I’m hotter than ever, the next I’m colder than ice! I feel high, not sober.” Deflating even more, just being awake was a struggle for you right now.

“Want me to come over and bring you medicine?” His heart ached for you, and even though he was at the school it was the weekend, surely he could disappear for a few days with no issue?

“No, I don’t want you catching this.” Throwing the blanket over your eyes, you fought back the urge to sneeze. Satoru had begun speaking again but you were too busy scrunching up your nose to listen, head pounding from the effort.

“(Y/N), babe? You listeni-”

“Achoo!” Fumbling with your phone, the force of your sneeze - and the two that came after the first - was enough to push you further into the couch and fumble your phone, effectively hanging up on Satoru and dropping it between the couch cushions.

Ripping the blanket off your face, you blindly grabbed the box of tissues you left near you. There was snot pouring out of your nose, making your face irritated from all the rubbing you were doing.

Too numb to do anything else, you grabbed your phone and trudged to the bedroom, shivering with every pass of air against your face. Once in the dark room, the dull headache you had subsided slightly and you collapsed under the covers after taking a shot of cold medicine.

Tossing and turning in the night, your sickness felt like a fever dream that would never be over. With the medicine it was easy to fall asleep, but through the course of the night you woke up in a feverish fog, not fully conscious but enough to toss the blankets off your sweat covered body and then grab them again.

Waking up in the morning was a struggle, sleep still having a tight grip on you as your body tried to fight the illness. Your blankets were up to your chin, but there was sweat pooling in the ditches of your body.

Just as you were about to throw the blankets off your body and cool off, your phone began to ring, it’s incessant vibrating making the mattress shake.

“H-hello?” Fishing through your blankets, you grabbed it on the last ring.

“(Y/N)! Baby, how are you? I tried to call you back last night but you didn’t answer!” Satoru’s slightly scared voice spewed out over the phone. Taking a few deep breaths, you finally freed your body from the blankets.

“I’m wide awake in bed with my clothes on the floor.” You grumbled, looking to your side to see every article of clothing you went to sleep with in a pile. Satoru chuckled at your answer, relieved that you had survived the night without him.

“Let me come over today, please? I’ll bring some medicine and make some soup for you?”

“I don’t have anything to make soup.” Shivering as all the sweat evaporated away, you burrowed under the blankets again.

“I’ll go to the store.” Satoru answered immediately. There was a heavy pause as you thought over his answer, brain sluggish on forming words. “C’mon (Y/N), don’t leave me hanging. At least gimme a no.”

“I’m thinking.” You said with a whine, making Satoru laugh again.

“You really know how to test my patience.”

“If you come over you have to wear a mask, I don’t want you to get sick.” Now it was Satoru’s turn to whine. You could almost imagine him stamping his feet on the ground like a child and pouting.

“Fine, I’ll wear a mask. Now what kind of soup do you want, I’ll go to the store before I stop by.”

“Surprise me.” Ending the call with a curt grunt, you relaxed back into bed. There was no energy in your body, not even enough to grab the medicine off the bedside table or get a glass of water for your parched throat.

Falling back into a restless slumber, you slept through Satoru calling you once he was at the store and when he was outside your apartment. Luckily for him, he had a key to your place and was able to let himself in, tiptoeing quietly through your house.

“(Y/N)?” He called out for you, taking off his mask once he saw you weren’t in the lounge room or the kitchen. “Are you sleeping?” Walking to your bedroom, he grinned when he saw you passed out and drooling on your pillow.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Satoru fixed your blankets and moved your body into a more optimal sleeping position, one where your neck wasn’t being strained in a weird way and your head was elevated to help you breathe.

“Satoru?” All your twisting and turning had left you tongue tied, mouth feeling incredibly dry as you said his name.

“Hey sleepyhead.” Leaning a little closer to you, he grinned widely at your confused face, his eyes searching you from behind the glasses he had on.

“P-put your mask on, dummy.” Fumbling to push him away, you grabbed the mask that rested on his chin and pulled it over his face. “You’ll get sick.”

“(Y/N), I already am sick.” Fixing the mask on his face, Satoru laughed. “You got me feeling lovesick.”

“Lovesick?” Rolling your eyes at the cheesy line, you couldn’t help the smile that spread on your face.

“Mhmm, and ooh baby do I love it!” Gripping his heart dramatically, Satoru delighted in the fact he got you to laugh. Even behind his mask you could tell he was smiling like a fool as he looked at you.

“So what did-” Your question was cut off by a gross, wet cough. There was sticky phlegm coating the back of your throat, and the force of your actions had snot running down your nose a little as well.

“Here, here.” Grabbing you a few tissues, Satoru sprang up from the bed. “I’m going to make you some tea.” Nodding as he left the room, you coughed into the tissues and blew your nose loudly.

With a spinning head and wobbly legs, you pulled yourself from bed and threw the tissues away, walking blindly to the bathroom to take care of the needs that you’d been ignoring in favor of sleeping.

“What’re you doing out of bed?” Standing at your empty bedside with his arms crossed, Satoru tapped his foot impatiently as you reentered the room.

“Pee.” You said with a sniffle and Satoru immediately dropped his arms, pulling back the covers to help you lay back down.

“I bought some really strong herbal tea from the store, an old lady told me it works really well for sickness.” Picking up the mug he left on the bedside table, Satoru blew away the steam billowing from the top.

“It smells horrible.” Even with your nose blocked you could smell how strong the tea was and your lip curled in disgust.

“I know, but it’ll make you feel better.”

“I don’t want it, Toru.” Your lip formed a heavy pout and you turned away from him, turning your back on the tea that you could smell even with your face pressed into a pillow.

“Just have a little bit, I promise you’ll feel better!” Tugging on your shoulder, Satoru eventually wore you down enough to make you turn over. With watery eyes and a soft glare you took the mug and took a drink of the tea.

“Oh I love how it tastes!” Nearly gagging on the strong taste, you swallowed down a big gulp to appease Satoru. Falling back down into bed, you rubbed a hand down your face. “Happy now?”

“Very. I’ll go start on the soup.”

“Did you get a recipe from that old lady?”

“No, the internet.” Flicking your arm, he left the room. You could hear him digging through a few shopping bags and banging pots and pans in the kitchen. The longer the tea sat in your stomach, the more it warmed you up and soothed your throat. Taking another sip, you slowly got up from bed.

“Hey, what’re you doing up?” Satoru peeked at you from the kitchen, his sharp blue eyes watching you trudge to the couch with a blanket wrapped around you.

“I’m bored just laying in bed sick.” Propping yourself up on cushions, you sank into the couch with a labored sigh. “So why not be sick out here?” Satoru chuckled, mumbling an agreement before returning to the kitchen.

Twenty minutes later, the soup was done. It was a simple recipe, one that Satoru didn’t need to fuss over too much in terms of prep. Carrying another steaming cup of tea in his other hand, he sat next to you on the couch.

“Here’s the soup, and more tea.” Sitting up slightly, you attempted to take the bowl from him. “Are you sure you’re feeling well enough to feed yourself?”

“Yes.” Right as you said it, a sneeze pushed your head back, leaving your temples throbbing.

“Mmm, I’ll help.”

“Whatever.” Sitting up more so he could feed you, you tried not to look at Satoru’s cheesy grin as you ate.

“Ya know, I don’t know if I’m supposed to like it this much, you being sick and all.” He cooed, setting the bowl down to give you some tea.

“If it was up to you, I’d never be getting better.” Taking a sip from the tea, it burned your tongue and made you wince. “I want more, more of the soup.”

“Of course, my love.” Bowing his head, Satoru picked up the bowl again. “Now here comes the airplane!”

Once all the tea and soup was gone, you curled into the side of the couch. Wrapped up tightly in blankets, you weren’t really paying attention to what was on the television. There were slow or sudden conversations that you couldn’t follow, words being spoken that went right over your head.

“How could you sleep with both my father and brother?!” The soap opera character on screen shouted angrily, getting ready to throw a drink at another.

“Toru, what am I watching?” Lifting up your heavy head, you looked to the other side of the couch, where the man in question was watching the show intently.

“Hell if I know but it’s pretty interesting.” He answered with a shrug, taking a glance at you. “Hey, why’re you so far away?”

“Because I’m sick.”

“I’m lonely.” He pouted behind the mask you insisted he keep on. “I want to hug you, you’re not feeling well.”

“Don’t touch me!” You shouted to the best of your ability with a painfully scratchy throat, but it was too late. Satoru was already leaning over to your side of the couch, encroaching on your space and manhandling you to the middle to lay on him.

“It’s always worth the wait, each time we touch.” Snuggling into your blanket clad body, Satoru let out a hum.

“Satoru Gojo, let go of me!” Attempting to wiggle out of his embrace was impossible, he had too tight a hold and your body wasn’t exactly at its strongest.

Your struggling made the blanket you’d wrapped around your head fall off, exposing your face and head to the cold air. Seeing the opportunity present itself, Satoru leaned down and kissed your forehead.

“Satoru! Why’d you kiss me you’re gonna get sick!” You watched in horror as he threw his mask onto the coffee table.

“You should know by now babe, all the rules are always bending, but only for us.” With a smug grin, he gave you another kiss before you could dodge him.

“The principal will be mad if you get sick because of me.”

“Eh, let ‘im. Who cares?” Leaning back, Satoru took you with him, moving more of you into his lap. “I’ll kiss you every day and every night, no matter the circumstance.”

“You’re so annoying.” Mumbling under your breath, you cozied up into his embrace more, no longer having the energy to fight it. Rubbing a hand up and down the full length of your back, Satoru let out a hum. It was quiet between you two for a few minutes, until a tickle in the back of your throat forced your body to convulse in a strong cough.

“Oh baby.” Satoru frowned slightly, giving you a few hard pats on the back. “Have a tissue.” He stuffed a couple in your hand, watching behind his glasses with concern in his eyes. “Hey, how often should you have medicine? I don’t think you’ve had any today.”

“Gi-ve me m-medicine twice a day. That’s what the label s-said.” You answered between coughs, fighting to catch your breath.

“Okay, one sec.” Shifting you off his lap, Satoru dashed to your bedroom to grab the bottle of medicine. When he came back, your coughing had subsided, but you were mentally drained from the ordeal.

“You’re too good to me, Toru, I’ve taken up your whole day being sick.” Dabbing at your watery eyes, you noticed the distinct lack of direct sunlight coming into the room. The sun was setting behind the buildings surrounding you, casting long shadows into your home.

“(Y/N), I don’t care. I won’t leave until you get better, I’ll stay forever if you let me.”

“Forever’s a long time.” You grinned, taking the tiny cup full of medicine that he poured for you and drinking it quickly.

“You make time feel never ending.” Satoru replied, getting comfortable on the couch with you again and cuddling you in his lap.

“You’re so cheesy.” Giggling at the line, you wrapped him in a hug. “Don’t be mad at me if I keep you up at night with my coughing.”

“Keep me up, I don’t mind.” Giving you a kiss on the cheek, Satoru hugged you back even tighter. “Just gives me more time to watch these stories.” He pointed to the TV right as two characters got into a fight.

“What a wonderful doctor I have.” Rolling your eyes, you lay your head in the crook of his neck, letting the dialogue from the TV become white noise and lull you to sleep.

[four-rabbit]

Game Night

I don’t really know what this is, I’m just glad I was finally able to finish a sanders sides’ fanfic for the first time. 

This fanfic was born from the last video, obviously, and the realization that the creativity twins canonically feel physical pain when their ideas are desregard or their function is “offended” let’s say, which I had to exagerate and turn int angst, of course, so enjoy!

Summary: Remus get sick so frequently that those nights have became his idea of a sleepover. 

Ship: platonic dukeceit. Or romantic. You can interpret it however you want

Characters: Remus Sanders, Virgil Sanders and Janus Sanders 

Warnings: swearing, kinda grapphic descriptions of pain and sickness, mentions to vomit. Also maybe some umsympathetic Virgil? I don’t see it like that, but I guess it depends on how you interpret it. 

Word Count: 1729

Sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language

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

If Remus was real, he would be dead. 

And if snakes could demonstrate worry, they would make exactly the same expression that Janus had after looking at the thermometer. 

"How do you manage to get so bad so quickly?" 

"What can I say, being bad is the only thing I'm good at" Remus joked, the words scratching his throat as an unwanted cough came with them. Janus rolled his eyes, trying to seem calm. And falling. 

"Any idea what was the cause this time?" Remus' focus went down to the old and familiar sheet, which he fiddled with, avoiding the question. 

"How hot am I?" He vaguely pointed to the thermometer. 

"You have a 113°F fever" 

"Well, fuck. That's a new record" he touched his own forehead, smiling almost maniacally right after "Shit. How long do you think it takes until my brain melts? 

"Bold of you to assume it hadn't already" Virgil was the one to answer, entering the room with a bowl of hot soup in his hands. 

"Wow Virgil, that was fast " Janus lied, raising an eyebrow. "What happened?"

"I was trying to actually cook something real for once"

"Please don't tell me your burned the kitchen" the half-snake child replied, with some amount of actual fear behind the dramatic hand to his chest and horrified expression. 

"Ha ha" pause "...not on purpose" Virgil replied, looking away. 

 "Yeah, that's my job!"

"Remus, eat your soup, the grownups are talking" the embodiment of Fear interrupted jokingly, even though any of them was older then twelve. Then he turned to Janus again, already guessing what he was going to say "but... it's fine now. I took care of it" Janus made a mental note to go take a look at the damage as fast as possible. They could all be kids, but Janus knew very well he was the only responsible there. 

"I don't like it...!" Creativity replied, sounding like a child who doesn't want to eat salad. Janus sighed as his thoughts were interrupted, conjuring a bottle of perfume and poured it in the meal. 

"Now eat" and so he did. Virgil raised an eyebrow, but he was smiling, trying not to be so worried. Or at least not demonstrate it. After so many times, he should be used to it, but... well, he was Fear. It was his job to keep track of the worst case scenarios.

"Did he get better?"

"On the contrary. The fever is higher than ever"

"And I also feel like someone ripped my bones out of my skin and then put them back, but like... in the wrong way" Remus added, spilling hot soup all over the sheet and his clothes by trying to communicate with his mouth full. 

"So it's one of those nights" Virgil mumbled.

"I'm afraid so" 

Remus finished his soup smiling like there was no tomorrow, opening his arms despite how much that simple gesture hurted "Game night while I'm dying!" Janus smiled, with more sadness in his eyes than anything else. 

"I'll get the monopoly"

•••

"I won"

"No, you did fucking not" Remus immediately answered, not even looking away from his cards.

"You can see for yourself" Janus showed his game, which clearly meant a victory, indeed. Remus tossed his cards on the sheet like it was their fault. He was so fucking close!

"You cheated" Virgil said sharply, as if it was an undeniable fact. 

"Do you have any proof? Janus challenged, not losing a beat or his mischievous smile.

"Yeah. It's the only thing you know how to do" the teenager replied, his tone as cold as a lake in the winter. Janus looked down before he could help himself. Couldn't he keep it down for at least one night? The night Remus needed both of them?

The cards caught fire. It was an accident, but Remus decided to go with that, jumping out of the sheets, trying to ignore the terrible twist that movement gave to his stomach. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he threw up. At least that way these two would stop fucking fighting. 

"What the hell?!" Virgil exclaimed, tossing his game away like it was burning. Which was the case, indeed.

"Let's watch a horror movie!" Well, he got their attention. 

"Did you need to burn things before saying that?!" Virgil screamed. He was standing and seemed even more distressed.This was a mistake, Janus realized. It was foolish to think they could ignore their differences for the sake of Remus. 

"It's more fun this way! What can it be? One of the classics? Some shitty obscure one?" He kept trying, getting out of bed and walking toward Virgil, who walked away from him. Janus immediately got up too, already anticipating the disaster that situation could turn to. A worst one. Because it was already a disaster. 

"Please, control yourselves"

"I'm controlled! I'm not the one burning things" Virgil replied, the trace of the tempestuous tongue in his voice proving that he was anything but in control. 

"Remus, please. Apologize for burning the cards"

"It's just some stupid paper!

"Now"

"It was a fucking accident"

"We all know it wasn't" Janus almost, almost told Virgil to shut up after that. But he didn't need to make things worse than they already were.

"It was a fucking accident" his voice started getting threatened, his eyes started shining with a red danger "But you know what wouldn't be a fucking accident? if I..." his vision went black, a headache that felt like someone had opened his skull being everything that existed and then not even that. 

Anxiety got out of the room immediately after his friend fainted, keeping his gaze to the ground, knowing that he wouldn't be able to stand any amount of time alone with Deceit. 

•••

   Remus wished he was real, so he would be dead. 

   He felt like someone had catched his body on fire, then hit his head with an axe, then exchanged his blood for poison and his bones with knives. 

   "I knew you were stupid, but not stupid enough to try and suggest an idea for Thomas. On your own. After terrorizing him the whole night. Literally hours after recovering from your last..." Janus looked down at his friend, in one of the only moments he didn't try to hide his emotions. Fear. Somebody had to fill the vacancy now that Virgil is gone, I suppose. 

   "It was..." He coughed blood. "A good idea"

   "Oh yeah, I'm sure he thought the same" Janus rolled his eyes. Remus tried to say that he would be fine, but his throat still hurt from the acid of his stomach and the scratching of his coughs. 

   "I told you to not do anything too dangerous. We are..." he looked down to his gloves which, as he knew, covered up for the scales that apparently had decided that half of his face was not punishment enough. "In a delicate situation, now that..."

   "The emo is gone. I know" Remus completed, his voice not much more than a whisper. 

   "Oh please, no. We are better off without him haunting us all day. If he prefers to deal with them, the only thing I feel is pity" anyone else would have believed that. Remus knew it was bullshit the second those words left his mouth. But he didn't say that. Mostly because he was feeling nauseous again and he learned that, apparently, people don't like if you throw up while trying to talk to them. 

   Janus stayed in silence for a couple more seconds, then something changed in his eyes and he got up.

   "Well, if you need me, I'll be reading" said, but before he could go too far, Remus grabbed the bottom of his coat, deciding to make use of his positions of creativity, as with a snap of his fingers green words appeared in the air:

   "It's game night, not a fucking book club"

   "I don't think you're able to play games right now"

   "I've never been better in my entire fucking life"

   The words glitched as his consciousness stumbled. 

   "Remus"

   "You've been reading, studying, planning, whatever every fucking time we were together" he finally was able to find his voice again "Is it me, Virgil, or just you being a dick? 

   "You need to rest"

   "I'm gonna vomit on your shoes"

   Janus sighed, sitting again on the bed. 

   "What do you propose?"

   "Truth or dare" Janus never plays truth or dare. The two of them, Virgil and Remus, would play it at any given opportunity, on the other hand. 

   "Don't test me"

   Floating words again: "I'm gonna take it easy"

   "You never take it easy."

   Remus frowned. 

   "Ok" the half-snake man sighed "let's find a compromise: I can play Never Have I Ever" 

   Remus smiled diabolically. So they had a deal. 

•••

   "Finally! It's been so long since our last sleepover!"

   "This is anything but a sleepover" Janus replied, not looking away from his book.

   "Yes it is! We're sleeping together not in a sexual way and wearing pajamas.

   "I'm not-" Remus snapped his fingers and suddenly Janus had a yellow onesie on. "...I'm not having a sleepover with you. And you're not even that bad"

   "But I'll be. And in the meantime... Please play truth or dare with me just this time please please" he said in one breath. 

   "You already know my opinion about this game"

   "I know that you like it! You would always laugh and even participate when me and Virgin played!" Janus flinched.

   "That was a long time ago"

   "Just two rounds!" 

   "I..."

   "C'mon! You're not gonna lose an arm if you play just one time. And even if you did, you would still have five perfectly good ones left"

  Janus hesitated. He knew Remus would get worse. It was obvious by the tiredness in his voice, even when he was so excited. And how pale he was. How deep his eyeshadow appeared, making him seem like a dead body. 

   He sighed. Remus smiled from ear to ear. Literally.

   "Truth or dare?!" Asked as if he was a child whose birthday had come earlier.

   "Dare, obviously" Janus said, unable to stop himself from smiling at his friend's happiness, even though they both knew it wouldn't last long. 

   But that was okay. Because they would have one another. And that was enough. It had to be.

[concussed-to-pieces]

Whether It Works Out Or Not: Winter’s Cold, Part Two

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2

Pairing: High Honor!Arthur Morgan/Named OFC

Rating: Holy shit T.

AN: Thank you all so much for being here! Enjoy!

[Spoiler warning for the epilogue!]

Tag List: @huliabitch​​ @cookiethewriter​​ @pedrosbigdorkenergy​​ @thirstworldproblemss​​ @anonymouscosmos​​ @culturalrebel​​ @karmezii​​ @teaofpeach​​ @crookedmoonsaultpunk​​ @wrestlingfae​​ @zombiexbody​​ @nelba​​ @scribblenotes76​​ @toxiicpop​​ @mstgsmy​​ @misty-possum​​ @gallowsjoker​​ @midnightbeauty35​​ @lackofhonor​​ @renegademustelid​​ @missfronkensteen​ @newplanetshine

Part One: Strangers

Part Two: Friends

Part Three: More

Bonus One: A Brief Diversion

Bonus Two: Back In The Cage

Winter’s Cold, Part One

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains emotional distress and self-loathing. Stay safe!]

The first time Arthur really felt...aware, like he was actually inhabiting his body instead of floating above and slightly to the right of it, he realized that he could hear chirping birds. A breeze stirred his hair; there must be a window open nearby. 

  It dawned on him after several moments that he could breathe. It still hurt, it pained him, but he wasn't hacking and wheezing every second. Dread flooded his soul then; either he was dead, or the law was in the process of meting out the rope for his noose. Bit of a raw deal for all those hellfire preachers if eternal damnation was only some downright mild discomfort (at least after everything else) and a lazy little breeze.

  His whole body still felt like it weighed too much to move. The idea of opening his eyes was a distant, faint notion; barely a fledgling consideration in the back of his mind. Arthur was more than content to lay just wherever it was that he had fallen, sunshine wavering in dappled patches across the insides of his eyelids.

  He dimly noticed that fabric was covering his mouth and nose. A bandanna, or some kind of mask? To keep him from spreading the infection, he surmised pragmatically. Through the material wafted a scent from his childhood, the alive smell of freshly-cured hay. Beneath it was the ever-present odor of manure, the crisp tingle of pine. So he must be in the mountains somewhere. 

  Odd. Last he knew, he was being shipped off to the city to be read his last rites. Had they decided to let him convalesce in the wilderness, drag him back from the clutches of death and then set his backside afore the law?

  Very odd indeed. But then again, justice had always been more of a performance than a true enforcement of moral integrity.

  I sound like Dutch.

  He drifted off again. Just thinking was exhausting, like wading through swamp mud.

  More medicine. Balm for his chest. A stew, lip of the bowl pressed to his mouth so he could slowly slurp it up. Rich, meaty broth, soothing his throat. How many days had it been?

  He couldn't even bring himself to move when he felt the familiar press of a flat blade against his neck. Hot water soaking into his skin, a warm cloth moving in circles to scrub away whatever grime was around his nose and mouth. The person was meticulous, sure strokes carefully ridding the man of the stubble he harbored on his face. How long had it been since he shaved?

  Christ alive, Arthur was tired. He couldn't decide whether he wanted to live or not. This caretaker, whoever they were, clearly wasn't letting him go without a fight. But he was so tired. 

  He wavered for what felt like a lifetime, hovering at the edge of eternity in the green fragrance of curing hay. It was safe here, at any rate. Nothing would harm him in this peaceful tomb. He could rest until he began to feel like he was in control of his body again, and one fateful day, Arthur Morgan finally realized that he wanted to see how much worse living could manage to be.

  His eyes opened slowly, squinting against the near-blinding illumination of sunset that played pink against the unfinished beams over his head. Lord, just doing that much had taken the wind out of his sails. Maybe he was already dead. 

  His eyes rolled shut wearily, blinking open again what felt like moments later to find the place dark. Night had fallen. Time was slipping past him, it would seem. There was a faint taste in his mouth: venison stew with wild carrots, if he had to guess. He didn't even remember eating.

  He squinted in the blackness, trying to force his eyes to adjust so he could at least take in his surroundings before he lost consciousness again. 

  Hay. Everywhere. He appeared to be in a loft of some kind, bales stacked neatly all around the tick he laid on. Night sounds filtered in through the open window, bats squeaking and the booming call of an owl telling him that the hour must indeed be late. 

  Arthur lapsed back into senselessness once more. He dreamed of hearing violin music and catching sight of a massive, pale buck through the window. It watched him from a far-off hillside, ears flicking back and forth to catch every sound. 

  He dreamed of Irene. Her smile, her eyes, the kisses in the tent that they had shared...

  Maybe, maybe sat like a block of lead in his gut. 'Maybe' was all he had ever had. A chance, a mirage. Pretty words from men and women who had made him feel useful, needed.

  So he had poured from himself until he was empty and it still hadn't been enough. 

  He was a fool. What was it that Irene had said to Jamie? "I'm not letting anyone else dig my grave and usher me into it." 

  Arthur, in contrast, had practically handed Dutch the shovel on a silver platter.

  I gave you all I had.

  …

  He was aware that someone was nearby, and he managed to open his eyes again for a brief moment. Long enough for him to hallucinate that it was Irene tending to him, Irene giving him whatever horrendous medicine it was and washing away the bitter taste with hot soup and small sips of tea. He must truly be long gone, mad with delirium or fever or the consumption that had wracked his chest until he felt paper-thin. 

  How would she even be here? How would that have even happened? There was no way. 

  Arthur almost loathed himself for choosing to live at that moment, because he was clearly missing a few more screws. He knew that some agues raged so strong they could burn the brain right out of a man and he feared that was the case with him. 

  Not that he'd had much brain to lose in the first place.

  Christ, he did wish she was here. He wished he could take her hand and never let her go again. 

  Allowing her leave that final time was a regret that had haunted him even more prominently than his bitter failure with Mary, for all that he knew there was nothing he could have done to make her stay with him. Irene had been on her own too long, flown too far and high to ever be tied down to some old, miserable bastard again.

  Mary had come to know him under false pretenses, and she had never truly reconciled herself with it. In a way, Arthur hadn't either. He had known she wasn't his from the very beginning, had known that he was playing a part or living a lie whenever he was with her. It never would have worked out, and it never did. 

  But Irene, despite their deceptive start, came to him with a certain honesty. The haphazard performance of masculinity had done little to hide her true nature, the kindness that she claimed to see in him so freely displayed in her as well. It also didn't hide the burdens she carried, though he hadn't understood the sadness in 'Frank's' eyes when they had spoken.

  The trials she had gone through...he at least had the gang, but she was wholly alone. She had endured, like a pine tree rooted on a crumbling and wind-whipped bluff. Storms of life howling all around and yet…

  And yet, when he had last seen her, she had held herself proudly in Lemieux's mansion, unshaken. The guts and wherewithal that had seen her thus far would continue, and Arthur had wished her nothing but the finest of luck even as he had sent her on her way. 

  …

  There were folded clothes on the floor beside him when next he stirred, and on top of them was a note. Arthur had no idea how long it took him to sit up, never mind move his arm, manipulate his fingers into picking the note up, unfold the note to read it…

  Lord, living certainly seemed to require a lot of steps. 

  Arthur,

Not sure if you'll really be awake today, but I've noticed you moving around a bit of your own volition. Left the clothes in case you feel up to getting dressed. I am uncertain if you'll recall, so I'll remind you that the waste bucket is in the far corner.

  The note was unsigned.

  Arthur huffed out a breath, clearing his throat experimentally. He reached for the union suit on the top of the pile, planting his face in the article of clothing with a groan as his head suddenly felt too heavy to support. "C'mon Morgan." He encouraged himself, the words thick in his mouth. Shit, how long had he been out for? It was like he had forgotten how to speak.

  Just pulling the suit up and over his legs was a task of Herculean proportions. Arthur doggedly kept fighting the urge to pass out, the desire to lay back down and let time zip by again. He had made the choice to live and by God, he would follow through with it even if it killed him.

  The longer he worked at getting dressed, the easier it became to keep his eyes open. Socks on over the suit, shirt, pants. His suspenders hung limp at his sides, but he did tuck in his shirt as best as he could after he relieved himself. 

  Boots. Boots, one tipped over on the space beside the ladder, the other within reach of the bed.

  Next, climbing down the ladder. Mercifully the loft was not particularly high. The whole barn seemed rather small as far as barns went, obviously originally built with one stall. A second one appeared to have been hastily grafted onto the building at a later time. 

  Arthur had to take a breather at the base of the ladder, clinging to it just to keep his balance. His knees felt like they were made out of jelly. Had his boots always been this damn heavy?!

  He floundered onward after a moment, grateful for his hat as he emerged into the blinding sunlight of the outside world. 

  Arthur rubbed his eyes, nearly losing his footing as he did so. He had already been uncertain of the reality of his current situation, and this idyllic scene in front of him wasn't helping matters! 

  A small paddock stretched out on the left, and a cozy-looking cabin was nestled into the green, flower-dappled glen alongside the barn he had just emerged from. Arthur staggered to the paddock fence for support, draping himself over it. From the shadow by the barn, a shape stirred. He forced himself to focus on it, his eyes widening when the horse meandered lazily out into the sunlight to graze.

  "Chase!" Arthur rasped, his voice rough and cracking from disuse. The mare's head jerked up and she looked around. His heart leaped in his chest when she whinnied excitedly at him, trotting across the paddock and bumping her nose against his chest. Arthur held her tightly, cupping her muzzle and scratching beneath her jaw. "That's my sweet girl, my good girl." He murmured, feeling foolish for getting choked up. 

  There was an explosive snort to his right and a familiar pink nose snuffled over his shoulder. Arthur squinted, turning his head to the side and realizing that it was Bluster. The horse whickered, mouthing at the sleeve of his shirt. 

  Arthur Morgan was speechless. He must be dead. How else could he have his horse, and Irene's horse besides? He sat there mutely for God only knew how long, just petting Chase with his eyes closed to luxuriate in the sensation of sun on his skin. 

  Behind him, the wind carried faint sounds to his ears, and he flinched when he caught a child's high-pitched squeal of laughter. Just where the hell was he, if he was indeed alive? What buffoon would nurse someone like him back to health, yet leave him unbound and unguarded? Something was very odd about this whole scenario.

  Arthur turned and leaned back on the fence, narrowing his eyes against the glare of the sun as he looked up at the ridge of the glen. There was an abrupt flash of motion to the left on the edge of the gully, and he watched a woman that he desperately wanted to recognize chase after a child. The little one was fairly shrieking with mirth, scurrying away from their pursuer until they flopped down dramatically and allowed themselves to be caught.

  It felt like his heart had left his body, the damn thing soaring and shattering all at once. A girl, it was a little girl, her hair the color of a pale buck. Irene scooped the child up, laughing breathlessly and tossing her into the air before spinning the two of them in a dizzying circle. 

  Irene.

  Arthur swallowed hard. Fate was indeed a cruel mistress if this was the vision he was greeted with upon making his decision to live! He continued to just slouch against the fence, silently observing the duo as they frolicked at the top of the ridge. Irene had flowers in her hair just like she had at the Mayor's little soiree, and he realized dimly that her dark brown curls were much longer. Just how much time had he lost?

  He finally mustered up the strength to wave at them and he liked to think that Irene went still out of happiness. In a moment she caught the child up and fairly bolted down the hillside, her skirt hiked around her knees as she ran. 

  "Arthur!" 

  Christ, Christ he wasn't ready for this. He wasn't ready for the sight of her with a babe on her hip, the agony of maybe, maybe that ripped at his insides. In another life, it might have been his child that she had been playing with. In another life, this might have been the home that they had built together.

  But instead, she had gone on and made a fruitful existence without him. He couldn't, wouldn't blame her for it. He had cut her loose, after all.

  Irene came to a halt inches away, her chest rising and falling from the effort of her sprint. "Y-You--you're up!" She panted, her smile burying itself in his ribs like a blade. Christ, his heart was too weak for this.

  The child in Irene's arms gawked up at him with crystal blue eyes and he tried to muster up a smile, startled when Irene embraced him tightly. He felt her fingers dig into his back, and then her shoulders quivered while she buried her face in his chest. "Oh no, c'mon now Miss Irene." Arthur said hoarsely. "I ain't worth all that fuss, it's okay."

  ...

  "Mama?" Anna asked tentatively. "Mama okay?"

  "Mama's fine, love." Irene managed to say, kissing her child's forehead. "Just very happy is all. You remember my friend Mister Arthur, right?"

  "Sick." Anna replied, her attempt at a fake cough making Arthur chuckle. "Better now?"

  "I'd reckon so, little miss." The man drawled hoarsely. God, that voice. Irene hadn't realized just how much she had missed him. She had seen him every day, of course, nursing him back to health, but he hadn't been conscious for most of it. "S'pose I have your mama to thank for that."

  Irene noticed him glancing over her shoulder, like he was expecting someone else to show up. "Your friend, Mister Trelawny--"

  Arthur chuffed out a breath through his nose, making Anna giggle. "Friend? Man's a cockroach in a waistcoat." He groused.

  "Yes, he mentioned that the two of you may not be as close as he posited. Nonetheless, it's thanks to him that you're here now, alive."

  "Really. Huh. So I am alive, then. I wasn't shoah. This place is…" Arthur gestured vaguely around. "S'beautiful, Miss Irene." His tone was melancholy. "Like a dream."

  "I'd like to think I chose well, Mister Arthur. It hasn't been easy, but the two of us have made it work." Irene said proudly, nuzzling her nose against Anna's. "My tough little frontierwoman."

  "Just...what, you an' the baby?" Arthur asked, his confusion evident. 

  "Yes. Who else would there be?" Irene replied with her own question, brow furrowed. Arthur blinked down at her. His eyes darted momentarily to Anna, and Irene bit her lip, wondering whether he would put it together immediately. 

  "I-I jus'...I figured there might be a third person, is all." Arthur stammered. 

  Irene couldn't help her sad smile, shaking her head at him and extending an arm. "Come inside, Arthur. It's nearly suppertime anyways."

  It was so strange, finally having him in the main room of her little house. She had thought about this scenario more times than she could count. Just the walk across the front yard thoroughly tired him out, and the man seemed more than content to doze in one of the kitchen chairs while she put the finishing touches on the evening meal. Obviously it would take time and care for him to regain even a fraction of his former strength. He had been bedridden, or something close to it, for nearly five months!

  Anna played noisily on the floor with a few carved horses that Irene had made for her when she was teething, their forms scored with scrapes and marks from the event. The child didn't seem apprehensive about the large man currently nodding off in the chair by the table, which had Irene feeling hopeful. Maybe, just maybe…

  "Dinnertime." She said softly, "put away your toys, love." 

  Anna pouted, holding up a finger. "One?" She bargained, clutching her 'favorite' horse to her chest. "One for Art'ur." 

  "Oh it's for Arthur now, is it?" Irene teased, wiping her hands off on her apron. "Go on then, you scallywag."

  The little girl fairly beamed, placing the horse with a laughable amount of care alongside Arthur's arm. Then, she impatiently bounced in place as Irene fetched the riser for her chair so she would be level with the table when she sat. 

  "Ah ah, go wash up! You know the rules." Irene instructed the eager child, sending her on her way to the porch.

  "She is just the cutest damn thing." Arthur mumbled, almost like he was talking to himself. His fingers idly played along the curves of the little horse by his fork. "How old is she?" 

  "A touch over two. She was born during the winter." Irene watched Arthur nod absently, and what she was about to say got caught in her throat as Anna toddled back inside.

  Arthur accepted the coffee Irene poured him with all the gratitude in the world, his eyes closing in enjoyment as he took his first sip. "Ah, that's good," he sighed. "Ain't nothin' like a decent cup of coffee. Feel like life is comin' back to me."

  "Well, don't forget to save room for dinner." Irene buttered Anna a little piece of bread and scooted it across the table to keep her occupied while she loaded two plates with corn, mashed potatoes and a spoonful of precious pork gravy from tomorrow's slow-cooking dinner. "Corn is Anna's favorite, right love?"

  Anna nodded, blue eyes wide as she munched on her bread. "Mine!" She announced sharply, scrunching up her nose when Arthur chuckled at her. 

  "Sweeting, be polite. There's more than enough for all of us, you know that!" Irene chided her daughter, rumpling the little girl's hair fondly after she placed Arthur's plate in front of him. "Always enough here." 

  Anna's plate, as usual, required a bit more preparing, so she brought it along with her own to her chair beside the child. Anna immediately started digging into the mashed potatoes as her mother carefully shucked the kernels off the cob in neat rows. "Th'nk y'Mama." Anna said through a mouthful of food.

  "You're welcome Anna, but slow down. No one will take it from you." With a touch of amusement Irene noticed Arthur visibly slow his pace in response, the man obviously used to wolfing his food. "Drink your water, Anna."

  Arthur ate mainly in silence, aside from a few appreciative grunts. He couldn't contain his laughter when Anna started to imitate his sounds, the man apologizing for his poor table manners. "Forgive me, Miss Irene, I've always been awful at eatin' in the presence of polite company." 

  "Mama says I'm a little piggy." Anna informed Arthur, seeming confused when he burst out laughing again. 

  "If you're a li'l piggy, Miss Anna, then I must be the biggest boar alive." He said once he managed to rein himself in. 

  …

  Arthur lingered on the front steps, the lantern in his hand ready to light his way back across the yard. He felt exhausted, stuffed with good food and more than ready to get a full night's rest.

  So what was he waiting for?

  Many thoughts had gone through his head during dinner. How beautiful Irene still looked, how good of a mother she clearly was. Anna was a precocious little thing, those blue eyes bright with the possibility of mischief. 

  Her eyes…

  Arthur didn't dare to hope that one of he and Irene's little diversions had borne fruit, if only because it would throw into question his oh-so-noble attempts at prevention. Had he truly tried as hard as he could to be safe, or was there always that selfish desire in the back of his mind waiting to be acted upon?

  He jumped guiltily when the door opened and Irene stepped out, half-turning to face her with a brittle grin. "Howdy ma'am. Little one safely abed, I take it?"

  "After a bit of deliberation, yes." Irene sighed, her posture weary. "She's very opinionated for someone who cannot manage eating a carrot unless it has been sliced into wheels. I do fear for the future, Arthur."

  The future.

  Arthur cleared his throat. "Irene, is...did we…?"

  She put a hand on his shoulder, silencing his stammering with a sad little smile. "Later, Arthur. Right now, rest is what you need."

  He wanted to deny that, but it was fairly impossible to do so. He was nearly asleep standing up as it was. "Tomorrow?" He bargained through a yawn.

  "Tomorrow. I promise."

Summer’s Warmth, Part One

[heyheydidjaknow]

Can I have a lighthearted chapter? No, I cannot. Can I upload at the due date? Also no. But you can always count on me to make characters suffer. I would say that I'm sorry, but then I would be a liar.

Chapter 8

“Will you shut up?”

Donatello looks up from his computer. “Huh?”

Raphael’s eyes do not leave his magazine. “You’ve been muttering under your breath for the past hour and it’s starting to get on my nerves.”

“You’ll live.”

“You won’t for long if you don’t cut that shit out.”

He sighs. “Are you ever content with just leaving me be?”

“As your brother? No.” He sets the article down. “You’ve been acting weird all week. Usually, I could not care less, but you wreck enough shit without the added benefit of being distracted.”

He looks back at the screen. “So, I’m a ticking time bomb to you?”

“Yes.”

He looks back at the screen as he tries to think of how to answer. “It’s just that…”

“Oh, wait, don’t tell me.” He smirks. “You’re all depressed because your girlfriend has a life.”

He goes red. “I don’t care if—she’s not my girlfriend, first of all.” His voice rises.

“Sure, sure.” He stretches. “You know, typically, girls aren’t into guys who obsess over them.”

“Look, I’m worried about her!” He sets the computer down.

He blinks. “Why?”

“Are you kidding?” He throws his hands up in exasperation. “She killed a man!”

“Yeah,” he nods, “and I’m pissed I wasn’t the one to do it. What’s your point?”

“True,” he smiles cooly. “What you fail to consider, however, is that the rest of us aren’t psychotic.”

“I’m hurt.” He places his hand on his chest. “I will have you know that I’m definitely sane.”

“See, this is why nobody comes to you about their problems.” He leans his head back. “You ask why I’m down, and you immediately give me a hard time.”

They both turn their heads toward the entrance as their two other brothers walk back into the lair.

“How’d it go?” Raph gets up to meet them.

“You didn’t miss anything.” Leo sits down next to Donnie, glancing at his laptop before staring at the empty television screen. “Nobody was there.”

“Really?” Donnie’s eyes tear away from his computer screen. “Nobody?”

“Man, it was weird.” Michelangelo stays standing. “It was, like, two bots and then nothin’.”

“That is incredibly suspicious.” The tallest brother saves his work. “You used the stuff, right?”

“Worked like a charm.” Leonardo stretches. “So, what’d we miss?��

“Donnie bitching about not talking to his girlfriend for a whole week.”

“Can it,” he hisses.

“Donnie,” his brother speaks from next to him, “I’m sure that Y/N is perfectly fine. If you’re worried about her, you can and should go check on her.”

He groans. “If it were that simple, I would’ve done that by now.” He holds his head. “But what would I even say?”

He sighs, “I’m not going to say the same thing every time.” He gets up. “Mikey, you try. I’m going to go meditate if anyone wants to join.”

“Hey!” Mikey sticks his tongue out at him. “How come I have to do it?”

“Because Raphael is as cuddly as an eel.”

Raph glares. “Do you wanna go right now?”

“See?” He walks off. “And I did it last time. Your turn.” They hear the doors to the dojo slide closed behind him.

Mikey sits down in Leo’s spot. “If you want,” he offers as his brother walks off to the dojo, “I can try talking to her.”

“Would you?” He sighs. “I’m not good at this sort of thing.”

“For sure, man.” He gives him a thumbs up. “What are brothers for?”

“If you don’t make him do things,” Raphael warns, “he’s never going to learn to do them.”

“Man, he’s our bro.” He wraps an arm around his neck. “You can’t just leave your bro out to dry.”

“The hell I can’t.” He gets to his feet. “You guys have fun with that. I’ll be in my room.” He walks off, taking his pet turtle with him.

“Don’t listen to him.” He shoots his brother a thumbs up. “I’m sure everything will work out.” Mikey hopped to his feet. “Be back in a bit.” He waved, running out of the lair. “I’ll be back in ten.”

--

The look on his face is less than reassuring.

“Well?” Donatello, who has been checking the time religiously, is sitting at the door like a dog waiting for his owner. “How did it go?”

He smiles tightly. “I have good news and bad news.”

He groans, holding his head in his hands. “Just tell me.”

“Well,” he says hesitantly, crouching down in front of him, “she’s not dead.”

“That isn’t exactly a high bar to hurdle.” He takes a deep breath. “What’s the bad news?”

He pauses. “She’s… freaked out.”

“On a scale of one to ten,” he asks slowly, “with one being—”

“Nine.” His younger brother nods certainly. “At least a nine.”

He stands up. “I should go check on her.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what to do.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I think I made things worse, actually.”

“What else is new?” He runs out. “Tell Leo I’m going out,” he calls over his shoulder. He does not wait for a reply.

He does not blame himself entirely for the events currently happening; he is well aware that her inclusion into their mess was not willed by him. However, a part of him can not shake the belief that he and his brothers have, by virtue of their lifestyle, caused her more pain than he had ever wanted. A part of him, still, believes that he or someone else should have bitten the bullet; of them, you should be the last person in line to murder.

‘I should’ve said something, done something.’

He lands down on your roof, starting to scale down the building. You have left your window open: he can see your floral curtains fluttering in the autumn breeze. Artificial light streams from your apartment as soft music plays from inside. He lands on your windowsill carefully, reaching in past the curtains to knock on your wall. “Y/N?”

He hears the music shut off the shuffling of bedsheets, three steps. You pull the curtain open.

You have not slept in a week. You have continued to go to school, scared as to what would happen if you did not, but you have not eaten or drank in a while either; more accurately, nothing has stayed down. You have contributed these things, easily, to the newly introduced variety in your nightmares. You wonder, now, if seeing his body would have been such a bad thing; your head has conjured up every possible position he might have fallen in, anyhow. At least, if you knew, you would only have one image torturing you as opposed to the seemingly different variations your head could come up with.

Donnie is not a psychologist. He has never been able to fully grasp the subject as much as the others in the scientific field; all of medicine, for that matter, has, regrettably, been hard for him to wrap his head around, what with how different he and his brother are from humans, physiologically. His master was the closest he had to an actual human until you had shown up, but he was hardly exemplary of your typical human. However, be it by what knowledge he does have or by the way you hold yourself, he can easily tell you are off. The color in your face is gone, the bags under your eyes larger than he has ever seen them on you, and every move seems oddly sluggish to him.

“Oh, hey.” You smile tiredly. “If you’re here about Michelangelo, he was just here a few minutes ago.”

“I’m not.” He climbs inside. “He got back to the lair ten or so minutes ago. Are you alright?”

Your eyes are flooded with black for a moment, a wave of numb pain and vertigo washing over you as you spread your stance slightly, not wanting to trip over your own feet. You hold your face in your hand as you steady yourself. “Totally.” You wince as you nodded. ‘Let’s not move our head more than we need to.’

Years of attentiveness and common sense tell him that you are blatantly lying. “What happened?”

“Huh?” You close your eyes. “Oh, nothin.” You take a couple steps back, slowly sitting back down on the bed, which was covered in packets. “Please,” you insist, “make yourself comfortable.”

He shuts the curtains, crouching down in front of you to look your features over more closely as he tries to identify what, exactly, is wrong with you. “Am I allowed to touch you?”

You look down at him from your seat. “I mean,” you sigh, “you _can_, if you want. Just not anywhere a general physician wouldn’t touch, alright?” You give him a half-hearted thumbs up. “I trust you to know where you can and can’t put your hands.” You highly doubt that he has any bad intentions, really, but you want to make your intentions clear.

“O-oh, of course,” he nods quickly. “I wouldn’t do anything you wouldn’t—well, not that you wouldn’t—” his face went red. “I-I mean—”

“Dude, relax.” You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “Take a deep breath or I’m gonna the wrong idea.”

He does “S-sorry.” He rubs the back of his neck. “That was weird.”

“You’re all good.”

He presses the back of his hand against your forehead. “You don’t have a fever,” he notes, still red in the face. “Did you eat anything you normally wouldn’t?”

You give him a thumbs down. “I’ve only had soup. Do you want some?”

He blinks. “Soup?”

“Yeah.” You look back at the kitchen, where a pot of soup is sitting on the counter. “Ran out of leftovers a couple days ago.”

His eyes widen. “Days?”

You nod, wincing as you feel your brain pounding against your skull. “Yeah,” you sigh. “It’s been hard to keep things down. Glad I ran out, actually; I think I got a—”

He cuts you off. “How many days do you take between meals?”

You pause. “Now?” You shrug. “One meal every day or two.”

“Day or two?”

“Again,” you repeat, very confused as to why he looks as though he is about to have a heart attack right then and there, “it’s been hard keeping stuff down lately.”

“How are you not dead?”

You blink. “I beg your pardon?”

His voice rises as his speech sped up. “How many cups of that do you eat in a sitting?”

You sit up properly. “Maybe three or four and a couple pieces of toast?”

He looks about ready to pass out. “Are you insane,” he cries, an octave higher than usual.

You cover his mouth with your hand. “Shut up,” you hiss. “You’re gonna wake my neighbors up.”

He stops talking, grabbing your hand and pulling it off his mouth. He gets up, muttering something about being ridiculous as he pours you an unusually large bowl of soup and placing it in your lap. “Eat.” He stands there, glaring at you pointedly.

You are, admittedly, surprised by his icy, commanding tone. You do as instructed. “You act as though I’ve poisoned myself,” you point out between bites. “It won’t kill me, you know.”

“I’m not a licensed dietitian,” he informs you, clearly upset, “but the recommended caloric intake for a woman is approximately four thousand calories—”

“That’s wrong.” You are already halfway through the bowl. “It’s two.”

“Do you seriously want to get into a debate on something science-related right now?” You are genuinely scared by his expression; every word sounds oddly lethal, as if they themselves could kill you.

You swallow, standing your ground. “We can look it up, if you want,” you offer. “I know for a fact I’m… right…”

He has glared directly at you. It almost shuts you up.

You quietly eat the rest of the bowl. You set your spoon down with a gentle clatter, clearing your throat as you try to ignore the way he was staring at you as if he were trying to dissect you with his eyes. “Done.” You showed him the empty bowl.

“You genuinely see nothing wrong with your dietary choices?”

You shake your head, immediately regretting it. “I know it’s unhealthy, but not to the same degree you seem to think it is.”

“And you honestly believe that you only need to eat two thousand calories to be healthy?” His tone was softer now, likely in reaction to how quickly you had recoiled.

You nod hesitantly, ignoring the way your head pounds.

He pauses. “We’ll talk about that later,” he decides. “For now, I have to ask: why can’t you keep food down, exactly?”

You lean back, placing the bowl on the nightstand. You stay like that, closing your eyes. “I just keep seeing it,” you explain simply. “Hearing it, too; it’s kinda like tasting really bad and then having the aftertaste stuck on your tongue, but for memories. Or like doing something embarrassing and, every once and awhile, having something happen to remind you of it.”

“It? Oh.” As soon as he says the words out loud, he knows what you are referring to.

“Yup.” You pop the P. “I dunno if you knew, but it doesn’t splat.”

A heavy silence smothers you both, despite the sounds of the city.

You feel the bed shift. Your eyes glance over at the man lying next to you, hands folded across his stomach as he stares at the ceiling.

“I honestly don’t know what to say.” He sighs. "I wish I knew how to do right by you.”

“You don’t have to—”

He cuts you off. “I want to, though.” He rubs his face with his hand. “I want to be able to invent something that makes things easier for you, to keep you from getting hurt.”

“Dude, it’s fine.” You punch his arm lightly. “I’ll be fine, eventually. Just not right now.” You smile weakly. “But, hey? At least my dreams have a bit of variety, right?”

“Dreams?”

You chuckle tightly. “It turns out my head is rather creative when it comes to ways the body can bend. I almost wish I had seen the bodies; then they could all be consistent.”

He groans. “See, it’s stuff like that that makes me feel bad about not being able—not that it’s your fault,” he back peddles. “I just—”

“Stop stressing so much,” you cut him off. “That’s my job. Don’t put yourself into a tizzy on my account.”

“How could I not?” He threw his hands up in the air. “I care about you, Y/N. I’m obviously going to care if you’re alright.”

You pause. “My mental stability should be the least of your concerns right now, what with Shredder and all.” You close your eyes. “The only reason he hasn’t beaten you and your brothers within an inch of your lives is that I knew where he’d be when. All things considered,” you roll over to face him, “my having bad nightmares is a small price to pay.”

Another silence.

You sigh. “You should probably get going.” You pull yourself onto your elbows, leaning forward onto your knees. “I gotta stake out Shredder’s lair tomorrow so you guys know when to come in.”

He sits up next to you. “Y/N, I—”

“You should stop worrying so much, alright?” You smile gently. “I have some sleep meds if your dad needs them.”

He opens his mouth to say something, pauses, closes it again. “Alright.” He stands up. “I’m sorry for bothering you.”

“You didn’t.” He didn’t.

He stops in his tracks.

You rest your head on your legs. “Yeah?”

“Will we see you tomorrow?”

You purse your lips. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I’ll definitely call you, though; it’ll be something of a feat to hijack a hijacked chemical truck.”

He looks back at you. “Please, be safe.”

You nod.

“Eat, too.”

You nod again.

“And drink?”

You roll your eyes teasingly. “Yeah, Dad, I’ll eat.”

His face flushes again. “Then I���ll see you tomorrow.”

“You got it, buddy.”

You look so small.

‘I did that.’

He climbs onto the windowsill, hesitating to leave. “Goodnight.”

You wave lazily. “Goodnight, Donatello.”

He climbs out of your apartment.

You wait a minute or two before you close and lock your window. You pull the curtains shut properly behind him, walking back to the kitchen to put the food away.

You sigh, doleful. “Sorry.”

--

You were maybe thirteen years old. It feels like longer, but you were most certainly in middle school

Driving home after school one day, you had stared out the window, the radio playing something you half paid attention to. You don’t remember, now, what prompted the conversation—you figure it was some sort of assembly you had mentioned—but, somehow, the question of what to do if you were tied up in the back of someone’s car had been brought up. This was not an unusual line of conversation, considering your family’s conviction that you would be kidnapped someday, but you remember it specifically because, after he brought it up, you had run the scenario over in your head what felt like a thousand times.

“It depends on where you are in the car,” he had said. “If you’re in the back seat, you have to reach forward and try to choke the driver out, if you can’t get the doors open.”

“And if I’m in the front?”

“Ram your body against his. Get a hold of the wheel and swerve the car.

The line of thinking had confused you. “But,” you countered, “then the car would crash; we would both get hurt.”

“You have a better chance of surviving a car crash than whatever would happen to you once you get to wherever you’re going.”

You two had not spoken for the rest of the drive.

Now, you stare ahead at the road, eyes occasionally glancing at the man in the driver’s seat as you try to come up with a plan. You wish, now, that you had gone with your initial instinct to call instead of sending Leonardo a text message; who knows when he will get it?

“I feel almost sorry for you,” the man sneers. “You would be better off getting killed in the explosion than what’s going to happen to you.”

You say nothing.

“Hey?” He barks out a laugh. “You’ll get to see what happens to them.” He sighs happily. “I can see it now. The smoke, the fire, the smell.”

You eye the door. ‘Locked. Shit.’

“Those freaks won’t know what hit them.” He leans forward, staring at the truck in front of them. “Shouldn’t have messed with us if they didn’t want to meet their maker.”

‘Could I even survive it?’

“You know somethin’, kid?” He grips the wheel tighter. “I gotta give ya some respect; not a ton of kids would’ve come this far. Personally,” he shrugs, “I would’ve killed you right then, but Shredder wants more out of ya, apparently.”

‘Would he?’ You shift your feet to your right.

“I’ll thank you for one thing, though; I was getting sick of that pompous asshole.”

‘I just gotta get his hands away from the wheel. There are people in the back of this van. They’d survive, right?’ You fight to keep your breathing steady.

“For someone who hangs with those freaks, you ain't slick, hangin on the street corner.”

‘They’re ninjas. I gotta believe they’d be fine.’ You shut your eyes, stealing yourself.

“How you got Bradford is be—hey!”

You slammed your torso against him, eyes squeezed shut.

“What are you, fucking suicidal?” He yelled, trying to push you off.

You pull away, slamming one foot against his cheek and stuck the other into the wheel. You hear honking as you desperately bang your foot into what you pray is his body. You feel the car speed up as he screams obscenities at you. You force the wheel away from you as hard as you can.

The next few moments are a blizzard of broken glass, voices, and blackness as the metal deathtrap tries to shake the life out of both of you.

You figure that you must have passed out a second, for the next thing you remember is the smell of gasoline.

Your eyes snap open. You look over at the man stuck half out the window. You reach back, trembling hands fumbling with the buckle strapping yourself in. You slam yourself against the front window as you hear it click open. You use your arms to pull yourself through the hole, the rope slicing against a stray piece of broken glass.

Your head is spinning. The only thought currently on your mind is to get away from the car.

For some reason, you find yourself unable to stand. You, instead, crawl, dragging your body desperately away from the wreckage. You do not feel yourself doing it, ignoring the glass shards sticking themselves into your palms and under your nails, the way they slashed into your stomach and sides as you drag yourself over them completely irrelevant as you claw towards the sidewalk.

You hear the explosion.

You pull yourself into an alley, waiting for the ringing in your ears to stop as you hear the conflict happening a few blocks down. You swallow your vomit as you stare forward blankly, the smell of smoke filling your nostrils.

Another.

You fall forward, tears filling your eyes as the pain settles in. You do not know what happened to your legs, only knowing for sure that they could not and would not support your weight. Every muscle and every tendon is vibrating. Your hair sticks to your body as your clothes soak in some sort of warm liquid.

You do not like that smell.

‘Why is everything spinning?’

You hear yelling, the screeching of wheels against asphalt.

‘I’m going to die.’

The sentence repeats in your head over and over again as you lay there in the alleyway.

‘I’m going to die here.’

You do not know why you are shaking right now.

‘I don’t want to die here. Not now.’

“Help,” you beg. “Please, God.” You feel a sob rise in your throat. “I don’t… wanna…”

You hear screaming.

“Help,” you breathe.

You black out.

Table of Contents

Chapter 7

Chapter 9

[thiswasinevitableid]

Okay well then!!!! I am very glad and excited to share my most recent idea I had while rereading Yeti Hunting again!! And the new Incubus one too!! They're almost exactly the same idea, just different flavors I suppose. Also Joe is trans in both the ideas but that's less to do with the ideas themself and more to do with just me projecting on him sgfjgsjfhsjdh

Okay so it's like a reverse au so Stern is some kind of cryptid, but as far as Barclay knows they're just two good human friends (but maybe they wanna be a little more than friends...). And then one day Joseph goes into heat and tells Barclay he's sick to try to keep him away, but Barclay being the sweetest man alive goes to his house with fresh soup to take care of him and Joe seems really panicked about Bar being there and tries to make him leave but he is CLEARLY unwell and Barclay is very stubborn when it comes to helping people he cares about and so he plants himself down on the couch and says he's not leaving until Joe tells him what's wrong and Stern tries to hold onto his human form but it's taking too much focus and energy and whoops Barclay finds out his friend not human and currently in distress and so horny it hurts and if he can help his friend and fuck him at the same time, well then that's just a win all around (bonus points if at the end Barclay is kinda sad because he thinks Joe just needed somone to fuck him, not nessacarry Barclay, but Joe frantically assures him that he is SUPER into him and if it were anyone else he would have kicked them the hell out and probably skipped town bc he couldn't trust anyone else with a secret like this).

Or!! (This is where the incubus part comes in) Joe is an incubus and currently hiding out in his human disguise at the Amnesty lodge and it's going fine for a while, but then he starts talking to and getting to know the really hot chef. And they slowly start growing closer and closer. And maybe in this world, the power an Incubus gets from sex depends just as much on their desires as it does the human's. And this has never been an issue for Stern before, but now he's falling for Barclay and wants him and no one else so he's getting less and less energy from his encounters and Barclay is worried about him because he doesn't seem like himself anymore. Almost as if he's... dulled? When Barclay looks at him the blue of his eyes seem muted and his general aura seems... gray. And it all comes to ahead when Joe finally stops insisting he's fine and after dinner one night he asks if he can speak to Barclay privately, and he comes clean about everything and Barclay, while a little shocked, rolls with it very well and cups Joe's face in his hands and kisses him softly and it like,,, you should have come to me sooner, I'd do anything for you,,, and yeah it's really tender,,,,

Okay that's it I'm sorry it's so long and probably incoherent. I tried to use at least little formatting to make it better but it's a tumblr mobile ask, I'm not sure even the new paragraphs will translate over. The general idea is that they're close friends and Stern is Not Human and Barclay finds out under less than ideal circumstances :3 I know these are far from original or unique but I just wanted to share my ideas with you bc you're the inspiration for a good 70% of my private writings, but if you like them enough and ever feel like doing something with them that'd be cool ;3

Here you go! I went with scenario one. Content Note: some “mating” talk and mild subdrop at the end (which is, of course, taken care of)

The two canvas bags are ready to burst. Barclay peers into them, contemplating the addition of another box of tea, in case Joseph doesn’t like the other two. Mama was cagey when he asked, he doesn’t know what’s ailing the other man, only that he’s sick. 

Joseph manages Amnesty Lodge, where Barclays’ been a cook for the last six months. Barclay was initially wary of him; his cosmopolitan bearing and clean-cut appearance is so out of place in the rustic mountain town of Kepler that the logical explanation is he’s one of those city types who fell on hard times and got stuck here. 

It took less than forty-eight hours for him to prove Barclay wrong. Polite and polished, efficient and stunningly good in a crisis, Joseph handles the day to day chaos of the lodge while Mama, the owner, took care of the big picture stuff. His friendly greetings and consistent compliments about Barclays cooking gradually turned to afternoons spent at a table with his work so they could talk during lulls in business. 

When Joseph leaned against the counter, sleeves rolled up, laughing as he helped Barclay tidy the kitchen, the cook rushed headlong into his crush and never looked back. He regularly dreams of blue eyes and a movie-star face, finds his day doesn’t really start until Joseph pokes his head in to say good morning. 

He’s been without that greeting for two days now. Joseph never misses work, and his sudden absence worried Barclay enough that he checked with Mama to be sure the manager was okay.

“Joe’s fine big fella, just under the weather is all.”

The one time Barclay got sick, Joseph brought him tea and soup himself, checked in on him every hour, and--if Barclay’s fever addled brain is to be trusted--fluffed his pillows. It’s the least Barclay can do to drop off snacks and be sure his friend is okay. 

It’s a short drive to cabin Joseph calls home; he used to live at the Lodge, but as it got more crowded, he moved to his own space so those who needed a cheap, safe place to stay could have one. 

His knock on the door is answered by a brisk, “Who is it?”

“Barclay. I, uh, I brought you a get-well gift.”

Joseph opens the door to the cabin and to an entire new universe of fantasies. His normally slicked-back hair falls, relaxed, across his forehead, his loosely tied blue robe shows a tantalizing V of skin, and the dreamy-sleepy expression makes his face even more kissable. 

“Hi.” Joseph takes a step forward, taking the bags and bringing his face achingly close to Barclays’. Then he freezes, reversing into the house, “I, um, it was very sweet of you to bring all this. But you need to go.” He takes another step back, then doubles over with a groan. 

Barclay hurries across the threshold, setting the bags on the floor and steadying him over to the couch.

“Fuck, do you need me to get you like a heat pack, or a puke bucket?”

“No, no I just need to lay down, and for you to g-” he shudders, curling in on himself and tipping sideways. 

“Joseph, you’re really sick, I’m not gonna just leave you here. I mean, fuck, what if it’s your appendix or something?” He sits down next to the shaking man, rubbing his back comfortingly. 

“It’s not, I promise. Oh lord” he whines, looks at Barclay with frantic eyes, “I hope you can keep a secret.”

“Of course I can. Whatever I can do to help, I want to.” 

“Careful with those promises, big guy.” The nickname comes out in a growl as Joseph stands, undoing his wristwatch. 

“Oh FUCK!” Barclay scrambles back, almost falling over the arm of the couch.

There’s a monster where Joseph just was. Years ago Barclay saw a Maned Wolf in a zoo, and he’d swear that’s what he’s looking at now were it not for several glaring issues. First, it’s standing comfortably on two legs. It’s paws are more like hands, able to hold the watch and adjust the collar of its shirt. And he’s never seen a wolf, maned or otherwise, with spines down its back and a whip-like tail.

The creature runs a clawed hand through the fur at the top of it’s head, the way Joseph does when he’s nervous,  “So. I can’t tell you everything, at least not right now. What I can tell you is that this is the form I was born into, somewhere far away from earth.”

“Okay.” Barclays brain grinds like a broken ice machine as a familiar voice speaks to him from a fanged mouth. 

“I, um, I’m what humans call a Chupacabra. To answer the usual questions: no, I’ve never been to Puerto Rico. No, I don’t eat goats. And no, I’m not going to eat you.”

“Okay.” His heart is still racing, but not from fear, which is the most confusing was this could have gone.

Pointed ears flick, worried, “Are you in shock?”

“Kinda, yeah.” He nods as Joseph sits next to him with a heavy sigh. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to find out this way. I took the next few days off to avoid this exact scenario. I figured I wouldn’t see you, but forgot how thoughtful and caring you are.” Claws gently stroke Barclays hair, “my wonderful Barclay.”

He’s about to bring his hand up, cup those strange fingers to his cheek and whisper “always”, when Joseph pulls away. 

“I, I’m sorry. Again. I always get too handsy when I’m in heat. That’s the second worst side-effect, after the fact that being in my disguise is untenable when I’m in the thick of it. It’s like wearing a wet, wool sweater made of nausea.”

“....Hold on, you had to take time off work because you’re horny?” 

“Almost. Heat doesn’t come that often for me, which means whenever it happens, it’s intense. I have a hard time eating or sleeping, I can’t focus, and I spend most of the week masturbating. Which is not as fun as it sounds; I’m not even at the height of the damn thing and last night I humped a pillow on the kitchen floor while dinner reheated.”

Barclay groans, tries to hide it when the ears swivel his way, “Uh, guess I’m glad I brought you lots of food so you remember to eat. Shoulda, uh, put some lube or something in there as well, huh?” 

Joseph chuckles, “My nose tells me you put molasses cookies in there, so I’ll let it slide.”

“There anything else I can do to help?”

“Well…” he shakes his head, “never mind, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Do what?”

“My heat is more manageable when I have a partner. Fucking someone relieves things more effectively than masturbation does. But I can’t-”

“I can help with that.” The offer is out before his brain catches up with his mouth. 

“Barclay, my kind have a very, um, involved mode of, um, well, I guess you foreplay. As, as much as I’d love for you to be my mate” he winces, “see, that’s what I mean. I say things like that, most of them not even possible given the fact you and I can’t reproduce.” 

“Uh, does it help if I say hearing you call me that is really hot?”

Blue eyes widen, and a tail traces up Barclays leg, “Only if you mean it.”

“I do.”

A narrow, long tongue flicks into the air, “In that case, big guy, how about we have a little planning session over dinner?”

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

Barclay parks in the driveway, next to Josephs’ sedan. He heads past the house and down a short slope to a creek, the twilight sky casting the forest in eerie grey-blue. There’s a tire swing leftover from a previous resident, and he idly pushes it back and forth as he waits for the game to start. 

“It’s like hide and seek” Joseph wipes his mouth, cleans cookie crumbs from the table, “We start outside, move inside, and you go as long as you can without me catching you. After all, I want a mate who can hold his own.”

He stuffs his hands in his jacket pocket to warm them. A yip bounces out from the trees behind him. When he turns, he quickly spots glinting eyes and bared fangs hidden in the undergrowth. 

Sprinting towards the cabin, he realizes Joseph laid a trap for him from the start; by asking him to begin at the creek, he’s forcing him to run uphill to safety, slowing him down. He lets his lizard-brain, concerned only with the fact that something dangerous is chasing him, take over and drive his legs as fast as they’ll go. The back door is locked, he double-checked that on the way down, so he doesn’t waste his time trying it, races to the front of the cabin and slams the door shut just as something huge rounds the corner after him. 

The nob jiggles, his pursuer testing the lock and discovering the thrown deadbolt. Barclay uses those few seconds to secure the windows on the first floor, throws his jacket down into the cellar as a failsafe, and bolts up to the bedroom. His hammering heart insists that locking that door is not enough, so he crawls into the closet and shuts himself up among the meticulously organized shirts and slacks. It’s not enough space for him to stand, so he tucks his knees to his chest and waits. 

“What happens if I, like, completely outsmart you.”

A toothy smile, “I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you.”

Each of the downstairs windows rattle in turn. Then the scratching starts, claws on wood coming closer with each breath. Joseph is climbing the wall up to the bedroom window that Barclay knows for a motherfucking fact he did not secure. 

A shuff as the window slides open, the cryptid landing with remarkable stealth on the bedroom floor. Barclay tracks him by the light coming under the closet door, his mouth covered so his breathing won’t give him away. The shadow pauses, sniffs, and then the bedroom door opens and shuts. Barclay’s not moving until he hears the front door do the same. 

Just as his legs start to protest being smushed up against his chest, the door reopens. Snuffling signals Joseph closing in, and an instant later the only light coming in is from the far ends of the door. Slowly, his last line of defense rolls to the right, revealing the creature crouching on the other side.

“Not a bad effort, big guy. You actually confused me for a minute with the scent trail of your coat downstairs.” Joseph reaches for him and Barclay, remembering that he’s not supposed to give up until he’s pinned, leans away. 

“That’s how my mate wants to play?”

“J-just following your instructions, babe.”

An intrigued purr, “I guess you are. All the more reason you’re the perfect partner for me.”

The words Barclays dreamed of hearing for months distract from the claws closing around his ankles. He lets out an undignified yelp when Joseph pulls his legs straight out and drags him out of the closet. Once he’s free of the forest of clothing, the cryptid picks him up and drops him on the bed. He moans and Joseph snickers, joining him on the bedspread. 

“Fuck, Joseph, no one’s ever been able to do that before and it’s so, so fucking hot.” He arches his back and shifts his limbs to help Joseph undress him.

“It’s because you’re the perfect size; big and strong, large enough to give me a decent cuddle when I’m human, but still small enough to be an easily subdued mate.” He gets the humans’ jeans and boxers off, hesitates, and then tosses them on the floor with a pained expression, “I’ll fold those later.”

“Gonna hold you to that. Also, wanna point out that it wasn’t that easy to subdue me.”

Joseph nuzzles his cheek, claws caressing his thighs, “Barclay, I was jogging while you were sprinting.”

“You coulda caught me right awaAAy ohwhatthefuck.” Tingling heat glides down his throat as Joseph licks a stripe along the skin, “fuck, it, it feels like the time I tried hot wax.”

The cryptid sits up slightly to look at him, “Is that a...good thing?”

“Fuck yeah. I really fucking liked it but it was fucking murder with the chest hair.”

Joseph runs his claws through the hair in question, “I like it.”

“I know, I saw you eyeing me that one time I used the springs at the lodge.”

“You can’t prove anything.” Joseph leans back down, curling his tongue around Barclays left nipple. The sensation makes him buck his hips, which Joseph correctly takes as a signal for more. He moves to the other side, takes his time teasing it and licking down the sensitive center of Barclays chest. Noses his stomach, nips his sides, and slides the alien heat of his tongue into the crease of his thighs. 

“Y’know I, ohfuck, I assumed from all that talk yesterday you’d get right to fucking me.”

Joseph kisses the inside of one thigh, “I, um, I thought about it, almost ripped your jeans to shreds and took you on the floor. But I wanted to be sure you were turned on. You’re not just a warm body, Barclay. You’re my mate. That means your pleasure matters as much as mine.” He licks up Barclays’ cock, hardened from rubbing against the soft fur of his belly, and sighs, “and what a mate.”

“Fuck” he squeezes his eyes closed because if we watches that mouth saying everything he wants to hear in between sucking his dick, he’ll cum in ten seconds flat. 

A final lick to the tip and then Joseph hops off the bed, “Did you prep the way I told you?”

“Uhhuh.” 

“Good.” Joseph returns, sets several items he can’t see by his feet, “that’ll make things easier. First things first” he produces a cock cage, sliding it into place, “these are a few things I smuggled over from my original home. This is enchanted, so it can go on an erect cock but still prevent the wearer from cumming until it’s removed.”

“That’s just cruel, babe.” He sits up on his elbows to kiss Josephs snout, earning him a pleased yip. 

“If you cum too fast, I won’t be able to properly breed you.” He winces again, “sorry, I sound like one of Indrids romance novels.”

“Again, gorgeous, I find it really fucking hot.”

The spines on Joseph’s back ripple, “You think I’m gorgeous? Like this?”

“I do. Also kinda scary, but in a hot way.” Now it’s his turn to cringe, “see? I sound like cheap porn written by an eighth grader when I’m horny. The way you sound is fine.”

Joseph lovebites his ear, then retrieves the other two items from the end of the bed. 

“And how does this look, big guy?”

“Like it’s either going to kill me or make me cum like a dozen times.” He furrows his brow at the strap-on. It’s narrower than the average human dick, with a pointed, slightly up-curved tip. What’s worrying him are the spikes. 

The entire shaft is coated in short protrusions. They don’t end in points, thank god, but if they’re at all stiff this is going to be miserable. 

“Here” Joseph waves him over, “touch it.” He guides his fingers along one side and the spines bend fluidly under his touch, and now all he wants to know is how they feel inside him. Joseph also moans, bucking his hips so the toy slides along Barclays palm.

“It’s, ohlord, also enchanted so that the wearer feels it as an extension of their body and can cum with it. Also, please decide in the next thirty seconds whether you want to be on your back or your stomach.” Amber pre-cum drips down Barclay’s fingers. 

“Stomach is better for meWHOAH, ohfuck, okay we’re doing this.” Now flipped on his belly, he raises his ass. The cryptid kneads it appreciatively before holding it open and sliding his cock in with once, graceful thrust. 

He bottoms out with a groan, which is more articulate than Barclay is managing to be as the spines rub and glide inside him, finding every patch of nerves, every angle to drag against in just the right way. Joseph hauls him onto his knees and then he’s off, growls and yips filling the as he fucks him. Barclay only just registers the bed banging into the wall so forcefully the headboard is cracking when claws sink into his hips and Joseph pulls him all the way onto his cock and pulses into him. 

“Holy fuck that was fast.”

“I, I didn’t jack off once today. Didn’t want to waste it, wanted to save it all for my perfect mate.” He’s thrusting again, not as hard but twice as fast, “shit, you feel so good, big guy, please tell me Mama okayed your time off for tomorrow.”

“Wh-why are we talkingAHnnn, about this now?”

Hot breath tickles his ear, “Because now that I know what’s like to cum in you, I don’t plan on cumming anywhere else for the next day and a half.”

“Ohfuckme” Barclay groans happily into the pillows as Joseph empties into him, cries out when his tail whips across his calf.

“Shit, did that hurt?”

“No, no it felt good, fucking-A babe every fucking part of you is amazing.”

The cryptid whines, pleased, and wiggles his hips, giving Barclay an idea. 

“That’s, uh, that’s why I want you for my mate, because you’re so fucking goo-mmph” his face presses harder into the pillows as Joseph pins his shoulders down and fucks into him, snarling “yes” over and over again. When he finishes this time he hunches over, nipping Barclay’ shoulders and neck. 

“You catch on quick, big guy.”

“Thanks, babe. Uh, are we gonna switch it up at any point or am I staying like this until tomorrow night?”

“No, we can fuck however we want. After” a fuzzy hand rubs circles on Barclay’s abdomen, “I’ve cum in you enough times that I can feel it from out here.”

Barclay moans, tightening around him as his hips snap once more, already imagining being full and fucked out. Maybe it’ll take all night. He’ll be limp if it does, but right now nothing sounds better than melting into the bed while Joseph fucks his ass like it belongs to him. 

After forty-five minutes, his cock is aching, his mind holds only thoughts of how good it feels to do as Joseph tells him, and he’s been cum in so many times that wet, obscene sounds accompany the cryptids thrusts. Said sounds pale in comparison to Josephs’ voice, which is spinning increasingly impossible scenarios the longer they’re in bed. 

“I hope they take after you.” Joseph murmurs. 

Barclay just manages to turn his head, “Who?”

A muzzle playfully nudges his cheek, “Our kids.”

His heart seizes and shakes at the words; they both know that’s not what will happen. Joseph warned him he might say things like this, said he could tell him to knock it off if need be. 

“Maybe they’ll, ahnn, they’ll have big, beautiful brown eyes and bigger hearts, just like you.”

He doesn’t want him to stop. Every thrust hits deeper, every point where their skin meets buzzes brighter when he talks like this.

“H-hope at least one looks like you, blue eyes.”

A guttural whine, tingling heat as Joseph laps tenderly at the back of his neck, “We’ll just have to see, usually we’re born in threes so, soOH, oh I’m close, shitshit” 

“That’s it babe, fill me up, c’mon, c’mon I want it so bad, Joseph, baby, please.” 

There’s a howltrill as cum spurts into him, Joseph panting as he smooths his hand around Barclays side.

“There, that’s done it.”

Barclay whimpers as he pulls out, his mind and body pulled tight, certain that if he doesn’t cum soon he’ll propose marriage instead and that’ll be a fucking disaster. 

Joseph carefully rolls him over and unlocks the cage, “Do you want to cum?”

“More than anything. Oh!” he’s unprepared for Joseph to sink down on his cock, “oh fuck, yeah, wanna cum so bad babe please, I’ll be so good, be such a good mate if you just let me cum in y-fuuuck” A trio of sensations levels him as he climaxes; his vision whites out, his hips jerk more violently than they ever have before, and a line of cum drips down his leg. 

Somewhere far away, Joseph says, “I think we’ve earned a break.”

He nods, body limp as the cryptid climbs off him. Then he’s falling, spinning helplessly down in a pit of realizations. 

Joseph didn’t mean any of those things he said. His friend needed a mate and Barclay, lovesick fool he is, was eager for a chance to play pretend that he didn’t think about what would happen when the game ended. Even if Joseph keeps him here through tomorrow, the next time they meet at the Lodge he’ll act like nothing happened. 

Fuck, Barclay didn’t even get to kiss him during all this, and now he’ll never get the chance, never, nevernever-

“Shit, I should have put a towel or a spare blanket down. Now I’ll have to strip the bed before I can--Barclay? Oh, oh baby, what’s wrong?” A hand pets his face and he turns away from it, refusing to open his eyes. Joseph takes his hand instead, “it’s okay, I’m here, whatever you need I’ll-”

“Don’t. Don’t say that. You can’t give me what I need, it isn’t your fault I, I know I’m not really your partner and I, I…” he sniffles, wipes his palm under his eye. 

“Barclay, look at me please.”

Reluctantly, he opens his eyes just in time to see Joseph dip down and kiss him. It’s awkward, their mouths not made to fit together, but he savors it all the same because it’s Joseph, his Joseph, kissing him like he hoped he would. 

“My heat can make me say some ridiculous things. What it can’t do is make me feel affection where none exists. In fact, the reason I wasn’t able to keep my disguise on yesterday is because being near you meant being near the mate I wanted most in the world. I, um, suspected you might share my feelings, but I didn’t want our first interaction as boyfriend to be me asking if you wanted to spend a day or so with me while I was in a sex haze. But then you offered to help, and I wanted it so badly that I barreled ahead without making sure you understood that this was me declaring my feelings. I’m sorry.”

Barclay climbs into his lap, not caring about the mess he makes in the process. The cryptid laughs, hugs him close.

“I, I shoulda said something sooner too. Not that I regret how we spent our first date.” He kisses Josephs chin.

“Me neither, though I don’t think it quite counts.” He rubs their foreheads together, “can your boyfriend take you out to dinner on Friday?”

Barclay grins, looks into loving, blue eyes, “Yeah, he can.”