#anyway i can work through headaches and fevers no problem

[qatarsprint2023]

Hi can I request a lando x f!reader when she’s really sick and how lando takes care of her, like A. fluffy and comforting fic. I just found ur acc and I’m so excited for ur upcoming writings!!!!

~🎀

Thank you sm! Hope you enjoy this one, 🎀<3

Sick days and Race weekends— LN4

Lando discovers that his girlfriend got sick while he was away for a race and didn't want to worry him. — Lando Norris x f!reader, fluff, comfort, reader has a bad case of the flu, no use of y/n word count: ca. 1.2k

Ever since you were a kid you'd never been the type of person to get actually sick. Sure, a little cough and runny nose maybe, but nothing ever really drastic. Personally, you were pretty sure your immune system was simply a wonderful combination of good genes and growing up in the countryside.

Your parents had always told you that the fresh air and spending a lot of time outdoors with some exposure to animals had probably played some part in your never being sick as well and developed your immune system in a way people who grew up in urban areas would never have.

But when you moved to London for uni a little later in life, a huge city with tons of traffic, pollution and surprisingly little greenery, you found yourself getting sick more often than when you lived on your parent's farm surrounded by green grass, fields that stretched for miles and lots of animals. However this time you got sick. Runny nose, aching joints, pounding headache, hacking cough, fever that came and went as it pleased... The whole flu package, really.

You'd already started feeling a little off before Lando left for Austin on Wednesday and it had gradually gotten a little worse each day, but by Friday it all just hit like a wrecking ball. But you being you, decided not to say anything much about it and tell your boyfriend it was just a common cold you were dealing with back home.

He'd done so well in Qualifying on Friday and he should really be concentrating on his upcoming race and not his girlfriend's inane complaints from halfway across the globe. You didn't like worrying people. It didn't feel right plaguing someone else with your problems when surely you could somehow find a way to work it out yourself anyway.

But now it was Monday morning and you had curled up on the couch under the heaviest blanket you could find with a half empty tissue box and a giant mug of tea on the coffee table beside you a few hours ago already. You were cold and shivering like leaves in the wind on an icey autumn day like today, even with your hot drink and the warm blanket thrown across your body.

You couldn't have been more miserable. You felt like you were dying. You couldn't go to work, or leave the house because you simply felt awful and weak. So, you decided to just lay down on the couch and wait for Lando to get home.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of waiting for the familiar sound of a key turning in the lock, you perked up a little at the sound coming from the door across the room. Lando stepped inside and shut the door behind him with a soft sigh slipping past his lips, not noticing you.

"Hey... P2!" you croaked weakly and forced a small smile onto your lips when you saw your boyfriend step into your shared flat, suitcase in hand, his coat and shoes still on as well after he just made his way through Heathrow airport and probably (definitely) went through a mini heart attack too when his luggage didn't immediately come out with everything else from the flight, like he always does when you're flying somewhere.

He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he'd actually heard you call out to him. It was the last thing he expected to hear. Reasonable response, you had to concur— after all, you were supposed to be at work. Then he turned to face the couch and saw you laying there, basically drowning under the heavy fabric of your blanket.

"Hey, hey... What's wrong? Why aren't you at work?" he asked in a voice that showed obvious signs of worry as he quickly kicked his shoes off and went over to you, feeling your forehead with his cold palm. "Jesus. You're basically on fire, baby... I thought you just had a normal cough?!"

"Didn't wanna worry you," you chuckled with an innocent smile, but before you knew it, your chuckle turned into yet another harsh cough. According to your mum, you sounded like an elephant with tuberculosis, like she told you over the phone yesterday. Harsh but true comparison, you had to admit.

Lando groaned and shook his head in an exaggerated way. "Yeah but, you should worry me when you get a fever like this!" However his expression softened to one of sympathy as he sat down beside you on the edge of the beige couch, gently stroking your forehead in an attempt to make you feel more at ease.

"Why didn't you tell me you felt this bad when we talked yesterday?" he frowned, some of his soft curls falling onto his forehead.

"You just got P2 and you sounded so happy about that on the phone, so I didn't wanna dampen the mood," you respond with a shrug.

"The only thing you've got me feeling right now is worried, baby. Come on, you can hardly talk without having a coughing fit," he sighed, putting his arm around you and planting a kiss on the crown of your head. "Have you had anything to eat?"

"Not yet," you sniffled softly and shook your head, rubbing the bridge of your nose with your index finger and thumb. It felt like there was someone playing a damn drum solo against the inside of your skull. "Didn't have the energy to make myself anything more than tea. I feel like death..."

"I know, baby, I know..." Lando sighed softly and gently stroked your cheek with his thumb as he stood up and placed his hands on his hips, looking down at you. "I'll make you some toast, okay? But first let's get you to bed... The couch isn't comfortable enough for when my girl needs to rest. It'll give you a stiff neck, sweetheart."

Lando gently looped his arm around your waist and helped you get up from the couch, a soft groan escaping your throat. He held you upright as you slowly walked over to the bedroom where your boyfriend lied you down in bed and pulled the covers over your shivering body, enveloping you in a warm sea of soft bedsheets.

"Alright..." he said with a sympathetic gaze in his hazel eyes and fluffed up your pillow a little, so you could lay down more comfortably. "I'll make you something and I'll bring you your tea in a minute too. Oh and some of that cough syrup we have as well. I know you don't like it, but I don't like it when you sound like you're gonna cough up your lungs any second. Do you want me to make you some soup later too?"

"You can make soup?" you retorted raspily and covered your mouth as another cough slipped past your chapped lips.

"Well... no... But I can make soup from the can?" Lando suggested with a sheepish grin, which caused you to smile a bit as well. It was so nice to have someone who just wanted to help and make you feel better.

"That'd be nice, thank you..." you replied softly and smiled, though you quickly covered your mouth as he leaned down to kiss you. "No! I'll get you sick too!"

"Well, I sure as hell won't let you sleep alone tonight, so whether I kiss you now or have my arm around you for seven hours tonight doesn't really make a big difference, does it?" he chuckled and gently took your hand away from your face to press a chaste kiss against your pale lips.

"Stay with me afterwards?" you hummed softly, not yet pulling away from the tender sensation of his lips on yours and your hand in his.

"I'll stay as long as you want me to," said Lando in response and gently gave your hip a pat. "But first I'll get you something to eat and your tea from the living room, yeah?"

[twodimensionalboyfriend]

Sick </3

wc: ~1.3k read time: ~5 minutes

༉‧₊˚.¸♡ master list✧ '*•༉

cw: fluff! smooches here and there i guess! gn throughout! also not proofread lol

I have fucking covid!! my bones are on fire!!!

on a serious note, i have never been sick like this before in my life, i had the worst skin and joint aches i'd ever had in my life and my head felt like it was going to explode with pressure and my ears are still fuckin clogged. so anyways im gonna project my problems into this fic in the order in which i experienced them as a form of therapy and if anybody else is out there sick rn, i hope you have a jason todd to make it bearable!

On a silly note, I met a stray cat in the neighborhood the other day but she's been spayed! im hoping this is the cat distribution system at play

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," you groaned.

You're sitting on the couch trying to convince your boyfriend that you're not sick. It's just allergies! Allergies that come with body aches, pressure in your head, and now a fever.

Jason showed you the thermometer, "Dude, you're running at 100.1..."

You looked at the thermometer incredulously, "Isn't that thing super old? I mean how do we even know it still works? Take it again."

Jason sighed and scanned your forehead again, "Babe, we bought this a couple months ago." He glared at you as he showed you the thermometer again, which now read 100.2.

"Tch, that's barely even a fever," you said rolling your eyes.

"That's it. You're going on bed rest."

"Woah, what?? Jason, I told you I'm fine! Besides I have so much to do today. We need groceries, I have a prescription to pick up, there are so many dishes in the sink, I have laundry to fold and I have work this evening. A little cold isn't... what are you doing?" You cut yourself off as you saw Jason typing on his phone.

"Thanks for the to-do list! While you rest, I'll go and get this done. Grocery list is on the fridge and our pharmacy is in the store, so text me if you need anything else. I am more than capable of doing dishes and laundry, so you don't have to worry about that. And I love you, but you're crazy if you think you're going into work tonight. Text your boss a picture of the thermometer and call out. Or I'll do it for you, whatever you prefer."

"Ar-Are you sure? I mean it's..." You trailed off. You really did feel like shit and it's not like you necessarily wanted to do these errands and chores. After a moment of thinking, you sighed and relented, "Okay, fine, only if you're completely sure you can handle it."

"(Y/N), I'm an adult. If I couldn't do laundry, you should be worried about me." You tried to laugh a little, but it quickly snowballed into a coughing fit, "Woah woah, take it easy. I'm gonna take the list and go to the store. Again, text me if you need anything or if you just wanna say hi," he said with a smile.

Your eyes welled up a bit as you whispered, "Thank you, Jason. I love you very much."

"I love you too, I'll be back soon."

--------

The front door swung open and Jason's voice rang through your shared apartment, "Honey, I'm home!"

You couldn't have gotten up if you tried. You're sickly moan from the couch alarmed Jason, and he dropped the groceries and ran to your side.

You were lying on the couch in your spiderman sweats and a hoodie; your arms draped over your eyes to block out the white lights from the kitchen that added to your headache. Your entire body ached like it never has before. The sight squeezed Jason's heart. "Oh, honey," he said sympathetically, pressing his hands to your cheeks, "Woah, you are burning up! Hang on." He snatched the thermometer from the coffee table and tested his partner. The screen lit up red. It read 101.7.

You mumbled, "H-Holy shit..." It was a bit too much to talk right now.

"Okay babe, I got you some chicken noodle soup because that's what Alfred always made us, and I don't quite have his cooking skills--and this is, uh from a uh... a can--but I'm gonna make some for you, and that should hopefully make you feel better," he looked at you with worry. "Then would you want to watch Pride & Prejudice while I folded the laundry? The movie obviously, since you like it. Even though the show is better," he grumbled at the end.

God damn it. You were crying again.

You were experiencing so many different emotions you didn't really know what else to do. You loved Jason so much and felt so much gratitude for the way he was taking care of you. As if there was nothing else he could possibly be doing right now other than be here. This is on top of the fact that you've been in agony for the past hour as you got worse and worse; and you were really tired of feeling that way.

This shocked and scared Jason, "I'm sorry!! The movie isn't that bad! I just like that the show's more accurate to the book! Also, when Lizzie runs through the rain, why does she grab a soaking wet cloth from the very same rain storm to dry her hair?! I'm sorry I just--"

"I love you so much," you croaked out. "I also feel like fucking garbage."

This put Jason at ease and he kissed the top of your head. "I'm sorry you feel like shit, sweetheart. I do this because I love you too. Like, a lot. Now stop talking and spare your voice. Let's get you cozy and hopped up on vitamin C, and we'll just take it easy."

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

The next morning, you woke up. You sat up slowly and realized most of the pressure in your head is gone. Your body no longer felt like it was on fire! Definitely still congested though. You also realized you fell asleep on the couch after the first proposal, yet you were currently sitting in your bed. Jason must've brought you in. Suddenly, a sneeze crept up and exploded out of you. Then another. Then one more. Jesus, that hurt your chest.

Your fit was loud enough to let Jason know you had woken up. He came into the room holding a spatula. The opened door let in a sweet smell and a sizzling sound. "How are you feeling, baby?" He walked towards you.

"Well I can bear to be conscious, so I'd say much better. What's going on in the kitchen?"

He pressed his hand to your forehead and said, "Pancakes! And lots of orange juice. I don't think you’re in the clear yet. Sit tight; I'm gonna get the thermometer and take your temperature."

Ignoring his request, you got up to meet him in the living room. You stepped out of the bedroom and was met with the sight of Jason discarding the pancake that had burned due to his doting. He saw you walking towards him and urged you to go back to bed, "Go back! I'm gonna bring you breakfast in bed. Pancakes, juice, fruit, the whole shebang."

"No it's okay, let me be out here with you. I'd kiss you good morning, but I fear I might poison you and get you sick."

Jason stole a quick kiss, much to your surprise, "I spent all night with you. If I were to get it, I don't think a kiss would be what seals my fate. You're plate is ready, by the way."

He handed you a plate stacked with 3 pancakes and a butter slice, drizzled in maple syrup with strawberries and whipped cream. It was beautiful, "Oh my god, Jason, that's so gorgeous I don't think I can eat it." Your stomach growled and promptly gave away your true feelings.

"Tear it up, baby girl."

You sat down as Jason finished making his stack. He sat down with you and you both began eating. Pre-packaged pancake mix has never tasted so good.

"Thank you for nursing me back to health, Jason. You've made this past few days in unbearable hell feel more like a manageable limbo."

He laughed, "What else was I supposed to do? Let the love of my life suffer?"

"God I don't know what I would do if I didn't have you in my life."

"Well, fortunately, you'll never have to." He leaned over the table and pressed a syrupy kiss to your lips.

if there are an content warnings you think i missed, please tell me so!! i’ll add them to this post and remember to add them to future ones!! :) ♡ ♡

and pls pls like and reblog and reply!! literally if you interact i will kiss you on the mouth

[okdeedee]

lay down your head

a very small din djarin x gn! reader sickfic . reader,,, works with mando? is hired by him? live-in employee. idk. the razor crest still exists. handwavey in terms of chronology.

__

an: because i have a shitty cold / fever / idk right now. so i daydream about how din djarin would take care of someone. me. us. whatever.

warnings: fluff. the mortifying ideal of being vulnerable with your colleagues/friends/crushes. no use of pronouns other than "you/your" and no y/n.

feat. trying to debunk the theory that being in the rain/being in somewhat cold weather will make you sick, one fic at a time. (hypothermia is real, catching a cold/the flu from being in the cold is not.)

wc: 1.3k words of 11pm feverish delirium.

__

It starts as a funny feeling behind your nose. As the day goes on, it spreads down to the back of your throat. Then there's the melancholy dawn of a dull headache and your joints start to hurt more than they usually do.

You're helping Mando carry a bounty back to the Crest at around three in the morning, Coruscant time, and suddenly it's ridiculously difficult.

The bounty is a fairly waiflike Twi'lek, so you're not sure why you're struggling. He could carry her on his own, sure, but you've watched him move enough that you can tell he's got back problems, so you try to help him carry heavy or awkwardly shaped things.

This Twi'lek in her hoop-skirted Opera-Concert-Goer finery definitely counts as the latter.

You watch him a lot.

The way he moves, how he interacts with his child, his prowess in combat. His proficiency with weapons gets you hot under the collar, sometimes.

But he's gruff and quite reserved, and you've taught yourself not to expect anything from this arrangement the two of you have. You haven't touched him before - not even to shake his hand.

When you trip over your own feet and the bounty goes lurching toward the floor, the Mandalorian pauses and glances at you with what you think might be annoyance.

But you can't see his face, obviously, and you sort of can't see full-stop in this dark alley, so it's anyone's guess.

By the time you get back to the Crest, your eyes burn with the effort of keeping them open. You don't want to be a liability, so you keep your head straight and you don't show any sign of weakness.

Once the bounty is frozen in carbonite, Mando climbs up the ladder, Grogu gurgling happily in his satchel. He doesn't seem to have noticed anything's really wrong with you, which is a relief. As soon as his boots disappear into the cockpit, you slump down to the floor.

Mando doesn't need a co-pilot - you're often down here during take-off anyway, tidying or putting your weapons away.

You value your alone time as much as he does, which is nice. He never pries when you need some time away from him and his little green kid.

You ache all over and you're shivering, but at least he can't see you. You're so tired that you fall asleep with your head resting against the weapon cupboard's door.

.

After he gets the Crest out of Coruscant's atmosphere and into hyperspace, Din lets Grogu play with a very small selection of the control panel that will not have drastic effects on the ship.

It takes a while, but the child's movements grow lethargic, and soon enough, he's asleep in Din's arms.

Din places him gently into his mobile cot so as to not wake him by taking him down the ladder, and realises he hasn't heard you move in over an hour.

Which is somewhat alarming - you take turns in the cot in the hull, and since Din can sleep in the pilot's chair, he figured you'd sleep there.

But he never heard the cot door depressurize and slam open, nor did he hear you pottering around like he usually does.

So he makes his way down the ladder, and he's bewildered by what he sees.

You're slumped on the ground, neck bent at an uncomfortable angle against the cupboard. You're breathing through your mouth a little raggedly, so fast you're almost panting, and there is a trickle of mucus coming out of your nose. Your hands twitch where they're draped across your torso, and your skin looks dull.

His heartrate skyrockets - he's a seasoned warrior and you're just his employee, so it probably shouldn't - and he moves over to you instantly.

Before he can think, he turns on the thermal view on his helmet, and sees that your head is hotter than the human head usually appears. So is your whole body.

He flicks it back to normal as he crouches next to you.

"Hey, wake up," he mutters.

He reaches out a hand to touch your shoulder, but he stops. He hasn't touched you before. Not intentionally. He wonders if you'd mind.

He thinks about it more and more each day.

Touching you.

Holding your hand, standing shoulder to shoulder, stroking your face.

Pressing your foreheads together in the way of his people, even if it's through his helmet.

But this is to make sure you're okay; it's different, so he reaches out and gently shakes you by one shoulder.

"Hey, you need to wake up," he murmurs.

You grunt, and your voice sounds like the rumble of footsteps over gravel.

"Can you open your eyes for me?"

Your eyelashes are a little crusted together, but you manage to open them. Your stare is vacant.

Din starts to panic.

"Did someone poison you? Did you eat something bad? Are you alright?"

You give him a sleepy chuckle, and your eyes close again, which is not helpful.

"Hey." He says with the sort of no-nonsense tone he uses with the child.

You blink. "What?"

"Did you get poisoned? Or spiked?"

"'M fine, Mando."

"You're not."

You huff, which sets you into a fit of coughing.

"What's wrong?" He asks.

You look at him with those bright, bloodshot eyes. You sniff and blink a few more times, blearily. It's silly, because he's really worried there's something wrong with you, but the open, sleepy expression on your face fills him with affection.

"Sweetheart, please."

You smile just barely. "Really, 'm fine. Just'a cold," you mumble.

"How would you have gotten a cold? The rain yesterday?" Din starts to spiral; he's supposed to protect you, whether he's ever expressed that to you or not, and now you're sick-

"Prob'ly that club a few days ago. Lots'a people. Confined space. No ventilation. Wonder why you didn't get sick."

"My helmet filters out most toxins and germs." He says.

You reach out and fiddle with the edge of one of the pouches strapped around his calf. "Lucky boy," you say, grinning dazedly.

You look incredibly unwell, but you're touching him, joking around with him. His heart pounds.

Then you groan and put your hand to your head, and he's whirled into action again.

.

The next half hour is hard to remember in full detail. You're so tired.

These are the glimpses you're conscious enough for:

Mando lifts you up, even with his bad back, and sits you up properly. He gets painkillers from the 'fresher, which you try to refuse, but he practically force-feeds them to you. He gives you his water canteen and tells you to take twenty sips of it.

He holds a cloth to your nose and tells you to blow your nose into his hand, which is mortifying, but you're too dazed to do otherwise.

He uses a cold, damp cloth to wipe your face and neck down, which makes your skin erupt in goosebumps.

"Too cold," you grumble.

"Almost done, baby."

The heat that rushes through you at the sound of his gruff, modulated voice calling you 'baby' almost cures your chills for a second.

"Can I hold you?" the Mandalorian asks softly.

If you were awake, you'd freak out about this ridiculously attractive and emotionally distant man making an offer like that, but being held just sounds nice right now, so you whisper, "Yeah."

Next thing you know, the battle-hardened, ruthless Mandalorian bounty hunter is sitting behind you, one arm around your torso, the other stroking your forehead.

You're in between his legs, your back against his chest.

This is not how you thought your recovery from illness would go.

You find you don't have any reason to complain.

His armour's a little cold, and it shocks you at first, but once your feverish body heat warms it up, it's soothing. He smells good - beskar doesn't have that tangy scent so many metals have; it's cleaner, earthier. He smells warm, inviting, human.

You like this Mandalorian. Quite a lot, as Mandalorians go. And just as a person in general.

He chuckles; a deep, comforting rumble that you feel in your back ribcage before you hear it.

"What're you laughin' at?" you mumble, burrowing the side of your head into his chest

Another shorter, breathy chuckle. "What you just said."

Oops. "Didn't mean t' say that. Out loud, I mean."

"I'll forget I heard it."

"No you won't. You remember everything."

The chin of his helmet rests gently against the crown of your head, and he takes a deep breath in.

"Sleep, cyare. I've got you."

[figjelly]

Wonder of wonders, I'm sick. Aaaaagain. Maybe April will be a sick-free month 🥲 I've been in and out with the same issues since late November. I had covid back in July of 2022 and never before in my life have I've dealt with something like this so I'm chalking it up to possible post/long-covid issues. I have my annual in April and will mention it to my nurse. It's annoying that having a sorta immune disorder doesn't allow for the same level of care as having a Definite and Diagnosable Issue can often open doors for (it's all the same umbrella of disability, not the Oppression Olympics).

Having just the connective tissue problem in my case just means that the majority of my complaints are shoved off as just a cold or just the flu or antibiotics will help. Nothing does help but time to rest. I basically get an on and off again fever, muscle and joint pain, headaches (not touched by my migraine rescue meds), severe congestion, sore throat (with moderate to severe laryngitis), and gastro issues (I don't know why poop is so private. GI and gastro are more polite than Anyway My Fucking Intestines are Wrecking My Life Up kthx). Note to self: think about poop, poop in relationship to culture, and taboos about poop. Also, the word poop is objectively funny. End note.

SO, I was able to get through work yesterday. Went to my scheduled 3.5 hrs of work at job #3 today but it wiped me out such that I had to call into job #2. I'm hoping the rest will get me through jobs #3 and #1 tomorrow.

[schrodingersauthorii]

In honor of Salvage Ch. 18, I have prepared the first chapter of my Phoenix Salvage AU. @muffinlance , there’s one scene that’s 100% an improvement in my overall writing structure I pulled from you, and I bet NOBODY can tell which one it is.

—————————

The young soldier must have somehow heard the blade coming. He didn’t have time to cry out, but the panic stains his face. Not quite the easy death Hakoda wanted, but unavoidable, and still far kinder than leaving him to the sea.

Two years of fighting had left many too-young Fire Nation soldiers dead on this deck, but this was different than a battle. Different even than a mercy kill, back when they thought maybe Fire Nation prisoners would simply accept a fate other than death.

The soldier wouldn’t have left them any choice in the end. But he hadn’t forced their hands. Not yet.

One of the men murmured a prayer, a simple benediction for the journey to the next life. This wasn’t the clean up after a battle, and there might not Fire elders speaking rites for the kid somewhere across the sea. The soldier might only have what they give him, and they're pragmatic people- not cruel.

The Fire Nation burns their dead. That would be kindest, but if they could safely build a pyre, then they could have safely kept a firebending prisoner. The young soldier have a sea burial.

The corpse vetoed this. Violently.

Akake and Tuluk yelped, dropping the suddenly burning body onto the wooden deck.

Fire shouldn’t be green and purple, Hakoda barely had to think, and the fire disappeared. He blinked the sparks out of his eyes, and the deck was as clear. No fire, purple-green or otherwise. Just a vaguely soldier shaped mound of ash.

Hakoda reached down to touch it: barely warm, and not so much as a soot mark beneath it.

Something stirred. Something tiny. Hakoda grabbed it without giving himself time to think about it. Whatever it was squirmed frantically in his hand.

Hakoda looked down, expecting- something. A still beating heart, perhaps. A reptile or worm, at the very least. Something repulsive and macabre. But a tiny, down-feathered bird trembled in his hand. He brushed ash off of soft, orange wings. Even filthy, the fledgling glowed like sunrise.

“It’s a bird,” Hakoda said, dumbfounded.

“A bird,” Tuluk repeated.

The bird cheeped in distress. Hakoda started to pet it, but it nearly fell to the deck in its effort to escape his hand. He quickly cupped it with both hands instead. The bird pecked at his fingers.

The entire deck stared in stunned silence. What were they supposed to do with a bird?

————————

Tolko presented a box hastily stuffed with hay from the albatross-pidgeon coop. Hakoda carefully dropped the chick inside. It burrowed down into the loose “nest,” still cheeping incessantly.

“He’s so cute,” Tolko gasped. “What are we going to do with him?”

Tolko stared at the bird with love already in his eyes. The bird stared back with… suspicion. At the very least.

Hakoda’s temples begun a warning throb.

“Ask Kustaa if he can… find anything,” he finally said.

Tolko cooed at the bird as he walked away.

Hakoda felt a dreadful portent hum in his bones: this would not end well, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it.

------

“What is that?” Kustaa asked.

“A bird,” Tolko said. And held the chick up to Kustaa’s face, as if not seeing the puffball was the problem.

���Which might also be a Fire Nation soldier. The Chief wants to know if you can find anything.”

“A soldier.”

“Yeah. He was drifting past, we fished him out, but he was. You know. A Fire Nation soldier. And he said he was a firebender. So.”

“So what?”

“He kind of...died. And spontaneously combusted. The bird was in the ashes. See?”

Tolko brushed the bird’s head and held up a sooty finger. The chick couldn’t really floof in anger- it was already at maximum floof- but it gave its best impression of outrage anyway. Tolko hastily placed it on the table before it could tumble out of his hand.

“This is a bird,” Kustaa said. “I’m a healer, not an ornithologist. Or a shaman. All I’m qualified to say whether or not YOU have brain rot.”

“Umm…” Tolko mumbled.

“Any headaches? Blurred vision? Acute pain in your arms or legs? Motor difficulties?” Kustaa asked as he prodded Tolko’s arms.

“No?”

“Then we’ll work with the assumption that Spirits were involved, not Swamp Fever. Hopefully, a minor Spirit.”

Kustaa leaned down in front of the bird.

“Can you understand us: peck two times, then three.”

Low and behold, the bird did… then stared at them and pecked a deliberate pattern of some sort.

“I don’t understand that,” Kustaa said.

A storm of outraged peeping.

“I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Are you a Spirit, one peck for yes, two pecks for no.”

Two pecks, and more outraged peeping.

“...Are you a bird?”

In hindsight, it was incredibly bold of them to assume Zuko knew more than they did about anything.

--------

Tuluk entered Hakoda’s office after a single knock, and Hakoda’s temples immediately resumed pounding.

“Apparently, the bird insists he is the soldier, and NOT a Spirit,” Tuluk said.

Hakoda pinched the bridge of his nose. And resolved to make an offering soon. There were stories about shapeshifting Spirits who forgot they weren’t human.

“Keep an eye on him,” Hakoda said. “We’ll head to the nearest port and find an Earth Sage. This is exactly the kind of trouble we don’t need.”

Tuluk nodded grimly.

A thought struck Hakoda. “How did…?”

Tuluk sighed. “Lots of questions. Lots of patience. Kustaa is positively charmed with the little menace.”

“He’s a bird.”

“A mean one,” Tuluk agreed. “But he’s warmed to Kustaa and Tolko, for stars knows why.”

Hakoda didn’t like the idea of a Spirit getting… attached to his crew, but he liked the idea of an upset Spirit on his ship even less.

“Keep an eye on them, please,” Hakoda said.

Tuluk nodded, understanding in his eyes.

“I’ll do my best, but that’s a conversation you need to have with Kustaa and Tolko. Probably the rest of the crew, too.”

Hakoda’s headache sharpened with knife-like intensity. Tuluk eyed him with concern.

“Chief. Nobody will blame you if you need a drink before that. Kustaa’s almost ordered a shipwide medicinal order.”

Hakoda sighed.

“After,” he promised. And didn’t clarify after what.

—————————-

Their youngest crewman tucked the surly creature into his parka, from where it eyed everyone and everything with deep suspicion. Tolko kept up a mostly one-sided commentary, which the soldier-bird seemed surprisingly engaged with.

“Do you know his name?” Punuk asked as Tolko showed the bird their snack break offerings.

“No,” Tolko said through a mouthful of salted fish. “It’s the character for ‘righteous rule,’ but we couldn’t figure out the pronunciation. So Birdie it is.”

“Birdie” cheeped aggressively enough to attract the other crewmen’s attention for the first time in hours. There was still work to be done, and his constant noise quickly faded into the background.

“That’s terrible. How about… Sparky? Ember?”

“Blaze.”

“Inferno.”

“Red.”

“You can’t call him red, he’s pink.”

“He’s definitely more orange than pink.”

“Orange still isn’t red.”

Ragnalok tossed an empty water skin at the pair.

“Stop torturing the poor guy. He already died once today.”

The trio went quiet.

“Way too soon, man,” Panuk said.

Birdie was… worryingly quiet for several hours after that.

-------

Tolko roused in the middle of the night, awakened by a faint stirring of downy feathers and soft cooing. Birdy was awake. Tolko couldn’t see it, but dawn must be on the horizon.

Birds liked dawn. So did firebenders, presumably. It was early, but Tolko wasn’t tired-tired, so…

Tolko scooped Birdy up in one hand and slid out of his hammock. “We’ll go top deck,” he whispered as he tucked Birdy into his collar.

Birdy cheeped in a maybe grumpy, maybe affirmative way. But it was soft, so Tolko didn’t think he was upset. Birdy was very, very good at communicating when he was upset, bird or not.

It still seemed uncharacteristic. And Birdy was slumping on Tolko’s shoulder in a way he hadn’t yesterday.

Tolko scooped Birdy back into his hand, and Birdy just… cheeped quietly. Cheeped once and fell silent.

Okay. It was early: Birdy might just be tired. It was a Thing, that birds got sleepy when it was dark- even if it wasn’t actually night. They’d go topdeck and watch the sunrise, and if Birdie still seemed off he’d come back and wake Kustaa.

Tolko climbed the last stair just as the sun broke free of the horizon. Birdie chirped softly again, and Tolko held him out into the light.

“It’s beautiful,” Tolko said.

And Birdie once again caught fire on the Spirits damned deck.

[in-ky]

An Old Scent [3] - Negan x Reader (A/B/O AU)

Summary: During summer break, you decide to come back home to visit your dad, Rick. Over the course of your stay, you realize that your dad's friend is pretty hot.

Warnings: Getting steamy, A/B/O dynamics, age gap, Negan

A/N: part 3 is shorter im sorry but its basically a segway 1.3k words

I was a whimpering mess that day. The fading sunlight peaked through my closed blinds but it still pierced my vision and gave me a pounding headache. My heat was starting to run its course, and I was not looking forward to it. Rick had gotten called to a new case, one that would be taking up most of his attention for the next few days. Unfortunately, that just left me and Negan in the house alone. There was no doubt in my mind he could smell the slick forming between my thighs. I heard him get up in the middle of the night and go downstairs, grumbling to himself. He didn't come back up.

I rolled over and grabbed my phone, hissing gently at the light. I eased myself back onto my pillows, stifling a groan as my legs rubbed together. My fingers swiftly found the contact I was searching for and I pressed the call button, lifting the phone to my ear as I let it ring.

"Hey, what's up? You haven't called in a while, is everything alright?" Bee asked, voice thick with sleep.

"No." I whimpered into the speaker.

"Oh, honey," Bee hummed "You started didn't you." All I could do was groan as a wave of abdominal cramps hit me. "Do you have-"

"They aren't going to help!" I hissed "I need him, Bee, I need...I can smell him." I took a deep inhale. My eyes rolled to the back of my skull as the warm scent of Negan filled my nostrils. It seeped into my sinuses and settled like a pit in the bottom of my stomach. The smell of him urged a new wave of wetness to gush out of my center. "I need him, Bee."

"Hey, listen to me, this is dangerous," She called to me. I could barely hear her over the heat clouding my head. "I know it's hard but you need to cool off. The fever can be deadly." I moaned and buried myself deeper into my sweat-soaked sheets. Bee swallowed over the other end of the phone. "Can you get out of bed? Can you make it to the shower?" I cried out. It was so hot. It was so painful. I felt so empty, a deep void inside me that only Negan could fill. "Omega." Bee demanded, her voice firm. My attention snapped to her. "Take a shower."

~~~

As much as I hated to admit it, Bee had been right once again. The freezing shower had cooled me off enough that I had regained some form of self-control. I wasn't a feral beast begging to be knotted, but I wouldn't stay that way for long. I got out of the tub and shivered, lips borderline purple from the cold. I grabbed the soft cotton towel hanging on the rack and wrapped it around me, drying off the remaining droplets of water. I hadn't brought any clothes with my to the bathroom knowing that they would be coming off in a few hours anyways. But the laundry basket in the corner of the bathroom caught my eye. I clenched my jaw and swallowed. At the top there was a white shirt and a pair of black boxers haphazardly draped over the side of the basket. I instantly knew who they belonged to. And just like that, the cramping had returned.

At that point, I decided to just give in to my omega impulses. I crossed the room to the hamper, wet feet patting against the tile floor. I dropped the towel and fisted the fabric in the basket. I dropped to my knees instantly and buried my nose in the shirt.

"Alpha." I groaned, tossing my head back and rubbing the cloth over my neck. It was drenched in his scent. Almost overwhelmingly so. If I couldn't have Negan himself, his clothes would have to do. I pulled his shirt over my head and around my body. It was large on me and I could see the tops of my breasts as well as the outlines of my hardened nipples poking through the thin fabric. I put on his boxers next, covering my naked sex. The thought of the underwear previously being on Negan made my insides quiver and my pussy throb. I felt another rush of slick leave me. I rubbed my thighs together, trying to ease some of my arousal, but it was in vain. Truly nothing would compare to having the alpha's knot buried inside of me. I let out a moan of want, rubbing my face and inhaling his scent. But my old methods would have to do. The unbearable arousal was starting to come back and I desperately needed a release. Back to my bedroom I went.

I twisted the knob of the bathroom door and swung it open, flicking the light switch off as I stepped into the hall. As soon as my feet felt the carpet, I froze. There before me was Negan, paused mid-step at the top of the stairs. Our gazes met and my insides burned. His tawny eyes were dark with lust behind his black-framed glasses. He gripped the railing so hard his knuckled were white and his jaw was clenched. The alpha broke eye contact and his gaze raked over my body, drinking in every detail.

"Are those my clothes?" He growled. His voice combined with the embarrassment of the situation made a blush rise to my cheeks. I swallowed thickly.

"Maybe." I whispered. Negan walked up to me slowly, large frame shadowing my smaller one. He leaned in and tucked his nose into the crook of my neck. He took a deep breath and we moaned in unison.

"Fuck, doll, you smell so good," He rumbled, calloused hand winding around my throat "like peaches and lavender. Even better with my scent around you." My breath rattled at his words, insides turning like a whirlpool. There had to be a visible wet spot on the crotch of his boxers, but he didn't seem to notice. Not yet, anyways. "I wonder if you taste the same." His fingers danced up my neck and gripped my chin softly, angling my face up to look at him. Negan's eyes were wild, a tumultuous mix of lust and protectiveness storming in those deep brown pools. My breathing hitched as he leaned in. His lips were almost brushing mine. My heart was pounding against my ribcage, begging to be let free. A whimper was caught in my throat. I wanted to beg for him, plead for his knot. I wanted to be claimed and dominated by him. And I think I would have been if the door didn't open at that moment.

"Guys, I'm home!" Rick's voice chirped from downstairs.

Negan's head whipped around and I took the moment of distraction to slip away from his grasp. I slid against the wall and scurried to my room, closing the door behind me. I pressed my shoulder against the wood and sunk to the ground, trying to regain my breath. Did that actually just happen? Did Negan really just try and kiss me? I closed my eyes and swallowed. My throat was dry but Negan's boxers were absolutely drenched in my arousal. I had never been that close to him before and now that I was away, my body craved more. A soft knock sounded above me.

"Hey sweetheart," Negan's voice purred from the other side of the door "you can keep the clothes for a few days, but I want them back when you're done. You hear that, 'mega?" I whined as a form of affirmation and I heard him chuckle, the noise sending bursts of warmth through my belly. "That's a good girl. Call me if you need anything." He took an audible sniff before I heard his footsteps retreat slightly.

"Hey, is she alright?" Rick asked, voice muffled.

"Yea, I think she might be...having some omega problems," Negan explained gently.

"Ah, got it," Rick gulped "I feel bad but I'm still the primary on the case. Do you think you can look after her for the next few days?" I could practically hear Negan's smirk as he spoke his next works.

"Abso-fuckin-lutely I can."

[leviiattacks]

hi bestie!! pls pretty pls do a levi one where he takes care of a sick y/n im feeling a bit under the weather and im getting kinda scared bc of covid :<< anything to help calm my nerves pls? thank you <3

author note :: get well soon anon :-( i’m super sick rn too (when am i not tho </3) so i get how it is. this isn’t that great because i wrote it pretty quick but i hope it eases youuu :-) this is just pure fluff and sappy stuff and yup yup MODERN LEVI BC... listen i have a soft spot for modern levi word count :: some how i got to 1.4k ????? idk how i always go over the expected word count i have in my head 

it’s literally been YEARS since the last time you were sick

if you really dig through the depths of your memory you’d say maybe you were last sick when you were seven???

it’s that or your memory is just not great

either way, you really do not want to bother anyone with your sickness so you decide to hole up in your room for the entire day

you don’t even tell levi about it because you know he’ll drop everything for the sake of your comfort

the only problem is that midway through the day you’ve become so bedridden you can’t even begin to fathom attending classes tomorrow

you guess you’ll be taking another day off

as that thought crosses your mind your bedroom door bursts open

“i...” levi lets out a long sigh and you look at him dazed from your pounding headache

you’re surrounded by scrunched up tissues and your cold meds have been left untouched

“i’m gonna get you sick too. back away.” you’re frowning and signalling with your hands that you want him out

your nose is stuffy and you’re sniffling but levi just rolls his eyes before he sits next to you on the floor

buried in your duvet you look a little like a burrito and he laughs at that

“do you know where the thermometer is? i’ll check on your fever.”

he’s looking at you waiting for an answer

you think for a second and then you try to rummage through the timeline of today’s events.

to be fair you’re a little disoriented but for some unknown reason you feel yourself get a little teary eyed

maybe it’s a mix of your upcoming deadlines looming over you or perhaps it’s missing a really important class today

but it’s so sudden you don’t even know why your body is making you act so irrationally but that’s what fevers do

“i think i” you sniff and then the waterworks flood out of you. your brain can’t adjust to the severity of your headache and your urge to sleep is higher than ever

honestly you don’t cry very much so to see the tears worries levi almost immediately

“im sorry i misplaced it.” you croak out, your voice is all scaly and weird, you hate it

stupidly you get upset about that too

don’t people sound hot when they’re sick?? why do you sound like an angry bear...?

this is not fair.

“and i’m stressed.” you blow your nose but it continues to drip despite your constant attempts to stop it

nose bright red and hair disheveled levi’s eyes soften when he sees your workbook laying at the foot of your bed

notes are scribbles in random corners and your mind map is a chaotic mess but you’re trying your best given the circumstances

god, even when you’re sick you’re working hard. you’re ridiculous but in the most endearing way known to man

“alright, lay down.” he runs a hand through your hair to fix the birds nest before he adjusts your pillows and places your head down gently

“i’m sorry i’ve lost the-”

levi’s index finger presses against your lips and he shushes you

“get some rest, please.”

you comply but not before giving him a playful glare

his warm palms move to hold your face. cheeks squished together he swipes your tears away

“i’ve got some soup on the stove you’ll be good in no time.” his soft reassurance is comforting and protective

nodding you flutter your eyes shut.

you’re unable to sleep but levi’s presence is enough to ease you even if it’s just a little you do feel better

fifteen minutes pass and levi returns he’s got you a hot cup of tea and the soup is nowhere to be seen

“i had an accident in the kitchen... so have some tea instead.”

you simply laugh it off, he’s trying his best and you’re alright with not having to be fed tomato soup

tomato soup..... it’s sick and twisted it tastes so bad

you recall having to force yourself to down an entire bowl last christmas after catching a cold

never ever again will you do that

anyways, pea soup superiority it’s the only valid type !!!

levi likes tomato soup though that’s the only reason it sits in bulk in one of the kitchen cabinets

he brushes the mountain of tissues on your bedside table away, he’ll dispose of them later

placing the cup of tea where the aforementioned tissues once were you then realize he’s brought you a slice of madeira cake to have alongside it

at this your eyes brighten you love madeira cake it’s so soft and buttery and simple but it’s just REALLY GOOD???

anyway, you definitely recommend everyone to have some it’s a solid 10/10

“picked some up on my way here.”

your heart swells affectionately

no one will ever love you as hard as he does

to be honest, the little things he does keep you grounded and you don’t really know where you’d be without him

he always pays attention to the things you love, always carries you from the couch to your bed, always tucks you in, always lingers a little just to make sure you’re sound asleep

you know about that last bit because on occasion you have stirred awake on accident

every single time he strokes your hair and holds you close ushering you back to sleep

again, you don’t know if it’s your fever making you emotional or the warm feeling of being loved so HARD?? it’s like whack a mole the only difference is being repeatedly hit by bursts of affection

not really a great analogy but your brain is fried right now and it’s the best you’ve got

levi sits next to you making the mattress shift and you then plop your head against his chest

“drink up.”

he hands you the cup of tea but you nuzzle your face into his neck instead forcing him to place it back down

“what are you doing?” he asks.

one of his hands draws circles onto your back soothing you and the other hand is fiddling around with the packaging of your cold meds, he looks to be reading the description just to make sure you can take them

the feeling of his t-shirt under your cheek fades away and you find yourself staring up at him

“get here.” he softly murmurs

rather than pressing a hand against your forehead he swoops down

at first his hands feel your face and neck

“you’re burning up.” he frowns and then he does it

he presses his forehead against yours and you swear you could stop breathing and pass out right then and there

“the fever’s getting worse, why didn’t you call me earlier i had to find out you were sick from-”

“i love you.”

he freezes.

“of course you love me but that’s not what we’re talking about right now.” he snorts and looks you right in the eye.

suddenly you’re kinda just a teeny-weeny bit self-conscious about your dark under eyes but you push that thought to the back of your mind

“no i mean. i really fucking love you levi.” the expletive only makes you sound more serious especially since you always scold him when he uses vulgar language

it looks as if his mouth moves to say it back but you stop him

“you don’t have to say it again. i’m saying it because you said it first.” you explain through your drowsy state

“when did i say it first?”

the fever must be really getting to you is what he’s thinking

“your actions spoke for you.”

he ever so slightly jabs you with his elbow before he carefully places your head back down onto his chest

“you’re so sappy.” he pecks your cheek and you hum silently still unable to breathe out of one of your nostrils

“i know but you’re sappier.”

levi doesn’t respond because he knows you’re correct

:-)

[splendidly-secret-sick-fics]

Sick Akaashi & Caretaker Bokuto Headcanons!!

Bc they’re my faves & I love them.

—————————

Hello! I’m back for a little. Thank you for your patience as I work through my personal issues!! I can’t guarantee that I’m back back, but I felt like writing this, so I took the feeling and ran.

I didn’t plan for this to inspire me to write a fic, but honestly it really did so you’ll probably get a fic that’s like this.

Anyway...here ya go!!

TW: bokuaka fluff & mentions of vomiting, nausea, and headache

The thing about their relationship (and it’s always freaked everyone out) is that they just know how to take care of each other. Neither of them has to say what they need. The other just knows. It’s not like they can’t take care of themselves; if the other isn’t around, the problem still get solved, but resolution comes a lot quicker and with a lot more comfort if they help each other out because they almost just force each other to do what needs to be done without any run around.

This comes in handy particularly when Akaashi is sick. While Bokuto is pretty vocal about when he’s not feeling well, Akaashi tries to keep to himself. He’s not trying to hide it. He probably doesn’t even realize he’s sick. He just knows his patience is running thin aand he’s just trying to keep from hurting anyone’s feelings.

Bc I feel like while Akaashi’s generally very quiet, he’s subtly chaotic. He’s the kind of guy that always quietly says things that make people stop and go “wtf?” And sometimes that means he’s whispering chaotic and idiotic ideas to others to try and get them to do something crazy.

But when he’s not feeling well, he kind of retreats into himself because his filter disappears and the normally fun, teasing comments may come out meaner and harsher than he means them. He still does what he needs to do and responds to things when appropriate, and he doesn’t make a big fuss, but he’s subdued. Mostly because he knows he has less control of his brain and tongue, and doesn’t want to worry about his normal sarcastic comments coming out more viscously than normal.

For a while, he didn’t think anyone noticed. After all, he’s a calm, quiet person anyway. It couldn’t be that different. But not his team. The team notices the lack of sarcastic, fire-starting comments, and they just know that something is wrong, even if their setter looks otherwise normal.

They all try to figure out what’s wrong in round about ways, but Akaashi just laughs quietly, or responds with a straight forward answer, so eventually they just give up. Eventually, Bokuto—the only person who’s strangely left him alone all practice—calls him out on his weird behavior and just straight up asks him and Akaashi is so stunned, that he just admits that he’s not feeling well without hesitation. Bokuto scolds him for coming to practice, but asks him what’s wrong and somehow knows exactly how to take care of Akaashi respective to the answer he’s given.

If he has a headache, it’s almost certainly from tension and it starts in the back of his head and works it’s way to his jaw and cheekbones, which is why he doesn’t talk much. Bokuto makes him sit out the rest of practice and has Yukie give him one of her famous shoulder massages to ease the tension out of his wound up body.

If he has a fever, he’s probably colder than usual and his patience a little thin, so he just bites his tongue when people talk to him so he doesn’t snap at them unnecessarily. He hates being cold and hates how his limbs ache and his head is foggy and how he has no energy, so he knows if he speaks it’ll be more sarcastic than normal and with more venom than needed. Bokuto makes him call his mom to come pick him up and forces him to go sit in the club room where it’s quiet and he can bundle up in other people’s warm up jackets while he waits.

If Akaashi is nauseous, it’s a little trickier. If it’s just simple nausea, with no other symptoms, Bokuto can usually just get him to sit out the rest of practice. But if he has a fever too, then things get dicey.

Akaashi doesn’t like throwing up, so he’s probably been trying to ignore the feeling. He probably hasn’t eaten more than what’s required of him to keep living. These two things together make for a very grumpy, very disheveled setter. Sure, he still tries to bite his tongue and remain normal, but the smallest thing could set him off and it would probably end up in whoever pissed him off in tears. Bokuto has to be a little more forward and a little more captain-like in this case. He’s comfortable enough with Akaashi to know that whatever insult comes out of his mouth is not sincere and he escorts the protesting setter outside in the fresh air and wraps him in a jacket and sits with him until the setter’s mom shows up. All the while, Akaashi grounds out sarcastic comments quietly while leaning into Bokuto and Bokuto just laughs and rubs his head.

The really really big issue is if Akaashi has a fever, a headache, and he’s nauseous to the point of thinking he may throw up. Bokuto really has to step in here. Akaashi isn’t stupid, so Bokuto knows that he wouldn’t have come to practice if he’d felt that bad all day, so it must have snuck up on him and he’s too dense to really diagnose himself as probably having the flu. It’s more evident to the team that he’s genuinely sick bc he’s pale and flushed and dazed. And angry. Not at anyone in particular, but at himself. Because he’s pale and flushed and dazed. And his arms and legs are sore for some reason he doesn’t understand and his head hurts, but it’s not his normal tension headache and everything is foggy and loud. Needless to say, his team stays away and waits for Bokuto to step in.

Bokuto tries to step in. He really does. But Akaashi isn’t as forthcoming about what’s wrong, so Bokuto doesn’t know what route to take. It’s not until he sees Akaashi suppressing tiny, breathy burps behind a hand that he knows what’s wrong. By that point, Akaashi is drained. He doesn’t want to be standing anymore. He doesn’t feel well at all and he just needs enough energy to tell someone what’s wrong and ask to leave, but he’s too afraid to open his mouth. That’s usually about the time Bokuto marches up to him and gently puts a hand on his cheek and frowns when he finds the fever there. Akaashi, relieved that someone has come to rescue him from his own stupidity, starts crying. Bokuto pulls him into a hug and lets him cry for a minute and tries to warm up his shivering body. Then he leads Akaashi outside the gym and into the club room, where they’ll wait together for the nausea to pass (or for him to puke) and then Bokuto calls Akaashi’s mom to come pick him up.

Akaashi doesn’t like throwing up, so if it comes to that, it’s bad. He resists and maybe he cries silently, but he obstinately refuses to even look at a bin or a bucket. He chokes down heaves and gags and whimpers and pants. Bokuto usually just sighs and tries to coax him into letting things happen, but Akaashi refuses, so Bokuto just makes sure that a bin is within arms reach of himself and waits for the inevitable.

When he finally does throw up, it’s seemingly without warning for the setter, but Bokuto is prepared and manages to get the bin under his chin just in time. Akaashi is pretty quiet, save for some gaspy breaths, airy hiccups, and the occasional wet burp. But unfortunately for him, he’s not really a one and done kind of guy. It usually takes him a few rounds before he gets everything up and by then, he’s so traumatized that he’s given up control and finally just lets Bokuto take care of him.

The routine doesn’t change much after they graduate. The year that Akaashi is still in high school and Bokuto isn’t there, someone usually tries to call or text him if Akaashi is being weird. If he can answer, he talks to Akaashi and whatever the problem is gets taken care of. It’s not like Akaashi needs Bokuto to tell him what to do. But Bokuto just kind of gives him the push he needs to do it.

When Akaashi graduates, he moves to Osaka and lives near the MSBY dorms and tries to take care of himself if he gets sick, but Bokuto somehow always knows, and is at Akaashi’s door as soon as he can get away from practice.

[sunpopp]

Warm to The Touch | {CCH}

→ Summary; it's not often that Chanhee gets sick, but when he does, he's a very big crybaby about it. That, or he really is in as much pain as he says he is—regardless that leaves you to take care of him, and funnily enough, it has its perks.

• WC/genre: 2K of smut + fluff

• Includes/cw: Chanhee being sick and reader taking care of him, no kissies on lips 😔, sub!Chanhee, gn!reader, fingering (m receiving), dick neglection (?), handjobs, brief praise, aftercare

Riding the bus wasn't your favorite thing to do, but it was soothing if you were in the right mood.

Sadly, you weren't. Mostly due to the fact that Chanhee was quite literally blowing up your phone with texts asking how much longer it'd take you to be off the train and on your way with his precious medicine, making you sigh and roll your eyes before shooting him a reply that you'd be there soon, but knowing nothing would calm him down until you were in front of him to prove it.

You can't help but smile.

Chanhee didn't complain much about anything, besides maybe you not helping him with washing the dishes or set the table while he made dinner, but everything else was, at most, a dirty look that softened relatively quickly. Sickness, though, was a whole other ballgame.

He would rant and rave about the tiniest of phantom pains, practically on the male equivalent of his period with the way his mood would get snappy and sour at the slightest inconveniences.

But maybe he really did just have a shit pain tolerance like he'd often hint at. Though it didn't stop you from still being baffled when he'd get a bad cramp in the middle of the night and whine about it until he'd fall asleep again.

Coming back to reality as you glance up to the bus's nearing destination, you stretch lazily and begin to stand, muscles aching from walking all day and back cracking loud enough for you to wonder if other people heard it. The bus slows to a stop before finally lurching against the sidewalk, and you take your leave through the opening doors with an appreciative thanks to the driver.

Almost immediately after you hop down from the steps, a layering of chilly wind washes harshly against your front and the familiar smell of petrichor into your nose, relentless rain droplets against your coat as you begin in a jog in the direction of your apartment. Chanhee must be freezing right now, you think, concern growing even heavier at the visible breaths of air you let out. If he's already got the sniffles, a sore throat, and headaches, he's probably getting worse considering you'd forgotten to turn the heater on before you left.

Stupid mistake.

It takes maybe a couple more minutes, less than it'd take if you were walking like normal, before you're finally at your door, punching in the code for the lock before shouldering it open and kicking off your shoes on the shoe rack. It's cold inside, you can tell by the way your cheeks still feel numb.

"Chanhee! I got your medicine!" Your words echo throughout the hall, spreading out when you keep calling his name as you move farther in; past the open kitchen and to the bedroom door opposite the bathroom.

When you come into the room, Chanhee is still in the bed where he was when you left, but this time, he's sat up, looking at you with hooded eyes and a thin sheen of sweat covering his face. He frowns, "It's about time. While I was here suffering, you were out with your friends. Unbelievable..," he pouts and shakes his head.

With a chuckle and now eased posture, you sit in front of him and set the bag of medicine beside you to check his temperature. He's extremely hot.

"Yeah, well, staying around you while you're sick is enough to drive me crazy so you can't really pin the blame on me for needing to leave. Plus, it's not like you tried to stop me, did you?" You smile at him, standing back up to go run him a lukewarm bath.

"I was asleep!"

"Your problem, not mine!"

___

"Alright, up you go."

"Ah, but my whole body hurts..."

"Too bad, you're sweating a bunch and you haven't done anything to clean yourself yet."

Another tug of Chanhee's hands, and he's stumbling into your arms with a raspy groan at the jerky movement. You pat his back, pecking his damp forehead, then drag him to the bathroom.

"Can you undress yourself or do you need my help with everything?" You half-joke.

"Don't be rude, it's actually hard for me to do a lot of things," Chanhee utters bitterly, but he does manage to pull his shirt over his head, albeit with your help, as well as his pants and boxers before stepping into the water.

"Or maybe you're just fragile as hell and the smallest things have you bedridden for a week."

"Oh my god I'm gonna-"

"Hush, princess, you won't do anything," you find yourself laughing as you lower yourself to your knees beside the tub, folding your arms on the side before resting your cheek atop them, "Just relax, okay? I know you're too tired to argue right now, so let yourself calm down for a couple."

He thankfully doesn't protest, and takes your advice for once; letting himself fall against the back of the bathtub and close his eyes, the sigh through his nose an indication that he's allowing himself to enjoy the water. He looks so peaceful like this. Doll-like eyelashes fluttering against smooth, heated cheeks, and head slowly lolling to face you.

You feel yourself reach out. You know it's happening, but you don't stop it when you run a hand through Chanhee's bangs, then swipe a thumb past his eyelid to trail to his nose, then lips.

He opens his eyes, but doesn't say anything, even if he probably finds it strange. He lets you touch him.

"You're very pretty," you mumble whilst pouring water onto his head using the wash bucket on the back surface of the bathtub. Drops trickle down into mini patterns on his face, and he drags a hand over it to clear them away.

"Even while sick?" He raises his eyebrows, pleasantly surprised at your answer.

You comb the water into his hair to wet it as you nod, "Even while sick."

Chanhee smiles, "So, how was your day out?"

"It was nice. Found a perfect place where I'd love to take you, actually."

"Oh? Where?"

"The bone zone-"

"Oh my god, you're so annoying!"

You erupt into a fit of laughter as Chanhee swats a hand at you, getting some of your shirt and arm wet where you shield yourself from his little attack. You pinch his cheek, flashing a toothy grin, "Oh, come on! That was a good one and you know it. Smooth as ever if I do say so myself."

"Yeah, and you're the only one saying so," He pouts, pulling away from your pinchy fingers and trying his best to hide the steadily growing smirk that threatens to break his face into a smile. Stubborn as always, you see.

"You can leave now," Chanhee gives you a pointed look.

"Alright, alright. I'll be in the bedroom awaiting any further commands, your highness," You shake your head, and make a grand display of leaving the room and him to his own privacy.

Chanhee doesn't take long in the bath anyway, so you knew you wouldn't have to wait long as you fall back against the bed, shifting around until you've made yourself comfortable against the strewn navy covers. You spare a glance out the window pressed against your side; still raining, and still bathed in a silver glow from the blanketing clouds. It'd make you kind of sad, if not melancholic, but you were in a good mood from coming home, so at the most, you were calm.

Calm, even when Chanhee emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam a half hour later, only wearing a pink striped button up pajama shirt and matching bottoms, hands raised above his head whilst he dries his hair with a small towel. He comes to a stop in front of you.

"There he is," you exclaim, looking up from your phone and patting the spot next to you with a mischievous glint in your eye, "C'mere."

"I wonder why I'm hesitating," he says, and you can practically feel the the sarcasm in his words.

"Because hot people make you nervous? Duh."

"Are you insinuating that you're hot?"

That's your queue.

Leaning forward, you grab Chanhee's wrist and tug him into your chest, causing him to stumble slightly, but you catch him and pull him flush against you. A flurry of kisses to his face, excluding his lips, ensue.

Chanhee squirms around in your arms and acts like he doesn't like the affection at first, but a few more seconds of the same treatment prove true to his soft side when he goes limp and begins to giggle at the ticklish feel of your butterfly pecks.

Oh, that giggle. How you loved to hear it; sweet and beautiful like the chime of the prettiest bell in your ears.

You pull him on top of you as you relax against the crevice where the mattress meets the wall, and rest your cheek on the top of his head, humming, "You saying that I'm not hot?"

"Yes."

"Damn."

"Kidding."

"No you weren't."

"Yes I was."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"You- Hush!" Chanhee covers your mouth finally and you chuckle against his palm at his feeble attempt to silence you.

You press a kiss to it instead of bickering further, causing him to soften. Just then, you realize something as you touch down his wrist.

"Woah, has your fever not died down at all? You're even starting to sweat a little bit again, too..."

Your suspicions prove true when a closer inspection at the ruddy skin flushed from his cheeks down to his chest and heavier-than-normal breathing indicates that he's still hot, or at least overheated.

"Here," you murmur, already shifting him on his back so you can easily unclasp the buttons of his shirt, "Are you in any pain or is it still just the sore throat?"

"The headache I had earlier is starting to come back. It's getting worse, but that's about it so don't worry, I'll be fine," Chanhee tries his hand at reassurance, you can tell, but it doesn't do anything to stop you from crawling over him to scurry into the kitchen.

"I'm getting you some water, hang on!" You call out from down the hall, making quick work of filling up a decently sized glass before you return to him with some painkillers as well. He barely manages to sit up when you reach him; his face scrunching at the obvious pain that's beginning to hit him tenfold as he gratefully takes the pills and throws his head back when he tosses them in his mouth, chasing them with the cold glass of water you provided.

"Ah, it's actually really starting to hurt...," Chanhee whimpers and at the sound, you slide back into the bed to pepper his face with pecks once again. He's grateful for the comfort, if the way he gently drapes his arm over your shoulder says anything.

"Oh, my poor baby," you coo lowly, feeling the goosebumps on his back that prickle at your tone, "Is there anything I can do to make it better? Did you already take your medicine?"

"Yeah.. still hurts.."

"I can tell," you snort and trail a finger down Chanhee's sternum, looping it back up to flick at one of his nipples. He jolts, and you can't help but give a cheeky smirk, "Even your nipples have taken on somewhat of a hue. I wonder what other places are doing the same thing...," your words would hold suggestion to even the most clueless of people, spoken through lips now slicked with saliva as you roll your tongue across the tinted flesh and lower your head for a taste of his exposed breast.

"Ah!" Chanhee gasps loudly and his fingers find purchase on the back of your head, his body trembling when he arches his chest up into your face, searching for more when his mouth fails to ask you such a favor.

Teasing his nipple with a gentle nip before pulling away to kiss it instead, you caress his narrow waist, "You said it hurts, no?"

"It does...," Chanhee pants and nods as fast as his throbbing head will allow him.

"Where does it hurt most, baby? Tell me," You wet your fingers with a quick swipe of your tongue then reach under his lower half to slide your hand into his shorts, Chanhee helping you by taking one leg out, and glide down the seam of his ass to tease his rim, "Here?"

"Y-yes..!" you chuckle when he huffs and flings both arms around your head, pulling you close into him and meeting your forehead as he grinds down against your digits.

"Awe, look at you..."

And look at him indeed; Chanhee is already a mess before you. Staring at you with those big watery doe eyes of his, and silently pleading for you to continue doing things to his body that has him feeling like bursting.

You give him exactly what he wants.

Pushing your finger into him, slowly due to how tight the fit is, you press sloppy kisses to the underside of his jaw. The reaction Chanhee gives is a familiar one, with sensual lips dropped open to let out a high-pitched moan and legs trembling as he holds them open for you, fighting to not shut his eyes upon feeling you enter him.

"Good," you drawl, tilting your wrist at an angle once your index and pinkie meet the backs of Chanhee's thighs and gently curling your fingers upwards, "Just like that, baby. Is this okay? Are you okay?" Your eyes search his face for discomfort, and though you don't find any, you still your movements.

He nods and nuzzles against the top of your head with his cheek, "Mm-hm. Keep going, please."

You start back up at his polite request, as much as you love hearing him ask for more of something, and begin to drag the pads of your fingers back and fourth alongside his walls until you feel the telltale firmness of his prostate, then start on massaging it.

"Ah!" He emits a short, melodical whine at the burst of sensation now seething within him. It drives him one step from crazy as he scrunches his face and unconsciously slaps at your shoulder in a sort of mid-euphoria result.

You huff out a half-laugh, sitting back on your knees so you can get a better view of what you're doing, "Good?"

Chanhee tries to use his words, but by the way you pin him down to the bed with a palm flat against his collarbone before speeding up your hand, he can only manage a broken sob. It's followed by another of the same needy type, but this time, it's louder and causes your stomach to all but flip at the sound. Chanhee throws his head back, thrashing this way and that to somewhat get away from the overwhelming feeling, but also pushing down against it at the same time; all the while your hand keeps him in place.

"I'll take that as a yes," you jest, mostly to yourself because Chanhee sure isn't listening, then bend down slightly to finally turn your focus to his weeping cock. It's full-blooded from being hard for so long, angry red at the tip and jumping every once in a while, especially when you open your mouth to lick a strip from the base to the head.

"P-please I can't! You're gonna make me cum!" Chanhee rushes to sit up, but you push him back down as soon as he tries. He looks absolutely horrified at being so close already.

"And what's the problem with that?"

"I-I just- I don't want to disappoint you."

"Oh, baby," You take your hand from his chest in favor of jerking him off, which he all but chokes at, "It doesn't disappoint me at all. I find it very hot, actually."

"Plea-ease..! Oh!" Chanhee wails one final time before he lets go all over your hand.

It covers your knuckles, dripping white down the side of your thumb as you keep stroking him to help him ride it out. The orgasm must've hit him hard, you think when you look up to see Chanhee shuddering in time with the aftershocks that zap his body every few seconds, eyes closed and skin dewy with a sheen of perspiration.

"Hey, come back to me. You alright? Does your head still hurt?"

He takes a moment to open his eyes, but when they roll open and find your face, he does something that catches you off-guard. He latches himself onto your front, straddling your lap, and rests his head over your shoulder with a sigh.

"Chanhee, hang on a bit, my hand's still dirty and I need to clean you up-"

"In a second. I'm tired."

"You still haven't answered my question."

"Mm, I don't feel like talking right now."

"... You are such a handful."

@vanillaknj @stealerhwa1

[bokutobaes]

inarizaki boys when you have a bad day

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭ .・.

☆-with: atsumu, suna, kita

☆-!warnings!: swearing, parental issues, parents fighting, (there’s nothing physically violent), illness like the flu

☆-a/n: yall these are longgg LOL sorry

☆- author: lu <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭ .・.

☆ atsumu:

-his baby had a bad day :((

-just kidding he didn’t notice at first I’m so sorry nzjsjjsj

-your lockers are nearby so he’s usually waiting for you there first thing in the morning

-you woke up today with a headache and you were just really tired from studying last night :/

-you wanted to suck it up because it was your own fault for leaving the studying until the night before the test you had

-anyways, you were walking up to your locker lowkey trying to avoid eye contact with him

-“hi tsumu :)” u fricken liar with that fake smile

-“morning babe!” atsumu pulled u in for a back hug “i have to get to class kinda early for a test review so i’ll see you at lunch”

-and with that he was pecking your cheek and leaving

-“okay.. kind of good” you thought.. you didn’t wanna worry him or anything so you headed to you first class, math

-hell literally broke loose.. you forgot your pencil case and had to ask like 4 people until you got one which was embarrassing

-AND THEN the teacher called on you for an answer that you didn’t know like the universe

was against you or something

-“uhh... ummm i don’t know..” headass😩

-the class after that was slightly less dehumanizing but it was also japanese class.. the class you had a test in that you just barely studied for

-you did the test and lost braincells, blood sweat and tears LOL

-“okay class these will be graded by lunchtime so please come by to collect your scores before your next class”

-ogey :/ anyways u went to ur next class and before u knew it, it was lunch time.

-a text from atsumu made your phone vibrate while on your way to get your test scores

-“hey babe im actually gonna eat lunch with samu we’re practicing a bit at lunch”

-oh :) ok :) that’s fine :) not like u :) desperately:) need a hug :) right now :)

-“oh okay babe” you text back

-whatever u don’t need him independent queen

-that’s your mindset.. until you get those test scores

-it’s a literal fail .. did not pass the test.. ok..

-“y/n san, these test scores were not your usual best. I’m slightly disappointed, if there’s anything going on please let me know”

-“thank you sensei. i’ll do better next time.

-at this point you were just tying not to cry so you took your test and shouldered your bag and walked to a bench outside for some fresh air.

-right.. you didn’t bring lunch today

-so now you were hungry, tired, defeated, disappointed and lonely :,(

-the last class of your day went by quickly probably because you were zoned out the whole time

-the end of the day came and you were at your locker when your guardian texted you

-“Y/n, you had that test today right? I’m expecting to see the grade when your back home. Didn’t have time to make food tonight so find something to eat on your way home.”

-oh that test ? lol hahaha the one that you failed?! yeah that one haha lol lollll

-so with that, you started your walk home

-“y/n!!”

-fuck. atsumu.

-if you saw him now you knew you wouldn’t be able to hold in your tears and you really didn’t want to cry

-so your solution? pretend you didn’t hear him and walk faster lmfaokdhdh

-but atsumu, being.. well atsumu, decided to just full speed sprint towards you to put his shoulder around you

-“i literally know you heard me. i missed you today sorry about lun- why are you crying ?!!?”

-“bad day” you choked out before a shuddering gasp wracked your chest

-atsumu didn’t say anything he just wrapped you in a tight hug, petting you hair while you cried into his chest

-“its okay babe.. “ :(

-“you wanna come over? we can get food and cuddle”

-you nodded your head taking a shaky breath

-his hand reached out and wiped your tears, brushed your hair behind your ear and kissed your forehead like it was natural to him.

-and so you walked together hand in hand to atsumu’s house where you ate samu’s leftover onigiri and vented to atsumu about the day while you cuddled

-he also gave you a hoodie :,)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭ .・.

☆ suna:

-“living is a chore :|” you thought as the alarm rang through your room ruining your peaceful sleep

-it was raining outside and your mind went back to last night, the screaming match your parents had

-normally you’d be used to it but it felt like they were starting to take the anger they had for each other out on you now

-you tried not to but you started thinking about all the things your mom had yelled to you through the closed door of your bedroom

-“your just like your father. you’re selfish, lazy and all you do is run around with that little boyfriend of yours! what about your family?! you think your better then us? why don’t you move out then since your so good at being independent?!”

-everything she said was always completely blown out of proportion, she lied all the time. it’s exhausting for you

-you started getting ready for school, you wanted to see suna and your friends and laugh and just forget last night even happened

-when you got to school suna was there at your locker scrolling lazily through his phone

-you smiled, genuinely as he looked up and greeted you with a smirk

-“nice hair.”

-“wha-“ you started and then smacked his arm when you realized that your baby hairs were out of sorts “shutup” you scowled

-“good morning” suna hugged you

-“good morning”

-now you were off to class, it always went by too fast, you thought. school was always done in the blink of an eye

-“what’re you doing at lunch?” your friend tapped your shoulder and whispered to you

-“mmm nothing probably why?”

-“let’s eat on the roof today! yui told me there’s gonna be a rainbow cuz it stopped raining.”

-“okay” you smiled

-now at lunch with your friends you ate the bento you had packed before. the rainbow was there and it was beautiful

-you were having fun just laughing with your friends and texting suna while he sent terrible photos of atsumu. things were good, you had forgotten about your mom

-until the end of the day came and you had to go back home

-as usual suna was at his locker waiting so that you could walk home together

-after crossing the street you and suna were at a bike path, trees surrounding the fences

-it was a comfortable silence until...

-“what’s wrong?”

-suna asking took you by surprise, you didn’t think you were acting any different. were you?

-“what are you talking about”

-“you look sad, you did this morning too but then you were fine the rest of the day so I didn’t say anything. but, you look sad again now”

-“oh..”

-so suna just saw right through you

-“ um.. i’m okay.. it’s just ..” you laughed dryly “i don’t really want to go home”

-“did something happen?”

-“yeah.. my parents were fighting, it turned into this whole thing.” you felt a lump in your throat start to form “i don’t really wanna talk about it”

-“okay. you should just come over then, right?”

-“can i?”

-“you literally don’t even have to ask me anymore y/n” suna grabbed your hand and led the way

-when you got there suna hopped on his couch and started putting on something from netflix

-“my parents aren’t home, my sister has a dance thing today” he grabbed a blanket and you sat down, putting your head in his lap

-suna put on a comedy show, of course he would

-he played with your hair while you watched and after an episode or two, he asked

-“do you want to talk about it now?”

-and so you did, you told him what happened last night and what your mom said. your plan was to not cry but that failed miserably

-suna listened intently, he told you the truth, he said that what she said wasn’t true, he told you you could sleepover whenever you needed to.

-kissed you and wrapped you back in the blanket

-“i love you, you know that right? always.”

-he always knew what to say and you loved him for that

-“i love you too, suna”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭ .・.

☆ kita:

-kita knew, first thing he noticed when he saw you that you weren’t okay

-you woke up with a terrible headache, aching body and stomachache

-so this is it? this is hell? ok.

-but the test.. you had a test today. fortunately you had actually studied for weeks because you knew it was important

-mentally? you were ready for that test. physically? you had the spanish influenza

-so you weighed the options and decided you would go to school, take the test and then come back home after.

-the problem with that was that kita would in fact lecture you on all the reasons you should not have come to school

-he was right of course, but you still decided that you would need to avoid him for today

-spoiler alert it did not work

-your test was your third class of the day so you only had to get through 2 classes and you’d leave at lunch perfectly avoiding kita

-this was what you thought while you were at your locker until you closed it and walked directly into kitas chest

-“wow”

-“good morning y/n-chan”

-“morning kita! i have to go or I’ll be late!”

-you ran😭 and you almost got away too but kita grabbed your arm and pulled you to one side of the hallway

-he felt your forehead and both cheeks

-“you have a fever y/n”

-“no I don’t I’m just hot from walking to school”

-he said 😐

-you signed and rested your head on his chest letting your arms dangle

-“why did you come? you look sick”

-“thanks. I have a test.”

-“how do you feel?”

-you told him your symptoms but also that you were leaving right after the test and you could pull through

-he really didn’t want you to overwork yourself but he knew you were set on taking the test

-so he let you go and he made you promise to text him between classes and let him know if you felt any worse

-and off you went

-honestly, you were fine up until halfway through your second class.. then you started feeling really cold and tired even kind of nauseous

-then in the third class your test was put onto your desk and before you knew it your teacher was saying “begin”

-okay. you can do this you thought to yourself. the test was easy enough with how much you studied, you thought about every answer and you tried to finish quick

-but then it was like time cut itself in half and the bell for lunch was ringing

-you weren’t even done the test yet

-“y/n you can stay in here until your done but i expect you to have it finished soon”

-one question left

-you don’t even remember what you ended up putting before you were up and giving the paper to your teacher

-kita was right there when you left the classroom

-“hey ..hey.. y/n”

-you could barely hear him you just flopped into his arms

-“okay I’m taking you home.. “

-“but..”

-“shh let’s go”

-you don’t remember getting there but then you were in your bed smothered in pillows and blankets

-kita came in

-“what time is it?”

-he looked at his phone “half past 4”

-“4?!” you jolted up “did you even go back to school?” “kita?!”

-he smiled at you “no but it’s okay y/n it was only one day. i wanted to take care of you

-you noticed he had a steaming cup of something in his hands

-“what’s that” you asked

-“its tea, but it’s special tea :)”

-“what do you mean” you laughed

-“my grandma showed me how to make it, it’s gonna make you feel a lot better”

-he’s so cute...

-“kita... you didn’t have to do all this”

-“i wanted to” he sits beside you and hands you the tea

-literally tasted like heaven

-“mmmmm oh my god”

-kita laughed and kissed you on the cheek before joining you in the bed

-you cuddled and watched movies on your laptop until you fell asleep, comfortable in your boyfriends arms

[sickficsies-and-whumpsies]

Hello! may I ask sick kawanishi taichi? because it's actually hard to find his version :"D. He gets his hay fever acting up in class all day and causes a fever and headache. Shirabu take care of him since they're classmates and he looks horrible. Thank you!

Hello!! Now that I think about it, I've never even read Kawanishi content, poor guy. I hope this is similar to what you had in mind~

TW: headache, hay fever, coughing & sneezing.

1.1k words, Gen.

ーーー

The voice of his Chemistry teacher blabbering about the TCA cycle almost lulls him to sleep. His head rests propped up on his hands, elbow on the hard, uncomfortable desk as he blinks, trying to make out whatever's being written on the blackboard. Kawanishi has only taken notes for the first ten minutes of the lecture, before entirely giving up.

His head has been pounding without giving him a break since the previous night, and out of the usual seven hours of sleep he normally gets, he's sure he hasn't actually slept for more than three. Not well, either.

Kawanishi slowly moves his hands to the sides of his head, palms flat on his ears that ache and throb. He hisses under his breath, sniffling, eyes watery.

The room keeps spinning, and his eyelids feel heavy and sore. The ache in his head, ears and chest drowns out everything else.

He doesn't even notice how Shirabu's staring at him from his desk. The setter eyes his friend carefully, and rapidly notices his puffy eyes and his cloth tissue crumpled and indubitably damp with snot.

He returns his attention to the lesson, but not long passes before he's startled by a stifled cough coming from the back of the classroom. Most of his classmates, and even the teacher, only glance at the source of the noise for a split second before going on with their duties.

Yet, Shirabu can't pry his gaze from Kawanishi, who looks more and more in agony with each passing instant. Although he isn't familiar with allergies himself, it's not hard to identify the symptoms.

Headache, runny nose, cough, and tiredness, from the looks of it. He doesn't envy him one bit.

Shirabu recalls that Kawanishi has mentioned being on antihistamine medications, but it doesn't seem that the boy has taken them before coming to school.

"Shirabu-kun!?" 

He startles, snappung around to meet his teacher's annoyed gaze. "Perhaps you should focus on the lesson. I know you can get good grades, however I believe you might learn something from this, too."

The boy nods, bowing his head slightly, cheeks tinged in red. "Y-yes sir, sorry sir!!"

Someone snickers, yet Shirabu pays no mind to anyone but Kawanishi, who's still sniffling and struggling to hold his cough.

As soon as the bell rings, marking the end of those neverending fifty minutes, Shirabu is quick to catapult himself to his friend's desk, crocuhing next to it.

Kawanishi, whose head now lays above his arms, that work as a makeshift pillow, slowly tilts his gaze towards Shirabu, cocking an eyebrow in confusion.

"Kenjirou? What're you...?"

"Did you take your meds today? The antihistamine ones." he asks, pragmatic as always. "You know your hay fever's bad, so why didn't you?"

Kawanishi looks like he's about to say something, but a wet cough cuts him off abruptly. Shirabu timidly reaches out with his hand, rubbing soothing circles on his friend's trembling back while he coughs and sputters helplessly.

The middle-blocker reaches for his water bottle with the hand that isn't pressed against his mouth, and shakes his head, regretting the action as it throbs harder.

"Why not? Did you run out?"

"C-couldn't." Kawanishi replies once the coughing fit comes to an end, "Test later. Meds make me sleepy." 

Shirabu sighs. Right, they have an English test coming up in the fifth period, he'd momentarily forgotten about it.

"Still..." he fumbles for words, "Your health is more important than a test. You look like you can't breathe."

"Th-that's because it's true." Kawanishi coughs, cheeky. Shirabu lets his shoulders sag, just a bit.

"Listen, I'll make you a deal. We still have a bit more than four hours until the test, so how about you take the meds, rest in the infirmary and come back for it later, if you're up to it?"

"W-what aboutー" a sneeze, then another, then a cough, and a groan. "M-my head, fuck..."

Shirabu doesn't even wait for his friend's final answer. He turns to a classmate, explaining the situation and asking her to warn the teacher. Then, he starts to rummage insise Kawanishi's bag, retrieving the meds, and his bottle.

"Let's go, Taichi." he calls, gentle. 

His friend slowly stands, chair screeching against the linoleum, but as soon as he's up, he sways. A hand immediately shoots for the desk, grip tight to steady himself.

Shirabu's got his other arm, a concerned look in his honey eyes.

"You good? Do you need to sit back down?"

"N-no, no, m'fine, just tired." Kawanishi hums, straightening himself. Shirabu still doesn't let go, and the two of them make their way towards the nurse's office.

The walk is painfully slow, Shirabu being forced to stop dragging Kawanishi more than once as the latter doubles over and coughs, or sneezes, or moans in agony.

"You should've stayed in bed."

"You sh-should've let a professional cut your hair."

Shirabu snorts. The fact that Kawanishi's well enough to joke around is a huge relief. Luckily, the infirmary isn't far, and the nurse is kind and quick as he allows them in, instructing Kawanishi to take off his shoes and to loosen his tie before he shows him a free bed.

Shirabu and the nurse exchange a few words, and soon the setter joins Kawanishi, handing him a pill and his water bottle. 

"Here. I told the nurse about your hay fever, but he's said he will have to check your temperature and blood pressure anyway, for safe measure. I'll be back in three hours, to see how you're doing."

Kawanishi swallows the pill. He then turns to face Shirabu, "Thanks, man. Sorry for the h- ha- the hassー" a forceful sneeze cuts him off. 

"It was no hassle. Now rest." he says, offering a kind smile before he leaves the office, Kawanishi fast asleep.

ー ー ー

Shirabu doesn't visit him three hours later. Instead, Kawanishi blinks his eyes open to the warm, tangerine sunlight filtering through the infirmary shutters, and only then he sees his friend walking towards him, his own and Kawanishi's school bags and duffel bags thrown over his shoulders.

"Oh, you're up." he chirps.

Kawanishi frowns, face hurting. "What time s'it?"

"Oh, like, 6:30PM? I let you sleep in, since the nurse said you needed to rest more. Ah, the teacher said that you can take the test once you're well, it's no problem for her." Shirabu says, nonchalantly. "I know you're mad at me for tricking you, so I'm treating you to sukiyaki."

"You think food can solve this?"

"Can't it, though?" Shirabu grins.

Kawanishi's stern expression sobers up a second later. "...I get to pick the place. And I want ice-cream later, my throat hurts."

ー ー ー

Let me know how I did with this one!! And, anon, if you have an AO3 please let me know, so that I can gift this fic to you next week!!

(August 25, 2021)

[demonicheadcanons]

What the Demon Brothers Are Like When Sick

AN: MC is gender-neutral as always. Some of these skirt the line between being platonic and romantic - I wasn’t sure if I wanted to keep things platonic so that more people could enjoy this, or if I should write as if you’re already in a relationship with the brothers, so its a bit of a mess. I hope you enjoy ^^

 Lucifer

If you’re not close, you won’t see him. He’s going to hole himself up in his room for a day to get better as quickly as possible. Also he feels like getting ill can be seen as a weakness, so he’d prefer for people not to see him whilst he’s in that state.

He gets sick often enough - he works hard for long hours and doesn’t get much sleep. However he’s also good at just, pretending he isn’t? His focus may be a little off, and he might be quiet or more lenient towards the other brothers because he doesn’t have the energy to scold them for hours on end, but these will be the only signs something isn’t right.

If you are close, he’ll still be wary about letting you know. Again, he doesn’t want to be seen as weak; it’d hurt his pride.

On top of this, he also worries that it might be contagious, and humans are much weaker than demons - if he’s struggling with something, it would absolutely outright kill a human. If its a disease that a human can get, his door is locked and you’re not getting near him no matter what.

Note: he is the only brother other than Satan that even considers this, and so if any of the brothers are sick in a way that could be contagious for humans, it’s him setting boundaries so that you won’t get sick.

When he does trust you enough, he’ll insist on laying with his head in your lap. He’ll tell you that having you run your fingers through his hair helps relieve the headache - it’s partially the truth, at least.

Enjoys being taken care of for once, instead of having to take care of others, but the chances of him admitting it are low. He’s self-sufficient and he doesn’t need anyone to look after him. But it’s still nice, and he’ll completely melt and stop putting up any defence if you kiss him, even if its on the cheek or forehead. He doesn’t feel like he has to fight things that make him happy right now.

Hold a glass of water or a cup of tea up for him and he’ll look straight at you as he sips at it, examining your expression and making sure you’re alright. If you seem to be stressed or upset, he’ll make you leave or cuddle up to him.

Won’t let you do any work for him - he’s a perfectionist and doesn’t trust anyone except Diavolo and maybe Barbatos to work to the same standards as him (*cough* and maybe Satan, if he’s really inspired). However, when he’s recovering and can work again, he’ll ask for your company; you can sit beside him, sit in his lap, even just lay in his bed whilst he works at his desk. Whatever you prefer. All that matters is that he has you nearby.

Will take you out to dinner or shopping as a thank you for helping him.

Mammon

If you’re not close (which, to be honest, would only happen if you don’t like him, because he likes anyone who’s nice to him) then you’ll see him complaining in the group chat and that’s... pretty much it. Sticks to his room until he’s better if he doesn’t feel like you’d take care of him.

If you are close, you can bet he’ll blow up your phone with calls and messages to come look after him for a bit, or to bring him this and that - water, painkillers, blankets, pillows, wipes so he feels less gross. Anything at all that can make him feel better, and that will make you have to stop by his room.

Mostly he just wants someone around because he feels lonely often anyway, but it gets unbearable when he’s ill. Before you were around, he’d push himself to keep going about his day so that he wouldn’t have to be alone.

Run a hand through his hair and help gently wipe his face and he’ll melt. He’s bright red and insistent that he doesn’t need some stupid human’s help, but he’ll shut up quickly if you continue to pat his head or hold his hand.

“Fine. Since you’re so desperate to be around The Great Mammon, I guess I’ll let you stay.” Yeah no, his grip is so tight on your hand that you’re not getting away anyway.

Recovers surprisingly quickly, and doesn’t get sick that often. However, he will insist that he’s better before he actually is, because he gets bored laying about doing nothing - he’s a busy guy, he has money to make and so on. You’ll have to force him to stay in bed for a bit longer even when he’s absolutely sure he’s better, because he really isn’t.

This will stop happening if you give him a lot of attention when he’s sick - he’s a sucker for affection. Cuddle up to him and he’ll stay in bed for as long as you think he should to get better. Honestly it isn’t even fully necessary - he hates seeing you upset or worried, so if you plead for him to take better care of himself he might actually consider trying.

Delirious rambling is common for him. He’ll be half asleep and look up at you and just tell you anything that comes to mind. This is as open as he gets about his feelings, and he might complain to you or tell you about this thing he saw when he was out that kind of reminded him of you, or about that one time when Lucifer did something embarrassing when they were still angels. Despite being too loose-lipped to keep short-term secrets, he’s not a gossip and so this is the only time he’ll tell you about any of the other brother’s personal matters. Please don’t tattle on him - he really was just out of it and didn’t mean to do anything bad.

He cries easily normally, and it gets worse when he’s sick - if you’re watching shows with him whilst he recovers, he’s going to be blubbering over anything even slightly sad or happy. Make sure you have a box of tissues and some treats that won’t make him feel too sick to cheer him up.

He’s going to ask for help with catching up on school work when he’s better, but he’ll repay you in any way you ask him so long as it doesn’t involve much grimm being spent. Maths tutoring is a big one - he hates doing work, but he’s really good at maths canonically. Essentially, if you’ll do his other subjects for him, he’ll do your maths homework for you. You’ll probably end up doing more work, but you get to spend even more time for him if that makes up for anything?

Additional note: Mammon is the only brother who Lucifer will give you time off school to take care of. This is because he knows Mammon won’t want to be alone and will probably stress out so much that he’ll end up worse off. It means he has a way of monitoring Mammon without having to be around him, and he doesn’t have to worry. This won’t be the reason he gives you - he’ll act like its a problem that you’re missing classes and will imply that he’s only just barely allowing it, but will give you permission at the end of the day because “well, it will keep him out of my hair at least.”

 Leviathan

Like Mammon, if you’re not close you just won’t hear from him. He can get quite irritable when he’s sick, and holes himself up in his room so he doesn’t have to deal with anyone. Honestly no one will know he’s sick unless he misses school and Lucifer orders someone to check up on him, because nothing much changes except that he messages the group chat less.

He acts a bit like Belphie when he’s sick, and sleeps through most of it cuddled up to his Ruri-Chan body pillow, with TSL on in the background as a grounding comfort.

He doesn’t get sick often. His immune system isn’t the best, because he never goes out. At the same time, because he tends to avoid people anyway, the likelihood of him catching anything is low.

If you are close, not much will be different - you’ll have to seek him out to notice he’s sick, or he’ll tell you in the context of asking you to set a show to record or go to a store for a special promotion involving something he’s interested in. He doesn’t really look for any comfort, but the closer you two are, the more upset he’ll be because now he knows what its like to be close to someone and it makes him miss it.

Won’t initiate anything, but he’s less flustered about physical affection because he’s just so tired. He still blushes when you so much as hug him, but he won’t protest or put himself down, he just holds on as tight as he can manage and nuzzles as close to you as possible. He likes sitting like that for as long as you’re comfortable.

He’s disturbingly quiet compared to when he’s healthy. He can tolerate headaches because he’s used to them from staring at screens constantly, but the second he has a fever or feels nauseous he’s silent. You can try to prompt him but he’ll get out a small amount of info and then just, pout and frown off into the distance because he doesn’t feel good and he hates it. He prefers for you to talk to him at these times, in a calm and level enough voice - especially if you talk about something that you’re very passionate about.

Levi is bad at taking care of himself at the best of times, but when he’s sick he’s surprisingly obedient. If you ask him to drink some water or try and eat something, he will. He needs the reminders but once they’re there he’ll follow them pretty well. Without them he’s going to spend the entire time in his bathtub bed. If he’s really, really sick, he’s going to take out all the pillows and fill it with water and he’ll sleep off the sickness in his demon form with his head underwater. He’ll only do this if left alone, though.

If you sit or lay beside him when he’s laying down, he’ll alternate between holding your hands and playing with them. He’s too tired to be nervous and it really calms him down. If you remind him when he’s better he’s going to turn bright red and stammer out something about how “of course you wouldn’t want a gross otaku like me to hold your hand.” However, the memories, as fuzzy as they may be, make him happy and if you two are napping together even when he’s not sick any more, he’ll still play with your hands once he believes you’re asleep.

Once he’s better, he’ll catch up on schoolwork quickly be himself - he wants to get it out of the way as soon as possible so that he can catch up on all the shows and games he missed. You won’t see him for a day or two as he catches up on everything unless you ask to spend time with him, and he gets really flustered and happy because you already spent a lot of time together and you still want to be around him?

Overall, he’s pretty self-sufficient compared to most of the other brothers, because he’s used to spending time by himself and being sick doesn’t completely uproot his life. Alongside Lucifer, he’s also the most likely to get you a gift to thank you for sticking by him. If you were looking for anything, he’ll have ordered it before starting to catch up on his school work.

Note: He’s silent almost the entire time he’s sick, but at least once a day for as long as it lasts he’ll open his eyes and stare up at you and groggily mumble about if you could please feed Henry, the fish flakes are over on his desk, thanks. Also, you’ll hear him all you by your actual name the most when he’s sick because he forgets to call you a normie.

 Satan

If you’re not close, like with the others you really just won’t hear from him. He’s going to be following whatever advice he found in books to get better as quickly as possible, or he’ll buy a potion if there’s one that will help. If nothing is helping, he’s going to be confined to his room because he’s in a constant bad mood and doesn’t have a good handle on his anger.

Even if you are close, he’ll ask to be left alone whilst he’s recovering because he knows he might snap and say or do something that he’ll regret. The only time he’ll willingly let you be around him is if he knows he isn’t contagious, and if he’s too weak to do anything. Its a rarity like no other, because it involves so much trust in both you and himself. If you force yourself into his room and insist on taking care of him anyway, he’s not going to say a word because he’ll be too focused on keeping himself under control.

He essentially becomes like a cat that is constantly fighting the urge to claw at your hands. Be slow and gentle around him, and keep your voice low. If you can get close enough to pat his head or let him curl up with his head in your lap, then you’re safe. However, if you’re loud or knock over his books he will quite literally growl at you, teeth-bared, and you’re going to want to get out of the room as soon as possible.

Once you manage to get close to him, keep a hand on his head and read quietly to him and he’ll pass out pretty quickly. He prefers for you to read fairy tales at times like this over anything else.

If you’re like this and another brother is loud outside of the room or bursts into the room he’s going to be furious. He’ll grip your wrist - possibly tight enough that it’ll leave a faint bruise - to keep you in place and glare at them until they back off, or just glare at the door until the noise stops. You’re pretty much trapped with him unless you can somehow figure out how to get up without waking him up, and if he wakes up and you’re gone you’re going to be hard-pressed trying to get him to let you get close again.

He’s going to be embarrassed once he recovers, and it really is best just to not bring any of it up again. After the first time he gets sick, he will seek you out if you were able to get close and you took good care of him - he’ll text you to bring water and painkillers to his room because he’s sick, and after that he’ll ask you to read to him again. He seems more normal each time, but make no mistake - if anyone else tries to be around him they won’t get away unscathed.

Satan really goes from one of the most reasonable brothers to acting very much like a demon, or like some kind of animal fighting to appear human.

When he’s better, he’ll thank you for helping him. If you don’t seem to be scared of him even after seeing him in that state, he’ll stick a little closer to you in future. He doesn’t try to repay you in any specific way, but he will help you out in little ways over time. If you don’t help him whilst he’s sick, he’s going to be understanding, but if you decided to help him and then ended up afraid of him he’ll be frustrated because he warned you and you ignored it.

 Asmodeus

Unless you really seem to not like him, he’s going to act similar whether you two are close or not; he’s complaining in the groupchat about being sick and about how awful his screen feels right now and so on. This will continue until you either take it upon yourself to go take care of him, or Lucifer sets up a rota where everyone has to go spend some time with him so Asmo will stop blowing up his phone.

Asmo doesn’t seem to change much when he’s sick, but he’ll have moments where he lays quietly and stares up at the ceiling because he’s overthinking something or he feels alone and hates it. He needs to be distracted constantly - paint his nails, or help him wash and moisturise his face, or tell him whatever silly stuff his brothers have been up to lately and he’ll brighten up a bit.

If he’s sweaty or feels like he looks even slightly less beautiful than normal, he’ll try to hide his face beneath a pillow at times because if you’re going to think about him, he’d rather not have you remember what he looks like right now, even if he’s still the most attractive person in the three realms. Enough compliments will draw him out but he may make a few inappropriate remarks in response.

Overall he acts similar to how he normally is, with a little more complaining and a slight cut down on his more suggestive comments. He’ll want to be pampered and taken care of and will make his wants known, but once you’re there with him he’s able to stay calm about the entire thing unless it goes on for too long and he feels like it’s going to take time and effort to get himself looking as good as he usually does again.

If you’re very close, and he’s realising that he has genuine feelings, then he’s going to have brief periods where he’s vert soft with you - he’ll ask you to lay down beside him and he’ll hold your face in his hands and whisper to you, being honest about how he feels and telling you what he likes about you, and asking you questions about yourself and about how you feel about him. He gets a little teary-eyed at these times because he’s really happy that you’re there with him even when he’s not in top shape.

The absolutely worst with food when he’s sick. He’s picky and he’ll turn his nose up at almost everything. If it has a smell it’s making him nauseous, but if it doesn’t have any taste at all he’s going to refuse to eat it because if he wanted his food to be bland he’d go ask Solomon to cook for him. Asmo is most at risk of making himself more sick by only eating sweeter foods because they’re all he can tolerate.

He’s a healthy person generally - he takes good care of himself, it’s a huge priority of his. He doesn’t get sick often but he takes longer to recover than most of the other brothers, and it really frustrates him.

Overall, just stay close to him and help him take care of himself in whatever way you can and he’ll be alright. This is probably the safest time to be around him, because he’s not in the mood to try anything when one of the participating parties is sick, whether it be you or him. When he gets better, though, he’s going to be very suggestive for a while because he insists he’s running on a deficit and needs attention.

He won’t necessarily reward you or thank you directly for helping him - I mean, you got to spend all that extra time around him, and that was a treat in and of itself even if he was sick the entire time - but he’ll invite you over for face masks and will paint your nails and offer to give you a nice massage. Essentially, whatever you’re down to do, he’s also down for once he’s better and is able to have a nice bath and fully wash away all traces of the illness.

 Beelzebub

If you’re not close, you’ll know he’s sick because there’s suddenly a lot more food around than there was before with him not around to eat it, and Belphie is complaining about how his stomach hurts because Beel is sick. Beel, himself, will stick to only complaining to Belphie in their room, or he’ll ask Lucifer to find a way to help him feel better. Whilst doctors will be called for all brothers if their condition seems serious, its incredibly likely that one will be called for Beel immediately no matter what.

If you are close, you’re going to be stuck by his side the entire time he’s unwell unless you really have something to do and Belphie agrees to spend the time with Beel instead. He really doesn’t want to be alone, and he’ll cling to anyone who comes near him. If you’re uncomfortable with physical affection you’d be best avoiding him whilst he’s sick.

Otherwise, Beel will wrap you up in his arms and cuddle with you, holding you as close as he can. He’s going to be wary of not hurting you, and he’s essentially a furnace when he’s not well so he’ll release his grip slightly if you seem to be overheating (Belphie sets up a fan so it stops being as much of a problem, thankfully). If he’s really sick and can’t focus, you’ll have to remind him if he’s holding you too tight or you’re starting to overheat because he won’t stop himself from holding you as close as physically possible and essentially wrapping himself around you like a koala bear.

Beel isn’t one for words irregardless of how he’s feeling, but you can hear him making a quiet whining noise in his throat every now and then if you listen carefully - when he’s really distressed, the sound is near constant and sounds like flies buzzing. Being sick is one of the worst things ever to him, and he can never get used to it because it’s such an uncommon state for him. He’s a healthy guy generally, as he’s sporty and active and takes good care of himself. He’s usually fairly immune to most illnesses.

Nothing really makes him feel that much better except for you to stay close by. He appreciates small gestures - gentle kisses on his cheeks or hands, words of comfort, and humming to him will calm him down enough that he might be able to sleep it off.

One good day of rest and he’ll be back on his feet, better than ever and ready to eat everything in the kitchen. If you cook for him or with him? He’s in love. Even if you don’t, he’s still going to insist that he has at least one arm around you at all times, and if you’re comfortable with it he’ll probably take to carrying you around with him half the time when he’s recovering - its his own way of saying thank you and that he appreciates what you do for him.

He won’t do anything special otherwise to thank you. However, because he and Belphie both tend to get sick at the same time, if you tend to both of them he’ll definitely try to repay you in some way. Usually this just involves giving you some kind of snack when he’s filling up again. If he knows there’s something you really like to eat, he’ll sneak out when you’re sleeping and get some for the two of you, as well as something for Belphie.

 Belphegor

If you’re not close you’ll still know he’s sick because he’ll be trying to help Beel feel better first before he focuses on himself, and he’ll be grumbling the whole time. He’s angry and he’s not going to put up with anything, and the second Beel’s asleep he’s not leaving their room, or he’s locking himself up in the attic and sleeping until he’s better. No one except Beel and Lucifer dares to go near him when he’s like this - even then, Lucifer only checks up on him if he really needs something, or to make sure Belphie is okay because he’s the youngest brother and Luci very occasionally babies him.

If you are close, much like Beel you’re going to have to avoid him if you don’t want to spend the next few days cuddled up with him. He tends to be sick for longer, and if you’re not careful he’ll try to get you to spend the entire time in the attic, wrapped up in his arms.

He’s the only one who will end up in his demon form for the majority of the time he’s ill even if you’re around, for a variety of reasons; he doesn’t have the energy to maintain his more human-like form, he’s too frustrated and doesn’t care enough, etc. Also he finds it comforting to wrap his tail around you in some way if you’re okay with it so you won’t leave when he’s napping.

Belphie won’t admit to it, but the worst thing you can do when he’s sick is leave and not be back before he wakes up. Similarly to Satan, it upsets him to the point where he’ll get angry and refuse to let you back into the room, but he can be convinced fairly easily or bribed with the offer of letting him sleep with his head in your lap, with you running your hands through his hair.

As mentioned before for Beel, the two often get sick at the same time. Belphegor will be less clingy if you’re also taking care of Beel, and ten times more grateful. He won’t let you go for anything, but the second you mention that you need to check up on Beel too he’s already released his grip and he’s grumbling about how you better come back as soon as possible.

When he gets better, he doesn’t really see a need to thank you or anything - not because he’s ungrateful, but because you two are close and he’d take care of you if you were sick too. He sees it as a normal and expected thing. If he was snappy with you, he’ll apologise indirectly, but otherwise he doesn’t say anything about it. If you did end up taking care of both him and Beel he’ll pat you on the head and probably offer to let you rest with your head in his lap for once.

AN: Thanks for reading! If its highly requested I’ll do this for the Undateables too. In the meantime, I plan to write about how the brothers take care of MC when they’re sick.

[janekfan]

for the bingo board, would you mind doing health scare with jon and the crew? i love your writing btw

Thank you so much!!! 

Uh, I filled this probably unconventionally? But I hope it’s okay!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28514178

Jon first noticed something was off when he woke up shivering in the dead of night. But temperatures had been dropping steadily, there was no reason to think that it was anything other than the thin, poorly insulated walls of his flat causing the problem. Exhausted, Jon knuckled enough sleep from his eyes to retrieve another blanket, deciding before he slipped away again to wear a warmer cardigan tomorrow because the archives had a tendency to be chilly.

When Jon limped his way into the office the next day his joints were already burning and loose, feeling all too much like they’d been crushed into powder. He knew better than to walk that extra stop from the train but he was so embittered about his new, illustrious position as Head Archivist that being crammed like a sardine with hundreds of other people all but reading his mind, knowing instinctively that he wasn’t cut out for the work, was unbearable and he’d needed an escape. It wasn’t that bad; he was just tired from trying to fix Gertrude’s mess, that’s all. He just needed to redirect his attention away from the needles stabbing into him every time he took a step and focus on the mountain of files he had yet to sort through.

There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to how they were organized, but he had been able to use the dates scrawled across the tops of the stiff yellowing papers to get some semblance of a timeline going. That was where Jon found himself when Martin dropped off a cuppa, thanking him absentmindedly as he compared what was either a nine or a seven to another, clearer script.

“Um. Jon?”

“Hm?” It couldn’t matter that much and Jon filed them away in deference to the tea. Jon hadn’t realized how thirsty he was...what time was it?

“I. It’s half three.” Oh. “And I. I just haven’t seen you eat? Anything?”

“Oh.”

“You’re so busy, of course! It’s natural to get, uh, caught up! I could fix you something, if you’d like?”

“I’m.” Not hungry, that was for certain. Either the pain or the exhaustion was upsetting his stomach and the idea of eating right now was--

“Jon?” Maybe he’d eaten something gone off? Past the expiry?

“Oh. Um. Actually.”

“It’s no trouble!”

“Some. Some toast would be lovely, Martin, thank you.” A bite or two would help and as strange as it felt to take Martin up on his offer, the slightest bit of tension bled out of his shoulders.

Things had been.

Tense.

Since he’d accepted the position.

It was clear, no, true, that Sasha was better deserving of the job. She had more experience, more knowledge, more everything and yet Elias had passed her right over, giving Jon the ridiculous choice to resign or take it.

He should have resigned.

Finding a new workplace would be easier than watching his friends pull away from him. He didn’t blame Tim for siding with Sasha. She needed support right now. And anything he could think of to say to her would make him sound ungrateful that he’d been selected over her. Couldn’t very well go up to her and admit that he hated this and wanted everything to go back to the way it was in Research, because she really did want it.

And he.

“Toast’s up.” Martin sidestepped into the room to place the small plate on the corner of the desk. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like with it so I got a few things!” Cheerful and bright, he placed the jams down with a small spoon. He couldn’t have known it was exactly the right thing to do, that dry toast was about all Jon was going to be able to manage. “Anything I can help with?” Tentative, it was no secret that Jon was prickly at the best of times.

“Ah, um.” Jon gestured to a box, repressed a flinch when it seemed like his shoulder would jump from its socket. “I’ve been organizing by the dates on the top? Just, just for something.”

“Got it.”

Jon made his way slowly through one slice, later agreeing with Martin that he’d gotten too caught up with work to think about the second.

Things didn’t improve.

Maybe it was this.

Maybe it was that.

Excuse after excuse, because anything would be better than what he knew in his heart this really was and finally late one evening Jon clutched the bed spread despite the fire flaring in his fingers and buried his face into the soft fabric. It was foolish; it wouldn’t change anything to be so upset and he should be better equipped to handle it considering these spells would continue happening. He breathed in, out, slow, measured, but instead of calming him, he burst into sobs, muffling himself in the sheets and crying despite the pain and as he lay there, coming down from his tears of frustration, Jon realized, accepted, what was happening. The reason for his fever, headaches, the increase in pain, the trouble eating, sleeping--

“You are fine.” He whispered repeatedly into the cold isolated dark of his bedroom. “It won’t last forever. It never does.” But it always felt like forever and he couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be this time. What mistake did he make to cause it, even though Jon knew deep down it didn’t matter. That these things came and went with the wind and no matter what habits he changed to try and mitigate it, it never mattered. It was as if he was only able to talk himself down in time for it to flare up again and the constant fight to convince himself he would be alright, that he would make it through again and again and again was exhausting because it meant he was done in before the day even began.

Jon’s body ached like one giant bruise, crushed, pulled apart, at once boneless and so heavy that moving out of bed was out of the question. Brain stuffed with cotton wool and foggy thoughts meant that to speak meant to hurt so he didn’t, knowing he came across as spiteful but he didn’t have the energy to explain, not when he was so focused on making it from train to Institute to door to stairs to office; each leg of such a routine journey worse than the last. Sitting up was an ordeal and Jon had to drag his stick and string self out of bed after each restless night with caution, lest he pull something loose out of place. Braces, tape, hidden, hiding, normal, normal, normal. How he could be so tired and still not be able to sleep at night was a torture he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.

Greetings, pleasantries, small talk all standing in the way of Jon reaching his desk and taking a break from what was essentially waking up. But it hurt. It all hurt. And it made it all worse because they were already angry with him and they wouldn’t stop being angry at him unless he put work into mending their relationships and he couldn’t put work into it when he wanted nothing more than to lay down and be unconscious for however long it took until this all passed.

The worst part of it all was that he needed help and didn’t know how to ask for it. Not with the cold shoulders, the whispers, the looks. And he only had himself to blame. The desk phone caught his attention and Jon was surprised it wasn’t shrouded in a layer of dust, still weighing his choices. Call someone, probably Martin. Or drag himself out of his office. One would only wound his pride. Gingerly, Jon cradled the phone to his ear, licking chapped lips before dialing Martin’s extension.

“Oh, J’Jon?” He’d never called any of them before. “Uh, what can I do for you?” Thank god. Trust Martin’s helpful nature to override any other questions.

“Ah, Martin. Yes, thank you. If you could--” There was a scuffle, a yelp, muffled through his door, followed by the dramatic clearing of a throat and:

“You can’t hide in there all week, Jon!” Came Tim’s sing-song reply and the hang up was two fold; through the receiver and the clang of the thing on Martin’s desk. Jon took a deep breath, pushing back the emotions threatening to flood him, tipping his head back and begging the tears to stop.

Having to ask for help was almost impossible and the longer he waited to show his face, the worse it would be.

The only thing he’d accomplished by picking up the phone was to put himself on a time limit.

This was too overwhelming.

Their desks are meters away but it may as well have been kilometers with how much he was hurting. But Jon pushed himself to his unsteady feet anyway, wishing both that someone would just notice and that he was masking his symptoms enough that they wouldn’t. He wasn’t foolish enough to leave his cane behind. It took concentration to keep his expression neutral, to force himself to walk smoothly. To pretend it was a regular day.

“That’s a level ten scowl, boss.” Jon rolled his eyes. “Honestly, you’ve been so moody lately.” Tim looked up from where he was twiddling away on his phone. Taking a break, that’s all, nothing to be upset with even though he couldn’t help but compare the number of files stacked on their individual desks. Jon swallowed hard around the tangle of hot disappointment.

“I’ve b’been, uh. It’s well, it’s a lot.” He hadn’t heard Sasha come up behind him, tone droll and capricious and all too familiar these days.

“I thought you’d be happier considering your position.” When Jon laughed nervously, it was damp with suppressed emotion. “It’s like you didn’t even want it.” And good lord at this moment he’d never wanted it less. But how could he talk to her about how difficult this transition had been when he was the thief? So he didn’t defend himself, instead going along with their jokes at his expense, trying to explain what he’d tried to call for. It was difficult to breathe in their presence, it was difficult to stand. It was difficult to accept that his friends were actively making things harder.

How would they know?

Tell them.

They’ll think you’re lying.

You were fine the other day.

“I was hoping you’d help me collect some files.” Jon wrapped his pompous academic exterior around him like a shield and for a horrifying moment he thought Tim was going to tell him off.

“Why didn’t you say so, boss?” Sarcasm dripped like crude oil from each syllable. “You just tell me what you want and I’ll fetch it for you.”

“Ah, j’just uh.” Jon pointed to what he needed in the stacks and Tim grunted with the weight of it, chuckling without mirth.

“Letting being the Big Boss go to your head are you?” He wiped a hand dramatically over his forehead. “Too shiftless to collect your own work?”

Why was he being so cruel?

“Too busy, I think you mean.” Jon shot back, letting anger and frustration seep through the continuously forming cracks. It was that or sob.

“Yeah, well. If you need anything else, you know where to find us.”

Jon absolutely refused to cry in his office.

It was stupid of him to not ask for help.

But he’d needed help with so many things this week past. Small things. Moving things. Carrying things. Things a normal person could do without constantly relying on others and the idea of parading himself into their midst again made his eyes sting with tears and his knees and hips burn. They hurt so much even with the bulky braces and sticky tape hidden beneath his trousers literally holding his joints together he didn’t think he’d be able to make another trip back and forth.

Which is how Jon found himself staring dumbly at his dangling arm for full seconds after trying to lift a box.

He’d dislocated his shoulder if the audible and sharp pop! was any indication and when the hot flush of agony hit he yelped mostly in surprise before controlling his fall to the floor. Someone was digging around in his shoulder socket with a superheated spoon as he writhed on the ground and he took just a moment to feel sorry for himself. He’d just wanted to do this one thing by himself and not have to surrender the tiny scrap of independence he’d been clinging to with his fingernails. Cursing himself for being so stupid and cursing himself again when his mewling brought all three of his assistants to his door, Jon looked up, feeling not unlike a beetle trapped on its back and waiting to be pinned. Now he was surrounded, in pain, under the glass of their frightened stares and he couldn’t spare the breath to tell them that he was fine. Just needed a moment to, to fit the puzzle pieces back together while he was being torn apart at his fragile seams.

“Boss--” A cacophony of panicked voices rising higher and higher and--

“Don’t!” They were reaching towards him, stopping at his tight command. “Don’t. I need. I--a minute. It’s fine.” Sweat streaked into the greying hair at his temples.

“This isn’t fine.” Tim sounded angry, scared, and Jon didn’t have enough in him to explain. Not right now. “Jon, you need--”

“Don’t tell me what I need!!” Surprising even himself with the vehement strength behind his declaration Jon put real effort into slowing his rapid breath. If he couldn’t control that, he couldn’t control himself, he couldn’t control the situation. At some point he closed his eyes, willing himself to relax, listening to the sound of Tim’s angry footsteps, Sasha’s following, their muffled voices upset and far away. He sensed Martin kneel beside him.

“Got you a cold cloth. Would you…?”

“P’please…” carried on the gust of his next exhale, the hum of relief stuck in his throat when Martin smoothed it over his eyes and it dulled the constant headache.

“You feel warm.”

“S’normal.” Martin was a surprising well of calm, not pressing or pushing or probing.

“Can I help?”

“In a, need another minute.” Experimentally Jon wiggled his fingers to check for numbness before trying to extend his arm and ultimately asking Martin for help.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to, to make it worse.”

“Can’t. Not really. Just there.” Martin’s hands were soft and warm as he maneuvered his arm over his head, helping bend it at the elbow and Jon grunted at the sensation of it falling back into place with a cool wash of relief.

“Oh! Uh, better?”

“Much.”

“I’ll make you some tea.” As though it were the man’s answer to all ills.

Jon took his time sitting up and getting to his feet, grabbing his cane and making his way to the breakroom where he knew he’d find Tim and Sasha. They at least gave him time to get settled before Tim launched into his interrogation.

“What happened?” Jon squirmed uncomfortably under their scrutiny, eyes downcast and focused on the glare of the fluorescent lighting reflecting off the surface of the tea Martin made him and glinting off the untouched foil backing of the paracetamol blister pack. His arm was in a sling. A sling he happened to have in his desk. A sling he happened to have in his desk “because this just happened sometimes.” The pain had decreased significantly but it didn’t feel right and probably wouldn’t for a while.

“I tried to lift a box.”

“A box.” Jon could really, really do without the incredulity.

“You don’t understand.”

“Yeah, because you never talk about it!”

“Because it’s always the same!” Jon didn’t mean to shout, but they wouldn’t understand. They couldn’t. And no amount of explaining or talking about his symptoms or complaining when he was hurting because he was always hurting would make a difference. “People don’t want to hear about it, Tim. It’s. It’s depressing.” They don’t believe me. “It makes people feel bad and then they get awkward. It’s easier for all of us if we just. Pretend.”

“Jon--”

“You’ve known since Research.” Jon wrapped sore arms around a sore stomach. “You know what these episodes look like, if not what it is.” And you didn’t care enough to even ask. It goes unsaid. Blaming Tim for something so far beyond his control wasn’t fair and Jon refused to do it.

Noticing would have been nice.

Not being forced to haul himself out to their desks to ask for help would have been nice. He understood they were acting out a bit of revenge and he didn’t blame them considering he’d stolen the job out from under Sasha. But it had been a blow to his pride all the same. Every time. Like being kicked when he was down.

Tears sprang to his eyes.

“And I. I don’t need. I don’t need to be coddled. But.” It felt stupid to say he wasn’t always able to walk between their desks and his office. He should be able to do that. It should be easy and he hated that it wasn’t. “I n’need to be allowed to, to.”

Leave. Leave here and never come back because he’d never felt worse than he did right now trying to beg his assistants for permission to use the phone.

“Call us.” Martin provided. “On the bad days.” Jon nodded, hiding his trembling lips behind the mug of cooling tea.

“Jon.” Tim sounded stricken. “I, I never meant--I.” Jon knew that. Tim was kind, had helped him when they worked upstairs together. But being punished like a child for saying yes-- “Jon.” He looked up to see that Tim was sitting across from him, hand outstretched on the table between them. Reaching. “Jon. I’m so, so sorry. That was. I shouldn’t have taken it that far.”

“I never. I didn’t say anything. You didn’t know.” It was Jon’s fault for being stubborn. It was Jon’s fault for not explaining.

“That’s no excuse for acting like a prat.” Jon ducked his head, embarrassment heating his face.

“I just. I chose y’you because.”

I trust you.

When Sasha sat beside him and bundled him into a gentle hug, that’s when the tears came in a biblical flood.

“Oh, Jon. I’m so sorry.” She rested her chin atop his head and the relief outweighed the unprofessionalism as he let himself be held. “We’re going to be better, alright?”

“Al’alright.” Salt damp and trembling, Jon was too exhausted to worry about what they thought of his greatest secret.

Hours later Jon blinked awake, bleary and warm, on the couch, head in Sasha’s lap as she read through a case and wrapped up in one of Martin’s jumpers.

“Almost quittin’ time, boss.” Oh. “You okay to make it home?”

“Uh, y’yeah, yes.”

It was nice to be asked.

It was a bit like walking on eggshells, the first few days of them navigating Jon without smothering him but the support was a far cry from the isolation and loneliness he’d dealt with since this whole thing started.

And then finally it began to break; the pain that’d been ratcheted up to eleven finally started dying down to a more manageable five or six.

“Need anything while I’m up, Jon?” Sasha poked her head into his office on her way by, a familiar, easy smile on her face and one he’d missed dearly.

“Ah, no, I--oh. If it’s not too much trouble, Martin was working on a translation?”

“Sure thing.”

Simple as that.

[dwead-piwate-meggers]

Catching Colds and Feelings

A superhero catches a cold. A meddlesome brother attempts to play matchmaker. And Ellie Wiseman can’t resist a challenge.

Inspired by a number of @mindblindbard​‘s answers to reader questions and some in-game text.

Very Pre-Relationship F!Button/Grayson Black approx. wc: 1789 rating: t, for Gray’s language warnings: none

Read it on Ao3 or below

Chatper 2 (Chapter 1)

Grayson Black is not sick. He does not get sick. Sure, he may have had some chills this morning, but the air conditioning on the UCRT floor was probably just running high. And he may have a sniffle, but it’s the middle of summer! Isn’t that peak allergy season? He is absolutely fine, and if Nick hadn’t gotten it into his fat head to order him to go home, then he could still be at work doing his job. At least he managed to sneak some paperwork home with him. Nothing that would break regulations to have out of the office, obviously, it’s mostly expense reports and the like - things that need to get filed but usually end up on the back burner because they aren’t time sensitive - but something must have been wrong with the printer because the text is all blurry. It’s got nothing to do with the sharp pain in his temples. It’s definitely the printer.

He’s hunched over his coffee table (If he’s going to work at home, he can at least be comfortable, it has nothing to do with the way his whole body ached when he tried sitting at his desk. He probably needs a new chair.) doing his best to work out what he's supposed to be filling out on this line when his ringing phone nearly startles him out of his skin.

He checks the screen: Ellie. That’s… unusual. They text, (because they’re friends, and friends text each other), but outside of when they were trying to organize Nick’s surprise party, she’s never called. Especially not in the middle of a weekday. His stomach clenches, his mind jumping - is she ok? does she need help? - to worst case scenarios. He fumbles the phone, rights it, answers.

“Hello?” His throat stings a little when he speaks. That’s an allergy symptom, isn’t it?

“Hey,” she responds. She sounds calm, she’s ok. The tension in his stomach dissipates. “It’s Ellie. Can you open the door?”

Can you open the… It takes him a second longer than usual to understand what she means, his momentary panic over her well-being shading into confusion. What is she doing here? How would she even know he was home, unless…

He fucking didn’t...

“Did Nick send you?” he says, “I told him -” I’m fine, he tries to finish, before she cuts him off with some rather pointed words about not wanting to be a bother.

He doesn’t. Want to be a bother, that is. But she raises a fair point about already being here. It would be worse to just send her back home after she made the effort to come over, wouldn’t it?

Nick was probably counting on that when he asked her to check up on him. Arsehole. 

He heaves a sigh - getting up off the couch takes more effort than it should - and takes a quick look around the room to check that it’s tidy before he goes to the door. It is. Of course it is. And he rather doubts that she’d care if it wasn’t. But at this particular moment, it really feels like it matters.

Ellie’s standing in the hallway, phone still held to her ear. Her brown eyes - deep brown, the kind a man could get lost in - widen at the sight of him as he stands in the doorway. He says could. He means does. They’re dark, warm, flecked with black and framed by impossibly thick lashes and...

You’re gawking, Black. He gives himself a mental shake and looks down. And he notices the bags. That she’d lugged all the way here. For him. And that swooping in his gut is definitely not allergies. No, that’s guilt. (It is guilt. That’s all.)

“You didn’t have to -” he starts to say, but she cuts him off again with a roll of her eyes.

“It’s fine, Gray,” she says. “Now go sit down, you look like hell.”

Ouch.

He backs away from the entry to let her in, protesting, “It’s just a headache.” 

He’s fine. She can make her delivery like Nick asked her to and go. He’s sure she has better things to do. “It’ll pass.”

“Uh huh.” And he may not be an empath, but even he can feel the scepticism radiating off of her. “Have you taken your temperature?”

“I’m not sick.” He insists, around the scratching in his throat. And anyway, he doesn’t get sick, so naturally he doesn’t have anything to take his temperature with. “And I don’t have a thermometer.”

She doesn’t seem at all concerned by that, just reaches into one of her bags and tosses a small package his way. He catches it, and looks down. It’s a thermometer. Of course it is, because she’s smart enough - so damn smart, she’s going to be brilliant as an MIV -  to come prepared. He looks back at her, and she’s smiling. Beaming, really.

Her smile could light up a room. Is lighting up the room.

She’s also saying something. He blinks, managing to tune back in before he’s forced to admit that he hadn’t been listening, “...reading comes back normal, I’ll leave you alone.”

He’s not getting out of this. 

“Fine.”

She drags the bag into his (essentially pointless) kitchen, and he can hear her rustling around as he pops the thermometer in his mouth.

He waits.

It beeps.

He looks.

“Well?” she calls. 

“That can’t be right,” he mutters, more to himself than her. Because that temperature is a low grade fever. And he doesn’t get sick.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“One hundred and one.”

“How about that,” she says, mildly. 

Cheeky. He smiles to himself. Of course she is, she’s Nick’s sister. She’s Nick’s sister.

The smile falls away.

She’s also still rummaging around in his kitchen - he can hear the cabinets opening and closing as she looks for...whatever it is she’s looking for. He gets up to help, and ends up in the doorway just in time to see her trying to reach a mug with a spoon. Because there isn’t a problem she won’t face head on, won’t try to solve herself. She has her hand braced on the counter, pushing herself just a little higher as she stands on tiptoe. It’s causing her shirt to lift just a little, exposing just a sliver of her midriff. And it wouldn’t be that hard to help her, to stand behind her and pass that mug down, a hand on her waist…

He tears his eyes away, cheeks flaming in spite of his chills, and fixes them resolutely on the wall. So much so that he doesn’t notice that she’s standing in front of him with a laden tray until she tells him that he’s blocking the exit.

He follows her back to the living room, careful to look away when she sets the tray on the coffee table, just to be safe - she came here out of kindness, not to be ogled - although he catches her gesture for him to take a seat as she says, “Tea, soup, nap. Proven 100% effective most of the time.”  

“Really,” he says, sitting down (because it’s polite or because she asked or both) “this isn’t necessary -”

She cuts him off again, “You have a fever. Drink the tea. Eat the soup. And lie down. If you’re still awake after 15 minutes, I’ll back off and let you get back to work.’”

He opens his mouth, halfway to telling her that he isn’t sick. Closes it, because if that didn’t convince her before the thermometer reading, it’s not going to now. Opens it again, halfway to telling her he doesn’t mind the company. But he doesn’t want to monopolize her time. And he can’t think of how to frame it that doesn’t sound weird or creepy except it shouldn’t be either weird or creepy to ask your friend (because they’re friends) if they’d like to stay a little longer...

“I didn’t drug your food,” she says dryly.

“I didn’t think -” he didn’t even suspect that. She’d clearly misinterpreted his silence. But she doesn’t give him a chance to explain.

“Gray!”

“Right, sorry.” It’s probably for the best. He doesn't have the first idea as to how he would go about explaining it anyway.

She sits down at the opposite end of the couch, as far from him as she can get, (it aches, a little, to always be kept at a distance) and he recognizes the MIV study guide she pulls out of her backpack. He sneaks glances at her between mouthfuls of soup, studies the curve of her pursed lips, the way her brow furrows and smooths as she puzzles over the text. She’s quiet, still, in a way that Nick never is - goddamnit it, don’t think about Nick right now - and it’s...nice. Comfortable, to sit in silence with her. 

He doesn’t want to stop. 

And she’s absorbed in her studies. Would she notice if he just...eked his reports over?

“Hey!” She’s looking directly at him, pointing at the papers under his hand. Yes. Apparently she would notice. “We had a deal,” she reminds him.

He stares at her for a moment, mind racing (or rather, mind wading through knee deep mud thanks to the congestion) for any excuse to stay out here with her, before the look she’s giving him tells him that he’s not getting out of it. 

“Fifteen minutes,” he confirms.

“Mhm. Fifteen minutes.”

He sighs, makes his way to his bedroom and lays down on top of the covers. He isn’t going to fall asleep. He’ll just lie here for the requisite fifteen minutes, then he’ll go back into the living room, tell her it didn’t work, and she can… go…

It’s dark. In that hazy space between sleep and waking, he is aware - because his arm is draped over a body - that there’s someone (Ellie) in the bed with him. He gently tugs her closer, nestles back into his pillow for the split-second before his thinking brain kicks in. 

And his eyes fly open. 

He rockets to the edge of the bed, almost falling over the side, we shouldn’t, too close, don’t want to take advantage, doesn’t feel that way about me and…

And the lump he’d been holding doesn’t budge. 

Because bunched up comforters don’t move.

He rolls onto his back, and rubs a shaky hand over his face, the wave of panicked adrenaline receding as quickly as it had surged. “Fuck,” he breathes. 

Something else floods him in its place. Something that isn’t quite the ease that comes with relief. Something that feels a little more like a weight in his chest. Disappointment.

Oh.

Oh shit.

He has it so much worse than he thought.

[mechawaka]

Spring in Derdriu

A commission for @artsytardis​

Words: 11.7k

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Claude/Byleth

Rating: Teen

Mood music: Roses & Revolutions - Dancing in a Daydream

Summary: Five years after the war, Claude is the king of Almyra and Byleth is the queen of United Fodlan - but neither of them had the courage to propose at the Goddess Tower. When Byleth comes down with a sudden fever, they might have another chance.

---

They couldn’t possibly name Derdriu the new capital of United Fodlan, Lorenz had declared the very day after Byleth’s coronation. It would ‘imply things,’ he’d said, aghast that she would even suggest it.

Lo and behold, Ferdinand and Sylvain had expressed similar worries about Enbarr and Fhirdiad, respectively, and what ‘things’ their hosting would ‘imply.’

And Garreg Mach was also out of the question. Archbishop Seteth, recently crowned himself, wanted to keep the reformed Church of Seiros as far removed from political power as possible. Byleth couldn’t make her capital there, he’d insisted. The implications!

So which will it be? her newly appointed cabinet - four representatives from each geographical region, with twelve in total - had prodded, each sect adamant that theirs couldn’t possibly be the permanent home of the new government.

And Byleth, already exhausted despite only being in charge for a grand total of one moon, had replied:

All of them, then.

That day, United Fodlan’s migrating government, colloquially known as the Wandering Court, had been born. Byleth spent one season in each capital - spring in Derdriu, summer in Fhirdiad (on which she was insistent), and winter in Enbarr. In the fall, she and the entire cabinet gathered at neutral Garreg Mach to conduct any business which required everyone’s presence at once.

For five years, the system had worked perfectly. There had been some inevitable pushback at first, mostly from anti-Imperial factions who were upset that Byleth had adopted the old Empire’s ministerial structure, but they had gradually quieted down as the continental economy stabilized and flourished under its guidance.

Moreover, Byleth liked being on the road. She was raised in tents and on horseback, always moving between destinations, and the frequent travel helped soften long days of paperwork and political debate. 

It also let her document certain supply and infrastructure problems firsthand; to this day, Byleth fondly remembered a tiny village on the Rhodos Coast whose inhabitants had sent in an official request for a new bridge - and had been shocked senseless when the queen herself, in transit from Fhirdiad to Garreg Mach, had shown up to build it.

(Petra had put her personal stamp of approval on that one; you only rule what you can see and touch, she’d written of the event.)

Today, though - this season, this cursed spring - the system was not working.

Oh, it had started normally enough. Byleth, once settled in the palace at Derdriu, had taken up her usual duty of hearing the cases which had passed since her last time in residence and breaking any tied votes. 

It wasn’t until her ministers were tying up the season’s work that a heavy rain swelled the Airmid, causing flooding in four different territories and knocking out a siege-battered section of the Great Bridge of Myrddin. Suddenly, they were swamped with petitions: drowned fields, lost livestock, choked roads. All with less than a moon remaining before the court’s transition to Fhirdiad.

In short, Byleth hadn’t slept in almost forty-eight hours.

Her head was a splitting fissure of tectonic activity, rumbling in the background of every meeting, every hearing, and roaring to life at random intervals that left her gritting her teeth and glaring at Lorenz, wherever he was in the room.

Oh, we simply can’t stay in Derdriu permanently, she mocked him mentally as, again, a searing wave of pain spiked behind her drooping eyes. It would ruin everything, or whatever.

“- and with that in mind, the Merchants’ Association asked us to move the boundary twenty feet down the riverfront,” Marianne recited from an open ledger. She, like all the other ministers, was dressed in a smartly cut, floor-length robe of office that bore the seal of United Fodlan, with her hair gathered neatly at the back of her neck.

“Ministers Victor and Goneril voted in favor of the merchants, while Minister Gloucester and I voted in favor of the fisheries. How do you rule?” Marianne looked up from her record and across their round discussion table. Her eyes were bright and serious at first, but they creased with worry upon taking in Byleth’s pinched expression. 

“Are you feeling ill, Your Majesty?”

This garnered the other ministers’ attention as well. Ignatz pushed his glasses up his nose to study her better, staring in that perceptive, sympathetic way that said he’d already identified all the faults in her appearance. 

Hilda, who’d been twirling a quill pen between her fingers, glanced up and gave Byleth a detachedly brutal once-over, indicating with an arched, sculpted eyebrow that she disliked her findings.

Lorenz, meanwhile, simply regarded his queen with a dry, ‘I told you so’ stare.

“No, no. I’m fine,” Byleth asserted, avoiding everyone’s concerned faces, and especially Lorenz’s. He had warned her against overworking only a week prior, and here she was zoning out like a bored student. She’d get an earful from him later, no doubt, about a ruler’s responsibility to their subjects extending to self-care and time management.

“My apologies. Minister Edmund, please recount the case again.” Byleth pushed herself up, ignoring the pounding rhythm inside her brain. She often paced the length of the room for difficult petitions, anyway, and maybe movement would help ease the pain - but she took one step and the world went sideways.

She swayed dangerously on her feet, catching herself on the edge of the throne. Her legs were soft and wobbly as a dessert jelly; her vision swam with blots of darkness and intense color at random. 

In a hushed, grave voice, she whispered, “Oh, that’s not good.”

“Quite,” Lorenz agreed curtly, having materialized at her elbow to aid in stabilization. He turned to the others, lips pursed and demeanor supremely unamused. “I believe Her Majesty is finished hearing cases for the day. All in agreement?”

Byleth barely registered the other ministers’ responses; her ears were suddenly full of cotton, dampening all incoming sound. Even Lorenz’s voice, so close at her side, was fuzzy and jumbled. She could only nod and follow him out of the throne room, vaguely aware that Marianne had joined them.

When had her headache gotten this bad? It must have been a slow progression, she reasoned as the trio headed toward her chambers, building in intensity during the meeting. She vaguely recalled an old medical lecture of Manuela’s about blood vessels in the brain, and how moving suddenly after a stationary period could cause...something. Something bad, probably.

Not for the first time, nor even for the hundredth, she wished she’d paid closer attention to the other teachers’ seminars back at Garreg Mach.

Lorenz politely turned around while Marianne helped Byleth out of her heavy court mantle and into her gigantic bed, busying himself by preparing a teapot at the dresser.

“I’ll be fine by tomorrow,” Byleth professed as she collapsed onto her mattress, allowing Marianne’s white magic to flow over her in a soothing current. “We can re-convene at first light.”

With his back still turned, Lorenz scoffed. “I highly doubt that.”

“I’m sorry, but he’s right,” Marianne corroborated, ceasing her spell and pressing the back of one hand to Byleth’s forehead. “You have harvest fever; you’ll need to rest for at least a week to let it run its course.”

“A week?” Byleth demanded, sitting straight up again. “But I leave for Fhirdiad in two!”

Lorenz brought the teapot over on a wheeled cart, putting his hands on either side and warming it magically. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t have taxed yourself to infirmity, hmm?”

At that, Byleth shot him an impotent - and, in all likelihood, given her state, pathetic - glare, but the mere action of tensing her forehead muscles worsened her headache and she fell back onto her pillows, defeated. He was right, damn him.

“Byleth,” he continued, exasperated, dropping all formality as he always did in the absence of prying ears. “Just rest. We designed this government to run in your absence - let us handle things from here.”

Marianne echoed the sentiment with a soft smile, pouring some strong-smelling medicinal tea from the pot. “We’ll see that Ordelia and Hrym are well cared for,” she said, holding out the teacup like a peace offering.

Byleth grudgingly took it.

---

Lorenz squinted down at Byleth’s sleeping form, sprawled and content amongst her blankets, and sighed. No one had ever prepared her for a life of leadership and politics, but she’d risen to the challenge admirably in the last five years. Perhaps too admirably, if situations like this were any judge.

Her problem, he’d decided long ago - and informed her whenever the chance presented itself - was moderation. Temperance. Byleth Eisner tackled every problem with a single-minded determination that, while remarkably efficient during the war, had tended to cause a variety of problems in peacetime.

In that regard, she was quite similar to him. To Claude. And speaking of Claude -

“We had two guards and a trio of footmen at our assembly today,” Marianne observed, keeping her eyes on the bed, but her message was clear.

“Indeed.” Lorenz tapped the heels of his polished boots restlessly against the floor. He could practically hear the wagging tongues from here; he could picture the story of their fainting monarch billowing out from the palace like blood in water, ripe for scenting - and there was one particular green-eyed shark always circling for a whiff.

He forced a long, resigned breath out through his nose, and said dismally, “I’ll direct the staff to prepare the guest wing at once.”

---

Thanks to whatever was in that tea, Byleth slept straight through the next few days. Even when she woke, she was groggy and mostly insensate to the world around her; she recalled Marianne’s visits to administer medicine or urge a few sips of water, but other than that - nothing. Only light and color and sound, all indistinct and running together.

The fever itself wasn’t so bad. She was being treated by the most studied healer in the region, and the rest was good for her, as much as she resisted the notion.

No, what had her itching for freedom, for an escape, had nothing to do with the sickness and everything to do with her own shoddy mental compartmentalization. Byleth had a single unbreakable rule, and it had kept her safe and stable for most of her life: don’t slow down.

Her friends - formerly students, and now United Fodlan’s new ministers - had always struggled to understand what went on in her head, and Byleth had to confess that it was often a confusing place for her, too. That was why she spent as little time there as possible. If she was solving governmental disputes or plotting a route through the Oghmas, she wasn’t thinking about her problems - and for someone that had attended the Jeralt Eisner school of “don’t confront your problems until they literally confront you first” coping strategy, that suited her just fine.

But these hours cooped up in her bedchamber were slow, and Lorenz had taken great strides to ensure that nary a tax report breached its threshold. And when there was no work to do, no roadblock for her mind to chew on, it drifted to contemplation, to nostalgia, and then, inevitably, to Claude.

What would he think of the stalemate between the merchants and the fisheries? That one was easy. He’d find a third option, something neither of the institutions had proposed but that benefited both, and dazzle them with its presentation. He’d find a way to spin the conflict so that it wasn’t about competing guilds, but about the betterment of the city as a whole.

She wondered if he looked different now compared to when she’d seen him last, at the Alliance Founding Day celebration the previous Horsebow. They only ever saw each other in formal wear these days, painted and decorated and utterly without privacy. Had he let his hair grow over the winter like she had? Was it curling near the base of his neck, thick and wild?

Oh, here we go, she thought, rolling her eyes and then squeezing them shut. This was why she kept herself preoccupied; any lapse in activity brought these sorts of ideas to the forefront, and they always turned to indulgent fantasy. Only Claude brought out that side of Byleth - and it made her so paradoxically angry, and afraid, and lonely.

Angry because she hadn’t intended to let him in; he was just there one day, snugly by her side, a few months after she’d joined the faculty at Garreg Mach (and she would always lament, at least a little, that Rhea hadn’t put her with the students instead). Even after he’d admitted his ulterior motives in getting close to her, Byleth never had the heart to be mad at him for it. He was so damn endearing.

Afraid because, as easily as he’d attached himself to her, he’d un-attached. Byleth could admit to herself, alone in her darkened bedroom, that most of her mental evasion strategies centered around one specific memory: that early morning conversation they’d had right before her coronation, in which Claude had spontaneously announced his departure from Fodlan.

(“There’s something I need to do,” he’d said up at the Goddess Tower, and she had been so sure he’d wanted to say more, but instead he’d just...left.)

Lonely because their friendship had never been the same after that. They were both so busy, now, and with so much responsibility - and she missed him. Missed their easy conversation and matching drive; missed the academic dissections of famous battles and the late nights spent comparing various cultures’ names for the constellations. 

Her remaining friends were certainly a balm, and she wouldn’t trade them for the world, but none of them were him. She’d never filled that spot at her side. Couldn’t fill it. Nothing and no one else fit there.

But she also couldn’t ask him back. He was the king of Almyra now, fulfilling everything he’d wanted and worked for and talked about with stars in his eyes - and Byleth could never begrudge him his lofty and admirable goals. Never. Instead, she’d had to accept the possibility that the grand arc of his ambitions no longer included her in its trajectory.

She sprawled out sideways on her bed, letting the warring emotions flood her body. Maybe this was good for her. Maybe, like the fever, she just needed to let them run their course. Maybe these were the natural consequences of escapism and denial.

And it wasn’t like she’d be able to get away from herself any time soon.

---

“Of all the - absolutely not,” Lorenz stated, planting himself in the center of the hall that led to Byleth’s bedroom. “There are procedures, Claude. Royal protocol. You know this!”

But Claude had already danced around him, utilizing that foot speed the mages never needed to master. “Come on, Lorenz, I’m not some Srengan diplomat - we’ve all seen each other covered in mud and guts. What’s a little illness between friends?”

To his credit, Lorenz didn’t ask how Claude had come by that knowledge. Nor were his protestations very vigorous, as if the man had foreseen this exact scenario - and for that, Claude was proud of him. 

That pride wouldn’t keep him from his goal, however. He’d saddled up his wyvern as soon as the words “queen” and “sick” had left his spymaster’s mouth.

“She’s not well. You’ll be interrupting her convalescence - Claude,” Lorenz said sternly, holding his friend by the elbow and fixing him with a soul-searching gaze. “She cannot receive visitors in this state. What’s gotten into you?”

For an instant, Claude’s happy-go-lucky mask slipped. He’d been too pushy, so much so that even Lorenz got a glimpse of the panic underneath - the cold terror that had driven him across the continent and still gripped his heart. He knew it wouldn’t let up until he could confirm Byleth’s condition.

But he was a consummate faker, and so the mask slotted deftly back into place. “Why don’t you go ask her, hmm? I’m sure she’ll be positively overjoyed.”

---

When Lorenz walked in, Byleth was still in the same position, all spread out and despondent. 

“How are you feeling, Your Majesty?” he asked pointedly, and his use of her title - coupled with his formal position near the door - should have clued her in to what he was really asking, but Byleth was far too addled for nuance.

She tilted her head in his direction and flatly, shamelessly said, “Fine.”

Lorenz’s disciplined expression soured a fraction. “Well, that is wonderful news -” his ironic lilt suggested that this news was anything but wonderful, “- because you have a visitor.”

He stepped back to clear the doorway, giving Byleth a look that said she deserved everything that was about to happen. “May I present King Khalid ibn Riegan of Almyra.”

Claude poked his head in much too casually for Lorenz’s theatrical introduction. “Byleth! I brought you some -”

He paused, staring at her depressed-starfish pose. Byleth, in the blink of an eye, sobered completely and experienced all the stages of grief in quick succession.

“- fruit,” Claude finished lamely. Behind him, Lorenz pinched the bridge of his nose.

---

“Claude,” Byleth intoned, dredging up her ‘serious teacher’ voice for the occasion. She’d bathed and changed her clothes since his impromptu arrival - Byleth had never possessed a single modest bone in her body, but, again, he just incomprehensibly brought it out in her - and now she sat on the edge of her bed while he occupied the bedside armchair.

“It was so nice of you to drop in,” she continued, folding her arms across her chest.

Claude laughed anxiously, holding a woven basket full of fruit in his lap half like a shield and half like an offering to an angry deity. “Okay, why do I get the feeling you’re mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you,” Byleth said icily. It wasn’t a lie; it was more like she was mad around him - mad at the space surrounding his stupid, handsome head - mad that he’d shown up, as if summoned, right when she was feeling so sorry for herself about him.

But that was far too complicated to explain, so instead she asked, “What’s your business in the city?”

He brightened a bit, perhaps relieved to divert the topic. “Thought I’d tour the Goldroad - see what travel is really like there outside the official inspection dates.”

Byleth cocked her head to the side, staring out her west-facing window. He referred to the winding trade route that now spanned the Throat, starting at the Locket and ending at a similarly sized fort across the border in Almyra - but that was over a day’s travel from Derdriu.

Following the path of her eyes, Claude went on quickly, “And, you know, I was in the area, so why not visit my very best friend?”

She wasn’t sure she’d classify a seventeen hour wyvern flight as ‘in the area.’ Byleth narrowed her eyes, looking from his rigid smile, to his posture, to the basket he carried, then back to his face, waiting for the actual answer.

“- All right,” he confessed, exhaling deeply. “My spies said you were sick, so I came to check on you - how are you still so good at that?”

She smiled despite herself and pointed at the basket, which he promptly handed over. Popping a dried date into her mouth, she asked coyly, “At what?”

Claude laughed heartily, reaching over to get one for himself, and that simple action propelled them effortlessly into a comfortable, familiar rhythm, dispelling their outer veneers of royalty. 

They traded stories about travel, about new friends, about insufferable opposition; Claude told her about one of his subordinate satraps - which served a similar function to Byleth’s ministers, but with more concentrated local authority - who had threatened to raise an army in his territory over the price of grain, and then panicked when Claude had called his bluff and negotiated a lower price.

(“Did he even have an army?” she asked, completely absorbed in the story and eating sour cherries by the handful.

Claude, with a wide, gleeful grin, replied, “Not a chance.”)

In return, Byleth told him about last year’s failed rebellion in eastern Faerghus, in which a group of Blaiddyd royalists had tried to rally the region’s former aristocracy under the banner of House Fraldarius - and how Felix himself had ridden out to personally disband them.

(“Oof. Embarrassing,” Claude commented, making a face like someone had punched him in the gut. “What did he say to make them listen?”

Byleth snorted and modulated her voice to match the prickly swordsman’s. “‘This is not happening. Leave.’”)

As the afternoon wore on, servants brought in tea service and then dinner - and Byleth’s temporary surge in vitality upon seeing her dear friend started to fade, replaced by the fever-aches she’d come to know so well. Her movements grew slower and her answers shorter, overcast by brain fog.

Claude watched this change in her with considerable worry, helping her back under her blankets after they’d finished eating and re-situating the pillows around her head.

“Oh, stop it,” she chided, swatting away his hands. “I’m not completely helpless.”

He backed off, smiling easily, but stayed within range to aid her again if needed. “I don’t know about that,” he teased. “You know what they say about people who catch colds in the summer.”

“It’s spring,” she insisted, wrinkling her nose, but he didn’t laugh. In fact, there were no traces of mirth left anywhere on his face.

Byleth sat up straighter. “Claude, it’s only harvest fever. Marianne said it should clear up in a few days.”

He dropped back into his chair, resting his elbows on his knees so he could bridge part of the gap. “But what if it’s not, though?”

A nearby Church of Seiros’s evening bells rang out across the palace grounds. The brassy sounds changed with each echo, reaching her bedchamber as ghostly distortions.

“What, you think Marianne got it wrong?” Byleth asked, pulling her blanket up subconsciously.

“No, just -” Claude ran a hand back through his hair, pushing it even further out of its usual style, “- what if it’s related to...whatever Sothis did to you after the siege?”

He’d spoken so quietly that Byleth had to lean forward and slow her own breath in order to hear it. The concern in his tone - the restraint in his clasped hands; the uncertainty in his eyes - made her take a second pass over everything.

She no longer saw a casual check-in made by a concerned friend. Claude had traveled here with speed and intent, and now she knew why; just like their parting words at Garreg Mach had stuck with her, her long and mysterious slumber had probably stuck with him.

(The realization, while illuminating, didn’t hit her as hard as it should have. She thought some version of that truth, formless and undefined, must have been swimming around in the back of her mind for a while. It explained so succinctly why Marianne had insisted on treating Byleth herself, and why Lorenz stood vigil so often outside her room, even though the two had comparably little free time.)

Now that she thought about it, the long-term consequences of merging with a goddess should probably be a bigger concern of hers, too.

“I haven’t heard Sothis’s voice, nor felt her presence, in six years,” Byleth explained calmly, striving for an affect that would put him at ease. “And I’ve been in perfect health, besides.”

Claude gave her a long, lingering look - one that took in not only her face, but her long, mint-green braid and her customary wardrobe, unchanged from her days at the monastery - as if he wanted to commit her current state to memory. Byleth returned it with a confused frown, ready to comment on the odd behavior, but then his usual smile returned in a flash.

“You’re right,” he acquiesced with a little shrug, standing and straightening his riding harness. “It’s probably nothing serious. A few days, you said?”

Byleth’s confusion skewed into suspicion. Claude never let anything go that easily. “Yeah,” she answered slowly, searching his face for signs of duplicity. “Marianne said I’m already over the worst of it.”

“That’s great,” Claude enthused in the exact manner he’d use to win over his enemies, and Byleth’s misgivings quadrupled. “You should get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He was out the door in a flourish of his royal half-cape, paying no mind to the official etiquette of departure. (Byleth didn’t care about such things, but Lorenz was surely fuming about it in the hall.)

She let herself fall, warily, back onto her bed, pondering what Claude could possibly be up to - because he was up to something. It was only after she’d started to drift off, her head nestled warmly in one of about a dozen pillows, that the implications of his parting words struck her.

---

Ignatz rushed down the administerial wing’s main corridor, clutching a stack of accounting ledgers in one arm and several sheaves of operational business licenses in the other. Sunlight was just starting to peek through the hall’s windows, painting slowly elongating bars of yellow on the opposite walls; nobody would be in their offices yet, but if he could deliver his cargo before breakfast, he’d be able to get a head start on his own day’s work -

Thus distracted, he pushed his slipping glasses back up the bridge of his nose - using an occupied hand. Fifty business licenses, previously sorted alphabetically and geographically, drifted to the ground in a fluttering cloud of failure.

“Oh, no,” Ignatz muttered, dropping to his knees and gathering up the papers as best as he could without dropping the ledgers. If he didn’t deliver his cargo before breakfast, that would delay all of his tasks by at least an hour, thereby pushing back tomorrow’s tasks as well, to say nothing of his meeting with the merchants’ guild - 

A head of shaggy brown hair and a pair of leather-gloved hands bent to organize the papers into a messy but holdable pile, then helped to situate it more snugly in Ignatz’s grasp.

In his haste and immeasurable relief, Ignatz threw a grateful, “Thanks, Claude!” over his shoulder as he resumed his flight down the corridor.

At the threshold of Hilda’s office, though, while balancing both stacks with one hand so he could turn the doorknob, he froze and shouted back the way he’d come, “Claude?!”

---

Instead of the usual morning sounds - like the rustling of Marianne’s skirts or the trundling of a breakfast cart - Byleth woke to singing. It originated somewhere to her right, winding and unhurried, and she knew this gentle melody; Claude had taught it to her during the war.

So he really was still here, then. He’d really stayed. 

She opened her eyes just a hair, hoping for a chance to observe him before he noticed that she was awake.

It was still early. All the curtains were tied back and the windows cracked, letting in pale, diffused light and a sea-salt breeze off the bay. Claude stood at her personal writing desk, which Marianne had turned into a makeshift apothecary, weighing a small pile of freshly ground coriander. He was dressed more casually today, having discarded his courtly attire and riding leathers in favor of a belted Almyran-style tunic; his hair was bound in a simple but flattering tie at the nape of his neck.

Byleth watched him work - watched him thoughtfully consider the ratio of coriander to ginger to water, his hand hovering over each as he deliberated. All the while he sang that soft tune, so beautifully laden with memory and affection. 

When he’d finally settled on a mixture, he reached into a pouch at his belt and uncorked a vial of honey, adding a spoonful to the mug. She tried her best to hold it in, but a tiny, breathless laugh escaped her; that rich wildflower honey was a signature of Claude’s home-brews - a sweetener to make his questionable concoctions more palatable.

He jumped and whirled at the sound, his cheeks darkening somewhat at being caught unawares, but Byleth just shook her head slowly, reassuringly, and hummed the next few bars of his song. At once, his embarrassment morphed into a wide, slanted smile, and he turned back to put the finishing touches on his creation.

“What are you still doing here?” Byleth asked, pushing herself up to a sitting position. Her hair must have been a mess, but she had to settle for a quick smooth-down.

Claude chuckled and sat on the edge of her bed, holding out the mug of steaming medicinal tea. “Really? No ‘Good morning, Claude, and thank you for taking such good care of me?’”

She took the cup and shot him a faux-scowl. “Who’s running your country, though?”

“Oh, it basically runs itself.” He waved a flippant hand, staring out a window in the direction of the Throat. “Our scholars say, ‘A king is a great ship’s rudder.’ It just so happens that my ‘great ship’ has a good heading right now.”

Byleth regarded him doubtfully. She knew this proverb, and its wisdom was definitely not intended to excuse literal flights of fancy.

“What?” he asked, rolling his head to the side playfully. “If anything happens, Nader knows where I am. Besides, aren’t you happy to see me?”

Her stern facade - only performative, anyway, since Claude never failed to disarm her - softened. “I’m always happy to see you,” she said quietly, hiding her vulnerability with a big sip from her mug. (It was delicious, of course, after being assembled so skillfully.)

The curious look he gave her in response lasted a little too long, probed a little too deep for comfort, so she followed it up with a nervous, “Where’s - where’s Marianne?”

Claude, ever-insightful, let the moment pass without remark. “She allowed me to perform her caretaking duties in exchange for a little, ah...discretion...on my part.”

That was easy to imagine. Her ministers had enough on their legislative plates without the obligatory fanfare that would accompany an ‘official’ royal visitation - so the last thing they needed was King Khalid, the former leader of the Alliance, showing his highly recognizable face all over Derdriu.

“We’re both locked up, then,” Byleth said plainly. That explained his wardrobe; a casual observer might think him no more than a member of the staff. As long as he didn’t linger in unfamiliar company, he could move freely about the palace.

“Yep.” Claude smiled contentedly, like he’d gotten the best possible end of this deal. (Byleth begged to disagree.)

In a comically professional, woefully unconvincing physician’s voice, he asked, “So, how are you feeling today, my liege?”

Byleth choked on a sip of her tea, cough-laughing and beating her chest to clear her airways. “Much better, doctor,” she spluttered, setting down her mug to prevent any spasm-related accidents. It was true; her head and body aches had been fading with each passing day, and the fever was low enough that she didn’t feel like a boiling crab leg anymore.

“Good, good,” he mused, looking far too pleased with himself. “Then what do you say to a bit of chess on the balcony?”

She gave her sternum a few more good thumps to really get all the spicy ginger out of her lungs, using the extra time to examine Claude more closely. He knew he couldn’t beat her at chess; what was this about? And was it related to - to whatever inscrutable scheme he was currently enacting?

“Sure,” she said, knowing he wouldn’t give up his plans if asked. (Not until the most dramatically poignant moment, anyway.) If she was going to figure it out on her own, she’d need more opportunities for candid observation, and chess should do nicely.

His face split into a grin immediately. “I saw a board in Lorenz’s office. Meet you back here after lunch?”

“Yeah, it’s a date,” she agreed lightly, and didn’t miss the way it tripped him up on the way out. 

---

“You’re still here,” Lorenz observed with the same sort of weary derision one might direct at a persistent rug stain. He stood in the doorway to his office, holding a tea tray and projecting an aura of disappointment.

Claude, who was currently inside said office and in the midst of burgling a marble chess board, hastily clicked all its pieces back down and clasped his hands behind his back. “I am! Very astute of you to notice.”

Lorenz’s eyes flicked pointedly from his uninvited guest to his now-askew board, then he calmly strode around both to reach his polished mahogany desk. “Well, then. Would you join me for tea, Your Majesty?”

The way he gestured to the opposite chair spoke clearly of interrogation, but Claude sat anyway. It wouldn’t be polite to steal a man’s gaming paraphernalia and refuse his company.

“Why, thank you, Minister,” he answered, exaggerating his friend’s formal air, “we are simply delighted by your invitation.”

Lorenz’s poker face had improved over the years, but Claude still caught the subtle tightening of a jaw and the slightest arch of a brow; dead giveaways that he’d still snap at a piece of bait like a Brigidian piranha. Good to know.

“All right,” Lorenz said, clipped, like he’d come to a decision at the end of a long internal debate. “What are you doing here, Claude?”

Claude blinked, taken aback by the suddenness of the question. “Uh, well, Marianne and I -”

“I quite understand the generous arrangement which Marianne has afforded you,” Lorenz cut in quickly, pouring out two cups of tea. He handed one over the desk with the gravitas of a commander handing down orders. “What, precisely, are you here to do?”

Faking affrontation would be a moot point here, Claude thought. Lorenz was chasing down a specific answer, and from the set of his brow, he’d probably figured out most of it.

And that was fair. Despite their rocky interactions, Lorenz was one of the few people that Claude would say he trusted, and he knew that Lorenz felt the same (even though he had a peculiar way of showing it).

However, while Lorenz looked confident in the answer to his question, Claude didn’t even know where to start. How could he sum up this whirlwind?

Should he begin with the primal fear of hearing that Byleth had collapsed? With the breakneck flight to Derdriu, imagining all the worst possibilities in his head? (The mild shock in her eyes as she toppled backward into the chasm; her ensuing five-year absence, silent and absolute.)

Or at the boundless relief - the sheer, joyful knowledge that she had not, in fact, been re-afflicted with Sothis’s ancient sleeping sickness?

Or, should he skip straight to the certainty that he wouldn’t survive another such scare, and the unwillingness to be apart from her for even a second more, political repercussions be damned? 

In the end, holding a steaming, fragrant cup of bergamot, Claude - in one of only a handful of occasions thus far in his life - couldn’t find the right words.

Luckily, Lorenz, who must have witnessed his friend’s rapid expression shifts, found one instead. Gently, and with more sympathy than expected, he asked, “Still?”

Ah, so he had figured it out.

Claude raised his teacup in a silent toast. “Still,” he confirmed, then downed it in one gulp.

“Hm.” Lorenz paused to serve out refills and scones, and Claude knew exactly what his friend was remembering.

(For five years during the war, Claude had periodically returned to Garreg Mach, even though everyone else had given up the search for Byleth. As the visits persisted in the face of increasing danger, one by one, and with varying levels of understanding and acceptance, his friends had all come to the same conclusion: their leader was in love with their former professor.)

“I can’t say that I’m surprised,” Lorenz said curtly, but not unkindly. “You have a plan, then? - Oh, what am I saying? Of course you do. The Master Tactician wouldn’t have shown up without a plan.”

Claude, who had been trying to decide if Lorenz was mocking him or not, visibly fumbled his cranberry scone at that final comment.

Instantaneously, Lorenz’s face went from invested concern to mortification. “Goddess above - you don’t have a plan.”

Claude didn’t have the heart to say that his “plans” often sprung from gut feelings like this; that, very often, he was building a bridge to his goals and walking it simultaneously, trusting that there would be another plank when he reached back for one.

In this particular instance, his bridge took the form of an impromptu and extended stay at the palace while he figured out the world’s most diplomatically sensitive marriage proposal. He wanted to tell Lorenz that, actually, he had several possible scaffolds in place, he just hadn’t chosen one yet - but Claude could see the foundational flaws in all of them, and still hovered at the juncture, unsure where to lay the next plank.

“- No, I don’t,” he finally admitted, steepling his fingers on the desk. “I’m taking suggestions, though, if you have any?”

Lorenz took a slow, calculated sip of his tea, giving Claude one of his patented ‘how did you manage to become the leader of anything’ looks. “Marianne assures me that Byleth will recover in a matter of days -”

“I know,” Claude interjected miserably. His timetable was tragically inadequate.

“- And, while your presence here is temporarily acceptable on the basis of friendship, it will become much harder to justify after the palace returns to its normal operations -”

“I know, Lorenz,” Claude said, letting his forehead fall onto the points of his fingers. The pain, he thought, was well-deserved. “Sheesh, you don’t have to rub my nose in it…”

Lorenz laughed softly. “Apologies. I’m simply savoring the moment; it isn’t often you need my strategic input.”

With his face downturned and concealed, Claude grimaced. He supposed he’d deserved that, too.

“But,” Lorenz went on, “I do have a suggestion. Given your limited available time and lack of direction, we should enlist outside support.”

Claude raised his head incredulously. “Your solution is to have more people laugh at me?”

“Yes. Hilda and Marianne, to be precise.” Lorenz smirked and crossed his legs. “And they won’t laugh - in fact, Hilda will be delighted.”

His tone of voice was too amused for the answer to be anything good, but Claude still asked cautiously, “Why?”

“Oh, because I owe her quite a bit of gold, naturally - I thought it would take you and Byleth far longer to act on your feelings, and my money was on her acting first.”

---

Byleth loved the balcony off her bedchamber. It was on the same side of the palace as the throne room, only higher, with a wider perspective of the canal below and a down-angle view of the opposite block. Sitting on it and looking out, with the stone railing acting as an artificial horizon, she really felt as if she were floating above Derdriu; the city sprawled off endlessly to her right, while its great network of canals spilled into the bay on her left, all set in miniature from this height.

A tangy sea breeze teased through her hair, rustling the many and vibrant plants - in pots, hanging from the roof, and mounted in window boxes - that scattered the area. They were in perfect health, she noticed, despite the rarity of her visits, and Byleth wondered if it was some palace staffer’s entire job to maintain luxurious spaces like these, even though some busy official might seldom use them. 

She privately resolved to appreciate the balcony more often.

It didn’t take long for Claude to come whistling through her chambers, bearing a chess board like a server delivering a high-end meal. He put it down on a small, circular table where Byleth’s own board was already set up, then carefully aligned their edges to create a double-long playing field.

(They’d invented this game early on at Garreg Mach after discovering that neither of them felt challenged enough by the base rules. It had gone through several name changes before they’d agreed to just keep the original; after all, if either of them ever mentioned the game to the other, they both understood which (clearly superior) version was being referenced.)

“So, you managed to get Lorenz to part with it,” Byleth commented as he arranged his pieces and sat down opposite her. “What’d it cost you?”

Claude made a face like he’d just licked a lemon. “Oh, nothing much. Just my reputation and dignity.” He laughed it off, but there was a distinct, hollow ring of truth to his words. “Anyway. Sixty-point game?”

She cocked her head, intrigued. Their special rules allowed for custom “armies” to be built from the standard chess units, each with an individual point cost. Byleth personally liked to run an army without pawns - high risk, high reward (usually reward).

“Not forty?” she asked mildly, picking out her standard array plus an extra frontline of knights. Claude would regret handing her such an aggressive opener. “Are you trying out a new strategy?”

He grinned and laid out his own army, which seemed to focus around his sovereigns - and, as usual, contained a robust line-and-a-half of pawns. What he sacrificed in speed, he made up for in defensive surface area.

“I am. I think you’ll really like this one,” he said, playing his first (highly predictable) move. 

That was the thing about Claude, though. Byleth thought his move was predictable right now, at the beginning, but he was a highly intelligent improviser. The long field between armies meant that most of the game was based on ranged path speculation. 

Was a cluster of pieces actually heading toward her left flank, or would it divert to threaten other units at the last second? She’d have to put a metaphorical shield in place for the first possibility, and a sword for the other - and with Claude, it was impossible to tell ahead of time which he would actually pick. 

But, despite the chaos his playstyle caused, its spontaneity was also what made him such a compelling opponent. The tactical element never got stale.

“It’s bound to be more exciting than your rook phalanx idea,” Byleth teased, starting her knights off on their long journey.

Claude gasped like she’d just insulted his mother. “Hey, that was not my fault - it was a good attack pattern in theory!”

She made a tiny sound of agreement to humor him, but remained privately unconvinced.

As usual, they lapsed into silence for the first phase of the game, each trying to dissect the other’s overall strategy. Of course, at this stage, it was largely conjecture; there would be many, many reactive and counter-reactive moves before any two units actually engaged.

The quiet was nice, though. Ships’ bells echoed in from the piers, mingling with street noise rabble and the shrill cries of bay gulls. There was no one to demand her ear or her time - a rare commodity. She could tell Claude enjoyed it, too, by his easy smiles and relaxed posture.

Why had they ever stopped doing this? It dawned on Byleth that it had been years since their last game.

“- Hey, Claude,” she said at the thirty-turn mark.

He didn’t look up from his spread. “Hm?” “What in the world are you doing?”

His green eyes, which had been bouncing between forward pawns, flicked up to her face. “Setting up my midgame?” he half-asked, gesturing to his formation like the answer was obvious. “Why, what are you doing?”

Byleth narrowed her eyes at the board. He’d split his pawns into two staggered ranks with his sovereigns in the middle, like some sort of sandwiched convoy, and the outer ring of mid-tier pieces looked to be guards.

“Your brilliant new strategy is to hand-deliver your king to my army?” she contended, tracing his column’s trek down the board with her hands, then opening them wide, fingers hooked, to mime the pieces being eaten by a sharp-toothed monster.

Claude laughed confidently. “You’ll see. The king and queen together are unstoppable.”

It was certainly an unconventional approach. By virtue of its novelty, it tripped Byleth up several times in the early game - one might even say, around turn sixty, that her opponent had the advantage. But the sheer speed and maneuverability of her knightly vanguard eventually prevailed, and by turn ninety, she had his entire escort block surrounded. 

“Multi-point threat,” Byleth declared, moving in on his rear line. “This was an interesting idea, but I do believe your king is in mortal peril.”

Claude, who’d been standing for the last dozen turns, paced to the other side of the table. (He loved to do that - to see the situation from all angles, like he would in a real conflict. Unfortunately, that expanded perspective could do little for him here.)

“No, I think - listen - he still has his queen.”

Byleth examined the setup again. “Uh-huh, he sure does,” she drawled, trying to understand how that might change their fates.

“I’m just saying,” he went on, crouching so that he could view the board at eye level. “Look how far they’ve already come. Look at all they’ve been through together - it’s not like a little opposition could stop them now, right?”

She crossed her arms, a bewildered smile tugging at her mouth. “Are you seriously trying to Nemesis me right now? My bishops have them both in four.”

Claude gave a frustrated sigh. “No, this isn’t a scheme - well,” he amended, scratching pensively at his chin scruff, “okay, it is a scheme, but -”

I knew it, she thought, vindicated, and grinned accordingly.

“Ugh, forget it.” Claude toppled his king. “You’re right, it was an ill-fated venture that clearly needs outside support.”

Byleth frowned. “What? I didn’t say that.”

He waved his arms like he was dispelling the entire conversation. “Never mind. We’ve still got plenty of light - how about another game?”

---

Later that night, after Byleth and most of the palace had retired, Hilda’s raucous laughter rang out through the entire administerial wing.

“You tried to tell her with chess?!”

She, Claude, Marianne, and Lorenz all sat around a table in one of the meeting rooms, passing around a bottle of strong Faerghan whiskey.

“No wonder she didn’t get it,” Hilda continued, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes (in a delicate manner that spared her makeup). “You know how Byleth is!”

Lorenz refilled his glass, nodding emphatically. “Agreed. Subtlety will get you nowhere in that arena, my friend.”

“I thought it was sweet,” Marianne disclosed quietly.

Claude propped his feet up on an unused chair and dipped his chin gratefully. “Thank you. I also thought it would be sweet. And successful.”

He took a long swig straight from the bottle, much to Hilda’s amusement. “But you were right, Lorenz, okay? So -” he slapped the tabletop in invitation, “- go on. Advise me.”

Perhaps sensing that their friend was already punishing himself enough, no one pushed the teasing any further. Lorenz and Hilda shared a look - one that said they’d already discussed the matter privately - and then everyone got straight down to business.

“First of all, we should discuss the legal ramifications of your union,” Lorenz said, indicating the palace walls. “It’s true that anti-Almyran sentiment has died down greatly since the war, especially here in Leicester, but I fear widespread confusion - how much power would the king of Almyra suddenly have over their territories? Their livelihoods?”

Claude recoiled from the intensity. “Whoa! She hasn’t even said yes - aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves, here?”

(In truth, he had the same worries about his own homeland; it wasn’t like xenophobia was exclusive to Fodlan. His current plan - if she agreed - was to introduce her presence like he’d introduced his own: aggressively and unapologetically, with hopes that the Almyran public would regard it with the same eventual respect.)

The other three gave him bland looks.

“You really, honestly think she’ll turn you down?” Hilda asked in angry disbelief.

Claude gritted his teeth. “I don’t know - I mean, that’s Byleth’s whole deal, right? Unbeatable strategist? You never know what she’s thinking?”

“Oh, Claude,” Marianne said, patting him on the arm. “You should have more confidence in yourself.”

Hilda snorted into her tumbler.

“- Regardless, I don’t want to discuss the politics without her. If she says yes,” Claude emphasized with a stern glance around the table. “I have to get to the actual question first, okay? Lorenz. Ideas. Go.”

The man in question raised his eyebrows. “All right - well, Leonie proposed to me during a horseback ride. She’d painted all of her mounted archery targets with one word each, and in order they spelled out a question...oh, it was very romantic,” he said, his tone warming as he spoke. He then promptly cleared his throat. “But, ah, Byleth isn’t in a physical state for riding, hmm?”

Hilda propped her elbows up on the table and cradled her chin in her hands, recounting dreamily, “Marianne took me deep into the forest at night and professed her love under the light of the full moon. How could I have ever said no to that?”

Marianne hid behind her glass, her face beet-red. “I don’t, uhm, think there are any full moons coming up soon, though,” she managed to squeak out.

“Yeah, you have to do something quick.” Hilda pointed at him with her glass. “Let’s see - we already know it can’t involve winning something, so that’s out.”

Claude laughed sarcastically into the bottle.

“A grand display would not be diplomatically feasible, either,” Lorenz added.

Yeah, that made sense, Claude thought. A single plant in the throne room had brought word of Byleth’s illness to him in under three days - and he wasn’t the only one with eyes here. 

“You should do something that’s meaningful to both of you,” Marianne suggested, her face returning to its usual pallid shade. “Something simple but significant. Byleth would appreciate that, I think.”

Simple but significant.

Claude swirled the idea around in his head at the same time he swirled the contents of his bottle. Significant he could do - had been doing - but simple was another story. Maybe that was his problem; maybe he just needed to go back to the basics.

“And don’t get her a ring,” Hilda said. “I never see her wearing jewelry unless the tailors insist.”

He chewed on all of that, taking slow, measured sips of whiskey. Something meaningful to both him and to Byleth - something memorable, but uncomplicated. No rings, he added mentally. That was fine; as an archer, he disliked having obstructions around his hands, anyway. (And while they were out here breaking traditions, who cared if it was one or one hundred?)

“Hey,” he began, doing some quick calculations around wyverns’ seasonal nesting habits. “How quickly could I get something down the Goldroad?”

Lorenz’s brows knit together. “From the capital to here, I presume, and with the use of your royal seal? Within the week. Why? What do you need?”

Claude grinned, luxuriating in the rush of a good plan coming together. “All right, listen to this -”

---

If she could’ve had her way, Byleth would have chosen to remain in those last days of her fever forever. Her symptoms were mild and unobtrusive, she didn’t have to do any paperwork, and Claude was there; simply put, it was the ideal situation.

They spent four whole days together playing games, mixing various drinks, going for (short and supervised) walks around the garden, and reminiscing about old times - but Marianne’s medicines were effective and all things, even good things, must end.

On the morning of the fifth day, she knew she was cured. Her mind was clear and her body strong, if a little feeble from the bed rest. Everyone else must have been on the same page, too, because Marianne came to greet her after breakfast in Claude’s stead.

“So that’s the end of the arrangement, then?” Byleth asked, trying to keep her voice even and normal.

Marianne smiled softly and pressed the back of her hand to Byleth’s forehead. “Yes. Claude will be returning home this evening, as I’m sure he has many decisions waiting for him there.”

That makes two of us, Byleth thought dejectedly.

“Your temperature is perfectly normal,” Marianne reported. “Do you have any lingering fatigue? Dizziness?”

“Nope. Nothing,” Byleth said, heaving a reluctant sigh. “I suppose I should head down to the audience chambers.”

She really, truly hadn’t meant to sound like a pouting toddler bound for punishment, but that was exactly how it had come out.

Marianne laughed. “Yes, you should - tomorrow.” To answer Byleth’s questioning stare, she pointed across the room. “I think you’ll be too busy today.”

Right on cue, something large impacted outside the windows with a dull, cracking thud. Without thinking, Byleth whirled, ready for some sort of threat - (her sword belt was hanging next to her bed, easily accessible for such emergencies) - but it was only Claude on the balcony.

Rather, it was his massive white wyvern, Sahar. She’d perched on the railing, her sharp claws gouging long scrapes in the stone, and he was mounted on her back.

“Don’t worry, I’ll pay for that!” he called, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Good morning! Care for a ride?”

Byleth burst out in surprised laughter, too endeared to be mad about the property damage. She looked back, confused and curious, but Marianne just shook her head.

“Go,” she said, gesturing outward. “Have fun. You have my official medical clearance.”

That was all the permission Byleth needed to throw open the doors and run out, barefoot and grinning, to leap at Sahar’s saddle. The seaside wind blasted her hair back and Claude opened his arms for her arrival, bracing in his stirrups to absorb the impact.

They’d performed this maneuver many times during the war; since Byleth preferred to do her fighting on foot, Claude would often sweep down to reposition her more quickly. Even after five years without practice, they executed the pick-up without a hitch: she landed knees-first at the front of the saddle and Claude anchored her, wrapping both arms around her midsection.

In combat, the move had been utilitarian - the fastest way to mount up. Right now, though, it felt more intimate; with no armor, no weapons, and no urgency, they were basically just hugging on wyvern-back.

Byleth quickly turned herself around, hoping he hadn’t seen the blush rising up her neck. 

“That eager to get out of there, huh?” he teased, helping her get situated.

She rolled her eyes and cinched a pair of flight straps around her waist. The fit was snugly familiar, securing her to both the saddle and her fellow rider.

“You know the answer to that,” she replied, glancing down the tall outer walls of the palace. A few people in the canal-side gardens had looked up at the spectacle; they were too far away to see much detail, but this was clearly the queen’s bedchamber. “This isn’t the most discreet escape, is it?”

Claude scoffed, turning his mount skyward with a nudge. “Oh, it’s fine. Not many Fodlanese know about the white wyvern thing. Besides,” he said mischievously, testing the knots on her straps, “didn’t Marianne tell you? Our arrangement is done.”

With that, they were off. Sahar spread her massive wings - leathery and smooth, delicate and powerful all at once - to catch the current, pushing herself off into it and raining stone chips and dust in her wake.

Byleth yelped at the sudden lurch, falling back against Claude, who gladly supported her while they gained rapid altitude in the midday sky. Sahar’s rhythmic wing beats took them high above the notice of anyone in the city, down the palace’s canal and out into the bay.

She watched it all fall away as they climbed. The great trade ships shrank to the sizes of beetles in their lanes; the flocks of gulls that chased them, to mere specks. The ocean itself became an undulating cobalt tapestry, shot through with threads of white and gray.

When they leveled off and the wind died down in their ears, Claude spoke, “Remember when I taught you to fly?”

A series of images flashed in her mind: wrangling a saddle onto an impatient wyvern; losing straps and buckles under flapping wings; falling before she could even take off - so, so much falling.

“I remember when you tried to, sure,” she said, cringing at the memories. Even Leonie, who never gave up on anything, had declared Byleth’s flying skills unsalvageable. “Why?”

Claude laughed a little too hard, like he was recalling the very same foibles. “Nah. You just needed more time - we couldn’t spare any in the war. But now?”

“Are you suggesting,” Byleth said, throwing him a flat look over her shoulder, “that I fall on my ass repeatedly in front of the entire court? It was bad enough when it was just jeering students.”

“No, no, my point is -” Claude directed her attention back to their view of the bay, “- you could come out here whenever you wanted. Get away from it all.”

So he’d noticed her restlessness. Well, of course he did, Byleth admonished herself. He’s Claude.

“That would be...nice,” she admitted, giving him a half-smile. “It’s different, isn’t it? Leading during peacetime?”

He relaxed his hold on the reins and let Sahar go where she would in the open sky; she took full advantage of the freedom, floating into various air currents and skirting low, wispy clouds.

“Yeah, it is.” Claude’s tone was sober and diminished. He prodded gently, “How have you really been, Bee?”

The nickname brought unexpected tears to her eyes; he hadn’t used it since they parted at Garreg Mach five years ago. She’d forgotten how fond and welcoming it sounded - how warm - coming from his mouth.

Byleth faced straight ahead, glad he couldn’t see her expression. It must have been just as regretful and conflicted as her mind.

“I never expected to be here,” she murmured, and in her heart she finished the thought: without you. Her voice barely carried over the wind, but she knew Claude had heard it; he scooted closer to her in the saddle, whether consciously or not. “Everyone around me is so certain of their place, and I’m...not.”

Her thoughts strayed to Edelgard and Dimitri, to their twin drives that - even misguided and corrupted as they were - strove for a better world at their roots. Byleth, who held no grand vision for the future, couldn’t help but feel unfit for the mantles they’d left behind.

(Truthfully, that was one of many reasons why Derdriu was her favorite capital, and spring her favorite season. Fhirdiad’s and Enbarr’s thrones still felt like someone else’s seats to her - someone else’s dreams.)

“I don’t think anyone expected to be where they are now,” Claude said, matching her volume. When Byleth shot him another ‘quit your bullshit’ look, he chuckled and corrected himself, “Okay. Maybe I did, but nobody else did.”

“Lorenz thought he’d be leading the Alliance, hitched to some noble lady. Hilda didn’t think she’d be doing anything.” Claude put up one finger for each example. “Marianne wanted to keep her head down. Ignatz thought he’d be barred from his passions.”

He rested his chin on the top of Byleth’s head. “Expectations and reality don’t always match up. Are you unhappy with where you are, Your Majesty?”

I’m exceedingly happy where I am, she thought, easing herself back to rest against him. And that’s the problem.

“No,” she answered simply. “I’m not.”

Claude, perhaps sensing the dishonesty in her words, hummed doubtfully. The sound rumbled deep in her chest. “Well - if you ever were unhappy, you know I’d help, right? No matter what it was.”

“I know,” she said, tilting her head to smile up at him. “And - I think you’re right.”

He shifted to accommodate her better, crossing his arms over her lap to grip the saddlehorn. “Oh? About expectations?”

“No, about flying.” She settled into their pseudo-embrace, resolving to enjoy it while it lasted. “I should learn.”

Claude made a small, happy noise in his throat. “I’ll teach you. It’ll be great.”

They drifted down the Edmund coastline in a comfortable quiet after that. If not for the Throat looming in the distance - a constant reminder of the hourglass hanging over their flight - Byleth would’ve been perfectly content. The longer they went, the more she wished he would just keep flying straight over the mountains - but the sun continued on its inexorable path through the heavens, and all things, even good things, must end.

Still, though, when he wheeled them around and began the journey back, Byleth thought she detected a resonant note of hesitation in him.

By the time they’d reached the bay of Derdriu, the sun hung low and the sky had turned to vibrant oranges and indigos; the frothy crests of waves, the metal fixtures on ships’ masts, and even the scaly tips of Sahar’s wings shone golden in the rich evening light. 

The palace’s white marble exterior reflected sunset-colors onto the streets and canal below. In any other instance, she’d find it beautiful, but right now it was no different than the Throat: an ominous, prohibitive barrier.

Claude guided Sahar to the balcony again, wincing as her claws ground fresh holes into the railing.

“- I’ll pay for that,” he reiterated sheepishly, then hopped down to offer Byleth a hand.

She took it, letting him assume her weight while she scrambled much less gracefully to the ground. The stone tiles, quickly cooling with the onset of night, chilled her bare feet on contact; she shivered, looking back wistfully at the evening sky. 

When she turned around again, Claude was watching her intently. Unreadably. 

“Did you enjoy the ride?” he asked.

“I did. Thank you.” She tried to match his tone, to hide her sadness - to appreciate the time they’d had together instead of mourning its conclusion. “I suppose you need to get going, then?”

“Mm, not quite yet,” he replied with a secretive smile, wrapping Sahar’s reins around her saddlehorn. He muttered a phrase to her in Almyran, to which the great wyvern nuzzled into his hand and took off in the direction of the aviary.

“Let’s get you warmed up, first.” He strode past her to the open balcony doors, jerking his head toward it encouragingly when she didn’t immediately follow. “Come on, it’s okay - I have time.”

Byleth trailed after him, instantly suspicious. He was using his ‘false sense of security’ voice again, like he had on the first night. “Claude, what are you planning?” she called out warily, stepping into her darkened bedchamber.

A spark struck in the hearth, setting the tinder inside ablaze and silhouetting Claude in a red-orange halo. “Why do I have to be planning something?” he countered, overly defensive, as he stoked the fire. “- You looked cold, is all.”

She gave him a skeptical once-over, then turned to grab a cloak from her wardrobe - and there on her dresser, shining in the firelight, was a lacquered ebony box the length of her arm.

It was decorated with glittering gold leaf along its edges, clearly meant to hold something valuable. Byleth whipped around to fix Claude with an accusing glare, but he just shrugged innocently and motioned for her to open it.

He had a long history of bequeathing strange gifts to his friends, always seeming to enjoy the reactions a little too much. Byleth wasn’t aware of any current holidays, though, either in Fodlan or Almyra.

She sighed and lifted the lid. “I swear, if this is another apron -” 

The breath caught in her throat. It most definitely was not an apron.

Nestled in a bed of burgundy velvet, only slightly smaller than the box itself, laid a porcelain-white wyvern egg dotted with flecks of pearlescent ivory. 

This time when she glanced back, it was in affectionate curiosity. “So this is why you were pushing flight training,” she said, gingerly touching the warm shell. “But - aren’t white wyverns only given to members of the royal family?”

Claude moved to stand next to her, drained of all his earlier mirth and bravado. In its place was a tense energy she hadn’t sensed in him since they’d last met at the Goddess Tower.

“Well, yeah, that’s the idea,” he said with a nervous laugh. “I was hoping you’d, uh, well - I wanted to ask you, since -”

He stopped and grunted, looking disgusted with himself. “Let me start over.”

Byleth nodded, absolutely baffled. What in Sothis’s name was he trying to say?

Claude ran a hand back through his hair and took a deep, steadying breath. “We both didn’t have the best experiences with family growing up. I mean, you had Jeralt and I had my mom, and they were great, but other than that it was…”

“Lonely,” she offered. They’d discussed their respective childhoods many times before - commiserated in the shared wounds of alienation and neglect.

Delicately, he took her hand and squeezed it. “Yeah. Lonely. And if I’m reading this correctly, so were the last five years, right?”

Byleth swallowed a lump in her throat and nodded again.

“Yeah,” Claude repeated softly. “For me, too. So, I thought - maybe neither of us has to be lonely anymore.”

His meaning dawned on her like a sunrise, blooming heat high in her cheeks. Her embarrassment fueled his, in turn, and they were left staring at one another in stunned silence; from an outside perspective, they must have looked - fittingly - like a pair of panicked deer.

“Claude,” she pronounced thickly, needing to verify her theory, “are you asking me to…?”

“Mhm,” he confirmed, a portion of his usual confidence flickering back to life in his smile. He tipped her chin upward with his index finger. “I want to be your family. I want you to be my family.”

Byleth had spent the first part of her life without adequate modes of expression. Before meeting Claude, she’d gotten by on curt gestures and a flat affect - and now, in the face of overwhelming emotion, she regressed right back to that state.

All she could do to communicate her answer was to jump and reach for him, just like she was leaping onto his wyvern - and, predictably, protectively, his arms closed around her. Anchored her.

Like always, she thought. A perfect catch.

“Woah - I’ll take that as a yes, then?” Claude asked, tentatively hopeful, laughing and stepping backward from the unexpected force.

Byleth buried her face in his shoulder and nodded, unable to speak; hot tears spilled from her eyes, soaking into Claude’s tunic collar, and her wrists trembled where they were clasped at his neck. Her heart had never beat, yet now it was overflowing, filling her chest with something happy and potent and home that she’d never dared to covet before.

In the glow of the hearth, to the crackling of logs and the faint rush of a sea breeze outside, Claude rocked them back and forth at a measured, soothing pace. He kissed her forehead, her temple, her cheekbone, wiping away her tears with his thumb and whispering in a shaky voice, “It’s okay, Bee. We’re going to be so happy, I promise. I promise.”

---Epilogue---

Lorenz understood the severity of the Airmid flooding - really, he did - but he did not understand why it needed to translate into a six-in-the-morning assembly. Anything the ministers discussed there could be handled just as easily, and with more lucidity, during their regular working hours.

Still, he trudged diligently up the stairs to the meeting rooms. If there were emergency measures to enact, then, by the goddess, he’d see them enacted. The peoples of Hrym and Ordelia had already suffered enough for several lifetimes.

He was just inside the threshold, blinking and stifling a yawn, when he saw them: Byleth and Claude, seated side by side at the head of the meeting table, the former digging into a plate of food and the latter grinning like a madman.

Lorenz’s yawn cut off abruptly; his jaw snapped shut with a click.

“You’re still here,” he grumbled, sliding into a chair on an empty side. “Somehow I doubt this is about the floods.”

Hilda and Marianne, who were sitting opposite him, giggled quietly together, their hands clasped on the tabletop. (Frankly, it made him jealous. Leonie hadn’t wanted to touch the office of royal minister with a ten-foot lance.)

“Nope,” Byleth said, pointing at Claude with her fork. “This is about the legality of our marriage.”

Hilda clapped frantically with excitement. “Congratulations! Ooh, this is going to be the biggest wedding ever - can you imagine the guest list? We’ll be curating it for months.”

“I think I’ll exclude my paternal cousins,” Claude mused. “Just to watch them squirm.”

Marianne nodded. “They deserve it.”

“Wait. Hold.” Lorenz slapped his daily ledger down on the table like a judge calling for order, and it worked just the same. The rabble died down, all eyes turning to him. “First of all: congratulations, you two. You’ve made me a marginally poorer man.”

Hilda snickered triumphantly.

“Second: this is going to be a legislative nightmare - and don’t you tell me differently, Claude von Riegan,” he added, holding up a finger when it looked like Claude would cut in. 

“I’ll abdicate,” Byleth suggested, stabbing into a sausage.

“No -!” all three ministers shouted in unison - even Marianne, who’d also half-stood from her chair, hands braced on the table.

(Meanwhile, Claude simply watched his new fiancee with moon-eyed adoration; Lorenz was sure he’d humor anything she said right now.)

“That - that won’t be necessary,” Lorenz said, clearing his throat and smoothing down his ascot. “I only mean that it will take time and collaboration. Claude, I insist that you stay another week while we draft something for you to take home. I’ll write to Nader.”

Byleth let out a rare exuberant gasp; beside her, Claude glanced down the table and gave Lorenz a sly, conspiratorial wink. 

“- Oh, try to act professionally about this, would you?” he insisted, but an infectious smile was already spreading across his own face. 

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

Author’s Notes

candidates for game names:

byleth: better chess (rejected - judgmental)

claude: long chess (rejected - misleading)

hilda: chess 2 (considered but ultimately rejected - legality)

lorenz: tactician’s chess (rejected - boring)

[cuddlepilefics]

We can tell

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Jeongin

Caregivers: Stray Kids

 No one's POV.:

Jeongin knew he could always rely on his hyungs. The were all quite protective of the youngest and would baby him at all times, despite Jeongin trying to push them away. Often times the attention became too much for him. Did they really not trust him for to things on his own? Sure, he appreciated their help when he asked for it but he was an adult too, who should be able to face most of his problems alone. It always got worse, when Jeongin was sick. In no time, the entire group would be pining over him and baby him. It always made the maknae feel guilty because he wasn't even feeling too bad but his friends would do everything for him. Want a drink? Don't move, I got it! Though he would be perfectly able to get stuff for himself, his hyungs would get it for him and he felt bad about his hyings unnecessarily going out of their way for him.

That's why at some point, Jeongin decided to not tell his hyungs when he felt unwell anymore. He'd go ask them for help or Medici ne when he knew it was getting to bad and he needed help but in the main time, he would handle himself. That was also exactly his plan when his throat started to hurt during his vocal lesson. He had probably only strained it a bit anyway. He'd make himself some tea when he got home and it should go away soon. Luckily, the vocal lesson was the last part of his schedule for the day and he could go straight home afterwards. Until his phone dinged with a message that is. Hyunjin had texted and asked if he wanted to join Changbin, Felix and him to get some ice cream. Jeongin contemplated it but decided the cold fruit wouldn’t do his throat any good and that he'd rather have some warm tea. He quickly typed and apology, feeling bad that he had to cancel on his friends. Then he header back to the dorm, happy that his workday was over.

As expected Changbin, Hyunjin and Felix weren't there when he got back. Neither were Chan and Jisung, who had texted the groupchat earlier, statong they'd stay at the studio late. Minho was probably in his room, while Seungmin stood in the kitchen. “Hey, what’s you making, hyung?”, Jeongin smiled, ingnoring the pain in that came with speaking. Seungmin continued to stir in the pit infront of him, turning to him with a smile: “I’m making some hot chocolate to drink while watching a movie. Want some too? You sound like your lesson was intense.” The maknae nodded, it was easy with Seungmin, the other vocalist had been in the same situation multiple times before. It was probably something that just came with their job. While the older finished up their drinks, Jeongin got two cups out and sat them on the counter before raiding their cupboards for marshmallows. He didn't find any so when Seungmin added some cream on top, the younger just added some colorful sprinkles. Jeongin decided to just join his friend with his movie since he didn't have much else to do and he wouldn't have to talk.

What he didn’t expect though was the fatigue that suddenly set in and with the help of the soothing warm drink, he was out before even making it to the middle of the movie. When Seungmin woke him up for dinner, Jeongin needed a second to recognize his surroundings. What he noticed first was the headache thumping behind his temples and the quilt Spread over his legs. They usually kept it over the back of the couch but it seemed like Seungmin had tucker him in after he nodded off. “Hey, the others bought home take out. We got you soup because I thought it'd be easiest on your throat”, the older explained. Jeongin scratched his head awkwardly, mumbling: “You didn’t have to go out of your way for me. My throat will be fine tomorrow.” – “Innie, I've strained my voice in lessons multiple times. We both know how much it sucks and just because it will be better tomorrow doesn’t mean we want you to suffer today. Besides, that was barely any trouble. Come on, let's eat. The others are waiting”, Seungmin smiled.

Despite his nap earlier, Jeongin felt tired and went to bed soon after dinner. His roommate Jisung didn't comment on it but he also turned his bedside lamp off and put in his headphones. The maknae was really grateful for it because his head was still hurting and he couldn't wait to get some rest. Sadly, rest didn’tcome as easy as he had hoped, instead he kept tossing and turning, frequently waking up drenched in sweat from another nightmare. Usually, the maknae wasn’t one to have nightmares and most of the times, he got them when he had a fever. Knowing this, Jeongin got up in the early morning hours and took his temperatur. Sure enough, he was running a mild fever. It wasn’t bad enough to concert him, he was just upset that he couldn’t rest properly. Especially now, that his headache had increased. Sighing to himself, Jeongin took some medicine for his headache and winced at how scratchy his throat felt. He knew he didn’t just push himself too hard the previous day, he was most definitely coming down with something. It would be okay though, he could take care of himself.

Jeongin groaned when jisung's phone blasted ‘fancy you'. Sure, he liked twice but it was way too early to blast any music at that volume. He grabbed his pillow and threw it at Jisung to get him to shut his alarm off. It took a while but eventually it stopped and the maknae almost went back to sleep. He was already drifting off again, when Chan popped his head into the room to make sure they were up, leaving Jeongin no choice but to get out of bed. He shivered as soon as the blanket was gone and decided to wear a hoodie with a t-shirt underneath. They were going to the studio for some recording today and he didn’t want to be cold there. Jisung left their room first, giving Jeongin the chance to try out his voice. He knew it hurt but he didn’t expect to sound this bad. Not even straining himself during practice ever left him this hoarse. How would he be able to hide this from his group. Sure, he'd just try not to talk but eventually he'd have to. Plus, how was he going to record? They'd know then at the latest.

The others greeted him sleepily, when Jeongin joined them for breakfast. He just gave them a smile in return, so they thought he was still tired. Chan pushed a plate in front of him and ruffled the maknae’s hair affectionately. It all went well and Jeongin remained silent throughout their meal till Hyunjin addressed him directly. When the younger just shrugged in response, he frowned: “Yah, talk to your hyung!” The youngest just lowered his head in shame before Seungmin spoke up: “Jinnie, leave him be. He strained his voice yesterday and probably wants to rest it, so he can give his best later. Right Innie?” – ‘Thanks, hyung’, he mouthed with a smile, glad that one of them understood. “Aish. Next time maybe shoot us a text as a warning. We got a bit worried when you just kept quiet”, Chan chuckled, “If you don’t feel up to recording, let us know, okay?” Jeongin nodded and continued eating. Afterwards, he went through his morning routine and applied a good amount of concealer to cover the dark circles under his eyes. He also snuck some more painkillers into his pocket to take later and found a bag of cough drops at the back of his closet, which he quickly shoved into his backpack. Maybe, just maybe, they’d fix his voice enough for him to sing later. He was absolutely dreading the moment he had to record, fearing he wouldn’t be able to but his wishful thinking motivated him to push on.

Jeongin slept through the entire drive to the studio. Initially, he had fallen with his head against the window but it looked highly uncomfortable, so his seatmate Changbin carefully moved the youngest’s head onto his shoulder. While doing so, he clearly noticed the difference between the temperature of Jeongin’s skin and his own. Making sure the maknae really was a sleep, he whispered: “Guys, Innie has a fever.” Chan immediately leaned over to feel the youngest’s forehead for himself, his face dropping when he had to realize his dongsaeng was hiding something from them. Now that it was confirmed that Jeongin was sick, Changbin refused to wake him when they arrived. Instead, he carried him up to the study and laid him down on the couch there. The members either piled onto the other couch or sat on the floor, so their dongsaeng could rest. They weren’t planning on confronting him when he woke up, they’d rather Jeongin admitted it himself, so they continued to work, recording their parts while shooting the youngest concerned glances every now and then.

It had been almost an hour, when Jeongin sat up, rubbing his eyes. He looked around confused, trying to figure out where he was. “You fell asleep in the car, so Changbin carried you to the studio. We thought some extra sleep wouldn’t hurt, since you’re not due to record until later”, Felix chuckled at the younger’s dazed look. Minho sat down on the couch next to Jeongin, a plastic cup in his hands, as he smiled: “I brought a large thermos bottle of tea, I thought it might help your throat some.” Jeongin bit his lip looking sad all of a sudden. Then he pulled his phone out and typed: ‘I really appreciate it hyung but seriously I’m fine. You wouldn’t have needed to bother doing that.’ He already felt guilty enough that Changbin had had to carry his lazy ass all the way up here, when he could have walked by himself perfectly fine. “Well, what if I wanted to?”, Minho asked and pressed the plastic cup into his dongsaeng’s hand. The youngest immediately wrapped both hands around it to warm, only noticing now how cold he felt. He gave Minho a shy and grateful smile before taking a careful sip, trying not to burn his mouth.

Minho had added a generous amount of honey and Jeongin almost sighed at how soothing it felt going down his throat. He didn’t want to admit it but he was quite happy that the dancer had gone out of his way to bring this along. Sadly, once the cup was empty, he didn’t have anything to warm him anymore and the chills were slowly starting back up. How could he possibly feel this cold, considering the layers he had put on? Pretending to go to the bathroom, the maknae snuck away to take another dose of painkillers. They were supposed to also lower his temperature, so maybe he’d feel a bit warmer if his fever went down a bit. At the same time, his hyungs knew he was lying about needing the bathroom, they were suspicious as to what he was really doing, hoping he didn’t feel sick to his stomach too, but they didn’t want to follow and pressure him too much. Should he be gone for too long, one of them would go look for him. “Is it just me or did you notice Jeongin shivering too?”, Jisung asked thoughtfully. Seungmin shook his head, stating: “Not just you, I think his fever is giving him chills.” They didn’t manage to speculate much further because right that moment, Jeongin returned.

‘Aish, what am I going to do with that little rebel? It would be so easy if he could just give in to the truth, so we could take care of him’, Chan sighed, rubbing his temples. He could still see the youngest shaking, though he tried so hard to conceal it. Then the leader had an idea. He got up and grabbed his coat, wrapping it around Jeongin’s shoulders. The he tried to muster as much of a lighthearted smile as he could and hummed: “Innie, it’s your turn soon, so you should probably start warming up. That way we can also hear how your voice is doing.” The vocalist was fast to regain his composure but the split second of horror, that flashed across his face, didn’t go unnoticed by Chan. Jeongin cleared his throat, trying to keep a straight face despite the pain, and tried to hum a little tune, they often used to warm up. Apart from him, there was complete silence in the room, everyone waiting for the moment of truth and cringing in sympathy at how raspy his usually clear voice sounded. Chan was the first to react when Jeongin suddenly broke into tears, pulling him into a hug. It wasn’t even the pain getting to him. It was his frustration about not being able to record that day and therefore holding his group back. His frustration about showing his hyungs that he wasn’t doing his best today and thereby making them worry about him.

“It hurts that bad?”, Seungmin asked in shock. Jeongin shook his head, while the oldest rubbed his back. He croaked: “I-I’m sorry, now I’m holding all of you back again. I’m just so – so f-frustrated w-with myself.” He didn’t even know why he got so worked up about it because he really wasn’t this emotional, maybe the fever got to him more than he wanted to admit. Chan clicked his tongue, leaning closer to Jeongin’s ear, and whispered softly: “Why do you always think you’re holding us back? You can just record another day. If you keep forcing yourself now, you might even damage your voice. That’s not worth it.” The younger sniffled and nodded into Chan’s neck. “Most of us are done already, so why don’t you go home with them and rest a bit? You don’t need to hang around here, especially since I’m sure, your bed is more comfortable than that couch and we wouldn’t want you cold getting worse”, the leader mused. Jeongin pulled away shocked, frowning: “How do you know?” – “Innie, we can tell when you’re sick”, Chan chuckled and helped his dongsaeng to put his coat on properly, so Minho, Felix and Seungmin could take him home. Being producers, Chan and Changbin had to stay back at the studio to finish up with Hyunjin and Jisung but they’d all join them at the dorm in another hour or two.

Jeongin had stopped crying but remained quiet on their way to the car. While settling in, Minho poured him some more tea before shoving the thermos back into his backpack. “Why didn’t you tell us you were sick, Innie? Or should I say, why did you try so hard to hide it from us?”, Minho asked hesitantly. The youngest bit his lip, selecting his words carefully: “You’re always there for me, all of you. You worry so much. I can take care of myself but y’all keep babying me and I feel guilty when you worry and do things for me that I can do myself. You don’t have to go out of your way for me and every time you do, I feel like a burden. I don’t want to be a burden. I took medicine and sucked on cough drops, went to bed early. I really did take care of myself.” When he started to get worked up again, Felix side-hugged him, causing him to shut up. “Well, it is our job as your hyungs to worry about you, there’s no way around it. You should know, as Chan said, we can tell when something’s up and if you don’t talk to us, we’ll most likely assume something a lot worse than what is actually going on. If you really want us to worry less, be honest with us, so we can see what we’re dealing with. Second, how dare you consider yourself a burden? You’re our baby and of course, we’ll always be there for you”, Minho frowned. Felix nodded and continued: “You might not understand the way we feel about you but we really love doing things for you, so please, please, please don’t feel guilty about it. For you it might seem like a bother going out of our ways but we really want to do all of that.” – “And, we don’t doubt that you can take care of yourself, probably better than half of this group. The thing is though, you don’t have to. If you really want to be more independent, that’s fine. We’ll try to hold ourselves back but just know, we’ll be there, not because we have to but because we want to”, Seungmin added. By now, Jeongin was almost tearing up again, touched by his hyungs’ words. He took a deep breath to calm himself, inhaling a faint whiff of Chan’s scent from the coat he was wearing. They really did care about him like brothers.

Already in a better mood after their talk, they made their way to the dorm, where Minho announced: “Let’s get a read on that fever and if it’s not too high, why don’t you take a nice warm bath. You’re still shivering.” They kicked off their shoes and Minho took him to the bathroom, watching as Jeongin took his temperature himself. It was moderate but not too high, so Minho started a warm bath while Jeongin went to pick out some comfortable clothes for himself. On his way back to the bathroom, he was stopped by Seungmin. “Hey, we thought it’d be fun to do a movie marathon if you feel up to it? And I wanted to ask if you’d prefer tea or hot chocolate like yesterday”, the second youngest asked. A wide smile spread on Jeongin’s face and he shyly requested: “Hot chocolate would be nice but you really don’t have to. I liked it when we watched the movie yesterday.” – “I’ll make hot chocolate for all of us, don’t worry about it”, Seungmin giggled and ruffled his only dongsaeng’s hair. Jeongin was just about to enter the bathroom with the pile of clothes in his hands when Felix came sliding on his fuzzy socks, panting: “Wait, wait, wait, I found this really cute pink bathbomb in my bag of toiletries and I want you to have it.” The maknae blushed, resembling the shade of the bathbomb itself, and thanked the Aussie before finally returning to the bathroom.

The tub was already filled and Minho told him to enjoy, before leaving to give his dongsaeng some privacy. He helped Felix set up pillows, blankets and some additional beanbags, so every member would find a spot when they returned from the studio. The living room was already smelling comfortingly sweet from the chocolate Seungmin was melting for their drinks. Maybe their dongsaeng wasn’t feeling all that awful but that didn’t mean that they didn’t want do make him as comfortable as possible and cuddle him all better. Plus, who’d say no to some quality time with their cute maknae? A group movie marathon really sounded like heaven right now and the only thing that could make it even better was the hot chocolate Seungmin prepare, decorating it with cute colorful sprinkles just like Jeongin liked it.