#managed to finish this even though I have a fever

[aceofstars16]

Next chapter is up!

It...took a while cause...creating anything has been hard but...here you go! I want to finish this by the end of the year but we'll see if that happens...And I want to make a cover too but...*gestures to feeling really burnout and unmotivated*

And as always, the chapter is below the cut as well.

Complications arise in the aftermath of the dragon attack.

“That’s not good.” Dipper muttered to himself. He had been on watch for a few hours now, and he could hear the sound of foot traffic outside the store room they had found shelter in. Thankfully, no one had tried to come in yet, but that was the least of his worries right now. As time ticked on, his arm had started aching more and more, as if the salve he’d used on it had stopped working. That shouldn’t be possible, every time he’d used it before, it had healed the wound after a single use. But as he unrolled the bandage on his arm, he grimaced. He had stopped bleeding, but the teeth marks were still prevalent, and his skin felt warm to the touch. Something about the dragon’s teeth - or maybe what had been in its teeth – obviously was too strong for even the salve from dimension 326 to solve.

At least I’m used to this sort of thing. Dipper thought to himself as he grabbed a new bandage and loosely wrapped it around his arm, there was no point in using salve unless he knew it was going to work. Biting the bandage with his teeth, he managed to tighten it enough. It had been easier last night. Mabel had helped bandage him up after he had taken a look at her leg.

Mabel! Dipper quickly looked at the younger version of his sister. Her wound had been much worse than his, and as soon as he saw her, he froze. She was pale, and seemed to be shivering. A chill went through his own body at the sight, though part of that must’ve been the fever from his own infection.

Quickly glancing at Stan, Dipper was relieved to see that he was still asleep. He didn’t want his nephew to worry. Then he looked at Ford, who Mabel seemed to have curled up against in her sleep. For a moment, Dipper debated what to do. He obviously needed to get help, for himself and Mabel. He could just leave, after all, the room had been secure until now. But he knew how quickly a safe place could become compromised.

Standing up as quietly as he could, Dipper carefully made his way over to Ford and tapped him gently. For a moment, it seemed as if Ford was still asleep, but then his eyes opened slightly and he seemed to scan the room before looking at Dipper.

“Something wrong?” He asked in barely a whisper.

Dipper bit his lip and nodded to Mabel, who was still sound asleep despite Ford’s movements.

When Ford glanced down at Mabel, he froze, his body growing rigid.

“I’m going to look for something to help.” Dipper said quietly and pointed to his arm. “I have a pretty good idea of what she’s feeling right now.”

“Are you strong enough to be up and about?” Ford asked, frowning slightly.

Dipper nodded. “I’ve been through worse.”

Understanding flicked across Ford’s face and he nodded. “Hurry.”

“I will.” Dipper glanced at Stan then Mabel again. “I shouldn’t be more than an hour.”

Standing up, Dipper carefully made his way to the door and slid the barrel out of the way. Then he slipped out into the alley. 

-----

The ground grew distant as Stan let go of the shutdown switch. He was weightless. The whole room was vibrating as the machine turned on. Then something started pulling at him. He aimed a punch at it but it wasn’t anything tangible. It was the portal, pulling him in.

“Grantie Mabel! Ford! Help!” He screamed, trying to reach out for something, anything to stop the pull.

“Stan!”

Ford cried out as he tried to swim towards Stan in the air, but he wasn’t making any progress and the pull was growing stronger.

“Stanford!”

“Stanley! Hold o-”

Ford’s voice died away as Stan was pulled into the portal. For split second, he could still see the basement of the shack. Then it was gone, and he was alone.

“Ford!”

Jolting upright, Stan looked around frantically, only to be met with an unfamiliar room instead of the vast space that the portal had left him in. His heart was racing and a heaviness grew on his chest as reality slammed into him once again.

“Stanley? Are you okay?”

Stan glanced towards the voice and saw old Ford looking at him, brow furrowed. Mabel was curled up next to his almost-brother, asleep.

“I…” Stan took a breath and nodded, trying to calm himself. When Dipper had first found him, Stan had nightmares every night. They’d gotten better but Dipper had always…

“Where’s Dipper???” The realization that his grunkle wasn’t in the room brought Stan’s anxiety back full force.

“He left to find some medicine.” Ford said, frowning in concern at Stan. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Swallowing, Stan nodded, but he must not have been very convincing because Ford raised an eyebrow.

“Dipper should be back soon. You…you can sit here if you want.” Ford patted the ground next to him, on the opposite side of where Mabel was curled up.

For a moment, Stan just looked at Ford. In one sense, it was comforting to know that there still was a Ford he could talk to, but it wasn’t his Ford and...he still couldn’t shake the feeling that this Ford didn’t like him very much. But the memories of that night still clung to him, and being close to anyone sounded good right about now.

Getting up, he made his way over to Ford and sat down, not quite touching his brother. As he did so, he noticed how pale Mabel looked and a different worry sparked in his chest.

“Is Mabel okay?”

Frowning, Ford glanced at Mabel before giving Stan a very forced smile.

“She will be once Dipper gets back with the medicine.”

Stan frowned a little, not even realizing he was matching Ford’s expression. “Are you sure?”

Silence. Stan looked up and saw Ford staring at the door, and in his gut, Stan knew he was worried but trying not to show it. Which didn’t exactly make him feel any better.

Then Ford returned his attention back to Stan and he sighed. “Mabel is strong, I…she‘ll be okay.”

“Yeah…she fought off a pumpkin monster one time.” Stan said quietly.

Ford quirked an eyebrow and Stan was pretty sure that meant he wanted to hear more.

“We were exploring the woods…kind of when we weren’t supposed to. But you wanted to find a-oh I mean…my Ford wanted to follow some instructions he found in Dipper’s journal so…we snuck off.” As he spoke, a weight grew on Stan’s chest again and he looked at the ground, trying to fight back the overwhelming sadness. He wished he could go back to that day, when the scariest thing was a stupid monster and Mabel was fine and Ford was…

“You miss him.”

Stan quickly looked up but old Ford wasn’t looking at him, he was staring at the wall.

“Of course I do…” Stan said quietly, then he couldn’t stop himself from asking the same. “Do you miss your Stan?”

Ford straightened at that, a frown replacing the thoughtful look on his face.

“I…it’s complicated.”

“…oh…” Stan mumbled, the weight on his chest growing as he tried to keep tears at bay. Apparently something could come between him and Ford. And if it happened in one universe…would it happen in his? Or would he even see his Ford again?

Another question came to Stan’s mind, one he had been too scared to ask, and maybe he shouldn’t voice it. He was already feeling awful but…might as well get it over with, right?

“Do you hate him?”

----

“That sure is a nasty bite.”

Dipper grimaced as he saw exactly what the doctor saw. His arm definitely wasn’t looking too great, and he felt a lot warmer and weaker than he had when he’d left the sanctuary of the store room. Thankfully, he had managed to find a doctor pretty quickly. If he already felt this bad, he didn’t even want to think about how Mabel was doing. The faster the doctor figured out what to give him, the sooner he could get the same medicine to Mabel.

“What did you say did this?” One of the eyes of the doctor looked up, while the other three continued to examine his arm – she reminded him a bit of a snail in that way, but she was much bigger and didn’t have slime or a shell from what he could see. Maybe a crab was more in line with what she looked like. Whatever, she wasn’t the weirdest creature he’d seen in the multiverse and apparently she was the best doctor in town. At least according to the store owner that he’d talked to.

“I didn’t say.” Dipper responded to her question. Sure, he could mention the dragon creature, but something in his gut told him that it was something to keep discreet. He had overheard some aliens talking about “The Shadow Death” in a way that sounded almost…spiritual, as if it was some sort of evil.

The doctor hummed – though it sounded more like a gurgle – then turned to her pack of medicines and rummaged through them.

A moment later, she pulled out a syringe and before Dipper could react, she had stuck him with the needle. Out of instinct, he tried to pull back before she could inject him, but she moved a lot faster than he expected. Man, was he really losing his touch?

“Don’t squirm. This will get rid of the infection. As for the bite…” The doctor pulled out a spray bottle and rag and sprayed his arm.

Gritting his teeth, Dipper tried not to show how much the spray hurt, but apparently he wasn’t the best at that because the doctor just chuckled.

“It hurts but it helps.” She said before wiping his arm – removing the foam that had arisen from the spray. Before quickly wrapping his arm again.

“There. All done.”

She started ushering him up, apparently she didn’t want him lingering around. Maybe she just had a lot of patients, or maybe she suspected what bit him and didn’t want him around longer than necessary.

“Wait!” Dipper said, planting his feet to keep from being pushed out the door.

“What? The medicine works. You already feel better.”

She was right. Strangely enough, he felt like his fever was already gone, but he couldn’t leave without getting medicine for Mabel too.

“Someone else got bit. A girl, my-my sister. She needs the same medicine…maybe more. She wasn’t looking very good when I left…” Just that thought sent a wave of anxiety rushing through Dipper’s body, but he tried his best to shove it down. He just had to hurry, that was all.

The doctor frowned for a moment, then grunted. “How big?”

Dipper stared at her for a moment, then realized she was asking about Mabel. “About…” Dipper used his hand to measure about how tall Mabel was. “Still a kid.”

For a moment, the doctor just narrowed her eyes at his hand, then she hurried back to her supplies. She rummaged around then came back with her arms full of different bottles and rags.

“Inject this first.” She handed him a prepared syringe with a strange orange liquid in it – different than the one she had used on him.

“Then this.” She gave him another syringe, this one looked like the one she’d given him.

“Clean the wound with this,” she handed him a bottle, “And this,” a spray bottle. “Then have her drink this.”

The last bottle was placed in his arms and Dipper frowned. “This is a lot more than you gave me.”

“A kid needs more, and different. Now go, I have more work to do.”

This time, Dipper let himself be ushered outside, and he could only hope that the different medicines would help Mabel as much as they helped him. He was tempted to use only the things that had helped him but…the doctor didn’t seem to have any ill will and she had helped him. So, he pocketed the medicines she had given him and stepped out of the medical building.

Quickly making his way through the crowd of people that had gotten much larger than when he’d arrived, Dipper did his best to avoid bumping into anyone. However, as he shuffled through the crowd, something seemed…off. Glancing over his shoulder, he tried to pinpoint what it was. Everything looked fine. The aliens were acting normal, so what-?

Dipper stumbled over his feet and barely stopped himself from falling. Moving as fast as he could, he made his way to an alley and immediately hid behind the wall of the building.

As carefully as he could, he glanced around the corner to search the crowd again. And there his fears were confirmed.

Freglo, the bounty hunter. Dipper had some experience with him in the past. He was ruthless and Dipper had only escaped by jumping into a wormhole as it was closing. If he was here…

Ducking back behind the wall, Dipper closed his eyes and tried gathering his thoughts. He wasn’t sure if Freglo had seen him, he didn’t think so. But it was only a matter of time before he tracked Dipper down, and Stan and…Mabel.

Letting out a curse under his breath, Dipper started making his way down the alley. Mabel didn’t have time for him to figure out a plan. His best bet was to get her the medicine and then figure out what to do about the bounty hunter.

Making his way carefully back to the storage room, Dipper did his best to make his trail confusing while still being quick. Freglo used scent to track, so if he could mix it up some, maybe he could confuse the hunter. Or at least give him enough time to help Mabel before facing the beast.

-----

“Do you hate him?”

A weight grew in Ford’s chest as the question lingered in the air. Stan was looking at the ground, his arms wrapped around his legs. The first thought that came to Ford’s mind was, yes. After all, Stan was the reason he was here, the reason Mabel was here. But even as that justification grew in his mind, his heart seemed to balk at the word. Hate. Did he really hate Stan?

“Never mind. I…forget I said anything.”

Stan’s voice was quiet and fearful, as if he was scared of Ford’s response. For a moment, Ford was taken back to Glass Shard Beach, after Pa had said some degrading things about Stan – like he always did. And now here he was, years later…treating Stan the same way. And yes, Stan made a lot of mistakes, and Ford would be lying if he said he wasn’t angry with his brother but…

“No…I don’t hate him.”

“You don’t?” Stan straightened up quickly, looking at Ford in shock.

Trying to squash down the pain that came from the surprise on Stan’s face, Ford let out a sigh and shook his head. “No…I…I might be a little frustrated with him at the moment but…that’s not for you to worry about. I…I don’t know if I could ever truly hate him…”

“Or me?”

For a moment, Ford just stared at the younger version of Stan in shock. “Of course I don’t hate you. I…you remind me of times I…haven’t thought about in a long time…but they were good times.”

“Like what?”

The ghost of a smile grew on Ford’s mouth. “A lot of things, but mostly summers on the beach, fixing up the Stan O’ War.”

Stan straightened up. “You had the Stan O’ War too?”

A small chuckle escaped Ford’s mouth. “Of course, in fact…” Taking a breath, Ford carefully put a hand inside his inner coat pocket, wanting to make sure he didn’t damage his treasure more than it already had been. Grabbing it, he pulled it out and looked at it for a moment before showing it to Stan.

A faded picture of Stan and Ford as kids, standing in front of the Stan O’ War.

“Is that…how…how old is that?” Stan stared wide-eyed at the picture, reaching out to take hold of it.

For a split-second Ford felt a familiar pull at the thought of letting go of the photograph. He had kept it for forty years, through countless dimensions, and he’d never let anyone else handle it. But he let Stan take it. After all, it was Stan, and if he was going to share it with anyone, it would be Stan – young or old.

Stan held the photo carefully, his eyes locked on it. And only after a moment did Ford realize he could see tears prickling in his eyes. A heaviness grew on his chest and he carefully rested a hand on Stan’s back.

Looking up quickly, Stan quickly wiped at his eyes. “Will I ever see him again?”

The question brought an unexpected sadness upon Ford. Not just for this Stan, but…for himself as well. When he’d first been pushed into the portal, he never imagined seeing Stan again, and now it seemed more impossible. But Stan had managed to turn on the portal once, and knowing his brother, he wouldn’t stop until it was back on again.

“I don’t know, Stanley…but…” Ford sighed and glanced at the picture. “Why don’t you keep that? I think you need it more than me.” Maybe that wasn’t true. The thought of not having the picture scared Ford. As if he was admitting that those two kids would never be that way again, would never be as close as they once had, and might never actually see each other again. But if he could help Stan, even an alternate version, keep up the hope that he had lost, well…he’d survive.

“Really?” Stan asked quickly, his fingers gripping the picture tighter.

“Really.”

For a second, their eyes met and an understanding passed between them. The tension that had been lining Stan’s body ever since he had first run into Ford disappeared, and the frustration that Ford felt at his brother’s recklessness eased. They were okay now.

A door flying open broke the moment, and Ford quickly grabbed for his gun, only to relax as he saw Dipper, who quickly closed the door behind him.

“What’s wrong?” Ford asked, immediately sensing Dipper’s stress.

“It’s…” Dipper’s eyes flickered to Mabel and he shook his head. “First things first.”

Ford tried to calm his nerves as he watched Dipper treat Mabel with a variety of medicines. He knew Dipper wouldn’t hurt Mabel, just like he wouldn’t hurt Stan. But still, he didn’t know what Dipper had gotten to treat her and with his hurried entrance and treatment, Ford knew something was wrong.

A few times, Mabel muttered in her sleep as Dipper treated her, especially when he injected her with one of the medicines, but she didn’t wake up. However, the pale tone of her skin seemed to lessen as Dipper applied an ointment to her leg.

“There.” Dipper pulled back from pouring a medicine down Mabel’s throat. His arms were shaking and Ford felt a similar tension in his own body.

“What happened out there?”

Dipper frowned and glanced at the door. “Bounty hunter.” He said quietly, seeming to want to keep Stan from hearing, but the kid had sharp ears and he sat up straight.

Dread pooled in Ford’s stomach as he looked at Mabel. “Did he spot you?”

Dipper’s eyes flicked to the door again. “I’m not sure, but…if he did…”

“We need to move.” Even as Ford said it, he knew that was impossible. Mabel was still recovering and moving her could make her worse.

Looking at Dipper, Ford saw the same concern in his eyes. For a moment, no one moved, then Dipper broke eye contact and looked at Stan.

“Get your stuff, Stan.”

“What?” Stan looked at Mabel and Ford, then at Dipper.

“We need to leave.”

“Now???” Stan glanced at Mabel again.

“Yes.” Even as he spoke, Dipper hastily packed the few items that had been scattered around the room – which wasn’t much. It seemed he traveled as lightly as Ford did.

Stan followed suit, only to stop as he realized Ford wasn’t moving. “Why aren’t you packing?”

Ford exchanged a glance with Dipper. “I’m staying here with Mabel.”

“What!?” Stan blurted out. “What…you can’t…we’re supposed to stick together, right? We-we just found each other and-”

Ford reached out and place a hand on Stan’s shoulder. “Stanley, you have to go. I…I’m not your Ford. We can’t-”

“You lied!” Stan snapped, tears growing in his eyes as he pulled away from Ford.

“No, Stan. I didn’t-”

“L-let’s go, D-Dipper,” Stan stuttered, grabbing at Dipper’s hand and pulling him towards the door.

“Stanley, wait!”

But Stan had already pulled a stunned Dipper out the door. He was gone and Ford felt just as horrible as he had the first time Stan had stormed away all those years ago. Only this time, he couldn’t make it right. Because he’d never see the kid again. He would always think that Ford didn’t want him around, when that couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Grunkle Ford?”

Mabel’s voice shook Ford out of pain that was threatening to overwhelm him.

“I’m here.”

“How long have I…?” Mabel’s voice trailed off and as she scanned the room frantically. “Where are Dipper and Stan?!?”

[inkly-heart]

[mosscrab]

mgsv has so many literary references to books i have essays abt it kind of makes me.

[kykyonthemoon]

How to babysit a wounded little Hunter

Injured after a mission, you now indulge yourself in his special tender loving care.

ಇ. Character x Female Reader fanfic,

including Caleb, Rafayel, Xavier and Zayne

ಇ. Tags: fluff, domestic fluff, early stage of established relationship

A little heads up: The writer will not take responsibility for any side effect (such as toothache) that might come after reading the fic.

ಇ. Word count: 4k

ಇ. Requested by Wytchie Pie and x

ಇ. Masterlist ♡ Request a fic ♡

𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒃

You dimly sensed footsteps in the bedroom, and then one side of the bed sank. The acquainted scent and warmth embraced you. A cool hand rested on your forehead. In an instant, the heat in your body subsided.

So as soon as that hand was gone, you seized it.

"Don't go…"

You mumbled in a daze. There was a quiet laugh close to your ear, and then that palm brushed against your forehead again.

"If you don't let go, how can I take your temperature then, pipsqueak?"

You recognized that voice. It was Caleb's. So you acted even more aggressively. You yanked his hand tighter, so much so that his entire body appeared to collapse into the bed, just a little above yours.

"Huh? Aren't you a little too strong for someone who is sick?" Caleb laughed again. The sort of laughter that made you feel considerably better.

"I'm not sick." You were persistent, still. "Just feeling a little sleepy."

Caleb's hand tried to pull away from you. But perhaps he kept it that way on purpose, since given your current state, he would have no problem withdrawing if he truly wanted you to let go.

Caleb's hand patted you a little tenderly. He managed to grab the thermometer with his free hand. He took your temperature, then exclaimed: 

"Almost forty Celsius!"

You exhaled heavily, almost a moan. Every part of you felt irritated and heated. Despite this, you dismissed it, saying:

"I'm not... sick..."

Caleb used the chance to release his wrist from you. You opened your eyes slightly and gave him a disappointed expression.

"You have such a high fever, yet still saying you're not sick?" Caleb mumbled, but you caught every word. He handed you medicine, but you did not take it.

"Too bitter." You said.

"Quit whining. "Just take it and go to sleep."

"If I take it… you'll have to stay here with me, okay?"

Caleb sighed. "Only until you sleep, pipsqueak."

You smiled faintly and fast to accept the pills from Caleb's hand. You clutched his hand securely as you drifted off to sleep, dreaming of the Wanderers, the escapes, and the secrets in which you were a part of. Then, when you woke up again, you noticed Caleb seated beside the bed.

“You're awake now, pipsqueak?” He smiled at you. He was rather relieved. He put a hand on your forehead again. “Yup. No more fever."

Caleb's presence seemed to chase the nightmares away. You removed his hand from your forehead and held it tightly.

“How long have I been sleeping?”

"Let's see…" Caleb brushed his chin. "When you arrived home last night, you went to bed right away. You got a high temperature around early morning. From the time you took the medicine and fell asleep until now, I've finished a whole movie, cooked a delicious pot of porridge, and measured your temperature three times."

"What nonsense are you talking about?"

Caleb laughed. He squeezed your hand once. "You've just been asleep for a few hours. But it is past noon now. Are you hungry?"

You shook your head.

"Are you sure?" Caleb asked again. "I made a super delicious pork rib porridge for you though."

You opened your eyes wide and looked at him. Pork rib porridge was a dish he would often cook when you were sick and no longer in a mood to eat anything. That dish always helped you feel better, even just hearing about it was enough to make you crave food again.

"Pork rib porridge…"

You could only whisper that much when Caleb pressed the tip of your nose and said:

“I knew right away that you couldn't resist food.”

A minute later, the room was filled with the aroma of a still-hot bowl of porridge. Caleb put it on a little tray over the bed. You lay back against the cushion, staring at the meal in front of you as if it were a rare delicacy, despite the fact that the ingredients were absolutely basic.

You looked over at Caleb. He was observing you. "What's wrong? Still no appetite?"

“It's too hot…” You pouted. “Besides,… both my arms and body are aching…”

It took a quite difficult mission in extreme weather, and a high fever to receive special care at your bedside. How could you not enjoy it?

Caleb read you right away. He said: “What? The Hunter in Linkon wants me to feed her? Weren't you delirious this morning, saying you had to go fight off Wanderers?”

“When did I say that? But it's okay if you don't help me. I don't want to eat anymore.”

“Are you still a three-year-old then?”

Even though he grumbled, Caleb still smiled very gently. He scooped a spoonful of porridge, blew on it to cool down, then held it out to you.

You opened your mouth really wide, making him chuckle. When he saw that you were eating well, Caleb felt relieved. He teased:

"I thought you're a grown-up now and wouldn't need me to take care of you anymore."

You replied, still with a mouthful of pork rib porridge: "When you lose your cooking skills, I won't really need you anymore then."

Caleb laughed aloud. He patted your head and said: "I didn’t expect my vacation to turn into a part-time job for babysitting. If I catch a fever from you, you must take care of me in return.”

You rose up in a sudden and pressed your still-hot face into the crook of Caleb's neck, nearly dropping the porridge spoon.

“Then I’ll cook pork rib porridge for you. Just heads-up though, even if it tastes yucky, you must eat it all!”

𝑹𝒂𝒇𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒍

The door to the hospital room opened. Rafayel's curly purple hair appeared. And immediately, your phone lit up with a text message from Thomas:

[The little devil is coming for you. Sorry, I did my best.]

You exhaled. Clearly, he had not done his best. That was why Rafayel was here, staring at you with such a deep gaze from the entrance.

"Er… "Hello, Rafayel..." You waved your arm, attempting to greet him with a warm smile.

"Rafayel?" He frowned. "Do you still remember that we know each other?"

"Huh? Why did you...?" You left your sentence incomplete as Rafayel surged inside. He placed his hands on his hips, his expression filled with slanderous words as he accused you.

"Who are you? Do I know you? It's been eight hundred years. Jellyfishes are walkin' naked. Sea turtles climb trees. Sharks are eatin' grass for free! And finally, you remembered me?"

You frowned. Why was there something that rang so familiar with this scenario? Yet it was still off.

“Rafayel, I—”

“When are you going to tell me you're hurt?”

Rafayel pointed a finger directly to your shoulder, where the white bandage was visible through the hospital gown. That was the real reason he was precisely distressed.

“Even Thomas knew you were injured. Yet you didn't say a word to me?! You left me waiting alone for three hours at the exhibition. I can't believe you stood me up!”

You lifted your hand, intending to remind Rafayel to keep his voice down because you were both in the hospital. But he gave you no opportunity to speak.

"Do you realize how scared I was? When Thomas told me you couldn't come, I thought about all the things that could happen to you!”

"Rafayel…" You finally found a chance to interrupt him.  “Let's calm down first. I didn't mean to hide it from you, it's just... I haven't told you yet..."

Rafayel crossed his arms. He was still irritated.

“I can't believe it! You deliberately manipulated me with your innocence so that I would let you get away this time!”

You felt dizzy in the head, and your ears were ringing with Rafayel's nagging words and accusations. The injured one was you. Why did you feel as if you had just committed a great sin?

"ARGHHH!" You shouted and clutched your bandaged shoulder. "It hurts!"

Rafayel quickly forgot the rage in his heart. He moved right away to the bed and gently raised your arm. His eyes were full of concern and anxiety.

“Are you hurt? I'll call the doctor here right away!”

You grasped Rafayel's hand, urging him to stay with you.

“See? I'm still very strong. Just a little hurt."

"How much is a little?" Rafayel frowned. You could feel his hot glare on your shoulder, soaking into the bandage and searing your wound.

"… This much." You clasped your thumb and index finger to form a circle, then held it up for Rafayel to see. He grabbed your hand and placed it on his chest.

"I don't believe you anymore." He continued to speak with a condescending tone. "I have to check it out with my own eyes."

"Huh? What do you mean?…” You suddenly blushed. Rafayel looked at you with serious eyes, yet very sincere. He replied:

“Your wound. I want to see it."

The mere notion of Rafayel wanting to look behind your garments made your cheeks flame. You withdrew your hand and refused:

“I told you I'm fine… Don't make such a scene…”

“If I don't see it, how can I be sure you're not lying to me? This isn't the first time you've hidden your injuries..."

That was all Rafayel said. You gazed at him for a second. Aside from being concerned about you, he was also saddened since you had repeatedly hidden your wounds from him. A great deal when you did not want to bother him, he always found out and became much more frustrated.

"Alright then…"

Eventually, you had to give in. You turned your back to Rafayel and carefully slipped the shirt collar down your shoulder, displaying the neatly wrapped bandages around your torso.

You could see your reflection in the front window. Your face turned crimson. And Rafayel stood next to the bed, attentively investigating you, his fingers softly caressing the gauze, causing you to bow slightly in pain as well as anxiousness.

“Yet you said it was just a little wound.” Rafayel muttered. It was his hand that drew your collar back up. And the next thing you knew, you were upgraded to the best room at the hospital.

You weren't used to how wealthy people spent their money. You looked at Rafayel, who had constantly been by your side during your hospital stay. He requested you to remain in the most advanced hospital room, with the greatest level of care. More than that, he refused to leave your side even when you asked to be alone.

"You don't have to do this, Rafayel." You spoke as he was peeling the fruit for you.

"Open your mouth." He handed you a slice of mango. Even if your lips stated it wasn't required, you nevertheless welcomed all of his attention.

"I'm serious…" As soon as you finished swallowing the mango, he gave you another slice. "Really, um... This mango is truly delicious..."

"Do you crave anything else?" Rafayel purposely ignored every time you told him he didn't need to stay there all day and night to care for you. Your wound had improved significantly.

“I think I can be discharged from hospital and get back to work now…” You said. “I don't want to bother you anymore…”

"What's that?" Rafayel pretended not to hear you. “I think I heard the sound of abalone porridge just being delivered to the hospital. Let me go grab it.”

You sighed. Another expensive meal he had prepared for you. But you knew how much you would miss these things when you left the hospital at last and could no longer benefit from his tender loving care.

“Maybe I'll stay here one more day... You're spoiling me too much...” You muttered beneath your breath, but Rafayel overheard everything. He pinched your cheek and responded:

“You're staying because of the delicious food, not because of my devoted service? This is so heartbreaking! Then, after you've recovered, I'll make you repay everything. You have to work overtime as my bodyguard too!"

𝑿𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒓

You crept along the hospital's vacant rear door. You were just hospitalized in the afternoon due to an injury suffered while on job. Even though the doctor advised you to stay for additional examination, you believed the damage was minor. On top of that, the mission was not yet over. You needed to get back to headquarters.

Unfortunately, your escape did not go well. You ran into a familiar shoulder before you could complete the corridor.

"X-Xavier?" You became pale, but not because of the pain. It was only that you were astonished and a little ashamed when caught red-handed.

His look was incredibly complicated, ranging from apprehensive to serious and somewhat furious.

"Where are you going?" he inquired.

You didn't dare to reveal the truth, so you invented an excuse: "Ah... well... The hospital room is quite boring, so I decided to go for a stroll."

"From the back door?"

"Er… I heard the nurse say this is a quicker shortcut to the garden..."

Xavier gazed at you for some time. You clutched your hand tight, terrified that he would not believe that ridiculous excuse. Yet, Xavier nodded at you: "Then let's go together."

Before you could respond, Xavier grabbed your hand and led you outside. It was night time, the wind blew, sending you a slight chill. Xavier took off his coat and draped it over your shoulders. That incredibly gentle gesture made you feel more guilty than ever for lying to him.

“Lead the way.” He told you shortly. For some reason, you had the impression that he was in extreme anger over you.

During the stroll, you didn't dare to speak, and Xavier did the same. He strolled close to you, as if keeping watch rather than walking together. You wandered about for a long time, but there was no trace of the hospital's garden anywhere. Xavier continued to follow your every step in such silence. Him being like that evoked even more guilt in your heart.

At last, you couldn't take it any longer and had to confess: "Xavier... Actually... The truth is, I don't know where the garden is..."

At that point, he spoke up and asked: "So why did you leave your hospital room?"

You didn't dare look into his eyes, so you just stammered an explanation: "Ah... My injury is nothing to be concerned about... That's why I... planned to return to headquarters..."

You noticed Xavier's hands clenching into fists. Fearing he'd be upset, you added: "The doctor also said my injury wasn't too serious— Ah!"

Xavier abruptly pulled your wrist, causing the wound on your arm to hurt. He read through your face which was miserable but still faking a smile. His voice turned sharp:

“If I hadn't caught you, would you really have sneaked away from the hospital?”

Your body convulsed in pain, but you were more concerned about Xavier's rage. You said, "I'm sorry... I was wrong... I'll return to the hospital room right now..."

"Good." Xavier responded curtly. Then he quickly leaned down and held you up in the attitude of a princess being carried.

"W-What are you doing, Xavier?"

"Let's take you back to the hospital room." His expression remained frigid, making you both terrified and embarrassed to be carried by him in such a manner.

Xavier did not return to the same path you had taken. Instead, he took you into the front entrance, where many people, including patients and hospital staff, could see you.

"Xavier? You... put me down! "They are looking at us!"

"I want them to see, so they know you intend to escape the hospital and will monitor you more closely."

Your cheeks became scarlet with humiliation. You swore you saw a kid pointing at you and chuckling, "Mom! I want to be carried like that princess, too!"

And you swore you saw Xavier smirking at that.

After an embarrassing journey, you finally arrived at your room. Xavier set you down on the bed. He chose to remain silent with you as punishment for your unsuccessful escape. You saw him sitting in the corner of the room, peeling a red apple for you.

“Xavier?”

You called out, but he didn't look at you and just replied curtly:

“Rest.”

“Are you angry with me?…”

Xavier's silence revealed the answer. You groaned and pulled the warm cover up high, as if to conceal yourself away from Xavier's rage, but he remained as quiet as a cloudless sky.

When he finished with the apple, he brought it over and gave you a slice. "Eat."

You did not enjoy this cold and distant demeanor of Xavier. If he was upset with you, he should have expressed it directly. You knew it was your fault, and he was so concerned about you that he got mad when you lied to him like that.

"Xavier, I'm sorry…" Your hands seized Xavier's wrist, which was clutching the apple slice. Your eyes widened as much as possible, even giving the impression that you were going to cry.

In the end, the ploy worked. His gaze had softened completely. He placed the plate of apples on the bed and used his other hand to elevate your chin a little. He said: "If you know your fault, then obediently eat all of these and rest."

His hand softly separated your lips, and his other hand inserted a slice of apple for you to eat. You were back in the sunshine, coaxing him to sit on the bed next to you.

"I'll give you three days to recover." Xavier spoke, his voice still agitated, but you could feel his boundless care and love.

"Then I shall bother you to watch over me for a few more days!"

𝒁𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆

You had just returned to your private cabin at the icy mountain base when you heard a tap at the door. You answered the door, wondering who was seeking for you at this hour, and there was Doctor Zayne, holding a first-aid kit while standing outside.

“Zayne?” Your eyes caught the blood on his face and neck. Snow adhered to his dark hair. You took a step back and allowed him inside. "Why are you here?"

Your team had accepted the mission of rescuing people caught in an avalanche created by a group of Wanderers on the mountain. You had learnt that a team of physicians from Akso Hospital was also on their way. But you did not expect to see Zayne here.

Zayne set the first aid pack on the table and then turned to you. He went on to say: "I'm here to do my duty as a doctor."

You widened your eyes and inquired him again, "Your duty as a doctor?"

Zayne pointed to your abdomen, which was soaked from your own blood oozing through the gauze you had recklessly covered earlier.

"Oh dear…" You cried out. You were so engaged in battles that you didn't have time to look at your wound. Your head began spinning as a result of excessive blood loss.

Zayne's powerful arms directed and assisted you to the table. He put you to the wooden table and took a chair to sit in front of you.

"Doctor Zayne, what are you going to do?"

You noted this when you found his hand on the hem of your shirt. He seemed to want to lift it up.

"Treating you."

You knew that. But you were still extremely nervous when thinking that he was about to lift up your shirt. So your hand was still securely grasping his, preventing him from moving any further.

“I've already bandaged it. A nurse also helped me stitch up the wound earlier..."

During the turmoil, you recalled being stabbed in the abdomen. A nurse assisted you in stitching it up, but because there were so many others with more serious injuries, you let her tend to them while you put bandages over yourself and returned to the battlefield. Perhaps your clumsiness caused the wound to bleed a great deal more.

Zayne used his other hand to remove yours before pulling your shirt up. The gauze surrounding your abdomen was drenched in blood. He slowly withdrew it as you writhed in pain and embarrassment.

"Try to sit still for a bit, will you?"

Zayne's soothing voice burst out, calming you down a lot. You sat on the table, your hands lifting your body up while you looked down at the doctor who was treating your wound. The fact that you had to display your skin beneath his gaze made you uneasy and desire to cover your face. But Zayne was quite professional. He remained silent and entirely concentrated on his work. He cleansed the wound and applied a new layer of gauze. His warm breath occasionally wafted against your skin, causing you to tremble slightly. Even when his frigid fingers touched you, it seemed like you were being scorched.

"It's done."

Zayne said after fixing the new layer of gauze. You were a little discontent when his fingers left you. You were ready to pull your top back down when Zayne lightly rubbed his fingers against your abdomen.

“Ouch!” Even though the place he touched was not wounded, you were still startled and embarrassed.

“Just checking it again.” Zayne elaborated. He had you sitting on the table, your bandaged abdomen at his eye level. You could feel his stare through the gauze, pausing a bit too long in areas that were not covered by anything.

“Doctor Zayne… Are you done now?”

You attempted to keep your speech cool, but your crimson cheeks could have given you away. Zayne appeared to flash a little smile. You felt the icy sensation of his fingertip on your skin again as he slid it beneath the hem of your shirt, then pulled it back down.

"I am now." He answered while returning the supplies to the first aid kit. "Don't be so reckless next time. You have to care for yourself first before you can save others.”

"Hold on." You stopped him. You altered your position and stared into his eyes. "You always say so, but can you actually do what you say?"

Zayne tilted his head to look at you. You took advantage of the moment and raised his chin to have a better look. He had a minor cut on his forehead, and the blood on his body was most likely someone else's.

"You rushed here to take care of me, while you, yourself, are in this condition."

You spoke. His hand found your wrist.

"I barely got a few scrapes. Not as concerning as someone who rushed into the battlefield with a bleeding stomach."

"Whether the wound is big or small, it can be critical." You stated precisely what Dr. Zayne told you whenever he saw you injured, even if it was only a little cut.

Realizing that he had just tasted his own medicine, Zayne let out a small laugh. Then he tugged your hand, causing you to almost lean towards him. He gazed into your eyes for quite a while.

"So, my doctor, will you treat me?"

You blushed again. Zayne relinquished his hand, allowing you to properly wipe the blood off his face. You had to confess that you were a little awkward, owing to your unexpected closeness to Zayne in such a private and calm setting. He probably could hear your heart racing. He supported your hand which was holding a sterilized cotton pad and said:

"If you want to become a skilled doctor, in situations like this you must be even calmer."

"I'm not as professional as Dr. Zayne." You answered with a little caustic tone. "You were able to treat my wound so calmly just now."

Zayne gazed at you for an instant. His face remained calm, but his eyes were not.

"I'm a skilled doctor. Yet, it doesn’t imply that I wouldn't feel anything while treating the girl I like in such a... condition."

[headkiss]

I LOVE YOUR HOTCH FICS!!! <3 You write him so well, and I just adore how soft he is 🥺! I've read a fic where the author basically describes him as a Jane Austen hero, and I can't help but agree (what are you thoughts?)! Sooooo, is it possible to get a fic where Hotch reads to sick!reader to help her sleep? TYSM!

omg ur so right he is very much jane austen coded!!! tysm for requesting i hope u like it!!! | 0.7k of fluff, sick reader and gentle hotch <3

Aaron’s job isn’t one that allows him to take much time off of work, even when he wants to. You know it, and would never be angry at him for it, so when you wake up feeling a little too warm, you reassure him that you’ll be fine by yourself.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” He asks, already dressed in his suit and sitting on the edge of the bed by your waist. “I can if you want me to.”

Of course the only time he’d be eager to ask for a day off is when it’s in your favor. He doesn’t even call out when he’s the one who’s sick.

“No, you can’t, Aaron. They need you over there,” you say, hoping your smile is convincing enough. “I’m just gonna sleep this off. I’ll be fine.”

He sighs, reluctant to leave even though he sort of has to, even though he knows you can take care of yourself. He just hates not being the one to do so, anyways.

Hotch leans over to press a kiss to your heated cheek, “I’ll call you when I can to check in, okay?”

“You really don’t have to-”

“Let me do that, at least, sweetheart.”

“Okay.”

He kisses your cheek again and then stands to leave, pausing at the bedroom doorway to turn back and look at you one more time. You snake your hand out from under the sheets and give him a thumbs up.

Aaron calls you exactly five times throughout the day, most of them quick, couple-minute phone calls where he asks how you’re doing, if you’ve eaten. One of them during his lunch—which he rarely takes—and lasting nearly half an hour, him doing most of the talking.

The sun is close to setting by the time he gets home, where Aaron finds you curled up on the couch in the comforter from your bed, your skin clammy, your baby hairs sticking to your forehead.

His heart aches a little bit at the sight, because he knows you’ve been downplaying how sick you feel all day to keep him from worrying, as if anything could.

Hotch walks over to the couch, crouching in front of where your head is propped up on a pillow. “Sweetheart.”

“Hi, Aaron.”

He presses the back of his hand to your forehead, frowning at how warm you feel. “Why didn’t you tell me you have a fever? You should be in bed.”

“Got too warm in there, then too cold out here, so I took the comforter. Hope that’s okay.”

The medicine you took hours ago hasn’t done much other than make you a little groggy, and it’s clear in the way you speak with your cheek still squished to the pillow, your eyelids heavy.

Aaron’s hand is still on your forehead, like he can will your fever away with his touch. “Have you slept? Are you hungry?”

You shake your head, “don’t really feel like eating.”

“You should,” he says. “How about I run you a bath and make you some soup? Then bed.”

“Okay, doctor Hotchner.”

He shakes his head, though the small smile on your face as you tease him makes him smile, too. Even feeling poorly, you manage to brighten his day. A ray of sunshine.

He does exactly as promised, and after a bath and a generous bowl of soup that Hotch made sure you finished, you’ve got your head in his lap, his hand gently pushing your hair back.

Looking down, Aaron finds you still awake, blinking up at him lazily. “Aren’t you tired?”

“It’s been hard to sleep,” you say, fingers fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt. “Will you read to me?”

“Sure, sweetheart. Pick a book.”

You choose, and whine when he gets up to go get it even though he’s back in a matter of seconds. With your cheek comfortably pressed against his thigh once again, he starts reading to you.

You’ve always loved Aaron’s voice, the way it sounds when he speaks to you, the low and calm tone that seems to wash over you. He’s using a gentle voice now, a quiet one that you love even more because it’s one he saves for you. Intimate and lovely.

It’s only with his hand in your hair and his voice in your ears that you’re finally able to fall asleep.

[littlejuicebox]

GINAAA MY GIRL!

Sending you a dadstarion prompt because you already know I LOVEEE your dadstarion content.

How did Tav find out she was pregnant with baby Gale? And how did Astarion react to the news?! Inquiring minds want to know.

To have and to hold.

Such a lovely prompt, my friend! Hope you like it!

Summary: Astarion turned mortal a few months ago, and this is his first-time experiencing illness of any kind. Unfortunately, as soon as he recovers, you start to show signs of sickness as well. Your condition is a bit different from his, though. (For more of this series check out the ‘Dadstarion’ section of my master list.)

Tags/Warnings: Dadstarion, domestic af, fluff, talk of illness, talk of vomiting, the mildest of angst with the mostest of comfort, pregnancy, etc.

A/N: I work in healthcare, not law, so I can’t guarantee the legalese is accurate lol.

Word count: 2.3K

-----

“Don’t come closer, darling, I’m disgusting.” Astarion groans from where you find him one morning, curled up on the bathroom floor.

It had been a few months since Gale of Waterdeep cast Wish, and from that moment until now the retired rogue had been a happy, healthy mortal. There were so many benefits to curing his vampirism that the elf never fully considered one of the major downsides… illness.

He’d never experienced a malady like this in his life. At least not in the one he could remember.

It’s horrible.

How had his little love or any of his friends endured this, more than once, in the past ten years?

Astarion is quite certain he contracted food poisoning from that questionable slab of salmon he ate at the Blushing Mermaid yesterday evening. He never did understand why you liked eating at that lowbrow tavern in the first place.

You crouch to examine your husband, pressing a soothing hand onto his forehead before running it down to cup his cheek.

“Astarion, my love, you have a fever.” You murmur, frowning with concern as you push sweaty curls from his face.

“Please make more obvious observations, dear,” Astarion gripes as he forces himself to sit up, still clutching his stomach. Gods, the vile churning in his gut is incessant.

He’s about to continue on with his quip, but the sudden urge to be sick forces the elf to shut up and scramble to the toilet. You hear the sounds of violent retching moments later.

“We are never going back to the Blushing Mermaid,” Astarion grumbles once the wave of illness subsides. His face is pressed against the toilet; all sense of decorum is gone. The rotten fish poisoning his insides won over any bits of pride he might have been clinging to.

You move to grab a wash rag, dampening it under the tap before kneeling back down by your husband.

“Poor thing,” You coo, folding the cloth in half before dabbing it against the back of Astarion’s neck, hoping to ease the fever.

The elf’s eyes flutter closed as he allows you to fawn over him for a moment. And then he groans and flicks his hand, palm faced downward, as if trying to shoo you away. His voice is hoarse when he says, “Just leave me here and go get ready for your meeting, darling. I’ll be fine.”

“In sickness and in health, remember?” You ask, running the cool cloth over Astarion’s face, causing him to sigh thankfully at the slight relief, “I’ll send word to the other Counsellors to inform them that I won’t be attending. You’ve never been ill before; I don’t want to leave you like this. Wyll can fill me in later.”

“Yes, ‘in sickness and in health’ and all that, darling, but those vows also included ‘until death do us part’ and I was an immortal vampire when we made them. So you were technically entering that verbal contract under false pretenses, which one could argue means it’s null and void. Go to the meeting, it’s—“

Astarion almost manages to finish his rambling legalese before more putrid liquid spews out of his mouth. When he’s finished vomiting, he whines again, any bit of stubborn resilience and feeble attempts at selflessness abandoned.

“On second thought, maybe you should stay here,” He says, his chest heaving with exertion as he clenches his eyes shut, “Please tell me you have a spell for this.”

“Unfortunately not, my love. I only have a spell for curses. Best I can do is half a bottle of Elixir of Health, some ginger-peppermint tea, and a bath.” You sigh, already crossing the bathroom on your way to the tub. You fiddle with the taps for a moment to start the bath and then begin to pour oils into the flowing water.

“Deal,” Your husband mutters, peeling off his sweat-soaked night shirt, “But none of that vile honey you got at the market here in town for my tea; I want the one Shadowheart and Lae’zel sent from Neverwinter.”

“Anything you say, Lord Ancunin.” You joke, rolling your eyes at your husband’s fussiness. He’d barely regained his sense of taste a few months ago and already favored upscale ingredients and meals, as if mortal food hadn’t been but ash in his mouth for two hundred years.

The elf glares at your insolence but doesn’t retort; he’s too busy trying to keep himself from vomiting again.

*

The following morning, Astarion wakes feeling much better. Practically brand new, in fact. It seems the potion and your strange flower child medicine must have done the trick. He sighs a breath of relief and then rolls to snuggle against you for a few more precious moments. He reaches his arms out and grasps at nothing but air.

The silver-haired elf immediately frowns and sits up. That’s exceptionally odd. You were not a morning person; you never had been in the ten years he’d known you. You always slept in longer than him, even in the wilds. On more than one occasion he’d had to lure you out of your nearly comatose slumber with the tempting smells of coffee and breakfast.

Astarion hears you gagging in the bathroom and goes to investigate. He soon finds you clinging to the toilet, practically mirroring how he looked the day prior.

“Oh no, little love, do you think you have food poisoning, too?” He questions, frowning slightly before kneeling down to press his hand against your forehead just like you’d done to him, “No fever, though.”

You whine, leaning into your husband’s hand before grumbling, “Damn the Blushing Mermaid straight to Stygia! Why do I even like that place, again?”

Astarion laughs, “I’ve been wondering the same thing for years, dear. I hope now you’ll finally reconsider. Do you want some tea and a bath?”

“Please,” You say, just before another wave of nausea hits you, forcing you to throw your head into the toilet and gag. Frustratingly, not much actually comes out despite the waves of sickness coursing through your body.

Gods, you wish you could simply vomit and feel relief.

Astarion begins to prepare the appropriate remedies, much like you’d done for him the day before. Thankfully, you seem to recover much faster than he did, and by midday you look and feel completely normal.

Good thing, too. You two were out of any elixirs that may have helped you had your ailment been as severe as Astarion's.

“Perhaps I’m just a better healer than you, darling.” The silver-haired elf teases as the two of you take afternoon tea in the sunroom.

“Perhaps I’m just stronger and more resilient than you, my love.” You retort, wrinkling your nose in jest at your husband.

He chuckles softly and then presses a kiss to your nose, “Agree to disagree.”

*

Astarion thinks the two of you are past this bit of bad luck, but when he wakes the following morning, he hears you retching once again.

When the elf finds you in the bathroom, appearing as almost an exact repeat of yesterday, though perhaps a bit worse, his brow furrows.

“Darling, I'm worried now. You look more ill than before. Perhaps we should take a trip to Jaheira? I can head to the apothecary for another Elixir of Health while she looks you over.” He murmurs gently, extending his hands to pull you to your feet.

You simply nod in agreement, too nauseated to do more than follow your husband’s lead as he slips you into a set of robes and ushers you into the carriage.

*

When Astarion returns to Jaheira’s after dashing out to the apothecary, he finds you sitting at the druid’s dining table. The two of you stop whatever hushed conversation you’d been having and turn to look at him in unison.

“Feeling any better, Tav?” He asks, coming to stand by your side before placing a worried hand upon your shoulder. You simply cover your hand with his and nod in response.

“Much better,” You say, flashing your husband a small smile. Something about your expression looks hazed, as if you’re stuck in a daydream. Poor thing, you're probably exhausted and experiencing brain fog.

“I’m sure you’ll be just fine with the teas and medicinals I’ve given you,” Jaheira assures, her eyes flickering between the two of you. She grins for the briefest moment before falling back into her typical, more serious demeanor.

Astarion swears he feels like something is off, but when he turns to give you a questioning look, you’re the picture of happiness as you sip from your tea cup, finishing it off.

Well, at least you’re doing what Jaheira has prescribed.

“What about the Elixir of Health I’ve just purchased?” Your husband asks, lifting the bag in his hand, “Will that help?”

“Oh, I recommend you keep it for something else. I don’t think Tav needs it for this,” The druid responds before standing, signaling it’s the end of the visit. She was always quite straight forward and lacking in certain genteel social graces, in Astarion’s opinion.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with the Harpers.”

You quickly bid your goodbyes and Astarion helps you back into the carriage, eager to get you back to bed so that you can sleep off the rest of this sickness.

*

Astarion notices you’re uncharacteristically quiet on the carriage ride home. He typically doesn’t mind when you’re in one of your pensive, stoic moods. But this illness of yours had him more anxious than usual and he had to know more about Jaheira’s examination results, if only to ease his own worries.

“Darling,” He starts, taking your hand in his. But you don’t seem to hear him; you’re still lost in your own little world.

“My love,” He says, this time a bit more urgently, squeezing your hand just enough to pull your attention to him, “What did Jaheira say, exactly? Did she mention how long this illness will last?”

“Oh, the nausea will probably go on for a few weeks,” You reply, a goofy, lopsided smile breaking across your face. You cannot stifle your grin at the little secret you know you’ll be unable to keep for more than a few moments longer.

“Weeks?” Astarion questions, his voice pitching up with worry and brows stitching together in concern.

Why in the hells are you smiling? What druid bullshit was in the tea Jaheira gave you?

He folds his arms across his chest, not at all pleased by the lack of seriousness you seem to display. The idea of you being sick for weeks makes his heart hurt and his stomach churn as if he’s still sick. He could never stand to see you uncomfortable.

“Tav, are you drugged? This is serious. I fail to see what there is to be smiling about right now. You’re going to be nauseous for weeks and you can’t use an Elixir of Health? Are you absolutely sure Jaheira even knows what she’s—“

“I’m pregnant, Astarion,” You interrupt, and you cannot help but to laugh at your husband as his mouth hangs open mid-sentence, frozen in shock.

He blinks for a moment or two, otherwise completely still as his brain rushes to process the new information.

When the elf finally regains his composure and finds his ability to speak, he shoots out a flustered, rambled, “Darling, I— I’m sorry, can you repeat that? I’m not certain I heard you correctly. The road is quite bumpy and the wheels of the carriage are loud— I think they need oil— and the horses—“

You laugh and firmly grasp your husband’s hand, wholly capturing his attention before murmuring, “You ridiculous elf. You heard me the first time. I’m pregnant, Astarion.”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen a bigger grin cross your husband’s face.

“Tav, darling, I— gods, just come here to me.”

Astarion’s lips crash into yours, and he’s smiling into the kiss as he threads a hand through your hair, intent on pressing you closer into him. A tiny, delighted hum escapes your husband as he uses the kiss to express all the feelings he cannot yet put into words.

When he finally pulls away, he cups your face with his hands and peppers a few more kisses upon your lips.

“Is this your way of telling me you’re happy about this, Astarion?” You ask, grinning at your husband as he gazes upon you with the most besotted eyes you’ve ever seen.

“Thrilled, my love,” He whispers, before pressing forward to kiss you again, trying to convey the depth of his excitement with his affections. He doesn’t let go of you the rest of the way home, almost desperate to cover you in worshipful kisses, each one a little vow of love to you.

You notice he's unusually quiet, but then, he’s far too busy smiling and smooching to do much talking.

*

Later that evening, you move to get out of bed and head toward the bedchamber door.

“Ah, ah, ah. Where do you think you’re going, little love?” Astarion calls, already tossing his book aside to follow after you, “What do you need? Let me bring it to you.”

“I just wanted a cup of water, Astarion. I can go get—“ You start, but he quickly presses a kiss to your lips, effectively quieting you.

“Hush, my love. You’re still nauseated and you’re carrying very precious cargo.” He gently chastises as he turns you by your shoulders and steers you back toward the bed.

“You’re being dramatic,” You grumble, sitting back down in the bed and wrinkling your nose at your husband.

“Perhaps,” He agrees, grinning down at you as he gently folds the blankets back around your legs, “But you knew exactly the type of theatrics you signed up for when you married me, darling. 'To have and to hold, to love and to cherish' and all that, hm?”

And in that moment, Astarion was certain he’d never love and cherish anything more than you.

Nine months later, the little silver-haired newborn he held in his arms would prove him wrong.

[fonteyn]

sweet lips like pink lemonade (when he's feeling generous he'll give me taste)

Pairing: Michael Gavey x afab!reader, no use of y/n. Warnings: Smut. Minors do not interact. +18 rating. Read on AO3.

Author's note: So. this isn't as much of a proper fic, it's more of a fever dream headcanon I had to write down.

*Images are purely for their aesthetic sentiment and not reflective of any particular descriptions of reader inserts.

**nobody look at me. enjoy!

Word count: 1.6k.

It was a Friday like any other during the Oxford term. Students flooded every bar near the campus, drinking their weight in beer with fearsome abandon, trying to forget how exams were getting closer and closer and the grades they needed to recover to make it through to the next year.

You, though, had been getting used to a different kind of normalcy. 

Soon enough, your boyfriend of a few months would arrive to hang out in your room. He'd always bring the food and, in exchange, you'd offer him tales of your week along with the easy intimacy you had found in each other as of late. 

This time, when Michael Gavey arrives at your dorm room, he finds you lying belly down on your bed, reading a book for one of your classes and just. Freezes. Already flushed and embarrassed and yearning for you. 

It had been a long week. With exams approaching, he barely saw you other than in two quick visits you paid him at the library, on which you pecked him on the lips, talked for less than five minutes, and were soon forced to leave or else you’d risk being late for your next class. During weekdays, he tried to remain laser-focused on his tasks, so much so that he sometimes forgot to eat as he got through endless papers and exercise lists. On the other hand, every time he saw you, he couldn’t help but feel a larger-than-life, disgusting, and too-big want for you, distracting him from everything else. 

He knows you like him, especially given that you made a point to reassure him about it so often. He thinks you might even love him at some point. 

Nonetheless, he couldn't help but think about how you’d react if you knew the truth. 

That what he felt was more than simple affection, an easy enjoyment of your company. 

What he felt was overwhelming and all-consuming, keeping him up for hours at night, heart racing thinking of your smile, planning ahead conversation starters and factoids he thought would be interesting to you, marveling about the increasingly easy ways you showed affection.

How your hand would reach to touch his knee under the table at dinner. The times you’d hide your nose on his chest, hugging him to protect yourself from cold weather. The times you’d position yourself behind him and massage his neck when you knew he had been studying for hours without ever so much as getting up once. You always managed to break his focus with minimal effort. 

Tonight, when he lays eyes on you, he is once again flooded with that overwhelming greed, accentuated by how you are wearing just one of his 'math pun’ shirts which you took home with you after spending the night in his room a few weeks prior. He fails at not staring, but the hem is hitting your thighs at the absolute perfect length so he can have a peek at your panties.

He lays down by your side, pretending not to be bored. And frankly, he didn't stand a chance. From the moment he saw you, he was aware of his cock growing hard. You innocently think he's just going to keep you company while you finish the last chapter of your planned reading for the night and then you can hang out together.

But. It's nearly impossible to focus when you can feel his gaze burning on your ass. He barely makes a sound, however soon enough you feel the warmth of his fingers starting to trace the hem of your/his shirt. And soon after, he touches the edges of your panties. Unknowingly playing with your emotions as he grazes a finger just underneath the elastic and then retreats. 

He keeps doing this for a few minutes, still silent, eyes closed, almost like he's meditating. You're stuck, trying to read the same paragraph over and over, without absorbing a word. 

"These are cute", he says, quietly. 

An edge in his voice, and before you know it, it's as if something in him snaps. He moves to his knees. 

He's got his hands massaging your ass and his nose gliding on the back of your thighs, leaving kisses here and there, so soft you can barely feel. Just enough to make your body stand alert, preparing for his next move. 

Despite this, any awareness goes out of the window because you simply don’t expect him to shove his nose right there in your clothed pussy from behind. Mouthing on your lips, kissing and licking and moaning against you until you don't know if your panties are wet from his saliva or your juices.

And though you want to drop everything right there and then, you can't. Through strokes and licks and moans he manages to say: “No, no, baby. Just keep reading, don’t mind me.”

But he doesn’t stop or grant you mercy, as his hands spread your ass to give him more room to continue kissing your pussy through the fabric of your panties. Pausing only a couple of times to bite the curve of your ass, or take in your scent. 

One of the many things you loved about Michael was how shameless he allowed himself to be in adoration of your body. How openly he wore his hunger for you. With clear infinite want.

You can tell his hips start rutting against the mattress as he worships you. And you are breathless, wanting just as bad to feel him without any barriers between you. 

He stays like that, kissing your panties, running his nose across your clothed pussy, humming and biting the delicate skin of your butt cheeks until you finally have enough and decide to beg.

"Mikey, pleaaase, put me out of my misery, take off my panties, honey." 

Never in your life had you whined like that to a man. And it strikes you like a bolt of lightning that the only one who managed to drag anything like that out of you was this skinny nerd with a big dick and an unawareness of his unbeatable head game.

When he hears your voice, he finally raises his head, as if he’s coming out of a ‘pussy drunk’ trance. He seems only vaguely aware of everything else. His sole focus for the past half hour had been enjoying your body, feeling your skin, smelling you, locked in an unbelievable dreamland of "I can't believe I get to do this, I can't believe I get to have you".

As soon as he hears you ask, he immediately, and clumsily, pulls down your panties and dives his tongue straight into your core. Adding quickly, two long fingers inside you. And you're nearly crying because as much as that feels good, it's not what you want. You want more. You need more. 

"Baby, please just give me your cock.", you’re almost sobbing.

His brain nearly short-circuits. He gets up, stumbling, dizzy with desire, and before he can grab a condom, your hand shoots out to stop him. Holding his wrist.

He eyes you, surprised. Stunned by how disheveled you look, with pupils dilated, quick pulse, and a wild look in your eyes.

"Just take me raw. I wanna feel all of you."

He could have died right there and then. 

Michael manages to, somehow, climb back in your bed, noticing how you put a pillow under your hips and now you're presenting your ass, prettily and ready. Pussy glistening to take him. 

So he does. 

Pushing his leaking cock inside you, where you hold him tight. Clenching in a way that has him nearly seeing stars. He needs to stop for a moment. 

He still wasn't very experienced, and if he was going to last at all until he could make you cum, he needed to recite pi on his head a couple of times to calm himself down.

So he leans down and presses kisses along your neck and your jaw, delighting in how you whimper, crying out in desperation. He leaves a trail of kisses down your back until he feels ok enough to start fucking you.

By this time, you have turned from nearly crying to whining and moaning, to finally begging him to move. When he starts fucking you, it's as if all is good and right in the world, and you bask in a surreal notion of Michael and you just fitting together in an impossibly perfect way.

He keeps pumping inside you, and he can tell he's closer to coming than you. He's getting louder, unable to quiet the effects of having your tight pussy clenching and squeezing him. Michael knows he's nearly done for and, in a desperate and instinctive moment, uses his thumb to gather some of your wetness, bringing it up to softly massage your hole. And you cum instantly . 

So hard it makes him shoot his load inside you for what it feels like forever.

He finally collapses on top of you, feverish from it all, heart beating so fast it's threatening to jump out of his chest. But you manage to move underneath him, turning your body to face him.

You feel flushed, cheeks burning with embarrassment from cumming this hard and in this particular way. So before Michael can say anything that will inevitably be somehow a mixture of awkward, shy, and arrogant all at once, you hold his face in your hands and pull him towards a kiss.

Your lips appreciate the soft press of his own, still wet partly from him licking his lips, and partly from eating you out. Your thumb traces his stupidly perfect cupid’s bow and jawline, nearly getting yourself in a trance, much like he was when he first started this whole thing.

Finally, your eyes meet. Michael still has that wild, ravaging, and all-consuming gaze, now mixed with the distinctive look of satisfaction. It would be overwhelming if you didn't know that you were looking at him in the same way.

"So, that was good... right?, he asks. 

And all you can do is smile and hide your face in the crook of his neck.

A/n: I have one final point to make. Michael Gavey IS the type of guy who will take your panties home after the first time you hook up (probably a handjob in the bathroom of a bar where you are both slightly inebriated and you smile as you stuff your panties in his pocket, thinking that you're soooo funny for doing that and bringing out a priceless look of his face). And he WILL masturbate with his nose pressed against them afterward. AND he WILL tell you when you ask, because of course you ask and he CAN'T for some reason lie to you. His face and neck flushed with embarrassment unaware that if it were anyone else you'd find it creepy but because it's him, you think it's the hottest thing ever and you give him a blow job right after he admits to that.

[cherry-leclerc]

back to you ☆ cs55

genre: fluff, oldmoney!reader, strangers to lovers

word count: 3.1k

Fixated from the moment he first saw you, Carlos stays missing someone whom he never even properly met. But that all seems to change one night when you unexpectedly show up to a business dinner.

req!... i'm such a liar lmaooo (iykyk). hope you enjoy, my lil anons :) hope this heals some of the heartbreak we all endured today !!(*bashes head against keyboard*)

It almost seemed like you had something up your sleeve, a tactic to retrieve all of his attention away from the camera shoved right in front of him - media duties.

“Hello guys, just wanted to come on here to say that I think we gave it all we could during today’s race but there is definitely always room for improvement…” Blah, blah, blah. 

He can’t quite figure out what he’s saying because his brown eyes are attached to the pretty girl walking right in front of him. Not behind him, trying to catch up. Not besides him, begging for a photo. Nope, right in front of him as if you could care less that you have one of the most popular drivers to ever exist almost chasing after you. 

He could hear you mumbling about God knows what to the girl walking besides you. The Spaniard feels like a total creep when it comes to him becoming more alert to possibly catch your name. As you were saying? The media team manager stares back expectantly once Carlos blanks out. Though it wasn’t that unusual. 

The 29 year old flickers his gaze back to the camera and then back to where you were, only except, you’re gone. Out of sight and his heart stops for a nanosecond.

“Onto the next week. Vamos.”

-

“So then, you have your upcoming shoot for the new fireproofs, testing, stimulator - if we have time, interview at…” 

Carlos tunes out as he blinks at the never ending list as if it were just another Monday. Charles nods attentively, though he also looks far too uninterested. They were exhausted.

“And dinner tonight to meet our new sponsors.”

“Another one?” Charles asks, a slight crack in voice as he tries to pretend he wasn’t at all annoyed. “We just had one last night.”

Maria musters up a stern look. “Yes, again. They’re a lovely family, so we want to impress them with two well-behaved drivers.” The Ferrari boys swallow their laughter as they nod their heads. Got it. 

It takes all of Carlos’ remaining willpower to get ready for dinner that night. On the way to the small Italian restaurant, he second guesses even showing up. He could fake a fever. A sore throat. Shaking his head, he curses as he steps out of his custom Ferrari. 

“Oh good, I thought it was just going to be me,” Charles jokes as soon as he spots the Spaniard. Carlos chuckles before greeting the team. About 10 minutes go by before the Monegasque grows impatient as a child. I could have finished watching my movie.

“Shut up,” Fred murmurs before abruptly standing up from his seat. “Ah! È così bello rivedere finalmente te e la tua famiglia!” Choking on his champagne, Charles scrunches his nose before flying up and introducing himself. Carlos bites back a smile as he follows his lead. 

And there he sees you, standing elegantly with a silk dress that looks as soft as your skin. You’re smiling sweetly at everyone, stepping in to not just shake their hands, but also go in for a small hug. Your mother and father repeat the same action, though they later focus all of their attention on Fred and Maria. 

The Monegasque kicks his teammate’s shin. Carlos winces as he shoots fiery daggers. “We hit the jackpot.”

“What?”

Charles' shoulders drop theatrically. “Are you kidding me? Are we looking at the same girl right now or are you just blind?” 

But he did see you, and he never quite forgot about you since that day. He could feel the tips of his ear burn bright red as you made your way over to him and his teammate. Charles, so nice to meet you, the green eyed boy beams before going in for a hug. You smile from ear to ear.

“Nice to meet you, too! I must admit; I’m a little starstruck right now.” Charles blushes fast as he stutters his way around such a compliment, even if he’s received thousands of the same one before. “Ah, this is Carlos.”

“Hello,” he feels himself saying. “Carlos, nice to meet you.” As soon as you look up at him, his breath hitches and fears you might feel his sweaty palms flourishing against your soft ones. And if you do, you choose to ignore it as you share a small smile, the kind you share when you see someone after 15 years. 

The kind that seems forced.

“Ditto.”

With one last glance, you excuse yourself before making your way over to where your parents and Fred chatter about upcoming plans. Carlos blinks. “Wow. No hug,” Charles points out. “That’s weird. She was basically giving them out for free.” 

“Be quiet.” 

The remainder of the night you kept to yourself, occasionally inputting your own opinion with a polite smile drawn onto your fruit punch lips. Very well mannered, Fred would approve as you would bow your head with shyness. Carlos quirked a brow of curiosity. 

He wondered what he might’ve done wrong. Had he been too forward? Cold? Often, his parents would claim he could be like that sometimes, so maybe? He wasn’t clinging onto the fact that he was the only one who didn’t receive a warm greeting from you, but he was left with questions.

“E tu, tesoro?”

“What about me?” you repeat, hair fanning along your face like a shiny curtain. Maria chuckles. How do you feel about being a part of this new chapter? You think about it for a second before settling with the safest answer. “Very proud, there’s nothing better than tying links with such a superior team.” Fred roars with genuine laughter as he pats your father’s shoulder. Smart girl.

“Why fine jewelry?”

“Pardon?” 

The inquiry was directed towards your parents - who would clearly have the answer - but his eyes were trained on you, leaving you to fend for yourself. Lips part slowly as you connect with Carlos’ intense attention. “I’m curious, that’s all. I’m delighted we have you as our sponsors, but I was just wondering what made you dive into the business? Must be hard.”

Squinting your eyes, you click your tongue. It’s in our blood, your father’s voice cuts your train of thought. It’s what we do, what we love. But his warm gaze sticks to you like hot glue. You clear your throat before returning to your wide smile. 

“I think it’s safe to say that diamonds are beautiful. They are scarily so crystal clear that for a moment one might search for a trace of color. And then they do come in other colors, so it’s really no problem,” you say, soft chuckles circling the table. “But I believe it’s also safe to say that we don’t often think about how they got here, shining around many ring fingers.” Your mother approves as she shows her mind-blowing diamond cut. 

“Miners are the answer. They work hard - get their hands dirty - because they know that while it may not be easy to find such precious things…” His eyes roam your lips before dancing back up to your orbs. “It’s very well worth it.” Taking a sip from your glass of wine, you raise a brow. “That’s why.”

-

“It doesn’t even feel that tough to wear these pieces,” Charles squeaks as he slips on a white gold bracelet around his wrist. “They’re breathtaking.”

Clapping, you squeal at his words. For a moment, Carlos thinks about punching his teammate for getting to see your good side. They’re great, thank you again. You just tip your head towards him to confirm you heard, and slide away. Carlos sighs.

“This is ridiculous. She can’t even look at me.” The Spaniard bites his cheek. “Do you think she hates me?”

“For doing what?” Charles asks, face pinched with confusion. Carlos huffs, arms flying up.

“I have no idea!”

“Well…I don’t think so, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask, right?”

“No.” He groans. “Can you picture how awkward that would be? There’s no way.”

“Suit yourself.”

-

Pouting, the brown eyed boy zigzags his way into the studio, mentally preparing himself for hours of blinding lights. “Buongiorno, Carlos!” Spotting your father with his arms wrapped around his wife, he walks over with a tired smile. How are you guys? “We’re fine, son, thank you for asking. Tell me, are you excited for this weekend?” He instantly stands up straighter.

“I am. The Tifosi are always great to be around. Gets hectic, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

“I can imagine. My wife and daughter are always amped up when it’s finally Monza’s turn.” He hums, almost as if he’s reminiscing. “Tell you, my baby would beg for us to take her to cheer on her favorite drivers. It’s kind of a full circle moment so don’t mind if my wife gets emotional.”

“Stop,” your mother sniffles as she shares a grimace. Told you, your father mouths. Carlos laughs. 

“I completely get it, it must mean a lot to all three of you. Maybe that’s what makes this partnership work all the more.” Your fathers winks, large fingers wagging over at the Spaniard. Working over time. I respect it. 

“I see why my daughter likes you.”

Carlos halts. “Sorry?”

The older man pants, seeming comedically defeated. “Are you kidding me? She adores you! You've been her favorite driver since you joined Formula 1.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Her love towards the sport had a huge impact on us to join as sponsors, but to be fair, we probably still would have done it. Like I said, it holds a special place in our hearts.”

“Buongiorno,” your soft voice echoes, skipping happily to greet the Ferrari team. Everyone’s energy quickly picks up as you flow with such easiness, skirt wrapping around your waist, making you seem like the only flower in an empty garden. Talk to you in a bit, you cheer as you make your way up to your parents. You stop dead in your tracks as soon as you spot the grumpy brunette. Like always, he can physically see you create a wall around yourself, keeping you from him. He felt like the Beast drooling over the rose inside the glass. “Good morning, Carlos. Logo looks good,” you hum, dark red pedicure pointing at your last name printed onto his fireproof. “Can’t wait to see how it looks on Charles.”

His jaw ticks. “Why don’t I call him then?”

“That would be lovely.”

He’s jealous. Of course he fucking is. He might have found out your whole act is a facade but that didn’t stop him from feeling this way. He could have been your favorite at one point, but what about now? It sure as hell didn’t seem like it.

“She wants to see you.”

The Monegasque furrows his brows. Who? But as soon as he notices his teammates' sour face, he registers the reason for his bad mood. “Stop pouting. You look like you just sucked on a lemon.” Carlos shoots a deadpan expression. “This has gone too far. It’s obviously bothering you.”

“What? You nagging?”

“Okay, ouch.” The green eyed boy takes a small step towards the Spaniard. “You don’t like it that she’s ignoring you because you like her.”

Carlos jumps off the couch. “I do not!” Charles hums. 

“Oh shit, good, then I could ask her out.” He beams. “I wouldn’t want things to get weird between us.” Carlos' heart almost jumps out of his chest as he grows nauseous at the thought of you saying yes. He continues. “I’m telling you; I have a good feeling.” The brown eyed boy clenches his jaw. “It’s like this - I could see myself marrying her, having a baby heiress-”

“Okay fine, I like her!” He pants. “She drives me so fucking crazy. Whether she looks my way or not, she makes my head spin. Ever since I saw her at the Canada GP, she’s been imprinted into my brain like a lecture I’ve been told over and over, time and time again. It makes me sick that she seems to almost get sad when she’s around me. The way she can never look at me the way I’ve always looked at her. And I’m…” He looks down at his race boots. “I’m too afraid of ruining something that I don’t even have a chance at.”

The Monegasque pats him on the shoulder, lips stretched out into a teasing smirk. “Now, was it that hard to admit your feelings?”

-

It was that hard to admit his feelings. He thought about it for the first time since he met you. Confess everything that’s been locked away deep inside of him; claim his feelings like some kind of gold medal. But then he saw you radiating pure perfection and he would turn the other way. You hated him, he’s sure.

“Alright Carlos, push, now push.” 

He could taste it - sweet victory that he badly craved. If he played his cards right then he could get second place, which was pretty good in comparison to past results. 

The Spaniard tries to not feel too upset about coming in third and waves up at the Tifosi who let out blood curdling screams. Pride rushes through his veins as he walks onto the podium, he didn’t even mind all the attention. Especially the kind you were gifting him with.

The way you smile so big that your perfect teeth shine up at him, eyes crinkling like a love letter. Cheekbones slightly pink from cheering so loud but also from the bright sun. He swore he was on some kind of drug. 

Making his way back into the motorhome after all the interviews, he bumps into you and your parents. “Like it?” he asks as he displays his trophy. 

“Definitely,” your father beams. “You deserve it, son, enjoy it.” After a few more affirmations, he and your mother walk away. Brown orbs find your own. 

“Have fun?” He tries to ease his deep voice, to appear more outgoing, to not scare you away. And yet, you nod, looking down. 

“He’s right. You totally deserve it.” And for what seems like the first time, you bless him with your warm stare. “Felicidades, Carlos.” Pink paints his cheeks. You speak Spanish? Your eyes grow wide as you feverishly shake your head. “I-I- I don’t, but I’ve picked up on a few things here and there…”

“From me.” He tilts his head. “You actually pay attention to me.” 

You can’t help stutter like a broken record. “Of course-e, I ha-ave ears.” You show them off like a weak justification. “See?” you squeak. Playing with the hem of your dress - that had him swallowing a string of moans the moment you walked into the garage that morning - you slowly started backing away. “I should go now…” You point towards the sliding doors. “See you later?”

But he knew there would be no later. Fuck, this was the most you’ve spoken to him since, well, ever. He wouldn’t let that slip away so easily. Even if his heart got bruised along the way. 

“Did I do something for you to hate me?” 

Your brows narrow like a little kid. “You think I hate you?” 

“It’s okay if you do, I suppose, but I’m just lost as to where that happened? Did I-”

“I don’t hate you,” you softly speak up, eyes shut in disbelief that you’ve made him feel that way. You blink back at him. “I promise you, you’ve done nothing wrong.” Okay, he confirms.

“Why can’t you talk to me then like you do with everybody else? Why can’t you even spare me a passing glance?”

His voice sounds desperate now, he knows it, but he was desperate. Now you were embarrassed that he continues to bring up more and more of your poor behavior - but it was never intentional. You twirl a strand of your hair before releasing it.

“You intimidate me.” 

The Spaniard squeezed his fist around the trophy. For a moment, he thought he would dent the steel. Your stomach drops at the sight and he feels guilty for proving you right. He lets out a shaky breath. 

“I’m not a bad guy, y’know? I’m sure it may seem like it, but…” He licks his lips. “I’m not.”

Doe eyes flutter like butterfly wings. “I believe you, Carlos.”

“Good. Now, would you please tell me why you always escape when I’m around?” You softly curse as you pinch your hand for a second. 

“I wasn’t lying; you do intimidate me. But not in the way you might think.” Like an angel, you make your way closer. “You’re my favorite driver, you know that?” The Spaniard’s brown eyes grow wide. You laugh. “Ever since you-”

“Joined Formula 1.”

Your jaw drops. “My father ratted me out?” Panicking, you pace the room back and forth. You could only look at him for a couple of seconds before planting your stare at anywhere else that isn’t him. “I told him not to say anything! Oh God.” You let out a maniatic chuckle. “I swear it’s just a tiny crush, it’s not even that deep - I’ll get over it!”

Now it’s his turn to geek out. “You have a crush on me?” Crap, you groan, biting down on your nail. He didn’t mention that part, did he? Brown strands of hair shake back and forth as you sigh. 

“Forget I said anything, I am so sorry for making things awkward-”

“I’ve seen you before.” What? The 29 year old winces. “At the Canada GP. You were walking with a friend.” Synthia, you whisper to yourself. “I was being filmed for feedback on the race and you were about 5 steps in front of me.” You counted? “I said about - and for months, you were all I could think about. You sort of stuck to me like a nostalgic scent. I don’t know why I felt the need to talk to you, I mean, it’s never happened to me before. I looked away for a second and you were gone.” He shares a lopsided smile. “Then I saw you again.”

“And I blocked you out.” You bite your lip. “Shit, Carlos…I had no idea you felt this way.” He shrugs.

“It’s my fault. I never told you.” Still, you try to reason but he only brushes you off. “It’s not your fault.” 

“But it is,” you whimper. “I acted like a complete snob and belittled you.” Your heart breaks at the image. “And you’re telling me it’s been mutual all along?” 

“Looks like it. This is good though.” How? The brunette winks as he pulls you in. “Because now we do know and I can take you out sometime?” You quirk a brow.

“It works just like that?” 

He hums, comfortable with the two trophies pressed up against him. “Only if you want it to be like that.” You can practically hear your crazy heartbeat with the way he’s looking down at you - as if he’s just discovered a previously nonexisting star. With soft hands pressed onto his suit, your eyes twinkle.

“Just like that, then.”

[yyawnjun]

SING ME TO SLEEP

0.7k wc ; sick!reader x dokyeom ; fluff!! ; being sick during summer sucks. I hope y'all are okay and are having beautiful days ; no proofread, so sorry for any mistake !! ; @kflixnet

You could hardly stand up, you were shaking, and you were starting to feel very cold. The problem was that you had chills in the middle of a really hot summer.

You were at home, waiting for your boyfriend to arrive while curled up on the couch with a blanket. He had to work all morning and would return in less than an hour. You weren't at all hungry, even though it was lunchtime.

Even yet, you forced yourself to get up and cook something easy for Dokyeom's meal because you knew he would be hungry. As soon as u stend up, you can feel your fever getting worse. And when you finished cooking, you hurried into your room and hid beneath the blankets.

You would have taken a quick nap so that you would definitely be better. Or so you thought.

Dokyeom arrived home exactly one hour later, excited to tell you about his morning training. However, he became concerned after he didn't find you in the kitchen or in the living room and did not hear your reply to his call.

As soon as he entered your room, he saw you between the blankets, still flipping back and forth from your headache.

He touched your forehead lightly and measured the difference in heat between you and him before saying, "You're hot, and you caught fever."

The thermometer quickly confirmed this as well.

"I will sleep a bit and I will feel better" you replied covering your eyes with your arm.

"Babe, I am here. Let me help you now" he said in the sweetest tone ever.

His touch on your forehead was so gentle and cool, and his words really did taste like honey. So you just nodded at him.

"I will bring you something to eat, so then you can take this med. Then I will bring you a cold towel to put on your head so the temperature will go down." He said, leaving the room quickly and returning a few minutes later.

"Just a bite, and then you can go back to rest," he said, handing you a piece of bread.

So you did as he said, and forced yourself to eat. After that you took your med and you were immediately ready to go back to sleep.

"Here is your water and some candies in case your throat starts hurting," explained the man.

He also managed - while sitting on the floor next to you for the whole time -  to place a cool towel over your forehead and curl up you with a light cover.

He muttered, "Sleep for a bit now, baby," and then caressed your head—just long enough for you to fall asleep.

He stayed with you.

He stayed at your side the entire time. He was now watching you while seated in a chair, observing your breathing and sleep. You were breathing more quickly than usual and had a constant, anxious state of sleep. You continued to move around, opening and shutting your eyes.

After a few mins, you were awake again. "If you can't sleep, I could sing for you." he asked while looking at you.

You nodded to his idea and replied with the first thing that came to mind: "You will be such a good dad."

Oh, how these words moved touched this man's heart..

He then started singing your favorite song. His voice was so soft and calm that he was able to hit every note at the exact moment, showing once more how talented both as a singer, as a person, and as a lover. 

You eventually allow yourself to be lulled by the melodies and the voice. Even if you would have stayed up to listen to him, sleep was eventually taking over.

All of sudden all of the sounds around you vanished slowly vanished, and you finally managed to rest.

He didn't move for a few minutes and leaned down to place his lips on your forehead and closed his eyes. His eyes were closed so he was focused fully on you.

"The fever has gone down." he whispered.

You were overcome by sleep, as though it had been a mystical kiss from an magical prince. He stayed a little while longer, watching as your breathing settled back into a regular pattern and you began to drift off to sleep. He only got up to go and prepare you something to eat when you woke up.

And then he came back, and he sat next to you to watch patiently.

As a prince would do for his princess, as a husband would do for his wife, and as a lover would do for his soulmate.

[reysdriver]

Exit Stage Right | R.L

You and your daughter miss Remus while he's performing for a stadium of fans, so much that you have to see him before the concert is over — dad!rockstar!remus x mom!reader fluff

warnings: a little angsty if you squint rlly hard, but nothing else

words: 2.4k

a/n: I promised rockstar!remus a while ago, but I've been to 2 concerts in the last 2 weeks, which just so happens to be finals season, so I've been simultaneously busy as hell and itching to write this. I hope you like how it turned out!

Your daughter Olive was no stranger to loud noises. 

Remus had a room to practise drumming in your house, it’s normal to encounter a chaotic mess of fans and paparazzi when you left the house as a family, and she just about had the loudest uncles in the world. Though you tried to limit the amount of noise she took in, Olive’s little ears had definitely adapted to her hectic little life. 

But all that noise in her daily life was no match for a rock concert in a sold-out stadium. Those decibel levels would for sure be far too high for her little ears to handle.

It wasn’t as easy of a decision on what you should do with her tonight, though. You were getting cabin fever with all the identical hotel rooms you’ve been living in while The Marauders were on their tour, and you suspected Olive was in the same boat. 

So, you decided to go back to the old days when the band first started going on long tours, when you would stay in the dressing room for the length of the performance. You and Remus figured it would be soundproof enough backstage, but you still insisted on pulling out the baby headphones you had bought just in case before she was even born. You were only planning on using them if it got especially loud backstage, yet you tried them on anyway. 

They were massive on her, but they kept her safe and happy. Plus, she was pretty damn adorable with them on—not that she wasn’t all the time, but definitely cuter than normal with those giant headphones. 

Waiting for the show to start, Remus bounced Olive on his lap while you watched the rest of the guys run through their current individual pre-show rituals. 

It had been quite a while since you’ve been backstage with the band right before a show, and you honestly forgot how entertaining it was. 

James was trying to solve the same Rubik’s cube he’s been working on for years to warm up his fingers, Peter was doing the daily crossword in the local newspaper, and Sirius was trying to multitask by doing his vocal warmups and his makeup at the same time. 

It was really a terrible combination of tasks, as Sirius kept on messing up his eyeliner and then trying to suppress his favourite swear words for your daughter’s sake. 

You wanted to tell him off, but it was really too fun to watch for you to intervene.

A minute or so after Sirius finally finished his look, the boys’ manager knocked on the dressing room door and reminded them that they have to go on stage soon. 

Remus thanked him, and the guys all started getting ready to go. He kept Olive in his arms for as long as he could, until it was just the three of you in the room after everyone was already headed to the stage. 

When he finally had to let her go, Remus made sure he gave you both a proper goodbye. 

“I’ll be back soon. Just over 2 hours, then we can all go home.” He kissed you softly, but deeply. He always does this as a way of saying goodbye, kissing you like he might never do it again, but he doesn’t want you to think about it. 

When his lips left yours and he slouched down to blow a raspberry on Olive’s tummy, you sighed quietly. “A hotel, not home.” 

He looked at you sympathetically as he collected his drumsticks from the table beside you and stored them in his back pocket for the time being. 

“Isn’t home anywhere where we’re all together?” He said, trying to lift your spirits. “But we’ll be home home soon enough. And I won’t be on tour again for a while, and we can be all together as much as we want.”

That did make you feel better. Even though you loved that Remus was living his dream with his best friends and giving you and Olive a great life, it did get stressful from time to time. 

Privacy violations by paparazzi and media outlets, insecurity that sometimes got the best of you on both sides of the relationship, and of course, The Marauders going on world tours that were fun, but still somewhat torture. They made it so you had to choose between leaving home for months, or being away from Remus—not that there was any difference between those two. 

You didn’t want to get emotional right when Remus had to go perform, so you smiled and reminded him that it was time for you to part ways for the evening. 

“They’re waiting for you out there.” 

A grin graced your husband’s face. “They can wait a little longer.” 

“They paid to see you.” You reminded him. 

“And I'll personally refund all of them if I don't go out.” 

“Then we'll be out of money, and we'll both have to get new jobs and we'll never have any time with just the three of us.”

Remus pretended to think over your point for a second. “You’re right. I guess I have to go out and perform, then.”

“Put on a good show, honey. We'll see you soon.” 

While saying goodbye to him, you raised Olive’s arm so you could wave at Remus for her as he walked out of the dressing room. Her face was already forming a pout when she watched her dad leave to go do his job, but you wouldn’t let that morph into anything more. 

You turned her around so you could both look at each other, then you pressed a kiss to her chubby cheek.

“None of that, sweetheart. We’ll see him again in no time.” 

Laying her down beside you on the couch, you reach down into the baby bag you never go anywhere without and pick out some of her favourite toys from their specific pocket; hopefully those will keep her distracted and happy. 

◆◇◆◇◆

The toys didn’t work as well as you thought they would. They kept Olive busy for about an hour, but she seemed to snap out of her happy baby daze out of nowhere. 

She started crying and nothing was working to calm her down. She wasn’t hungry, she didn’t need to be changed, and nothing you had brought for this very reason was working. 

You knew the only thing that could quell her upset was outside and on the stage, playing drums for a stadium of fans. But even though she and Remus both wished they could spend all hours of the day together, you just didn’t know how that could work.  

And then you remembered the headphones. 

The sound backstage hadn’t been that loud at all while The Marauders were playing, so you honestly hadn’t thought about them since you and Remus packed them before you left the hotel. 

But this could work. You could use them to help both you and Olive right now. So that’s what you did.

You dug through your bag and pulled the noise-cancelling headphones from the bottom of the bag, where they had sat untouched for the longest time. After picking them up with a tiny ‘aha’, you smiled at your daughter and told her that she would soon be seeing her dad. 

She had calmed down somewhat due to the mere mention of Remus, but she was still wailing in your arms. You bounced her lightly while you walked down the halls of the stadium. 

“It’s okay, honey.” You cooed at Olive, despite the fact that she couldn’t hear a thing. “You’re gonna tire yourself out and fall asleep before you even get to see Daddy. We don’t want that, do we?”

Although, maybe her crying herself to sleep wouldn’t be so bad. 

It still wasn’t an option in your mind. Your daughter wanted to see her dad, so over to Remus you’ll go. 

Once you got to the stage door, a burly security guard gave you a questioning look. You supposed he wasn’t used to a woman and a baby wanting to go into the wings during a rock concert. But he was just there to do his job, not judge, so he let you through when you showed him your ID. 

You kept checking Olive’s face to see her expressions and gauge if everything was too loud for her. Her look didn’t deviate from the bothered expression her face took on when you started walking with her, so you assumed the headphones were cancelling out the noise, just as they were made for. 

Nobody who was working backstage seemed to mind you being there, so you found an extra stool in a dark corner and pulled it so you could sit and watch the band. 

Based just on how Olive was moving in your arms, you knew she had spotted her dad behind the cymbals he was smashing across the stage. Pointing towards Remus, you whispered to her again even though she couldn’t hear you. “Look! Who’s that? Who’s over there?”

She seemed to be cheered up enough just from seeing Remus, so your hypothesis was proven correct. Things were shaping up to be a good night. 

You swayed and headbanged—as lightly as possible—since just because Olive couldn’t enjoy the loud music doesn’t mean you had to ignore it too. 

The current song ended, and James was talking to the crowd while Sirius drank some much-needed water after all that singing. While taking a swig, the two familiar faces in the wings of the stage caught his eye, and he just had to share what he was seeing with the drummer. 

He practically skipped over to Remus, who was also catching his breath from performing and pointed you out. Your husband’s eyes scanned the area until he found you, and his face immediately broke out into a smile—and so did your daughter’s. 

Back in the dressing room, you were hesitant if you should leave at all or if you should just wait out Olive’s tantrum, but the matching looks on your husband and daughter’s faces right now was proof that you made the right decision. 

Olive made grabby hands towards her dad across the stage, and Remus waved right back and blew a kiss in your direction. You weren’t quite sure if it was aimed at you or your little girl, but it made you blush either way. 

He pointed to the setlist taped to the ground beside him and hid his hand behind his bass drum so the audience wouldn’t see his gesture; he held up three fingers to let you know there would be three more songs until he could get up and give you two his full attention. You knew they would most definitely be doing an encore after they finished, but at least they could all have a small break after the main show.  

You nodded to show him you understood, but his attention was already grabbed back by James giving him the sign that it was time to get back into the music. Not even taking more than a second to prepare, Remus was back in the groove and started playing the next song on the list, effortlessly and perfectly. 

The last few songs of the main set were some of your favourites from the band’s discography, but you had to admit that you couldn’t enjoy them as much as you usually would. 

It was mainly because you were somewhat scared of an impending mood swing out of your daughter now that her father’s attention had left her, but also because these three songs were standing in between you and your husband like a brick wall right now. You just had to remind yourself that once they hit that last note and said their goodbyes to the crowd, that wall would be temporarily smashed once more. 

But now, they were at the end of the concert. The crowd was cheering like they just had the best night of their lives—you don’t doubt that they did—and Remus was throwing his sticks into the sea of hands desperate for a morsel of The Marauders. 

His rockstar persona was dropped the second those drumsticks left his hands, and he was rushing to the wings to be with you and Olive, a wide smile strung across his cheeks.

 He pulled you two out into the hall so the crowd’s noise could be in the background. He knew they would be cheering for an encore in a minute; as much as he loved that sound, he would rather hear you. 

“She was getting pretty fussy and I knew you were the only thing that would calm her down.” You explained to Remus before he could even ask. 

You were afraid he would be upset with you bringing her outside of the dressing room, but he didn’t seem fazed at all. He gently took Olive from your arms and cooed over her. 

“You missed me so much you dragged your mum out here so you could see me, huh?” Remus asked her. “You know I missed you too, princess. Both of you.”

“Yeah? Maybe you should get the guys to shorten the setlist so you aren’t away from us for too long, then.”

He didn’t respond, but you know that he had brought up the idea of shorter tours to the others now that he and James were both fathers. 

You watched lovingly as Remus kept moving Olive’s hand away from the glitter on his face that she was so desirous to touch. You wished you all could stay in this moment forever, but the audience’s chants for an encore were getting louder and louder and you knew the scene in front of you couldn’t last much longer. 

Right on schedule, James strutted up and tapped Remus on the shoulder with a brand new pair of drumsticks. 

“We’ve gotta go back out there, mate. Time to part ways with your girls once again.”

Remus wouldn’t put up a fight. He handed Olive back to you and blew one more kiss at you two as a goodbye.

The doors opened and a cacophony of fan cheers hit your ears. It was a lot, but it just reminded you that all those people were waiting for your husband, so you could wait a few more minutes. 

Just two final songs, then you could all go home.

[7ndipity]

Take Care Of You

Yoongi x Reader

Summary: After a particularly rough week, you come down with the flu. Luckily, you have Yoongi to look after you, even if you think you don’t deserve it.

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: mentions of illness, swearing, teeny bit suggestive and silly at the end, not proofread

A/N: Thanks to the lovely anon who requested this!

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

It was still dark as you woke up shivering, your whole body aching as you rolled over, seeking out the warmth of your boyfriend. After less than two minutes though, he tried to shift out of your hold, making you whine.

“Babe, I’m melting,” He complained sleepily, trying to squirm away. “Why are you so warm?”

You only groaned weakly in response.

Yoongi’s eyes cracked open at the small, pained sound, looking down at you with sudden concern. “Babe? Are you okay?”

“I don’t-”, a sudden fit of coughing seized you, shaking your whole body.

“Ah, shit.” He clicked the light on, making you wince at the sudden brightness, sitting up to get a better look at you. Your face was pale and covered with a faint sheen of sweat, your whole frame shaking violently from shivering, despite the heat rolling off of you.

“I told you you’ve been working too hard.” He sighed, feeling your forehead. “Stay here, I’m gonna go get you some medicine.”

He disappeared through the house as you curled further in on yourself, trying to ignore the pounding in your head.

You knew he was right, though you hated that he had to be proven right in this way. You’d been pushing yourself harder than usual the past few days, trying to keep up with the usual demands at work, as well trying to get ahead on a few projects in the hope that you and Yoongi could take some time off together.

He had expressed several times that he’d been worried about you, but you’d kept brushing him off, saying that you were fine, your usual response whenever he voiced those types of concerns. He had enough on his plate, oftentimes stretching himself thinner than you had this week, and you didn’t want to add the burden of looking after you to the list.

He returned with a couple pills and some water, encouraging you gently to sit up before he handed them to you.

You took the meds with a slight wince, feeling the soreness in your throat, before trying to pass the glass back to him, but he shook his head, nudging it back towards your lips.

“Drink, you need to pay extra attention to hydration if you’re sick.” He said matter-of-factly.

“You sound like Web Md.” You tried to tease him, but your voice came out too weak and cracked.

“Drink.” He said again sternly, though his eyes stayed soft.

You relented, nodding before slowly finishing the glass.

“I’m sorry.” You croaked.

“Shh, it’s okay. Just sleep, okay?” He said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

He helped you get settled back under the covers before returning to his side of the bed, keeping a watchful eye over you until you managed to drift back to sleep.

You don’t know how long you were asleep for, but when you opened your eyes again, it was light out, Yoongi’s side of the bed empty. You assumed he’d left for the studio, leaving you to get what rest you could, though you tried to ignore the faint pang of sadness in your chest at the thought.

Slowly, you sat up, stretching out your stiff limbs. You could tell your fever had broken, or at least lessened, you were only faintly aching now, though the dull pounding in your head was still very much present.

You decided to make the trek to the kitchen for some tea and more meds, looking for an extra sweater or hoodie to pull on for warmth before shuffling down the hall.

“What are you doing up?” You jumped slightly at the sound of Yoongi’s voice, turning to see him standing in the doorway, carrying a tray of food and tea.

“What are you doing here?” You asked in surprise.

He smirked. “I really hope you’re not so sick that you forgot I live here.”

“I mean why are you still here? Why aren’t you at the studio?” You asked.

“I told them I couldn’t come in today.” He answered, setting the tray on the bedside table.

“Why not?” You asked, confused.

“Because you’re sick,” He said as if it was obvious. “I’m not leaving to fend for yourself.”

“I’m fine-” Your argument was choked off by another fit of coughing. Yoongi quickly moved to steady you as you wobbled slightly, your legs not supporting you nearly as much as you’d hoped.

“You’re not fine.” He said softly once you’d quieted. “Please, just let me take care of you?”

Reluctantly, you nodded, letting him help you back to the bed, tucking the blanket in around your

legs before settling the tray on your lap.

“How are you feeling?” He asked gently, handing you a cup of tea. You blinked, surprised that

he’d remembered the right herbal blend you liked for times like this.

You glanced up at him, noticing that he was watching you, waiting patiently for your response.

“My head hurts.” You admitted quietly.

“These should help.” He said, opening a bottle and handing you a couple pills. “Anything else?”

You shook your head. “Not really, I just feel kinda shitty.”

“A shower might help with that.” He said, chuckling at your choice of words, happy that you still sounded like yourself. “Will you be okay on your own or do you want me to help?”

“I’ll be okay on my own.” You said softly, staring at him curiously.

“Okay. You should eat something first, though.” He said, sliding a bowl of soup over in front of you. “Then, if you want, I can set you up on the couch and we can watch one of your shows?”

When you didn’t answer, he looked up, catching the way you were staring at him.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

You shook your head. “You’re just being really nice.” You said.

He tilted his head. “I’m always nice to you.”

“But all this-” You bit your lip. “You didn’t have to do any of this.”

“What are you talking about?” He said softly. “This is nothing, I’m just looking after you the way you deserve.”

You didn’t feel like it, you felt like you were getting in his way, keeping him away from his own work and responsibilities.

“Nuh-uh, I know that look.” He caught your chin with his fingers, turning your eyes back up to his, looking at you seriously. “Whatever’s going on in your head right now, it isn’t true. You deserve to be taken care of, you hear me?”

When you didn’t answer, he sighed, cupping your face in his hands.

“Y/n, I love you, I want to take care of you. I actually like getting to take care of you, when you let me, that is.” He added, making you crack a tiny grin. “Okay?”

You nodded. “Okay.”

Good, now c’mere.” He said, trying to pull you into a kiss, but you pressed a hand against his chest.

“What if you get sick?” You asked.

“I don’t give a shit. And even if I do, then you can take care of me, that’s how relationships work.” He said stubbornly, leaning in again.

You let him connect your lips for just a second before pulling away again.

“Yoongi?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.” You said.

“You’re welcome.” He replied. “Now, eat your soup before it gets cold, and then you can take your shower, unless maybe now you want me to help you with it?” He raised a brow at you.

“Stop trying to flirt with me, I’m sick!” You laughed.

“Who’s trying? I’m succeeding, you blushed!” He defended, pointing to your flushed cheeks.

“I did not, I have a fever!”

“Uh-huh, sure. Whatever you say, Babe.”

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @feminympho @captainorangegoose @k4ngelz

[fairyhaos]

❖ take care of me anyway // yoon jeonghan

jeonghan x gn!reader, 1.7k+ words

tags: office worker!jeonghan not rlly relevant to the plot tho, sick fic, fluff, established relationship

warnings: brief fever-induced hallucinations ig?? but theyre rlly cute, pet names, reader has a cold

notes: im sick. like, 'i have a cold' sick. and i also have another sick fic planned so uhh yeah im a little Unwell in the head too

There are ten minutes left of Jeonghan’s lunch break when you finally call him.

“Hello, my darling,” he says, his tone both parts dry and amused. “How are you?”

“Sick,” you reply, and even just that word sounds horribly bunged up. “But you knew that already, didn’t you? You called in sick for me.”

Jeonghan just hums, smiling a little as he adjusts the phone against his ear, walking down the street back to his company building. “Maybe I did.”

You don’t say anything for a moment, and he can almost hear you pouting on the other end of the line. There’s a rustling sound as you adjust yourself in bed, and he sighs.

“How sick are you?”

“Very,” you say, miserably, and then give a series of harsh, wet coughs that has him wincing. “Very sick. I only just woke up, but my head is just…” You don’t finish your sentence. Just make a very pained sound like a wounded puppy.

Jeonghan chuckles. “Gee, I wonder how you managed to get so sick. It’s not like walking home in the pouring rain without a coat makes you ill, isn’t it?”

You whine at that, upset. “Han, I told you, I was gonna call you but my phone was dead. I had no choice! Wanted to get home fast to see you,” you add in a mumble, sounding dejected.

He smiles at that. “It wasn’t like I was going anywhere, though,” he points out. “I was all comfortably squished on the couch. I wasn’t gonna disappear any time soon. You could’ve taken your time. Waited for the rain to pass.”

“Yeah, but still,” you huff petulantly, then sniff. “Can you make soup when you get back home?” you ask after a beat, and sniffle again. “And also buy some tissues? And meds? And give me cuddles?”

Jeonghan chuckles at how pitiful you sound, resisting the urge to coo. “No.”

“What?” You’re whining again, and you sound all bunged up but Jeonghan just smiles, amused. “But your darling Y/N is currently suffering the worst cold in the entire world.”

“But alas, I think my darling Y/N is the sole person to blame for this cold,” Jeonghan says, lips twitching upwards. “Don't you think so?”

“Come take care of me anyway.”

“No.”

You make a noise of discontent, sheets rustling as you shift around in bed again. “Hmph. Worst boyfriend ever. I’m breaking up with you.”

That makes him laugh, the stunned sound being pulled out of him by your deadpan tone, and he grins to himself out on the street, rounding the corner until his company building is in sight. “Whatever you say,” he singsongs. “I’ll see later, okay?”

“Whatever. Bye.” A pause. “Have a nice day.”

Jeonghan smiles as you hang up, looking fondly down at your contact name. He’s standing in front of the company entrance, now, and he has three minutes of his break left. Just enough time to get into the elevator and up to his office.

He pockets his phone, turns on his heel and traipses off to find the nearest pharmacy.

───────────── 🧂

You’ve been drifting in and out of sleep the entire day, constantly stuck in that drowsy, so-sick-that-nothing-feels-real state, and you’ve hallucinated Jeonghan coming home a total of thirteen times in the past five hours.

At least, you think it’s been five hours.

Maybe it’s been less than that.

Whatever. Time is weird.

The point is, your mind is all fuzzy and everything feels like it’s floating, so when someone who looks an awful lot like Jeonghan comes into the room, you just groan. Hallucination Jeonghan #14 has come to pay you a visit, it seems, so you just frown and give him the response that you’ve given all his other clones.

“Go away. Stop trying to sell me fish.”

Hallucination Jeonghan #14 makes a confused noise at that, walking closer to your bed, leaning over to adjust your pillows and pull you up into a more upright position.

“I don’t want your fish,” you say, just in case he didn’t hear you the first time. “Stop it.”

That makes the hallucination chuckle, and his hand comes up to your forehead. 

Cold. Huh. None of the other hallucinations touched you before.

His hand drops from your forehead, swiping at the soft skin under your eyes gently, and his fingers are blessedly cool against your skin. You hadn’t realised how much you were burning up before.

“You’re really, really sick,” Hallucination Jeonghan #14 murmurs, and he sounds so concerned, before pulling out a bottle of water from one of the plastic bags he’s holding. Woah, you hadn’t even realised he was holding them. “Here, darling. Drink.”

You obediently take a sip once he uncaps the lid for you, before making small noises of distress when some of it spills down your shirt. Hallucination Jeonghan #14 (wow was it a mouthful to say, even in your head) just hushes you gently, dabbing at it with tissues that he’d procured from the plastic bags. 

“It’s okay,” he says softly, and his hands take yours, clasping them around the bottle. Once you’re holding it, he gets up, and for a horrible moment, you think this hallucination is going to leave again. You kind of like this one.

“Where’re you going?” you ask, but it comes out as more of a slur of vowels. You’re not sure he understood a word.

 “Drink up,” is all he says. He fishes out a packet of pills from the bag (it’s like a magic bag, you think blearily. It seems to have everything inside it). “Have these as well, okay? I’ll go make that soup you wanted.”

You nod, blinking. Dutifully, you sip the water that the hallucination has left you, because really this was one of the most gentle, doting, Jeonghan-like Hallucination Jeonghan and it kind of feels like he really does have your best interests at heart. 

Unlike the other Hallucination Jeonghans, who just wanted to sell you fish. This one really seemed to care about your well-being. 

You blink again, slowly. 

Oh. 

By the time Jeonghan comes back with a gently steaming bowl of chicken soup on a tray with a mug of tea, you're more lucid than before, pouting at him as he comes closer, having remembered his last words before you’d hung up the phone.

“You said you weren’t going to take care of me.”

Jeonghan doesn’t say anything, setting the tray on the bedside table, before sitting down on the edge of your bed, wordlessly picking up the bowl and spoonfeeding you some soup. You open your mouth easily, and he hums in approval with a smile.

“What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let my darling be sick all alone, hm?” he says. “I can’t do that. Especially if you’re also seeing hallucinations of me who are trying to sell you fish.”

He continues feeding you soup in tiny sips, and the entire situation feels weirdly vulnerable, with you propped up on pillows and Jeonghan making small noises of approval every time you successfully swallow a spoonful. Like you’re a little baby bird, or something.

But he smiles so lovingly at you the entire time, so it’s kind of hard to feel too embarrassed.

“Well done,” Jeonghan murmurs, once you’ve finished half of the bowl. Your boyfriend is affectionate, almost overbearingly so at times, always poking you in the side or pinching your cheeks or tweaking your nose, but the softness with which he treats you right now is a whole other level of affection entirely.

Jeonghan cares deeply for you. You know that. You’ve never doubted how much he loves you, and he never gives you reason to doubt it. But still, when he smooths down your hair and strokes the back of your hand and gazes at you so gently, it makes you realise yet again that oh God, he loves you.

“We’re going to get you to finish the rest of the soup in a minute,” he says, reaching down towards the plastic bag at his feet, “but first. I wanted you to have this.”

Out of the bag, he pulls out…

A fluffy bunny plushie.

You blink, tilting your head, sniffing in confusion and also to try and unblock your bunged up nose. “What?”

“Say hi to Jjongie,” Jeonghan says. “He came up to me when I was buying your soup, and I couldn’t not bring him home.” The bunny’s pink ears flop adorably into its eyes as he holds out the soft toy to you. It even has a cream coloured ribbon around its neck. “He’s gonna keep you company whenever I can’t be here for you.”

“Oh,” you say softly, taking Jjongie from him with a smile. You rub your thumb over the soft fur of the bunny’s cheek. “He’s adorable.”

Jeonghan beams, proud. “Of course he is. He’s a me-substitute.”

You look up at him, smiling. “Han, I—” You can’t finish your sentence, too choked up. Literally. You suddenly start coughing, hand coming up to cover your mouth, and Jeonghan rushes forward with the mug of tea and an opened box of tissues that he suddenly procured out of nowhere.

“Hey, it’s okay, no need to cry over it,” he says teasingly as you glare at him, eyes tearing up from how hard you’re coughing. You accept the tissues and, when he pushes the tea insistently in you direction, you take the mug too.

“Yeah, yeah.” You blow your nose with one hand and then drink the tea, noting with a smile the subtle notes of honey in it. “Thank you,” you add, softly, looking down at Jjongie in your lap. Jeonghan really has gone out of his way for you.

Jeonghan just shakes his head, picking up the soup bowl again. “Thank me once you get better,” he says. “You can take care of me after. I’ll probably be catching your illness from looking after you.”

You grin, blowing your nose again, and even you can’t miss the way that Jeonghan watches you, eyes devastatingly fond.

“Yeah, but you’re gonna look after me anyways, aren’t you?”

Jeonghan grins, unashamedly bright. He taps the spoon against your lips, smiling wider when you sip the soup, the mug of tea in your hands, Jjongie the bunny in your lap. 

“Duh. I love you too much not to.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @bunnyiix @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @thedensworld @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @evasaysstuff @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @butiluvu @sakufilms @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @amxlia-stars @raevyng @isabellah29

[jezabelle9299]

Sick day S.R x fem!Reader

Overture:Reader’s sick on paperwork day, so Spencer goes to check on her.

Warnings: descriptions of a cold/ flu, taking liquid medicine without measuring it, terrible fire safety, some parts are a teensy bit suggestive because I can’t resist. (It’s all inner monologue stuff, no one actually does anything, but R is in a short nightgown that is very distracting for Spencer), also she has a cat named Buttons

You felt like death warmed over. It was paperwork day at the office and you were mostly caught up, so you decided to just send Hotch a quick text letting him know you couldn’t come in before moving sluggishly around your apartment. By the time you made it back to your bed you had a small box of tissues, the longest movie you owned in the dvd player, and a bottle of Nyquil with a straw in it. You didn’t have the energy to measure. You lit a candle to try and keep the stale feeling of sickness from completely overtaking your room. You felt gross and needed to change before the cold medicine totally knocked you out, so you chose a short nightgown in an attempt to keep you from sweating as much as you were in the fluffy pajama set you woke up in.

Every couple hours you drifted awake, enough to get a small sip of water, and pull your hair up out of your face. You didn’t even notice the knock on your apartment door, same as you hadn’t noticed the calls from your concerned coworkers. They knew you lived alone and weren’t feeling well, so when you didn’t answer their calls they sent Spencer. He finished his paperwork already, so he left before everyone else. When you didn’t answer your door he thought of every worst case scenario, before getting it together and letting himself in with the key you gave him. He’d never used it, but everyone on the team had a copy for safety.

What you did manage to notice through your delirium was a knock on your bedroom door. It didn’t really surprise you, Penelope came over a lot and when she did, she often let herself in. You grumbled something that was supposed to sound like “come in” but was more like a vague groan. You only noticed it wasn’t Penelope from the cautious way he opened the door, and his small “hey” and accompanying wave. You opened your eyes the rest of the way, and sat up in bed, wincing from the small movement. Spencer walked into your room, as you rubbed your eyes.

“Hey, what’s up? Is there a problem at work?” You started to gently move the covers, in a terrible attempt to get out of bed and back on the job. Spencer quickly covered you back up, really trying not to notice your attire. He was there to check on you, not stare. You may be the most beautiful person he’d ever seen, but you weren’t doing this for him. He knew that. He did not know that the possibility of him seeing you in this version of dolled-up (Sans fever and red nose) had crossed your mind, several times in fact. It was probably for the best that he covered you back up though, because there was no way you were successfully making it out of that bed.

“No, no case. Just checking on you, you weren’t answering your phone.” it was said without accusation or inconvenience, and you once again realized how sweet Spencer is. As if you needed a reminder. You still apologized, you didn’t want him or anyone on the team to worry.

“Sorry, my phone’s around here somewhere, I guess I just didn’t hear it.”

“Oh no, it’s ok. We just wanted to make sure you were ok, plus I finished my paperwork early.” He looked away from you for half a second, and the still lit candle caught his attention.

“I’ll spare you the fire safety statistics for now because you’re sick. But this is going out when I leave, because you really shouldn’t sleep with it lit.”

“For the record I’d love to listen to you talk about– well, anything really. And ambiance over safety is something I’ll choose any day.” He looked like he was going to have a stroke. You assumed it was the blatant disregard for fire safety, which was part of it. But it was mostly his heart jumping at you wanting to listen to him. You were always sweet to him, but it was something he never got used to, never got tired of.

“I’ll tell you later, it’ll be long and unconversational.” You just gave him the best smile you could manage, you were excited, but also in ridiculous pain.

“Also how long has that song been playing, and how have you not gone insane yet?”He was referring to the soundtrack on the dvd menu of your movie. It bothered you a few hours ago, but by now you’d chosen to just tune it out. The TV didn’t have a remote and you weren’t annoyed enough to get up to deal with it.

“A few hours, and that time has come and gone. The TV doesn’t have a remote, and it’s not bad enough to deal with yet.” He reached over and turned it off for you, making it look so easy. As you were about to respond you were cut off by an incredibly painful coughing fit, which sent your cat running from his spot under the covers, back to the floor. Spencer jumped back, almost falling over at the sight.

“You have a cat?!” He was clutching his chest like he was having a heart attack, but you just giggled at the ball of fur cautiously approaching him before falling at his feet. It was a gross, congested laugh but Spencer still thought it was the most beautiful sound in the world.

“I do, his name’s Buttons. Seems like he likes you.” Spencer got down on one knee, to give Buttons a small bit of his attention before turning it back to you and standing up.

“Is there anything I can do? Do you have a fever? Did you eat? I know you need more electrolytes, I could get you a bottle of water.” You loved listening to him talk, but you were still in a dense fog. By the time he finished you couldn’t remember what he started with. You knew you wanted more medicine, but you had no idea what time it was, and if you could take more.

“What time is it?” Spencer quickly looked down at his watch and replied “3:48” and you let out a huge sigh of relief, it had been almost 6 hours, so you could take more.

Oh thank god. Could you hand me that bottle of cold medicine?” When you pointed to your nightstand, and among the dvds and books he saw the bottle, no cap, no measuring cup to indicate dosage, and a pink bendy straw sticking out of it like it was soda.

“Have you been drinking this straight from the bottle?” You were already in for a fire safety lecture, why not one on the importance of proper dosage? You faked outrage, actually just leading to another small coughing fit.

“Of course not. I drank it through a straw like a lady.” He looked between you and the bottle twice before grabbing it, and muttering a quiet “absolutely not”. Then he walked out with the medicine, back down the hallway.

“Spencer Reid, get back here” You attempted to call out, but your voice was hoarse, and you had no idea if he could actually hear you. Of course he came back not even a minute later, with a proper amount of medication, as well as a cold bottle of water. And you immediately downed them both.

“Now do you have a fever?” You gave a vague shrug, which was definitely not the answer he was looking for.

“Can’t be certain, I don’t have a thermometer. I assume so though.” When he leaned forward to put a hand to your forehead, you moved back just as quick. You were already embarrassed he was seeing you pale, red, and exhausted. You didn’t need him to feel the sweat definitely occupying your forehead. But you didn’t want him to think it wasn’t ok to touch you other times, when you were feeling a little more confident. You weren’t quite coherent enough to lie and make up another reason that he shouldn’t touch you, so you looked away and mumbled the truth.

“You don’t want to touch me right now. I’m gross. And full of germs.” You tacked on the last part, because if nothing else deterred him, you figured the prospect of germs might. But he rolled his eyes at you, and leaned further until he could finally feel your temperature. Both of you were actively trying to ignore how he was leaning over you in your bed.

“We spend most of our time together, we’re past the point of avoiding each other's germs. Not to mention that diseases are most contagious before symptoms appear, and I sat next to you on the plane yesterday.” He sat back, and you got up from where you were practically laying down.

“You definitely have a fever, but the Nyquil will help soon. Have you eaten today?”

“Yes” You weren’t a great liar on a good day, you certainly wouldn’t fool Spencer now. He just gave you a look like he couldn’t believe you were even going to try.

“I brought soup, let’s go to the dining room and I’ll heat it up for you. The little bit of walking will be good for your circulation if you’re feeling up to it.” You nodded and he held both of your hands to get you up as smoothly as possible. Then by the grace of go you put on a large jacket that covered you a little bit more, and helped Spencer feel a little less crazy, stupid, and creepy.

You ate together, in a companionable silence. Every once in a while you’d ask Spencer to tell you about something obscure and wonderful, and he would, with a passion that never ceased to make you smile. By the time you were done, the medicine started to make you a little loopy. Spencer coerced you back to your bed, picked up your cat to put him next to you. Which didn’t work even a little bit, as soon as he put him down he jumped back up to hide under the bed, but the thought was very sweet.

“Get some more rest, I’ll tell Hotch you need a few more days, and I’ll see you at work when you get back. Penelope said she’d make you her mothers vegetable soup recipe if it was the last thing she did, so expect that tomorrow.” You gave a delighted hum, Penelope didn’t like cooking, she didn’t really do so often, so this was huge for her. And the fact that it was for your benefit made you feel fussed over in a way you never thought possible. Loved, and yet somehow not suffocated. You snuggled back into your pillows, and let words slip you had said in your head a million times.

“This is why I love you Spencer, you’re so sweet to me” you had no idea you just shattered his heart and put it back together in a second. He dreamed of you saying those words to him, frequently. And the first time he actually hears them from your lips you’re half asleep and giving off enough heat to cook an egg. The fact you likely wouldn’t even hear him, let alone remember by the time you’re feeling better and the fog has lifted he allowed himself, just this once to be honest in this regard.

“I love you too.” Then he quietly left you to sleep peacefully, blowing out the candle on his way out, and secretly wishing you meant what you said. He didn’t believe in wishes, and in many religions that use candles as part of rituals or spells, blowing out the candle defeats the purpose, with the flame needing to burn to its fullest, or be gently snuffed out. But he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, stop himself from chanting his wish in his head as the flame went out, leaving only a puff of smoke behind.

His words echoed through your brain in sleep, to the point where you weren’t sure he’d actually said them by the next morning. You told yourself it didn’t even matter. If he did say them, it was platonic. He was just placating you while you weren’t feeling well. 2 days in bed, 24 hours fever-free, and a long talk with Penelope later (Over her fantastic vegetable soup) you decided to tell Spencer how you felt. At this point you’d rather be awkward coworkers who have a hard time speaking than whatever this is. This is painful, and leaves you crying because you can’t think of why you can’t get over this crush. If he liked you back, which you truly hoped he did, it would be like that small piece of what you wanted fell perfectly into place. And if he didn’t, which was a thought that terrified you, but you tried to brace for, you at least needed to know for certain.

First thing in the morning, you got there as early as possible, catching up on paperwork while waiting on Spencer to get there. You greeted a majority of your team before, trying not to let them see your nervous energy, playing off any odd behaviors as residual from your sickness. You couldn’t tell if it was working. (It was not working, but they weren’t going to say anything).

You asked Spencer to help you find a file for your paperwork and he thought he was in the clear. You either didn’t remember his little love confession, or were ignoring it for his benefit. Either way he was happy, he could continue to peacefully, painfully, pine for you without ever having to hear the finality of his inevitable rejection. He could imagine a world where he was yours, until the idea alone withered him to nothing. He could just follow you to the file room like a lost puppy dog.

Once the door was closed behind the two of you, you must’ve cleared your throat 3 times by now. You planned out what you were going to say, but everything felt off, too planned at best.

“So—um, sorry, I haven’t really done this before. I. I really like you, and not in like a friendly coworker way, in like a dating, relationship-y way. And I totally get it if you don’t feel the same way, we can totally just forget about it, but I just wanted to…tell you, I guess.”

It was like every nerve in his body blinked. Like his entire nervous system shutdown from happiness. He couldn’t believe it, he couldn’t respond, because he couldn’t speak. But you were looking at him, for any sign one way or the other, so he got an extremely rushed response out, slower than the stream of his thoughts, but still barely understandable.

“I like you too, in a romantic sense, I mean. I thought you knew, I can’t believe you actually— you actually like me, like that.” You held his hands and gave him a kiss on the cheek, pulling him down a little bit so his face was actually within the reach of your lips.

“How could I ever not?” He pulled you in for a hug, and if it was any tighter he probably would have popped your back. Until you whispered into his collar.

“We should probably go back, we are technically on the clock, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed but we have some pretty nosey coworkers.” He laughed as he pulled back from you. But the laugh subsided into a nervous smile.

“Will you go to dinner with me tonight? For our first date?” He still sounded scared that you’d run away, that it was all some cruel joke and you’d yell ‘sike’ as you left him behind in the small room. But you didn’t you smiled and nodded and he held your hand when you walked out.

But when he opened the door for you, Penelope, Derek, and Emily came tumbling out, nearly falling over in the process. Clearly having been leaning against the door trying to eavesdrop. Unsuccessfully apparently, since they don’t hear you coming. When you cocked an eyebrow at their actions Penelope just waved you off.

“So?how’d it go? New power couple? Can I alert the masses?” You just laughed, she still hasn’t noticed you holding hands.

“Seems like you already did.” Then you ignored everyone’s questions walking off to your desks, as Emily pointed out your interlocked hands to Penelope and she practically swooned on your behalf.

[godsfavdarling]

My guardian angel

my masterlist

pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader words: 790 summary: You get sick but thankfully, your boyfriend, Spencer is there to take care of you! warnings: none! a/n: This was a request for a male!reader, but when I finished, the gender wasn't really specified anywhere, so I changed it to gn!reader. I hope that's okay <3

The BAU had been called out on a particularly challenging case, one that had taken you and the team to the outskirts of a small, remote town. The days were long and grueling, filled with interviews, searches, and endless paperwork. Throughout it all, you had been feeling off—more tired than usual, slightly achy, but you pushed through, not wanting to let the team down.

By the time the case wrapped up, you could barely keep your eyes open. Spencer noticed immediately. As the jet landed back in Quantico, he took your hand, his eyes filled with concern. "You don't look well," he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. "Let me take you home."

You tried to protest, insisting that you were fine, but a sudden wave of dizziness hit you, and Spencer had to catch you before you fell. That was the last thing you remembered before everything went black.

When you woke up, you were in Spencer's bed. The room was dimly lit, and you felt disoriented. Your body was drenched in sweat, and every muscle ached. You tried to sit up, but a gentle hand on your shoulder stopped you.

"Hey, hey, easy there," Spencer's soothing voice filled the room. He sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at you with worry etched on his face. "You're burning up. Just rest."

"Spence?" you mumbled, your voice hoarse. "What happened?"

"You fainted," he explained, brushing a cool cloth over your forehead. "You have a high fever. I'm taking care of you."

You tried to protest, but the fever had made you too weak to argue.

Spencer gently held out a glass of water and the medication, his eyes full of concern. "You need to take these, okay?" he said softly. "They'll help bring your fever down and make you feel better."

"Everything's spinning," you muttered, feeling the world tilt around you. "Like... like a carousel."

Spencer chuckled softly, his eyes filled with sympathy. "I know. Just try to rest. I'll be right here."

For the next few hours, Spencer stayed by your side, never leaving you for more than a few minutes at a time. He read aloud from one of your favorite books, his voice a calming presence in the midst of your feverish haze.

At one point, you reached out and grasped his hand, holding it tightly. "Don't leave," you whispered, your eyes glassy with fever.

"I'm not going anywhere," Spencer assured you, squeezing your hand gently. "I'm right here."

As the night wore on, the fever slowly began to break. Your breathing steadied, and you drifted into a more restful sleep. Spencer stayed awake, watching over you, relieved to see the worst of it passing.

When you woke up again, the sun was just starting to rise. Your fever had significantly reduced, and you felt more coherent, though still weak. You turned to Spencer with a tired smile. "Thanks for taking care of me, Spence. I don't know what I would have done without you."

Spencer leaned in and kissed your forehead. "You don't have to thank me. I'd do anything for you." He brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his eyes filled with love and relief. "Just promise me you'll take it easy for a while, okay? No more running around getting sick on cases. And you tell me next time you’re not feeling well."

You chuckled softly, nodding. "I promise. As long as you promise to always be my guardian angel."

Spencer smiled, his heart full. "Deal."

Over the next few days, Spencer continued to take care of you, ensuring you were comfortable and had everything you needed. He brought you meals, kept you hydrated, and even managed to make you laugh with his quirky sense of humor.

One evening, as you were starting to feel more like yourself, you looked over at Spencer, who was sitting next to you, reading a book. "You know," you said, "I've always known you were smart and caring, but.. the way you take care of me… I love you."

Spencer looked up from his book, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "I love you too. I'm just glad I could help. You mean the world to me, and seeing you like that... it was hard."

You reached out and took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Thank you. I don't know what I would have done without you."

Spencer leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. "You don't have to thank me. Just promise me you'll always let me take care of you when you need it."

"Promise," you whispered, feeling a warmth spread through your chest that had nothing to do with the fever.

[myjealouseyes]

Request from an anon: Can you do where all the characters are safe and happy after the war, but at the last second wolf!daughter moves their hand from their blood soaked gut? (this is pretty depressing lol sorry)

A/N: hey guys! Two blurbs back to back!! Productive era!!! This is some of my best writing I think. But it is sickingly sad so be advised.

Cotent warnings; implied stabbing, death, and blood.

You can send a request here.

Part two.

War is over.

You watch everyone, checking on their friends and tending to the wounded as what were once tears of sadness and grief give way to ones of pure relief. The Dark Lord is dead. For good this time.

Your dads are holding on to each other just a little tighter than normal. Even from where you’re slouched against the wall, you see them trembling. Perhaps they’re waiting to wake up from some fever dream, to a world where Sirius is still locked up and Remus is still struggling alone without him. You want to go and join their hug, but you don’t have it in you to even yell, let alone walk. You don’t mind though. Watching them come out of their shock and hug had the same effect.

You didn’t notice your eyes closing until the patter of several concerned-sounding feet startles them open. Your friends—and family are watching you, Sirius and Remus front and center. You try to give them a smile To reassure them of…something, but it’s too small to stick. They waste no time sitting on each side of you. You welcome it. It’s nice to have company.

“You’re alright darling?” Sirius speaks first, squeezing your hand. You relish in the fatherly gentleness of his touch. You get an odd feeling like you should savor it this time. When you don’t say anything Remus tries this time; a little more desperate. “What’s happened? Are you alright?” You see he’s trying desperately to hold it together but he’s slipping. The tremor in his voice gives him away. You want to tell him you’re fine and everything is okay, but it’s not up to you. Not even what your body does is up to you anymore, maybe that’s why your hand falls off your side to reveal what you’ve been trying to hide this whole time.

Blood is steadily seeping through your shirt, the stain getting bigger by the second. You’re not sure who did it. All you remember is fighting of deatheaters, holding your own pretty well until you felt something sharp pierce straight through you, then pull out again. When you turned around whoever did it had already run off, leaving a sickening cackle behind them. But even as you bled, you managed to clear out another three of them before they finished you off.

The wound startles your poor parents, but not into doing nothing. Remus rushes off to find something, anything to help. Sirius squeezes your hand tighter. “It’s fine sweetheart. W-We��re going to fix it alright?” His voice is now quiet and his body and stare unmoving. Like he’s scared you might fade away if he doesn’t keep watching. You manage a weak smile and tilt your head just enough to lean on his shoulder. “That’s alright papa. I’m just tired, it’ll wear off I’m sure.” Your eyes want to flutter closed but you force them open. You can’t rest yet, you’re not finished. “I think I might sleep now though. Once Harry turns up, tell him that…that I love him. And I’m proud.” Sirius is shaking, but he nods.

You think he’s going to say something to you, but you don’t stay awake long enough to hear.

[ibbythebee]

Hospital Wing Hermits

gif credit: @handknit on wattpad

pairing: Neville Longbottom x year younger!reader

summary: From Neville's second year at Hogwarts to his last, his most memorable times with you have been spent in the hospital wing.

genre: fluffiness all round, slight angst at the end... but only a little, slow-burny

warnings: this fic is so soft that you will potentially combust, slight swearing, SO MUCH hand holding, the reader is an oblivious goofball until she's not, kissing, talks about illnesses and injuries, blood and boogers

words: 6k

masterlist

»»————-　⌁　————-««

Neville's 2nd Year

Clutching onto Madame Pomfrey is nothing new to Neville. In the middle of the night, however, is a different story. The Nurse coos whenever the boy makes the slightest sound of pain, holding him up as not to put anymore pressure on his right foot.

"We're just about there, dear. Come on, just a few more steps..."

Leading him to the middle of the hospital wing's room, she then guides him onto an untouched bed, and immediately slides a pillow underneath his ankle. A spot of light on the opposite side of the room does not go unnoticed to either the woman or boy as soon as they had entered the room.

Neville rubs his eyes, squinting at the strange glowing mound of sheets. He watches as, with a sigh, Madame Pomfrey marches to the other preoccupied bed and pulls over the white covers to reveal you, a sheepish looking girl.

Under the light of your wand, your face looks puffy, lips and nose chapped, hair amuck. You cough into your elbow and smile a toothy innocent smile, batting your big eyes at the woman, silently pleading your innocence.

Pomfrey, however, does not play games. "Turn off that incessant light, Miss L/N. Do you realise what time it is?"

Your lips shape into a pout, voice stuffy as you answer. "But Madame Pomfrey, it's so boring here. I'm bored."

"No, you should be asleep. Turn that off right now. I don't want to have to send another owl to your mother about you refusing medical help."

"Just a few more minutes please? I'll finish the page I'm reading."

"Absolutely not. It's basic manners and respect for your fellow peer." She motions to Neville, and you finally turn to him.

Despite the fatigue in your features, your eyes seem to glow, piercing through the dark room. Perhaps it's just his lack of sleep or absence of light, but there is something drawing him to you and he fails to look away. Nothing comes out of his mouth even though he knows he's probably supposed to greet you, but neither do you.

A second longer you stare at your new roommate and in eventual defeat, you pout. The light from your wand fades, as you mumble 'nox' under your breath and get comfortable under the blankets.

Satisfied, Madame Pomfrey clears the rubbish bin underneath your bed and turns back to Neville handing him a small flask of some sort of healing potion.

"All right. Off to bed now both of you. Good night, dears."

You both mutter a 'goodnight', closing your eyes, gingerly pulling the covers up to your chins.

It stays mostly quiet in the room, apart from the Nurse's shuffling. Though as time passes, shoes click and click away, and then the door creaks shut.

"Psst!"

Neville stirs.

"Hey, psst!"

"Huh?" Is all Neville can manage, lifting his head with a groggy squint.

"What happened to you?" You ask in a loud whisper and sniffle. Sitting straight, and staring right at him. Your eyes really are big, inquisitive.

"Well I... twisted my ankle," he finally says.

"How?"

"I... I'd rather not say. It's embarrassing, really."

"I won't tell anyone," you say as-a-matter-of-factly. "You can hex me if I do."

He looks at you through narrow eyes again and this time it's your teeth that glow. As you show no interest in falling asleep, Neville's neck admits defeat and his head crashes back down onto the pillow. "Can we just please go to sleep?"

"I caught a cold... or maybe a fever. Runny nose—" you sniff, wiping your face with your pajama sleeve "—wet cough, high temperature. My mum says I have a weak immune system."

"Well, that's not very good, is it?" He comments half-heartedly to the ceiling.

"No, it isn't."

Silence. For a moment, he believes that you've finally surrendered yourself.

"So how'd you twist your ankle in the middle of the night?"

Never mind.

"You don't seem like a rule-breaker," you say.

He carefully shuffles up to sit and sighs. Where on earth did you get your energy from? He hadn't met such a talkative first year before.

Neville takes a moment to answer, debating on whether or not you're harmless enough for him to be vulnerable. "I had a nightmare, okay? I fell off my bed and... landed badly."

"Well, that's not very good, is it?" You echo.

"No, it isn't."

Silence once again ensues, but this time Neville's ready for your chatterbox mouth.

"What's your name? I'm..." You suddenly stop and he nearly laughs when your silhouette jerks and you sneeze. It's loud, like his Gran.

"Nice to meet you, Achoo." He chuckles, holding a hand over his mouth.

You sniff again, face hot in a new wave of humiliation, and this time you wipe your face with more aggression. "Hey, that's not funny! My name is — A-ACHHHOO!"

"Isn't that what I just said?" He can't help but laugh again. Relishing in the groan you emit and how furiously you blow your nose.

With a poke of your tongue, you retort. "Whatever, Mr... mm... Fall-out-of-bed...n-nightmare-broken-ankle-boy."

"Wow, that's really fantastic, Achoo." He slides back down into his bed, closing his eyes with content and tries to hold in his giggles as you continue with determination to clear up your mistake.

Initially, Neville thought he wouldn't even be able to get in a nap, but now with the understanding that you bark more than you bite, he creates a silly image of you in the form of a puppy. As your voice rings in the background, the puppy image barks with you, and he feels his eyes grow heavy, falling into a content and nightmare-less sleep.

»»————-　⌁　————-««

Neville’s 4th Year

Ever since sleeping the night in the hospital wing, Neville knew he'd be seeing more of you. It was surprising to him that he hadn't noticed you before that night, especially seeing as you were such a social butterfly. And despite being in the year below, he'd always manage to catch your eyes in the Great Hall. And in the courtyard. And in the halls. And through a classroom window. You were everywhere and anywhere. And when you weren't, you were in bed in the hospital wing.

Just like you are now. The fourteen-year-old hadn't seen you for the past few weeks after the first task of the Triwizard Tournament, and needless to say, he had to see you.

And such a perfect opportunity had arose today, albeit a painful one, but an opportunity none the less.

Neville opens the door to the wing as gently as possible as not to wake you, however knowing you, you probably already were.

Entering the room, he clutches his sore hand to his ribs and cranes his neck to spot the nurse. Instead he finds your lying form under a mountain of blankets.

You stir, and Neville curses at his shoes for making so much noise. Sure, his intention of coming here was to see you, but he’d seldom seen you in such a peaceful state and didn’t want to ruin that for you.

“Neville?” He hears you say and then you’re facing him.

He smiles down at you, with a voice just as soft as silk. "Hey, Achoo. Didn't mean to wake you. How you feeling?”

“I’m feeling alright. Kinda headache-y, but fine. Ugh, what time is it?” You rub your eyes and stretch as you sit up.

The messiness of your bed-hair is incredibly endearing and the curve in Neville’s lips only grow at the sight.

“It’s third period.”

“Then… what are you doing here? Are you hurt?”

You’re suddenly on your feet, eyes round and wide, taking in the scene of the tall boy. He flinches, attempting to hide his hand in his robe sleeve.

You snatch his hand, bringing it close to your face. It’s a burn. All over the back of his palm. "Bloody hell— Where's Madame Pomfrey?"

"I was about to ask you the same question." A small chuckle falls from his lips as you examine him. Somehow, in some miracle he watches your big eyes grow larger as you twist his hand, move his long fingers to get as much information about his wound.

He feels like he’s going crazy, your touch is a new kind of burn on his skin. It doesn’t sting, but it is hot. And you don’t even know you’re causing it.

"She's always gone when you actually need her,” you huff.

"It's not as bad as it looks, really. Just hurts a little when I move it."

"What about when I...?" You drift off, as you slide a delicate thumb over his beet-red knuckles.

The tips of his ears turn the same shade of red. "Stings."

With no further words, he lets you pull him to one corner of the hospital wing, searching for a particular ointment on the many shelves of medical supplies. You don't let go of his hand, and he doesn't dare pull away.

"Let me guess how it happened—" you say, grabbing a round jar of blue gel to read the label.

"Seamus." You both state and then share a laugh.

Placing the jar back, you continue your search and Neville fills the comfortable silence. "It's Potions class. For once I thought I was doing pretty decent and then next thing I know, Seamus' cauldron blows up next to me and of course I get the damage."

His hand is held up to your face again and he watches as you grab a new jar with a less solid looking gel, creamy in colour.

"I suppose it's a good way for me to get out of the rest of the class," he shrugs.

"And get away from Snape," you quip and earn a chuckle from him. There was a time in Neville’s third year, when you had come to learn about his amusing boggart. He’d snuck into the hospital wing, claiming he had a nasty headache and ended up staying the night, neither of you getting a wink of sleep. It had also been revealed that the thing you were most frightened of was giants.

“Sit down,” your motioning to the mattress behind him.

He does so without question, still attached to you by your pinkie, making himself comfortable on the edge of a neatly tucked bed. He follows your every action as you place the ointment jar beside his thigh and open the lid. You scoop a teaspoon amount with your fingers and lifted his burnt hand again.

Before the cream touches his burn, you begin to tell him about what illness you've caught today and he barely feels the sting of the medicine. There's no better spell or potion to kill pain than your voice, that much was evident even back when he first met you.

Concentration laces your features and unbeknownst to you, your hips hit the edge of the mattress, unaware to the fact that Neville's knees are on either side of you.

The sight of you between him for some reason makes it difficult for him to swallow. The urge to trap you with his legs increases by the second. "Hey, Y/N?"

You wipe off excess ointment on your pajama top and turn your attention to him. He rarely called you by your first name. Something's up.

"Yeah?"

"Well, the erm... You know in a week or so?"

"Mhm?"

There's a pause as he searches your eyes for confidence, then he finally announces. "Would you say you're a good dancer?"

Creases form between your brows and you pout at the question, really thinking it over. If there was anything else Neville had learnt about you was that you always answered his queries with great interest and thought. You never treat his questions as though they're dumb, and he’s come to adore you for that.

As you ponder, he slides his non-burnt hand under yours, idly fiddling with your delicate fingers; tracing around the length of them, lifting them up and dropping them one by one, and eventually laying his palm flat on top of yours. Were his hands always this big?

The tips of your fingers tap-tap against his, as you finally answer. "I suppose... I would like to think I am."

"Well... that's good to hear."

"What about you?"

"Oh me?" He finds your face and swallows thickly. "I've been practicing lately, so I can only hope I've improved."

A giggle breaks free from your lips and it’s music to his ears. "Practicing? Whatever for?"

"The Yule Ball, of course."

"The..." The creases near your brows form again. "I've completely forgotten about that."

He squeezes a finger of yours. "So, no one's asked you yet?"

You sneeze into your elbow and then for a second time, and your voice becomes stuffy to the amusement of Neville. "Asked me what?"

"Asked you to be their date, of course."

"Oh. No." Scoffing. "Being stuck in here means no social-life. And besides—" You spin around quick to grab a roll of bandage, and gingerly flatten it over his burn "—who's gonna want to dance with someone who sneezes every five minutes?"

"I would."

"That's what I thought — wait... you would?"

In an effort to look nonchalant, Neville shrugs, finding interest in a bird that's flying near the window. The tips of his ears poking out of his shaggy hair are giving you a different response, they're blushing.

You finish with his wound and step away from the bed, fingers feeling cold when you let go of him.

Upon inspection of your medical handiwork, he smiles gently. He hadn't felt a thing. "Thanks for this."

"I... I can't guarantee that I'll be completely healthy that day," you say.

"The Yule Ball?"

You nod in an almost embarrassed way, as you fiddle with the collar of your sleeping clothes.

Neville just shakes his head. "The suit my Gran got for me has a lot of pockets so I’ll carry all your tissues for you. Or anything else you might need, I'll keep them for you."

"That'sssss.... ACHHU!"

"Bless you. So what do you say? Would you... want to go with me? Maybe? I promise not to step on your feet."

"Miss L/N?! What on earth are you doing out of bed?!"

"MADAME POMFREY!" You both exclaim, faces and necks feeling hot.

"Come on, dear, why don't you ever follow simple orders?!"

Mumbles of pathetic protest fall from your lips as the woman drags you back to the other side of the room. You knock into Neville’s knee on the way and so he’s quick to follow behind you with his own incoherent babble about the burn on his hand.

You're settled under the blankets once again and watch as the nurse's eyes bulge at the sight of the tall boy's perfectly cared for palm. She inspects the bandage, inquires about the pain and what the cause was, all while Neville can't keep the flushed look off his face.

"She— well... Y/N helped me out. It doesn't hurt anymore, I'm fine now, Ma'am."

As the said woman keeps a hold of his hand, she turns to you with daggers. "What did you use? A potion? Spell, perhaps? Mr Longbottom could have severe side-effects if you're not careful."

"He won't," you grin toothily as you did back in your first year and point to the shelf in the right corner. "I used the ointment that you gave Theodore Nott not that long ago. Haha, Nott not."

Neville stifles a laugh, and isn't surprised when the nurse doesn't question you further. You might be the only student that can get away with arguing with Madame Pomfrey.

The nurse's face instead takes the form of an appreciative and impressed expression. It's only natural that with your ‘weak immune system’, you've gained as much medical knowledge as you have colds and flus.

"I'll admit, you've done a splendid job with Neville. However, you simply cannot use whatever you like, whenever you like, on whomever you like. Next time this happens you need to wait for me to return, alright? Is that understood?"

Taking a glance at Neville's sheepish state, you sigh and nod in response.

"And Neville dear, don't encourage this behaviour. Especially not from Miss L/N."

"Okay, Ma'am."

She gives the boy a goodbye and immediately turns to you, a full on lecture spilling from her mouth. He isn’t supposed to leave yet, not when he’s just finally had the courage to ask you out.

Neville finds your helpless gaze behind the woman’s shoulder, and sends you a sad sort of smile before turning on his heel to get to the door.

"I-I'll go with you!" You yell.

The tall boy pauses, heart flipping at your words.

"To the Yule Ball."

There’s no stopping the grin that forms, and he finally nods after a second, hair shaking with the action.

Your eyes speak to him as your own smile appears.

Meanwhile, the woman huffs and puffs, cleaning the area around your bed. "Not in this state, you won't."

»»————-　⌁　————-««

Neville's 5th Year

The last time Neville was in the hospital wing, he'd come to talk to you about his recent endeavours in Herbology and let slip that he's been secretly practicing defensive magic with a group of other students, being taught by none other than Harry himself. There was no doubt that you would also be trusted enough to join, however seeing as you were once again bed-ridden, it felt best to keep it a secret until you got better.

Now it wasn't a secret anymore, and each time he'd visit you'd ask him to put in a good word with Harry, with the group. Neville always said he would, but he never did, fearing that Professor Umbitch would eventually catch onto you and you'd have to pay the ultimate price.

Karma is an Umbitch, however, and now it looks as if the only answer to Neville's current predicament is to let you join Dumbledore's Army, despite all his worries and his efforts to stop you from doing that.

Today’s DA training has been cut short, due to the fact that the fifteen-year old is now incapacitated. Blood refusing to slow down from his nose.

Going to Madame Pomfrey would've required him to come up with a believable story as to what happened, so the next best thing was to send for you, someone who already knows about this secret group.

"Neville!" A Ravenclaw boy shouts, interrupting his thoughts. "Your Bogey Bug is here— ow!"

Someone smacks the kid, and then suddenly the Weasley twins are leading you into the Room of Requirement. You stand over him, adorning new pajamas he hadn't seen before.

"Hey Achoo," he weakly smiles. "Thanks for coming."

The DA gather around, as you crouch to his side and immediately take the cloth he's been holding to his nose. You make a face at him. “Oh Neville… what are we going to do with you?”

A fresh line of blood rolls down to his lip, so you let him leave the fabric there to sink it in.

"Keep your head steady, okay? Don't lean back, just let the blood flow for now."

"I think my nose might be broken?"

"Neville, I swear to..." your head spins sharply, and a few students flinch. "Who did this?"

"We were practicing stupefy," the familiar voice of Seamus answers and immediately your tense shoulders relax seeing his face emerge behind the twins. "I didn't mean to. I swear, Y/N."

"He really didn't mean to," Neville echoes.

You sneeze into your elbow and shake your head, palm making contact with your cheek. "See, this is why you should’ve told me about this secret army group thing so I could've joined and stopped something like this from happening.”

"I'm sorry."

You take Neville's hand again and lift the cloth, checking over the damage. There is damage, alright. You try not to make a show of wincing, fearing that the brown-haired boy would get anxious by your reaction, but his nose really does look quite out of sorts. Out of line. Broken.

He realises you haven't said a word in a while and smiles again, "you can fix, can't you, Achoo?"

"I told Neville I could treat him, but he kept refusing and insisted for your presence," Luna's soft voice interrupts as she crouches down beside you.

Someone amongst the crowd starts to coo and the tips of Neville's ears manage to turn beet red, more so when you turn your attention to him, expression unreadable.

Luna carries on, eyes focused on you. "He wouldn't let anyone touch him. Not until now, anyway."

"Okay!" A sudden clap startles even Luna, and you all turn to the perpetrator. Harry Potter's back is turned to your direction as he addresses the crowd, "I think we'll call it a day. Neville needs his strength and so do you."

The crowd murmurs, exchanging pouts and disappointed shrugs.

"Be proud of yourselves, you all did brilliantly today. Each and every one of you have improved. Next time we get to meet we'll continue with the Patronus Charm."

"What about Bogey Bug? How do we know she's not gonna rat us out?" A girl in Hufflepuff asks.

Neville sees you stand up, slapping a hand over your chest. "I swear on my life and the life of Neville—."

"Hey!"

"—that I will not snitch on this group or expose any of you. I promise to be loyal and keep my mouth shut about this."

Some faces don't seem convinced, as more murmurs and chatter erupt.

"She can be our nurse!" Neville exclaims, stealing everyone's attention. It's time to put in that good word for you. "We won't have to go to the hospital wing if Achoo— I mean, Y/N is here. She's really good at what she does. Plus, I accidentally told her about the army about a month ago and she hasn't told a soul since. I do..."

Your big eyes soften when he turns to you.

"...I trust her with my life."

"All right then," Harry claps once more. "All those in favour of Y/N becoming part of the army, raise your hand."

A few hands come up, whilst others whisper for a moment. One more, then four more, and then more hands raise faster than you can count them. You and the broken-nosed boy share grins, as you squeeze his free hand.

"That's it then. Y/N, welcome to Dumbledore's Army."

»»————-　⌁　————-««

Neville’s 6th year

Following the events of the previous year of school you and Neville had grown ever closer. Outside of the classroom you'd never be seen without the other. Inseparable. There'd even been a rumour going around that you were dating, but you always denied such claims and Neville could only comply. He hadn't yet told anyone about his feelings for you, although it seemed that those in his close circle were figuring it out on their own.

After having looked like a lost pygmy puff in the Great Hall, Luna found Neville and mentioned to him that you looked 'out of sorts' during class. He hadn't even asked about you. She just knew to tell him.

So, it’s only fitting for him to be by your side now, during lunch hour.

You’re shivering underneath all the sheets and blankets, and yet as Neville glides the back of his fingers across your forehead, you’re sweating as well.

“Hang in there Achoo, you’ll be fine in no time. The spell will take effect.”

You can only give so much as a nod, and groan when your lower abdomen tightens with a deep, stabbing ache.

“Shh,” Neville smooths his delicate fingers over your forehead again, tucking loose strands back to their place with the rest of your hair. “I'm here. Do you want me to distract you with anything?"

"Anything," you squeak, eyes shut tightly as if doing that would stop your cramps and make you fall asleep faster. "Please."

"Alright, erm..." He slides his tongue over his bottom lip and leans in closer to you, elbow pressing into the mattress. "I suppose I can tell you about a dream I had not long ago. You were in it."

"The Hippogriff one?" You tremble.

"No, this is a new one," he smiles when you meet his gaze, finding your fingers peeking through the sheets and taking them into his hands. "It's really stupid, as dreams usually go, but I really like it."

Your fingers are stretched out, as Neville begins to trace over your palm. First he draws a circle and you giggle a little at the feeling.

"This is me," he draws a triangle, "and this is you. It seems like any ordinary day, except you and I have the same classes. In the dream we're both popular. Everyone cheers for us when we get good marks, and even Professor Snape smiles at you."

"No way."

He laughs and traces a shape with lots of spikes. "Yes way. It really seems too good to be true, because there's even a moment where we successfully sneak out at night, we're just in our pajamas and we're watching the stars from the astronomy tower."

"I'm waiting for the 'but'."

"But — here comes the stupid part — you just start flying out of nowhere. One second you're next to me, the next you're just in the sky. I'm freaking out trying to reach for your hand, but you're just so calm about the fact that you mysteriously gained the ability to fly."

You're giggling again, especially as he slaps your palm a few times to emphasise the story. "Accurate reaction."

"And then it just ends with me being able to breath fire."

"What?" You laugh, brows pulling together in amusement. "I wonder what Professor Trelawney would say about that. What all of it might represent."

He draws a line on each of your fingers, slow and tickly. "If it's anything like I've been told before, it probably means bad luck."

"Well I was also in the dream with you, so we'll go through the bad luck together." To his surprise, you thread your fingers through his and squeeze. You're not trembling anymore, you haven't been for the past minute or so, and it doesn't feel like you're being stabbed over and over in the stomach.

"Think you can sleep now?" He asks, fingers hesitantly unravelling.

You nod, grinning at him, those eyes of yours finally shining as bright as they usually do.

"Want me to go get Madame Pomfrey?"

You shake your head. And then your arms are around his neck, head tucked in the space between your bicep and his jawline.

It feels like a millennium till he returns your gesture, arms securing around your waist and back, pulling you in tightly and desperately. The mix of the wing's clinical scent and the smell of baked desserts fills his nose. He could've sworn he'd smelt something like this during Potions class.

"Stay with me," you purr. "Please."

He knows he has class in ten minutes, he knows he can't skip, he knows he'll get in trouble.

So with your arms determined to remain wrapped around each other he bends over, moving till your head meets the pillow. He kicks off one of his school shoes. Then the other.

You feel his knees dip into the mattress beside your thighs, and then you have to part for a moment as he slips under the blankets, his head settling on the pillow right beside yours.

When he's comfortable, you take one of his hands and lower it until he brushes over your clothed belly.

Keeping the heat from entering his ears and cheeks is impossible, as his hand flattens over your stomach, shock evident in his features from your bold action.

"Could you keep it there?" You say, when you feel his uncertainty. "It'll help if the cramps come back." Your own hands smooth over his, trapping him there.

"I will." He swallows thickly. "Are you comfortable?"

You nod. "Are you?"

"Absolutely. Yes. I am."

A content breath passes your lips and you smile, all giddy like, at the ceiling. "Thank you for being here. For being with me always. For not making fun of me being sick all the time. Not calling me Bogey Bug. For... for just being you. For being my most favourite person ever."

"I could really say the same about you." Both your voices are barely above a whisper, seeing as your faces are so close together.

"Thanks Neville," you turn to him, and tap the back of his hand on your belly.

You stare at each other for a moment, and for some reason it doesn't feel wrong. It's not awkward.

Neville breaks the silence. "You... you know how everyone keeps saying that we're... you know going out?"

"Yeah."

Neville pauses for a second, you're staring so intensely, pupils large and beautiful. He tries to swallow past the lump in his throat and squeezes the material of your clothes. He can talk to you, he can ask you the question. He's battled against Bellatrix Lestrange before, he's been put in Gryffindor for a reason. He can ask you. "What do you say we make those rumours... not rumours anymore?"

The corners of your mouth twitch. "You-You mean... you mean like...?"

"Yes. Like that. Like... I want to spend the rest of my life with you, sort of way."

You don't say anything.

He continues, with a small bite of his lip. "Like... I'm completely mad for you and if I don't tell you now I don't think I'll ever get the chance to again."

"This... isn't a dream, is it?"

"Can I prove to you this isn't a dream?"

"Okay."

And it really feels like a dream, as his face leans in and you feels his lips press against the corner of your mouth.

"Did that help?" he whispers.

You twist around to lay on your side, guiding Neville's big hand up to your waist. "You missed, Neville."

"What?"

"You missed."

This time you both lean in, and this time Neville doesn't miss.

»»————-　⌁　————-««

Neville’s 7th year

The last Horcrux has been destroyed, Voldemort's killed, the Death Eaters have fled. New life has been brought to Hogwarts, sun pooling through the shattered windows of the Great Hall.

People sit on broken stools, torn and ashy blankets, chatter quiet and solemn. A few people manage to tell jokes and liven the mood, others cuddle, kiss, crying tears of relief. Nurses scamper around tending to the badly wounded.

Only...

As Neville limps his way through the hall he desperately scans over the crowds only to realise you're not here. You're not by Madame Pomfrey. You're not by Luna either. Neville finds Ginny's tired but hopeful figure and before he can tap her shoulder, she's already turned to him with a gentle smile.

She shakes her head before he even has a chance to speak. "I haven't seen Y/N. Not since... well not since she took care of Freddie. 'M sorry Neville."

"No," he shakes his head and gives the girl a gentle hug when her voice wavers and her bottom lip quivers. "No, I'm sorry."

"You helped kill Voldemort. That's hardly anything to be sorry for," she smiles again as they part, softly pushing at his shoulder to leave. To keep searching for you. "Don't worry, I'll keep an eye out for her."

Neville sends her a purposeful nod and turns to leave, the sword of Gryffindor still snug in his hand. At times he uses the weapon as a crutch, the pain in his everything starting to take a toll as previous rushes of adrenaline begin to fade. The only thing keeping him going is the thought of you. You and your sneezes, your messy hair, your often nasally voice, your big eyes and equally big grins. You.

He passes what looks to be remnant of the hospital wing's door, merely a pile of wood chips and metal beams now. He hears the distant tweet of a bird, the pitter-patter of loose rubble and someone's sneeze.

The sword clangs to the ground and he's sprinting. Neville rounds the corner of the entrance to the wing and he stops, breath heavy, vision blurry.

You're there, and you're already staring at him, your grin so large and your eyes even more so and you're holding onto something familiar.

"N-Neville?" your voice is soft and so stuffy and gorgeous.

"Achoo, good Godric." His sore legs carry him to your side, and you're running toward him, arms open. And then you jump and he completely forgets about how much pain he's in when he catches you.

You cling to his sweater, to his shoulders, to his neck, to his waist, squeezing him with every bit of strength you've got left.

He's grasping at your hoody, your waist, your hair, your skin, he's touching all of you, scared that if he'll let go you won't be there anymore.

"I love you so much," he says through a trembling voice.

You pull away slightly and return your feet to the ground, legs unwrapping from his hips. You crane your neck to kiss his jaw, and then you kiss his cheek and his other and then finally his lips. And it sets your heart on fire, full of adoration and care and relief. You don't ever want to stop feeling him here, his supple lips against yours, especially as his hands cup your jaw, reeling you in for more and more.

"I love you Neville," you cry when you finally have to pull away to catch your breaths. "Ever since I first met you. You and your twisted ankle."

He chuckles, tenderly wiping a tear from the apple of your cheek with his thumb. He scans over the room for a moment, as he feels your fingers come to dance over the dry trail of blood from his head wound.

"I don't think we're ever gonna leave this place," he says with a caress of your jaw.

Following his gaze, you giggle. Those beds you spent countless nights on, those countless concoctions and medical supplies you've had used on you, they're all here, scattered and battered around the room.

"That's why I came here instead of the Hall," you say, keeping one arm around your boyfriend's waist and unravelling the other to reveal an intact jar of creamy coloured ointment. "I'm so sorry, I must've scared you nuts."

"Scared me to death more like, but all I had to do was listen out for your sneezes. Turns out it isn't that hard to find you."

You poke your tongue out and he laughs. "That's so embarrassing. Always comes back to me being a Bogey Bug."

"Yeah," he smoothly pulls you in for an ardent kiss, "my Bogey Bug."

"You know what else I am?"

You're leaning against his arms that are wrapped around you and he watches as you take off the lid of the jar. Just like his fourth year, you use your fingers to scoop up a teaspoon of the cream.

"What? What else are you?"

You step out and take one of his hands, letting his palm sit over the top of yours. And then the cream is applied over the burns on the back of his hands. In spite of these burns looking way worse than his wound from Potions class back in his fourth year, the pain is still barely felt once the ointment's smoothed over. What's also killing the sting is looking at your breathtaking eyes. He's lost in them, distracted completely.

"I'm also your nurse," you finally say, wiping the excess over your hoody.

Neville's mouth curls into a smirk, snaking his arms around you again and pressing your bodies tightly together. "Well, nurse. My lips are feeling kind of sore, do you think you can fix them?"

You hum, eyes twinkling with mischief as your hands link behind his neck.

His gaze dips to your mouth, trying to fight the heat flowing to his cheeks and ears. There will never be a time when you won't make him nervous and giddy.

You mirror his action, eyes taking their time stare at his lips. "You know what, darling? I think I've got just the thing for you."