#now i need to crawl into a nyquil bottle

[zmediaoutlet]

They’re loud enough coming into the motel room that Sam would feel bad for the neighbors, if this weren’t a total dirtbag no-tell. $39 a night and worth every grimy penny. Dean’s still telling him about the plot of Metalstorm. At volume.

“Dude, and then Hurok—I told you about his backstory, right? With the Two-Eyed Queen?”

“Maybe,” Sam says, dropping to the nearer bed. “I think I lost the will to live somewhere around the killer shrapnel tornadoes.”

A raspberry. Dean stows the six-pack they bought on the way back from the bar in the mini-fridge and pulls out two bottles. “Telling you, no appreciation,” he says, but he’s not pissed. He’s grinning at Sam, weirdly cheery like he’s been all day.

“What’s with you,” Sam says, accepting his beer. Dean cracks it for him with the ring, plops down on the other bed. His boots stretched out around Sam’s legs. “You’re like—a kid cracked out on birthday candy.”

“Hey, this is a good day, man,” Dean says, expansive. He waves a hand, vaguely encompassing the dingy room and Hollywood and the whole world, possibly. “Got to go to a legit movie set, met two movie stars, and the case isn’t even really a case, which means no dead guy, which means no digging up a grave, which means: we got the night off, hombre.”

He says it with the h. “Pretty sure Gerard St. James doesn’t count as a movie star,” Sam says, but it’s hard not to smile back at Dean when he’s being—ebullient, practically.

Dean grins, knows he won. “You’re not ruining this for me,” he says, pointing at Sam. Then—it’s strange, how quick—his grin dips, turns. His lower lip bitten, lopsided. “I know you wanted a—a distraction, or whatever. We can find another job. Here or we could go south maybe. TJ?” His eyebrows pop. “Could get a show.”

“Spare me,” Sam says. Dean leans forward, looking all over Sam’s face, which heats. God, Dean. So annoying Sam could kill him, but also… “Thought you wanted to go to the Hard Rock Cafe, anyway.”

A second, two. Dean finishes examining his aura or something and then his grin gets dirtier, which is impressive because Sam thought he’d found a new depth before. “Hey, we can get hard as a rock right here,” he says, and Sam rolls his eyes, says, “That doesn’t actually—work,” and Dean surges forward not fast but inevitable as plate tectonics, pushes Sam down to his back on the bed, crawls up with his knees on either side of Sam’s hips, makes Sam hold his beer wide and to the side so it doesn’t spill, grins down into Sam’s face. Purely—glad.

“Does too,” Dean says, the dingy light riming him like a halo. Sam has no idea what he’s responding to but so what. Dean takes a swallow of his beer, throat bobbing, and then takes Sam’s out of his hand so they clink together, reaches down and sets them on the carpet. Leaves Sam free to grab his hips, his waist. Familiarity of what feels like his whole life taking over. This unseating at the back of the brain, like being drunk, except he only had two at the bar and it’s really just the wild spinning reality of—being Dean’s brother. What that means, when they’re together, and things are good.

But—“I don’t need a distraction,” Sam says, sliding his hand up Dean’s stomach. No hair, just the soft warm give of his skin. Options flickering in his gut, knowing how the night’s going to go, but he wants to be sure. That Dean knows, that it’s not—

But Dean knows. Sam can’t trust that Dean knows every swirling doubt in him, especially in these days of strange terror, but on this, with this, Dean might as well be in MENSA. “Good,” Dean says, warm. He gets his hand between them on Sam’s crotch, on where he’s swelling up the denim. Sam’s hips flinch, curving up. A crooked smile, and then his tongue touching the point of his tooth. All the blood in Sam’s brain drains abruptly to where it’s needed. Dean leans down, close, so Sam can smell his beer-breath and his skin. Salt. Sam’s mouth waters and Dean looks between his eyes. Making it easy. “Wouldn’t want you distracted.”

[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

[blackacre13]

loubbie sickfic? 😁

I feel like our gals are both bad at being sick, but Deb is far worse so here’s a snippet of them both! 🤒

LOU—

“Louise Annette Miller, come in here this instant!” Debbie yelled, looking around the room and failing to see the blonde.

The window shifted slightly and Debbie watched as Lou appeared with a sheepish grin, a cigarette bobbing between her lips as she ducked back in through the window, throwing the cigarette out on the ground as she rolled over it with her heel.

“Boxers and a camisole?” Debbie sighed. “Lou, you have a fever. You need to be in bed with layers on. Come here.”

“Deb,” Lou groaned. “I’m fine. The blonde let out a sneeze, hitting her head on the window as she tried to climb back in. She rubbed at it, a furious expression on her face.

“Yep,” Debbie laughed. “Perfectly fine.”

Lou grumbled something under her breath, but made her way across the room Debbie, furiously rubbing her hands up and down her arms.

“Cold, baby?” Debbie asked, her voice filled with concern. She reached out to feel the blonde’s forehead with the back of her hand as Lou nodded. “Let’s put you back in bed.”

Lou nodded again, and Debbie ran to catch her as she noticed her sway a bit with the motion. She helped pull back the covers and assisted Lou as she sunk under the sheets, signing as her back hit the mattress.

“Want one of your flannels?” Debbie asked softly, pushing back the blonde’s bangs and drowning with concern.

Lou shook her head no.

“Lou, baby, you need something,”

Debbie sighed. “You’re in a tank top for Christ’s sake and—“

The blonde gave her a shy look, her blue eyes pleading and Debbie was grateful, not for the first time, that most times, she was able to read the blonde’s mind.

“You want one of my sweatshirts instead?”

Lou’s face lit up. Debbie chuckled as she pressed a kiss to the Australian’s forehead between fetching one of her college sweatshirts out of her drawers and bringing it over to Lou, helping it over her head.

Debbie tucked Lou into the blankets and Lou smiled softly against the pillows, now comfortable, though she’d probably never admit it.

“I’m going to heat you up some soup,”

Debbie whispered, deciding that Lou wasn’t getting enough liquids on her own judging by the Gatorade that hadn’t been drunk and the only half-gone water bottle.

Debbie turned away to head into the kitchen, but she felt Lou’s hand stop her own.

“Stay,” Lou whispered. “Please, Deb.”

“But your soup...”

“I promise I’ll try later,” Lou smiled softly. “Just stay with me, please.”

Debbie couldn’t resist Lou and the blonde knew it, patting the sheets beside her. Debbie circled back, crawling under the sheets and sat back against the headboard. Lou snuggled into her side, using Debbie’s chest as a pillow.

“Thanks for taking care of me, honey,” Lou whispered.

“You’d do the same for me,” Debbie shrugged.

“Yes,” Lou nodded. “But you are a far worse patient.”

Debbie let out a scoff.

“Far. Worse.” Lou repeated.

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

DEBBIE—

Debbie tossed back the cup of NyQuil and made a noise, scrunching her nose at the taste of the green liquid.

“God,” she sighed. “Don’t tell me wife that stuff tastes like shit, okay Lou?”

Lou tried to hold back a laugh as she was Debbie’s wife and Debbie herself had in fact just revealed this secret to her.

“I won’t tell her,” Lou smiled. “Promise.”

“I don’t want to hurt her feelings,”

Debbie shrugged. “She’s just trying to help.”

“Medicine can help even if it tastes like ass, Deb.”

“That’s true,” Debbie sighed. “But she took away my list notebook. She won’t let me plan anything. Says I need to rest.”

“The nerve,” Lou sighed dramatically trying not to laugh again.

Debbie kept babbling to Lou, neither quite sure who she thought she was speaking to, until she tired herself out, leaning back against the pillow, snoring at a loud volume because her nose was stuffed and her mouth was hanging open so she could breathe. It certainly wasn’t the Met gala presentation Debbie or even one who wore stilettos for no reason, but Lou was still smitten with her wife, even if she admittedly was a pain in the ass when she was sick.

The brunette let out a particularly loud snore that made Lou jump. She studied her for a moment, deciding to make sure she had something to eat when she woke up.

She rolled out of bed, intent on warming up some leftover Chinese for Debbie and force feeding her the wonton soup if that’s what it came to.

The blonde was hoping that Debbie slept a little longer than the fifteen minute intervals of NyQuil dream napping she was doing, but she felt hands wrap around her waist a moment later which told her that Debbie was up again from another night of sleep gone wrong and turned miniature nap.

“Hey, sexy,” Debbie tried to purr in a sultry voice that turned into a cough.

“Hot,” Lou smirked.

“Whatcha doing, baby?” Debbie asked, peering over Lou’s shoulders. She was wearing one of Lou’s old sweaters that had fallen off her shoulder and a pair of Danny’s old sweatpants.

“Heating up some food for you so you can eat and get back to sleep,” explained. “Hopefully for the night this time. I don’t know anyone else who can fight NyQuil like this. It’s actually absurd.”

“The CIA trained me,” Debbie smirked.

“Ah,” Lou nodded. “Didn’t realize they recruited from their watch list.”

“Made an exception for me,” Debbie yawned. “Baby?”

“Mm?” Lou asked, pulling the plastic container from the microwave and opening the lid.

“If I’m a good girl for you, will you fuck me right here?” Debbie asked without breaking eye contact. A wonton from the soup Lou was pouring into a bowl for Debbie made its escape onto the counter as Lou lost her grip for the moment in shock.

“Deb,” Lou sighed. “You’re running a 103 fever.”

“Cause I’m hot for you, baby.”

Lou smacked her face into her palm.

“Deb, you know you need your rest,” Lou tsked. “We can’t get you all sweaty or accelerate your heart rate.”

“I can just do it myself you know,” Debbie hinted.

“Debbie, you need to go get in bed right now,”

Lou commanded. “If I come up with your soup and you’re touching yourself when you should be resting I swear I will bind your hands and feed you with the spoon myself.”

“Kinky,” Debbie winked.

“You’re relentless,” Lou sighed, exasperated, but she was laughing. “Go. Bed. Now.”

“But baby,”

“Deb,” Lou warned.

“Will you read to me?” Debbie yawned. “Like you did when I would wake up with nightmares. I just need help falling asleep better. And knowing you’re right there helps.”

“Of course, love,” Lou smiled. “Of course I can.”

“I love you,” Debbie whispered before scurrying up the steps.

“I love you too, dumbass,” Lou called up the steps of the loft.

[s-c-r-i-p-s-i]

MyQuil™ Cold & Flu: Powerful Nighttime Relief

🖤  🖤   🖤  

Pairing: Laurie Strode x Michael Myers

Rating: Mature

CW:  Incest, nonconsensual cuddling

Word Count: 2,277

Summary:

Textbooks were strewn across her messy bed with good intentions, peppered with crumpled up dollar store tissues that rubbed her nose raw. A full, unopened bottle of NyQuil sat on the nightstand, taunting her; she’d bought it as a last resort but was too stubborn to actually touch the damn thing.

She was already disgustingly vulnerable as it was. No need to sign, seal, and deliver an invitation to the Devil himself.

Notes:

Thank you so much for commissioning me, Beck!!! It was a joy to delve into this ship. 🖤 I think it was kinda taboo to talk about this ship even on the DBB server until you broke the ice and I'm eternally grateful because it's a GOOD one.

& Thank you to Pugge for coming up with this GODAWFUL title, and buying me boba, and keeping me sane ILY MY MUSE, MUAH 😘 🖤 🖤 🖤

Michael had never stopped chasing her. Nor she him.

And that balance was more delicate than she’d like to admit. Always the looming sense that despite everything she did, all the measures she took, she wasn’t completely in control.

Turns out that feeling was right. She just wasn’t expecting that her greatest enemy would be her own body crapping out on her.

Textbooks were strewn across her messy bed with good intentions, peppered with crumpled up dollar store tissues that rubbed her nose raw. A full, unopened bottle of NyQuil sat on the nightstand, taunting her; she’d bought it as a last resort but was too stubborn to actually touch the damn thing.

She was already disgustingly vulnerable as it was. No need to sign, seal, and deliver an invitation to the Devil himself.

You know - she was willing to bet he didn’t have to put up with this kind of thing. But that would be opening up a train of thought she’d rather not have.

It was cold in the apartment. Laurie never put the heat above 60 degrees. And any other day, that would have been perfectly manageable, but she’d soaked clean through her sheets overnight with sweat, and now she was freezing.

Sarcastically, she wished Michael was there so that he could put her out of her misery then instantly regretted it, chastising herself and wondering when her sense of humor had gotten so dark. The answer, though, was obvious. He’d changed her. Morphed her, warped her. She couldn’t even relate to her peers anymore. And they certainly couldn’t relate to her.

She was in some half-state at the moment. Awake enough - the bitter cold made sure of that - but too sore and lethargic to actually do anything about it. Just lying there shivering wasn’t going to be very productive, though. At some point, she’d need to decide what she was going to do, whether that was sleep or study or… what.

Droopy eyes blearily drifted over to the alarm clock. 3 AM.

God. The whole day. Gone.

Her gaze wandered over to the television playing quietly in the background, its soft light playing across the walls. Had she really left that on? Falling asleep on the couch in front of the TV had been commonplace as a kid, or while she was babysitting, but now… Well, she preferred to be able to hear her surroundings.

How unlike her to forget...

Wouldn’t hurt to leave it, would it? She wondered with a shiver, eyes slipping closed. Just this once…?

Impossible to tell if it was seconds or hours that had passed when Laurie awoke with a start at the sensation of the bed moving under someone’s weight. Eyes cracking wide open, she stared at the wall in front of her, the way her heart kicked a crater in her chest immediately sobering.

She knew. Exactly. Who it was.

It sounded ludicrous, even to her. She wanted to doubt. To believe that there was a thin margin it could really just be a very… very foolish burglar. But she knew better than that.

So… what should she do?

The obvious answer was fight, but something told her not to move. Not yet. Wait. See if she could map out her attacker’s positioning first; anticipate what he was going to do. She might only have one chance. Had to make it a good one.

Strategically, she was in a tough spot. Her bed was adjoined by the wall on two sides so that she couldn’t be snuck up on from behind, but evidently, she’d gotten turned around in her sleep - all that feverish tossing and turning. Now she was facing the wall and flying completely blind.

It took all her willpower not to move, scraping, with tooth and nail the bottom of the barrel of her everything. Defying every instinct, every ache in her muscles to do otherwise. She could hear him swiping her textbooks out of the way like a cat knocking things off the table with zero regard for her personal belongings; one of them audibly smacked the floor and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

In the past three years since that one fateful Halloween and everything proceeding it, Laurie had seen him a handful of times. But never this close. Just glimpses, here and there. Hard to tell what was real and what was just… unchecked psychosis. (She refused to do something so foolish as dull her senses while he was still out there - fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. She wasn’t going to let anyone else die if she could help it.)

He seemed to come and go like a stray. Sometimes leaving evidence in his wake. Missing clothes… things in the wrong place. Hard to tell if he was trying to bait a reaction out of her, or if he just… didn’t care enough to try and cover his tracks.

On a dangerous whim, she’d tried to chase him down a couple of times. It never amounted to anything, though. Wouldn’t be seen unless it was on his terms.

To think he was nearly in her grasp now…

She tried to make the move as natural as possible, like she was merely shifting in her sleep as she crawled her hand beneath her pillow and wrapped her trembling fingers around the hilt of the knife stowed away safely underneath. If she wasn’t already sweating, she would have started now.

He seemed to hesitate behind her, as if unsure if she was awake or not - though she knew better than to think it was out of fear. She got the impression that, for whatever reason, he didn’t want her to be awake for this.

Well, fat chance, it was like an elephant stepping onto the bed. He had to weigh some two hundred and something pounds.

For a moment, they were both perfectly still.

Then he began to move again, lifting the blanket up and… keeping it there. She could feel the cold air on her sweat-damp skin, on her bare legs and hip, her nightshirt having ridden up in the middle of the night.

There was a pang in her shoulder, a desperate urge to preserve her modesty and yank it back down over her ass, because she could feel his eyes burning into her.

It drew out too long, and something inside her snapped. “Michael!” Laurie whipped around, the words hissing through her teeth, sharp and scolding, before she could even stop herself.

Her heart dropped to her stomach as soon as she realized what she’d done.

There was a long pause. Odd, how much she could interpret from the silence, even without a real face to put to it. He was definitely… thinking. Contemplating something, staring at her with those mismatched eyes from behind his mask.

She did that to him. It was a point of pride for her, and maybe it shouldn’t have been, but the physical proof she could leave lasting damages on him was… Satisfying.

Whatever he was set on doing, he apparently decided to carry on with it even if she was awake, the weight of his knee pressing into the mattress as he loomed into her space.

Digging her heels into the bed, she kicked herself back until she felt the wall behind her, but he just wouldn’t stop.

She had to strike now.

Fingers tightening around the knife, she lunged for his throat, only to be brought to a screeching halt mid-air as his hand clamped around her wrist. A metallic clatter jarred her, Michael dropping his own knife so that his other hand was free to pry her stiff fingers off the blade one by one, until there was a second clattering as it too hit the floor.

Then he shoved her back onto the bed with such effortless force she bounced on the bedsprings.

Like a snake coiling and striking she reared her leg back and kicked right for the center of his gravity, but he just snatched her ankle, yanking her down a couple of inches.

Her stuffy head was spinning from all this motion, a twinge of pain blooming behind her eyes. And she didn’t know what his end goal was, but that didn’t stop her from thrashing and kicking up a storm as he manhandled her around, her own hair flying in her face, bodies bumping until she didn’t know what was direction was up.

Far too quickly, she wore herself out, the fight slowly leaving her as her body went lax, panting for breath and mind reeling as her brain tried to catch up and physically place herself, because she wasn’t getting anywhere struggling mindlessly.

She was on her side, her back pressed up against what she was fairly certain was his front, in some vicious mockery of spooning, and he was just pinning her there with both arms, waiting it out. A patient boa constrictor.

After a moment of her just lying there, one of his hands moved from around her waist to her arm - she jerked as if to elbow him, but it was a feint, and a weak one at that; she didn’t have the strength to put any real oomph into it. Her whole world was pulsing, dilating and constricting, blood rushing through her ears. No thought. Just raw nerve. A bird that’s just flown into a window.

Gradually, she realized he was examining her scar. Prodding and pushing at it, using his thumb and forefinger to pinch and stretch at the skin. She wondered if he felt the same way about it as she did the marks she’d made on him; satisfied. That same primitive feeling of ‘I made this.’

The number of times they’ve been this close have been few and often far between - and always chaotic, no time to smell the roses, as it were. Maybe that’s what he was doing. Examining her while he had the chance, while she was too weak and tired to yowl and spit and kick and fight. Playing with his food. Pushing the peas around on his plate.

It was strange, feeling him treat this permanent artifact of violence that he put there with such… He wasn’t being gentle, exactly. But something about it felt so antithesis all the same.

Grabbing her wrist and pulling her arm up and out from the blankets, he pressed his thumb into her palm and firmly rolled his giant fingers across her metacarpals neither gently nor ungently, more like he was trying to feel out her skeletal structure.

Strangely, it didn’t feel awful. Something about it redirected straight to her stomach, a light, lurching feeling but not an unpleasant one. It wasn’t that off from a manicure massage thought she knew without a shadow of a doubt pampering her was not his intent.

He was just being a creep. Like normal. Just… a lot closer than usual. So close she could hear his breathing. Feel his breathing, despite the number of barriers that should have prevented it; hot and warm on the back of her neck.

It wasn’t long before she felt his fingers creep into her hair. She allowed it. What the hell else was she going to do? In the same off, incidental way, it wasn’t the worst. Didn’t feel deliberately nice, but that’s because it wasn’t, it wasn’t for her benefit at all. And yet, every movement had tingles shooting down her scalp, it was so unexpectedly good.

A number of things to call him came to mind. Pervert being one of the first, though she wasn’t sure that’s what this was about. Maybe she was the weird one, for feeling anything other than utter revulsion at him touching her like this. He was her brother, for God’s sake.

She began to zone out while he messed around; Michael eventually moved on from her hair, but by the time he did, she was nearly half-asleep from the warmth he was radiating, finding it a whole new struggle just to stay awake. A grope at her elbow, here. A touch of her knee, there. Invasive. Bothersome. But non-threatening enough that she was starting to slip against her will. At one point, her aching eyelids had dropped closed and she hadn’t managed to reopen them since.

Unbothered, he continued exploring, his finger pushing past her lip to feel at the gum of her canine, while she mumbled some vague groan of complaint, gently kicking him in the shin. Everything felt so sensitive. Ooey, gooey, sick and vulnerable, and tired.

And then, his fingers found her hip bone, pressing deeply, and something sharp ran through her, zinging through the fog.

He was all over her, Laurie couldn’t even keep track anymore, her breathing starting to pick back up as his hands roamed over her. The next thing she knew, Michael was running his hand up the column of her throat and the sensation went straight to between her legs. Arching, she shifted in search of friction, only to feel an almost painfully unyielding hardness poke at her tailbone.

Oh.

There was a definite pause before Michael removed his hand from her neck, returning to constricting her in place with both arms so tightly she was unable to move- which was probably the point, but what it felt like, was that he was trying to grind their bones together until she was absorbed into him completely; to solder them, the gap between them only ever arbitrary to begin with.

Eventually, she melted into his hold, the last pale dregs of fight left within her evaporating as she drifted off to sleep.

🖤 🖤 🖤

Thank you for reading!!! Please comment if you enjoyed; I am but a simple goblin who thrives on external motivation. You can find my socials on my carrd! Follow me on Twitter! Or, join the 18+ DBD thirst server ���� Dead by Baelight 🔞 here!

[softboywriting]

Christmas Kiss | Shawn Mendes

Summary: You and Shawn have been friends since you were kids. You never meant to fall in love with him, his life and job now make a relationship hard. This Christmas you decide to tell him how you feel, there is only one problem, you’re sick with a cold and you don’t think you’ll get to see him. [fluff] [Christmas themed] [sick/cold] [non au] [friends to lovers]

Word Count: 2.6k

|Masterlist In Bio|

Being sick when Shawn comes home from tour for Christmas is not ideal. You felt the cold coming on two days before he was scheduled to land in Toronto. You had plans, big plans with Shawn. It's been ages since he's been able to hang out in person, and you finally have the courage to admit to him that you want to be more than friends. This week was supposed to be a huge life changing event, a Christmas to remember. You did everything you could to stop the onslaught of runny nose and puffy watery eyes; medicine, orange juice, supplements, but to no avail. You are undoubtedly, irrevocably, sick.

Monday morning you wake up to the doorbell for your apartment buzzing non stop. The world feels heavy. You sit up in slow motion it seems and there is nothing you can do but focus on breathing for a moment while you gain your bearings and listen to that awful tinny buzzing from someone wanting into your building. You crawl out of bed and drag yourself to the door, dragging your feet like they're in sticky mud.

"Hello?" You ask, finger on the call button for the front door. Your voice is completely wrecked, absolutely destroyed from coughing. "Hello? Anybody there?"

"It's Shawn."

"Shawn?" You glance at the clock over your couch a few feet away. It's just after nine. "What're you doing here?"

"I got you some stuff. Let me in, it's cold out here." He laughs and you press the door button to let him in.

Moments later he is pushing open the door to your apartment and carrying in bags of stuff. You wrap a blanket off the couch around your shoulders and watch as he unloads bag after bag onto your kitchen island.

"What's this?"

"Medicine, food, gifts." Shawn starts unpacking and setting aside Oreos and some ramen cups. "I stopped by the store for you on my way over with your Christmas gifts."

You shuffle forward and look at the bags. They're full of more groceries than you would usually buy in two weeks. How much does the guy think you eat? And what is with all the junk food? You tug the corner of a bag down and see a bottle of whiskey. "What's this?" You pull out a fifth of Canadian whiskey and give Shawn a look.

"That's for us." He puts away the Oreos and some mac and cheese into a cupboard. "Hot toddies are good for making you sweat out a cold."

"Uh huh. You said “us”? You're not staying."

"The hell I’m not."

"Shawn, you can't get sick. You're a rockstar, you have to sing. You...you have responsibilities."

"Yeah and right now," he pauses and hands you a box of tissues. "My responsibility is my best friend."

Best friend. That packs a punch you didn't expect. A haunting reminder of how he thinks of you, at least, how he presents that he thinks of you. It's hard and it's getting harder, that courage you built up the last few months is withering now like ice  in the hot sun. It's just turning to steam before your very eyes. Shit.

"What if you get sick?"

"So what? I've been sick before and I'll be sick again." Shawn wads up the last of the grocery bags and sets aside a bunch of wrapped boxes on the counter. "I've waited four months to be here and to see you. I'm not letting some stupid runny nose stop me."

"I'm not going to be any fun." You sniff, eyes watering heavily. "I'm just going to sleep and be miserable."

Shawn rolls his eyes. "I know you. You'll want to watch Lion King and drink peppermint tea until you're so tired you pass out. I'm prepared for that."

"Wow. Just read me like a book why don't you?"

He grins. "Go sit down. I'll make some tea and we'll talk and catch up."

"We talk everyday."

"But it's different when we're together."

"Yeah but..." You chew on your lip and he lays his hand on your shoulder. "Never mind. Thank you for coming over."

"You'd do the same for me." He cups your cheek and you turn your eyes up at him, sure that you must look terrible. "You're welcome."

His soft gaze breaks you. You step forward and wrap your arms around him, pressing your face to his chest. Your fingers curl tight into his shirt and he holds your head with both hands.

"I missed you," he says, fingers working into your hair and scratching at your scalp with his blunt fingertips. "Things aren't the same without you."

"I missed you too." You murmur, eyes closed and you can almost, just barely, smell his cologne. Maybe your one nostril is unblocked. Maybe...just maybe you just want to be immersed in that familiar scent so bad it's appearing in your mind.

_____________________

Shawn spends the rest of the day with you. He makes you tea and warm whiskey spiked drinks. You watch the Lion King, Mulan and Moana. Just after six the sun starts to slip behind the horizon, your living room becoming dark. Shawn's arm finds its way around your shoulders and he leans his head on your head. You want to tell him. You need to tell him how you feel.

"Tomorrow is Christmas."

You nod slightly. "Sure is."

"My parents are in Barbados." Shawn chuckles. "It was a gift for their anniversary, but the cruise got rescheduled. I was surprised when they said they'd be gone for Christmas. It's not like mom to miss it."

"Maybe they just really needed a vacation."

Shawn sits up and runs a hand over his unruly long hair. "Probably. I know mom's been having a hell of a time finding clients for work. And dad...dad is always working hard, a hundred and fifty percent everyday." He sighs. "I'm glad they taught me a good work ethic y'know, but I wish they'd take it easy. It's not like it was when Aaliyah and I were kids. They don't have to try so hard."

You lay your hand on Shawn's and he turns it over, threading his fingers between yours and rubbing absentmindedly with his thumb. "I suppose parents always want to provide for their kids, even if they are rockstars." You giggle and he gives you a look.

He hates when you call him rockstar. He says it feels like it cheapens things, makes you less than him. He doesn't want you to think of him as a rockstar but as your best friend.

"Are you parents flying in for the holiday?"

You shake your head. "No, they couldn't afford it this year."

"Why'd they move to Florida again?"

"Mom wanted to live on the beach." You roll your eyes and he squeezes your hand. "Dad also got a job down there with the construction company he works for."

"Ah. So, do you want to spend Christmas together?"

"I figured that was the plan." You look to the window where it's snowing heavily outside. "I didn't think you'd want to drive home across Toronto in this weather."

"I don't." Shawn pulls his hand away to brush his hair back with it while he reaches for his drink. "I don't mind taking the couch."

"You know what you need?" You say, getting up and going over to the kitchen. You grab a few hair ties out of the bowl that holds your keys. "These."

"Ponytails?"

"Yeah. Your hair is ridiculous and you keep pushing it out of your face every two minutes." You stand in front of him and he leans forward for you. Skillfully you gather up the top of his hair into two little pig tails on the top of his head. He looks outrageous and you can't help the ugly laugh that burbles out.

"I look stupid don't I?" Shawn asks, half laughing at your reaction. He stands and looks in the decorative mirror beside the TV. "Ohmygod. This is my new look." He turns to look at you where you've collapsed on the couch laughing and struggling to breath through your clogged nose. "Goodbye headbands, hello pigtails."

"Stop! Shawn I'm gonna die!"

"Nope. You did this." He poses, peace sign over his face while making duck lips. "High fashion baby."

You start coughing, laughter quickly succumbing to a wheezing fit and hacking. You down the rest of your tea, just warm from sitting on the table too long, and take a few deep breaths.

Shawn drops to his knees beside you, hand on your chest. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I made you laugh too hard, I'm so sorry. What can I do? How do I help?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine." You cough a few more times and grab Shawn's mug, downing his drink. "I just laughed too hard. It's alright. I'm okay, just a little tired now."

"Come on, let's settle back down on the couch." Shawn grabs your arms and sits you up right on the sofa. "I'll grab some extra blankets and we'll sleep out here."

"But-"

"No buts. I'll be right back."

You close your eyes and lean your head back on the cushions. You're dying. Sickness is wreaking havoc on your body. Shawn's wreaking havoc on your heart, and you're absolutely destroying your mental capacity with liquor and cough medicine. You can't wait. You have to tell Shawn. It's now or never. Balls to the wall. You just have to-

"Are you okay?" Shawn's voice breaks through your thoughts and you open your eyes. "You look a little out of it."

"I love you."

"I love you too?" He says sinking down on the couch and flopping the blankets he was carrying over your lap. "What's with the sudden affection?"

"No, I mean-" You hold your head as it throbs. Maybe whiskey and NyQuil don't mix. In fact, you know they don't. "I am in love with you."

"I know."

"W-what?"

Shawn brushes your hair back off your clammy face and looks at you with those soft hazel brown eyes you adore. "I've known for a long time.”

“I-I Wha-”

“It's okay, don’t panic. I'm in love with you too. I know I always said that when the time comes I'll know, and I can't pinpoint the moment it happened but one day I woke up and I realized my whole world is waiting for me in a tiny apartment in Toronto." He chuckles. "I've been working on a way to tell you, a way to make it work with my job. I haven't found that way yet, and I hoped you would wait for me, though I didn't expect that. So I never told you. I couldn't- I won't hurt someone like that, especially not you."

"I-I don't know what to say." You stare at him, unsure of your reality as your head swims. Is this real? Did you fall asleep? Are you in some kind of cold medicine induced mini coma? "I'm asleep aren’t I?"

"You're not." Shawn presses his hand to your forehead. "You've got a fever though."

"This isn't real. You're not even here. I'm going crazy." You slump over and Shawn covers you with blankets. "I'm just coping aren't I? Stressed myself out so far that I'm dreaming of telling you the truth."

"You're awfully self aware for a dream."

"That's just what dream Shawn would say."

He chuckles. "I'm getting you some Advil. Relax and I'll be right back with a very real glass of water and two very real pain relievers."

You close your eyes once more and quickly you begin to drift off to sleep. You vaguely remember Shawn sitting your head up to take the Advil and water. But after that everything is a blur of sleep and muddled nonsense dreams.

_____________________

Christmas morning you wake up on the couch. Your body is stiff, achy from sickness and the unsupportive couch cushions. Beside you is a glass of water and some cold medicine on the coffee table. There is a lump of blankets by the other end of the couch and you can see a mop of hair sticking out, two pigtails very visible.

Then reality hits you. If you're waking up now with Shawn asleep in your living room that means last night was very real. It means...you confessed your feelings and Shawn, well, he confessed them back. Excitement, hope and terror are quite a cocktail of emotions. They make your stomach lurch, your heart flutter and your hands shake. What happens now? Where do things go from here?

"Hey," Shawn's groans, peeking over his blankets at you. "How's the fever?"

"Good? I think? I just woke up."

"Mmm." He sits up and stretches. "It's Christmas."

"Yeah." You look over to the tree in the corner where there are boxes from your parents, your sister and Shawn all waiting to be unwrapped. "I can wait though."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to be the only one to unwrap gifts."

Shawn laughs and grabs a few of the boxes from under the tree. "I brought my gifts too, the ones my parents and Aaliyah left for me at my apartment."

"Oh. I thought you brought all of those for me, I thought it was a lot but I didn't want to say anything."

"No." Shawn passes you a box with your name on it. "You definitely deserve this many, but I didn't go crazy."

"You've been crazy." You smile and he gives you a look that turns into a smirk. "Did...did you mean what you said last night?"

"Every word of it." Shawn sits across from you on the couch with his box in his lap. He picks at the paper a bit. "It's okay, like if you don't want to do anything right now. I know my life is insane and yours isn't anywhere near as hectic." He chews his lower lip. "I couldn't ever ask you to commit to my life and the distance and-"

"Shawn."

"Yes?"

"We'll figure it out."

His eyes light up and he stares at you, seemingly bewildered. "You want to try? You want to be in a relationship? With me? I-I'm- you're sure?"

"Shawn I haven't wanted anything more in the last year. We already make the distance work as friends. What's the difference in doing it as a couple?" You sniff and wipe your eyes that are watering from your clogged sinuses. "I think the distance has only made us stronger friends and-"

Shawn leans in to kiss you, hands on your legs and you stop him at the last second with your fingers against his lips. "Please?" he murmurs.

"You're so dumb."

"Because I'm going to kissing you and you're sick?"

"Yes."

He grins and grabs your face, pressing his forehead against yours. "I guess we'll just have to be the couple that shares everything."

"This is not what that means."

"I don't care." He tries to kiss you again and you groan, stopping him. "Shawn, you're gonna get sick."

"I don't care." Another attempted kiss. "I've waited a long time for this."

You cup his face and push him back a bit so he will stop trying to infect himself. “I have too but I'm not going to kiss you and get you sick. And when you've got this cold I will not kiss you then either."

"Yeah you will. Don't lie."

"I won't." You giggle and he pushes forward, leaning you back until you're laying against the arm of the couch with his body covering yours. "Is this for real?"

"Very real." He kisses your nose. "I don't want to wait." He kisses your head. "I've been alone for a long while this feels...it feels so right. Please let me kiss you."

"Alright." You close your eyes and he presses his lips to yours. It's soft, sweet and everything you ever imagined. "Happy?"

"Yes," he whispers, smiling against your lips. "Merry Christmas darling."

You giggle at the pet name. He knows it's one of your favourites. "Merry Christmas Shawn."

End

______________________

Thank you for reading! Please reblog if you enjoyed this and reblog to support and encourage myself and fellow writers. - A

*****Note: none of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted fics.*****

[esbarnes]

Gadreel

It had been a long day trying to find Metatron and other angels that may join our cause. Cas and I decided to regroup with with Winchesters back at the bunker. I was making my way down the hall toward my room when I rounded the corner and somewhat bumped into Norah, my arms reached out to her waist to steady her. “Oh I’m sorry Norah I wasn’t paying attention.” She looked up to me “It’s ok Gadreel neither was I.” She gave me a small smile when I heard her hiss and raise a hand to her left ear. “Are you alright?” I asked searching her face and form for injuries. “Ah yeah I’m fine just an ear ache I think, nothing a little acetaminophen and some sleep won’t cure.” she smiled again, but I could tell it pained her. “Is this acetaminophen hard to find?” I asked ready to get it for her no matter what it took. She gave a little laugh “No, we have some in the bathroom, I was just on my way to get some.” That is when I noticed she was still in her sleep clothes, I raised my two fingers up to her head ready to heal her when she grabbed my arm to stop me. “I’m ok Gadreel, besides someone is probably about to come in with a bloody arm or something, save your strength.” she said. I noticed that her cheeks where flush. If I remembered correctly that indicated that she may have a fever. I brought my hand up to graze my knuckles against her cheek. “You are warm with fever. You should get some rest. Would you allow me to get this medicine for you and bring it to your room?” I asked her. She looked up into my eyes and it felt as though she leaned into me a bit. Then she nodded. “Yes, thank you. I would appreciate that. You are looking for a bottle with blue/green liquid that says Nyquil on it.” I nodded and told her I would be with her again shortly. She disengaged from my arms and walked back to her room. 

Norah

My brain was reeling, what was that? Do you really have to lean into him? But then another sharp sound rang in my ear interrupting my thoughts. This had been going on for a day or two. I hadn’t wanted to slow anyone down with getting sick, so I had stayed behind the last few hunts saying I was too into research to leave. The wonder twins had bought it and I think Cas and Gadreel had as well. I just needed some sleep and few doses of medicine and I would be right as rain. As I made my way back to my room I ran into Sam on his way out. “Hey, you ok? You look a little...” he started to say but I finished for him “Like my head is spitting open and on my last leg.” I said as I gave him a pained smile. “More or less” he responded. “Do you need anything before I head out with Dean?” He asked. “No, I’ll be fine, I’m just going to take some Nyquil and sleep it off.” I walked over to my door and turned to him “Hey be safe out there will you, both of you.” Sam smiled at me “ Of course and please call us if you need anything at all.” He walked over to me and leaned down to kiss my forehead. “I will I promise” I responded to him and then he left. I walked into my room, crawled back into bed and waited for Gadreel to come back. 

Gadreel

I had found the bottle Norah needed and was on my way back when I saw Sam Winchester lean down to kiss her forehead and then say goodbye. She had smiled at him and then went into her room. As Sam was walking down the hall he noticed me and asked “Is that for Norah?” I looked up from the bottle in my hand and said “Yes, she requires it to get better.” He raised his eyebrows to my answer “Good make sure she takes it and she may need soup and some water at some point. I’ll call you in a few hours to check in.” He said as he clapped my shoulder and walked past me. “Of course.” I responded. I walked into Norah’s room to find her laying in her bed on her side facing the door with her eyes closed. I knew she wasn’t fully asleep but I watched her breathe in and out evenly. I stood at the foot of her bed and cleared my throat. She slowly opened her eyes, “I’m sorry, I must be more tired than I thought.” She said as she started to lift herself up against the headboard. I moved to the side of her bed and sat down facing her. I handed her the bottle and asked “Is this the right one?” She looked down the bottle and smiled “My hero” she said. 

No one had ever called me a hero before and I liked the way she said it. I extremely liked the idea of being her hero. “Do you require anything else at this moment.” I asked as I leaned one arm over her legs. "Would you mind staying with me, just long enough for me to fall asleep. We can watch something if you like and you don’t have to stay for long.” She looked at me waiting for my response. “Of course.” I said and she smiled back. I think I would do anything for that smile. Norah scooted over on the bed giving me space to sit next to her. She turned on the TV that was sitting on the dresser. “You can pick whatever you like” she said handing me the remote. 

Norah

I handed Gadreel the remote and then worked to get a does of NyQuil in my system. It burned in all the right ways. I must admit that I was being selfish with him. The angel had always put me at ease. He was like a calm and steady pulse. I wasn’t really paying attention to what he had put on the TV as he got settled on the bed. There was just enough room for the two of us and his shoulder was just in front of mine and I could already feel my eyes grow heavy. I leaned my head down on his shoulder, he didn’t jump or tense up but he did look over to me “are you comfortable?” he asked. “Hmm hm.” was all I could get out. 

I could feel my self falling asleep quickly and I wanted to make sure he knew how much I appreciated what he had done. “Thank you Gadreel” I said as I leaned up to kissed his cheek and then leaned my head back on his shoulder. At this he did tense, which caused me to smile and the last thing I heard was “You’re welcome Norah.” and he leaned in to kiss my forehead. I was out like a light for who knows how long. I woke up and realized I was incredibly warm and I was laying on something very solid. I lifted my head and saw Gadreel sleeping. He had one arm around my waist and the other resting over my hand that was on his chest. Funny, I didn’t think angels slept. I thought to myself. I heard it again the sharp ringing which made me tense up. Gadreel shifted a bit and pulled me closer to him and then I felt a tingle spread throughout my body. Then it dawned on me. He was healing me with his grace while he was sleeping. How was that even possible? I had about a million questions for Cas when he and the boys got back. For now I would just live in this moment and I feel back to sleep with my very own guardian angel.

[captain-sodapop]

This is for the headcanons but you think you could do how everyone acts when sick?

yesss.  tough guys made vulnerable - we love to see it!

Darry

mr. deny, deny, deny

if he can go into work sick...he will, he absolutely will (this drives his brothers nuts)

dude could have a fever of 104 and he’d be like “what are you talking about that’s my normal body temperature”

he hates all the attention that comes with being sick and would really just love it if everyone would pretend with him, but they rarely do

Pony will try to heat him up some campbell’s at some point and Darry will make him cry because he snaps at him and then Pony runs away but he feels bad about it

freaky fast recovery time, lucky bastard

kind of guy that will look god in the eye and chug an entire bottle of nyquil with a straight face and sleep for 48 hours and come out the other side good as new

Sodapop

*weak cough* “I’m sick” :(

everyone around him: *prays to the lord to give them strength*

Steve: boo you whore

will milk it for all he’s worth

if it’s not that bad and he’s out and about, girls will coo at him and want to take care of him, and he LOVES it

claims he’s dying and will bitch to anyone who will listen.  maybe not even about being sick, just things that piss him off in general.  he’ll keep going even after everyone’s left the room

if his temperature gets high enough, he will tell you all his most embarrassing inner thoughts and secrets, so the gang has a stockpile for blackmail if they ever need it

Ponyboy

he’s a total baby about it, let’s just get that out of the way.  even worse than Soda.  like...a million times worse

whiiiiiiiiiiiny.  and very picky.  if the orange juice isn’t the right brand, he’ll know, and he’ll tell you about it

usually doesn’t mind the babying, unlike in the book, but he does mind having to miss school and catch up on schoolwork 

likes to curl up in little cocoons to stay warm

might cry a little if he’s really uncomfortable :(

being sick makes him miss his mom.  Pony’s a total mama’s boy, and he misses her taking care of him.  Darry’s just a little too gruff sometimes

can get a little hyperactive.  kid could spend three hours throwing up, then he finishes and is like “WE SHOULD PLAY FOOTBALL RIGHT NOW RIGHT N O W”

Johnny

just sorta suffers through it

secretly is begging god to take him right the fuck now

since the home situation isn’t great, he’ll just be like “Darry can I crash on your couch for the next three days” and Darry gets it right away and doesn’t bug him about it, which Johnny appreciates

Ponyboy won’t stop pestering him, and since he already doesn’t feel well Johnny has to try extra hard to be a good sport and remember he’s just trying to help

the guys will kinda check up on him, but won’t push at him too hard, they just wanna keep tabs

sometimes has to spend what little money he has on stuff he might need, but there’s this nice woman whose husband owns a diner he frequents who always catches on and gives him free soup and a pat on the shoulder :)

might get a bit chatty, and that’s how people know something’s up

Dallas

turns into the TASMANIAN DEVIL.  and he’s already bad enough x_x

just...an absolute jackass.  doesn’t want help, doesn’t want sympathy, doesn’t want to admit it

will crawl under his bed in the middle of the night at some point

“hey, you need anything?” *hauls off on the person*

holes up in his room at Buck’s for the duration and tries to ignore it out of existence, which means it usually gets worse before it gets better

not above stealing meds, of course, but he only does that if he’s absolutely desperate

surprisingly good in a fight for a guy who’s hallucinating 

Two-Bit

I feel like this dude has a freaky good immune system.  Two-Bit is a freak of nature in many ways, and this is one of them

HOWEVER, if he does get sick?  you won’t know.  legit, you would not know.  not unless he wanted you to.  

but if it’s really bad, he’ll start to overcompensate and just be...more.  More chatty, more jokes, etc., but people don’t really catch on to the tell

is not afraid to use it to gross out strangers and people he doesn’t like.  if some jackass is pissing him off, he’ll just start hacking to make them flip out, and then just starts laughing through the pain

he might disappear for a bit and it’ll be like “Where’ve you been, man?  It’s been like three days.”  “Mexico.” 

when he’s hungover, he tells his little sister he’s sick, and she’s just always like... “again?” and will stand over him with some medical dictionary she found and try to diagnose him with some awful disease, but he doesn’t have the heart to tell her the truth

on the flip side, he’s actually got a decent bedside manner.  he’ll get anybody whatever they want, ride out bouts of sickness, tell dumb jokes to cheer them up...whatever.  I imagine he does this for his sister a lot, and that’s probably why :)

Steve

like Pony, not feeling good really makes him miss his mom :/

so, he goes to the next best person: Evie

Steve is also a total ass when he’s not feeling 100%, and Evie is pretty much the only person who can put up with his crappy attitude by being an equally snarky nursemaid (especially since he’s just kinda assuming this is convenient for her, but she does love him so she’s not gonna turn him away)

eventually just sorta mellows and becomes very pliant, and he might talk about stuff he wouldn’t usually talk about - like his mom, or things he’s been keeping to himself

low attention span, so if he’s playing a hand of cards one minute, the next he wants to learn everything there is to know about quantum physics

he’ll talk in his sleep, but none of it makes any sense

hates going to work sick.  not only can he not focus, but it’s also fucking gross

[lostinspidey]

could you please do “I’ll stay as long as you need me to.” with peter but super fluffy? tysm angel

okay, so patrolling on a winter night while he already had a cold wasn’t peter’s brightest idea.

you had told him this many times, too - urged him to stay home and rest all day at school today. he even caught you leaving a bottle of nyquil and some tissues on his dresser, because you both knew he wasn’t exactly prone to taking care of himself.

now, teeth chattering and chest aching with a suppressed cough as he crawls through his bedroom window, he can hear you laughing down the hall, swapping stories and funny anecdotes with may in the kitchen. it makes sense, he thinks, that you would want to make sure he’s feeling better. 

he just didn’t expect to have to lie so quickly.

he’s quick to change out of his suit, quietly slipping on a pair of his warmest pajamas - a thick sweatshirt and some flannel bottoms. he’s still freezing, though, shivering as he uneasily makes his way out of his bedroom.

“peter? is that you?” may asks, having heard the creaking of the floorboards as he enters the kitchen.

“yeah, ‘s me,” he grumbles, hovering in the doorway. 

may’s at the stove, her back turned to him, but your eyes latch onto him immediately. he can feel his cheeks getting warmer and warmer as you carefully take in his appearance, disheveled and clearly sicker than he was at school today.

“that was a long nap, huh?” may’s voice is cheery, slicing through the tension peter feels coming from your direction. “how are you feeling, sweetie?”

“better. uh, a lot better, actually.”

“is that so?” you speak up, raising an eyebrow. 

your gaze is becoming more and more scrutinizing. he swallows thickly.

“dinner’s almost ready. you two can wait in the living room, if you’d like.”

“sounds good.” you shoot may a small smile, snapping out of your fixation on peter’s sickly appearance. “thanks, may.”

the two of you settle on the couch, an awkward bit of distance between you, and peter hates this - hates feeling like he has to lie to you when telling you the truth would’ve been so much easier.

“i, um, didn’t know you were coming over for dinner,” he says, running the sleeve of his sweatshirt across his nose.

you shrug. “you didn’t think i’d wanna check on you?”

“aw,” he coos, perking up a bit when it makes you smile. “well… it’s a good thing i’m feeling better, then.”

“mhm.”

peter sniffles again, suddenly hyper-aware of the sweat beading on the back of his neck, the urge to cough bubbling in the back of his throat.

when he turns to look at you again, he’s surprised when your hand reaches for his, eyes soft and warm like he’s used to.

“baby,” you say, tracing little star-shaped patterns on the back of his hand. “it’s okay if you went out tonight. i mean, it’s not okay, but i’m not about to fight with you over it. i’m just worried about you, y’know?”

“w-what? i didn’t - why would i go out tonight? that would be, like… really dumb.”

“well, you’re not wrong.”

you open your arms, and peter freezes, unsure of what the next right move is.

you chuckle and roll your eyes. “c’mere, petey. i can see you shivering from here. lemme warm you up.”

desperate to keep the lie going, but even more desperate to lay with you, peter ultimately obliges. he snakes his arms around your waist, letting you pull his head against your chest as the two of you stretch out on the length of the couch. 

“you’re mad at me,” he mumbles, voice caught in the material of your shirt, soft and cool against his cheek.

you rub your hand against his back, trying to get rid of the chill clinging to his bones.

“peter, i’m really not.”

“you should be.” he pouts. “i lied to you. i’m a dummy.”

“yeah, well,” you pause as you press your hand to his other cheek, running your thumb over a dark circle that isn’t usually so deep. “what kind of boyfriend would you be if you weren’t dumb sometimes, hm?”

you’re glad to see him smile, but it doesn’t take long before his bleary eyes are closed, giving into the exhaustion of what you’re sure was a difficult night out in the city.

“hey peter?” you whisper, not wanting to startle him.

“hm?”

“you know you don’t have to be the hero all the time, right?”

peter hums in response, then brings his hand up, tracing a little heart against the exposed skin on your stomach from where your shirt rode up. you smile, pushing a hand through his curls. message received.

“you’ll stay tonight?” he asks, voice impossibly tired. it makes your heart swell all over again.

“‘course, lovebug. i’ll stay as long as you need me to.”

not long after you both succumb to your shared sleepiness, may has to tiptoe through the living room, draping a thin blanket over the two of you. she watches fondly as her nephew sleeps soundly - a rarity nowadays. dinner will have to wait.

[akvtsuki-ari]

A Study In Body Language | i. words of thorns and roses

Warnings: mentions of drugs/drug use, swearing but thats about it for this chapter

Length: 4.2k

Authors Note: This is it! I’ve spent the last couple of months writing this first chapter and mapping out this story and I’m finally really happy with it. I don’t really like asking but any feedback on this would be greatly appreciated. I hope you all like it 

Plot Summary: You and Spencer have never really liked each other, but the two of you find yourselves unexpectedly close as Spencer encounters addiction  once again and you aid him into getting the help he needs. 

 In the altruistic language of foreign tongue, and  the flower lettering of love stories, it's important to  remember the context. In which Spencer Reid and you  will fall in love under the circumstantial evidence that the two of you exchange in the language that is physical, no symbolism or hidden messages but instead an abysmal means to end to find each other in places you never expect. In the image of storytelling this is a Case Study In Body Language, and all of it's idealist beliefs and intentions.

___

"I'll be fine," he spoke his words with little seeming confidence. A quietness lulling in his voice. Sudden interest was the best way to narrate the feeling. To see someone you knew so much in a place like that, unexpectedly. On a quiet day, a sunny one. Free of torturous endings and otherwise. His tongue slide across his bottom lips, taking note of it's curvature as he nervously bit at the corners of it. Observing his movement, you can't help but feel compelled by it's dishonesty, fear ruining his usually neutral expression like a stamp of survival marqued on his face. You wish you didn't notice, but it was so unlike him - who wouldn't. His sudden slacked shoulders, his expression folding into itself as he took a means to ignore the things surrounding him, the hairs on his neck oddly raised. These details were inexplicable, insurmountably small. But you noticed, the slight clench of his jaw, the deepness of solitude in his eyes all drew into suspicion, a fear that made the pit in your stomach feel a little heavier than it was supposed to you.

Spencer takes no heed to you, and stands tall on his two feet. He catches himself slipping, and straightens his back before anyone can catch him. Emily only looks onto him with an onslaught motherly concern, and you look at him with one of curiosity. She watches him walk out of the door, but you stop to observe her for a few minutes, her expression falling as well. She pinches her nose softly, bordering exasperation as Spencer walks out of the door and she turns back to her desk. Spencer was never one for dishonesty unless it was in the order for saving lives, but that meant rather sincerely that Spencer Reid was incredible at lying. Dishonesty, and acting out came to him like breathing. The natural reaction of survival, and you guess whatever he was lying about was out of some form of survival. Survival is interesting in that way. You don't take a second thought as you return to your work in folly. Eyes heavy, lashes touching your brow bones as you roll them up trying to keep your head over water, drowsiness symptom of your sickness. An intense cold and a few days later and you were on desk duty, filing paperwork and thinking about warm things - like laying in your bed with the humidifier on and sipping warm soup and breathing through your nose. All things that sounded particularly enjoyable to you.  You shut your eyes, the subconscious maiden of sleep wrapping itself around your shoulders like a plush blanket and lulling you into rest as you slowly began to simmer down to rest. Head down on the desk, papers underneath you at every direction and visibly uncomfortable considering your position. Hotch gave you a soft look of concern before calling your name and waking you up, saving you from the vines of sleep crawling and curling around your legs and pulling you into abysmal rest. You sleepily blink up at you and he almost smiles. You realize your bosses presence above you and snap up into order, rubbing your eyes underneath your lower lash line to try and save your makeup. He looks at you neutrally. "Go home, Y/N, take a few days off. The paperwork will be here for you when you're back and ready," Hotch says with finality. You're too hazy to disagree and you give him a nod, "Thanks Hotch," you say, he nods at you and turns back to his desk in quiet. You quietly pack up your desk and your bag,  saying your salutations to the rest of the office with a grogginess in your voice. Your hear Derek laugh and roll your eyes, not having the energy to hear is "I told you so," because he did in fact, tell you so. But you wouldn't let that hinder you, for now the only thing that was clear in your hazy tangles of thoughts was running to the store and picking up soup and cough medicine, oh - and nasal spray because you desperately craved breathing normal and sleeping in the same way. You look for tissues in your bag, but can't find any. You sigh and shut your eyes in soft exasperation and waited for the elevator ding to alleviate your impatience on home. _ Walgreens and their alternate reality infected your experience unexpectedly, drawing your lithe and attention to roaming the hallways with lethargy. Your subconscious laid out onto the concrete floors and following you as your consciousness slowly let it's eyes shut,  feeling distant, like a bottle tossed in the ocean. Your mental capacity couldn't have been very high at the moment, unamused and trying to pick yourself up off the ground. You hated being sick, a deep sort of uncomfort settled in the pit of your stomach when you tried to to think more than a few minutes at a time and you sighed, ready to totally give into being a slug stuck on your couch to survive. The medicinal aisle seemed to part the rest of the store like the Red Sea. Your eyes hungrily grazed the decongestants section like a malnourished animal. Your hands went to Mucinex D, placing it in the flip up child seat. You could swear that you adorned with as much affection as you would an actual child. You pick up some DayQuil, knowing you had Nyquil in the back of your cupboard somewhere and continued on. A pack of lozenges, a box of tissues, and a bottle of orange juice later, you arrived back into the general weird food section of the drug store, probably hoping to pick up a frozen pizza or something else along those lines. Or maybe you'd pick up some hot Cheetos.. However, those would definitely not aid in your sickness and you overall went against the notion. Junk food was a beck and call to you, your drowsy brain urged for it like no other, and sighing you weakly bent down near the chips to make your choice. Lost in your own thoughts, the feeling of your cart bumping into you slightly startled you more then it should've. You slipped and fell, laughing a little at your own misfortune after the intial interaction. You look up to try and find whoever bumped into you, and not to much suprise, there was Spencer. Wide-eyed, and frightened. Which made you curious, and definitely annoyed. But you let it go, and stood up, dusting off the front of your jeans and turning to him. Spencer eyes were irregular, to say the least. His expression was jittery, like he couldn't hold still and you found it interesting to see him like that. You never had before, he looked homesick almost. There was a longing to be somewhere else that took over the way he moved, and you were unsure how much it bothered you. But he does work with you, you should be polite. "Whatcha doing here, Spence?," you asked casually standing up to face him. He made that little expression he makes when he's trying to deflect from something, Hotch always paired you two up at crime scenes and you took note of it a long time ago, that little change in his voice. You could almost call it aggression, a cutting edge to an overall precious voice. Not that you found him precious, but Spencer Reid wasn't an aggressive type in any way.

“Nothing important,” his voice was crass. More than anything you were confused, not surprised since early on he’d been acting out but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. The jittery nature of all of his little actions, and his deliberate, yet entirely unnatural facial expression sprung you into a spiral of doubt and wonder. Out of all the people on your team, Spencer Reid by some stretch of the issue had the least relevance to you. You weren’t close to him nor did you have any reason to be. Whatever he was lying about was strikingly obvious to you, so you can’t imagine the rest of the team doesn’t see it too. You decide to yourself, it’s frankly none of your business and try to shake off the feeling as best you can.

“Well.. I hope you find whatever you were looking for okay, I’ll get out of your way now,” you say to him forcefully. He gives you a painfully fake smile and continues on his way down the isle, his posture relaxing each step he took away from you. You wanted to roll your eyes, partially at the irritation that riddled you with that looming uncertainty. You weren’t concerned for him by himself, but typically when Spencer decides that something needs to happen, negative or positive, he’s willing to risk whatever it takes. Spencer didn’t take part in niceties, whatever the situation may be, you can only imagine the intensity that would make him act out the way he is right now.

Your eyes felt glued to his silhouette as you watched him disappear around the corner aisle, your body twisted around, hand loosely on the cart handle, almost entranced by his behavior. You shrugged purposefully attempting to shake the feeling at ran up your spine and continued on your trek to freedom from the hellish handcuffs of stuffed sinuses.

_____

God, you loved your fucking bed.

Enough time had passed that you could justify laying in bed and drinking a glass of wine. The sun set peacefully into the night sky, wrapping itself under the cover of the clouds and disappearing to get it’s rest. Following in suit, you felt yourself being lulled into a sleepy, dream-like state. Eyes heavy, sinuses beginning to clear (which made you unbelievably grateful to the big man in the sky,) and finally have shaken off your previous feelings of worry, you down the glass in your hand, and shut your eyes. The prospect of true sleep was something you would die for in this moment, your body finally turning off all of the settings it needed to keep on during the day to.. function like a person. No more thinking at all, just uninterrupted and beautiful sleep, ready to finally hold you tight in its arms and let you sleep. Sleep sounded so beautiful to you, right now. So timeless and wonderful.

Pulling your blanket up to your chest, and curling yourself into fetal position. You turn off your light, and the sudden snapshot of darkness fills you with warmth. Your head is laid up on your pillows in sheer bliss, hair up comfortably. It was picture esque, and made you snuggle further into your main place of comfort and luxury. Taking notice of the way your spine straightens as you lay, and how your face and neck feel against the cool pillows, you can feel your thoughts slowly start to thin out. The vividness of shut eyes slowly begin to pool and then disperse. After what seemed to be a few minutes, sleep finally seemed to come to you.

After all this, the loud, bellowing grumble of your stomach which made your whole bedroom roar, was not only deeply traumatizing, but deeply hurtful. You know when your so tired, and your peaceful sleep gets interrupted, and you just cry? Tears just flow helpless from your eyes and you are irrationally upset and you begin wondering about the universe's most garbage injustice and cry more? That sadness, just hits different. God, fucking damn, your pudgy and hungry existence.

Wiping away your tears, and left feeling oddly pathetic, you pick up your phone from your bedside dresser. The bright white light, blinded you as you looked for places to go eat that could still be open at this hour. You responded to texts from your team while you were at it, the whole day seeming to have gone by too quick to respond in general. Business as usual, of course. Nothing seemed to really matter in all the passing moments that encountered since your teary eyed session. You needed sustenance desperately, you realize. You swing your feet over the side of your bed, and sit up in some sort of unspoken defeat that's entirely unneeded. Perhaps you had a flair for the dramatic, you can’t say that that doesn’t factore itself into your night. You are now simply sleep deprived and hungry and the world made less and less sense as you thought through it.

You stand with little balance or motion recognition in your flawed movement. Your keys sat on your kitchen counter found themselves in your hands as you once again, unfortunately leave your home and place of solitude in hopes of finding cure or remedy. Earlier for sickness and now for.. living? Or something like that you guess. With, for some reason, a decent amount of confidence, your suped up on cough medicine mind decides that waffle house is clearly the right place to be eating your late night meal. It’d be smart to just run down to the store, maybe grab a can of progresso and eat that to numb your body that craves the release of sleep so much, and simply be at peace but no. Why make it easy for yourself, when do you ever do that? You stop in your tracks for a moment, your wash of anger taking your calm rational brain by surprise, as it tries to get you to think through your own feelings, but alas. Angry, Tired brain wins with ease and you let yourself succumb to miserableness for the first time in the day, hunger is a fiend you decide.

The drive way of the Waffle House is just as eerie as you remember, coated thickly with some evil presence no one could really recognize and a smell of marijuana that seemed to hang around even if no one was smoking. An odd place with an odd presence that seemed to call your name, dreaming of waffles and bacon and orange juice at late o’clock in the morning. Time all felt so relative now, you weren’t sure how much it mattered. Taking a seat a single booth in the front, the old waitress came to take your order. You smile at her weakly and order an All-Star breakfast and two chocolate chip waffles and she allows you to relish in your own sad meal in silence. From where your seated you can’t see much but the resident late night guests across from you who are also here to eat alone. You almost want to smile, but that very well may be the delirium that bites at your lungs and doesn’t full allow you to appear normal in the current moment.

From across from you, you see very little. There isn’t many people here other than a man whose staring blankly at the tv and the people who work here who aren’t all too pleased with being there in the first place. There's a brown haired patron across from, he babysits a hot coffee and a waffle that only really have a few bites in it. You stare at him, partially because you don’t care about him looking at you, but also because his clothes make him hard to identify.

And in that moment, you encounter a feeling of such.. intense irritation, that you can’t help but sigh outwardly and wish that you could curse out the bastard in public, wishing you had that much confrontation in you at all. You sigh, and look at him a bit exasperated, knowing that he’d notice you soon enough as you watched and he did.. doing the dramatic (Or maybe just normal, Angry Tired Y/n simply had that kind of control over your perspective) face that he makes when he sees someone he recognizes. You wave at him, knowing that even if you were to eat in the simple silence your body craved, it would fall short to the fact you had to speak with him when he left. For fucking formalities sake, or something like that.

You waved him over haphazardly, your hand begging to be back onto the table with every forced movement you made with such disdain and discontent. He smiles just as fakely back to you, coming over in fake delight and fake joy to see you. What was the point of this shoddy behavior? Oh it was never more unclear than in this moment now, but it had to happen it felt like.

“What are you doing here, Spence?,” you say softly, a weak and overall defeated smile. He looks at you with returned enthusiasm.

“Couldn’t sleep, decided to make a night out of it,” He says with a frankness that could cut through drywall. You have to fill in for the conversation, as if his last words were a silent “your turn,” as the two of you play small talk hot potato.

“Have you eaten anything?,” the question is so mind numbingly simple you want to hit yourself for saying it. It’s also so tedious in the seconds pass.

And as much as you’d love to go on about how generally boring the conversation continued to be, it’s almost you struck a nerve in spencer. But, luckily for you it was all cut short, as Spencers phone rings in his pocket. You watch him pull it out, his eyes settling in some sort of odd panic you don’t really understand. He seems.. frazzled? Frankly, it’s out of character for him to look like that - he expects the worst possible outcome and he tends to be negative for anything to surprise him, surprise you. Who could it be?

“Hey, uh - yeah, I’ll be right there, see you soon,” his hands shake the slightest bit as he hangs up the phone. It wasn’t really something anyone else would notice, but you were a profiler, you did this all day everyday and the way that spencers usually steady hand tumbled onto itself - in such a restricted way got to you. Something was up with him, adversely but you didn’t really know what. Infact, you weren’t even sure how to place it. Nothing in your mind could ever be that bad, unless you had to jump to the worse case scenario. It stung, really. To have the prickly feeling crawl up your neck and weigh your stomach down like bricks, but you had no evidence. Nothing that wasn’t circumstantial, so you couldn’t say for sure. You watched him carefully, as he puts his phone and smiles at you again, as if he were a ken-doll. All of it felt manufactured.

“Urgent personal call, it was nice talking to you Y/N. I’ll catch you when we have our next case,” his tone is abnormally rushed, and he grabs his things and walks out before you can utter any goodbye. This was all so strange, and Spencer was a good actor you knew this for certain - but is it possible that you’re the only person whose noticed in the first place? That couldn’t be it right? There was no way.

There was a slowly sinking that you felt in every part of your body, your mind from both sickness and confusion weighed down like an anchor trying to hold on to a current reality you didn’t want to let go of. You can’t shake the paranoia that places its spindle fingers down your spine, something was wrong - undeniably something was so fucking wrong but what? How could you know for sure?

You knew what do, unfortunately. This was the only way you could know for sure - you think to yourself.

You really can’t believe that you were about follow Spencer Reid to wherever he was headed - you really truly can’t fathom it. You didn’t hate him but you tolerated him at absolute most - at absolute most he was just alright. But he’s your co-worker, he affect the team in more ways than one and the team has gone the hard road many times to save him from his own selfish thoughts and actions and as much as it borders on disgusts you - you have to know what the fuck was going on.

Your own weight feels heavy as you stand on your feet, taking a final bite of all the food on your plate, and beckoning your lovely waitress for to-go for your coffee. By now you suspected you’d need it to even survive this whole endeavor. Stretching, you grab your things and pay your bill, and set foot out into the parking lot.

Spencer was conveniently in the corner, his back facing you as he entered his car. You thank some higher power with great intention for allowing  you to park far enough that he doesn’t see you - you’ve trained in stealth more than once so you suppose this was a mission of some kind. You use your keys to unlock your car to minimize the noise and duck your head down, turning your headlights on and starting your car - angling your mirror to be in direct line of vision of Spencer. He still had not gone into his car, he simply stood in front of you and you couldn’t see what he was doing so you staked him out to see his next move.

The moment was filled with a type of stagnancy that was unfamiliar to you, your fingers felt numb but your hands were simply still. Time was slowed, rallying your last bits and pieces of normalcy as your collective being watched the chaos begin to unfold. In the moments it happened, everything began to still and speed all at once. Spencer enters his car, pulls off into the night and your urged to follow him, like a string was tugging you too him each passing second. You were attached to his presence in that moment, watching over his humanity out of only concern.

The drive was quiet, the city was aching to be asleep and it was. It was just you, and Spencer down and old and unwinding road. He couldn’t see you, you’re sure, but your eyes were stuck onto his license plate like it was the last thing you’d ever see - this was certain. It was unnerving really - the registration of loneliness and callous that you began to feel in the moment. Your neck felt like it’d stop giving support to your head if the time didn’t come and everything didn’t fall into place. Inherently, you knew it was no or never thought you weren’t sure why.

You aren’t sure how long the drive was - the only thing you knew was seeing Spencer pull into an abandoned parking lot. The lights overhead weren’t flickering, they were moving and still and sterile. Spencers car was the only one in the lot, not a soul else. Your eyes observed him carefully, his leaning and lanky figure nearly stumbling over to a brown paper bag sitting underneath pole - a halo of light surrounding it with tangible irony. Spencer puts a sterile glove on and reaches down to pick up the bag. He picks it up, and opens it - reaching in for the contents of what it may be.

Your suspicions, as painful and as downright dark they were, stood clear and correct. Clear vials of Hydromorphone shined under the light like stars, the sterile bottles and the pair needles clear in Spencers hand as he made sure everything he paid for was there and in order. You can’t see his expression in the moment - to be honest, you didn’t know if you wanted too. You’re afraid that what should be pain - would instead be cast with numbness and anarchy. Spencer doesn’t deteriorate often - but when he does the process is fast and volatile. Spencer was so volatile - it made you angry. You pulled your car into the parking lot, the thought or aftermath of what could occur not mattering to you.

Spencer holds the product up to his chest as you pull in next to him. You roll your window down and he’s more afraid that it’s just you - maybe because he knows you’re not going to let him off. If he made it past you right now it’d be by the skin of his fucking teeth - you knew that for certain.

“Put the product in the backseat, and get in the car,” your tone is frank, cold and unmoving. Spencer tries to get angry at you, opens his mouth to start to raise his voice but he’s met with yours instead

“I said get in the fucking car, Spencer,” if the lot weren’t empty, eyes would be on you. Your voice was chilling, and with silence he does as he’s told.

                                  i. words of thorns and roses               “Love speaks in flowers. Truth requires thorns.”

taglist: @cynbx @jhope-jkill @zephyr-studiesjp @skrrrrrrrrrrt

[artificialqueens]

In sickness and in health (but mostly the sickness thing) (Branjie) - TheDane

Authors note: A short sick fic based on Vanjie not feeling well on the s11 tour.

“I got you your favourite.”

“Chicken noodle be everybody’s favourite. Ain’t making you special.”

Brooke had knocked twice on Vanjie’s door, hoping in her heart of hearts the other man would answer. Brooke was still in full drag, her wig itchy, her shoes hurting and honestly she just wanted to get out of drag, knowing she would have to do it all over again tomorrow since they were on the season 11 tour.

Brooke should have known something was wrong the moment Vanjie had arrived backstage that afternoon, completely bundled up in a hoodie, not even a nip showing even though they were in burning hot Texas. Brooke didn’t know a lot, but she knew Vanjie, and if there was one thing Vanjie was, it was one of the vainest peacocks on earth.

There was only one explanation: Vanjie was sick. The normally deafeningly loud Latino moped around backstage all day, trying and failing, again and again, to work up the energy to get into drag, until Asia had sent him back to the hotel. Vanjie had protested, but Asia had been firm, everyone performing an extra number to fill in the time, and as he was out of excuses, Vanjie had had to return to the hotel.

Brooke knocked again, her stomach clenching until she finally reached into her bra, grabbing the key card Vanjie had originally left on A’keria’s table. Brooke had snagged it up the moment she had the chance, trying and failing miserably in convincing herself that her actions were normal. That it was an appropriate way to behave towards an ex, but Brooke couldn’t make herself care when she knew Vanjie was feeling like shit.

“Jose?”

Brooke opened the door, peeking inside the room. The curtains were closed, the bedside lamp filling the space with yellow light. The air was stuffy, the TV running on a news channel of all things, so low it was practically on mute.

“A’keria?”

“No.” Brooke walked inside, closing the door behind her. The air was stuffy; a mountain of Kleenex next to the bed telling her exactly how the man who was buried in bed was feeling, the only thing visible of Vanjie was his short black hair, the only noise, the faint sound of coughs.

“Brock?”

“I brought you some soup.” Brooke put the container down. She had gotten it from the deli right next to the hotel, sure Vanjie hadn’t eaten anything, the clear lack of dishes confirming her suspicions.

“Thanks.”

Brooke knew she should probably leave; the fact that Vanjie hadn’t even bothered to crawl out from underneath the covers a sure sign that he most likely didn’t want her there. However, the fact that Vanjie hadn’t responded with a quick jab, made a joke, or even a snap of his fingers while pointing at the door, felt like the exact reason she had to stay.

“Can I borrow the shower?”

“Mmh.”

“Thanks.”

It should feel wrong, but somehow, it was the easiest thing in the world to leave the bathroom door half-open so Vanjie could call in case he needed to. Brooke dumped the bag she grabbed when she left the venue, turning on the water as she started to attack her makeup, peeling off lashes and brows.

She had been flirted with all night, two guys unapologetically approaching her at the bar where she had been watching Silky perform, both asking if they could buy her drinks, their words filled with promises Brooke knew she would have taken them up on before Drag Race , both of them invited back to her room in the blink of an eye.

Normally, she would have basked in the attention, enjoyed it like a flower under the sun, but the urgency coursing through her body had made it impossible to get changed there. It was an urgency she’d rather not address unless she had to, and one she had assumed she could ignore, and yet. Here she was.

The sink was littered with Jose’s things. Not Vanjie’s. No, these all belonged to the man behind the myth; the razor, self-tanner and teeth whitener all a normal part of the routine. That wasn’t out of the ordinary, however, Brooke couldn’t help but smile at the seven bottles of perfume that was lined up perfectly along the wall, each one of them fitting a specific one of Jose’s moods.

Brooke stepped into the shower. The water was hot, stinging against his sore toes, and soon every trace of Brooke had vanished down the drain, Brock quickly grabbed a bit of Jose’s moisturizer and rubbed it into his face, knowing that Jose would mind, but if there was one thing Brock had never had an issue with, it was their bickering. Jose so easily getting worked up about the tiniest things, it was honestly a delight to see.

Brock walked back into the room, drying his hair, a pair of sweats slung low on his hips. Brock looked at the bed, just to see that while Jose had emerged, laying with his comically large phone, there was still one thing very very wrong with the scene.

“You haven’t touched your soup.”

“Mmmh.”

Jose didn’t look up from his phone, his thumb doing the same motion over and over again, and Brock knew he was refreshing Twitter in the hopes that something exciting would pop up. A cough wracked his body, Jose quickly grabbing yet another tissue to wipe his nose.

“When was the last time you ate?”

“I had some NyQuil.”

“That’s not food.” Brock threw his towel in the direction of the desk, his curls without a doubt a big blonde mess on top of his head.

“And one of A’kerias nasty ass drinks.”

Brock smiled, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He was happy that A’keria had forced Jose into drinking one of her Ensures, the meal replacement drink one he knew all too well himself, but it still wasn’t anything that would help someone get over a serious cold. “Sit up.”

Jose groaned, at least putting his phone down, but he wasn’t making any move to sit up.

“Now come on.” Brock took his elbow, gently forcing the other man into an upright position. “I got you your favourite.” Brock took the soup, unsnapping the lid, the aroma of chicken filling the room.

“Chicken noodle be everybody’s favourite. Ain’t making you special.”

“Sure, but not everyone likes it with extra noodles and no carrots.”

“You remembered?”

“Of course.” Brock smiled, grabbing the spoon. “Now eat, or I’ll force you to.”

Jose took the bowl, reluctantly taking a mouthful, clearly just pleasing Brock, but the moment the soup touched Jose’s lips, it did exactly what Brock had expected, his stomach telling his brain he was hungry and Jose started shovelling it in.

“You’re being quiet.”

“I’m not a loud-ass motherfucker all the time.”

Brock pulled his leg up, watching Jose whose eyes had already started to droop. “Do you think you’ll be ready for tomorrow?”

“If not, you’ll be there to push me on stage.”

Brock felt a brief surge of ice cold in his stomach, making him freeze. “What?”

“It’d be real funny if I coughed and slapped myself in the face. Imagine the memes.”

“Why would I push you on stage?”

“Ain’t that the truth?” Jose coughed, putting the soup on the bedside table. “Show must go on and all that crap.”

Brock knew that Jose was right, or at least that he used to be right. Brock had never put anything above his career, not even Jose when it really came down to it. It was the thing they had fought about the most, Brock chewing the bitter pill of Jose never having time when season 10 was at its highest, Brock stupidly twisting the knife with joy when he got the chance to be the busy one, gleefully accepting each and every booking he could that had left Jose angry, confused and stretched thin, their relationship barely more than hurried text messages by the time they finally broke up for good.

“Hey.” Brock reached out, steadying Jose who was quite literally falling asleep sitting up. “You’re nodding off.”

“Sorry.” Jose rubbed his eyes, clearly trying and failing miserably, his shoulder so hot it almost burned Brock’s hand, even though the other man was naked.

“I really don’t think you should be alone tonight.”

“You can call A’keria.”

“Saw her take off with some trade.” Brooke pushed Jose, the other man easily falling into the sheets. Brock crawled in after him.

“Bitch, the fuck you doing?”

“Come here.” Brock grabbed Vanjie easily, turning him over to put his head on his chest.

“This ain’t shit you do with an ex.”

“You think I’m doing this for you?” Brock cupped Jose’s head, gently running a thumb over the back of his head, Jose instantly relaxing. “I’m just here for the TV.” Brock smiled, grabbing the remote. “There is a Golden Girls marathon I’ve been meaning to catch, and your TV is bigger than mine.”

“You’re too fucking buff for this shit.” Jose’s arm sneaked over Brock’s stomach. “You just rocking that Adonis body.” Jose threw a leg as well, making himself comfortable. “I wish Silky had come, that would’ve been a real cuddle session.”

“At least I can’t choke you in your sleep.” Brock smiled, fully expecting a retaliation, but Jose didn’t say anything, his eyes already fallen shut as he had gone back to sleep. Brock turned his attention to the TV, clicking on subtitles as he settled in, Jose’s steady breath against his chest telling him that he was okay. Maybe this wasn’t what exes did, but Brock couldn’t imagine anywhere else he’d rather be with Jose safe and sound in his arms.

[inconvenient-sneezes]

“road to recovery for two, please”

or the one in which steve has to warn bucky every time he sneezes bc of bucky’s ptsd

[[this is a continuation so read part one here and part two here!!!]]

Time After Time

Chapter Three: Road to Recovery for Two, Please (After)

***

It’s been months since Steve’s gotten Bucky back.

There are aspects of him that are the same and there are some that are very different. For one, Bucky gets his hair cut by suggestion of one of his therapists as a “new beginning.” 

It’s not the exact cut that Steve remembers, but similar enough. There are also certain small things that set him off, like being touched. They’re working on it, but he only likes to be touched on good days and Steve has seen enough of the bad days to know when it is and isn’t okay. 

Steve is the one who cuts all of the tags out of Bucky’s clothes because he can’t stand them rubbing up against his skin all day. He also stays with him during nightmares or panic attacks. Loud sounds shock him and he often results to violence upon being startled, like the time Tony showed up at Cap’s apartment unannounced and was forced to duck out of the way as the knife left Bucky’s hand. Actually, Tony and Bucky haven’t gotten on very well together, which will be a problem for today.

Steve crawls out of bed and into his car to pick up Bucky from therapy at the usual time. He manages not to crash the car, despite his sneezing fits and watery eyes. How a superhuman can get a cold, he still doesn’t quite understand. Bucky opens the door and climbs into the passenger side.

“How was your appointment?” Steve asks, driving away from the building.

Bucky shrugs. “It was good.”

“Good. Hey, uh, Buck?” Steve says, scrunching up his nose, “I’m gonna —heh’NXT!” 

Steve tries to warn his friend every time before his sneezes, just so it’s nothing unexpected. Stifling them also seems to quiet the explosion.

Thankfully, Bucky doesn’t even flinch. “It’s okay, you don’t have to warn me anymore. I’ve been practicing.”

“Oh, re-really?” His voice shakes. “Hahh... hap’SHHT!”

“Bless you.”

Steve sighs. Now is as good of a time as ever. “Hey, you’re gonna be staying with, um, Tony today, okay?” he tells Bucky casually, hoping he’ll let it slide. He doesn’t.

His voice is practically dripping with suspicion. “Why?”

“No reason.”

“I don’t even like that guy,” Bucky mutters. “Are you sick or something?”

“No.” It doesn’t sound convincing.

“Then why—”

“Because you need a break from me. We’ve been staying together for three months. It’ll be good for you to get some f-frehhh... fresh air.” His nostrils flare and Bucky watches him closely.

“Are you sure you’re not sick? You look like you’re going to sneeze,” he points out, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not,” Steve says before sneezing again. “Ehh’CHSHH!”

***

It takes Bucky about five minutes to pack. “I’m used to packing light” is Bucky’s explanation and then he cringes, as if this brings back memories he’d rather not revisit.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning,” Steve tells his friend as they walk together to the entrance of Stark Towers. “And behave, okay? I don’t want to hear any horror stories from Tony.” 

He feels like the mother of a five-year-old sometimes.

Tony meets them there at the doors and Cap smiles. “Tony, thanks for doing this.”

Bucky sulks, looking less thrilled.

“Come on in, Bucky.” Tony steps back so he can enter the threshold. Bucky does and makes a bee-line for the bathroom, without saying goodbye to Steve.

Tony winks at Steve. “I got your back, man.”

“Hh’KSHH!” He cups his hand over his mouth before continuing. “Thanks again. Sorry for this, I really just don’t want him getting sick, you know? His immune system a little weak at the moment—”

“I thought he was superhuman too?”

So am I, but I’ve got bloodshot eyes and a runny nose, Steve wants to inform him. Instead, he explains himself, at least halfway. “Well, he is, but due to all the recent trauma... Anyway, just make sure he doesn’t watch anything violent. Cooking shows, Full House, I don’t care. Just none of that — hah’ISHH! �� none of that CSI crap, okay?”

“Sure, sure.”

“And make sure to call me if you need anything or if they’re any problems.”

“Okay, Cap. You just go home and chill. Knock yourself out with some NyQuil.”

Steve grins. “Will do. Alright.”

He walks away, praying that everything will go smoothly.

***

“So,” Tony claps his hands together. “What do you wanna do?”

Bucky stares at him. “Have a drink.”

“You know Steve wouldn’t approve,” Tony says, walking into the kitchen. 

“JARVIS, fix our guest a Coke, please.” He turns to Bucky. “You do like Coca-Cola, right?”

“Yeah.”

So the pair sit on the couch, Bucky sipping a Coke out of the classic glass bottle and Tony indulging in some alcoholic concoction JARVIS cooked up.They sit in silence until Tony finally turns on the television to offer some white noise. Non-violent shows, he reminds himself.

“Today, another school shooting—” Click. 

“Make sure you dice those onions, and I mean dice—” Click. 

“I’mmmm gonna wreck it—” Click. 

“The body was found with deep—” Click. 

He keeps changing the channel until he lands on something called 7th Heaven.

“You’re pretty particular about your television programs,” Bucky notes, sipping his Coke.

After about five minutes of enduring the excruciating, sickly sweet, unrealistic show that is 7th Heaven, Tony switches off the television. “That show sucks.”

Bucky nods. “Nobody’s life is that sugary sweet.” 

It may just be the first time they’ve ever agreed on something.

“You ever play Gin Rummy?”

***

Steve arrives home to his apartment to find a package outside. The words, “for Steve” are hastily scribbled on a Post-It note. He brings it inside and locks the door behind him.

“Dear Steve,” the note inside the package reads, “I heard you weren’t feeling well from Tony so I went and picked up some stuff for you, to pay you back for last winter. Would’ve given it to you in person but I’m a bit of a germaphobe. Feel better soon, Sam.”

Steve chuckles, recalling the time Sam was down with the flu and examines the contents of the box. A Tupperware container of soup, still warm, tissues, Vick’s, ginger ale, the DVD set of Bones and hand sanitizer. Removing everything reveals a second note, that simply says, “Okay, okay, Natasha picked up most of this stuff and made the soup but I provided the Vick’s.”

“Hhtch’SHHUHH!” Steve sneezes and decides to go ahead and start season one. He’s already surrounded by a mountain of tissues and watched six episodes before the NyQuil knocks him out cold.

***

“You can sleep here,” Tony offers, gesturing to a lavish bed in a large bedroom. “My room’s just down the hall if you, uh, need me.”

Bucky nods his thanks. He’s had a great time tonight surprisingly, but his thoughts still go back to Steve. “Thanks, Tony.”

Tony shuts his door. Bucky immediately wriggles out of his shirt and climbs into the huge bed, pulling back the blankets and heavy comforter. It takes him forever to go to sleep and when he does, he has a nightmare.

He’s drowning. Bucky’s in the middle of the ocean, the salt-water washing up again his face and stinging his eyes. He knows full well how to swim, but the water’s so dark and he can’t see anything. Kicking his feet doesn’t help keep him afloat and his one good arm isn’t much help either. Suddenly, his metal arm feels like it’s made of solid lead and abruptly starts to drag him down into the water’s depths. Down, down, down he goes and his mouth and lungs fill with water. His chest is on fire and he can’t breathe. All he can think of is Steve, Steve...

“Steve!” Bucky wakes up screaming Steve’s name. He’s buried deep underneath all the blankets, which explains the drowning notion, but it takes him a second to gather where he is. The nightmare’s over but Bucky is sweating and shivering and all he wants right now is Steve. Besides, this little sleepover has gone on far too long.

Bucky sneaks out of his room and takes an elevator down to the first floor. He leaves out the front doors, so as not to set off any alarms, and walks two and a half miles to Steve’s apartment.

Of course, the front door is locked but Bucky doesn’t want to knock on the door or ring the bell; it’s three in the morning, after all. He goes back downstairs and around the building and climbs up onto the fire escape. Bucky crawls through the window like he’s done it a hundred times.

Steve’s completely unconscious, still lying on the couch and some random Bones episode is playing on the telly. He’s snoring really loudly and Bucky can’t recall a time when Steve had snored. He sits on the couch and puts his hands in his lap. Bucky wants to wake Steve up so bad because he actually wants someone to touch him now. He closes his eyes because maybe things will be better if he can just go to sleep.

However, the dream comes back full force. Bucky’s eyes fly open and once again, he’s screaming Steve’s name like there’s no tomorrow and he’s breathing in short, rapid gasps because he can’t exactly breathe or so that’s what it feels like. Bucky squeezes his eyes closed and repeats his mantra. It wasn’t real, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t—

“Bucky!” Steve nearly shouts. “Bucky!”

His eyes open again. “H-hi, Steve.” He’s sweating a lot.

Steve puts his hand on Bucky’s back and feels him shaking. He rubs Bucky’s back and whispers soothing things into his ear like he’s done so many times now. He doesn’t even question why he’s back home and he’s not at all mad. 

“Shhh, id’s okay. You’re hobe, you’re with be.”

Bucky recognizes his friend’s voice and leans into him. “I’m sorry, Steve.”

“Doe, don’t apologize. I’b here.”

Steve starts to turn away from him, panicked. “Sorry Bucky, I’b godda — hah’CHESHHH!” His hands pull his T-shirt around his nose and he sneezes into it, sniffing thickly afterward. Bucky cringes.

Still shivering a bit, he turns to face Steve. “You are sick.”

“Dot really, id’s jusd a little—”

“Don’t even tell me you’re not. People get sick, time after time,” Bucky snaps. “Why’d you ship me off to Tony’s if you needed me?”

“I don’t wand you to get sigg. Thad’s the l-lasd thing you d-deed... godda — hahh... hahH! Uh’TSHHH! — right dow.”

“You should’ve told me,” Bucky mumbles, scooting closer to him. “Do you remember when you had pneumonia that one Christmas and I had to take you to the hospital at like two in the morning?” Bucky and Steve play this game often, the Do-You-Remember-When, so Bucky can separate his memories from fiction. This one happens to be true.

“Yeah. I had a really high fever.” Steve recalls slipping in and out of fever-induced hallucinations.

“I’m going to take care of you, just like I did then,” Bucky tells him, getting up to fetch the afghan from the armchair.

“HUSH’uhh!” Steve sneezes again, nostrils twitching. “Ehhh... hahhH! Hh’HDEZCHHOO!”

“Bless you,” Bucky says with a raised eyebrow. “The last time you had a cold like this was in, what, 1943?” 

It sounds more like a question than a statement.

Steve nods. “Yeah. Ad you wouldn’t stob singig thad song—”

“‘In the Blue of Evening.’” Bucky amazes himself by remembering. “You liked it though.”

“Yeah, I did.” Bucky sees his irritated nostrils flare and plucks a tissue from the box. “Here.”

Steve buries his face into it. “Hur’ESHHH!”

“Bless.”

“Thags,” Steve says before blowing his nose. “For everything, I mean.”

“Don’t tell Tony I enjoyed playing Gin Rummy with him.”

Steve chuckles. “I promise.”

***

request some stuff/give me feedback!! read more stuff!!

[monikafilefan]

#72 from the prompts pleaseandthankyou 😀

I finally got around to writing this and fought through a bout of writers block, but ta-da! I hope you like it @allyinthekeyofx I took some liberties with Scully’s chip regarding her being sick. 

I’m combining an angst/romance prompt with an earlier request for a pre revival sickfic. Since I’ve ready written a Mulder S-6 sickfic, I wrote a sick Scully this time. Also, this is sort of a follow up story to the angsty chapter 1 of this: 

Tagging @today-in-fic @kyouryokusenshi @fragilevixenfic @scully-eats-sushi @peacenik0

---

#72 “You need sleep.”

Feb. 2016: Several months before MS1

Mulder ran a hand through his hair for at least the tenth time with his phone glued to his ear as he paced the cold creaky floor throughout the unremarkable house. The fact that he had to resort to calling her office at the hospital at all this morning would be worrisome enough. But because he hadn’t heard from her at her usual once a week phone call time yesterday, he was concerned to say the least.

Truth be told, they had only started talking on a regularly scheduled basis for about three months now and had only seen one another in person sporadically since she’d left. But on one Friday night, Scully called him to discuss whether he was okay with celebrating Thanksgiving with her. Eventually, she had confessed that every night before bed she would stare at his picture in her room and tell him what was on her mind. Her therapist had advised her to bridge the gap and tell him herself. And that’s what she has done ever since, until last night at least.

His bare feet slapped along the hardwood towards the entryway door and he leaned his forehead against it, frustrated with a familiar nervous churning roaming his gut as the ringing of her phone continued to go unanswered.

Ever since his ‘whole life’ walked out of their front door he was currently grinding his head into, he has worked his ass off both physically and emotionally to find himself again. And he knows that, with her own therapy, she has too. His depression and obsessions with the future and secretly searching for clues about William consistently for the last four years had secluded him even further away from Scully. And he hated it—hated everything about it, including himself. Yet, he just couldn’t stop himself from doing what she begged him not to do—go searching through the darkness without his light.

After a while, it finally dawned on him to really look at her—his light—and what he saw scared the hell out of him. He painfully watched Scully’s own guilt and depression that she had tried desperately to keep hidden away, coil tighter inside, dimming that light, and choking her like a noose. All of it brewed into a perfect storm, creating the catalyst of that one dark night in 2014.

“Come on, Scully, answer the phone.” He ended the call to her house phone without leaving a message and quickly switched back over to her cell number. Mulder wandered over to the mantle where most of their shared items still sat, mocking him. Memories of their past that they had created together were collecting dust.

The ringing shrilled through the earpiece again as he stared at a recent photo of them taken at Margarets house sharing a kiss on New Years Eve just over a month ago. Scully hadn’t wanted him ringing in the new year alone and Margaret’s quick photography rewarded him with a rare memento of their halted intimacy that night.

They were better in 2016. Happier together than apart. Mulder knew she wasn’t ready to come back home yet and to be honest, he wasn’t either. Even so, his resolution was to make damn sure he was ready when she was. And that’s exactly why he was currently on the verge of panic as he leaves her yet another voicemail just minutes after receiving a callback from her office stating that ‘Dr. Scully had called in sick two days ago’.

“It’s me again, Scully. Please call me back. I’m worried about you and in fact, if you don’t call back in the next five minutes, I’m coming over to check on you. You know if you’re sick, I help you—no matter what, Scully,” he rushingly said and huffed as he clicked the end button, stuffing his cell in the pocket of his sweats.

Dammit, that’s just like her too. Her calling into work and telling them she’s too sick to work and no one else. Which in the language of Scully means that she literally cannot function enough to crawl out of bed and get dressed. Scully rarely ever got sick, especially after her cancer remission. Which Mulder knew the chip most likely protected her from any serious virus infecting her immune system. But when Dana Scully did feel ‘under the weather,’ as she called it, she was usually bedridden for days and completely reliant on him for help. Whether she admitted it or not.  

She must really be ill this time and that scared the shit out of him. Not being able to see her, to touch her, to dote on her when she normally would scoff at his babying, had his anxiety riddled heart nearly pounding out of his chest.

Yes, Scully was an excellent doctor and always has been. Yet, she was also his wife, his other half, his partner in every respect of the word, and had felt that way about their dynamic from the beginning.

He worried back then and worries still. It’s silly he knows, but he worries that if he doesn’t lay eyes on her for several weeks at a time then he might miss some subtle change in her appearance. Yet, he worries when he finally sees her face to face that he just might cry and beg her to come back. He worries more that she might even cry right along with him. But what he worries about the most while laying in bed alone at night, is that she might not care enough anymore to cry at all. He figured that this was some kind of cruel karma for all the worry he’d laid on her shoulders throughout the years.

But the fact remained, he relished every moment spent with her and worrying about her through every illness. Even when she hadn’t known about half of it.

Mulder had hoped to be the one she leaned on since the beginning if she’d ever gotten sick and shockingly, she had done just that. He would wait on her hand and foot, pretend to leave her apartment when she told him to go home and sleep, but would instead lay on her couch while she stubbornly thrashed alone in her bed just feet away from him. He’d bring her water and a cool rag to wipe down her sweaty skin when her cancer invaded her nights with fevers, or curl up next to her when the chills wracked her body so hard she couldn’t sleep. Mulder would even happily sacrifice what little sleep he did end up capturing to hold her hand while he sat scrunched up on the floor, leaning against the side of the bed just listening to her raspy breaths filling the silence between them.  

On nights like those, Mulder would quietly leave just before the sun came up, but not before placing a kiss upon her cheek that she would pretend to sleep through. It was just one of their many silent agreements that lay between them throughout the years. Much of their struggles were silent, yes, but it was their silent adoration for one another that screamed the loudest.

Breaking that silence was deafening—an altogether beautiful thing, and that’s exactly what Mulder intended to do all over again.

He ran up the stairs, threw on his shirt, and grabbed a couple personal things of Scully’s that she had left behind before he hurried out the door. The realization that he was also one of those things that she had left behind, felt like a slap in the face.

Nearly slipping on the unsalted porch, it suddenly registered to him that the last time Scully stepped foot on the wooden beams beneath him, it was sprinkled with freshly fallen leaves and not snow.

Pushing aside a sudden new wave of woe, he tossed her things in the seat as the Mustang roared to life. It echoed into the cold February air as he put the pedal to the metal and raced towards the familiar D.C. city limits.  

---

“Scully?” Mulder closed the front door of the smart house he hated and punched in her security code. He’d only been here a handful of times since she moved in eighteen months ago, and it looked exactly the same way every single time. Sterile and uncomfortable. “Scully, it’s me. Where are you?” He searched the tidy living room, tossing her things and his coat on the couch, and walked through the kitchen, taking in the scene of how clean and orderly everything seemed without him.

His head spun at the thought of her choosing this life over the one they built together.

The sound of coughing had him swiftly moving down the hall and into her bedroom. And sight before him, sucked him back almost twenty years in the past. The room was a mess. Her bed was piled high with multiple comforters, clothes riddled the floor by the nightstand which was covered with pill bottles and Nyquil. He took a step and noticed a giant wad of used kleenex in the overflowing trash can the floor next to her bedside. Mulder gasped when he saw that some were clearly stained in various shades of blood.  

No! It can’t be!

“Scully…” His heart was beating so loud, it was surely enough to wake her.

Her wild haired head popped up beneath the mound of blankets with a look of shock and relief in her expression. “Mulder?” she yelled out, swiping a tissue across her nose. “Ugh! There you are!”

Swooping down upon her without thinking twice about it, he grabbed the hand she had hovering over her nose and wrapped her up in a tight embrace, smashing her face against his chest. “Jesus, Scully you scared the shit out of me.” Pulling back when he heard her grunt, he held up her hand that gripped the used tissue and examined it. “No blood.”

“Mulder!” her droopy lids, stark white face, and red tipped nose had nothing on the overly loud barking sound of her voice. “I’m so glad you came!”

“What? Scully you never called me. And why are you yelling?” Looking at her sleepy confused face, he realized that she was probably drugged up on sleep aids and decongestants.

“Oh, I can’t hear very well!” He watched her eyes narrow as she tried focusing on reading his lips. “I’m talking too loud?”

He had to laugh even though he was still concerned over seeing her blood soaked into anything again. “Yes, but that okay,” he spoke louder than before. She tossed the mucous laden tissue over his shoulder and flung the blankets off her legs. “That would explain you not answering your phone I suppose.”

“My phone?” she questioned him quieter now with a crinkle in her brow.

“I called you over and over. I was worried.”

Reading his lips, she nodded and said, “sorry I haven’t gotten out of bed much yesterday or today. I’ve got an upper respiratory infection and a double ear infection and can barely hear with all this congestion. I’ve resorted to knocking myself out every chance I get,” she grinned.

Oh loopy Scully was always fun, but that didn’t explain the crimson streaks on the kleenex.

“What’s with the blood?” Her mouth opened and before she could utter a word, he jumped in and told her not to lie to him with the tone of his voice he hoped she could hear well enough. “Scully…”

“It’s not what you think, Mulder. I’m fine.” Mulder winced and she quickly amended her usual brush off line. “It’s not what you think. There are broken blood vessels in my nose and my lips were cracked and they bled on and off this morning.” She must have seen the relief wash over him as his eyes fluttered shut because she brought his hand up to her face and held it to her cheek. “I’m okay, Mulder. And… I’m really happy to see you.”

Mulder wasn’t shocked at her choice of words. She had told him several times when he saw him that she was happy to see him but the way she said them with such reverence, took him by surprise.

She removed his hand from her face and rolled out of bed onto wobbly legs. He grabbed onto her arm with one hand and clutched her slender hip with the other as she stumbled over a water bottle, making sure she didn’t face plant on the uncharacteristically messy floor.

She relaxed and sighed under his touch. “Thanks. My equilibrium is off a bit,” she chuckled with the volume of her voice wavering.

Mulder sat there staring at her as she closed the bathroom door, stunned at how easily she accepted his presence. Then again, she’d been confused and thought she had called him at some point in the last two days to come over. Glancing over at the medications lined up like soldiers awaiting orders, he understood why. All of these had the side effect labeled, ‘May cause drowsiness and/or confusion. Do not operate heavy machinery’.

Fucking great!

Now he had no idea if she really meant anything she has said so far to him tonight, let alone the possibility that she might not remember him being here at all tomorrow.

Swinging the door open, Scully gave him her now very rare and honest smile that’s done things to him since day one. She looked so small standing there in her bare feet and underwear wearing an oversized t-shirt that looked suspiciously like one of his missing workout shirts. She had no makeup on which highlighted the freckles scattered disobediently on her face. Without a second thought, he stood up, bent his head forward, and planted a kiss on her nose.

She gasped and cleared her throat. “Sorry,” he mumbled, not really wanting to apologize for kissing his wife as he locked his eyes onto hers. “I should probably take off then since I know you’re alright,” he pointed to the bedroom door over his shoulder with furrowed brows. “You need sleep.”

“What?” Scully looked up at him, her big blue eyes shining under the dim lighting. “You’re leaving? A-choo!” Scully sneezed then rubbed her ears, yawning. “Oh, that helped my ears. I can hear a little better now.”

Laughing, he repeated “you need sleep,” louder this time and rubbed her shoulder for his own comfort just as much as hers.

Scully cocked a brow and still too loudly blurted out, “not as much as I need you.”

Mulder’s smile faded slightly and felt his knees bob as the weight of her words smacked into him. “You seem high as a kite with all of those meds your on. Not to mention you probably have no idea what day it is and will very likely think this whole conversation was all a dream in the morning,” he reminded her, offering her an opportunity to take back her words.  

“Mulder?”

“Yes?” She stepped closer and his hand moved from rubbing her shoulder to rub the expanse of her back.

“I love you.”

“Oh brother,” he threw back, replaying their conversation from the past while clearly understanding now just how foggy her head is at the moment. Yet, no matter the context in which she spoke those three words to him, he always took them to heart.

He swallowed hard and looked away from her stare. It was safer this way. He could listen to her words or look into her eyes, but not both at once. He might not survive the honesty of her regret if she rescinded them.

“I miss you, Mulder,” she mumbled, and he could see her eyes glistening with unshed tears from his peripheral. “I do. So much. It's just… Just not time for me to come home yet.”

He risked looking into her bright blue eyes again, his stomach churned, and his throat tightened so much that he thought he’d choke right there. “Oh I know, Scully. Me too—and you’re right.”

Even in her increasing lethargic state, she managed to toss him a perfectly arched brow and a mock look of surprise.

“Yes,” he said louder, ensuring his words wouldn’t be blamed on pain meds, muffled congestion, and swollen eardrums. “You’re right, Scully. It’s not the right time. For either of us; not yet.”

He watched a lone tear leak out of the corner of her red rimmed eyelid and slide down the swell of her pale skin that she didn’t even attempt to hide. He fought the urge to swipe it clean—to wash away evidence of her sorrow. It was exactly that; evidence that her internal pain equaled his own.

“Soon,” she nodded and limply held out her hand to him. He took it gratefully and she laced her fingers within his. “Stay with me tonight.”

“Are you sure?""I want you here and you sleeping all the way out on the couch isn't going to help right now. It's running away and that's what I do, not you."Mulder balked at the sharp self-deprecating words she’d just used. That was the sort of thing he has hear himself say many a time. Not Scully. If she felt that way, she had never expressed that to him before. The concoction of medication had loosened her lips—breaking through the silence.

Forcing himself to brush off her words, he pushed back the comforter and sheet and as she slid in, gingerly laying her ear atop the propped up pillows.

“Oh, I brought over a couple things from the house for you. It’s probably unnecessary now that I’m thinking about it, but I know how much you love wool socks and your eucalyptus body cream.”

Her heavy eyes lit up and she smiled. “You brought me my blue wooly socks, Mulder?” To him, she sounded too excited over a pair of socks she had likely replaced long ago. But looking at her face, he saw that she really was. “You know me so well.”

“That I cannot deny. I’ll get them for you.” He went to the couch and grabbed her slippers and lotion, feeling pretty excited himself at the thought of being useful to her once again.

Mulder sat the container of green body cream onto the only open spot next to the near empty Nyquil bottle and knelt at the edge of her bed. Scully outstretched her bare legs into his waiting hands so he could slide her navy blue wool socks onto each small foot. If it were close to two years ago and she had done this to him, Mulder would have massaged the minty smelling lotion into her feet from heel to toe and sensually worked his way up her soft slender body until she begged for more. Right now, he would just have to be grateful she was letting him comfort her at all.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, Scully, you know I love your little feet,” he smirked and reluctantly removed his hands from her ankles. She didn’t move to cover herself back up so he stood to adjust the balled up comforter around her, but her hand wrapping around his bicep halted his progress.

“Lay here next to me.” It wasn’t a question and Mulder opened his mouth to protest but she cut him off. “Come on, Mulder. No reverting back to sitting on the floor uncomfortable while you stay awake and hold my hand all night long. Please just… hold me tonight?”

Blinking away rapidly rising tears, he nodded and responded the only way he could. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, whispering along her skin, “I can do that.”

Mulder carefully climbed over her and pulled the blankets up, tucking it around them. Her bed seemed huge, the space between them cavernous. It felt good to be this close to her like this again, too damn good and his arousal blooming beneath his sweatpants agreed immensely.

He slowly wrapped his arm around her waist and she laced her fingers between his as a silent thank you. The back of her chest rose and fell in tandem along the front of his own and he knew if he closed his eyes, he could picture every single night spent embracing is wife in their shared bed. But he didn’t close his eyes, didn't dare. Because he knew that the next time he and Scully lay in bed, It wouldn’t be in their shared one together.  

“Sleep, Scully. I’m here.” Mulder pressed his lips to her ear and rested his head along the crown of hers.

Breathing deeply now, he felt her slight nod and her backside snuggled in closer, no doubt noticing his ill-timed erection.

“Mulder...”

“Yeah.”

Scully tucked their entwined hands under her chin and he felt the heat from her lips warming his fingers. Waiting with bated breath for her next words, Mulder moved down and nuzzled his nose through her mussed hair, inhaling her scent within the crook of her neck. It was something so familiar and comforting to them both, showing her affection like this as they laid alongside one another. It felt like the most natural thing in the world.  

“I meant what I said,” she murmured.

“Said about what?”

“That I’m still in love with you,” she turned her head towards her shoulder when his breath hitched. “I may be medicated and half asleep, but I can never forget that. I never want you to either.”

He kissed her neck, her cheek, her ear, and told her, “and you forget, Scully, that I could never forget anything about you.” He heard her sigh and felt her whole body melt into the mattress. “You need sleep,” he said again. Mulder moved his mouth away from her face before he gave into the powerful urge to kiss her once more. This time on the lips, crossing over their convoluted line of separation.

When her breathing slowly evened out minutes later and sleep reclaimed her, Mulder carefully untangled their fingers while he gently moved out of her embrace. He stood at the end of her bed, taking in every detail of her peaceful face before he needed to force himself to leave.

He missed seeing her smile, the caress of her touch, the comfort of her warm body next to his lulling him to sleep every night. He missed his Scully. And tonight, Mulder was lucky enough to witness the fact that his Scully had missed her Mulder just as much.

---

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Petal

Summary: Hanahaki Disease: a fictional illness caused by one-sided love, in which the victim coughs up flower petals. It ends when either the love is returned or the victim dies.

Notes: I'm blaming this entirely on the NyQuil. I've seen some gorgeous art of Hanahaki disease, and it inspired this. It's probably not quite a traditional take on it but this is where my brain took it.

I'll say upfront there is illness here, but there is no character death!

Tags: Hanahaki Disease, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, Pre-Relationship, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Major Illness, Spicyhoney, Papcest

Read It On AO3

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Read It Here

~~*~~

The air in Underswap always seemed fresher somehow, crisper, and Edge had never been able to decide if it was his imagination or not. It didn’t stop him from taking a deep breath of that cold, sweet air as he stepped out of the basement with bags in hand, taking a moment to enjoy the peace of a different Snowdin before making his way to the front door.

It was time for his weekly cooking lesson with Blue and this week they were making ratatouille at Blue’s pleading request. Edge gathered he’d seen it in a movie and desperately wanted to try it. Edge had agreed, though it was, perhaps not quite a herculean task but certainly a complex one. Supplies were harder to come by in Underfell, but Edge would accept no charity. He would provide for himself and his brother, no matter the effort involved.

He’d managed in time and, supplies in hand, he knocked briskly on the front door, already looking forward to spending time with the diminutive skeleton. Blue was refreshing, intelligent, and their lessons were always enjoyable.

Although perhaps not today. When the door opened, Blue didn’t look his normal, exuberant self, only politely holding the door open. “Hello, Edge, come in.”

“What’s wrong?” Edge demanded bluntly the moment the door shut behind him. He had little patience for dragging out the inevitable nor waiting for Blue to dredge up the wherewithal to bring it up himself.

“It’s Pappy,” Blue confessed. “I’m worried about him. He’s upstairs sleeping—”

“I would have thought that was a normal state of being for him,” Edge scoffed.

The look Blue gave him was a mixture of chastising and hurt, and Edge felt a trickle of guilt crawl up his spine. No matter what Edge thought of Stretch, he was Blue’s brother and Edge would willingly call Blue a friend. It was passing cruel to mock his concern.

“My apologies, Blue,” Edge said, sincerely, “Go on.”

“He does nap a lot,” Blue conceded unhappily. “But not like this, he’s hardly been eating, when he goes on sentry duty, he’s been walking…”

“Walking?” Edge interrupted with a frown. Stretch worked along the same theory as his own brother, that shortcuts were made to enhance laziness and he’d never walk when two teleports would do.

“Yes! Do you see why I’m worried?”

Edge glanced up the stairs, considering, “And you’ve spoken to him?”

This time it was Blue who scoffed, “As much as I could. You know what he’s like, talking to him is like trying to solve a maze. Any turn you take could lead to a dead end.”

That much was true, Stretch was an exercise in frustration on many levels. “Do you want me to try?”

“Would you?” The relief in Blue’s eye lights made Edge feel guilty over what had really been a halfhearted offer. He was obviously very worried about his brother; the least Edge could do was give this a few moments of his full attention.

“Why don’t you get started on the vegetables,” Edge suggested, handing over his own bags. “I’ll see if I can get him to talk a little.”

“All right…Edge?” Blue hesitated at the door of the kitchen.

“Yes?” Halfway up the stairs, Edge stopped to look back down at him.

“I…never mind,” Blue shook his head, apparently rethinking whatever he was about to say. “Thank you for trying.”

“Of course.” Edge doubted it would amount to much, he and Stretch could barely be called tolerant acquaintances. But if would make Blue feel better, he would at least try.

Edge squared his shoulders at the doorway, taking firm hold of his temper before knocking. Stretch had a way of burrowing beneath the most iron of control and driving his little sarcastic jibes directly into the most vulnerable places. His knock went unanswered and Edge tried the knob to find it unlocked.

Gingerly, he pushed open the door and stepped inside. The first thing he noticed was the smell, something lingering in the air that was faintly rank and yet somehow familiar. Clothes and trash littered the floor, empty bottles of honey and dirty socks. He stepped through it, nudging aside anything particularly vile to reach the bed where Stretch was curled up.

There were no sheets or blankets, nothing but a bare mattress, and Stretch was dressed in his normal attire, a hooded orange sweatshirt and track pants. Stretch was curled in the middle of the mattress with his hood pulled over his skull. His knees were drawn up in a fetal position and his arms wrapped around them.

“what do you want?” Dully.

The words startled him, Edge hadn’t even realized Stretch was awake. A closer look showed him that his sockets were open, but his eye lights were unlit. It was possible he could still see, eye lights weren’t strictly required for magical vision, but it was passing odd. None of them ever extinguished them for any length of time aside from sleep.

“Your brother asked me to check on you,” Edge said frankly. “For some reason, he’s actually concerned about you.”

His laugh was hard and bitter, unnervingly so, even from Stretch. “i bet he is. all worried about me, the selfish, useless ashtray who is nothing to anyone but his brother, isn’t that right? probably be better off if i died, wouldn’t he.”

That took him aback. “I’ve never said such a thing.”

“you so sure about that?”

That tone might have been closer to contempt if it weren’t for the dull resignation in it. It was…possible, Edge supposed, that in a temper he’d implied something of that sort. He didn’t recall half the things he’d said to Stretch in the past, the two of them snarling and sniping whenever they were forced to be in the same room, until the others lost patience with it and stepped in.

Their last movie night had been two weeks ago, and they’d been in fine form before the film even began; they’d somehow ended up in the kitchen alone for only a moment, Stretch needling Edge with those tiny jabs, about Underfell, about his status as a guard, and--

haven’t you killed yourself some peace yet, edgelord? Must’ve been a slow week, your lv hasn’t changed.

At least I’m useful. Tell me, what is it you do to make your world a better place? Even your own brother would be better off without having to pick up your filth. But then, that describes all of you, doesn’t it? There’s nothing but honey and cigarettes to you, you put trash in and leave trash out for your brother to deal with. No wonder he’s so disappointed in you.

Stretch hadn’t said anything else to him the rest of the night. It had been a relief at the time, and he’d enjoyed the company of the others. His words had been cruel but perhaps only a little more so than anything Stretch said to him and—

By his feet, there was something odd on the floor that wasn’t discarded trash or clothes. Grayish and curled, it looked like a dried leaf or some sort of flower petal, and Edge leaned over to pick it up gingerly between two fingers. As he touched it, it crumpled away to pieces.

No. To dust.

Edge went cold, his reluctant concern shifting to sudden fear.

Catching Stretch by the shoulder, he pulled him to lay on his back, ignoring his feeble resistance. He struggled harder as Edge straddled him, pinning him down, his eye lights finally lighting in dim, pale orbs. “what the fuck are you—"

Without preamble, he yanked Stretch’s sweatshirt up to his collarbone. His soul, tucked safely behind his ribcage, should have been a pristine silver, glistening with the purity that came with a lack of LV.

Instead, it looked like a dying flower. More of those petal-like curls were peeling grotesquely away from the surface and he saw one flutter loose, drifting to the bottom of his rib cage to join others that were already there. As he watched, another collapsed to dust.

The smell, that strange familiarity, clicked into place in his memories; it smelled like New Home in Underfell, like dust, like death. Whatever was wrong with Stretch, he was dying, and Stretch only laying sullenly beneath him, not struggling, not fighting…until a sudden cough wracked him, and a whirlwind of those ‘petals’ were torn loose in front of Edge’s horrified gaze.

It must have been painful, because as his cough eased, Stretch grimaced, one hand clutching at his rib cage. His eye lights dimmed away again and now Edge wondered if he couldn’t keep them lit, he wasn’t teleporting lately, Blue had said, perhaps he couldn’t, his magic weakened, and his soul was dying.

Edge didn’t waste another moment in scooping Stretch into his arms, despite his feeble struggles. Any resistance faded before they even made it down the stairs. He ignored Blue’s startled exclamation and carried Stretch out the door, paying little mind to the curious stares of the residence of Underswap Snowdin as he made his way down the pathway that he knew led to the river boat. The basic layout of their worlds remained the same and strangely, the Riverperson was also unchanged, offering peculiar advice with a tra la la no matter what the universe.

They didn’t even nod as Edge stepped into the boat with his burden, only giving them time to settle before they set off.

“where are we going?” Stretch asked, weakly. He’d long since given up struggling.

“To the lab in Hotland,” Edge told him curtly. He was prepared for arguments, but none came, and that was perhaps the most disturbing thing yet. Stretch would have argued against water being wet with him on any other day, and now Edge was manhandling him along without a single protest.

Either he’d accepted that he needed help or he’d given up, and Edge didn’t care to know which it was.

There was only one person in this world who might know how to help with whatever was wrong and that was Alphys. No, it was Undyne in this world, wasn’t it? Edge had only met her once, but he certainly trusted her uncertain gaze more than he did the insanity of his own Alphys.

Stretch sagged suddenly, whatever tension he’d been carrying draining away, his head resting on Edge’s shoulder, “why do you even care?"

“Why do I care?” Edge’s control on his temper was frayed with concern. He barely knew the answer himself, could only bite out, “I come to your home, accept your hospitality, I eat your food and you ask me why I care? You’re infuriating and obnoxious, every part of you aggravates me, but that’s no different from my own brother. Why do you believe I don’t care?”

“you don’t.”

“I am currently on a boat, carrying you,” Edge snarled out, “Perhaps you can listen to what I am saying to you? I care.” He hesitated, then carefully shifted a hand to cup the back of Stretch’s skull. The smooth bone felt too cool, magical warmth leeched away. He was dying and perhaps it was that, or perhaps being in the strange presence of the Riverperson drove others to do uncharacteristic things because Edge found himself saying, “I shouldn’t have said what I did about your brother, it wasn’t true. You could stand to help out around the house more,” Edge grimaced, remembering the state of Stretch’s room. “But I know how much you care about him. You showed me that when you asked me to take lessons with him.”

It had been one of the few relatively peaceful conversations they’d ever had. Stretch discreetly and tersely asking if he might willingly come over occasionally to cook with his brother.

“blue’s pretty fond of you and…he could use a cooking buddy other than alphys.” He’d grimaced at that and Edge wondered how terrible those meals had been. Bad enough that Stretch was showing enough vulnerability to ask a favor.

“You’re asking me to come over here more often?”

“for my bro? hell, yes, i am. at least i know you can cook.” Stretch hesitated then added almost defiantly, “it’d make him happy.”

And Edge had agreed, leading them to their weekly meetings.

“I couldn’t possibly not care about you, for that alone,” Edge explained, softly, remembering. “Anyone who cares about Blue the way you do deserves some affection.”

“oh,” Stretch grimaced and clutched at his chest as he had before, and that dimming fear flared back to life.

“Does it hurt?” Edge demanded, ready to yank Stretch’s sweatshirt up to see for himself.

“no. no, actually, that feels a little better.”

Bewildered, Stretch lifted the hem of his shirt on his own, revealing to both of them that some of those strange, curling petals had tightened, fading back into his soul. It wasn’t whole yet, but it looked better than it had.

Stretch let his sweatshirt fall back into place, closing his sockets. To Edge’s surprise, he leaned into Edge, settling his skull against his shoulder. Automatically, Edge tightened his arm around him, holding him in. It felt…strange, to hold Stretch, but not exactly wrong.

Shaking his head a little, Edge dismissed the thought. They’d see Undyne and perhaps she would know what illness was plaguing Stretch and how to treat it.

In his arms, Stretch felt a little warmer, a little more alive, and that knowledge sent a bleat of warmth into his own soul that made him want to rub his own chest in confusion. He hadn’t lied about caring, he did, for Blue’s sake if nothing else, and yet, what was—

Not that it mattered. He was going to be fine, Edge told himself, absently stroking his thumb along the smooth curve of his skull. Blue wasn’t going to lose his brother and Stretch would be back to normal, his same snarky self, smoking too much, drinking too much, and that was that.

If only that thought didn’t send a pang to his soul, the opposite of the previous warmth. That pain lingered a bit, like a pinch. Not so terrible that Edge couldn’t ignore it, especially with Hotland coming into sight. That was where his answers lay.

He hoped.

-fin

Read Chapter 2

[acat-lady]

Noodles Soup For Your Sniffles

Summary: Claire has a cold and it’s up to Owen to get her to go home and rest, even if he has to push her on the office chair down to the lobby and to the car (literally).

“No! I’m fine~!” Claire insisted with a stuffed nose. It was very evident that she was not doing that well. She wouldn’t admit it but she had a headache from hell and each time she swallowed, it felt like shattered glass was going down her throat.

She had been gradually getting sick but her stubborn nature had prevented her from working on shaking this cold off before it got worse. Now she was to the point of regretting not taking something when Owen had asked her to.

“Yes, you are~!” Owen sang begging her to go home early, take the rest of the day off. He watched her stare blankly at her laptop screen for thirty seconds. She was so out of it by then, that she didn’t even know what she was doing anymore. “Babe, please~” He gently brushed his fingers down her cheeks and pressed his lips against her forehead. “You are boiling! Come on, I’m driving you home.” He offered.

“I have work to do!” She shook her head after pulling away from him. “Besides, I already drank like three bottles of NyQuil...I’ll be fine.” Claire insisted, without an ounce of energy left in her. The redhead gently rested her head against his chest and hugged her arms around his waist gently.

Owen sighed, lovingly brushing her hair with his fingers. Without any warning, he tried pull her up from her chair but Claire was fast and even when sick her reflexes were sharp. She had managed to grab from the arm rests, her fingers tightly curled around them.

“C’MON!” He cried in defeat.

“No-oh.” She shook her head.

“I’ll make you my special soup and we can watch some fun cartoons!” He tried to make this appealing to her.

“What am I? five?” She looked up, her green eyes were exhausted.

Owen twirled her office chair around so she could face him and kneeled in front of her. “Okay, how about we cuddle on the couch here? Just a couple of hours.” He suggested. Her appearance was begging for some rest.

Claire shook her head, “I’m so behind with this stuff. I can’t afford lose more time.” She twirled her chair back around. The redhead hadn’t been very productive that day.

“Okay, that’s it!” He tried pick her up again but she was stronger than she looked and was gripping onto those arm rests tight. He knew he could ripped her away from them, but he would end up hurting her and that would make things worse. “Don’t make me tickle you!” He warned her.

“I’ll throw you out of the window, Grady. I promise!” She rolled back on her chair a couple of inches away from him.

“Okay, you win.” He shrugged and casually started humming and whistling to himself, his fingers curious around a few things she kept on her desk.

Claire smiled, her victory short-lived after being interrupted by a sneeze that made her complain in pain.

“Bless you.” Owen frowned, he hated to see her sick like this. Claire wasn’t the kind to get sick often, but when she did it got her badly. The redhead blew her nose and that’s when Owen had a glance of her trash can; it was a white mountain of tissues by then.

Claire smiled faintly and turned her attention back to her laptop. She closed her eyes and slowly rested her head over her arms, barely being able to reach the keyboard from there.

Owen quietly started gathering some of her things, putting them in her purse, and also looked around for her jacket. He hung them from around his shoulder, and without a word he closed her laptop on her.

“Hey!” She tilted her head back up, “I am trying to work here?” She coughed. Without a word said, the raptor wrangler started pushing her chair out, rolling it into the hallway with Claire still sitting on it.

“No! Owen, I swear!” She screamed, holding firmly from the arm rests.

He pushed her down the hallway and around the elevator corridor at a moderate speed, “hold the elevator!” He called out, noticing two guys were just stepping out right when they had come from around the corner. They looked puzzled wondering why Owen was pushing the boss around on her chair, but did as requested. They kept the elevator opened for them, their eyes glued to the couple. Owen thanked them, pushing the chair into the elevator and pressing for the lobby so they could head to the car and then home.

“Call security! I’m being kidnapped!” She exclaimed in irony, the doors slowly closing in front of them. She rolled her eyes annoyed by the look in the face of those two guys.

“Don’t be melodramatic!” He laughed. “You are totally enjoying this.” Owen called her out on it, still standing behind her, allowing his fingers to gently brush her long hair.

“Mommy is sick~” Owen murmured, placing a finger on his lips letting Aiden, their three-year-old, know to keep it low.

The toddler nodded and mirrored his dad’s action, also placing his finger against his lips. Aiden crawled into the back seat of the car and on his own, he got comfortable in his car seat. Owen buckled him up and messed with his brown hair before closing the back door.

Claire was resting her head against the car window, she had dozed off for a few minutes while waiting for Owen to pick their son from the petting zoo. The sound of the engine starting up waking her up. She sighed, her hand gently reaching out for Owen’s lap and rubbing it. He took a hold of her freckled hand and bringing it to his lips, he kissed it gently.

“Hey baby~” The redhead looked back to their kid whom smiled at her, “did you have fun with Trixie?” She faintly wondered. Claire adjusted and turning around, she reached out so she could tie his shoelace.

Aiden nodded, “They let me ride her today and I fed her a branch!” He shared happily, wiggling his feet. Trixie was his favorite dinosaur in the petting zoo, he had named the baby triceratops after the one in Toy Story 3.

“Leave that!” Owen rubbed Claire’s back gently, “I’ll tie them up when we make it home.” He promised. He had singlehandedly built home for Claire the moment she told him she was pregnant. They had moved in together into her Hilton’s business suite after he insisted not to miss a single day of the pregnancy. On the side, he had demolished his bungalow and started building a lake house for his family in that side of the island.

Aiden had learned to unbuckle his car seat and once Owen had pulled over, he opened the door and ran off, “Owen!?” Claire called out, she didn’t have the strength to run after their energetic kid.

“On it!” He got out of the car and after catching the kid, he swept their son off his feet. He hugged him from his belly and let him pretend he was a plane for a few seconds before landing on the ground. “We don’t want to give mom a heart attack, do we?” He asked the toddler.

He shook his head, “is she going to die?” He frowned. “I heard her say she felt like she was going to die.”

“No, but we have to be good today so she can feel better soon.” Owen asked of their kid, “we can go back to getting her all worked up tomorrow.” He winked.

Still inside the car, Claire was fighting with the door which was refusing to let her out. “Of course...” she finally gave up, hitting the door a few times, “He forgot to put the child lock in the back but leaves ME locked in!” She mumbled to herself before resting her head against the dashboard.

Soon enough, Owen was back and opened the door for her. He handed Aiden her purse and jacket and the man slowly pulled Claire up into his arms so he could carry her up to their house.

“Don’t touch me, you ass...” She whimpered against his neck, nosing close into it and hugging him tightly.

“C’mon, Champ! Let’s make sure mommy starts feeling better.” Owen motioned for their kid to walk ahead before he pressed a kiss on the redhead’s forehead.

“No~” She cried, her arms tightly wrapped around his neck. “Don’t leave me alone...” She pouted, Owen had managed to change her into a pair of flannel pants and one of his navy T-shirts.

“I won’t, beautiful.” He smiled, this was about the only thing he liked about Claire being sick. Once she admitted she needed to get some rest, she’d be as clingy as a baby koala and Owen would get to take care of her and keep her safe.

The redhead nodded and slowly helped him tuck her under the covers of their bed. Once she was comfortable, Owen grabbed the thermometer and had her keep it under her tongue until it started beeping, she had a 104 fever.

“What does it say?” She frowned.

“It says that you are hot~” Owen couldn’t help but flirt with her. Claire rolled her eyes and tugged from his shirt, she wanted to cuddle.

Owen set the thermometer on top of her nightstand and turned her cellphone off. He adjusted on the edge of the bed and let her snuggle him close. The redhead moaned softly and nuzzled into his chest, she closed her eyes and let the touch of his fingers relax her as they brush her hair.

Once he made sure the redhead had fallen asleep, he quietly stood up and tucked her gently leaving her to rest. He grabbed her cellphone on his way out and carefully closed the door behind him.

The man went looking for their kid whom on his own had decided to pick up all his toys and put them back on their place like mom was constantly insisting he should. Owen smiled at him from his bedroom door, “kiddo, wanna help me make mom some soup?” The kid looked up and nodded.

They both headed to the kitchen and Owen made sure to fill a small pot with water and set it on the stove to heat. He had also chopped some veggies and taken care of everything else. Aiden had ran to the bathroom to wash his hands and once back, Owen picked him up so he could carefully drop all the veggies into the water and add the noddles as well.

After pulling a chair from the kitchen table, Owen let the kid step on it so he could easily stir the soup. After a minute or so, the adult put the lid on and let it cook.

They didn’t stop there, Owen had brought the chair over to the sink and now the toddler was helping him wash the remaining dishes from breakfast and the few they had used for the soup. The kid playing the soapy sponge over the dishes while Owen ran water over them. They also folded some laundry together and fixed the living room.

“Why don’t you go pick a movie to watch with mommy?” Owen suggested while he served some of their noodles soup into a bowl and grabbed a spoon. He set it all up on a tray including a glass of water and some medicine.

Dad carried the tray to the bedroom and Aiden the Blu-ray he had picked for them to watch. The kid turned the knob around and quietly pushed the door open. Claire was still fast asleep. Owen carefully set the tray on the corner of the bed, and bent down to take Aiden’s shoes off. The kid reached out so dad could pull him up onto the bed.

Aiden crawled his way over to Claire and gently pressed a kiss on her cheek, “Mommy?” He called out softly after hearing her moaning and turning around to find him there.

“Hey baby, what are you doing here?” She murmured sleepily, her arms reaching out to hug him closely. “Daddy and I made you some noodles soup for your sniffles.” He explained. “You are going to eat it right?” He offered the puppy eyes Owen had him practicing while they were cleaning and folding the laundry.

“You made me soup?” She kissed his forehead before nodding, agreeing to eat.

“And I picked your favorite movie so we can watch and snuggle!” He crawled back to the edge of the bed. Claire sat down and tucked her hair behind her ears. She smiled letting Owen set the tray on her lap and closed her eyes feeling his lips pressed against her forehead.

“You did?” She acknowledge her kid before thanking Owen for the soup.

“The Little Mermaid.” He nodded and let Owen take the movie so he could set it up. Aiden went back to snuggle his mother and watched her slowly eat her soup. 

“And why is The Little Mermaid my favorite?” Claire was actually interested in that answer since she wanted to hear his logic behind thinking it was that way.

“Because she has red hair just like you!” He explained. “Uncle Barry brought you some medicine.” He pointed out at the pills and the cough syrup on the tray.

“That’s right, we are both redheads.” She nodded. Owen walked around the bed and snuggled close to Claire and their son. He pressed play on the movie and watched their son start singing along and Claire quietly eating her soup.

He shifted in bed, bringing his arm around Claire’s shoulder and kissing her cheek. She set the tray on her night stand and got comfortable, hugging him close. She nosed into his neck and closed her eyes.

“I feel so much better now~” She confessed softly, pressing a couple of pecks on Owen’s lips.

“I’m glad you do, gorgeous.” He smiled relieved.

“Can I go back to work now?”

[agent-hood]

Five Parallels

1.) Ivar Mayhew’s first reaction to Parker Jensen was something akin to a starving wolf seeing a very small rabbit. An instinctual knowledge that what little she had would fill the wanting void inside him. That isn’t to say he was starving for love or anything like that, but there was definitely something missing, and now he knew what shape it took. Then he saw her own void, recognized the far seeing look in her eyes whenever she inched too close to the edge of, so close to falling in and being lost. So he offered out his hand. giving her an anchor point to hold onto so she didn’t lose herself and, gloriously, she took it. She saw the looming darkness that would consume her, and she fought back. Every time he saw her, she pushed herself, rebuilt herself piece by piece. Like a dandelion pushing through concrete- she blossomed. His first impression of her was wrong. He was not a wolf to be fed, he was a man seeing the first sunrise after years spent imprisoned.

1.) Parker Jensen’s initial reaction to Ivar Mayhew was something similar to experiencing a sunrise after years of missing it, only being seeing the dark chill of midnight and the blinding sear of a midday sun. His personality was warm and patient despite her many issues; not only seeing the looming maw threatening to swallow her whole, but acknowledging all it took for her to just be able to exist with it. And he stood there with her, refusing to let her fall prey to it or to deal with it alone. It was a steady nourishment that she didn’t realize she was lacking. She had been wrong about what she first thought of him. He was more than a comforting sunrise, he was a meal. A rabbit, made of fat and sinew, perfect for sustaining the hungry wolf that was her heart. And she was starving for more.

2.) it wasn’t often Ivar found himself having one of his ‘bad nights’, but this one was just about the worst. A change in the weather made his spine ache and given that said change was an uncharacteristic warm front did nothing to help his comfort levels. He tried everything- pacing and stretching out the muscles surrounding his ‘problem’ nerves, alternating heat and cold, a dose of his ‘as needed’ prescription, but nothing helped. When the tell-tale tingle of his legs numbing began, he resigned himself to a night in his chair, feeling sickly hot and sorry for himself. His bad luck continued when Parker texted to ask if he wanted to get together later, and as much as he wanted to see her he knew he was in no shape to be good company. He shot off the quick explanation and apology, and settled himself in front of his television for a self-pitying marathon of... whatever was on. He fell asleep within ten minutes. His sleep was troubled, influenced by what he was hearing subconsciously and unable to wake up due to the medication he took earlier. It was a garbled mash of bad memories, war movies, and horrors that could have happened on missions. He was in the hallways of Borley, only they were filled with an unending forest, and he was on a mission- the mission. Only before he could even move, the wild hunt was on him, only instead of being gored and impaled on their horns, he was in their teeth. Unending knives chewing into him, setting his legs on agonizing fire. A voice called out to him, from deep within the maw of pain. It was comforting and unintelligible, and he instinctively swam towards it, through the infinite needles and thorns and all manner of things that bit through his skin. He awoke with a start, hands immediately shooting out in an attempt to protect himself from whatever assault was sure to befall him. All that awaited him though was a warm hand caressing his face, while the other laid gently over his own- which he found tightly fisted in Parker’s hair. He released her as quickly as if she burned him, and his eyes darted around to confirm that he was safe and in his apartment- that thus wasn’t some cruel new form his nightmare took. “Parker,” he breathed in relief, subconsciously leaning into her touch. “Wha’ ‘re y’ doing here?” She removed her hand to turn off the television that was still going, and he whimpered at its absence. “You said you were having a ‘bad night’, so I thought I’d come over to make you some soup in case you were sick. I only just put it to simmer and you started having a nightmare, are you ok?” He was thrown for even more of a loop at that; It had felt like the nightmare had lasted years instead of only seconds. He felt certainly felt like it had, like he had just been hit by a truck and it dragged him along for a week straight. he felt the oncoming breakdown that was about to occur, and as much as he appreciated her presence, he needed her to not see him at his lowest even more. “Parker,” he ground out, fisting his hands so tightly on his knees that his knuckles turned white. “‘M about t’ break down- ‘nd I love y’, but I need y’ t’ leave f’r this. I cannae have y’ see m’ like this.” In response, she silently let go of him, convincing him she complied to his wishes for only a moment, before she took him by surprise by tugging his tightly folded form out of his chair and into her lap on the couch. She gently tucked his face into the crook of her neck, and soothingly rubbed small circles on his back. “I’m not leaving you alone during this. But when I’m holding you like this, I can’t see your face, so you don’t need to feel weird about it. It’s ok- you can let go.” At her words, he broke. Frustrated tears and muffled sobs wrenched themselves free from his chest, wracking his body so hard he shook. He wasn’t even totally sure of why he was crying, but logically knew that it happened sometimes. Some days you hurt, nothing went right, and you grew frustrated- culminating in a massive release of tears. But- You can know the ins and outs of something, and still be surprised by its occurrence. He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, with him upending his slew of emotion, and her murmuring soothing words of comfort into his hair, trying to even out his breathing levels. Hours seemed to pass like nothing, until he slowly regained himself- now feeling worn out and small. “...feeling any better?” Parker asked, tentatively, still taking a gentle approach out of consideration for him. He was overcome with fondness and gratitude towards her and the care she bestowed upon him. Still feeling weak and embarrassed at himself, he could only respond with a small nod. “Ok then,” she kissed his head and made to stand up. “I’m gonna draw you a bath and after if you’re hungry, I’ll get you whatever you want.” He kissed her palm as she walked away, stretching and shaking his body to wake it up. He had a full charge on his legs, but they were almost completely numb. After a small debate he decided to not bother with the chair- it was only to the bathroom after all. He walked, slowly and carefully, and found that Parker had drawn him the most simple, yet enticing, bath- scalding water with just a few drops of lavender oil (the kind she wore on her wrists when she was feeling fancy). Sinking into it felt like heaven. Actual bliss came a few moments later as she silently slipped in next to him, fitting herself perfectly to his side. He smiled and absentmindedly ran his knuckles over her skin- forging a path from her jaw to her hip. Blissfully, the previous hours were now miles away, unforgotten but irrelevant. And as the water cooled around them, a comfort settled in his chest. which fully blossomed into contentment as he drifted away to a light slumber, assured in the fact that this was a good day- because Parker was there.

2.) It had been months since Parker’s ‘incident’ and at this point she was well-acquainted with ‘bad’ days. What she was not used to, not lately anyways, was being sick. She knew the morning she woke up after a routine mission. The pressure on her chest, the throbbing in her head, the slight run to her nose that made her feel like she was visibly repulsive to every person that saw her- she had the beginnings of a cold. ‘This is fine.’ She told herself as she sluggishly got ready and took Hampton out for a slower than normal walk. ‘I just need to make it through today and then I’ll crack into my stash of ‘the good shit’ and sleep it off.’ Only, once she got to her desk, her stash of ‘the good shit’ (or unregulated Nyquil from Eastern Europe that still had Russian writing on it) was missing. And in its place a quickly scribbled note from one of the technical officers saying how it was an ‘emergency’ and they’d replace it as soon as they could. Fuck. She figured she still had time to get rid of it before it got too bad, and scrambled back to her room to hole herself up in recovery. Once home, she dug her humidifier out of the depths of her closest, filled a small cooler full of water bottles and ice packs, and strategically placed electric blankets in her bed. “...wha’ ‘re y’ doing?” Came a tentative question from the doorway, where Ivar stood looking at her as if she was wearing something ridiculous; which she absolutely wasn’t- she was just bundled up in her thickest sweats and robe she had even though the weather outside was at a sweltering 90. “Oh! Hey Roo’, I’m just uh...” she scrambled, the sudden embarrassment not helping her sluggish thoughts any. “I’m starting to get a bit sick so I’m trying to sweat it out before it gets too bad.” “Y’r gonna give y’rself heat stroke is wha’.” He said fondly as he began undoing all her handiwork. “N’w take y’r clothes off an’ get in bed.” Normally Parker melted at those words, but in this context she could only pout as she began removing her layers of micro fleece and wool-rayon blend. As it usually did, it quickly grew a lot worse. A fever crawled across her body, leaving her dripping with sweat, but too exhausted to wipe any of it off. Her nose became clogged and her chest cracked with every breath that now took effort. Ivar came back in the room carrying a tray full of crackers and ginger ale, and was shocked to see just how far her illness had progressed in the minutes he was gone. “I w’s gone f’r only five min, th’ fuck happened!” He exclaimed, clearly shocked by the change in her state. “Told you it was gonna get bad.” Parker sniffed, feeling unfairly impetuous and difficult. Her body rattled with a coughing fit and he firmly guided her to bed. As soon as she was tucked in he immediately set about to checking her temperature and getting her medicine and feeding her and just generally fretting about her like a worried mother hen. When she told him as much he only nodded in total agreement. “M’ aware ‘f how much y’ hate bein’ cared f’r, bu’ I also know tha’ y’ hate missing work more. So ‘f y’ let me fret about y’ as much as I wan’, then I promise y’ll get back t’ work faster.” As much as it bugged her, she conceded the point to him. “Agreed. Now get your ass under these blankets- I’m freezing and need to steal your excessive body heat.” A wide, enthusiastic grin was her only warning before she was tackled to the bed with his embrace. 3.) Ivar knew that Parker had an ‘ex’. The whole reason why she was so hesitant in the first place to start a relationship (barring the ‘three months of dying’ factor), was because she had just gotten out of a relationship. She didn’t want to make a mistake because she needed to ‘rebound’. He appreciated the reasoning behind it, and left it at that. Which he was now immensely regretting as he saw her idly talking to a blonde archivist; who’s impossibly tall 6’4 frame loomed over hers like a shadow. ‘Oh,’ he realized. ‘He’s not an ex, he’s an ‘ex’.’ And before he knew it he was interrupting... whatever it was they were doing, with a protective possessive arm around Parker’s shoulders and a quick kiss to her temple. “Hey.” He nodded in greeting to the other man, before turning completely to her. “Break f’r lunch?” “Oop, Than this is Ivar, my boyfriend, Iv’ this is Thanarak, he’s one of Cthylla’s familiars and an archivist here.” She said, introducing them both as they made to clasp hands. His grip was a good one, steady and firm, with slight pressure, whether to establish a challenge he couldn’t be sure. But he was prevented from responding by her reply. “And I Can’t, sorry. I’m trying to find an obscure passage from an Edda that purportedly no longer exists, and then I have to translate it.” She sighed, gesturing to the piles of leather bound books that surrounded her on the table. He smiled warmly at her, unable to find her work habits anything but charming, and produced a chilled ‘meal replacement’ smoothie from his back pocket. “Wha’ am I always tellin’ ye? N’ matter how hard y’ work, y’ still need t’ eat.” “This’ll still be here if you go.” A voice broke through, reminding Ivar that they were not alone. “Can’t.” She said definitively, chugging half the bottle without breaking eye contact with the book in front of her. “I’m on a roll. If I stop now I’ll have to start over from the beginning.” “Why don’ I lend m’self t’ help th’n? Dinnae see why Than her’ can’ tell me what y’re looking for.” At her bright agreement (with a satisfying smooch of gratitude), she shooed them away so they could tackle a separate section. “I didn’t take you for the studious type.” The other man said. It was innocuous enough, but Ivar knew when someone belittled his intelligence. “What can I say?” He smiled, making sure his canines were prominently displayed (in a friendly manner of course). “‘M a man ‘f many talents. A keen eye does well watchin’ th’ gate.” “Though, I understand you’ve been out in the field recently. Is that advisable given your situation?” Ivar felt his muscles tense in defense, and fought back the urge to cover the node on his back. “M’ ‘situation’, as y’ put it, is completely manageable. ‘Sides, I only go a’field in support ‘f Parker. ‘M sure I dinnae need t’ tell y’ how unnecessary tha’ is.” Ivar tried not to feel too pleased at the slight frustrated blush that earned, proving his suspicion that Than rarely, if ever, did field work (and certainly never with Parker). “...Thank you, by the way.” The other man’s voice was so hushed, that it was a struggle for Ivar’s heightened hearing to catch it. “F’r what?” “It’s... not my place to say but, even without our past, Parker is well loved here in the archives. And we’ve been noticing her improvement. I can confidently say that you’ve been a major factor in that, so thank you.” Ivar assesses the man before him; non-aggressive body language, honest facial cues, and a scent about him that was somehow both open and unknowable. Ivar smiled(genuinely this time) and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Y’ act like I have a say ‘n anythin’ when I’ comes t’ her. Now c’mon! Wh’ever finds this f’ckin’ tome firs’ buys t’other’s tab f’r t’night.” They were both sorely disappointed when Parker came bounding around the corner an hour later, book in hand and babbling about how Scribe had it, and had already translated it, the entire time.

3.) Parker knew about Ivar’s past at Borley (and the ex), but didn’t realize just how... grand scale everything was until she was walking briskly down it’s marble hallways, trying desperately to keep up pace and listen to the mission debriefing at the same time. Ivar though took to the intensity like a duck to water, as if he never left. The mission itself was fairly benign, a local werewolf pack had been stirring up some trouble, so they asked Ivar to come set them straight since he knew them personally. He initially didn’t want to, having planned to spend the rest of his life sans his old organization, but Parker had thought it a wonderful opportunity. She could finally meet his family, he could catch up with old friends, and finally get closure to his abrupt departure. Only she hadn’t realized that his ex was the reason he left. They had originally been partners and kept their relationship (and short engagement) to themselves as much as they could- but during a mission to contain and redirect the wild hunt he had been gored in an effort to save some civilians. Thankfully everyone survived, but his main sciatic nerve had been severed. He thought it was the right thing to do (especially when the Borley techs gave him a way to walk again), she did not. All throughout the mission she had made comments about ‘how impressive his performance was considering his condition’, and it royally pissed Parker off. Ivar though just shrugged it all off, completely unbothered. He further explained that she probably meant well, but had a bad habit of coming across the worst way possible. Seeing his carefree laugh as he talked about her, like he barely gave it any thought, released a balloon of pressure Parker wasn’t aware she had been holding onto their entire visit. She had been making a big deal over nothing; she wasn’t an ex, she was just an ex. “Maybe so,” Parker agreed as she tucked herself to Ivar’s side. “But if she ‘means well’ again I’m still going to deck her, nobody talks about you with that tone while I’m around.” He just chuckled and kissed the top of her head in agreement.

4.) A common misconception was that Ivar met Parker first, before her twin. While the two meetings were within an hour of each other, Carter definitely made himself known first. He had been sitting, reading the file on the mission he was being assigned to, when a hand clamped over his mouth and (with great effort) managed to drag him into a secluded broom closet. “You Rook?” The strange (that descriptor would remain for as long as the two knew each other, but evolve to something friendlier), man asked, utilizing the extra two inches of height he had over him to loom as threateningly as possible. “Yes, now who t’e fuck ar’ you!” He shouted, getting into a defensive stance as soon as he was released. “Relax relax, look I’m Agent Thorn ok? The twin of the Agent you’re being assigned to? I just needed a word in private.” He lowered his guard, but not by much, assessing that if this man truly wanted to start something, he would’ve by now. “How’d y’ get tha’ information? I’s classified.” “...I snooped duh.” He said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s not important right now! What is important is that you’re meeting with my sister in about 30, and I needed to make sure you’d actually help her.” “Y’ mean do m’ job? Ye’ was plannin’ on i’ thanks.” “Don’t be a dick you know what I mean.” “No I don’! Am I goin’ mad or is this th’ most fucked ‘shovel speech’ ‘ver given?” “Not really- kinda? I don’t know, all I know is that, Parker, that’s her name-”

“I can read y’ dick.”

“Parker is going to try so hard to not need help, and I just need to make sure you won’t fall for it.” He explained, body language telling Ivar that he was clearly near the point of begging. Ivar debating between messing with him, telling him what he wanted to hear so he could get away quicker, or just being completely honest. He was clearly upset and willing to do anything (including kidnapping) for his sister, but as Ivar was about to speak and assuage his fears, his legs gave out the warning beep that they were out of charge. A combination of things happened then: the strange man shrieked and flailed about, smacking Ivar accidentally which threw his head back into the wall just as his legs gave out. The next thing he knew He was waking up in chair, alone. He would later find out that Carter had dragged his body back to where he found him, where his wheelchair sat in wait, leaving him for someone else to find and deal with. Agent Succubus had opened the closet door, only to see the predicament and that it was Carter involved, and promptly closed the door to leave. Their second (and officially first) meeting went a lot better.

4.) Parker has been nervous to meet Ivar’s family, but after spending the past few days with them, her anxiety turned into a comfortable ease- sure that she had made a good impression and developed enough of a rapport to carry on any conversation over dinner. That had been a mistake. Turns out they, his sisters, Siobhan and Olivia, had been patiently biding their time until the night before her departure. It was around midnight when they decided to steal Parker away (complete with ropes), and take her to the middle of the nearby farmlands.

“Sorry f’r the theatrics.” The eldest said genuinely, voice even and warm. “But tradition is tradition.”

“Welcome t’ th’ family.” Olivia grinned, a trustworthy mischief promised with the baring of her teeth.

“So!” Siobhan clapped, shifting focus to… whatever they were about to do to her. “We all like t’ go running as a pack, but since we’re sort of ‘initiating’ you, as it were, we thought you’d be more comfortable if it were just us girls.”

“What do you mean?” Parker asked slowly, mind racing with a fresh wave of anxiety for the unknown. Olivia just grinned again in response and began shucking off her clothes. Parker hastily looked away, only peeking when her form changed from that of the young woman, to that of a sleek tawny wolf.

“You mean you want me to streak? Out in the open? At the coldest part of the day?” Siobhan just gave her an open gesture in return, confirming her suspicions. Rolling her eyes Parker quickly threw off her clothes, finding it a bit childish but overall glad that they weren’t asking her to do something worse or less traditional than streaking.

“You’v’ got a min’ head start.” The other woman called after her as Parker began her mad sprint, already missing the warmth of her flannel.

She was quickly joined by the transformed Olivia, with Siobhan catching up soon after, and Parker allowed herself to enjoy the silly freedom of it all. Running, howling, and laughing into the night- she felt heady and alive, and most importantly, fully embraced and accepted by the family of the man she loved.

 5.) Ivar and Parker came to the same conclusion at the exact moment.

They had just gotten through with a week that had separated them with missions, diplomatic visits, and a two-day stint in the med bay. They were exhausted, but both had agreed into doing a ‘date night’; Nothing special, dinner at home, but something where they could just be alone together for a while.

Parker had tackled the actual food portion, while Ivar had scrambled around working on the living room because ‘atmosphere’s important dammit’, and she had to admit that the candles and music really added a sense of romance to the fact that they were just eating spaghetti on her couch.

The silence that stretched between them was comfortable, both parties too tired to do much more than enjoy the other being there, and it was only really broken when Ivar turned up the soft music and took her hand to dance. They swayed lethargically to Lou Reed’s cover of ‘This Magic Moment’ and Parker could feel his contented sigh as she rested her head on his chest.

She only looked up when he placed a knuckle tenderly under her chin, guiding her lips up to meet his in a sweet kiss. She looked into his eyes and something within her snapped. Unknowingly, her hold on his shoulders tightened as she blurted out “I need to marry you.”

A genuine look of shock crossed both of their faces, and Parker’s eyes traveled to his hand that wasn’t on her. She let out a choked laugh to see that he had already been pulling out a ring during her sudden outburst.

“Did y’ really jus’ cut off my proposal wi’ y’r own?” He laughed, feeling ridiculous and giddy.

“Yeah.” She smiled, burying her face as far into his chest as she could.

“Does this mean y’r sayin’ yes?”

“Well it depends.”

“On wha?!” He practically howled, both of them slowly doubling over in attempt to contain their laughter and mirth.

“If you’re saying ‘yes’ to mine.” Ivar took a deep breath and up righted himself, suddenly serious.

“I cannae say ‘no’ t’ y’ Cariad, so please say ‘yes’ an’ marry me.”

“…Y’know, I could say ‘yes’ to you a thousand times Roo, and it still wouldn’t be enough to let convey just how much I want that. Or how much I love you.”

“’M sure I can get an idea ‘f it.” He slipped the ring on her finger, and once secure, swept her off her feet so that she was being carried in his arms.

“Let’s get t’ work on those ‘thousand yes’s.” He said, voice filled with tempting promise, as he took them to her bed- fully intent on properly celebrating their date night.

[thenobullshtblog-blog]

DyQuil & A New Popsicle PR

I usually don’t like to start off a post with a negative, but here we are. The only negative thing about working from home is that I literally am a recluse and I don’t have much contact with the human world 5 days out of the week. Don’t get me wrong, totally great because again- I don’t have much contact with the human world 5 days out of the week lol HOWEVER this means my immune system has low key shit the bed.

Bae and I took a mini trip to Baltimore last weekend, and as of yesterday I am already sick. Now-she’s not home to take care of me this week so instead of me usually being needy and extra AF, there is nobody around to sponsor my pity party. I actually have to suck it up and adult BYMYSELF. Horrible, I know.

 I bought some of those DayQuil & NyQuil pill packs. YES I bought the pills because I’m a bitch and cannot take a shot of that shit without gagging. I really think they’ve somehow found a way to harvest the Devils Semen, put it in a green bottle and called it NyQuil. (Sidebar: why is it not called NightQuil if they’re going to call the daytime one DayQuil? Shouldn’t the daytime one then be called DyQuil? I think they should change it-1. It would match the NyQuil format and 2. Its way more appropriate because you literally feel like dying after you take it. At least the NyQuil ones knock you out so you don’t suffer through your symptoms and you have fu*king awesome lucid dreams like in Vanilla Sky.)

 I actually took the NyQuil pills last night for the first time in probably 4 years? I woke up around 1:30am on the couch in my apartment and for a minute I literally had no fu*king clue where I was. The last thing I remember was laying on the floor with a bunch of husky puppies licking my face. Reality- I passed out on the couch watching Forensic Files in like an exorcist position with my neck all crinkled up, mouth open (catching flies status), drooling on myself-and my left arm felt like it was totally detached from my body because of the way I had been laying on it. I did successfully crawl to the bedroom where I slipped into a milllld coma until 11:13am-less than 20 mins before I have to clock in for work. 

Honestly my throat felt like it was on fire and I was hungry, so I did what any adult would do- I went and got a Popsicle out of the freezer. OFCOURSE I tripped over our area rug trying to get to my computer and accidentally deepthroated the fu*king Popsicle. Like, there were tears and everything. Silver lining-it did numb the back of my throat for a few seconds and I guess I also learned something about my anatomic abilities?

I am a little disappointed in the joke that was printed on the stick; because even though it was an accident-I feel like I worked harder than that. I deserve way better for a Popsicle PR (ladies and select gents, don’t act like you’ve never done it on purpose- just to see. If you’re laughing, it’s because it’s true. If you’re not laughing it’s because you’re embarrassed because YOUKNOWITSTRUE. Aint no shame in this game-just don’t bullshit yourself.)

“What kind of bird doesn’t need a haircut”

-A Bald Eagle. 

Do better AnneMarie from Iowa. Do better.