#this came to me in a cold medicine induced haze

[planet-marz1]

Our Little Sheep

Summary: You and Joel celebrate christmas with your many children Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader Word Count: ~4.1k

Tags/Warnings:18+MDNI no use of y/n, implied age gap(not specified), reader is able to get pregnant, jackson!joel, peepaw!joel(really peepaw), mentions of pregnancy, brief mentions of childbirth (nothing graphic), brief mentions of breastfeeding (again, nothing graphic) Lots of fluff & cuteness, Joel being a cute girl dad™, this seems like it should be a crackfic, but I promise It's so wholesome

A/N: Ok so this fic idea was born out of my cold medicine induced haze, so bear with me here guys. It's just a silly little fic, not meant to be taken seriously at all, and It's the most fun I've had writing in a bit, so I hope you enjoy reading! Just a little clarity here, the kids' ages range from 0 to 9. I know it gets all confusing here, so I am welcome to provide any further clarity if anyone needs it! A huge thank you to @catchallfangirl for helping with the naming of all of these gremlins & with the constant encouragement ❤️ Thank you to @fhatbhabie for beta reading!

lovely dividers by @pamasaur

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You open your eyes slightly, squinting them. Joel sleeps peacefully next to you, his breaths even and steady. Burrowing yourself further under the blankets, you scoot closer to him, your head on his chest and intertwining your legs with his. You run your fingers through the curls of his now, fully gray hair.

Slight whines start to fill the room, and you lift your head up and glance over your shoulder to peek into the bassinet next to your side of the bed. Joel had been up with the baby all night after you two had finished wrapping up the gifts for the other kids. So, you groggily sit up in bed, reaching over to pick up the tiny little infant.

“Shhh, It’s alright, little one.” You whisper quietly, trying to calm him. After a few attempts to shush him, it’s still not working. He’s probably hungry, you figure. Lifting your shirt, you help him latch onto your breast, and he finally calms. You sigh quietly with relief. It’s all a part of the process, you try to remind yourself. Little baby Joelseph had only been born a few weeks ago. No, his name isn’t actually Joelseph. Simply a nickname given to him by his many older sisters when you had been pregnant with him. It started as a cute joke, but sure enough he came into the world, and no one was able to call him by his proper name. Named after his father, but considering the chaos of your family, the nickname is simply just another thing that you don’t bother to fight to keep the peace in the house.

The early hours of the morning are usually the small period of time when the house is completely silent. Every other waking minute is filled with the sounds of the kids, either giggling, or fighting with each other over something. Though, silence isn’t always a good thing. You’ll never forget the time the kids got into the kitchen cupboards and practically wreaked havoc in the kitchen while you were outside tending to the sheep.

Sure enough, you hear the trampling of footsteps coming down the hallway. No matter how chaotic it may be, this is your favorite part of the day. Getting to start each day greeted by all of your beautiful children, reminding you of why you are so lucky. You softly graze your fingers over the baby’s hair.

“I think your sisters are here, little guy,” You chuckle softly. The doorknob jiggles a bit. Before all of your daughters begin to spill into your bedroom, all eleven of them. Yes, eleven. You and Joel had, admittedly, gotten out of control in that department.

You and Joel had met when he had returned to Jackson in the spring with Ellie in tow. It had been an immediate connection, quite literally. Hooking up one night in the bathroom of the Tipsy Bison, which is what led to your firstborn, Emilie. The pregnancy had come as a shock, but you and Joel were excited nonetheless.

A chorus of variations of “Mom,” or “Mommy,” begin to fill the room, and you try to shush the girls, reminding them of their little brother. “Ok, girls, I know that you’re excited to get downstairs to all of your gifts, but you’ve got to settle down a bit, alright?” You whisper gently. Finally, they all nod in understanding. The calm is short-lived, though. Jane and Jules, the cutest, but menacing pair of instigators, hop on to your bed, shaking Joel’s shoulder, trying to wake their father.

They were your fourth pregnancy, which was by far the most difficult one you had ever experienced. Constant discomfort, and sleepless nights from the relentless kicking and movement from them. It wasn’t the first time you had been pregnant with twins, but It had gone nothing like you had expected it to.

Joel, though typically a light sleeper, is particularly hard to wake after a night with no sleep, hence why you’d opted on letting him sleep in. The two of them, each on one side of him, lean in close to his face, leaving little room for personal space. “Daddy.” Jules says quietly, Jane keeping a close watch.

Joel peeks one eye open, a bit startled at first at the heavy breathing from the two girls so close to his face, but the confused expression on his face is quickly replaced by a tired grin. As soon as all the girls spot that their father has woken up, they all pile onto your bed, excitedly squealing and giggling. Luckily, little baby Joelseph had already been lulled into a deep sleep after he finished nursing. Even if he hadn’t, you're pretty sure the few short weeks he’s been in the world, he’s already used to the constant noise and chaos from his older sisters.

Joel sits up on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, and tries to wrap his arm as many of them as humanly possible.

“When can we open our presents, daddy?” Tiny little Aurora questions impatiently. This is the first year she’s been able to fully understand the concept of Christmas, and all the gift giving. So, understandably, she is ecstatic for all the festivities of the day. She crawls into his lap, after attempting to clamber over all of her sisters in the way. Joel scratches at the scruff of his beard, and lifts her into his lap.

“How about we all eat breakfast first, sweetheart, then you all can tear into your gifts.” He says lowly, his voice still laced with sleep. “Sound like a plan?” He asks. The girls all nod in agreement.

You slowly stand up from the bed, still cradling baby Joelseph in your arms. Walking towards the door, you gesture for the girls to do the same. They all climb off of the bed, and without fail, the house is once again filled with chaos. All eleven of them racing out of your bedroom, and down the staircase to the kitchen.

Joel meets you by the doorway, placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Well hello, sleepyhead.” You tease him. “Sleep well?”

“Just like usual, darling.” He kisses you again, this time placing kisses all over your face, and down your neck, before you place your hand gently on his chest stopping him from going any further.

“Not so fast, old man.” you chuckle softly. “We don’t need another one of these.” you say, gesturing down to the baby bundled up in your arms.

“One more wouldn’t hurt, huh?” He teases, and you just shake your head. 

“You say that because you aren’t the one who has to push them out.”

“We should probably get downstairs before they get into stuff that they shouldn’t be” You murmur, and Joel quietly nods in agreement.

The warmth of the morning sun filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room as you make your way into the dining room. Joel follows you, his hand brushing against the small of your back.

You and Joel enter the dining room, and expectedly the room is already filled with screaming and chaos. Alive with the energy of your daughters, and the two mischievous kittens, Ginny and Joel, weaving in and out of the chaos. 

Emilie, your oldest, is trying to settle an argument between Lacy and Lily, your first set of twins. Nothing new in your household, nearly every morning, no matter how many times you have to tell them that every seat is the same, the kids insist on fighting on who sits where, who sits next to whom. It’s exhausting, but you can’t help but smile at the chaos unfolding before you-it’s simply the routine of your everyday life.

Emilie, with her stern expression, finally manages to resolve the seating dispute between Lacy and Lily. You glance at Joel, and he chuckles, a knowing look passing between you. The girls quickly settle into their chairs, the anticipation of Christmas morning evident in their sparkling eyes. As you take your seat at the head of the table, Joel sits beside you, and the cacophony gradually subsides. Little Aurora, perched on Joel’s lap, swings her legs excitedly, eager to dive into the festivities.

“Alright, everyone, let’s dig in!” you announce with a smile, and the room erupts in cheers. The aroma of the freshly cooked breakfast wafts through the air as the kids eagerly serve themselves.

Emilie diligently helps the younger ones with their breakfast. She occasionally steals glances at the pile of gifts under the Christmas tree, anticipation gleaming in her eyes.

Lacy and Lily are engaged in animated conversation, their excitement palpable. Daisy can’t stop giggling at something Theo whispered in her ear. The second set of twins, Jane and Jules, sit side by side, already plotting mischief as they eye the presents.

Willow, with her big curious eyes, is inspecting her plate with utmost concentration, trying to decide which part of her breakfast to tackle first.

In the midst of the laughter and chatter, you catch Joel’s eye. There’s a shared understanding between you, a silent acknowledgement of the beautiful chaos that is your family. His gaze is filled with gratitude, and you can’t help but feel the same.

As the kids enjoy their breakfast, you steal a moment with Joel. “Can you believe how fast they're growing?” you murmur, your eyes dancing with a mixture of love and exhaustion.

Joel leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Feels like just yesterday we were sneaking around the Tipsy Bison.”

You laugh, the memory of that fateful night vivid in your mind. “Look where it led us.”

Kylie babbles incoherently as she attempts to mimic her older siblings. Aurora still sits on Joel’s lap, her eyes wide with wonder as she takes in the festive scene, and Joel aids her with her breakfast.

Maggie sits contentedly in her high chair, fingers sticky with syrup, as she munches on a piece of a pancake you’ve carefully cut up into small pieces for her.

The kids, fueled by excitement and sugar, chatter animatedly about their plans for the day. You and Joel exchange glances, both silently reveling in the joy of parenthood. The journey hasn’t been easy, but moments like these make it all worthwhile.

As breakfast winds down, you glance at Joel, both of you silently agreeing it’s time for the much-anticipated event of the morning.

The living room is now adorned with brightly wrapped gifts, a colorful display of the love and thoughtfulness you and Joel put into each one. The kids finish their breakfast, their eyes darting eagerly between the tree and the presents.

“Alright, kiddos, let the unwrapping begin!” Joel declares, and the room explodes with excitement. Each of their little faces lighting up with joy. 

“Okay, kiddos, let’s see what Santa brought us this year!” Joel exclaims, and the room erupts in cheers. The kids, now fueled by excitement from their furry friends and a hearty breakfast, rush to the tree, each claiming a spot around the mountain of gifts.

Emily takes charge, distributing gifts to each of her siblings with precision. Paper tears and laughter fill the air as each child discovers the treasures hidden beneath the wrapping.

Lacy and Lily eagerly tear into their presents, sharing excited glances when they unveil matching toys. Daisy clutches a doll close to her heart, and Jane and Jules giggle in delight at the surprise in their packages.

Theo, wide-eyed, unwraps a superhero action figure, and Willow discovers a fluffy stuffed animal that instantly becomes her new best friend. Kylie is overjoyed with a set of building blocks, her imagination already running wild.

Aurora claps her hands in glee as she unwraps a musical toy, and Maggie, though more interested in the wrapping paper than the actual gifts, coos happily.

Daisy twirls with a new dress, her face glowing with delight. “I’m going to wear this everyday!”

Aurora, surrounded by a pile of toys, claps her hands and points excitedly. “Look, Daddy, Mommy, so many toys!” Maggie, with a new plush toy in her tiny hands, giggles with joy. The room is filled with laughter and chatter as the kids excitedly showcase their new treasures.

Jane and Jules squeal in delight as they discover Joel curled up in the tangle of discarded wrapping paper, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. Willow, with her big curious eyes, watches the kittens in fascination, occasionally reaching out to stroke their fur. Kylie bursts into giggles as Ginny playfully bats at a shiny ribbon. Aurora claps her hands in delight at the sight of the playful duo. Maggie points with chubby fingers, her face lighting up with a smile as Joel gracefully leaps onto the back of the couch.

Joel catches your eye, and you share a moment of warmth as you witness the joy on your children’s faces.

“Looks like our little fur balls are the stars of the show today.” He chuckles.

Watching as the kittens continue their playful antics. The room is filled with laughter, shouts of excitement, and the crinkling of wrapping paper.

As the chaos subsides, you lean into Joel, watching the kids with a contented smile. “Merry Christmas, Joel.” He whispers back the same sentiment, wrapping his arm around you, anchoring you in the midst of the joyful storm that is your family.

The room buzzes with the joyous laughter of your children, the kittens weaving throughout the living room. As the kids continue to show off their presents, Ginny and Joel curiously inspect the colorful array of toys and trinkets scattered across the room.

Emilie, your eldest, sits by your side, flipping through her new sketchbook. “Mom, look at this! It’s perfect for my drawings. Thank you, Santa!”

Lacy and Lily, wearing their matching necklaces, approach Joel with enthusiasm. “Dad, Dad! Can Joel play with us too?” they ask, extending an invitation for the adventurous kitten to join in on their imaginative play.

Daisy twirls around in her new dress, and with a dramatic flair, she curtsies. “I’m a princess, just like in the stories!”

Jane and Jules, holding their new board game, insist on a family game night. Jules, gives you a confused look, glancing from the box, and then back up at you. “What is Boggle anyway?” 

“It’s just a word game, sweetheart, definitely an easy game to beat your dad at.” you laugh softly, shooting Joel a teasing grin.

Willow proudly shows you the fluffy stuffed animal she received. “Look Mom, It’s Fluffy! Daddy, feel how soft!” She grabs his hand to place it on the stuffed animal, and Joel enthusiastically plays along with her.

Kylie, engrossed in building her tower with the new blocks, beams with accomplishment. “It’s bigger than me, Mommy!” You smile at her gently, and give her compliments on her tower building skills.

Maggie, in her own little world, squeezes her plush toy and gurgles happily. The kittens, sensing the playful atmosphere, join in on the fun, batting at the discarded ribbons and chasing each other around the room.

Joel, still basking in the warmth of the family scene, leans over to you. “Seems like Santa knew exactly what they wanted.”

You nod, a content smile playing on your lips, ‘And the best part is seeing their faces light up with joy.”

The room is filled with laughter, the sound of wrapping paper being crinkled, and the occasional meow from Ginny and Joel. The chaos is harmonious, a melody of love and togetherness that defines your family.

The kids, their excitement undeterred, start brainstorming plans for the day–games to play, stories to tell, and perhaps a snowball fight if the weather permits. As the festivities continue, you can’t help but feel grateful for the love and warmth that fills your home–a treasure more precious than any gift under the tree.

As the kids reveled in the excitement of unwrapping their Christmas gifts, their attention turned to the chalkboard on the mantle–a poignant memorial to their older sister, Sarah. The room hushed momentarily as the children exchanged thoughtful glances, understanding the significance of the chalkboard.

The kids had put together some artwork and drawings the night before. They gather around the chalkboard, placing their artwork in front of it, creating a beautiful display of love and remembrance. The room, now adorned with their heartfelt tributes, felt infused with a sense of warmth and connection to Sarah’s memory.

Joel, watching from a distance, can't help but be moved by the sincerity and creativity of his children. The simple act of setting their drawings in front of the chalkboard transformed the mantle into a gallery of love—a tangible expression of the enduring impact Sarah's memory had on their hearts.

As the morning continued, the drawings stood as cherished tokens—a beautiful reminder that, even in the midst of joyous celebrations, the love for their sister would always hold a special place in the family's heart.

You nudge Joel gently, catching his attention. “Any Idea when Ellie, Dina, and JJ are planning to arrive?”

Joel looks thoughtful for a moment, his eyes scanning the room to make sure all the kids are engaged in their newfound treasures. “They’re aiming to get here just in time for lunch. Should be any moment now.”

Excitement lights up on your face at the news. “The kids are going to be over the moon to see them again, and It wouldn’t be Christmas without them.”

Joel nods in agreement, a fond smile playing on his lips. “Ellie’s always been good at timing. They’ll be here soon.”

As if on cue, a gentle knock at the door catches your attention. You glance at Joel, both of you sharing a knowing smile. The anticipation in the room heightens as the kids, sensing something special, look toward the door with wide eyes. Moments later, the front door bursts open, and the lively chatter of Ellie and Dina fills the air. The children squeal in delight, dropping their toys and rushing toward the doorway. Ellie enters first, holding JJ’s hand, Dina follows closely behind with a warm grin on her face.

The kids shout at them in unison, enveloping the new arrivals in a sea of hugs and excitement. You and Joel stand back, watching the heartwarming reunion unfold.

Ellie, catching your eye, gives you a knowing nod. “Merry Christmas!” she says as she greets you and Joel. You welcome them with open arms, a surge of joy filling your heart. “We’re so glad you’re here.”

As the laughter and joyful chaos continue to fill the room, you can’t help but marvel at the beautiful tapestry of your family, woven together by love, shared moments, and the bonds that withstand the test of time.

Amidst the joyful commotion, you navigate through the sea of excited children, still cradling little Joelseph in your arms. Joel joins you, and together you watch as Ellie, Dina, and JJ immerse themselves in the holiday cheer.

Ellie, after receiving an enthusiastic welcome from the kids, approaches you with a playful grin.

“How’s the newest little troublemaker doing?” she asks, casting an affectionate glance at Joelseph.

You chuckle, gently rocking the sleeping baby in your arms. “He’s been an angel all morning, surprisingly.” you yawn, tiredly.

Dina joins the conversation, “He’s gotten so big since we last saw him. Mind if we steal him for a bit?”

You nod with a smile, carefully passing Joelseph over to Dina. The little one stirs for a moment, but settles back into a peaceful slumber in Dina’s arms. “He’s all yours.’

The room continues to buzz with giggles and Ellie, Dina, and JJ become a seamless part of the festivities. The kids eagerly show them their new toys, and soon, the kittens, Ginny and Joel join the playful parade.

As the day unfolds, the house becomes a vibrant canvas, painted with the hues of love and togetherness. Joel, now with Aurora on his shoulders, navigates through the lively crowd. You find a quiet moment with Ellie, who is holding Joelseph with a tender smile.

“He’s adorable,” Ellie remarks, her eyes filled with a mix of nostalgia and affection. “Feels like just yesterday you were dealing with my teenage antics.”

You laugh, remembering those not-so-distant days. “Time flies, doesn’t it? Now look at us, and you, with a little family of your own.”

Ellie glances around the room, the sparkle of the holiday lights reflecting in her eyes. “Couldn’t ask for a better way to spend Christmas. And look at Joel, still being the heart and soul of this chaos.”

You follow her gaze to Joel, who is now surrounded by a group of kids, listening intently to one of Jane and Jules’ stories. The love in his eyes is evident as he shares in their laughter and mischief.

Ellie looks back at you, a soft smile playing on her lips. “You both did an amazing job. I’m proud to be part of this.”

And in that moment, as the laughter and warmth of your family envelop you, you couldn’t agree more. This Christmas, with all its magic, has woven another chapter into the rich tapestry of your lives–a chapter filled with love, laughter, and the cherished moments that make your family truly extraordinary.

As the festivities continue, Ellie, still cradling Joelseph, couldn’t resist the opportunity to tease Joel. With a mischievous twinkle in her eye, she approaches Joel, who’s now attempting to disentangle himself from a knot of kids.

“Hey, old man,” Ellie quips, giving Joel a playful nudge. “You holding up okay with all these little rascals running around?”

Joel chuckles, a playful glint in his eyes. “Someone’s gotta keep ‘em in check. You’ll find out soon enough, Ellie. Parenthood’s no joke.”

Ellie raises an eyebrow, her gaze shifting to Joelseph. “You’re the expert now, huh? It took you guys long enough to figure out the secret recipe for a baby boy.”

Joel grumbles and feigns offense. “Well, it’s not like we had a manual.”

Ellie rolls her eyes. “Says the guy who needed a football team's worth of daughters before finally getting a son.”

You join in on the banter, giving Joel an amused smile. “Took a bit of trial and error, but look at our charming little Joelseph now.”

Ellie leans in, bouncing the baby gently in her arms. “Not bad for an old guy, huh, kiddo?” she cooed, earning a content gurgle from the baby.

As the day of joyful chaos begin to wind down, the once lively house now settles into a more serene atmosphere. The twinkling lights of the Christmas tree cast a gentle glow over the living room as the laughter of the children gradually transforms into quiet giggles and yawns.

You and Joel, tired but content, herd the kids upstairs for their bedtime routine. The kittens, Ginny and Joel, follow along, their playful antics slowing down as they, too, sensing the impending calm.

“Alright kiddos, time for bed.” Joel announces, his tone gentle but firm as he ushers the kids into their respective rooms.

The procession of bedtime rituals unfold–one by one, teeth are brushed, pajamas are put on, and stories are read. The younger ones nestle into their beds, eyelids growing heavy with the sweet fatigue of a day filled with excitement.

As you check on each child, offering goodnight kisses and tucking them in, Joel moves gracefully through the house, turning off the twinkling lights and closing curtains. The house seems to exhale, the echoes of joyous laughter replaced by the hushed whispers of bedtime.

In the quiet moments between putting the kids to bed, you found Joel in the hallway, sharing a look of satisfaction passing between you. The day had been a whirlwind of love and joy, and now the peaceful hush settles over the house like a comforting blanket.

“Another Christmas for the books,” Joel remarks, his voice low.

You nod, a smile playing on your lips. “And many more to come, I hope.”

The two of you continue the nightly routine, gently closing doors and ensuring the house was ready for the calm of night. The soft glow of the light spilling from your bedroom illuminates your path as you and Joel make your way into the room, where little Joelseph lay sleeping in his bassinet.

Joel pauses by the doorway, his eyes fondly watching the baby. “He’s been the best gift, hasn’t he?”

You nod, a warmth settling in your heart. “The best, indeed.”

The day had been a symphony of chaos and joy, a beautiful crescendo that had now found its resolution in the quietude of the evening. As you and Joel retire to your room, you can’t help but reflect on the blessings of family, love, and the precious moments that make Christmas truly magical.

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[she-whatshername]

Thoughts while in my cold medicine induced haze

Prompt: how absolutely terrible the Marked Ones would be at taking care of you. Because they can’t be perfect at everything

Xaden:

The fault: too overprotective

“Tell me again,” he asked, “who were you with yesterday?”

“Huh? Xaden, why?” You grumbled hoarsely while pulling the covers up to your chin. It had been ten minutes since Xaden came into your room with a cup of tea and all of it was spent asking weird questions. The bedside manner this man had was…questionable. Pun intended. You just wanted him to snuggle and pamper you, was that too much to ask?!

“That Ridoc kid was sneezing this morning. Didn’t even cover his mouth,” he explained. He stood up from the edge of your bed, practically pacing. “Saw him yesterday didn’t you? I knew he was behind it.”

“Love. Please just lay with me.”

He grumbled while laying next to you, his arms wrapping around your waist. Finally. This was the comfort you were seeking. You begsn to close your eyes and settle for a nap.

“…want me to stab him a few times for you?”

Oh for fucks sakes! You let out an annoyed groan and threw the covers over your head, not before throwing Xaden and his ridiculous theories out of your room for the rest of the afternoon.

Garrick:

The fault: too handsy

“Thank you so much for the tea, Garrick.” You mumbled from the nest of covers you were under on the bed.

“Aww, you say my name so cute when you’re all stuffed up like that.” He smirked while sitting on the bed next to you. “You know, you look really hot for being sick as shit.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. Was he serious? You were in the middle of a cold sweat, “I haven’t even showered today.”

A glint if mischief appeared in his eyes, “dirty girl.”

“Enough. Keep it in your pants Tavis, I’m sick!” Gods, normally you would find his libido and teasing tolerable but today? not the day.

But this was Garrick. It was a losing battle, “You’re so hot when you order me around like that. I’m kidding - don’t look at me like that. Just get some sleep okay?”

You rolled away from him and closed your eyes, hoping a nap would make you feel any bit better. After about an hour you woke, rising from the bed to head to the bathroom. You walked past Garrick who was lounging on a chair by the washroom door. It was nice he stayed with you while you slept. But that affection quickly ended once you felt his hand careen against your ass in a playful slap.

And while you’d normally find love taps like that endearing, you decided to return the favor and throw Garrick out of your room on his own ass.

Bodhi:

The fault: none! Angel this one is

Though, he’s probably such a hovering partner lolol

“I got your tea, love.”

“Thanks Bodhi.” You smiled at him while snuggling into your sheets. Now that you had some tea a nap wouldn’t be too far off. Just want you need.

“Of course. Need anything else? A book?”

“No, darling. I’m good.”

“Fluff your pillows?”

“You’re so sweet. I’m fine.”

“Need some more medicine?”

“All good.”

“Want me to get you lunch? Have you eaten?”

“No, and yes. I’m all set.”

“Need a massage?”

“No.”

“Want some help reorganizing your blankets?”

“Bodhi.”

“Can I get you some water?”

“Please-“

“Can I help you clean up in here?”

You groan and throw the blankets over your face as you attempt to silence the sounds of his questions and the other noises as he began to clean your room.

[moonflowerlesbians]

when the roll is critical idk I don’t watch the show

[a-cupof-jo]

Spiritus Lenis

Paring: Potion Master!Jaehyun x Medicinal Herbalist!reader

Genre: angst, fluff, magic!au

WC: 1.7k

warning(s): language

Summary: A dark stairwell welcomed him as he started his descent to the kitchen. His feet scrunched as they met the cool tile leading from the stairs to the open kitchen. The glass he had left sitting on the counter earlier that week was full, but that’s not what had him standing speechless in the kitchen. Next to the water was a vial of medicine with your distinct penmanship labeling it.

Prompt: Soulmates 12 “We can’t win. Either I have you and my soul sings but your cries, or we’re apart and your soul rejoices but mine dies.”

Continuation of Dyspnea. I would recommend reading that one first, however, this might be able to be read without knowing what happens in the first one.

~~

Shadows danced around the room as the oil lamp's flame flickered in the hidden room. He shouldn’t say hidden room, more like forgotten, but not to him. Oh no, the walls lined with long shelves and tables became so familiar to Jaehyun that he could tell you which board creaked when one stepped on the end and which wall had the most cracks running through it.

It was forgotten, because he was forgotten. That’s what it felt like. His heart had been ripped out, thrown on the floor, and stomped on. Isn’t that what he asked for, insisted on. He had created that damn soulmate indicator potion and you left, but again he was the one that told you you should go. The world became less bright. Flowers that he would buy to decorate the house no longer allowed their smell to cover up the old houses must. Brewed coffee no longer woke him up. The now dry cake in the fridge you had made that day…

Jaehyun yelped as his hand jerked away from the hot stove. Red spread across his hand and he hissed as the stinging pain increased. “Shit,” he raced into the house. The small bathroom that sat adjacent to the kitchen held his small medicine cabinet. You had made sure it was stocked and filled with every kind of medicine he could ever need. He pulled out a large box full of balms and vials of medicine. Using his uninjured hand he rummaged through the items. He lifted up the small can that read burn salve. Prying the open the lid he looked in to see an empty can. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he leaned forward, his head resting against the cabinet. The can dropped to the floor as a shaky breath escaped his lips. There’s only one place he can go to get more burn salve, “This has got to be some fucking joke.” Tears pressed at his eyes and for the first time in three week, Jaehyun wept. Sobs wracked his body and he buried his face in his arms.

“It’s okay,” an anguished sob ripped out of Jaehyun as the hallucination of your voice, your arms wrapped around him. The dim light of the bathroom lit fickers of shadows around the room. His eyes caught sight of a shadow hanging over him and kept him company as daylight faded away to a pitch black night. Another shadow joined them, reaching out to the one comforting him. Their hands connected and Jaehyun didn’t have the energy in him to look away as more tears escaped him. He leaned further into the cabinet as a cold and light pressured touch pressed on his burned palm. Soothing little circles encouraged him to close his eyes, to shut out the pain surrounding his heart, “That’s it. You're okay, Jaehyun. I love you.” He let the wet drops that hit the back of his hand and words whispered in the night lead him to a dreamless sleep.

Bright lights peaked through closed eyelids. Jaehyun squeezed his eyes tighter trying to fall back into darkness. Once he realized that he wasn’t going to be able to sleep any longer, he pried his eyes open to the sunlight shining down through the skylight in his room. His room, how he got here, he doesn’t know. Maybe he drug himself there in the middle of the night in a sleep induced haze or maybe he had gotten there sometime after the sunset. No, he remembers sitting on the bathroom floor with you- with a figment of you comforting him, “That’s a really shitty move to pull.” His voice came out in hoarse cracks. He turned his head into his pillow blocking the sun further from his sight.

A door creaked slightly and it took just a moment before Jaehyun realized that it was his door. Soft steps moved across the floor toward him, “Jaehyun.” Oh how he had missed that voice. It was so much clearer than the voice his mind had supplied for him the night before. “Honey,” a light touch moved his shoulder slightly. Jaehyun wanted to cry again.

He wanted to reach up and grab you and pull you into bed with him. To hold you in his arms and beg you to come back. To reject the soulmate bond, “Come downstairs when you're ready.” His arm moved slightly and he had to stop himself from reaching out and catching nothing but air.

Light moved further across his room and based on where it sat on his desk he had been laying awake staring at his ceiling for a few hours now. The light yellow of the walls had been your idea, so was the emerald green oversized chair sitting in the corner, and the fronds of spearmint hanging from the skylight. He sat up and glanced around the room again, catching more traces of you. Tears pressed at his eyes again and he pressed the palms of his hand into his eyes. He stopped as he felt thick wrapping press into the tender skin on his face. Confusion took over his thoughts before the pounding of his head had him leaning forward, hands flying up to his temples in an attempt to soothe the pain.

A dark stairwell welcomed him as he started his descent to the kitchen. His feet scrunched as they met the cool tile leading from the stairs to the open kitchen. The glass he had left sitting on the counter earlier that week was full, but that’s not what had him standing speechless in the kitchen. Next to the water was a vial of medicine with your distinct penmanship labeling it. He didn’t remember getting any medicine out last night, in fact he remembered being out of the medicine he needed. That didn’t stop him from unscrewing the little jar and typing the contents back. He stood at the sink looking out through the window in front of it. The sky was so bright and beautiful. The children and family strolling the streets were happy. He was envious. They have their happiness, but his was tied to another.

Wooden shutters rattled as the pale blue door shook in place. Jaehyun startled as he heard two sets of feet storm through the shop. “No,” he heard your voice carry through the door. “I can’t do it anymore. I can’t do this anymore.” He heard your voice get thick as you spoke to the second person.

“Please, listen to me,” Taeyong. Jaehyun braced his hands on the lip of the sink as he eavesdropped on the private conversation. “We are soulmates. We were made for each other. You have to get over this li-”

Your gasp slipped under the door. Jaehyun knew he should be listening but he couldn’t help it. It was you and his heart clenched as you stood on the other side of the door. “Don’t you dare say another word.” He could imagine you, hands clenching the hem of your shirt and eyebrows drawn together in anger. “Soulmates aren’t supposed to feel this way, Taeyong. I’m supposed to be happy but my heart hurts, and last night when we and he-” He knew you were crying now. The urge to race out and wrap you in his arms was nearly too great. He grabbed the handle ready to turn when.

“I know,” Taeyong’s voice was soft. “I know you're hurting, and I know that he’s hurting. What about me? Am I supposed to just let you go and hurt myself?”

“If you truly want me to be happy. Then yes. I need to be with him. The universe may have said that you and I were supposed to be soulmates. But how can we be if this, you and me, is what is killing me,” Jaehyun should really stop listening. The cool metal of the handle had warmed under his hand. Your voice had been broken, pleading. Jaehyun was ready to take you in his arms and never let you go.

“Well then,” Taeyong swallowed hard. “We can’t win. Either I have you and my soul sings but your cries, or we’re apart and your soul rejoices but mine dies.”

“I’m so sorry. I love him so, so much. I can’t give him up. They say my soul was made for you, but my heart beats for him,” her voice was firm and strong. Jaehyun was so in love with you. No amount of time short or long would change that.

Jaehyun heard a foot tapping fast on the floor. He held his breath, waiting for Taeyong to speak, “Okay,” a sigh of relief escaped Jaehyun and he clamped a hand over his mouth. “Maybe,” a loud swallow could be heard through the door. “Maybe we do this differently. Perhaps the universe didn’t want us together like this.”

“Thank you,” joy filled your voice and Jaehyun smiled as he heard Taeyong let out a small oof. “Thank you so much.”

“Anything for you,” Taeyong said lightly. His voice didn’t carry love or regret, but hope for something new, for something different. “I better go. I’ll talk to you later this week.”

Another moment passed, before the knob in Jaehyun’s hand started turning. Jaehyun finished twisting and pulled open the door. There you were light pants and a loose shirt hanging from your frame. You were so beautiful. He opened his arms slightly and you raced into them. The scent of homemade soap and spearmint lifting from your hair and skin. Jaehyun held onto you tight. The two of you stood in silence letting the minutes tick by. Jaehyun kissed your cheek, tightening his grip on you. A sob finally broke the silence and Jaehyun cupped your face in his hands, “You’re okay. I’ve got you. I love you.” You didn’t respond to him, opting to kiss him. Jaehyun didn’t mind the salty flavor of your lips or the way you clutched his arm in your grip as if your life depended on it. All he knew was you were home and he had a lot of time to catch up on.

~~

tag list: @infnteen @stayctday @qianinterprises

Networks: @knet-bakery

[capaimagines]

lee jooheon - flu

Pairing: Lee Jooheon x Reader | Genre: fluff | Warnings: mentions of the flu | WC: 1.2k

Request: Jooheon looking after you when you're extremely sick!!!

You came home from work and you weren’t feeling great at all. Your head was pounding, you felt extremely nauseous, your stomach was aching and you were pretty sure you had a fever. Your nose was stuffy and you were starting to develop a nasty cough.

To be fair, you probably shouldn’t have gone to work this morning, especially with the current state of the world. You had woken up feeling a little weak but you had thought you just hadn’t gotten enough sleep the night before, but as the day went on your body started to ache more and you felt more lethargic than this morning.

You slipped your heels off, not bothering to make sure they were out of the walkway. You were far too tired and in too much pain to care at the moment. Besides, you didn’t have anyone coming over anytime soon, especially right now. You trudged your way to your bedroom, falling on to the soft mattress and closing your eyes. You hadn’t even changed your clothes.

In your sickness induced haze you had forgotten that Jooheon had said he was going to visit you for the next few days. He had gotten clearance from his work to be able to take a few days off and he was more than excited to spend those days with you. He had messaged you he was on his way, unaware that you were currently sweating bullets and fast asleep.

When he entered your dark apartment he sighed in relief. This always felt more like home to him than anything else.  

“Y/N, I’m he-oof!” He tripped over your shoes you had left laying in the middle of the walkway. He furrowed his brows, moving your heels out of the way. You were always more careful about that stuff.

“Y/N?” He called out again but received no response. He quietly made his way to your bedroom, chuckling a little as he opened the door and saw you laying there with your work clothes still on. There was no way you could be comfortable in that stiff pencil skirt and blouse.

He went to shake you awake but pulled his hand away as if it had been burned. You were extremely hot to the touch and he started to worry, “Y/N?” He shook you gently and you groaned, barely opening your eyes. 

“J-Jooheon? What are you doing here?” You shoved your face back into the pillows, wanting to go back to sleep and not totally aware that someone else was in your room.

“I’m visiting the next few days, remember? You’re burning up baby, are you feeling okay?” You groaned again, turning over with your eyes still closed.  

“I’m dying. I probably don’t have long left.” You were deadly serious but Jooheon could only let out a quiet laugh. You always got extra dramatic when you were sick.

“I’ll run you a bath, okay? I’ll also make some soup. Go take your temperature,” He left the room and you heard the faint sound of water running. You groaned, sitting up and regretting it. You were dizzy now and extremely hot. You wiped some sweat off your forehead, discarding your clothes. He’d seen you naked before and you honestly didn’t really care at the moment if he hadn’t.

That’s when you felt your stomach jump and you bolted—stumbled—quickly to the bathroom. You leaned over the toilet, emptying your stomach. Jooheon frowned, grabbing your hair and holding it back for you.  

“Where’s the thermometer? I’ll take your temperature,” You pointed with a shaky hand to the top drawer of your bathroom counter.

You laid on the cool tile of the floor, grateful for how it seemed to cool you off. You were pretty sure your body was so hot that steam was rising up from you, “It’s from the bath, not you,” Jooheon read your mind as he gently placed the thermometer under your tongue. You indeed did have a fever and Jooheon clicked his tongue, helping you up.

“Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?” He asked as he helped you into the tub. You hated that it was hot water.  

“Too hot,” You moaned and Jooheon sighed, shaking his head.  

“Gotta sweat the fever out, honey. Deal with it,” With the little energy you had left, you stuck your tongue out at him but settled in and leaned your head against the porcelain. You had to admit that it did help with the aching in your muscles.

“I’m going to make you some soup, yell if you need me,” He kissed your forehead and you hummed, enjoying your relaxation time. Then the coughing started and you groaned. You were not good with being sick. You turned into a baby and couldn’t take care of yourself. You knew this and you were grateful Jooheon was here to put up with you.

When you could be considered a raisin, you got out of the tub and changed into your sweatpants and one of Jooheon’s t-shirts that he had left the last time he was here and curled back under the covers.  Now you were shivering and cold, but your body still felt hot to the touch.

Jooheon walked in and frowned, placing two fingers on your forehead to see if the bath had helped any.  It didn’t seem too, “Here, sit up honey. I made soup,” He helped you sit up and you leaned on his shoulder.  

“I just want to sleep, babe,” You whined and he chuckled, kissing the top of your head.  

“I’ll feed you. You need to just eat a little, okay?”

You stubbornly ate half the bowl before you pulled him down next to you and curled into his side. He couldn’t help but smile and wrap his arms around you, “I need to get you medicine, love.”  You shook your head, tightening your grasp on his waist.  

“Tomorrow. Sleepy,” He smiled again, running his fingers through your hair.

“Fine, tomorrow, but I don’t want to hear any complaining about taking it!” He gently chided but you had already fallen back asleep. He looked at you lovingly, pulling you a bit closer. Everyone always tells him that he could be a human space heater and to sweat this fever out—you were going to have to be as close as possible.

The next day you were feeling a bit better but a little upset that Jooheon was not next to you when you woke up. You heard clattering coming from the kitchen and slowly made your way out there.  

“Baby?” You said sleepily and Jooheon turned around, plate of food in his hands.  

“Light breakfast, eat a little something. We can share.”

So, you ate together and enjoyed your quiet breakfast. Despite you coughing every few minutes, Jooheon determined that your fever had gone down during the night and you definitely didn’t look as pale as you did when he first arrived yesterday.  

“Here, medicine. Take two. It’ll help,” He handed you two pills and a glass of water as you scrunched your nose up.  

He crossed his arms, eyes narrowing, “Do not even start, L/N Y/N. Take them and then we can watch Netflix,” You groaned and it took you about five minutes before you could actually swallow what you considered to be horse pills.

Jooheon was true to his word, you two cuddled the rest of the day in your bed and watched all your favorite shows and movies.

[haunted-by-catholic-guilt]

That's Wasteland, Baby

Emma.

Martin came back into view holding the baby, call it the fever making him emotional but he felt like he could cry, seeing his husband hold their daughter.

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for the emma au in which jm adopt a daughter!! @celosiaa

no tw i can think of!

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Martin was no stranger to being woken up suddenly.

In his years with his mum, then the institute, both his and Jon’s nightmares, it was rare he didn’t get woken up once a night somehow.

Especially with Emma.

He felt the bed shift next to him, quick jerky movements from his husband, he opened his eyes, god was he tired, and looked over to see Jon hunched over himself, shaking on the bed.

“Jon? Love?”

His husband’s eyes darted open and stared him down, and he tried his best to ignore the flash of green that slid over his dark brown eyes like the eyelid of a snake.

“What’s wrong, habibi?”

Martin moved slowly, ignoring the ache of exhaustion deep in his bones, and opened his arms, telegraphing his movements, and as soon as he did Jon let himself fall into his chest, clinging to him like a lifeline.

It was only when this happened did Martin realize why Jon seemed so...scared.

“You’re burning up, dear, can you let me go so I can get the first aid kit and your medicine?”

Jon shook his head, mumbling something about Elias, no- something about Jonah, things about people that made Martin’s heart race in rage because they hurt his husband, hurt him.

He brushed off the anger, that’s not what he needed right now.

Just then, Emma began to cry.

He cursed silently.

“Jon, love, I need to go get Emma, you need to let me go, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Luckily, that broke through Jon’s fevered and terrified haze, and he let go of Martin reluctantly, falling back down on the bed.

Martin moved as gently and as quickly as he could out of bed, before running into Emma’s nursery, she was fine, probably just hungry, but he wouldn’t be surprised if she caught whatever Jon was sick with, assuming it wasn’t stress-induced or an allergic reaction.

Or something else.

Panic wouldn’t help, he knew it wouldn’t, so he held Emma to his chest and walked into the kitchen, getting the formula ready as fast as he could.

Emma began to cry harder, and Martin was ashamed to admit that he felt some distress at this at all, but he just shushed her gently and bounced her back and forth.

The formula was done, after testing it on his wrist he sat on the couch and began to feed his baby, and for a second he let himself feel some sort of odd comfort.

Jon was ill, yes, but he knew deep down it wasn’t like before, and that the fact that Jon was willing to be held at all, and that he was willing to let go so he could take care of Emma, was an improvement.

The first time after the institute and Jonah that Jon got sick, Martin remembers how scared he was, because what if it wasn’t just the flu, what if it was withdrawal again?

It made it worse that he didn’t have anyone at that time, and now only really had a few co-workers.

And Sasha and Tim.

The first time they spoke, after they… well after they died was an interesting one, a lot of emotions for sure, as well as pain and, well, joy, after some time.

But they weren’t as close as they once were, there was still an uncomfortable feeling around when they spoke, like the feeling of waiting for a bomb to go off.

Felt a little bit like old times then…

He brushed the feeling away, Emma was almost done with her bottle, meaning he’d be able to get to go back to Jon, who had been quiet this whole time.

He stood up when he finished feeding Emma, she liked to be rocked until she fell asleep, so he carried her on one arm while making tea and getting medicine with the other.

When she fell asleep, he placed her back in the crib, kissing her head gently, and heading back into the kitchen and grabbing the items he prepared for Jon, and going back to his husband.

“Jon?”

The man pried his eyes open, blearily looking at Martin with fever hazed eyes.

“Hi, love, can I take your temperature?”

Jon nodded, letting Marin run his hand through sweaty hair as he checked his temperature.

“39.0, you’re really not doing well, love, I have some medicine and tea, can you take them for me?”

Jon let himself be lifted up, Martin was proud of him, letting care come this easily, and the small man easily took the medicine, taking a few sips of tea, before slumping forward onto Martin.

“Alright, love, you can rest now.”

Martin shifted against the headboard of the bed, he probably wouldn’t be getting much more sleep, Jon would be up having nightmares and coughing fits for the rest of the night, and likely the day, and Emma would be up again multiple more times.

The house was so quiet and eerie, it always was at night, but he usually had the comfort of Jon being there, and he still was, physically, but Martin knew that his mind was giving him a fevered tour of his past.

He took a breath, deep just like his therapist taught him, to bring himself back to the present, to ward off the fog and chill knocking at his window.

Weird how he could be cold even with the love of his life burning at his side.

He played on his phone while petting Jon’s hair gently, he stirred a few times, nightmares creeping on him, when he shook himself awake Martin would always hush him gently back to sleep, reassuring he was safe, that they were safe.

The sun began to creep up onto the window, he’d need to call in for both Jon and himself, or post onto the google classrooms Jon kept open on his laptop that he wouldn’t be calling today.

After that was done, as if on cue, Emma began to cry again.

Martin sighed before going to her nursery, changing her and placing her on his hip while he prepared the formula for her breakfast and the tea for himself, Jon would be asleep awhile longer, meaning he’d be able to set up Emma with some toys on their floor for the time being.

After feeding Emma, and bringing her playpen into their bedroom, and giving her some quiet toys, Martin sat on the bed and drank his tea, making sure to keep his eyes on both Emma, who was now trying to eat some toys that should choke on, and Jon, who was sleeping soundly curled around him.

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Jon had to run.

He had to go he had to leave he- he didn’t know where he was.

Where was Martin?

The feeling of a vice around his neck tightened and he struggled.

He needed to run.

Hands, large hands on his arms, someone calling his name and-

He opened his eyes, Martin stood over him, eyes worried, but something in them told Jon they were safe.

They were safe.

A sharp shrill cry broke him out of the trance, and Martin looked off his face and quickly stood up.

Emma.

Martin came back into view holding the baby, call it the fever making him emotional but he felt like he could cry, seeing his husband hold their daughter.

Martin’s hair was curly and messy, it didn’t look like he’d had time to get ready for the day, and Emma in a yellow one-piece, Jon recognized it as one that one of his students gifted him when they found out they were adopting Emma

Emma was resting on Martin’s shoulder, she looked pretty tired out, he assumed it had been a long night judging by the exhaustion on Martin’s face.

“Martin”

His name was a prayer and an expression of thanks all in one, and Jon could spend an eternity just looking at him.

Martin smiled softly a him, his eyes warm and safe.

They were safe.

“I’ll be right back, love, I’m going to put Emma in her crib.”

He left, but was back soon after, he sat next to Jon on the bed, gently cupping his cheek.

“How’re you feeling, love?”

Jon leaned forward, resting his face against Martin’s soft jumper.

“Better with you, hyati”

Martin chuckled, and wrapped his arms around Jon.

Jon thought for a moment about how far they’d both come, how ten years ago this wouldn’t have happened, how when they first met he was so scared of loving Martin.

He thought of the worms and the coma, and how they were both sure they wouldn’t make it, and how even after it smoothed out they didn’t know.

He felt Martin smiling in his hair.

“How’s the weather up there?”

He pulled back and looked at Martin’s eyes, a soft hazel color that screamed safety.

“Sunny and warm, habibi”

[therainbowwillow]

Alright, it’s been a hot second since I’ve written fan fiction (ahem, posted fan fiction), but I feel like my inhibitions have been adequately washed away by my extreme degree of not giving a fuck, and thus, here we are.

Hadestown AU With Crossovers to Other Myths Where Orpheus’s Terms Are That He Can’t Sing part 1/??? (It’s me, so just start typing numbers and that’s how long it’ll be.)

Orpheus’ song reverberates against the walls of Hades’ underworld. A girl emerges from the shadows, dressed in the same simple clothes as her fellow workers. She hears his voice, strained with passion. And as he sings, her memories flood back: the cold, cold winter. The ticket. Her signature. Then she remembers life, before all had felt so hopeless: flowers. Love. Finally, his name. “Orpheus!” She calls to her lover. Her would-be husband.

His song trails off. “Eurydice?” He glances around the cavern, desperately looking for his lost lover.

“Keep singing, boy.” Orpheus starts at the sound of Hades’ booming voice. “You promised a song, now give it to me.”

Eurydice sees his legs shaking, how wide his eyes are, how nervous and exhausted he looks. “I thought I heard....” he mumbles.

“I will not have your excuses, poet. Sing.”

Orpheus nods and draws his fingers across his lyre once more. Even among the horrors of Hadestown, he finds himself lost in his music. He shuts his eyes as he sings. Flowers bloom. Flowers. Hades nor Persephone could remember such a sight in the underworld, not since they’d resided in its dark walls. Persephone reaches down and brushes her divine fingers against their petals, as if to determine whether or not she’s imagining them. This mortal boy’s song, so beautiful that springtime had arrived in the underworld.

Eurydice stands, frozen in place by the music. The amnesia-inducing haze of the Lethe is lifted and the wails of shades ring the halls. Memories return to those who had forgotten their mortal lives. Lovers fall into each other’s embraces. Parents find their children.

Eurydice is fixed upon Orpheus. His song is louder than any cry. Not a single note is ever out of place. His voice never breaks. It crescendos perfectly, falls without flaw. Yet Eurydice knows that no man, not even the son of a god can keep up such perfection forever. She knows Orpheus better than anyone. She notices how gaunt he looks. The walk to Hadestown is long and hard. It had taken her a day by train, it must’ve taken a week or more to walk. She knew all he’d done was walk and sing. Orpheus wouldn’t spare a minute for anything but his song back home, he wouldn’t have done differently on his long trek to the underground. Had he eaten? Drank? Slept? Eurydice wonders.

Persephone, too, recognizes Orpheus is unwell. He’s trembling as he sings and all she can hope is that her husband doesn’t see his weakness. She takes Hades’ hand and hums along the melody. He faces her, smiling as she hadn’t seen him smile for years and years. He stands and she fears for a moment that he sees Orpheus’ desperation, so plainly written on the boy’s face. But he holds her hands in his and he sways, a slow, silent dance. At first, she doesn’t look at him, her gaze frozen upon Orpheus. The song goes on, the dance goes on, and she finally indulges herself. She’s pressed up against her husband as they hadn’t been in longer than she could remember.

Eurydice is the first to react when Orpheus begins to sway on his feet. She rushes to his side, going unnoticed by the king of the underworld, still caught up in his dance. He looks worse up close. His eyes are puffy from lack of sleep and he weighs nothing when his voice breaks and he groans, slipping into Eurydice’s arms. “Orpheus! Orpheus, you gotta stay awake,” she begs, glancing at Hades, holding his wife in a tight embrace as if nothing had changed.

He blinks wearily. “Eurydice?”

“It’s me,” she whispers. “Keep singing,” she urges him.

“W-what?” He’s hard to understand, his speech slurred by exhaustion.

“Your song, love. Sing your song.”

He leans against her. “Now? Eurydice, I’m tired.”

She hears Hades’ movement and bites her lip, determining what could convince him to keep going. “You wanna marry me, Orpheus?”

A tiny smile crosses his lips. “Yes,” he whispers.

“Sing the song.”

“Hold on to me. Please,” he implores.

“I’ve got you.” She brushes the hair out of his eyes. “Now sing.”

And he does. Eurydice watches Persephone pull her husband into her arms once more. “Keep going,” the queen of the underworld mouths.

Orpheus’ song fills the room again, quieter this time, and not quite so filled with life. Hades frees himself from his wife’s arms and sits upon his steel throne. “Where did you get that melody, boy?” He asks.

Orpheus stops singing. “I dunno.”

“Mortal poets don’t just find songs like that. Where’d you learn it?”

“I wasn’t taught.” His voice is little more than a ragged whisper. “It... it came to me, I suppose.”

“How-“

Persephone cuts him off. “Hades, the boy is half-starved. Look at him, husband. Mortals don’t last long down here. Hear the boy’s demands, husband.”

He sighs. “Yes, I see. So, poet, what do you ask of me? What do you ask of Hades, king of the underworld?”

“J-just let us go, sir.” He lifts his head. “Please.”

Hades smiles. “No one leaves the underworld.”

“I came all this way!” he cries.

“Fool!” Hades shouts. The underworld falls silent. No shade dares to cross the king of Hadestown himself. “You knew this would fail and yet you came anyway. You want to leave, you insolent idiot, then leave. Your lover with you.”

Orpheus wipes the tears from his eyes. “T-thank you,” he stammers.

“Not so fast. You leave on my terms. You will not lay eyes upon Eurydice until you reach the surface or she will be mine once more. You will not touch Eurydice or you will suffer the consequences. And your path will not be made easy. You will not sing.”

Orpheus immediately squeezes his eyes shut, so as not to look at his lover. But still, he leans against her to remain on his feet. For a second they stand together. Then Hades speaks once more.

“You forget our agreement already?” His voice is dangerous and cruel.

Orpheus yelps and collapses.

“You are not to touch her, boy. This is your consequence.”

He doesn’t move, remaining crumpled at Eurydice’s feet, gasping for breath. His knuckles go white as a new wave of pain racks his body. “Stop! Stop!” he pleads, “make it stop...”

“Hades!” Persephone grabs her husband’s wrist. “Listen to him.”

“Why should I? The boy gave me our song, I gave him my terms. He broke them, hardly a second after I gave them.” Orpheus shrieks again. Eurydice looks at him helplessly, writhing in pain at her feet.

“Let him go.” Her voice is firm. “He can’t stand on his own, he didn’t have a choice.”

He narrows his eyes. “This is not under your jurisdiction. I gave the boy what he asked. They can leave whenever they wish.”

“This is what you call justice?” she snaps.

“This is what I call control!”

Her brow furrows in disgust. “You aren’t the man I married.”

Orpheus sobs, holding his hands over his eyes. “Stop...” he moans. “Oh... please...”

Eurydice looks at the endless rows of the dead. “Help him!” she begs. No one moves. “Please! For all he gave you, this is what you return?”

“Hades, he cannot stand. He couldn’t make it out of here if he tried. This is cruel. This is evil.” Persephone glares at him.

“Perhaps he should try. He isn’t chained up.”

“How can you say that? He came all this way, grieving and filled with despair, but still, he walked. His pain is not yours to manipulate, husband.”

“He is in my realm, he is mine.” Hades snatches his hand out of her grip.

Orpheus’ hands slips from his face. For a moment, Eurydice fears that he’s seen her. But he’s silent. His eyes are closed. His breaths are shallow; the dingy underworld air seems not enough to keep him breathing. “Please!” Eurydice cries out to the bystanders. “He lifted the charm of the Lethe, he gave you your memories! Help him!”

Finally, a man pushes his way through the crowd. He makes his way to Orpheus’ side. “I’m sorry. I would’ve come faster.”

Eurydice shakes her head. “Thank you. Thank you!”

“He’s still breathing,” the man informs her. He tears a strip of fabric from his uniform and ties it over Orpheus’ eyes. “Keep him blindfolded, don’t make him do more than he must. He’ll be alright, but he can’t stay here.”

“How am I meant to get him out?” she asks.

“I don’t-“

“Patroclus!” A man shouts from behind them.

He sighs. “Achilles.”

“I thought we were done making impulsive decisions.”

“The boy’s sick. I know medicine. Besides, she’s right. How much longer could we have fought the Lethe without that song?”

Achilles looks up to Hades’ throne. He kneels and forces Patroclus to do the same. “Apologies, my lord. We’ll not interfere further.”

Patroclus stands. “Do as you will. I’m not bending my knee. Lord Hades, the boy’s in love. We both know how it is. The underworld is yours, but Orpheus is not dead. He does not belong to you.”

“Patroclus!” Achilles grabs his wrist. “Don’t,” he hisses.

“I couldn’t remember your name this morning, in case you’ve forgotten. Now I ask that you let me help him. His song gave us hope.”

Achilles exhales. “Fine. Not alone, you won’t.”

Patroclus grins.

“Enough,” Hades booms. “This is not your matter for involvement, either of you. Leave him to his fate and perhaps you’ll escape with only double hours in the mines.”

Neither man seems affected by his threats. The world is silent for a moment.

“Hades!” Persephone snaps, “I’m done with you. Spring should’ve started a month ago. I’m leaving. I’m leaving with them. Perhaps your brother could teach you something. Seduce a pretty nymph. Love a mortal. Just... leave me be.”

“Wait. Persephone.”

“I’m done waiting. I’m done. If you want to see me again, release them from your damn terms.”

“Persephone. You will not leave.”

“Try me.” She stands and steps into the center of the cavern where Orpheus lays, still barely breathing. She kneels at his side and places a hand against his forehead.

Patroclus approaches her. “He’s feverish. Dehydrated. Beyond fatigued,” he says.

She nods. “The underworld will rip the life from his lungs. Let us go before it does.”

“Persephone!” Hades rises to his full height, looming over his kingdom.

“Their terms, Hades.”

He scowls. “I release them. They may see and touch each other. The furies, however, will not be so easily convinced.” Defeated, he sinks back into his chair. Then he rises. “But the boy will not sing, so long as he is in my realm. His lover made a deal. She was to be mine. He may have her, but he’ll lose something in return. His pretty little song.”

Persephone scowls. It’s not what she asked for, but it’ll have to do for now.

In an instant, Eurydice pulls her lover into her arms. “I’m here, I’m here. I’m so sorry, Orpheus,” she whispers in his ear.

Persephone takes his hand. “Wake up,” the goddess whispers, “Come on, baby, wake up.”

Orpheus gasps and his eyes flutter open. He throws his hands over his face to shield his view. “Eurydice...” he mumbles.

“I’m here. You can look at me. There’s no more terms. Look at me.” She pulls his hands away and he looks at her.

“I... ugh...” he groans, slumping against her.

“Shh, it’s alright. Don’t talk. We’re gonna get out of here. Together.”

He shuts his eyes again. “Mm hm.”

“Orpheus, it’s a long walk to Hadestown. You didn’t eat much on the way?”

He shakes his head. “I didn’t have anything to eat.”

“Orpheus...” her voice breaks. “Thank you.”

“I couldn’t stand living without you.”

“You won’t have to,” she tells him. “You never have to leave my side again. I promise.”

“We need to go,” Achilles says. “Now.”

Eurydice turns to face him. “He needs rest.”

“We’ll have worse than exhaustion to contend with.” There’s shuffling in the crowd. “Hades still has loyal workers.”

“Hades.” Persephone growls. “He’s right, Eurydice. This is a trap he’s laying. They’ll follow us.”

“Can he stand, Eurydice?” Patroclus asks.

She doubts it. He looks like a blade of grass could knock him over. “We’ll find out.” She says.

[i-am-out-of-my-vulcan-mind]

A Long Night

Hello all! I hope you are all safe with everything that is going on in the world. 

I have taken it upon myself to write a small fic in anticipation for 5x05. 

I have also managed to fill in one of my @badthingshappenbingo​ bingo squares “fever” - on that note, excuse the state of my card, I got a new phone and couldn’t find the app that I have used previously for the crosses.

“You’re one hundred percent certain she’s not going to wake up?” Rich asked hesitantly. 

“Yes! For the three hundredth time.” Patterson replied in a frustrated tone. “She’s got enough painkillers and sedatives in her to knock out a dinosaur.”

“What about her wound though? What if she starts bleeding again?” Rich said, his voice rising an octave at the mere thought. 

“Rich! Stop panicking. She is stable. She is asleep. We need to go and get Weller. So unless you’re going to suddenly get a desire to do field work, I suggest you calm down!” 

Rich took a step back and put his hands up in surrender. 

“I’m sorry… I’m just a little nervous… this is… scary.” he muttered, taking in the form of a very frail looking Jane. 

Their op had gone bad, resulting in Weller being kidnapped and Jane being shot. Rich shuddered at the thought that the last time Kurt had seen his wife, she had been lying in a pool of her own blood. 

Patterson sighed, her voice softening. “I know. It is scary. But we don’t have any other choice.” 

She cast one final glance at Jane before leaving the room, hoping that when she came back both Jane and Kurt would still be alive. 

Rich sighed, glancing again at Jane. She was still, apart from the soft rise and fall of her chest. 

“Well I guess it’s just you and me now.” he muttered as he heard the elevator ascend. He took a seat beside her, reaching out for yet another cup of coffee. It was going to be a long night. 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

It was well after midnight when Jane started to whimper. Rich looked up in alarm, frowning when he saw two glassy green eyes staring back at him. 

“Jane?” he whispered. This was the first time she had opened her eyes since she had lost consciousness from the blood loss. 

She winced, swallowing thickly. 

“Here.” Rich said, grabbing a cup of water off of the nightstand and holding the straw to her lips. 

She took a small sip before sinking exhaustively back onto the pillow. 

Rich took in the red tinge to her pale face and hesitantly reached out, touching her forehead with the back of his hand. He was shocked at the heat that was radiating off of her skin. 

“Go back to sleep.” he said quietly, which only made Jane frown. 

“Where’s Kurt?” she croaked, her eyes searching, expecting him to come through the door at any moment. 

“Ah… well…” Rich stammered. 

“Rich…” Jane growled, in no physical state to handle him rambling. 

“Patterson and Tasha have gone to get him…”

Jane's eyes shot open at that. 

“What happened?” she ground out, her pain flaring as her consciousness returned. 

Rich let out a nervous chuckle. 

“Rich…” she warned again. 

“You were shot, he was taken. We got you back here… managed to stabilise you… and now Patterson and Tasha have gone to try and get him back. “

With that, Jane grunted through the pain, forcing herself into a sitting position. 

“Jane please, you’ve been shot… you have a fever… you need to lie back down…”

“What I need is to get my husband back.” she breathed through clenched teeth. 

Rich watched helplessly as Jane heaved herself to her feet. Almost instantly, all colour drained from her face and she swayed. He reached out for her. 

“Jane… please.” he said almost desperately. He was scared she was going to seriously hurt herself. “Let Patterson and Tasha handle this.”

“No.” she growled, clutching her side in agony. Grimacing, she cried out as she tried to take a step towards the exit. 

Rich reached out and quickly grabbed the syringe that was sitting on her bedside table. Before she could react, he stuck the needle in her thigh and plunged the medicine into her. 

Jane turned to him in shock. 

“Rich… what did you just do?”

“I’m sorry Jane…” he said breathlessly. “But you gave me no choice...”

“What did you give me?” she rasped, her eyes still wide in disbelief. 

“Ahh… a sedative?” Rich replied questioningly holding the syringe up to his face. 

Jane took a shaky breath, knowing she needed to lie back down before the sedative took effect and she fell down. 

Anger bubbled in her gut, but a part of her knew that he was only trying to help. A wave of vertigo overtook her and she found herself suddenly at the mercy of soft, yet surprisingly sturdy hands. 

“I’m sorry.” Rich whispered again as he guided her back onto the bed. 

Jane looked at him, a mask of betrayal on her face. 

“The others would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you.” he said, his eyes downcast. “Please… just rest.”

Jane sniffed, accepting her fate. She knew Rich was only trying to help - just like she knew that the others would do their best to get her husband back. She just needed to trust them. Slowly her body drifted back into the void of a drug induced sleep. She heard Rich sit back beside her, then she knew no more. 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Slowly her body started lifting from unconsciousness. She could feel a cold washcloth being placed on her burning forehead and hummed in satisfaction. Her eyelids were like lead, but with great effort, she managed to crack them open, blinking through the haze. 

Her vision cleared slowly, her hearing muffled like she was underwater. After a few moments though, his face came into view, his voice calling her name. 

“Kurt-” she murmured, her voice cracking. 

“Oh Jane! I was so worried!” he cried, leaning forward to kiss her on the eyelid. “I thought… I thought you had died.” he shuddered. 

Jane reached up slowly, cupping his face so he would look at her, taking note that her IV had been reinserted - Patterson must have acquired some antibiotics for her fever. 

“I’m ok… we’re both ok.” she whispered, pulling him so he was laying beside her. She needed him close, and she knew he needed the physical contact just as much.  “You are ok… right?” she added as an afterthought. 

Kurt nodded, shifting, mindful of her injury. He would talk to her later about what had happened to him, but right now he just needed to take care of her, if not for her sake but for his own. 

“Sleep, my love.” he whispered. “I’m right here.”

Jane complied, her body exhausted from the battle of trying to stay alive. He reached up and turned the washcloth over, so the cold side was against her skin, then settled his hand over her heart. The steady rhythm managed to lull him into an exhaustive sleep. 

Back in her arms he felt safe, the horrors his kidnappers had uncovered slowly drifting away. Together they would heal, and live to fight for their freedom. 

[breanime]

Dreaming

Here’s some Sunday night fluff for you guys!

Requested by anon:  Will you please do a one shot where the reader gets sick with like the flu and she’s all loopy on the dawn treader and tells captain how she feels about him and he takes car If her and it’s all cute🥺🥺🥺

It’s a little short, but I hope you like it! 

*gif not mine*

There were a lot of things you loved about sailing on the Dawn Treader. You loved being on the sea, and the feel of the wind on your cheeks. You loved exploring new places with your friends, and you loved working with all the different kinds of people and creatures you met on your travels, but most of all, you loved Caspian.

Not that you’d ever tell him.

You loved being Caspian’s friend, you really did, but you loved him as more than just a friend. You loved everything about him; his smile, his hair, the tone of his voice, the way he walked, that special laugh he did when you and Reep danced on the deck. You thought about him every night, and he was the first thing on your mind every morning. You knew you were fortunate to be his friend—his good friend—and so you didn’t mind the loneliness that sometimes crept up into you. You were fine with keeping your feelings to yourself; it wasn’t hurting anyone, and you could still be friends with Caspian, after all. It was fine. You were fine.

You were sick.

You woke up one day, and you immediately felt like your bones were made of glass. You struggled to sit up, and you shivered as soon as the covers fell from your shoulders. It was the middle of summer on the Dawn Treader, there was no reason you should be cold. Your head hurt, your bones hurt, you were cold, you were achy, and you felt terrible. You were sick. You lay back down, pulling your covers back up, and sighed. Your throat hurt, too. There was no way you could work on the ship today, you’d be useless. Resigning yourself to being sick and having to tough your way through it, you closed your eyes and slept.

“Y/N? Y/N? Are you alright?” Caspian’s voice was floating over you, and you blinked yourself awake. Caspian was leaning over you, concern clear in his beautiful dark eyes. He gave you a soft smile. “Good morning,” he said quietly, “Some of the others were saying you weren’t feeling well?”

You nodded. “I think I have a fever,” you said, your voice raw. “Did you come to check on me?”

“I did,” he placed a cool hand on your forehead and frowned, “You’re burning up…”

“You shouldn’t be here,” you croaked, “You could get sick.”

“Nonsense,” he said, pulling a chair up and sitting at your bedside, “I’m here to take care of you.”

Your eyes widened and your heart fluttered in your chest. “You… You don’t have to do that…”

“Of course I do,” Caspian said, smiling down at you, “Now, tell me what hurts.”

You listed off your ailments to Caspian, who listened intently. He brought you another blanket, throwing it over your body, before excusing himself to get you some tea. You started to feel sleepy after the tea, and you dozed off while Caspian told you stories. Caspian had one of the others bring down some medicine, and fed it to you, laughing at the disgusted face you’d made when you swallowed it. He brought you soup, helping you sit up and swallow it down before laying you back down, fluffing up your pillows.

You smiled up at Caspian, eyes heavy, feeling the effects of the medicine kick it. You were drifting off to sleep again before you knew it, dreaming of Caspian. “You’re so pretty,” you murmured, wishing you could run your fingers through his long brown hair.

Caspian’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“I’m so lucky to have you,” you went on, eyelids fluttering, “You’re my best friend.”

You thought you heard Caspian chuckle. “You’re my best friend, too.”

“I wish I wasn’t,” you confessed, turning your head and snuggling into your pillow, “I wish you loved me like I love you.”

“I—you love me?” Caspian’s voice was starting to sound far away.

“I love you,” you said, closing your eyes and smiling. This was a nice dream. “I love you so much. I think about you all the time,” you yawned, “You’re so good,” you went on, “So strong and kind and handsome and patient and handsome and sweet and handsome…”

“I’m getting the feeling that you think I’m handsome?” Caspian said, grinning.

“So handsome,” you answered, turning to your side, eyes still closed. It was nice to be honest, and dream-Caspian was taking your confession quite well. “The most handsome. I want to kiss your handsome face.”

“You do?”

“I do. I want to kiss your face and hold your hand and touch your hair.”

Caspian laughed again. “You can touch my hair. Would you like to touch it now?”

You opened your eyes. Dream-Caspian was leaning closer to you, smiling down at you fondly. “Can I?” You whispered, awed.

He nodded. “Please do.”

You reached up and put your hand in his hair, fingers running through the silky locks. “Oh,” you sighed, “so soft…”

Caspian put his hand on the side of your face, and you melted at his touch. Even though this was just a dream, you could feel the heat from his hand, and it made you even sleepier than you already were. “Can I tell you something, Y/N?” He asked you softly.

“Mm hmm.” You said, nuzzling his hand.

“I want to touch you, too,” he said. You opened your eyes to look up at him. Dream-Caspian’s dark eyes were fixed on you, and you could see a slight blush in his cheeks. He looked adorable. “I want to kiss you, and hold you, and be with you. You’re so much more than just my best friend. I have… I feel… I love you.” He chuckled, shaking his head slightly, displacing your hand and making it drop back down to your side. “I love you, and I have for a long while. And I’m not sure if you’ll remember this later…”

“I always remember my dreams,” you reported happily.

“Well, if you do remember this… I hope you still feel the same way about me when you’re not ill. And, well, if you don’t… Just know that I do,” he said.

“I love you, Caspian,” you said, opening your eyes and smiling up at your dream-man. “I’ll see you when I wake up.”

He nodded. “Sweet dreams, dear one...”

You couldn’t be sure, but you thought you felt dream-Caspian press a kiss to your warm forehead. You smiled in your sleep. Sick or not; this was a good dream.

When you woke up, Caspian was still sitting by your bed. He was smiling down at you, and you sat up, blinking in the now dark room. Your body was still a little achy, but your fever was down and your throat wasn’t burning nearly as bad as it had been earlier.

“How do you feel?” He asked, voice low.

“A little better,” you answered, wincing at the lingering pain in your throat, “How long did I sleep?”

“Most of the day,” he answered, placing his hand on your forehead, “Do you want some water?”

You nodded, and Caspian handed you a glass of ice-cold water, which you drank thankfully. You sat back in bed, smiling. “Thank you, Caspian. I’m already starting to feel a lot better.”

“I’m glad,” he smiled back, “Is there anything else I can do to help you feel better?” His grin widened. “Perhaps you’d like to touch my hair again?”

Touch his—? Your eyes widened. You hadn’t been dreaming. “Oh. Oh no,” you said, staring over at him, scandalized at your own behavior. “I—I’m so sorry, Caspian!”

He frowned. “Sorry? What for?”

“I—the things I said…” You cringed as the memory of your ‘dream’ came back to you. “I—I’m so embarrassed, I’m so sorry—”

“—No, don’t be sorry,” he said, leaning closer to you and grabbing your hand in his, “I’m not. I’m pleased, or… I was. Did… Did you not mean it?”

You froze. You couldn’t lie to him, and besides he looked almost… hopeful? And in your dream—well, in your fever-induced haze, really—Caspian had said he loved you too, hadn’t he? “I… I meant it,” you said, “Did… Did you?”

He smiled, and it was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. “I did. I do. I’m in love with you, Y/N,” he squeezed your hand lovingly, “And while I wish you didn’t have to get sick for us to have this conversation, I’m glad we did. I’ve been in love with you since the moment I say you.” He picked up your hand and kissed it, making your heart skip a beat. “I thought you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen,” he grinned, “and the kindest, and smartest, and most beautiful, and wisest, and funniest, and most beautiful…”

“Stop!” You giggled, cheeks warm. “I meant what I said, but I was drowsy and loopy when I said it. Give me time, and I’ll be much more eloquent, okay!?”

“I’ll give you time,” he agreed diplomatically, “And once you’ve had that time and you’re feeling better,” his dark eyes flashed, “I’m finally going to kiss the woman I love. Well…” He grinned. “…I’ll finally kiss you on the lips,” he added.

“You…” You smiled. You hadn’t dreamt the kiss on your forehead. “You can do that again,” you invited, “if you’d like…”

You didn’t even get to finish your sentence before Caspian was leaning over you and kissing your forehead, his long hair tickling your nose and his hand in yours. You were both grinning widely when he pulled back. “I love you,” he said, caressing your face with his free hand.

“I love you, too,” you said back. “Will… Will you stay with me tonight? Until I start feeling better?”

“I’ll stay with you forever,” Caspian said, smiling sweetly, “Sick or not.”

And he was true to his word. Caspian spent the night with you, bringing you medicine and water and making sure you were warm and comfortable. He spent the next night with you too, and the one after that as well… Before you knew it, you were spending all your days and nights with Caspian, and you couldn’t be happier.

Sometimes, as you lay in bed with Caspian’s precious head on your bare chest, your hand in his hair and his arms around you, you had to take a moment to pinch yourself. You weren’t in a dream; this was your life, this was your man…

…this was your dream come true.

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

I want Caspian to take care of meeeeeeee! :’(

Taglist: @lexxierave @loveintheroyalfamily @suchatinyinfinity@fanfictionrecommendations-com  @maxslime-blog @elanor-of-imladris@songforhema @lucielandss @fandomlifeandeverythingelse @themadhatter92@realduckvader @the-blind-assassin-12 @christinawxxx @anabella-baby @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @luminex3 @littlemermaidprobz @ashkuuuu@luckysstrikes @carlaangel86 @floralpeaceofmind @dylanobrusso @teacuplotus @iaintnofurry @thesumofmychoices @ymariejp @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @mrsjaxtellerfan @whovianayesha @holamor @drinix @rhabakoli @stories-you-wont-hear @king4thesirens @bellamys @marauderskeeper @charlylama @thesandbeneathmytoes @gollyderek @leahnicole1219 @evanlys19 @something-tofightfor @banditthewriter  @binbons-is-theloml

Caspian Taglist:  @miss-nerd95 @a-jem-found-in-a-papaya @ladyblablabla 

[just-folie-a-deux-it]

Hey Angel! Have a nice day! Uh, I don't know if you're into It fandom or Reddie, but if you are could you cute my depression and write something fluffy about them? :(( If not then could you write some fluffy Ryden?

I absolutely am into Reddie, I read the book a while back before the movies came out and while I don’t particularly care for the first movie, the second was phenomenal honestly, Bill Hader is a goddamn star. 

Headcanon that the first time Richie ever gets sick when they’re dating, Eddie just absolutely goes to town. He told Richie not to go swimming in the hotel pool because it’s fucking November, and do you want pneumonia? But did his boyfriend listen? Of course not, because fuck you. Which is how he woke up with a stuffy nose, a heavy chest, and the inability to do any good impressions because his voice was high-pitched and nasally no matter what he tried. Cue Eddie with the grocery sacks full of drugstore cold meds, three thermometers (Eds, if you try to stick that thing anywhere near my ass, so help me), and a couple of cans of organic soup. Richie may hate the smug ‘I told you so’ look Eddie is wearing the whole weekend he plays nurse, but he can’t say he minds the extra cuddles and the doting and the stinky medicinal baths because at least Eddie is washing his hair and holding him back against his chest while he dozes in a cough-syrup induced haze. Of course, once Richie’s cold subsides (it was not pneumonia, Eds, give it a rest) Eddie would wake up the very next morning sneezing and ready to throttle his boyfriend for getting him sick. Richie just grins and grabs the keys so he can run by the pharmacy, ignoring Eddie’s shouts of the different medicines he knows he’s going to need to get through this alive. Maybe he can convince Bev to come over and help him out; surely one man can’t be expected to take care of a sick Eddie Kaspbrak alone. 

[olicitysecretsanta]

Happy holidays @magda1102 !! Hope you have a wonderful time ❤️.

~ Holiday Cheer ~

Felicity couldn’t wrap her mind around the fact that a day that had been planned, down to the last minute could go wrong, and in such an epic way.  

Saying that she is a control freak is being too kind.

As the owner (founder) of her own event management company that was just starting out, it had had been a privilege to get a contract from the Queen family matriarch, Moira Queen herself. Her company had been tasked with the responsibility to organise the engagement party of her daughter Thea Queen to her longtime boyfriend Roy Harper.

She had started to plan every little detail as soon as the contract had been signed, she just hadn’t factored in the fact that Thea’s brother - Oliver Queen would prove to be her downfall.

She may have been rather new to Star City, but the news of Oliver Queen’s womanizing ways, his return from the dead and his changed demeanour after being rescued were famous all over.

When on her first day of casing the venue for the party, he came along with her; she hadn’t understood what to make of him? Or rather what were his intentions? It was rather annoying to say the least.  But she let it go. 

While she inspected the venue, he walked right alongside her. As she talked to the venue manager regarding the changes she could make, he stood beside her with that ever stoic face. When all was said and done, he was dropping her off at her apartment. As she got of his car and was just about to shut the door, he stopped her by saying her name.

The butterflies in her stomach on hearing her name roll off his tongue? She chalked them up to indigestion.

Before she could say anything he said, “You will do just fine, Felicity Smoak.”

Screw the butterflies, she thought.

Fast forward a few days and she was in a conference room with Moira Queen, discussing the budget allocation and other little details. As she heard the door opening, she saw Moira look up and a warm smile spread across her face.  It was a change from her always being so cold and stoic. As she turned to see who it was, Oliver entered the conference room and greeted his mother with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

As she suppertiosluy took in Oliver, in his power suit and that perfectly ruffled hair and those baby blues, Moira made the official introductions.

The moment that changed her life happened when Moira uttered the words, “that from now on Oliver would be helping you.”

As she couldn’t very well shout the resounding No that was echoing in her brain, she just demurely nodded and resigned herself to the fact that now the 6 foot something hunk of a man, who irritated her on sight was going to be her shadow for the next three months.

It started with them arguing over the invite designs. Every design that he vetoed was apparently too gaudy and every design that she vetoed was definitely too glitz, for just an engagement party.

Moira had managed everything from afar but Oliver - he liked to weigh in his opinion on every little thing.

After a two day long debate and a great deal of hair pulling on both sides, they settled on an invite design that was just right - not too glitz or gaudy.

*

To keep hi busy felicity tasked Oliver to coordinator with his mother and set up a guest list. It managed to keep him busy for at least a week and she was thankful for the breather.

If design selection was a fight between them, selecting the menu for the party was a battle. It was like they were water and oil, never mixing , never shredding on anything. I’m the battle to select the most delicious food they ended up gorging themselves on all the tasters.

In the end menu ended up being a mix of her favourites and his favorites. Surprisingly, the mix  created a delicious menu that got a resounding approval from both Moira and Thea.

As the day for the engagement party inched closer , felicity unknowingly started looking forward to locking horns with Oliver over the littlest of the things. Admit all the hair pulling, fighting, haranguing each other just for the heck if it - they got to know each other better.

she knew that when he would go unusually still for a minute, his fists clenching and breathing becoming a little shallow - that he was having a flashback triggered by something. It broke something in every time

She knew that after an episode he just needed some quiet and comfort. The only way she could think to provide him comfort was to hold his hand and just sit with him. Also, somehow he always knew when she was stressed and overworked ( more than the usual ). With a smile of understanding on his face, he would bring her a steaming cup of hot cocoa.

He would deny it if ever asked but in the quiet, in the silent moments it always seemed as if they were closer than ever.

When in the middle of all this she fell sick, he came to her apartment. With soup, medicine and chocolate.

He didn’t run at her sickness induced monster look. Instead he cleaned for her, watched silly rom - coms with her and tucked her in the bed.  

All the fluttering butterflies that she had been ignoring couldn’t be ignored any longer.  

Over the befit few days her heart fluttered whenever he was near, her eyes strayed to his lips - wondering about their taste, her brain entertained some very NSFW thoughts about him (especially about those strong and capable hands of his).

So, was it any wonder that when they were having dinner, at her apartment, she couldn’t keep her eyes off of him. It was all rather casual, her in her hello kitty pajamas plus an old t shirt and him in jeans and a t shirt.

As they settled to watch ( rather binge watch ) a tv series, without a thought they settled into their usual positions. As always, her head was on his shoulder and his arm was around her shoulders.

But unlike, all the times when it had all felt very platonic, she saw how close she was to him.  

She couldn’t even blame alcohol for her actions. As she trailed her hand up his torso, she saw him become aware of her. When she called his name and he turned to look at her, she saw the lust and the longing in his eyes. As he pulled her closer, she leaned up and pressed her lips to his.  

The kiss was more than she could have ever imagined. It was fireworks in her brain, heart and body. When he pulled her over to his lap, ran his hands down her ass she couldn’t help but moan. After that everything was under a haze of lust. Her shirt was removed, followed by his Nd soon rest of the clothes followed. And the rest that happened was one night filled with pleasure.

So, they went from being friends to friends-with-benefits.

Every time that they worked together, they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. It was as if they were in their own little bubble. And it wasn’t just lust. They cared for each other, teased each other and maybe felt something for each other.

But as the engagement party got closer, Felicity started dreading it.  Because it would mean the end of whatever it was was that was with Oliver. She didn’t know how to tell him that she longer found him annoying and irritating. She didn’t know how to tell him that he was ( is ) her best friend, that she loved him.

*

So, imagine her surprise when on the day of the party ( which went of without a hitch ) Oliver was nowhere to be found.

After some frantic searching ( because the idiot turned off his mobile ) she found him at last sitting in his car in the parking.  

When she knocked at his window she couldn’t help but shout at him, “Are you an idiot ? Why would you switch off your mobile ? Everything was going so good ‘c I was so happy that the party went so plan.  I wanted to celebrate it with you because you are the only one who understands how important this was but you were nowhere to be found. Do you know how worried I was ? I thought that something had happened to you and you are sitting here in the parking lot staring at God knows what ?”

“It is your photograph.” Oliver said as he got out of the  car.

“What ?” she asked confused.

“It’s your photograph that i have been staring at, Felicity.”  He replied.

“Why .. Why would you do that ?”

“Because, I’m an idiot who has feelings for you.  Because, I can’t help how I feel.” He answered as he pulled her closer.

“How do you feel, Oliver ?” she whispered.

“I feel as if I can’t breathe when you are not there. You make everything brighter. You marks my life full of happiness. You make me feel alive. You make me feel, Felicity - when I thought I was incapable of it.” He spoke as his hands locked at her waist.

“I. Love. You. Felicity.” He whispered just before he enveloped her lips with his.

“And, I love you, you idiot. You could’ve told me this sooner.” she murmured dazed from his kiss.

~*~

[renywrites]

Worth The Risk

Hello everyone! Sorry I’ve been MIA, it’s been a long couple of weeks, and they’re just about to get longer. Pray for me. Here’s the last part of my Children of the Sea series, I hope you like it!

(I may add to this, I’m thinking about opening commissions for Christmas, so if you like this and want more, let me know!)

*

Lance had fucked up. He had royally fucked up.

After he had been rescued by a panicky fisherman neighbor and taken back home, fussed over by his mother and put to bed, he realized just how big of a mistake he had made. In his cold medicine induced haze, he had realized that the siren had talked to him. Okay, so maybe it had been telepathic, but it still counted!

God, and his voice had been lovely. Soft and crooning, curling around the corners of his mind delicately, like he was afraid his words, his presence in his mind, might scare Lance off.

The poor thing had been scared, he realises, for Lance. And after his outburst, because of Lance. And… he had yelled at the creature for things beyond his control. It was likely he was never going to see him again. If anyone had yelled at him for doing his best to help, the Cuban certainly wouldn’t want anything to do with them, not to mention the amount of damage his pride would take.

With a groan, Lance rolls over onto his side, pulling the pillow over his head. He was going to have to fix this, and fast.

*

Keith didn’t go back to the surface, even after the storm had calmed. Shiro had been waiting with baited breath for his little brother to escape the minute the waters had evened out and returned to normal, ready to drag him back by his tailfin if need be. But… it didn’t happen.

In fact, the little siren was more subdued and quiet than he had been since Shiro had taken him in all those years ago. He stuck close to his brother or Pidge’s side, never daring to stray outside of the territory lines. He hardly spoke, hardly ate, hardly took interest in play fighting or teasing his brother. It was worrying. Shiro was very worried.

Keith, he tries one afternoon. Do you want to go to the surface and try to help me find your human? It was his only hope. As much as he hated how happy this human made his brother, he couldn’t bear seeing him like this any longer.

Can we? His little brother gives him a surprised look, his fins flaring with interest. They droop after a little while, his expression falling with them. No, he shakes his head, he doesn’t want to see me. He doesn’t like me.

I’m sure that isn’t true, Shiro offers, but he wasn’t absolutely sure. Keith’s expression told him that this was clear on his own face, his amethyst eyes wide and sad.

It is. Red scales flick nervously, his injured tailfin lagging just a bit more than the others.

And you’re absolutely certain of this? His older brother gives him what he hopes is a reassuring smile. It seems to work; Keith falters, glancing up at the distant surface.

No…

Well, then. Why don’t we go see if it is? Shiro offers him his hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, Keith takes it.

Some small part of him hoped Lance was waiting. But another part was making doubt curl unpleasantly in his belly, reminding him of the harsh words and even harsher look he’d been given.

*

Nobody was there.

Shiro had set him in one of the shallow tide pools just shy of the shore, close enough where Lance would be able to see him and far enough away for Shiro to be able to pull him to safety. His brother was lingering in the shallows, waiting and watching, out of sight.

But… he wasn’t here. Keith waits, and waits, and… waits. He waits until the sun sets and the salt has crusted over his scales, until the tides are coming in and he blames the spray of the foam for the water on his face. He wasn’t crying. He… wouldn’t cry over a human. Not again, anyways.

The little siren was crying, though. It started slow, just a little prick of tears that could’ve been caused by a number of things. But as more time passes and nobody shows up, his mind starts replaying the storm and everything in it. Watching Lance get thrown from the boat. Dragging him through the water to safety, begging and praying to Poseidon that this human would live, that he would spare this one human.

It isn’t long before he’s crying in earnest, pressing his webbed fingers to his face to stifle his quiet sobs, his gills flaring in confusion as he hiccups for breath. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why had he come back? He obviously wasn’t wanted.

He stays there, crying quietly and feeling terribly pathetic. What kind of siren sheds tears over a human, his mind scoffs. Not any proper ones.

Keith doesn’t even notice he’s not alone before someone sloshes the water next to him and gasps a soft, “You came back?”

He jumps with a soft shriek of surprise, recoiling when his human crouches down next to him, his blue eyes wide and lovely and beautiful.

Lance sits there for a moment, stunned and flooded with relief and happiness. “I can’t believe… you came back! It’s really you, isn’t it? I’m so sorry,” He reaches over, cupping Keith’s cheeks, his eyes searching Keith’s own. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have said those things.”

The siren’s wide purple eyes watch him a moment before he sags, nuzzling into Lance’s palm, closing his eyes. You didn’t mean it?

“No, no, of course I didn’t mean it. Oh, baby…” A thumb brushes under Keith’s eye, Lance’s voice cracking. “Were you crying? I’m so sorry…”

The human shuffles into the tide pool, clothes be damned, and scoops the siren into his lap. He whispers apologies in a language Keith doesn’t understand, rocking him and holding him close. It was everything he had hoped for and dreamt about.

His tears dry, his anxious nerves soothes by the soft words from his human, the hand brushing lovingly against his scales, cradling him close like he was something precious. Like something that was meant to be cared for.

He tilts his chin up once he was calmed, looking up at his human, bathed in the soft golden glow of the setting sun. He was breathtaking. Keith reaches up, brushing his fingertips over his cheekbones and smiling faintly when his thick eyelashes flicker, blue irises flicking to amethyst.

The little siren realizes almost immediately that he was in love. Oh, was he in love. Wasn’t that a scary thought? A siren in love with a mortal. He’d been taught all his life that it was a terrible idea to consort with them, that they would take things to keep for themselves. He knew now what they meant by that - but Keith had given his heart to this human.

I don’t know your name, he blinks.

The Cuban laughs. “I don’t know yours, either. I’m Lance.”

Keith, the siren offers shyly.

“Keith,” His human - Lance - repeats, causing a shiver to run up his spine at the slow way it rolled over his tongue. “That’s a beautiful name. It suits you.”

Thank you. He blushes, biting his lip with sharp little teeth, weighing the next words he wanted to say. Can… Would it be okay if… May I kiss you?

Lance blinks, his cheeks heating and turning a shade darker. “I, uh- Yeah! Yes. You may. Please.”

The siren lets out an amused little chirrup, tipping his chin up. Lance smiles, flustered, and leans down, connecting their lips in a soft kiss. It was the best kiss either had ever experienced - and this was only the little siren’s first.

It wasn’t hard to decide that he wanted this human - tides, it wouldn’t be hard for anyone to decide to want this human. But there was an art to keeping one, and Keith had every intention to do just that. So as the sun set and as Lance kissed him until his lips were red and tender and his face matched, Keith was glad for all of this.

Maybe it was silly of them, to fall in love even with how different they were. But once you’re in love, it’s hard to simply walk - or in Keith’s case, swim - out of it. Besides, who would want to give up something as lovely as this?

Yes, Keith thinks to himself, around the third time Lance pulls him back into a devastatingly gentle kiss, remembering all the times he’d been lectured on the dangers of humans and snuck out to see them anyways. This was definitely worth the risk.

[catalystrpg]

Congratulations, Jordi!

Your role as Tatum Abigail Quinn, The Martyr (India Eisley) has been accepted, please make your account and send it in.

Name: jordi Age: 27 Time Zone: central

Liberty was somewhere familiar to her, the lake that she had gone to so many times before with Talon. It was their spot the place they always met up first before going other places. But Libby knew that this was not real, even though this felt like more than just a dream. She could feel the sunshine on her face, the rays beating into her skin warming her body. A man sat next to her, she could feel his skin against her hand, and his laughter filled the air like she had done something that was funny. Her eyes opened slowly adjusting to the sun that shone brightly, her fingers brushed against the man’s leg. She looked up into the face of her companion, the one that she had lost so many months ago. Talon laid next to her on the big rock that sat in the middle of the lake. Liberty smiled and turned towards him, her fingers moving to his chest. Her lips formed around those three words that meant so much to her, but she could not hear herself. All she could hear was people talking their voices did not belong there, in this happy memory. Something felt very wrong.

”I got her test results back sir, she has very strong vitals compared to some of the other subjects. One of the two devices has already been implanted.” a male’s voice spoke, his tone was very excited. Why was she at hospital? Did something happen to her. The fog in her head cleared but she felt too heavy to move. She tried to move her hands but there was no change. Opening her eyes more, Liberty tried to speak or move. Neither of which were going to happen. She pulled her arm again hearing the clamor of metal of the restraints that had her strapped to the gurney. “What’s –, “she croaked as she tried to sit up. “Why can’t I move?” she asked her voice cracking from dehydration. Her eyes searched the room for the voices. But the single dome light that hung above her made the rest of the room black, Liberty could not find where the talking was coming from.

Turning her head, her eyes landed on a small operating table that sat far enough away that she would not be able to grab any of the tools. Scalpels, clamps, and other tools she did not recognize say there sending chills down her spine. ”Let’s put her back under so we can install the other device. It’s going to go here–” the man spoke putting his finger on where her hipbone jutted out from where she was laying. Almost like he was using her as a teaching method. ”What are you doing to me!” she screamed out fighting against the restraints now, the panic forming. She remembered everything now. Being in the woods looking for Bridgette and Ethan. Then the group of men that came out of nowhere had taken her, kidnapping her from the search. Liberty pulled harder, the restraints cutting into the skin on her wrists as she struggled against them.

The IV in her arm dripped drugs into her arm, the haze washed back over her as every drop made its way through her bloodstream. What were they doing to her, but she could swear she could still feel the fingers on her skin as darkness overtook her once more.

“C'mon Talon, stop eating and help me!” Libby begged as she stood on top of a wobbly chair trying to get one of the paintings she had found on one of her runs. It was a framed copy of Monet’s Water Lillies. His house needed to feel a little bit more like a home. Their home. While they hadn’t talked about it, she assumed that she kind of lived there now. Not until she was asked to, but being at his house all the time, she already had most of her things here. Her eyes narrowed as Talon walked from the kitchen area, a open can of ravioli in his hand. He had a fork in his mouth. Liberty smiled and put her hand on her hip as she let the picture fall slightly. “Do you ever stop eating? I really need your help.” she pouted as she felt the chair wobble slightly. Talon shrugged as he stabbed another ravioli with his fork putting it into his mouth. “Well I can’t help it, I’m hungry, and we don’t need that picture hanging there anyways.” He spoke chewing the stuffed pasta as he answered. Liberty just frowned and hopped down from the chair. What else could she do, technically it was not her house yet, she was just a guest who had her own drawer. “You’re an ass! I thought you liked it.” Liberty sighed and leaned the picture against the wall. Liberty walked towards him, her bare feet barely made a sound against the hardwood floors her body covered by a t-shirt that was at least three sizes too big for her. She pressed herself into Talon snaking her arms around his body in an embrace. She didn’t want to let him go, even though he had ravioli breath. ”I love you.”

Beep….Beep…Beep… the rhythmic sounds of the heart rate monitor brought her from the deep slumber once more. She felt groggy and weak from the lack of nutrition that her captors decided to give her. The first day when they had tried to make her eat, she didn’t take it. So now she stared at the ceiling trying to come out of the anesthesia that they had been giving her for a little more than a week. How long had she been asleep? A day, a week, or even a month. Libby searched for anything that indicated how long she had been in captivity. But there was nothing, just the white walls that made her feel like she was going crazy. The dull throb in her abdomen alerted her to the surgery that they had performed a few days ago. The hospital gown that cloaked her body felt rough against her skin. Once against trying to free her hands proved to be futile again. Man these people knew how to properly restrain, but then if only Liberty knew who ‘these people’ were. Hearing the door open, Liberty stopped her movements searching for the door. “Hello?” she called out tired of hearing voices without faces to put them to. Turning her body as much as she could, she could feel the eyes on her watching her struggle. There was no reason to keep her there anymore.”Patient #00091 is ready to be detached from program.”the man said into a tape recorder as he wrote something into a file.

She could feel the soreness in her abdomen to the pain in her arms from being restrained for too long. There was no contact with anyone, her questions never got answered, Liberty was sure that they were going to kill her. Whatever this was, she didn’t want the last thing she saw was some white coat prodding her with needles for the rest of her existence. If she could find something sharp within reach, maybe she could just end it right then. Whatever they wanted from her, Liberty was going to fight like hell to keep them from having the satisfaction.

The man shot a syringe into the IV the needle piercing the plastic as if it was nothing. Maybe she should be glad that her captors were doctors. If anything she wouldn’t die because of some stupid malpractice. “You have – have to let me out of here. My son is lost.” She cried trying to reach for the white coat. Her fingers gripped lightly on the sleeve falling into the drug induced slumber once more.

Liberty felt her fingers lace with the hand next to her, Talon was so close now. They were inseparable now more than ever. Liberty knew she was making Jesse angry, because they were always making him the third wheel. Jesse never complained though. ”So if we find chocolate in here, I call dibs.” she called out quietly as she pushed open the door to the pharmacy. It was clear, the dust covered shelves were mostly empty. There were still things that could be of use. ”So what’s the plan, try to break the window?” she had asked as she ran her finger over the shelf. Her hazel eyes looked over to where Jesse and Talon were huddled over something. Laughter echoed off the wall, enticing her with the sound. Whenever the two boys got together, she ended up being the third wheel. Liberty walked over to the pharmacy window wishing she could check the glass. But obviously there was no way of breaking into this at all, the only source of medicine that could really save a life was behind the Plexiglas door. “Hey do you guys think anyone ever checked the office door?” she mused more to herself because the two were still searching the shelves like little kids on Christmas. Hell maybe they found Twinkies and that was what got them so worked up. Without really paying attention to her surroundings, Liberty turned the handle to the office slowly trying to make little noise as possible. It didn’t help at all. A walker tackled her, a scream escaped her as she fell back nearly hitting her head. She felt the cold fingers trying to claw away at her denim covered legs, “Talon!” she screamed panicking as she held onto the shoulders of her attacker. There was no way she could hold her off and reach for her knife all at the same time. Nearly a minute passed when she felt the grip loosen, her hazel eyes opened to see the hunting knife sticking out of the female’s head. She pushed the body off trying to push herself up. “Thanks for that babe.” She spoke her tone tense. Liberty couldn’t believe she had been so stupid.

Movement filled her subconscious, she could feel herself being picked up by a pair of strong arms. She was not conscious, but every sound seemed to be magnified. Liberty couldn���t move, she felt like she was paralyzed, or maybe it was just because the chloroform had kicked in. The man that was carrying her was speaking to another she assumed was the one who had been writing before. Somewhere in her mind she put the voices together, trying to connect them like a puzzle. But that door was not open to her.

The scientist walked casually speaking about what the guy needed to do. ”She needs to be taken as far away from the labs as possible. The outskirts of the forest should work.” He paused looking down at the unconscious brunette. “Patient #00091, I’m sure she will not be easy to find, hopefully the experiments don’t find her first.” He lowered his voice at the end. The older man did not have time to babysit the unconscious patient. No he had others to work on. He walked the hunter towards the opening of the hallways letting him walk out of the facility carrying the almost lifeless body into the daylight.

[fuzzhugs]

Bedrest

A fic for @the-redwaller on their sick day.

***

“Martin, are you sure you’re feeling well?” Skipper asked the Abbey warrior, concerned. “The crew and I can handle this ourselves. Why don’t you stay at Redwall and rest?”

“I said that I’m fine,” Martin responded, his voice rough and scratchy. “It’s just a cold.”

In truth, it was much more than a cold. Martin had been feeling ill for several days. His muscles ached and he was constantly feverish, leading him to bundle up in a surprising number of layers for a northern-born mouse. Most creatures would have been content to confine themselves to their beds for the duration of their illness, but Martin was determined to stay standing. Redwall needed firewood, and Martin was not about to let some small complaint stop him from taking care of the Abbey.

“Martin,” Skipper cautioned, seeing through the warrior’s brave face, “you aren’t doing anybeast a favor by refusing to rest. I’ve half a mind to carry you off to the infirmary right now.”

“Nonsense,” Martin said, dismissing him as his own speech started to slur. “Lesss get goin’.” He took a few steps outside the gate into Mossflower, stopped, stood still for a few moments, and promptly fell face-first into the snow.

“Skipper, I’m fine!” Martin protested from his position across Skipper’s shoulder. “I jusss lost my balance.”

“You were unconscious!”

“We need t’ get firewood.”

“You aren’t in a fit state to be walking, much less swinging an axe.” Skipper said, carrying Martin down the corridor to the infirmary. “Now you are going to rest until you’re better or I will tie you to the bed.”

“Skipper, this is ridiculous, I think I know when I’m…”

“Skipper left five minutes ago, Martin,” Columbine said, leaning over Martin to check his fever. “You’re becoming delirious.”

“I am perfectly fine.”

“You’ve been around my husband too long, if you’ve started telling fibs. You are a very sick mouse and are staying here until I say otherwise.” Columbine began to spread more blankets over Martin, as if to emphasize her point.

Martin resigned himself to being bedridden and settled back into the soft bed. As he allowed himself to relax, his thoughts began to blur together, becoming inconsistent and confusing.

“Columbine,” he said in a sickly moan, “why are there two of you?”

“Go to sleep, Martin,” she encouraged him, helping him sip some medicinal tea.

“I once knew a mouse who was just as pretty as you.”

“Really, who was she?” Columbine asked, humoring his delirious talk.

“I don’t remember,” Martin moaned, “but she was pretty, and she could sing.”

“I’m sure she would want you to go to sleep.”

Martin nodded and closed his eyes, falling into a deep slumber almost immediately.

His dreams were as distorted and confused as his thoughts had been. Creatures faded in and out. Some of them he recognized: Boar the Fighter, Timballisto, Gonff, Skipper, and many others, but many of the creatures seemed to be little more the mist; they disappeared quickly and were silent. Martin couldn’t be sure that they were more than figments of his imagination, dreams within dreams. He saw a fierce-looking squirrel alongside a large number of other creatures who looked so familiar, but whom Martin could not place.

In the midst of his feverish haze, Martin awoke. His vision was still blurred, and sweat had soaked his fur. He felt the mattress give as someone sat down next to him; he was too weak to turn over and see who it was. A gentle paw began stroking his head. Then the mystery visitor started humming. Whoever she was, her voice was beautiful, so beautiful.

She seemed to linger on for an eternity, but before she left, she planted a kiss on Martin’s brow, sending him back into a dreamless sleep.

When Martin awoke, his fever had broken, and he felt life had reentered his body. “Columbine,” he called out as he tossed a few blankets aside, “how long have I been here?”

“Almost two days,” she said as she felt his forehead. “You slept for most of it.”

“Who was sitting on the bed with me?”

Columbine looked confused. “No one sat on your bed. Gonff, Skipper, and the Abbess all came by to see how you were doing, but none of them stayed long.”

“But I heard someone humming to me.”

“I’ve been here the whole time. Nobody else has been in. You probably dreamed it.”

“It was strange. It felt so real.”

“Delirium can do that. Now sit up, I want to get some food in you, then you can head back to that lonely gatehouse of yours in the evening.”

Martin contemplated his mystery visitor as he ate. Columbine couldn’t have watched him every moment, so somebeast could have snuck in to visit, but who? He was friendly with everyone at Redwall, ladies included, but he felt what had happened went beyond basic friendship. It was much more…intimate. Was it a dream? A delirium-induced fantasy? Had his lost memories somehow resurfaced temporarily? There was much about his past Martin did not remember. Could he have conjured up the memories of some former lover?

Martin sighed and stretched out his limbs. As was usual when it came to his past, questions were abundant but answers were few. He felt the spot where his visitor had kissed him. Imagined or not, it felt good, and Martin would remember it for seasons to come.

[winchesterprincessbride]

Poor Little Rich Girl-Part 9

This is an A/B/O AU

***Trigger Warning- There is some Alpha on Omega domestic violence type stuff in this chapter***

Your father Lucifer is the Alpha of your pack and he rules your town with an iron fist.  He is forcing you to marry the son and heir of a rival pack.  It is 3 weeks before your wedding when you find out Sam Winchester is back.   Sam was your first love at 17, and when your father found out, he forced his family to leave town.  You haven’t spoken to him since.  What will happen when you see him again?

Characters: Alpha! Sam Winchester, Beta! Dean Winchester, Omega!Castiel Novak, Omega! Mary Winchester, Reader, Alpha! (Nick) Lucifer, Beta! Michael, Beta! Gabriel, Beta! Stephanie (OC), Alpha Eric (OC) Chuck (mentioned)

Master List

Introduction (all parts are linked)

Text messages are listed in Bold

Sam’s POV

There was no way I was approaching Lucifer without Y/N by my side.  I wasn’t stupid.  I had seen the glares he had been throwing my way since Y/N went to the bathroom.  But he wouldn’t come to me.  He was the Alpha, you always went to him.

Y/N and Steph had been gone for a quite a while and I would have been worried if Dean wasn’t with them.  The door to the chapel was wrenched open so hard it slammed against the wall and Steph ran in, looking absolutely distraught, Dean at her heels.  “Sam, we can’t find Y/N!” She wailed.

“What do you mean you can’t find her?” I asked. “How big is the bathroom? What the hell is going on, Dean?”

Dean shook his head. “They both walked in, and only Steph came out.  There is an open window against the back wall, so she must have left through there.”

“Why would she sneak out through the bathroom window? And without telling Steph?” I asked.

Y/N’s Uncle Michael walked over at that moment.  “The Alpha wants to know where his daughter is.”

We all ignored him.  “She didn’t leave willingly, Sam.  I think someone took her. Someone she knew.  I heard her say something like, “What are you doing here?” Steph told me, wringing her hands nervously.

“Someone took Y/N?” Michael asked sharply.  “The Alpha must be told about this.”  He walked briskly back to his brother and began whispering into his ear.  Lucifer’s face darkened with rage and he left his brother and walked over to where we were standing.

“Tell me everything.  From the beginning.  Now.” He demanded.

I’d had about enough of him telling me what to do.  “How about you tell me what the hell you did with Y/N? I told her it was a mistake coming here, that you would grab her the first chance you got. You just couldn’t stand to see me with her, could you? Even after all this time?”

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed, and his voice dropped to a low growl.  “You’d better watch your tone, Boy. Who do you think you are? You’ll always be the mechanic’s son to me, no matter how good you clean up.”  He got right up in my face, and his words were a low hiss. “And you weren’t good enough for her then, and you're not good enough for her now.”

I stood my ground, and we were toe-to-toe.  “I’ll tell you who I am.” I hissed right in his face. “I’m your daughter’s fucking Alpha.  I’ve already claimed her.”

That’s when Lucifer went for my throat and all hell broke loose.

Reader’s POV

My head was spinning and my mouth had a strange medicinal taste in it when I came to. I was so disoriented and nauseous I felt like I was going to vomit. I covered my mouth with my hand and breathed deeply as I struggled to wake up from the drug-induced haze.

Where was I?  I knew I wasn’t in the church anymore.  I tried to piece together what had happened.  I remembered being in the bathroom with Steph.  The tap on my shoulder, the surprise at seeing...... it was right there, right at the edge of my mind, but I couldn’t reach it.  Maybe it was a side effect of being drugged. 

 I rubbed at my sore left arm.  I was positive I had been injected with something.  The room I was in was kind of dimly lit, it smelled like a basement. Could Steph be down here too? “Steph? Are you here?” I whispered. Nothing. I was alone. I heard the sound of a door opening in the distance and footsteps. 

I shrank against the wall in fear, trying to make myself disappear.  When the lights snapped on and the room was filled with brightness, I had to shield my eyes because they had grown accustomed to the dark.  

My eyes widened. “Kerry! It was YOU I saw in the bathroom! What did you inject me with? Where am I? Where is Steph?” She leaned down until her face was level to mine, and the slap took me by surprise and my head ricocheted back.

“Quiet, Omega bitch! We went to a lot of trouble to get you here.  My brother has plans for you.  He’ll be down to see you later.  You think he hurt you before? Just wait.” 

She walked away laughing as I began to scream. “Scream all you want.  No one can hear you.”

Sam’s POV

Michael grabbed Lucifer’s arms and Dean grabbed me around the waist, and together they were able to pull the two of us apart and stop us from killing each other. You really don’t want to get in the middle of two Alphas fighting unless you have a death wish. I struggled to break free of Dean’s hold and get at Lucifer, ten years worth of pent-up aggression spurring me on.

“Stop it! Stop fighting! We have to find Y/N!” Steph screamed at the top of her lungs. “You two should be ashamed of yourselves! This isn’t the time or the place for this!”

At the sound of my Omegas name, all of the fight went out of me and I was suddenly ashamed. Why was I worried about settling an old score when Y/N was missing?

“The girl is right, Luci,” Michael said.  “We have to work together and find Y/N.  Every minute she is gone is a minute more we are less likely to get her back.”

Lucifer sighed and turned to his brother.  "Get everyone out of here but us and them."

Within five minutes the room was clear except for Lucifer, his men, Dean, Steph and me.  "Dean, did anyone go to the bathroom after Y/N and Stephanie?" Michael asked.

Dean thought for a moment.  "Yeah.  A tall redhead. No one I recognized.”

Lucifer turned to one of his men.  “Go grab the condolence book so we can see who was here.  Maybe we can figure out something from that.”  The man nodded and left the room.

“Eric has red hair,” Steph said to me.

“Eric wasn’t here today,” Lucifer said to her dismissively.

Michael turned to her suddenly.  “Wait a minute.  Didn’t you say she said “what are you doing here?” Almost like she recognized the person?”

Steph nodded slowly.  “Yeah, why?”

Michael turned and looked at the Alpha, slowly dawning horror in his eyes.  “Luci, Eric wasn’t here, but his sister Kerry was, and Y/N knows her.  And she has red hair.”

Reader’s POV

I screamed myself hoarse, but Kerry was right.  No one heard me, and no one came.  After Kerry left the lights went out again, and I lost all track of time.  I felt my way around the room for another exit, but there was nothing.  I fell to the floor crying in frustration, and when the lights came on again suddenly, my whole body stiffened.  Again I heard the door in the distance.

I heard footsteps again, but this time they were heavier, not the click of high heels that had heralded Kerry’s arrival before. Every muscle in my body tensed because I knew this could only mean one thing, and I shut my eyes in absolute terror.

I felt a large hand grab my jaw and force my head up. My eyes snapped open.  “Hello Y/N,” Eric said pleasantly.

I shoved his hand away.  “What the hell have you done, Eric? Are you crazy? My father is going to kill you where you stand.”

He smiled at me, such a cold chilling smile it made my skin crawl.  “Your father has to find me first. By the time he sees me again, I will have mated you, and you’ll be carrying my pup.  He will have no choice but to accept me.”

“You are completely delusional,” I said quietly.

He grabbed my arm very tightly.  “You embarrassed me in front of my father and my pack.  You left me screaming in pain on the ground after you wolfbaned me and you walked away.”

“You deserved it, you abusive prick!” I spat at him.

He hit me so hard my ears rang. “You think you get a say in anything? You're just an Omega.  In Whitehall, Omegas know their place.  I’m gonna enjoy teaching you.  When I’m your Alpha you’ll do as your told.”

My temper got the best of me, and I spoke recklessly.  “It’s already too late, Eric! Sam’s already claimed me.  I’m probably carrying his pup as we speak! He won’t rest until he finds me!”

Eric grabbed the collar of my dress and tore it, exposing my neck, and the claiming bite Sam had given me.  “You fucking Omega whore!” Eric bellowed, and his fists began raining blows until I stopped fighting back and fell to the floor in a heap, unconscious.

Eric looked at me indifferently. “You’ll learn, Y/N, or I will kill you myself.” Then he walked away and the lights went out.

Part 10

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[modernart2012]

Sing Sing (Lovin’ You)

1.  There’s something to be said about waking up on Saturdays. It’s not the sudden blaring of his alarm, and the dusty echo of an otherwise empty apartment. It’s warm, on Saturdays. And not just because Friday night was his standing arcade night appointment with Hizashi, and he inevitably ends up at the Yamada’s home, in Hizashi’s bed - only because he can never get warm enough on the spare futon - for the night. Normally, he’s cocooned in blankets and Hizashi, tangled up so thoroughly that sometimes he finds stray golden hairs on his brush days later. So when he wakes up to slight jostling this Saturday, he’s not surprised to find it’s Hizashi leaning over him as he extracts himself from the Gordian Knot they’ve become. What’s different is he’s humming soft and low.“Lying in my bed, I hear the clock tick and think of you; caught up in circles confusion is nothing new,” the words flow in steady soothing cadence, not disrupting the haze of sleep Shōta’s surfacing from. Shōta stretches and yawns in response, because if Hizashi is up then Yamada-san has probably made pancakes.

Hizashi keeps humming the tune, skipping lines at will, but his eyes remain sleep soft and quiet, not yet sparking with his normal energy. Shōta sits up to finish stretching, joints popping and crackling across his torso. “Good morning,” he greets and is returned.

It takes until halfway through his pancakes that he pinpoints exactly what was odd about Hizashi’s humming. “That song you were humming this morning - it was in English, wasn’t it?”

Hizashi startles around a mouthful of pancake, then after a moment to finish chewing and swallowing, “Yeah.” He looks awkward, off kilter, as if he wasn’t expecting to be caught.

Shōta takes pity on him, “You sounded good. The English I mean.”

Hizashi brightens, then leers at Shōta playfully, “Yeah? I’ve got a talented tongue, what can I say.”

Shōta huffs, amused despite himself. “You can say you’ll help me with the English assignment due Monday, and I won’t let Tensei know that you can sing.”

Given that Tensei is often dragged to karaoke group dates, this is a good threat. Hizashi pales and quickly agrees to the terms.

2. The next time Hizashi sings for Shōta, it’s after their final Sports Festival at Yuuei. They’re third years, and in a completely unforeseen turn of events, it ends up with the both of them in Recovery Girl’s office with heavy injuries. Shōta himself is in traction, both legs in casts after going up against a Mutation type quirk that produced skin like stone. Hizashi, similarly, is banged up, his neck supported by a brace and his back strapped to a board to ensure that he doesn’t further cause damage to his bruised spine. Shōta is doped up on pain medications, because Recovery Girl can only do so much when her patients are exhausted, and he’s pretty sure he’s hallucinating. There is no other explanation for the flying reptiles. (Unless it’s a Quirk?)

He’s about to cross check with Hizashi on the status of the reptiles when he hears soft raspy humming float across the room. Hizashi’s voice, usually loud and exuberant at all times, and not bad to listen to normally, was downright angelic when he sang - something Shōta knew he could never tell Hizashi for want of never live it down. While Shōta didn’t mind Hizashi’s near constant chatter, it’d be awful if he knew that Shōta couldn’t imagine a world without that voice booming in his ear at some point in the day. “If I lay here, if I just lay here, would you lie with me and just forget the world? I don’t quite know how to say how I feel; those three words are said too much  they’re not enough….”

Shōta’s aware enough that this time it’s English, but with the way his head is still aching, he’s having trouble understanding the words. Hizashi was always better at English anyways, so he’s already at a disadvantage. Maybe he should study English more, ask Hizashi for tips? Shōta yawns and decides to do so when he wakes, letting the soothing sound of Hizashi’s voice carry him off to restful sleep.

3. The worst part of being 20 and drunk is realizing Hizashi. There’s more behind that, but Shōta’s having a hard time with words, and what other words can explain … everything. There are no good words for describing how Hizashi’s eyes sparkle (not plain green, something like a gemstone, rare and unique), or the way his hair looks when it’s down (bright and soft like the fuzzy glow of a baby duck, but shiny and vivid like spun gold threads), or the general energy (aura?) of Hizashi. Effervescent doesn’t cut it, but there’s not anything better? Shōta turns to glare at Nemuri, who is also drunk, “Japanese is a pathetic language. There are no good words.”

Nemuri pokes him in the ear from her spot on the floor, missing his cheek by a solid mile, “Don’t you suck at English, though?”

The only appropriate response is to blow a raspberry at her.

He doesn’t get retaliation from Nemuri in response, though, because he ends up with a faceful of cat paw. Kurage was just as much of an jerk as he was, and they got along beautifully except for the occasions wherein Kurage decided that he needed as taste of his own medicine. God, he loved his cat.

Shōta is startled out of his consideration of whether he should risk getting clawed in the face in order to cuddle his cat with the soulful tones of Hizashi, singing along with some song piped in through the speakers. It was still a rare event to hear Hizashi sing, but he was good and Shōta was always captivated. “I’m not looking for somebody with some superhuman gifts, some superhero, some fairytale bliss; just something I can turn to, somebody I can kiss, I want something just like this….”

Another English song, and with only him and Nemuri and Tensei there, it felt like a present. More so than the times he busted into spontaneous song, usually his favorite (read: latest find) song of the week. Hizashi only ever sang when he felt especially at ease, and it always highlighted his soft spots. Shōta turns over onto his stomach to cushion his head on the couch arm so he can watch. He’s rewarded with a playful wink from Hizashi with a warmth that was unusual, and if he weren’t already red from the sake he was sure he’d be blushing.

It’s only later when he’s crawled into bed and let Hizashi arrange them for maximum octopus impression does he have a realization about the songs Hizashi sings, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. He’ll try to recall it in the morning.

4. Shōta hates Fridays now sometimes, because Friday means Hizashi has his radio show to produce, and that means they don’t head for the arcade. Hizashi always has a talk segment, generally about something ostensibly music related but sometimes something he and Shōta discussed during the week. During those times, Shōta’s “his Number 1 Listener” and it satisfies the cat-possessive portion of his soul, outright luxuriates in the attention. But otherwise, Fridays now interrupt their standing arcade date appointment, which used to be the highlight of Shōta’s week because he’d get all of Hizashi’s attention for a bit.

This week is almost worse, because Nemuri and Ectoplasm made a bet (that they’ve kept from even hinting at in front of Shōta, which is suspect) with Hizashi who had lost - somehow, because Hizashi has never in Shōta’s memory lost a bet - and he has been close lipped about his forfeit ever since. He had mumbled something about it all being on his show, so Shōta tuned in a little earlier in order to be sure to catch the whole show and not skip the cold open as he usually did.

Shōta can imagine the way Hizashi’s tipped back in his chair as he enthusiastically greets his listeners, the way he would light up from the inside with the focused energy of “Present Mic” live on air. It was different from fights with villains - there was no urgency or adrenaline, no crash, this was pure buoyancy that set Shōta’s veins to fizzling too. That fizz and the usual Hizashi general fizz usually compounded into something that felt like he’d ingested nitroglycerin - a racing jittery feeling that bounced around his insides while he outwardly remained calm.

Time hasn’t dulled that regular Hizashi feeling, only given him a chance to realize it’s always been there and he’s only just not managed to notice. He doesn’t want to give a name to it, because his grandmother always said names have power, but he knows. What to do about it, that’s an entirely different question though.

The cold open ends, leading into the opening theme of the show. A rock number Hizashi spent an entire weekend mixing, having Shōta listen to different versions until he finally had it prepared. That had been a good weekend, one spent entirely sleeping and with Hizashi (sometimes simultaneously, which… in retrospect should have clued Shōta in because he had been altogether too happy to wake up to Hizashi), eating takeout ramen and gyoza with extra chili oil for both.

A few of the latest top 40 hits played, interspersed with Hizashi giving his thoughts (some highly unflattering) on the song. A few requests are thrown in, with light banter between Hizashi and the fan on the line, then it was time for an advertisement break. One is for an “Eraserhead eraser! Completely erases all mistakes just like Quirks!” Shōta internally snickered, because that was the best piece of misinformation he had ever been induced to produce. Such a great logical ruse!

Then Hizashi was back on, his animated tone greeting his listeners, then growing a little subdued. “Recently, I lost a bet with some colleagues about a certain topic. The penalty was to sing a song for my Special Person. So, um. Here I go? I hope you, and especially you my Most Precious Person, enjoy.”

He strums a guitar, humming the opening along before beginning to sing along fervently.  With his gut sinking through the floor - since when did Hizashi have someone like that? Why had he never said? - Shōta listens carefully, recognizing the song as one Hizashi had wanted to play but ultimately rejected because of its age.

Hizashi carries into the chorus, “If you gave me a chance I would take it, It’s a shot in the dark but I’ll make it, Know with all of your heart, you can’t shame me; When I am with you, there’s no place I’d rather be.” If that wasn’t a full on confession, Shōta didn’t know what it was. He stares at the not insignificant number of papers he had yet to grade, shoves them into a messy pile in a drawer, then grabs his coat and all but flees the office.

If the villains he apprehends that night are a bit rougher for the experience than is norm, then no one comments.

5. “Feelings suck” is the sum total of what Shōta learns in the next few weeks. He did his best to act like everything was normal, that he didn’t know Hizashi had a romantic interest that wasn’t him, but every time he did he’s plagued by thoughts of Hizashi’s “Precious Person”. Who were they? Did they know? Did they suspect? Did they love Hizashi too? Know about his need to cuddle at night? The way he hated shrimp and lobster for looking too much like bugs? His hatred of strawberry milk, but love of raw strawberries? In the end, it was too much, and he inevitably fled with thin excuses. After a few days Hizashi started looking like someone had kicked his puppy and Nemuri was frowning at Shōta like he had done something wrong. Saying he was going out with his friends (who weren’t also Hizashi’ friends or originally Hizashi’s friends) didn’t work that well, because beyond his agency colleagues, he didn’t know very many people, plus Hizashi worked at Yuuei too and if he dragged Thirteen out any more he was sure Thirteen was going to Black Hole him. Which meant the only other option was to take more shifts during the night. Beyond the fact that this netted him a more surefire way to avoid Hizashi, it also netted him extra cash, which had the opposite effect because his first instinct was to buy things for Hizashi. Shōta stares at the pair of brand new, latest version headphones Hizashi had been gushing about, the ones that had the best audio clarity and sound truity as compared to the other headphones of similar style on the market. They had cost quite a bit, but Shōta was flush with cash anyways and the extra padding from his recent shift increase was just begging to be spent. Maybe it would make up for the forlorn look Hizashi had been sporting recently?

That thought was put on hold as a massive shape flew through part of the train carriage. It wasn’t a high traffic time, in fact only a handful of people were riding, which was lucky. What wasn’t lucky was the dark shadow that was also flying towards the carriage. That was definitely Hizashi, dealing with the villain in a rather harsh manner. Which made almost no sense, since Hizashi wasn’t much for shadow heroics (though the harsh treatment… that was usually only for heinous criminals.) What was he doing hero-ing when there was no adoring media, no spotlight, no fame or newspot to be gained? Was he doing night shifts so he could have more time with his Special Person? The thought sours almost as soon as Shōta thought it. He frowns and focuses on the headphones for the rest of the ride home.

Except, he doesn’t make it home. He’s just entering his apartment, Kurage twining about his feet, when he receives the call. The voice on the line is collected and professional, imparting the bare minimum of details before Shōta hangs up and races back the way he came.

He must have looked like a madman running full tilt into the lobby of the Shūzenji Hospital in Kita ward, breathless from having sprinted the whole way. “Pre-Present Mi-c,” his chest rose and fell in a staccato beat, fighting for air against the burn in his muscles. The receptionist looks at him like he’s some sort of monster, her lilac skin fading to lavender as she froze. He bears down on her like she’s a troublesome student, eyes sharp, her skin going grey, “I-I was cal-led. A-About Pre-se-nt Mi-Mic. He-he w-was admitted here.” He inhales sharply, then exhales, “His room number?”

The receptionist sags relief clear from the slack of her spine to be out of his gaze. “I’ll need to see identification before I can tell you that.”   

Good, he wouldn’t have to file a complaint with Recovery Girl that her receptionists were shoddy and letting anyone up into recovering heros’ hospital rooms. He fishes out his ID, and waits impatiently for the receptionist to check the information. When she finally returns it, he is jittering in place, and barely hears the room number before he is flying down the halls and opting to dash up the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator.  

He slows down on the floor though, because there are obviously other patients in the ward. He slips around the night nurses, nodding to the ones he recognizes. After all, this is the floor for those who are under the effect of a Quirk gone haywire, usually overexertion of their own but sometimes under the effect of a Villain’s Quirk. He doesn’t know which he is in for, and hoped if it was Hizashi’s Quirk run amok that he had already lost his voice from too much screaming. Or that the nurses had managed to get his multi-directional speaker off him. Recovery Girl would not be happy having to heal him from broken eardrums.

Shōta meets a nurse at the door to Hizashi’s room, Satō, who is generally sent to deal with heroes due to his six arms and infinite patience with which to deal with difficult people. He nods politely at Satō, who returns the greeting with a perfunct, “Eraser.” He looks dead inside, which some might say was a step up from his usual vaguely fed up with life countenance, but must also speak to the hassle Hizashi has become. Shōta makes note to sent Satō a fruit basket, one with a melon.

Shōta clears his throat, “How is he?”

Satō stars at him with dead eyes, “Truth Quirk plus Singing Quirk. Now he can’t stop singing - real songs! - about whatever he’s thinking about, and it has to be true.” One set of his arms crosses itself, and Satō looms, “It’d be best if you just took him home.”

That. That was not a suggestion and Shōta makes note to not send a fruit basket. Satō does not deserve a fruit basket. When he enters the patient room, however, he wants to flee and pretend he was never there. He’s caught Hizashi mid-song, “Where did I go wrong? And how can I make it right? Tell me where did I go wrong? You know I want to make it right, and make you come back it me.” Then his eyes land on Shōta and he practically wrenches his jaws shut, face going blank and lovely croon abruptly cutting off.

Shōta tilts his head, a slightly worn smile tipping the corners of his lips as if he hadn’t just caught Hizashi singing, “This is a jailbreak. Let’s head home.”

There is a momentary panic in his eyes, and Hizashi’s mouth opened before he clamped it shut again and nods. They leave the hospital, and Hizashi seems determined to sing some inane anime opening about hamsters. When that was over, he switched to the themes for some anime with ninjas, and then some song about …. samurai hearts? Shōta had stopped keeping track around the time Hizashi partook in a rap battle about… the lights in the night sky?  Something like that. At least they were at Shōta’s apartment, and Hizashi couldn’t bellow anime songs.

Kurage greets them from her perch on the refrigerator, or at least greets Hizashi. She pointedly ignores Shōta, probably for the betrayal of not petting her earlier before he had to run out. Had he ever mentioned his cat was an asshole? She was perfect.

Also, an effective distraction for Hizashi, who was singing a children’s song about an adventurous cat. It was an interesting trick, to consciously think only of a specific song to get around the Quirks. Commendable even. But he missed Hizashi’s voice -screeching, solemn, lilting, and mellifluous, all the different ways he expressed himself so wholeheartedly. Hopefully this would wear off soon.

Shōta was jolted out of his musings by Hizashi grabbing his sleeve as he passed by. His voice is rough with overuse, quiet and shaken, “Sh-ōta, did - did you get - get those?” He sounded like he was actively fighting against the Quirks affecting him, and the way he sagged boneless against Shōta belied how much energy he had spent to achieve it. Shōta turned to follow his line of sight, to the headphone box he had left carelessly in the genkan.

Hot embarrassment floods through him, and he could feel the flush spread across his face and down his chest. “Ah- uh, Yes. I did? They’re for you.” He winced internally at the way that sounded.

“Oh,” Hizashi sighs, and whatever had been sucking him of energy these past few weeks seemed to disappear. He smiled tenderly, then moved so quickly Shōta had no time to react. His face ends up buried in the junction of Hizashi’s neck and shoulder, Hizashi hugging him tightly like he was a ghost liable to drift away at the slightest breeze. He’s singing again, softly as if he’s afraid of being overheard. “We watch the season pull up its own stakes, and catch the last weekend of the last week.  Before the gold and the glimmer have been replaced, another sun soaked season fades away.  You have stolen my heart. You have stolen my heart.”

Shōta fists his hands in Hizashi’s jacket, glad that Hizashi couldn’t see his face as his world imploded. He’d become practiced enough at English at this point to know the words, and their meaning, and what they meant strung together and his heart was exploding like a star into so much dust, uncontrollable and pure. This song was clear, direct and the only thing he could think is, “Oh, he’s in love with me too.”

+1. The next few days were like drifting anchorless and weightless through a bank of clouds. It was surreal, unbelievable even. How? When? Why? Of all the manically unpredictable things - him? Oh, that time on the radio - was for him? He chased himself in circles of thought, ignoring the frowns Nemuri sent his way, the terrified way his students cowered, and instead lost himself in the near permanent giddiness suffusing into his bones and Hizashi’s smiles.

Then it hit him around the time he’s trying to make tonkatsu ramen from scratch - he had never given any indication that he felt the same. “Oh, Endeavor-dammit,” he informs Kurage, who yowls in agreement. Shōta feeds her a piece of cooked chicken and considered the discussion closed.

Which, then begged the question, how to go about confessing. All the guides on the internet were geared towards high school girls, with ideas like letters in shoeboxes and homei choco, and other trite things that are fine for high schoolers but not grown men in their mid-twenties who had know each other for nearly a decade. For kicks, Shōta  tries searching that in google and ends up in a very odd place in the internet. Something about fursuits. He closes the browser quickly, then climbs into his sleeping bag to think. This has to be special.

It comes to him mid-nap interruption by Kurage trying to worm herself into the sleeping bag, when there’s a metallic clatter against his floor. He blindly reaches around Kurage - has he mentioned his cat is an asshole? - and getting a faceful of cat butt while he roots around for whatever fell. His hand lands on a small, thin rectangle, which his eyes tell him is Hizashi’s iPod. An idea comes to him, one that will need some practice to execute well, but … doable. He sets to, because he only has this weekend off.

By Monday, he has the perfect plan. He drops the iPod and a CD - thank God he knows that Hizashi has a CD player - clearly labeled with Hizashi’s name and with directions in Hizashi’s shoebox (somethings are a classic for a reason.) Then he goes about his day trying to teach first years. He’ll know when Hizashi has listened to it - he hopes. Then there’s a massive incident that All Might puts down quickly, but it’s all hands on deck to quell the populus and maintain order. Confessions, such as they are, get put to the wayside.

It’s only the Friday after, during Hizashi’s radio show that Shōta remembers that he gave Hizashi a CD. It’s during his talk segment that Hizashi talks about receiving a CD from his Number 1 Listener, and that he hadn’t listened to it yet. He invites all the listeners to listen with him, and queues up the only track on the CD. Shōta is glad that all the other teachers have left for the weekend, because he would be too mortified to survive otherwise.

Which is not to say he isn’t mortified, just less mortified than what he could be. Shōta decides it doesn’t matter and gives up on lesson plans to head home. That way he can skip most of the embarrassment.

It’s rush hour and it’s raining, so the trains are packed and it takes a while to get home. He greets his cat, and sets about preparing dinner, his phone clearly visible even though he knows Hizashi won’t call unless the show is over. He itches to turn on his radio, but refrains because Hizashi just played his confession on live radio. Shōta can imagine the fallout, and doesn’t wish to die of embarrassment. He settles for finishing the ingredients for katsu curry.

Shōta’s patience is rewarded when there’s a heavy pounding at his front door. The door flies open to a disheveled Hizashi, who is radiant and broken and panting and staring as if Shōta is a miracle Hizashi can’t yet believe in, and then he’s got an armful of wet leather and wet gloves against his face and a chaste wondrous supplication against his lips.

They break away to breathe, foreheads pressed against each other. He’s breathless and soaring and smiling just standing there in the genkan. And this is perfect, in it’s own way, no matter that Shōta’s sure that Kurage has probably eaten herself sick of the tonkatsu, no matter that Hizashi is dripping and probably going to catch cold, no matter that hundreds of thousands of people just heard Shōta confess on live radio. And then he’s laughing, and Hizashi is too and that’s fine, because he’s got Hizashi and the rest is just…. The rest.

Later that night, both of them full of curry and laughter and kisses, tangled up in bed, that Shōta sings for Hizashi, one more time, “Take my hand - Take my whole life too, But I can’t help falling in love with you.”