#this isn’t even the worst cough I’ve ever had!

[dinosnaurnuggets]

I long for the day I can take a deep breath without coughing 😔

[crowrave]

hhhhhhhot chocolate

yummy

[retroaria]

hey! I'm not really into nsfw stuff- sooo would you like to do something soft with reo? 😭 like, idk, him as a husband or father so with a family? THANK YOU SO MUCH 💗💗

✮⋆˙ domestic reo headcanons ✮⋆˙

a/n: this is so brain rotted i can’t even lie i think reo is just so easy to romanticize. pure fluff.

• | BLUE LOCK M.LIST | enjoy !! - aria 💜 | •

✮ I actually love this because i headcanon that reo would be a great dad :D at the very least he’d be extremely supportive of whatever his children wanted to do in their lives. He wouldn’t force them to follow in his footsteps like his father and he’d use whatever devices he could to ensure they can comfortably follow the path they choose.

✮ Would post about all his children’s accomplishments, or if you guys didn’t feel comfortable posting the kids he’d still take any chance to tell everyone about it - even his teammates who literally don’t care that his son got the highest score on the spelling test (they’re happy for him though). He secretly enjoys scrapbooking for his kids but they’re “your books” and he “just helps you with it sometimes”. (he’s the one who took almost all the pictures and saved every piece of paper his kid has ever drawn on)

✮ Reo is a charming husband, so charming and sweet it’s hard to be mad at him. He’s a bit lacking in cleaning/caretaking capabilities when it comes to the home but he puts in the effort??? He tries his best and if he does a bad job he always makes it up to you one way or another. In all honesty, he’s probably already hired people to do that (forgot this man is inheriting a multi millionaire dollar corporation).

✮ Reo is however very good at taking care of children. Once he has a clear grasp of their needs, he finds it to be really enjoyable and fulfilling. He takes a lot of pride in whatever happiness and comfort he can bring to his kids. He hates the sound of his babies crying, not because it’s annoying (though he complains about that too) but because it genuinely hurts his soul. He can be a bit too worrisome about it sometimes - he’s totally the type of person to look up his child’s symptoms and freak out over seeing all the worst case scenarios.

✮ The one thing that reo particularly excels at is taking care of you when you’re sick. He can always tell when you’re not feeling your best and he immediately harps on you. He doesn’t know how to cook very well but he knows how to make a few different kinds of warm foods to fill your stomach and give you a little energy. He’d absolutely refuse to stay away from you (unless it was a seriously contagious illness or if you guys had a baby that could’ve gotten sick). Doesn’t care if you’re sneezing and coughing and wheezing, he wants to feed you and hold you and kiss your hot head until it cools down and everything is better again. His goal is always to make sure you get better as soon as possible and won’t let you do anything but rest and relax until then.

✮ Reo is an incredible gift giver! I’ve certainly mentioned this in another hc post, but he is always out and about buying you little things that remind him of you. If you guys have a kid that’s just more gifts he’ll have to get and the thought of that honestly excites him.

✮ Anything can happen but…reo with a daughter…guys….

✮ he would be the sweetest girl dad! would do everything in his power to make her believe she’s an actual princess and he’s just one of her loyal servants. Spoils her rotten and doesn’t feel bad about it.

✮ You’d have to explain to him how this could negatively affect your daughter and it would break his heart. He’d go into theatrics trying to refute it because “What do you mean I can’t let her have everything she wants?” and “What if she cries? You want me to make my daughter cry?” he gets it eventually, but remains reluctant lol.

✮ He’d love playing sports with his kids. Would try to get them into soccer but if they end up liking another sport he’s still just as hype. Isn’t initially familiar with the concept of letting the kids win but soon realized he has to level with the speed of their little legs.

✮ I don’t have any specific hc’s for him as a boy dad but he’d be just as great of course - he’d make sure his son sees how women should be treated based on how he treats you!

✮ If he could find a way to make you the total world ruler he would because he truly believes you’re the most capable person. He’s the kind of husband who lets you run things for the most part but is always there to step in when you need a break or if you just want him by your side. Would call for an emergency flight back home from whatever country he’s training in just because you said you didn’t wanna go to parent teacher night alone.

✮ He loves doing mundane tasks with you, but always tries to “make it a bit more fun” as he says - which basically means he puts away the clothes you fold while you listen to him crack really bad jokes at you, gossip about his teammates, or try to sing and serenade you with his MANY playlists he’s made dedicated to you. On days you both have nothing going on he follows you around the house like a lost puppy, which is slightly annoying but it also means you have four hands to do stuff because he’s a participator above all else.

✮ Reo always makes sure to show his appreciation for how hard you work whether it’s at your job, taking care of the kids/house, or both. He takes time alone with you very seriously, even as your lives get busier and your family grows he always makes sure there’s time for the two of you to just be together and be in love. Always jokes about how you guys need to keep the romance going. He has small romantic gestures that he indulges you in throughout the day: kissing you on the cheek, brushing your hair out of your face/tying it back for you if you if you need (taking his hair tie out for you to use), hugging you a little tighter just before you get up, running a bath for the both of you, massaging your shoulders while you talk.

to be fully honest with you guys, i have never in my life wanted to have kids so it was a bit hard for me to imagine what being happy with children would be like LMAO but alas i did my best. stay safe and stay cool. - aria :3

[beenbaanbuun]

okay okay so question, has san been informed of the relationship dynamics in the house? i’m assuming he knows about matz and darling but was he pre warned about darling and yeo? bc i just thought about it and image they just kinda forgot to mention that they have a bestie with benefits situation, so second nature for them, and then randomly one day san walks in on darling and yeo going at it. the poor guy is 1) startled bc no matter what scenario that’s awkward but 2) he potentially thinks that darling and yeo are doing something wrong. so now he’s left to figure out if he should say something to matz or if that’s just way above his pay grade. idk why this whole scenario is so funny to me but it is. poor sannie😭

san was 100% not prewarned…

of course he knows abouts hwa and joong and the weird pink thing that follows them around like a little puppy, but yeosang and darling?? he’s clueless!

so i’ve mentioned before in this post that sex between the two of them is technically banned unless mommy and daddy are there to make sure it doesn’t get out of hand. it just so happens that darling is a little brat and yeosang will do anything to make her happy (even if he won’t admit it) and no one ever said a little head here and there wasn’t allowed… if darling wants to suck yeosang off, it’s not technically against the rules, right?

and that’s absolutely what san walks in on one day…

the dining room door swings open, startling you as you push yeosang’s cock to the back of your throat. you gag around it, immediately pulling off of it to cough your lungs out. you’re half expecting to hear hongjoong scoff at the two of you before commanding yeosang get on the floor too, or perhaps seonghwa to give you a disappointed sigh before getting you to crawl to him. instead all you hear is a tray clatter to the floor.

“what the—”

“san!” yeosang cries, hands flying to his dick to cover his achingly hard member. he nudges you with his knee, trying to get your attention, but you just hit his thigh; can’t he see you’re choking on his dick? “we weren’t doing anything!”

you nod through your coughs, agreeing that you definitely weren’t breaking any rules. what san doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“you weren’t— yeosang, she was sucking you off!” the butler practically screeches. yeosang hushes him harshly in return; the other members of the house definitely do not need to know what transpired between the two of you. “are you— do they—” san takes a deep breath to calm himself, “is this allowed?”

silence fills the room, neither you or yeosang wanting to answer that question. as much as the two of you like to pretend that anything other than actual penetration is allowed, you both know that it really isn’t. if either of your lovers caught you like this, you’d both be punished more severely than you ever have been before.

san swallows thickly, the worst case scenario filling up his mind. but you seem so in love with them? how could you even consider cheating on them with yeosang? he’s just supposed to be a cuddle buddy, isn’t he?

he should tell someone, he decides. after all, his bosses would be fuming if they found out that he knew about this. the last thing he wants is to get fired from the best paying job he’s ever had. he takes a step back to the door, preparing himself to sprint upstairs to hongjoong’s office.

“where are you going?” yeosang warbles, eyes going wide, “are you going to tell hongjoong? please don’t tell hongjoong…”

“well i—”

“san, no,” you say, voice gravelly from the effects of having a dick shoved down it. from your position on the floor, it feels like you’re begging him. perhaps you are; he supposes it won’t be pleasant for you if your lovers find out you’re cheating on them. “please, they’ll be so mad.”

“i need to—”

“it’s not like it’s actual sex,” yeosang tries to reason, “just small things; it barely even counts!”

“it’s still wro—”

“it’s not wrong, per se,” you whine, “they were just too busy to watch and we were both horny…”

“i don’t ca— wait, what?” san pauses, the cogs in his brain turning as he mulls over your words, “you mean to say you two are allowed to do this?”

you shrug.

“they’re supposed to watch but sometimes they’re busy and it’s not like we ever take it further than this!”

and suddenly, san doesn’t care anymore. he shakes his head, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. it’s his fault for digging, he supposes, but he wasn’t quite expecting for it to be a whole voyeurism thing rather than a cheating scandal. it serves him right for sticking his nose in places it doesn’t belong.

“no,” he mumbles, “this is above my pay grade… weird fucking family.”

[quinnyundertow]

Picking up the Pieces

For my bby Choso

MANGA SPOILERS BELOW

Angst with a happy ending, Hurt/Comfort

1,800 Words

Summary:

The fight with Sukuna has finally ended. Before he’s wisked off the battlefield the boy named Yuji begs you to try and save what’s left of his older brother.

AN:

I have been drowning in writers block. The manga has me so damn depressed and the one I want to live most right now is our baby Choso. He deserves to live that domestic life he never got to feel. Best big brother ever.

Picking up the Pieces

Choso had thought for sure he had died. No he definitely died. He had protected his little brother with his life. There wasn’t a more noble way to die. Now his brother would have the chance to thrive and grow old. Find a first love, have his first kiss, buy his first home. Have children that would have called him uncle Chocho. Never mind that Choso never had the chance to do any of those things either. Yuji would have the chance that he never did; and that made it all worthwhile.

“I’ve got you, just hold on.” Someone is talking to him. The voice is what he imagines angels sound like. Do curses get to go to heaven? Maybe death won’t be so bad. “Don’t you dare die on me.”

He’s so tired. More tired than he’s ever been in his existence. A part of him is annoyed you keep shaking him awake. Just let him rest for a minute. “Yuji needs you, so you can’t give up yet.”

Yuji? Who’s Yuji and why did he-? Yuji. Yuji! He takes a gasping breath in as his chest keeps getting harshly pushed on. He doesn’t know what CPR is but it’s painful. You keep pushing against his broken ribs. Don’t you know that’s excruciating? Wait, what about Yuji? “Yuji?” The words come out strangled and almost too low to hear.

“Holy shit you’re alive.” Your voice breaks with a mixture of relief and joy. “We're not out of the woods yet but damn it but we’ll get there!”

He tries to ask for Yuji again but all that escapes is a hacking cough from all the smoke he inhaled during his fight with Sukuna.

Thankfully, you somehow manage to understand and respond accordingly, “Oh, right. Yeah, Yuji is okay. Better than okay. Well I mean they rushed him to Shoko, our healer, but he’s gonna be okay. He’s not a vessel anymore. They won. I don’t know how they pulled it off but they won.”

The wave of relief that washes over him is visible. Your voice is coming in a little panicked now, “Woah, woah, woah! Nope! Yuji is okay but he still needs you. When they rushed him off he was asking for you. He begged me to save you. Said you’re the best big brother in the world.” Your tone warbles and his face feels wet. At least he thinks it does. Are you crying? Why are you crying? He’s a curse. You’re presumably one of Yuji’s companions, a sorcerer. Shouldn’t you want him dead? He’s straining to try and make out your features but you look like a shadow on a curtain or static on a tv. Are his eyes even open? Does it matter? He feels so nice, so warm. You’re cradling him and he can’t help but wonder if this is what his mothers love would have felt like. If his father wasn’t a rapist and if he hadn’t been born a monster.

“Shit, shit, shit. I’m losing him again!” Your voice is shrill and screaming as you wake him up again. You’re yelling names he doesn’t know, “Nitta! Nitta!” The sound is fading out. He can’t hear anything now. That’s alright. It’s perfect to go back to sleep to. He’s so warm and lovingly held. Just a little nap, well..maybe a long one. A nice long sleep.

~~

“I’ve got you, just hold on.” Your fingers keep slipping as you’re trying to do chest compressions. There’s just so much blood. The entire area reeks of it. Blood, smoke, dust. Smells of a battlefield. His pulse is so slow you’re not sure if it’s stopped or not. “Don’t you dare die on me.” This was bad. The worst you’ve ever seen. His body is so burnt and mutilated at this point he isn’t able to regenerate like a curse normally would. You try to infuse him with your cursed energy but it’s like his body doesn’t know what to do with it. It’s trying to shut down and you’re here telling it to work harder.

You can’t give up though. You’ve barely met the man in front of you but you know Yuji. As Shoko rushed Yuji off the battlefield his eyes had met yours. Choso’s name on his lips, his eyes a plea. “Please, Cho- tell him he’s the best big brother I could have asked for.”

The pain in Yuji’s eyes had been so raw. So visceral. Not even knowing what you were agreeing to you had yelled to Yuji, “I’ll do everything I can!”

So here you are. You aren’t sure if your reverse curse is even doing anything at this point. There are so many disconnected pieces of tissue. Blood vessels and veins so destroyed there is nothing left to repair. Nowhere for your technique to start. You can’t create something from nothing. He’s not breathing. Chest compressions. You’re throwing all the strength you have left into them. You vaguely remember someone saying you should push to the beat of “Staying Alive”. The song feels inappropriate in your head but it helps your timing. At least you hope it does.

The curse lying on the ground has given everything for his brother. Now you need him to live for himself. Grunting with exertion you manage to say, “Yuji needs you, so you can’t give up yet.”

When the corpse in front of you gasps you’re momentarily stunned. When are you supposed to stop chest compressions? Now? He’s hacking and you're trying to help him clear his airway. You're shocked he has an airway. Sukuna had practically obliterated him with flames. His lips are moving. You feel your cursed energy finally managed to find something inside of him it can work with.

Hands under his underarms, you pull. He’s not as heavy as you expected. Of course he isn't, he doesn't have anything left below the knees. You’ve managed to get his head resting on your thighs as you sit in the crumbling city turned battleground. He manages to croak out one word. “Yuji?” The word comes out strangled and almost too low to hear.

“Holy shit you’re alive.” Your voice breaks with a mixture of relief and joy. He would ask about his brother when he’s the one who is holding on by a thread. “We're not out of the woods yet but damn it we’ll get there!”

He’s giving this terrifying sounding cough that’s more liquid than air; but to cough means he has something there to cough with. His eyes open and his pupils are unfocused and blown. They don’t respond at all to light.

His brows are furrowing in panic when you don’t immediately respond, “Oh, right. Yeah, Yuji is okay. Better than okay. Well I mean they rushed him to Shoko, our healer but he’s gonna be okay. He’s not a vessel anymore. They won. I don’t know how they pulled it off but they won.”

His lip somehow manages to curl into a hint of a smile. He must not be able to feel any pain due to all the adrenaline. He’s relaxing against you and his eyes are closing. “Woah, woah, woah! Nope! Yuji is okay but he still needs you. When they rushed him off he was asking for you. He begged me to save you. Said you’re the best big brother in the world.” Your tone warbles and you’re yelling at yourself to hold it together. Tears fall from your visage on to his. You want to at least comfort him in his potential final moments.

Your hands go to rest on his cheeks. Your fingers lightly caressing him as you continue to give everything you have left in yourself to heal him. You brush his dark sweaty bangs off his forehead. His eyes open partially again staring into the sky. He’s rejecting your cursed energy again. “Shit, shit, shit. I’m losing him again!” You have to make an executive decision. You had been trying to give him the strength to kickstart his own regenerative capabilities but there’s not enough energy in him anymore to utilize it. You have to stop the bleeding. You have to sacrifice his legs below the knee if he’s going to survive. Rather than regrow the limbs like he normally would you focus purely on closing every open wound you can find. FUCK. Where is Shoko? Where is Arata Nitta? Someone? Anyone? There are too many wounded and dying. Not enough healers. Never enough healers.

A streak of platinum blonde hair in the distance catches your gaze, “Nitta! Nitta!” He was one of your underclassmen before you graduated. The Kyoto school is small enough to where everyone knows everyone. Nita’s looking for you in the rubble, unable to tell where your voice is coming from at first. “Arata!” His eyes lock on yours and he’s sprinting through the chaos. He looks like a track star the way he’s jumping building detritus like they’re hurdles.

He’s leaning over you trying to find where you are bleeding from but it’s all Choso’s blood. At least you think it is. “Can you help him?” Nitta’s face jerks down to what he had thought was a corpse in your arms.

He’s shaking his head no but he’s doing the movements for his technique. It won’t heal the curse hybrid but it will buy him time and at this point you’ll take anything you can get.

There’s a sharp tug in your gut as your cursed energy feels like it’s suddenly being siphoned out of you. You originally couldn’t find any of Choso’s energy to help him. Now large lifesaving gulps of your cursed energy flow into the man fighting for his life on your lap. You gasp in pain as you try to limit the amount of energy you are giving out at once. Choso’s not even conscious but instinctually his body is struggling like it’s drowning and you're the life preserver.

Nitta looks panicked, “He’s going to kill you!” You can’t afford to pass out now there are so many more people that need healing. Choso is unconsciously pulling you under with him. “This is a curse. It feeds off our kind. He’ll take from you until there’s nothing left.”

Shit. You feel like you’re going to faint. Choso’s eyelids are fluttering, they open as if seeing you for the first time. He’s clearly still delirious as his onyx eyes look at you confused. You visibly flinch, a groan in pain leaving you as he takes more of your energy. Understanding clicks in his brain and the rapid siphoning of your energy abruptly stops. Nitta is calling your name.

Nitta tries to pull you away from Choso so he can’t cling to your energy again, but you refuse to budge. You're not sure if Choso is even conscious despite his eyes jerkily roaming your face. Caressing Choso’s brow, you lean over him. Your lips are near his ear as you murmur comforting words. “I’ve got you. Everything is going to be okay.”

Chapter 2

AN:

If people want more I’ll continue. It just flowed out so here it is. Please don’t comment if you don’t have anything nice to say.

[instarsandcrime]

Someone Worth Falling For

Hi hello! Long time lurker in the community, first time poster. I'm not sure how good this is because it's my first snz fic. But practice makes perfect-- even if my writing tends to lean on corny fluff! So I might as well log what I write and hope things get better from here. Enjoy! <3

--

“Htchh'chieww!”

“Bless you.”

“Htch'shhhiew!”

“Ble–”

“Hihh’chiew! Htch'CHIEW! HET’CHHHIEW! Ohhh…”

Lucifer groaned, forcing gurgling blow after blow into his handkerchief. Face glowing gold in embarrassment when he peered up from the fabric to see another pair stare back.

“...Excuse mbe.” He finally rasped out.

“Absolutely not.” Lilith pursed her lips, “Ten times in a row! I've seen less out of fits than sinners allergic to their own feathers and fur. Are you sure you’re alright, my love?”

She'd offered a way out. She'd offered a way out several times. But the response was always so scripted that it bordered on comical. An orderly list that only the Sin of Pride could obsessively memorize by heart.

“Why, there's dothi’g– snff– nothing to tell!” Lucifer beamed between congested sniffles, one armed wrapped tightly around her waist. “I just want to help my wife get ready for her first night off. And a party? My goodness, now why would I pass up such a rare and wonderful opportunity?”

Deflect

“And that’s very sweet of you, darling.” His other half hummed when a string of pearls draped around her neck, “But I’m just as happy to stay home if you’re feeling unwell.”

The demon king’s hand jerked as he weaved a comb from a puff of golden smoke. “Me? Catch a cold? Pfft, what? Like a sinner? Even if I’m fallen, archangels don’t get sick. It’s in our biology.”

2. Pull the archangel card.

“Yes. I’ve been told that holy beings tend to avoid illness– or rather, those who reside in Heaven. Where everything from the sky to the ground is designed to be absolutely perfect. But here, you are victim to the worst torture imaginable. And I believe there’s been a newer Overlord that’s taken a seat at the table– that one you had a meeting with the other day? The one that embodies pestilence.” As her hair was lovingly tended to, Lilith raised her head ever-so-slightly to kiss her doting husband’s jaw. She nearly cooed at the way he melted on the spot.

“As hypocritical as it sounds, I wouldn’t be so quick to ju- …j-juhhdge…” Lucifer froze, quickly rubbing his nose to satiate a tickle. Lilith’s face dropped to something so freely unimpressed because his last tactic was always to

3. Hide his symptoms. Poorly.

“Darling?”

“H-huhhhh…ho-hold on…” Lucifer raised a claw, handkerchief in the other. “I-I’m fine, it must…m-must be…s-suhh-something in…in the air— h-heh! Oh my, ex-excuse– Et’chiew! HET’chiew! HETCHHIEWW!”

“Bless you again.” His wife winced as the comb was unceremoniously dropped to the floor with a sharp clatter. 

“Th-thahhnk– hhhHITSH!” Caught in a hitching jag, Lucifer quickly pinched his nose– and to his dismay, the slight buzz became an angry swarm.

“Beloved.”

“Het’Chht!”

“Let me just–”

“HIH’CHH! H-hihhh! HIH’TCH! ‘TCH! ‘TSHHH! I can’t s-st-stohhHT’CHNX’iew! Hih! Hhhih…hghh…nnh…” Lucifer’s ragged breathing slowed, peeping open a watery eye. Kneeled close, Lilith’s finger pressed under his nose, draped against her own handkerchief.

“See? Was asking for help so hard?” She smiled. Lucifer only swallowed, wordlessly taking the cloth in his palm. Silently he made his way to the side of her vanity, hopping on its desk. Eyes downcast, frown tucked behind cotton and smudged lipstick. “Be honest with me. There’s something more to your stubbornness this time, isn’t there?”

“N-no, of course not! I’m. I’m just– it’s…” Empty words trailed off into a muffled whisper.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

“It’s– well–” Lucifer cleared his aching throat, biting back a cough before he lowered his makeshift mask. “It’s…it’s humiliating, that’s all. I trapped you down here with me. You had the opportunity to live in an eternal paradise. And now you have this one night to go out and party and enjoy yourself and I just– I know it’s not even close to that kind of perfection-- but I’d be ruining another chance at freedom all over again! And all because you think that I might have caught a cold? I’m fine! This is fine! I’ve been through worse! I’m just a little…a-a…a little snehh…” He quickly pressed the well-soaked cloth to his nose, trying in vain to hold some control over his next fit.

“Hit’shew! ‘Chiew! Hep’shiew! H’tsh! Heh’TSHIEWW! HA’SHHHIEW! HA’PSHHHIEWW!” He cradled his forehead with a palm, blinking stars from his eyes. “A…a little sneezy. Ugh, ‘scuse mbe.”

All too suddenly his chin was lifted, and his vision cleared to meet a piercing gaze. “Lucifer. Darling. Love of my life. Do you know where I’d be if I wasn’t down here with you?”

“N…ndo?” He muttered nervously.

“With Adam.” Her voice curdled like spoiled milk, “I would trade a thousand rings of Hell just to never see his face again. Taking care of you tonight wouldn’t be a curse. It would be a blessing. In fact, it would be a new opportunity at freedom for me. Now, I can finally repay the favor you gave to me so long ago.” 

“Snf! I’m sorry, I– I don’t understand.”

Two strong arms lifted the demon king. “Then let me remind you of the day that we fell together.”

It took seconds too late for the fallen angel to realize what was happening, and Lucifer’s lovesick blush blended with his illness. Before he could even open his mouth to protest he was set gently on the bed, and his wife immediately went to work.

“First,” Well-manicured claws slowly unbuttoned his vest, “Since I was unable to move, you helped me get into something more comfortable until I could dress myself again.”

“I-I did, didn’t I?” A tense smile began to unfurl, and Lucifer allowed his other half to prop him against the headboard, slipping off his boots like he were made of gold and porcelain.

“After that, when I was feeling less restricted, you checked me for any injuries or illness.” A cool forehead bumped softly against something damp and burning, not bothering to worry about smudging freshly applied foundation. “And while I didn’t have a fever, you certainly do now.”

“I–” Lucifer paused, feeling delicate hands intertwine with his own. Slowly he retracted his forked tongue, tasting the bitter words in his mouth. “--I, um. I have to admit, I feel just a smidge under the weather.”

“Well would you look at that! No longer a saint, but you still cast miracles.”

“I do my best.” The fallen angel croaked out a weak chuckle, tired eyes lighting up when Lilith stopped to kiss his knuckles, lips briefly brushing over a golden wedding ring.

“Oh, what was next? Let’s see.” She got up, pacing around the room, “You bandaged my open wounds and wouldn’t let me begin my work as queen until I was off my feet.”

“I still have some mighty big scars from all the kicks you bucked me with.” Lucifer huffed.

His better half looked unashamedly proud, crossing her arms until they locked tight around her chest. “And as I said before, I will do what you have done to me. I’m sure it’ll do you well to give your more inventive powers a rest–” the fallen creator groaned miserably, “--while a servant fetches us some medicine and tea to wash it down with. As well as–”

“Hhhih!” Lucifer’s nose twitched, and he couldn’t help the frustrated sigh that mingled with unsteady breaths. Both handkerchiefs soiled, the demon flicked his wrist and summoned a third, “Oh for the love of– this i-ihhh…is getting rihh-ridiculuh…huhhh..hhh’tsh! Hut’Sshhhieww! Ha’TSHIEW! HET’CH’HHHIEW!”

“--a few tissue boxes. Bless you.”

“...I’b sorry for all the trouble. Snff!” A hacking cough broke through the apology.

“Trouble? Lucifer dear, it’s no trouble at all.” She consoled, sitting by his bedside. “You said it yourself. It’s just a cold. And you seem to forget that, when your caretaking was near its end, you refused to leave me until I truly needed space. You said that if I would permit you to stay, all I needed to do is ask. Well? Would you like me to stay?”

Painted nails fidgeted with the hem of a long cocktail dress and, despite everything that’s happened, Lilith offered a silent prayer to whatever higher power would listen.

Lucifer took a deep breath, “Th-then– um. If you wouldn’t mind lending a hand?”

“I’d be delighted to.” His other half hummed, kissing the red dimples on his cheeks, “You really do have no idea how much you were worth falling for.”

[glitchy-npc]

54 for whump prompts?

54: “You were right.”

Thank you @keltena for the same prompt!

Late afternoon, maybe an hour till sunset. 

The Boneyard is almost empty this time of day. Only a handful of people and their dogs, the last few stragglers trying to tire out their energetic companions before heading home for the night. 

Routine. Normal. Not that you’d know.

Is this what your life would have been like if you had been born human? A boring, safe, nine to five job and a dog to come home to? Something to care for, to guard you in return? Love, free from judgment.

It doesn’t matter, those thoughts are pointless. You’re not here for the dogs or their people, you're here to confront your tail. You don’t know who but you’ve felt someone tracking you the last few hours. Not direct thoughts but a prickle at the back of your neck, a feeling of being watched and you’ve survived too long to ignore those kinds of instincts. In an initial spike of panic you had been worried it might be the Special Directive, but waiting so long isn’t their style, they’re far too efficient. You doubt it's Ortega either, even if you can’t read him he’s never had any patience and he should be all too eager to confront you now after what you did to him. Stop thinking about Ortega, nothing good ever comes from that.

Did Hollow Ground send someone to babysit you? Watch you? Either way, maybe the presence of witnesses will keep things from getting messy.

You close your eyes and wait. 

It's not long before someone sits down heavily next to you. You don’t jump, you felt the familiar portcullis of the Marshal’s shields slam shut around his mind as soon as he entered The Boneyard, a bigger tell than even his heavy gait. His work legs you’d guess. That doesn’t bode well for you, neither does his silence.

“How long have you been following me?” Maybe letting him know you're not as easily ambushed  as the first time he met you here will level some of the playing field.

“What makes you think I’ve been following you?” Of course he answers a question with a question. Asshole. 

“Please,” you scoff. “Do you expect me to believe this is a coincidence? You're not even here with Spoon.” That thought makes you a little sad, you suppose you’ve lost your dog walking privileges now that you’re a known villain. That's a shame, Spoon is a good dog. 

The Marshal doesn’t bother to offer any other excuse. Maybe you don’t deserve one.

“So are you here to arrest me?” Might as well start with the worst possible scenario.

“No.” The admission is quick, the ‘not yet’ left unsaid. 

“Then what, just here to remind me not to fuck up?” Your laugh is dry.

“What makes you think you haven’t already fucked up?” You can feel his eyes on you but you don’t take the bait, you keep staring straight ahead. You wonder if he means your choice of career or the mess you've made of your friendship. 

“Shut up, you know what I mean. You’re fine with me off the leash for now but if I fuck up and get someone killed, that blood would be on your hands too.”

“There's already blood on my hands, for a long time” His sigh is heavy and tired. You sneak a glance as he clasps them together, mechanical fingers interlocking. “At some point you just stop trying to wipe it clean…and try to do better.”

“Do better…” You echo his words and shake your head. “Is that what this is? Honestly I’d prefer being arrested over having to sit here and listen to your platitudes.” It’s not much of a joke but it gets something between a laugh and a cough out of him. 

“Believe it or not, I’m not here to lecture you.” You're about to call bullshit before he continues. “I thought you might have questions for me.” 

“Sure, I got one, is cryptic bullshit just wired into your brain or something? You always do that.” Talking like you're supposed to know what he’s talking about, reading minds doesn’t work miracles. You roll your eyes but catch a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Maybe, but you’re smart enough to figure it out.” Ugh. Flattery? Asshole.

But he’s not wrong, it’s been almost six months after the crash and you haven’t seen any of the Rangers since – well, aside from a not so gentle reminder from Lady Argent that she’s getting impatient with your lack of progress on your little shared project, but the Marshal doesn’t need to know that. Instead you opt for something safer. Maybe you can spin this into information you can use. 

“Has Herald been keeping up with his training?” Somehow calling him Daniel feels wrong. That was a name he shared with Tegan, not Retribution. 

“I’m…not sure, he’s mostly been out on patrols.” Is that a warning? Maybe you should watch the skies more often. 

“You're just a wealth of information aren't you.” 

“To be fair, I thought you’d ask about Ricardo.” 

Fuck. As if that wasn’t the most dangerous topic between you. Maybe the Marshal will let you get on with your work so long as you toe the line, but you doubt he’ll keep letting you break his best friend's heart, not after last time. You wonder if he’d care if it's breaking yours as well. 

“Is he still mad about you keeping the photos from him?” The photos, what a quaint little term for the evidence of your torture at the hands of the Farm. Impossible to survive, maybe that makes them feel unreal. It’s a low blow shifting the blame, but then again, you are the bad guy here.

“We talked.” There's an undeniable tension in his clipped words.

“You mean you fought.” 

“I mean we talked. Yes, it got bad…and maybe he won't forgive me, but we cleared the air. It’s a start.”  

“Never would have pegged you for an optimist.”

“I‘m not but…are you?” You catch his quizzical look out of the corner of your eye.

“You have got to stop fucking doing that, I am litterally not reading your mind right now!” You curse yourself for losing your cool but it's really the most irritating thing about him. He never says what he means.

“Are you still angry? That I kept the photos from him.” He’s looking at you but you don’t dare look back, you can feel his gaze practically searing into your clenched jaw.

“When I was…recovering” A simple word for the agony that was being trapped in a medical bed in your base, helpless, hurting and all too vulnerable. “All I did was hate you.” If Ricardo had known, even suspected you were alive, maybe he would have tried to save you, maybe none of this would have had to happen. Maybe-

No. You’re long past maybes.

“And now?” There's something fragile in his question, not something you're used to hearing from him. Not fear, but something terribly adjacent to hope. 

Your sigh feels bone deep. You can only lie to yourself for so long. Even when it feels so much better than the truth. 

“No. You…you were right.” You wish it didn’t feel like pulling barbed wire from your skin to admit that. “He would have gotten himself killed looking for me…and I don't want that.” The last is said no louder than a whisper.

The Marshal nods, maybe he's made up his mind about you, or himself, you don’t know. You don’t want to. He stands up before the silence between you grows too long, looks like your interrogation is over.

“Take care, Tegan.” Your old name feels like a bruise neither of you will stop poking. 

The words slip out before you can stop yourself.

“Say hi to Spoon for me.” 

Chen hesitates, but doesn’t turn around.

“I will.”

[rebeltombraider]

One-Shot: Gripped by the Plague

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader (she/her) x Wanda Maximoff Rating: T for very mild language Summary: Y/N is sick after the final battle of Endgame, so Natasha and Wanda step in to take care of her. Warnings: I don't think there are any, honestly. Main Changes to Canon: Natasha and Tony are alive and Vision is alive though not with Wanda. Also, some mild surprises towards the end <3 Second ever one-shot, and this was written for @natsarrownecklacx ! Hope being sick doesn't last long, because it sounds painful :( (gifs found on Google, I honestly don't know how to find them elsewhere yet, or how to find where they're exactly from... sry :( )

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Deep, body-ache induced coughing echoed harshly through your area of the Compound, sending your migraine to new heights and worrying two of the three women outside your bedroom door. 

“She sounds and feels like hell, but she's already over the worst of it. I recommend continued bed rest. Keep her hydrated, and when her stomach can take it, have her try to eat things like chicken soup. A recent study even showed dark chocolate can help inflammation from a cold, too.” 

Wanda nodded rapidly in understanding to Helen Cho, her accent slipping through in her worry, “Of course! Is there anything else that can be done? I’ve never seen her this sick before.” 

“Keep her from covering up too much. Sweating out the fever is a myth.” Natasha turned her gaze from your exhausted form on the bed and looked towards the others, “It may feel uncomfortable for her, but she needs to stay cool.” 

Helen nodded in agreement, then turned and left to go check on her other patients in the infirmary, trusting Wanda and Natasha with your care as she still had a few remaining patients from the final battle against Thanos and his army. 

Natasha sighed deeply with worry she had been trying to fight off and looked to Wanda, “Go grab a few bottles of water... I’ll deal with fighting that cocoon of blankets away from her.” She walked inside with a wince at the mere thought of distressing you, but it had to be done. 

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

Miserable. That was the feeling when your coughs kept you awake between bouts of terrible sleep. If it wasn’t the nauseous feeling in your gut, it was the pounding migraine that beat like a war drum when any light flicked into the room from the swaying blackout curtains. Something pulled the blankets away from your death grip on them, and the chilly breeze that hit felt startlingly soothing. 

“Malyshka,” a familiar voice muttered quietly, trying not to worsen your migraine, “we need to cool you down. Wanda will be here soon with some water.” Fingers gently ran through your hair, while a second hand carefully ran up and down your back in soothing motions. 

You are able to push yourself up a few inches by your arms, not enough to dislodge her soothing touch, but enough to force yourself to lift your head somewhat, “Nat?” 

The pained whine mixing in with your croaking voice tugged at her heartstrings. 

“I’m here, Y/N.” Natasha cooed, pausing when the door to the room was pushed open by Wanda who had arrived with an armful of bottles of water, “And Wanda’s here too. Let’s get a few sips into you, detka, before you lay back down.” 

Wanda’s eyes flared with red as she settles her panic from earlier, seeing you moving somewhat, and uses her powers to float the dozen water bottles down on the top of your desk, bringing one over with her, “Here, dorogoy...” She opens the bottle and carefully tips it towards your mouth, coaxing you to sip slowly at it, “there you go.” 

“Thank you.” You’re barely able to say once the bottle was pulled away, “Sorry about,” a harsh cough cut you off for a moment, “this. Have I caught the plague? It feels miserable.” 

“No, Y/N no, it’s not your fault. You’re still recovering from the battle and the flu kicked up again, that isn’t your fault.” Natasha muttered, leaning forward to press her forehead against yours, coaxing you to lay back down completely before leaning back just enough to move into a comfortable position to lay down next to you.  

Wanda swiftly did the same behind you and took over running one of her hands through your hair since Natasha moved her own hands to gently run her index and middle fingers over your temple in an attempt to soothe your migraine, “Exactly. You’ve taken care of us when we were sick, please let us take care of you.” 

Sniffling from congestion, you nod and groan out, “Okay.” 

With that, the three of you settled down on the bed, you for a nap, and Wanda and Natasha to keep watch over you. A red tint from Wanda’s powers was soon the only light left, via her using them to shut your bedroom door to keep out the hallway lighting, before darkness fully engulfed the room. 

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

Sleep was still rough but came much easier with your caring protectors watching over you. They couldn’t protect you from getting sick, but they would do all they could to help you fight it off and make it as painless as possible. 

After all, that’s what you always did and always would do for them, before and after the handfasting that bonded the three of you together. Now they felt it was their turn, and it was no hardship for either one of them with the love they shared with you. 

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

No one else in the building questioned some of the other Avengers’ protective hovering between the rest of the compound and the room that held the three of you. 

Yelena firing a death stare at anyone approaching that section of the building with Kate puffing up slight behind and to her left to show solidarity? Understandable, she lost her older sister for a time and she had come to care for Y/N and Wanda like family, so that protective feeling expanded. 

Clint narrowing his eyes at others like he’s ready to fill them with arrows? He lost his best friend on Vormir, only for her to return unexpectedly during the snap that brought everyone back. He had also become friends with Wanda and somewhat of an older brother to Y/N. 

All three at the same time? One unlucky soul said it was like feeling Death itself staring you down. Yeah... people who weren’t doctors avoided that area after that. 

[boneblushed]

Untouchable

masterlist | part 3 | part 4

synopsis It is crucial that the head boy and girl of Kildare Academy learn to work together. Too bad the head girl is you and the head boy is Rafe Cameron.

wc 3.2k

“Alright, so the last thing we need to — guys,” you falter, scrubbing a tired hand down your face. Though you’re well aware that Friday afternoons are the worst possible time to hold a prefect meeting, they’re a once monthly affair that are otherwise unavoidable.

“Oi!” yells Rafe beside you, his voice commanding where yours is frustrated, rough around the edges.

He crosses his arms in the pause that follows, the broad expanse of his bicep nudging body heat into your shoulder. And it doesn’t help that he smells of familiar things — chlorine and sweat, notes of patchouli with vetiver musk. “Y/L/N’s speaking. Show some respect, yeah?”

The room quietens almost immediately, because of course it does.

You try to be grateful for his presence, you really do. But when the upperclassmen near the back—who haven’t so much as made eye-contact with you over the past half hour—straighten at the sound of his voice, it replaces any appreciation you had for him with ever-growing indignation.

Sure, Rafe Cameron may be bigger than you, more intimidating, with stronger forearms and broader shoulders and a shadow of rough stubble that — wait, what were you talking about, again? You blink. He needs to stop stepping in like he is and veering you off course.

Right. Rafe Cameron as the intimidating one.

How you recognise that his exterior may be more daunting than yours is, and presume that what you lack in height and width you make up for in tenacity. Doggedness. Why can’t they listen when it’s you making the announcements?

This isn’t the first time you’ve needed him to step in, either — at prefect meeting number three, now, it’s clear that the pair of you have opposing strengths and weaknesses. And in theory, this is probably a good thing; you as the organised one, him as your glorified bodyguard.

Except that, stubborn as you are, you don’t think that you need one of those. Especially not one with as big an ego as Mr. Kook Prince of Kildare Academy, Ward Cameron’s eldest son.

He glances down at you encouragingly, his features faltering at the expression on your face. Somehow, you’re able to make unimpressed look almost pretty. “First home game tomorrow,” he explains under his breath. “Probably why they’re all so distracted.”

You meet his eyes briefly, balk a little. He’s standing closer than you’d expected him to, the blue in his irises speckled by sunlight yellow. “Whatever.” You cough, turning back toward the classroom. “Alright. Do I have everyone’s attention?”

Beside you, Rafe shifts inscrutably, sending the room a remonstrating glare. If you weren’t so intent on proving your independence, you might’ve even found his dedication a little endearing.

But you don’t, the thought whizzing through your brain like the fleeting tail of a firework. “So,” you continue, “the last thing on our agenda is divvying up prefect duties for next month.” You duck down and pull it open on your laptop, the projector screen behind you flashing on in tandem. “To save everyone the trouble, I’ve gone ahead and drafted a rough schedule based on last month’s one.”

“Football season’s started though!” calls Kelce from the back, bolstered by grunts of approval from his teammates.

Rafe’s about to reprimand him on your behalf when you turn toward him, eyes widening pointedly. Don’t, you seem to say, to which Rafe’s brow furrows in a why not? sort of way.

You glare: I got this.

Rafe raises his eyebrows: I never implied that you didn’t.

You shake your head ever so slightly, stern, looking back to Kelce without another word. Rafe’s gaze lingers. “I was getting to that,” you say, frowning reproachfully. “The spreadsheet will be edit-able over the weekend, so feel free to get into it and make any changes you need to. Obviously, no duties should be left unfulfilled, so if you aren’t able to make one, you’re going to have to find a way to swap with someone who can.”

“Just the weekend?” Connor pipes up, followed by a murmur of collective assent. “But training’s tonight, game tomorrow —”

“How long is a football game, Walters?” You ask, raising your eyebrows.

“Kegger right after,” he adds pointedly, raising his in tandem.

You roll your eyes. “You know there are two days that make up a weekend, right?”

“We’re meant to sort this shit out when we’re hungover on Sunday now, Y/L/N?” Kelce asks, a glint of mischief in his otherwise dark irises. He’s pushing it, he knows he is, but he wants more of Rafe defending your honour to rub in Dalton’s face.

“Yes,” you deadpan.

“If you can handle an eighteen-hole at the fucking Club on a Sunday morning, Smith,” Rafe adds, much to your chagrin. “Then you can handle a prefect duty schedule.”

“Damn,” Kelce grins triumphantly, sitting back in his chair. “Aye aye, Captain.”

Rafe furrows his brow again, looking over the rest of the classroom, a warning. “Anyone else with something to say?”

There’s a low murmur of dissent, and several people shake their head in response. An angry warmth creeps up your neck, diffidence mixed with indignation.

“Alright then.” You can feel Rafe looking down at you, but you refuse to meet his gaze. “That was all from me… anyone with any last minute notices?”

“Oh, shit, yeah,” Rafe says then, angling back toward the crowd. His shoulder nudges yours again, too-broad and too-close, another waft of chlorine and musk. “My dad’s outta town this weekend, so party at mine after home game.”

As the room erupts into excited chatter, he ducks his head to eye-level, his rough timbre raising goosebumps on the shell of your ear. “You’ll come?”

The prefects are beginning to pack up their things, signalling the end of the meeting, so you allow yourself to turn your head and look up at him, your glare growing weak at the closeness of his face. “Why would I come?” You ask, breaking away abruptly and gathering your own belongings.

Rafe does the same, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“Because I’ve never been to one of your parties before?” You return, like it’s obvious. As you turn away and begin to walk toward the exit, you assume that Rafe will rejoin the boys in his football team. They straggle near the doorway, no doubt waiting to head for the locker-room, but he refuses to accede so quickly, following you out instead.

You glance up as he falls into step, his rough hand mussing his overgrown locks. “Can I help you?” You ask, bemused.

“That was before,” he says, answering your previous question. “We’re partners now.”

“Cameron!” calls Kelce, “Bro, you coming?”

“I’ll meet you guys out there,” Rafe replies easily, not bothering to turn his head to address him. “C’mon, Y/L/N. It’ll be fun.”

Maybe it’s the tone he uses, quietly superior with pity lacing the edges. Like you never get invited to parties. (You don’t, but that’s besides the point.) Like you aren’t capable of fun and he’s doing you some kind of favour.

You halt abruptly, pivoting to face him head on. He’s taken aback at first, but the surprise in his blue eyes melts away very quickly. Gives way to something deeper, thick as brown molasses.

You force yourself to ignore it. “You need to stop doing that,” you order.

“Doing what?” Rafe asks, frowning bemusedly.

“Stepping in and telling them off,” you sigh, grimacing abashedly. “I had it handled.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Half of them were falling asleep, Y/L/N. I just thought I’d wake them up a little.”

“What?” You accuse, folding your arms across your chest stubbornly. “Because I can’t?”

“Oh, you definitely can.” He raises his arms in surrender, running his tongue over his bottom lip as he looks over your pretty features. Something sultry about it. “This right here? This is you handling yourself just fine.”

You make a face, as if your heart isn’t stuttering at the timbre of his voice. “Then why?”

“Because we’re a team,” Rafe repeats, dropping his arms again. “I mean, shit Y/L/N, I wasn’t trying to undermine you. Not everything I do has some kind of ulterior motive.”

“Debatable,” you mutter.

“Including,” he adds pointedly, raising his eyebrows. “Inviting you to my party.”

“That I’m not going to,” you clarify.

Rafe shrugs. “Just being polite.” Just want to see you in something other than school uniform.

“Cute,” you say, turning away again. “Not happening.”

“Busy?”

“No.”

“Then why can’t you come?” Rafe asks, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly.

Your turn to shrug. “I just don’t want to.”

—

Rafe tries not to let your non-attendance get to him, he really does.

Tannyhill is a site to behold against the glow of purple dusk — alive with technicolor lights, the heavy bass reverberating through chilly Autumn. Upperclassmen flood every inch of the ground level of the mansion, empty bottles strewn over smooth marble countertops, outdoor beer pong games gaining momentum.

He just wants to be helpful. He feels guilty enough as is that you’re the one that’s organised almost every speech and conference so far — it’s the reason he’s piped up at every prefect meeting you’ve had, desperate to fill a role, prove he isn’t deadweight in this partnership.

But clearly that’s the last thing you want.

So he decides to change tact. If not to gain your approval, to have an excuse to text you in the middle of a fucking party that he’s hosting.

As if that isn’t the most pathetic thing ever.

“Oi!” He calls out, his voice still low and gruff, sweetened by the slur of liquor in his system. “Prefects only in the living room. Can the rest of you fuck off for a second?”

The space empties diligently, pulling in any prefects that were straggling on the deck. As his gazes moves over the group, he realises that every single one came to his party except you. His chest lurches abruptly.

“Alright,” he clears his throat, trying to ignore this feeling. Failing miserably. “Everyone get out their phones and open up the schedule spreadsheet.”

Kelce shares a knowing look with Dalton, triumph edging on amusement. “The prefect duty one?” He asks, feigning bemusement. “Why would we do that?”

“Because we’re all here,” Rafe replies, sliding his own phone out of his front-pocket. “So organising swaps will be real easy.”

Kelce raises his eyebrows, accedes. “Right.” He fake coughs, and it sounds like, “Simp.”

Connor, half a bottle of Fireball down, makes a noise like a whip-cracking from the back of the room.

“I’m serious,” Rafe says then, evidently unperturbed. “Get your phones out. I’m not going to ask again.”

“Dude,” Dalton replies, actually bemused now. “Relax. It’s a party.”

“Exactly,” Rafe responds, his gaze glued to the phone in his palm. “So the faster we do this, the faster you can get back to hitting on freshmen.”

The jibe pulls some stifled laughter from the crowd, and Dalton scowls abashedly, his stubbled face flushing.

It’s enough to force him to oblige, the rest of the prefects way ahead of him. As they converse amongst themselves, editing the spreadsheet as necessary, Rafe manages to capture a photo of them to send to you.

Cameron: [attached a photo] swapsies > pong

Maybe he doesn’t expect you to reply so quickly.

Y/L/N: are you trying to prove a point or something?

He frowns down at the message thread bemusedly; this isn’t the reaction he’d expected from you. He’d thought you’d be grateful to see them sorting out the schedule — to see him organising it, him being responsible for once.

He imagines pretty you in your pyjamas, rolling over on your bed to sigh at the photo. He realises that he’s already conceptualised a concerning amount of your room decor — simple, tidy, organised. Like you. In this imagined scenario, you’re wearing sweatpants and a singlet with a wafer of bare waist in between them.

His thoughts snag at the latter, the promise of glowing skin becoming quickly overbearing. He realises he thinks about touching you a lot, far more than he should.

Cameron: prove a point?

Y/L/N: that they listen to you more than they listen to me

Cameron: you know not everything’s a competition, yeah?

Y/L/N: maybe not to you

Cameron: I think the word you’re looking for is thank you, Y/L/N

Y/L/N: bite me

Rafe shouldn’t grin at the message, but he does anyway. He knows it’s the closest he’s going to get to gratitude; he can imagine you sighing again, rolling your eyes at the message before responding to it. The hem of your singlet riding up as you shift in your bed. More soft skin for him to touch.

He swallows thickly. He’s totally fucking fucked.

Cameron: gladly

—

“Well,” Cromwell beams, his crows feet deepening reverently, “it sounds like you two are really embracing your roles as head students.”

His rises from his chair by way of dismissal, looking between you genially. “Same time next month?”

“Looking forward to it, Crom-dog,” Rafe replies, grinning handsomely.

The nickname never fails to make you grimace—he’s the headmaster, for God’s sake—but you’re quick to fix your features, nodding and smiling in tandem. “We’ll get that plan for winter formal written up.”

“Always two steps ahead of me,” Cromwell resounds, making a noise of approval. “I like it.”

You smile wider, warmed by his praise, before turning and exiting the office. Rafe is close behind you, his chlorine and patchouli scent ever-present, and he’s quick to fall into your step as you enter the hallway.

“Winter formal plan?” He asks, raising his eyebrows. “Already?”

“Two steps ahead, Cameron,” you say, tapping your nose conspiratorially.

The gesture swells something fond in his chest, a wave before it crashes ashore. He taps his own nose, a question. “What does this mean?”

You fix him with a significant look, brushing the side of your nose again.

Rafe grins, resisting the urge to reach forward and do the same. The want to touch you is honest-to-God unbearable. “Fine. Don’t tell me. When’s our next meeting?”

“Friday?” You ask, turning away again.

You’re nearing the double doors that bring you out into the Academy’s entranceway, brilliant steeples shading the flagstone pavement. Beyond it is the carpark where Rafe’s pick-up sits.

“Friday,” Rafe confirms, and then he pauses, running his fingers through his hair. In the mood to play with fire, he adds, “You walking home?”

“Yeah?” You glance back at him, balk a little. There’s an alarming amount of sincerity swimming within his blue irises.

In the beat that passes, you think, he’s sweet when he wants to be. The other day, he’d offered to cover your lunchtime duty when you’d told him you had an assignment due. And he’d sent you that meme last week, the one about Taylor Swift that’d made you laugh unprompted. Sweet.

He gestures toward his pick-up in the distance. “Need a ride?”

Before this year, you would’ve declined almost immediately. There’s nothing you hate more than being indebted to someone, especially when that someone has an ego as big as Rafe’s.

Maybe you’re just being polite. Maybe you believe that it’s futile to fight it. Or maybe, and this revelation terrifies you the most, you’re starting to realise that he’s got a heart big enough to match it.

You shrug, changing trajectory and making for the carpark. “Yeah, sure.”

Rafe tries not to look taken aback. His eyes widen for a fraction of a second before his expression relaxes again, a roguish grin pulling up at his features. As he catches you up, he says, “Damn, Y/L/N. You’re not going soft on me, are you?”

You roll your eyes in response, fighting the smile that’s threatening to break through. “Not if I can help it, Cameron.”

You walk in tandem toward his pick-up truck, your shoulders brushing intermittently. Sudden jolts of static that you pretend—he pretends—aren’t leaving imprints of heat on your skin.

“Good.” Rafe nods approvingly, sliding his keys out of his back-pocket. “Need someone ‘round here keeping me in check.”

“Thought that’s what your dad was for, Cameron,” you muse, your tone playful.

Rafe hesitates, stumbling a step before regaining momentum. It makes you frown, this sudden break in his composure, how quickly he goes from faltering to pretending that he hasn’t.

“He’s outta town this weekend,” he coughs, avoiding your gaze. He tries for nonchalant, mussing his overgrown locks and adding, “You’re just gonna have to work overtime to make up for it, Y/L/N.”

Again? You want to ask. Is he ever actually around?

But that’s overstepping. “Maybe if he pays me for it,” you say, glancing over at him again.

There’s a pause as your eyes meet, something strong, almost aching, pulsing in the air between you. A crisp Autumn chill with a side of something sweeter.

You look away first.

“You can do better than Ward Cameron as your boss,” Rafe says, and you’re sure he’s insinuating something; you just don’t know what.

“Right,” you reply awkwardly, halting at his pick-up truck.

Another pause. “Shit, anyway,” Rafe says then, breaking the silence by patting the hood of his car. He clears his throat and plasters on a grin, the same blend of charming and handsome, clearly done talking about his father. “Shall we?”

You eye the vehicle faux-dubiously, sending him a pointed glance. “You’re not one of those, trigger-happy, love-to-rev-their-engine wannabe racer boys, are you?”

Rafe raises his eyebrows, his expression akin to mild amusement. “Careful Y/L/N,” he says. “That’s enough adjectives to tell me you’ve thought about this before.”

“Not an answer, Cameron,” you return, folding your arms across your chest.

“Hey,” he raises his arms in surrender, “I’m not any of those things when there’s a pretty girl in my car.”

You make a face, compensating for the way your cheeks warm at his words. “You better not be.”

“Yes ma’am,” he nods sincerely, opening the door for you before jogging to the driver’s side. “I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

You buckle in, raising your eyebrows at him. “Good.”

He returns this with a faux-glare, turning on the ignition. “No talking, Y/L/N. Best behaviour means concentrating on the road, and the road only.”

As his gaze moves down toward the gearshift, it snags at your bare thighs on the seat, your uniform skirt hiked up ever so slightly. So much for best behaviour. You in his pick-up truck is like an agonising game of look don’t touch.

The ride home is silent, as promised, broken only by the intermittent whistle of Autumn wind.

Once he’s pulled into your driveway and switched off the ignition, he makes a show of letting out an audible sigh of relief, wiping non-existent sweat off his brow.

“Funny,” you try to deadpan, though the mirth on your features shines through easily.

Rafe angles toward you seriously, and you’re struck by how much larger he looks inside his pick-up truck. He folds one of his arms around your head-rest, fixing you with a significant look. “Can I get you to fill out a quick survey before you leave?” He asks, pulling out his phone and turning the screen toward you. It reads: Were you happy with your service today? If yes, please tip, with buttons for 5%, 10%, and 15% below it.

A peal of laughter bubbles out of you, somewhere between exasperated and amused. “Funny,” you repeat, shoving him back playfully.

He cracks a grin, the spot in his chest that you pressed against glowing a metaphorical amber. “Have a good weekend, yeah?”

You smile in tandem, unbuckling and opening the door. “And you.”

“Oh, I will,” he replies, a rare moment of candour from easy-going, ego-as-big-as-his-heart Rafe Cameron. “Weekends without my dad around are always better than the ones that he’s here for.”

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Hey there!

I wanted to post that for a while so, here we are.

Wondering who’s behind this blog?

Here’s something about me under the cut:

• I identify as a woman, my pronouns are she/her

• Born and raised in Italy, I still live there.

• I’m 141 LOL but according to people I still look like I’m in my 30s so let me indulge in that, thank you very much.

• I don't think there's anyone who makes me more feral than Joel Miller. I just can’t help it. My (un)holy Pedro characters triad is Joel, Oberyn and Peña 💕 (immediately followed by Frankie)

• I have a little elephant pendant that I always wear, no one knows what it's about *wink*

• I’m Leo Sun, Libra Rising and Aries Moon. You scared? I promise I don’t bite, unless explicitly requested 😏

• I’m Bi/Pan as fuck, always been obviously but I realized only last year. LOL, better late than never i guess. I only have problems with cisgender straight white males because I mean… they’re the worst, okay, I don’t make the rules.

• Single, unmarried, not interested in having kids even a little bit, I prefer to be the cool auntie.

• I love cooking and I'm quite good at it, I had good genes from my Italian grandmas 😌

• I can’t function without coffee, especially in the morning. I take my coffee bitter with just a little bit of milk.

• I can’t stand lies, the phrase “oh I didn't tell you so as not to make you suffer” (UGH, no you didn’t tell me ‘cause you’re a fucking coward and that’s it, my friend), misogyny, racism, fascism, homophobia, bi-erasure, any other form of verbal or physical violence towards LGBTQIA+ people, injustice in general, if you are any of the above you are not welcome here or in my life.

• I love dogs. I have a poodle named Brienne after the GOT character, she’s 5 years old so that means she got me through pandemic and she’s my love and joy. Isn’t she adorable? Yes, she is.

• I’m unfortunately allergic to cats (yep, like Pedro) and can’t pet them unless I wish for an asthma attack. That sucks, I know.

• I have deep brown curly hair, brown eyes and I’m short (158 cm).

• I have a lot of freckles, you could go on a treasure hunt following them.

• I’ve been to more than 100 concerts in my life including some festivals abroad.

• I currently listen to Hozier and Chappell Roan on a daily basis. I also love Billie Eilish, used to be a big Muse fan (listen, their first albums were great, okay) plus I’m a sucker for ‘90/‘00 music ‘cause that’s the music I grew up with.

• I love beer more than wine.

• I love reading, I used to read all the time, I have less time to do it now and it bothers me so much. I’m still reading fanfiction though. 🤭

• I’m a sucker for True Crime Podcasts, I only listen to Italian ones for now so unless you’re Italian you don’t know my faves and it’s a pity ‘cause they’re really good.

• Cults scare the shit out of me but at the same time they’re one of the things that makes me more curious ‘cause my mind can’t really comprehend what happens in people’s mind when they get sucked into them.

• Some tv series I love in no particular order: The Last of Us, Breaking Bad, Better Call Saul, Lost, The Handmaid’s Tale, Bojack Horseman, GOT (until seasons 7 & 8 happened 💀), Sense 8, Jane the Virgin, Grace and Frankie, Narcos, Only Murders in the building, The Bear, Succession, The Morning Show, Friends, Stranger Things (mostly because Jim Hopper is there, certainly not for those z*onists, you know), Mad Men, Gilmore Girls (Luke Danes *cough*), Mindhunter, Peaky Blinders (huge Tommy Shelby’s slut, don’t look at me like that, okay), My Brilliant Friend, The Affair, Black Mirror (until last seasons happened but it used to be one of the greatest things ever), The Walking Dead (got bored halfway through season 9, I recently started a rewatch and I hope to get to the very end of it lol), Fleabag, Normal People, When They See Us, Hill House, Bly Manor, Midnight Mass, Chernobyl.

• Films I love in no particular order: Parasite, Aftersun, Past Lives, All of Us Strangers, Brokeback Mountain, Almost Famous, The Goonies, Stand By Me, The Breakfast Club, The Killing of a Sacred Deer, The Lobster, The Neon Demon, Midsommar, One Day, When Harry Met Sally, There’s still tomorrow, Strange Way of Life, Prospect, The Banshess of Inisherin, Coco, The Emperor’s New Groove (so underrated), Mommy, The Virgin Suicides, Girls Interrupted, Saltburn, Promising Young Woman, Little Women (1994), Gone Girl, Shoplifters, Bin-Jip 3 Iron, Love Me If You Dare, The Piano, Fried Green Tomatoes, Notorious, Some like it Hot, Rear Window and you can ask for my Letterboxd account for more.

• Bad weather makes me sad and melancholy.

• I obviously love Italian cuisine with all my heart but I also love to try new dishes especially when I’m abroad. I love chocolate and I have a sweet tooth in general but there’s nothing I crave more than good carbs (I can be happy with a slice of good bread or focaccia). I love spicy food but I can't handle it when it’s very very spicy.

• I love bags, I have so many bags and I still want more lol

• When I was a kid I wanted to be a writer or a journalist. What do I do now? I’m a secretary LOL (I also have a second job not related to writing as well)

• As a friend, I’m loyal to the bone, I could do anything for you if I love you. If you betray me real bad though don’t expect a second chance, I mean I could try but I know i can’t ‘cause you’re changed forever in my eyes.

• I have so many kinks, you can ask if you want to know, okay. Also, so many authors here are responsible for giving me new ones. I love you deeply.

If you want to know more my asks and dm are open!

Here’s a little bit of me, byeeeee.

[constantineshots]

as someone wit cancer (posting this anonymously because some ppl on the internet hear this and go fucking crazy) I’ve always found John Constantine is actually a really interesting rep In theory. I do think Delano like most things fumbles the bag when it comes to that topic but… it’s Delano what do you expect. I really like timelines where John gets treatment before it’s terminal (though usually that very idea seems out of character) or something it’s such a comfort hc. sorry for rambling. I was wondering how YOU interpreted johns cancer storylines as the John Constantine guy.

hey, you’re safe here, do what’s best for you! and I wish you the best. and never apologize for rambling! i love rambling. please keep rambling.

i’ll put this under a read more because i realized how long this is, but i hope it helps answer your question!

but as the john constantine girlie, it’s always been such an incredibly interesting plotline to me. he does take drastic measures to cure himself in the main vertigo timeline, and his interactions with other cancer patients and then realizing that this thing is terminal… it was intriguing. because it’s john. how he handles things is so much different than how others will. you’re never going to get the logical answer- “maybe he’ll get treatment.” “maybe he’ll go find healing magics that could help him.” “maybe he’ll go spend more time with his loved ones.” this is how most people would think to act. I can’t imagine what it’s like to have cancer, but if it were me, i feel like i’d be angry to be living on a timer, so i’d probably check a few things off my bucket list out of spite. not john constantine, though. instead he threatens a war in hell over his soul so everyone has to cure him.

john smokes cigarettes. we all know this to be a fact. however, he ends up getting terminal lung cancer as a result. it shows a very possible risk that most people aren’t willing to acknowledge until it’s too late.

i haven’t spoken to my mother in forever because our relationship was never good ( can’t you see why i like john constantine now? ), but in a way, it reminded me of her. she was a heavy smoker, and i, as a child who sometimes went over to her house begrudgingly, would be caught up in second hand smoke. as a result, these sorts of things were big worries of mine, and yet every time i told her she can’t do things like smoke inside the house and such, she’d just do it anyway. which put everyone at risk.

while, of course, cancer isn’t always caused by smoking, it can be, and she never took it seriously, not even when she was coughing badly and it was clearly dangerous for her health anyway. I don’t think she ever will.

within john’s character, though, we know he clearly didn’t care much. of course, he didn’t want to die because he knew he was going straight to hell at the time. so he concocted his little plan and ended up curing himself of cancer and not dying as a result… and then continuing with the bad habit. he’s a comic book character, so i guess it’s different, but i think it kind of sent the wrong message.

after a tale of john being distressed about having cancer and having to say goodbye to the people he cared about, or john meeting others who had cancer and being affected by the loss of someone who had died as a result of it, i think some expected him to put down the cigarettes. but alas, john has never been the kind of person to make good decisions.

so when i see him doing the smart thing in some storylines or aus that people write and so forth, i’m always stunned. like good on him, of course, handling his shit before it gets worse, but john has always liked to be a pain in the ass and wait until the worst possible moment. like the exact day he’s supposed to die for example. though i do enjoy these more, because it sends the right message…. john isn’t the kind of character you look to to give you the right message in most aspects. his political beliefs are good, but everything else is a dumpster fire.

but in my opinion, john constantine is a character- one of a rare few- who has cancer. there’s a described time of his struggles with it, some depression from it, the loss of someone he’d met who had it, and that was a journey. but then, in true john constantine fashion, the cornered rat idea he has, he cures himself of it- or, well, more forces some other beings to cure him of it, but hey.

that’s all i got, but feel free to explain further on anything you want to!

[hollowwrites]

Blindsided

Part 12

Ominis x MC

Summary - Ominis is back and he’s a little bit worse for wear. Fortunately, Evelyn knows a thing or two about pain

I’ve gone full on head-canon, no lore accurate Drabble here!! I just want to take care of Omi okay? Leave me be!

As always swap Evelyn for your own MC or Y/N

Warnings - Mentions of pain, Medical stuff (the mildest ever I honestly don’t know what i’m talking about), Kissing, lil bit of biting…just a nibble.

Word Count - 1993

~

The Room of Requirement seemed different every time she entered nowadays. She’d told Poppy about its location and its menagerie of beasts and told her it was hers. She still used it to brew potions and grow plants but The Room had now broken into wings.

Poppys was warm and open. A constant display of the sky and stars, no doubt from the time Amit spent there with her.

Evelyns’ had changed drastically since fifth year. The Vivariums completely gone and transferred to Poppy, only a small greenhouse like building with a potions stand remained. A book nook was tucked haphazardly up the corner with stray vines cupping at the small sofas legs. Any available surface either had a book, a plant or tea cup sat upon it. The gentle constant hum of distant water echoed through the glass hall and little flocks of birds busied themselves through from her wing to Poppys’.

Ominis couldn’t appreciate any of this in his current state.

The persistent ringing in his ear left him without his dominant sense. He relied completely on his wand, for once, and the gentle pull of Evelyns hand in his.

She gently guided him to the sofa and asked him to sit whilst she readied a bowl of water, some clean wash clothes and a variety of Wiggenweld Potions. The sound of distant clinking, vial against vial rang in Ominiss’ good ear.

“This is payback for fifth year isn’t it?” He said sitting back against the sofa. He smirked but it sat oddly on his face. Like he was anticipating pain. His nose flared as he took long exaggerated breathes.

“Well you did coerce me into spending the day with you. And force fed me Wiggenwelds. Speaking of…” she took his hand and placed the vial in it. “Drink”

His face twisted up in disgust before he did as he was told and downed the putrid liquid. He coughed

“With how good you are at potions I assumed your Wiggenwelds would taste better” She laughed breathily. Not like he can talk. His did more damage than good.

Ominis could suddenly feel her presence over him as she manoeuvred between his legs. She tilted his head slightly up and to the side, her cool finger tips gently gripping his jaw.

He longed for his senses to return to him.

He needed to know if her heart yearned for him, like his did for her. Needed to hear the way her heart stuttered like the evening behind the Quidditch pitch.

He felt himself lean forward, sitting up straighter to get closer to her, knee knocking against knee, when he shifted.

For the time being, he lived in this fantasy world where she tended to him sweetly. Whilst she lived in the real world, starring at the worst Crucio scarring she’d ever seen. Even his old ones across his chest were smaller than this. Its tip started somewhere in his ear and swirled down across his neck and throat and over his collar bone. The bruising was a deep purple almost red at its centre. Like it radiated pain.

“Your brother…he must have really meant it…” she whispered, pulling his collar down and inspecting the bruise.

Ominis didn’t respond. He simply sighed.

She hovered her hand near its centre and could feel its energy against her finger tips. A small crackle of red lightening snapped up to her finger.

“When did this happen?” She asked sternly.

“About…three hours ago…” he stretched his back and neck out. “He did it as I was leaving. Maybe to get me to stay…I don’t know”

“I’m sorry” she said and kissed his temple.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’m sorry you ever had that family.” She spat, her venom aimed at his brother and parents, not him. He sighed again before he twitched and squirmed in agony. A deep visceral hiss left his chest, the familiar echoey allure of Parseltongue filling the glass room.

She held his hand as he rode out the wave of pain. He’s been through…too much

He sat slumped over, panting as it subsided.

“I’m going to get some materials that might help okay?”

He squeezed her hand in response, unable to speak in his current state.

Moving away from him, reluctantly, she gathered the items she had been studying over the years.

After Sebastian had become somewhat obsessed with the Dark Arts, Imelda refused to take it easy after Quidditch started again, and even she couldn’t seem to stay away from getting injured, Evelyn had taken it upon herself to learn some of the Healing Arts. She never thought she’d be using them on Ominis. He was her safe space. He was supposed to always be safe.

“So I’ve been reading about Pain Relief. Pain derived from a curse is complicated but…I think I can stop the bruising. You may still experience tremors for the next few days. It’s an Unforgivable, there’s…not much I can do there.” She mumbled most of it, not completely sure of her abilities.

Ominis barely heard her. The ringing in his ear became louder after the last wave of pain. He tried to focus on what he could comprehend.

She smelt like Roses and Honey. Floral and sweet.

Her touch felt like a cool breeze on a warm sunny day and…unconditional love.

Her voice, though he barely made out the individual words, sounded like a calming lullaby. She only ever sounded like this with him.

Her softness was reserved only for him.

He was quiet for a long time.

She rang out the cloth in the tiny basin she brought over, carefully tipping some Wiggenweld onto the dampened cloth.

“I don’t know if this is going to do much but…it might make the bruising less painful” she returned to between his legs holding his other shoulder, bracing him “I also don’t know if this is going to hurt”

“What a fantastic nurse you are” he teased, but the tone was warped as he spoke through his teeth.

She rolled her eyes, ignoring his snippy tone and pulled gently at his collar. The bruising got worse as she pulled his shirt away and she couldn’t help the gasp that left her.

“Ready?” She continued softly, despite his attitude.

“I’m ready” he said shifting in his seat, reading for the potential pain.

As carefully as she could manage, she dabbed at the bruising, keeping the cloth over its centre, just above his collarbone.

Thankfully, it was not painful. The Wiggenweld sank into his skin and he breathed out a long and heavy sigh. She watched as the bruise retreated away, as though the cloth was absorbing it.

“That…feels nice. Thank you Ev-ARGH” he grunted once more as a wave of pain enveloped him. His hands flew to her waist, fingers digging into her side.

“Shhhh okay…it’s okay” she wrapped her arm around the unmarred side of his neck, keeping the Wiggenweld soaked cloth pressed to his neck. Whilst his forehead pressed against her stomach mumbling incoherently into her, she lightly rubbed small circles into his back. “I’ve got you” she whispered

Then…

“Ah…” he sat up suddenly and seemed to look around, sighing contently “I can hear you…properly” he smiled.

It was like he’d resurfaced from water. The popping of his ear was painful, but it was worth it to be able to see her again. His increased senses returned to him under the restorative properties of the Wiggenweld and he reached out to her, confidently, her heartbeat like a lighthouse amongst a choppy sea. His hand sought her out, his palm resting on the flat plane of her chest. The rapid thumping of her heart against his fingertips lined up with the rhythm in his ears.

“There you are” he breathed a sigh of relief. He felt and heard her heartbeat racing “My little Hummingbird”

Thank Merlin he is blind.

The tingly sensation of her cheeks reddening was stronger than she had ever felt.

My Little Hummingbird

His.

She smiled placing her hand over his.

“I just need to clean you up” she whispered. Her voice so quiet she wasn’t sure she’d actually said anything.

“First…” he stopped her hand moments from dabbing at his skin, looping his fingers around her wrist. The hand resting on her chest ran up along her collarbone and around her neck. His fingers weaved through her soft hair and pulled her down to him. “…If I may”

It didn’t really seem like a question. Not the way he said it. Not the way she heard it.

And she didn’t need to give permission. The small whimper that left her lips was enough.

Her hand went limp, dropping the cloth to the sofas cushions and gently cupping his face. They met in the middle, both seeking each other out equally.

Their lips touched softly to begin with. A surprise to both of them. After three days neither imagined such a tender moment would occur. More of a desperate raking of nails and skin and teeth.

The warmth of her lips against his was something Ominis was certain he would never tire of. He had already committed their last kiss to memory, it playing over and over in his mind as he dealt with his family.

But this one was so different.

So much more.

She poured her love and sympathy and heartbreak into him, gliding smoothly over his lips as she deepened the kiss.

She tilted his head up, leaning further in, her chest pressing against his. His hand resting on her hip glided down her thigh and pulled her into his lap. It was probably meant to be sweet. But his nails dug into the fabric of her shirt and carried down on to her legs, leaving red lines of tortured want in its wake.

She gasped. Her lips parting a fraction and Ominis took that opportunity.

He took her lip between his teeth, his tongue running over the flesh he’d gathered. He delighted in the little noises he pulled from her. The tiny gasps and needy mewls, each like a sirens song drawing him closer to…he didn’t know what. Just that it was probably worth it.

Another strangled gasp left her as he pulled on her lip. Letting go, he nudged her chin upwards with his nose, kissing down the length of her neck. He felt the vibration of her groan against his lips causing him to chuckle.

It was unlike any laugh she’d ever heard from him.

It was throaty and deep and sultry.

Like he was fully aware of the affect he was having on her.

“Ominis…” she keened, her hands gripping at the collar of his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer.

Both had forgotten about the last three days.

And the scar

And the fact he still bore that Curse.

The trail of cold left behind from his open mouthed kisses made Evelyn shudder. His lips circled the tissue between her neck and shoulder. Purring, he took it between his teeth…

Before clamping down harder than either of them had anticipated.

He whimpered and shuddered in pain as another wave of the Cruciatus hit him. The yelp that erupted from Evelyn caused him to gaze up at her with a furrowed brow.

“Are you okay?” He grunted through gritted teeth.

She rubbed at her neck, feeling the tiny indentations of his teeth across her trap.

“Yes fine. Are you?” She held his face searching for any remaining pain from this swell of the curse.

“Mmmmmmmmgh” after releasing a breath he held on to, he continued “Perhaps…this isn’t a good idea, not right now”

She exhaled through her nose, the slightest hint of amusement gracing her tone

“Perhaps not” she brushed the hair from his face as she spoke “There’s always next time”

“Oh…” he gripped her waist, pulling her closer one finally time “…I am beyond thrilled, to hear there will be a ‘next time’”

Masterlist

[lantanasmuttyfanfics]

Here is kinda(?) part 3 of the Rosabella x Daring fanfics

I hope you enjoyed this!!

And just a reminder I’m still not taking commissions for EAH but I do have a different fandom fan fic coming Friday or Saturday

———————————

Rosabellas POV-

Rosabella sometimes wondered why she was in damsels in distressing class. Her story never really required her to a damsel, so why was it mandatory that she take it?

Because she’s a princess?

She wanted to laugh at whoever made that rule, but any sign of unladylike behavior would have her getting into trouble with her teacher.

So here she sat next to her friend Darling Charming as their teacher explained their next assignment.

“Ladies for your next assignment, you will have to sit in perfect poise, grace, beauty and elegance! For one hour until your prince comes to save you.”

Rosabella mouth dropped to the ground her eyes wondering over to an overly excited Apple who was jumping in joy.

But she wondered, would it be Daring who ‘saved’ her? He was her destined prince and they had been dating for 5 months now.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Darling chuckled at her words her hand patting her shoulder. “This isn’t even the worst. One time we had to be locked up in a tower for a day and wait for our prince’s to come.”

Rosabella made a face at that, one which had their teacher give an ever so graceful cough in her direction.

“I know that you little doves are just so excited. So make sure to get your beauty sleep tonight as the assignment starts 9am tomorrow.”

The bell rang and each princess made their way outside the classroom, curtsying to the teacher before leaving.

As soon as Rosabella stepped foot outside the classroom she took a big gulp of air letting her lungs breath in air rather than perfume.

She thought about starting a riot in the name of princess class requirements, so that they had a choice as to what class was mandatory but against all those in favor of no choice she would be out numbered.

Heading straight for the library, Rosabella pulled her mirrorphone out as Blondies mirrorcast aired.

“Here we just have it! The princes of Ever After have been given a new assignment! They have to rescue their damsel from a fire breathing dragon! Now that sounds just right to me!”

Wait… did Blondie just say fire breathing dragon? Rosabella eyes widened, replaying the clip to make sure she wasn’t hearing things but yup there she had it. A fire breathing dragon, how nice of their teacher not to mention it.

Slumping forward in her seat in the library Rosabella groaned. Why couldn’t she just drop the class?

Sighing Rosabella pulled out her favorite book from her bag, opening it to where she left off. Before she knew it the bell rang as an indication for lunch and Rosabella made her way to the castlteria.

—————

The next morning Rosabella awoke to a knocking at her dorms door. She went to get up but noticed that Darling had already gone to open it.

“Oh Apple! What are you doing here?” She heard the sing-song giggle of the said girl as she answered “sweetie we have to be at the classroom an hour early.”

Darling made a noise of recognition as Rosabella groaned in her pillow. Closing the door her roommate went into the bathroom as she shouted over her shoulder of not taking to long.

In the meantime, she made her bed and chose her clothes for the day before getting a ping from her mirrorphone.

As she went to open it her face flushed a deep shade of pink at Darings text.

‘Good morning sweetheart

I hope you slept well, my sweetheart’

Rosabella rolled her eyes quickly replying, at the sound of her roommates footsteps she quickly closed her phone.

Getting changed, Rosabella and Darling made their way out of their dorm into the classroom where they found their teacher and the majority of princesses waiting.

“Lovely! Now that we’re all here I can get started with explaining the rules. One the princes will not show up before one hour. You all have to be perfect I’ve asked Blondie to broadcast so you have to be extra perfect-“

The teachers voice droned out in the background as Rosabella thought of ways she could entertain herself while being stuck as a damsel.

“And finally if I see a glimmer of imperfection you fail the assignment.” Many girls started to protest but the teacher only raised her hand.

“Now shall we proceed to the location picking.” The teacher had put in a glass bowl slips of paper where the location they had to be damsels at was written.

As Rosabella picked out a paper she and Darling looked at each other “ready?” Rosabella shook her head but still opened.

‘Entrance of a dragon’s layer’

She blinked once then twice, turning the paper over to see if was some mistake but no. She got the dragons layer of all things.

“You don’t look happy.” Rosabella looked up at Darling giving her a sarcastic smile “no really? I couldn’t have guessed.”

Darling gave her a sheepish look before asking “so what is it.” She just gave her slip while Darling gave her own.

‘Troll cave’

At least hers wouldn’t smell bad Rosabella thought as she handed the slip back to Darling. The said girl only giving her a regretful smile as the teacher started to speak again.

“Now I’ve asked Baba Yaga to teleport you all to your assigned places. So, good luck.”

Rosabella furrowed her brows looking at the time that read ‘8:30’ “but it’s still 8-.” She was cut of by the feeling of being knocked over by a powerful gust of wind.

Feeling as if the air had just gotten much thinner, Rosabella opened her eyes and gasped as she stood inside a dark layer covered in shiny things.

With a… horrifyingly big dragon starting to awake. Knowing that she was completely alone for the next hour and half Rosabella collected herself.

She carefully made her way to the entrance of the layer attempting to walk out before a sort of force knocked her back.

She attempted to press her hands against the seemingly open entrance but again she was knocked back.

Seeing as the dragon was still sleeping Rosabella found a spot of somewhat smooth rock and sat down.

She felt embarrassed that the only thing she could was sit and… wait. But it wasn’t exactly her fault that the entrance seemed sealed shut.

Remembering her teachers words, Rosabella sat up her posture straight as steel and her hands coming to rest delicately on her lap.

An other wave of embarrassment came over her, but she wasn’t the one to get a bad grade in any class. So if she had to become the perfect damsel, so be it.

Rosabella imagined how Apple would pose, how she would talk once her prince came and rescued her.

She couldn’t do much more thinking as only a few seconds later she felt the layer shake with the sound of the dragons yawning.

Her heart fell to the pit of her stomach, she tried to take deep breaths but with the feeling of the ground shaking with the dragons footsteps…

It seemed impossible.

Rosabella only hoped that the guy coming to save her wasn’t like Hopper (no offense to him though) as he would likely end up turning into a frog kabob.

So Rosabella thought back to all those months on damsel class and put a smile on her face. Even tho the dragon seemed to be a breath away.

—————

Darings POV-

even tho Darings destiny wasn’t to be Apples prince anymore he was still a Charming and all Charmings had to attend heroics class.

So here he was at 9:00am standing next to his brother as his teacher explained the assignment to the class.

“For today’s assignment we have paired up with the damsels in distressing class.”

Daring perked up, not because he was interested but because he knew his Rosabella took that class.

“The assignment is simply and easy. You have to save your princess from a fire breathing dragon. But due to the ladies assignment you can’t go until an hour has passed. Something about sitting with poise for an hour.”

Daring imagined Rosabella sitting and waiting like a damsel and chuckled to himself. As the class started to get rowdy the teacher cleared his throat.

“Those of you who have a destined princess will be paired up with her. Those who don’t know come up and pick a name from the bowl.”

Daring patted Dexter on the back as his brother walked up to the bowl and picked a name out.

“So who is it?” Dexter looked at him for second before sighing “Ashlynn.” Daring didn’t understand why that was such a bad thing. Out of all the princesses Ashlynn was one of them who knew how to play the perfect princess well.

“What’s the problem with that?” Dexter shrugged as he put the slip in his pocket “you know how mum and dad are about my destiny they have it in their heads that she’s my princess. And this will only add fuel to the fire.”

Daring was about to comfort him when something… displeasing reached his ears. He really had to thank that beast hearing at times like this.

“I got Rosabella!” Hopper showed his paper to Sparrow who was walking by, even tho he really didn’t seem to care.

But Daring cared, he cared a lot considering that Rosabella was his princess. She was his destined and his girlfriend.

“Hopper.” He didn’t care if his voice had a growl to it as he approached Hopper slowly as if he was his prey.

“Oh hey Daring! I got Rosabella, who did you get.” The poor guy just didn’t seem to get it, did he? It’s ok Daring would make him see.

“You see Hopper that’s the problem. Rosabella is my princess, my destined. So you can’t be her prince.” Sensing the rising tension Dexter went of and called their teacher before it got worse.

“Well… that’s to bad. I got her fair and square why can’t you go with Apple.” Something was triggered inside Darings mind, without thinking he went to lunge before he was held back.

“Hopper.” The teacher swiftly came over taking the slip form him “it seems there was a mistake. Like I said, if a princess already has a destined she would be paired up with them. Daring is Rosabellas destined.”

Hopper started to whine about fairness before the teacher threatened to fail him “you’ll be paired up with Lizzie Hearts. I don’t care if you’re unhappy about that.”

Hopper suddenly turned into his frog and started to spew hate poetry as Dexter dragged Daring away.

“I think Lizzie will be saving him don’t you think?” Dexter tried to lighten the mood but Daring wasn’t listening.

He was to focused with looking at the clock that would soon strike 10:00am. If Hopper thought that he’d do a better job job at saving his Rosabella then Daring would just have to prove him wrong.

“Alright just before you guys are teleported I’ll call out the location of your princess. Darling- troll cave, Apple- tower, Briar- dungeon, Ashlynn- swamp, Lizzie-.”

Daring droned out only listening when his princess was called out. “Rosabella- dragons layer.” Daring paused for a second as the words sunk in.

He knew that Rosabella was an expert in anything beast related but dragons were no joke. For all he knew she was a kabob by now, just then the clock struck 10.

Daring felt a gust of wind knock him over before he opened his eyes. In front him was a massive cave, with piles of rocks lining every corner he could see.

Taking his sword out he inspected the grounds for a different entrance before a deafening roar rang about.

Thanks to his beast hearing he also heard the shriek of Rosabella. Being on edge now that he thought she was injured he quickly made his way inside.

Sword in one hand shield in the other, running in he soon saw the horrifically large dragon. Its eyes were wild and its teeth bared, to the corner he saw his Rosabella crouched down on a rock.

Raising his sword he yelled at the dragon slashing at its face as it tried to bite him. From the side he heard Rosabella gasp and move behind a rock column as the dragon suddenly threw a fire ball at him.

He raised his shield swiftly, slowly moving in Rosabella direction to come get her behind his back.

But he was momentarily caught of guard when the dragon swiped at him with its tail. He jumped back, bringing his sword down as he pierced the dragons tails.

It let out an angry roar and threw an even bigger fire ball at him. With the sheer force of the blast Daring stumbled to one knee, keeping his shield raised and his eyes trained on a horrified Rosabella.

Getting back up he quickly side stepped the dragon, getting behind its large body he was about to slash at it when it suddenly jerked in Rosabellas direction.

Looking over at her he saw that she had thrown a rather large rock directly in its eye. “Rule number 95 of damsels in distress! Always keep the element of surprise!”

While that may have stunned the dragon for a second it now had Rosabella in its sight as the target. Something which Daring was not going to allow.

Clanging his sword against his shield the dragon swiftly turned in his direction, taking a deep breath he ran forward sword out as the dragon leaned down ready blast him to smithereens.

But he saw an opening as the dragon had its neck too far open on the left side. Swinging his sword he managed to make a gash to the dragons neck.

It roared in pain and stumbled to the side, seeing the opportunity Daring ran past. He reached Rosabella in a matter of seconds before the dragon started to recover.

“Rosabella! Are you ok?” She couldn’t answer him as the dragons tail smashed on the rock Rosabella was hiding behind.

She stumbled back and Daring was knocked away. He felt his head spin for a second but the sound of a terrified scream from Rosabella had him on his feet in seconds.

Before him he found the dragon creeping up on his Rosabella who had fallen to the ground and was covering her head with her arms in a futile attempt to cover herself.

Without thinking Daring jumped on the dragons tail, the dragon spun around trying to reach him as he held on hoping that it could burn itself by throwing a fire blast.

And just as he hoped the dragon opened its mouth and Daring counted to ten before jumping of just as the dragon burnt its own tail.

Grabbing his sword and shield he ran even quicker than before to Rosabella. He took her waist in his arm and pulled her behind him as he walked backwards cautiously.

He kept an eye on the wailing dragon as he made sure to keep his hold on Rosabella before they made it out the cave.

—————

Rosabellas POV-

As Daring pulled her out of the cave Rosabella remembered that this was an filmed assignment and put on her best damsel act.

Which she wasn’t going to admit was pretty real considering she was really scared a few moments ago.

“Oh my hero! My savior, you slayed the beast so bravely. I think you deserve a princesses kiss.”

Daring looked at her in confusion for a second before realization filled his eyes and he put on that award winning smile.

Winking he picked her up bridal style, “my fair lady do not worry your Prince Charming will always be there.”

Rosabella somewhat faked and somewhat swooned in real life as she fanned herself and put a hand to her forehead.

Suddenly they both felt a gust of wind hit them and when they opened their eyes they were back at school in front of their teachers.

Rosabellas teacher was fanning herself and swooning as she said “A+ Rosabella! What a performance and… such heroism!”

Daring flashed the teacher his iconic smile and she fainted backwards into the arms of his teacher. “Yes. Well done Daring A+ as well.”

Daring thanked his teacher and they both watched as he dragged the other away. Once the two teachers were out of sight Rosabella jumped out of Darings arms.

“So my hero. What reward do you want.” He raised a brow crossing his arms “what do you mean?” Rosabella sighed pretending to wonder as she approached him.

“Oh I don’t know what ever you want.” She winked as she palmed his hardening cock before walking away.

——————————

This fic is kinda inspired by one of the EAH comics where I think Darings mum had to do something similar

And as always I hope everyone enjoyed and if you guys have any commissions for OTHER fandoms then I’d be more than happy to take them.

(But again this break from EAH will only last about 2 weeks at most so please don’t bring out the pitchforks)

[somber-sapphic]

Prompt List

Just as the title says, a list of prompts! Have fun!

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

Caretaker Sentence Starters:

1. “Oookay, you sure are delirious.” 

2. “Just can’t shake that cough, huh?” 

3. “Your complexion is scaring me, please sit down.” 

4. “You’ve kept that cough through two colds and it sounds like you’re on your third.” 

5. “Did you hide the thermometer from me?” 

6. “How much medicine did you take?” 

7. “You wanna walk by yourself? Alright, let's see that.” 

8. “When you said you were sick I thought you meant a cold, not the damn plague!” 

9. “Mm…I don’t think it’s just the sniffles this time honey.” 

10. “Please stop wasting what's left of your voice on complaints about soup you can’t even taste.”

11. “I can tell you’re sicker than you’re letting on.”

12. “This is the third time I’ve had to put you back in bed, why the hell do you want to lie on the floor so badly?” 

13. “I know you’re cold, but that blanket is gross now, you need a clean one, okay?” 

14. “Hey, it’s just a dream, wake up.” 

14. “You’re alright.”

16. “Are you okay?”

17. “Hey, hey, hey. I’m here.” 

18. “Go back to sleep darling.”

19. “How can I help?”

20. “You’re not up to this, you can barely stand!” 

21. “Go back to bed before you hurt yourself.” 

22. “Oh, you sound way worse than you did yesterday. What happened?” 

23. “You’ve gotta calm down for me, I can’t help unless you calm down.”

24. “Is the fever getting to you?” 

25. “Still don’t feel up to eating?” 

26. “I give you credit for lasting as long as you did, you were cooking in your own skin.”

27. “When was the last time you checked your temperature?” 

28. “Are you feeling any better?” 

29. “You really don’t look good…”

30. “Have you gotten any sleep?”

31. “You’ve been sick for how long? And you didn’t say anything because…?”

32. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

33. “I made you some tea, you need to stay hydrated.”

34. “I know you don’t feel well, but you have to eat – just something light.” 

35. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this sick.”

36. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well.”

37. “You really, really need to get some rest.”

38. “Your voice sounds like rocks scraping against sandpaper.” 

39. “You look like death warmed over.” 

Sickie Types (optional, but fun!!) 

99.9% Immunity - they never get sick, right? Wrong. 

Elephant in the Room - they’re sick, but for some reason, perhaps rank or personality, no one is talking about it. Until it gets bad.

Heroes Don’t Take Sick Days - there’s no time to rest when you have to save the world, so sickie has to push themselves even when miserable. 

Insult to Injury - as if being injured wasn’t enough, now they’re getting sick too. 

Ill Timed - it is the worst possible time for them to be sick, but their body didn’t get the memo. 

Irreplaceable - they are the leader or the boss and aren’t able to take personal time off, even when they’re sick.

It’s Nothing - they insist they’re fine, right up until they collapse. 

Medic Down - How do the other characters handle it when their usual caretaker is sick?

Milking It - if they’re sick, they’re at least going to get as much pampering out of it as they can. 

Not a Word - sickie said they don’t get sick and isn’t in the mood for anyone to remind them while they recover. 

Stepping Up - boss/leader is clearly miserable, so the others go out of their way to take as much of their workload as possible. 

Suffer in Silence - for whatever reason, they don’t want anyone to know they’re sick and do everything they can to hide it.

Team Mom/Dad - the typical team Mom/Dad gets sick, leaving the others to scramble to take care of them.

Sickie Scenarios:

🥀Feeling so out of it, they need constant attention.

🌹Barefoot sleeping wanderings. 

🪷Being let back to bed with patient whispers. 

🌷Collapsing into someone’s waiting arms. 

🌻Forehead kisses

🌼Being picked up 

🌸Being called things like baby, sweetheart or honey

🌺Shaky hands

💐 Waking up either adorably confused or painfully scared

🌾Comfort after a nightmare

🪴Medicine

🍀Nap

☘️Hand holding 

🌿Lullaby

🌴Reaching out for someone 

🌳Bath

🐍Thermometer

🌵Fingers running through sweaty hair

Sickie Sentence Starters (hehe, alliteration) 

1A“I don’t have time to sleep off a little cold.”

2A“I didn’t think it’d get this bad…”

3A“Shit. Did I wake you up?”

4A“It all hurts . . . so much. I just want it to be over already.”

5A“Why should you care?”

6A“I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

7A“Hold my hand, please?” 

8A“Relax, it’s just a cold.”

9A“Leave me alone.”

10A“Honestly, I’m fine.”

11A“I…I really don’t feel well.”

12A“Will you just hold me?”

13A“I wanna go home.”

14A“It’s a cough.”

15A“I am not taking my temperature.”

16A“My head hurts.”

17A“My throat just hurts too much.”

18A“Can I have some water? Please?”

19A“Can we cuddle?” 

20A“m’ sleepy.” 

21A“Everything’s fine, don’t worry about me.”

22A“Look, you worry about you, I’ll worry about me.”

23A“My god, you’re pushy.”

24A“Thank you. I’m sorry for being sick.”

25A“I don’t take medicine.”

26A“I’m NOT sick.”

[sparkedblaze]

Hi I’m coming to you from hiding out at work to bring you the wildest most fucking out there hc I’ve ever considered:

Francis “so that’s what they call a family” Sullivan is the brother of Michael “there’s no way I am putting those kids back in danger” Sullivan

Livesies is just a nightmare Francis has of Michael going through the strike instead of himself, with the same adopted pseudonym. It’s been years since the strike, he actually made it to Santa Fe and that’s why all the people are different because he doesn’t *quite* remember everyone. Each reiteration of Livesies is another nightmare. Same names. New faces.

He dreams of Michael being bigger and better and everything he wasn’t. Of Michael staying. It’s why Denton isn’t there, Katherine is instead.

*

Santa Fe Prologue is Francis wishing he’d been better to Crutchie. Wishing he’d gotten to know the boy and actually be friends with him instead of just seeing him as That Annoying Little Brother.

Santa Fe itself turns from longing for an escape to longing for *family*

Seize the Day goes from boys excited to stand up for themselves to almost a bitter ballad about being courageous (*cough instead of, say, running to Santa Fe cough*)

Bottom Line gives an insight to what Pulitzer’s thinking is. But not like an adult would think of it. “Proud of themselves and so grateful to me, they’ll be begging to pay even more.” Pulitzer was greedy, but he wasn’t stupid. He would’ve known that the boys weren’t gonna be *happy* to pay more.

Medda goes from this kind of jaunty, aunt-like figure to what Francis wants-what he *needs*-a mom.

Then he meets Katherine. Not Denton, not Sarah, Katherine. Maybe he couldn’t face either of them. Maybe he wanted something new. But, Katherine sometimes loving him out of nowhere would probably be explained by Francis not knowing what love looks like, especially from a girl.

King of New York doesn’t include him, probably because Francis, again, *couldn’t face them*, especially celebrating a win like that.

LETTER FROM THE REFUGE. It’s not in the first few nightmares. He hasn’t had time to fully wallow in his regret. But, once he realizes, the guilt starts eating at him. He’s now including Crutchie in a bigger part in his nightmares. He’s dreaming about how Crutchie was probably scared to death in the time without him in the Refuge.

But he also couldn’t send Michael there.

Watch What Happens Reprise is Francis *longing* for someone to *want him* to come home.

Katherine being Pulitzer’s daughter-without telling him- is Francis feeling betrayed in his own way. Not by anyone in particular, but just in general. By people he was supposed to be able to trust.

Brooklyn’s Here is Francis being pissed that Brooklyn took *so fucking long* to join the strike.

Once and For All. Francis vaguely remember that happening. He kind of remembers what happened. But, all he knows is Michael will Do Better Than Him. He has to Do Better. He has to *Be* Better.

He has to stay.

Other things that kind of prove the point:

•Livesies Jack isn’t called Cowboy. Francis-even in his worst nightmares-couldn’t stand seeing Michael bear the weight of his legacy.

•Livesies Jack is an artist. Maybe showing Francis has had time to slow down, and actually *enjoy* the little things in like. Like the sunset. The moon. Horses. Swimming. Little things.

•92sies Jack lacks a passion-particularly for the newsies- that Livesies Jack *thrives* on. Livesies Jack is doing everything to keep those kids safe, and 92sies Jack is doing everything for more selfish reasons (money, leaving)

•Santa Fe, to Livesies Jack, is more of a dream. A fictional place he can paint to escape to. 92sies Jack has a Very Good Idea of what Santa Fe is like.

[meraki24601]

Just a fever

I’ve been reading a few sickfics recently and thought I’d write one based on what it felt like when I had COVID. Only, this time someone comes to help. Someone unexpected.

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

Hero sits in their car, staring blankly out the windshield. It’s been years since they were last sick. Honestly, they couldn’t really remember the last time they’d had more than a simple migraine. There’s no denying their illness now. The dull aching that held their body down in the seat. The throbbing in their temples. The dryness of their throat.

It had been steadily creeping up on them all week. What had started as a light cough no one paid any attention to thanks to the changing seasons, slowly getting worse. Finally, their boss sent them home an hour early today to get some rest over the weekend. Now, they just have to make it inside. Easy.

The car door swings open faster than they had expected. Their grip on the handle nearly pulls them out of the car to slam against the brick wall next to the vehicle. Maybe if Hero can take a nap then they’ll feel better. It’s probably a stomach bug based on how the offended area churns as Hero walks into their cold home. They turn up the heat, grab a blanket, and sit in their favorite chair to wait for the worst of it to pass. 

Sleep overtakes them before they can fully settle the blanket over their tired body.

A splash jolts Hero from their sleep. The room around them is blurry and their head feels heavy as they try to orient themselves. Another splash behind them draws their attention to the fish tank in the corner. Hero’s fish swims to the surface and slaps the water with their tail when they find no food. 

“Right. I’m sorry.” Hero whispers to the offended creature, “I didn’t feed you when I got back, did I?” They usually feed the fish first thing when they get home, and now it's… 9:30… Oh. They slept for nearly 6 hours. 

The fish splashes again and Hero laughs breathily. “Alright, alright. I’m sorry. You must be really hungry.” Hero’s legs shake so much they fear they’ll fall into the tank. It’s not far from their chair to the small container of fish food. They can’t help but wish they had wrapped the blanket around their shoulders as they struggle to hold the container steady against their uncontrollable shivers. All they want is to sit down, but their hands are too sweaty to close the lid on the bottle. 

Wait. They feel so cold their limbs are frozen into ice, making it hard to move, and yet they’re sweating like they just finished an intense workout.

Well, that’s not good. 

Grabbing their blanket as they pass, Hero stumbles into their bathroom. They sit on the edge of the tub and stuff their thermometer in their mouth. At least their stomach isn’t churning like it was before, and their muscles don’t feel as stiff. No. That’s not right. The ache is still there. It’s an unpleasant background noise adding to the pressure in their head.

The thermometer beeps and Hero gasps, “102.7!” They don’t think they’ve ever had a fever that high. Their breath catches in their chest. This is really bad. They live alone, so there’s no one there to help them if things get worse. How high of a fever is too high? They should probably lay back down. They still feel so cold. Are they allowed to have a blanket over them? They should probably drink some water, but won’t that mess things up if they try to take their temperature again? They haven’t eaten anything since lunch, but what if eating makes them throw up? 

Hero blinks, their body stiffening. They’re no longer sitting on the edge of their bathtub. Instead, their knees are pressed against the arm of their chair, hands tightly gripping the back of the seat for balance. When did they leave the bathroom? A rough coughing fit compresses their chest and makes it hard to breathe.

Slumping in their chair, Hero sighs. Even with their blanket, they’re still cold. They turn on their TV. Maybe the noise can distract them from the mess in their mind. A fever, aches that are there but also not, pressure like the beginning of a migraine, and missing time. And with no real history of being sick, they’re not really sure if this is normal. Should they be concerned or just sleep?

An especially strong shiver pulls Hero from their thoughts. Weak hands reach for their phone. It’s been nearly an hour since they woke up. When did that happen? The dull ache in their muscles has sunken even deeper but they’re surprisingly steady as they stand. Each step ripples through their body and presses on their mind as they walk back to the bathroom. This time, the thermometer reads 103.4.

“That’s it.” They whisper to no one. “I’m calling Mentor.” They stumble a bit as they leave the bathroom, slamming into the wall. Their phone is heavy in their hand. Are they being too dramatic? It’s already after 10. Actually nearly 11 now. Mentor might be asleep. Hero hits the call button before they’ve completely made up their mind.

“Hero? Is everything alright? You don’t usually call me this late.” Mentor’s voice is loud in their quiet house. Even the TV volume is turned down low enough that it can barely be heard. 

“I’m sorry, Mentor. I think I might be sick and I don’t know what to do about it.” Hero’s voice is barely over a whisper and so gravelly from their dry throat they aren’t sure Mentor would understand them. 

Mentor yawns in their ear, “Really? You never get sick. Do you have a fever?” Mentor is quiet as Hero lists their symptoms. It takes them a moment to respond once Hero goes quiet. “Hmm. You’re definitely sick.” Another yawn. “I don’t think you need to go to the hospital yet, but let me know if your fever gets higher. Okay?”

“Okay. Thank you, Mentor.” Hero sighs. They feel a little better knowing Mentor doesn’t think it’s bad enough to warrant a hospital visit. Smothering a cough, they listen as Mentor mumbles goodbye and hangs up. This is really going to suck, but they can make it through this. They just need to distract themselves and monitor their temperature.

Once again, they stumble to the bathroom. 103.6

Their chest tightens at the sight. Mentor told them to tell them if the fever gets worse, but surely they didn’t mean by .2 degrees. Mentor needs to sleep. Hero shouldn’t bother them. They just need a distraction. Maybe they should pick up the dirty clothes they left on the bathroom floor. 

Hero’s head spins as they bend over to gather up the clothes. For a moment their vision goes dark around the edges, but it passes and they stand with the clothes in their arms. Staying close to the wall, just in case, they sort the clothes into their laundry basket. They’re moving so slow it takes them nearly ten minutes to finish the job and return to the bathroom. 

They check again. 103.7.

They clear the small pile of trash from the coffee table in the living room.

103.9.

Hero sits for a while to watch TV.

104.2.

They sweep the entryway of tracked-in grass cuttings, only falling against the walls twice.

104.5.

Maybe they should stop. Hero’s chest is tight. They can barely catch a full breath. They wonder if they should call Mentor again since they’re sure having a fever over 104 degrees is bad, but it’s already 11:30. Mentor is definitely asleep now. Besides, Hero is still functional. They haven’t actually passed out and they’re still able to focus and think and move. They’re fine, right? They shouldn’t bother people so much. They’ll send them a text! That way if they’re still awake they’ll be able to respond, but they won’t wake them up if they’re asleep. 

Hero steps out of the bathroom and starts down the hall to get their phone when the doorbell rings. Hero can’t help but jump and drops the thermometer they had been clutching. Who would visit them at this hour? Mentor? Maybe they came to check on them after all! Their chest tightens even more. Mentor has a key.

The door bursts open and Villain struts into Hero’s house. 

Their shallow breath catches in Hero’s heavy lungs. Their phone is still in the living room. Too far for them to make it before Villain catches them. There’s a panic button in their bedroom down the hall. Maybe they can make it. 

Clutching their chest, Hero turns to run for the room only a few steps away. The motion is too fast with the pressure on their head. The world spins and they stumble against the wall. “Five steps.” Hero pushes themself, “Just five steps and then a locking door. Then you’re safe.”

They make it two before they collapse. 

Villain’s hands are rough as they flip Hero onto their back. Their face, however, looks concerned. They say something Hero can’t hear, then disappear from view. Hero starts to stand, but Villain’s frown materializes above them again and something is shoved into their mouth. 

Strong hands hold Hero down and the object in their mouth. ‘Please,’ they want to beg, ‘let me go. I can’t breathe.’ 

An alarm goes off and the object is removed from their mouth. The pressure on their chest disappears with it. A burst of air floods their lungs. Just enough to scream as they feel their clothes being pulled off. “No. Stop.” 

They don’t stop. A quiet voice pierces the ringing in their ears as their last layer of protection is removed. “I’m not letting you die like this.” Hero is helpless to stop them as they move their body and a rush of cold water covers them.

It’s cold. Too cold. They can’t breathe. The world goes dark.

Part 2