#the cough is worse the last two days than it was the rest of the week

[laurelindebear]

Oh good I've hit the 'I hate my characters, I hate my story, I have to change the entire plot because otherwise I'm forcing my character to accept the Christian god, there's no way these people would fall in love, the timelines make no sense, this character can't be French because their worldview is fundamentally different, and the family situation falls apart unless you add a much bigger conflict or rift than you currently have or want' stage of proceedings.

If anyone wants a few garbage paragraphs to try build something even vaguely worthwhile out of, just check my recycling bin before I delete it all.

[lokischocolatefountain]

Denial || Men Like Me

Part 2 of the Men Like Me series. Part 1

Masterlist

Fandom: The Last of Us Pairing: Joel Miller x Virgin!Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings: girthy age gap, virgin!reader, eventual loss of virginity (not in this chapter), masturbation (male & female), cis fem reader, descriptions of reader's body, somewhat creepy!Joel, fetishization of youth, dom!Joel, Joel ignores you until he can't, slightly insecure reader, very insecure Joel, corruption kink, mild fem!dom, reader turns the tables a little, name calling, fetishization of virginity, face fucking (not the mouth, but cheek), kneeling, stripping, moneyshot, fingering, sexual discoveries. Word count: 10.4k Summary: After your steamy encounter, Joel ignores you out of guilt, leaving you feeling unworthy. But you make a discovery that makes you turn the tables on him. A/N: The reception that chapter 1 got gave me enough serotonin to keep me going, you guys. I hope everyone likes this chapter at least half as much if not as much as the first one. Even the half would give me a lot of joy. And do say hi in my inbox or my asks. I would loooove to talk about these two. As always, pleaaaaaase give me reblog and/or a comment to recharge my writing batteries. Most importantly, a big thanks to @tobuildahomeinthewoods because the smut part was from their idea in the last chapter's comments .

“Long day, huh?” 

“What?” you asked, your brain taking a second too long to process the words. “Yeah. Yeah, yeah,” you said, going back to your glass of whiskey. 

“I heard about the kids. They gotta be more careful,” Tommy said, looking to his brother for some kind of confirmation. Joel nodded hesitantly, his eyes looking everywhere but you as he traced the rim of his glass with his middle finger. So cavalier like he didn’t fuck you with that very finger. Asshole. 

“Yeah, yeah. Climbing trees is not wise,” you agreed, willing yourself to look away from his brother. You didn’t want to get caught staring, or worse glaring. The chatter of the dinner crowd at the Tipsy Bison drowned into the sound of you tapping your fingers on the wood counter of the bar. You got up abruptly, the bar stool going down from the force of your actions. You bent over to pick it up, a hand moving to your chest instinctively to keep from flashing everyone. With no such protection for your ass, you could feel familiar eyes on them. Eyes that you’d become accustomed to having on you no matter the distance. 

“You ok–” Tommy began, but you cut him off.

“You have a good one, Tommy,” you said, grabbing your bag from the bar counter and slinging it over your shoulder. “I gotta go. I’m really tired.” 

Like the fool that you were, you picked your glass up and downed the rest of the whiskey, your throat rejecting the choice with a cough that had you spit out half of the burning liquor. Great. Now you’d have to wash your scrubs before going to bed so it didn’t stain. Fucking great. 

There were some protests from the younger Miller brother, some words of concern. But you ignored him as you hurried out of the Tipsy Bison and into the night. At least one of the Millers had some manners. And it wasn’t the one that broke into your house and showed you what a clitoris was. It was fucking embarrassing that he was ignoring you after that. Even more embarrassing that you had to learn it from a random guy when you were the one poring over anatomy textbooks trying to become a doctor. You should know anatomy better than anyone else. Your mentor should’ve taught you. You’d learned how to conduct a safe childbirth. Even been allowed to close up the last c-section patient. But you didn’t fucking learn how the baby got in there. 

Alright well, you did. But you hadn’t been told about some of the especially sensitive parts of the body that would be involved in the process. 

You tossed your bag on your couch, got yourself some cookies that you traded for last week and climbed up the stairs to your bedroom. It wasn’t a nutritious dinner, but it filled your tummy. It came in handy when you didn’t want to spend time chopping vegetables and boiling pasta or whatever the hell you had to do to cook. 

Your bedroom had become your prison in the last two weeks. You felt trapped, unable to see beyond it. How could you, when it ironically was right here that you found freedom? 

Even as you did something as mundane as eating cookies on bed and spilled crumbs on your sheets like a child, the chair in front of your dressing table was in sight. From where you sat, you could see very clearly the scratch on the black paint that revealed the light wood underneath. Evidence of how you had to hold on to dear life as Joel worked your pussy expertly. Like he knew it as well as he knew the tools of his trade. Like weaving his fingers between your folds was as familiar to him as it was for you to weave through skin with your suture needle and thread.

You felt yourself dripping at the mere memory of his thick fingers pumping away inside you, unraveling the fibers of your being. The sight of him at the bar– his finger tracing the rim of the glass– it took you to the memory of that very finger teasing your pussy.

The pornographic magazines, the entertainment for men, no longer saw the light of day from their box under your bed. Pictures of nude women you wanted to model yourself after in order to be attractive to men no longer sufficed. All you strived for now was to be attractive to him. To be strung like a puppet in his hands while all he seemed to want was to get away from any place where you were. 

You felt a pang in your chest as you recalled the first time you went to the house of worship after your time with Joel to find that he’d been replaced with the younger Miller. Tears stung in your eyes as you felt rejected by his absence. Like he no longer wanted to be in the same room as you, hammer nails into wood as you spoke to your fellow townspeople about their wellbeing. You told yourself it was just a temporary thing. That the brothers just liked to alternate shifts and he would return soon to fix the windows that shattered during a storm in the winter. 

He never came. 

You’d never experienced such rejection before. You’d never wanted before. To want was to risk rejection, to feel the pit in your stomach as you felt now. You never wanted to feel less than, undesirable, unwanted. So you pulled away from all the men you dated. If you could even call that dating. Maybe it was your own fault for thinking it would be easier with Joel. What did you think? That he would fold immediately because you showed off your legs and touched his arm and pushed your breasts out to present your femininity? 

Naive, stupid girl. 

“Been experiencing longer than you’ve been alive, Ma’am.” 

Something twisted in your belly and you lied down, pulling your covers over you as though it would contain the shame coursing through you. 

You probably looked silly to him, like a little girl playing adult. Like a kitten picking a fight with a lion. Less than half his age, just a fucking preschooler on outbreak day when he would’ve been a fully grown man. Maybe already beginning to gray, the skin by his eyes crinkled from the years he spent smiling at and wooing women. Why would he want a girl? He’d want a real woman. Someone like Tommy’s wife, perhaps. Someone he wouldn’t have to teach.

“Don’t know your own fucking body but you want a man?” his taunt rang cold in your ear, sending chills down your spine like he was still behind you, fingers buried deep inside the most intimate part of you. You pressed your thighs together, heat pooling between them as it always happened when you thought of what he did to you. 

Shame didn’t deter you as you brought your fingers to your pussy, brushing one against your clit with curiosity. With fear. It felt so good, like its sole purpose went beyond the animal need to survive and propagate. You bypassed it to touch your weeping slit, more comfortable with what you were already used to for carnal pleasure.

Your own fingers had always been enough. Out in the wilderness when you needed to release pent up energy. After long days at the clinic and sharing notes with the other students. When you were tired to the point where you couldn’t sleep. Your fingers always took you to where you needed. You were always satisfied.  

Not anymore. 

You whined as the different angles you tried failed to work. The physical pleasure was the same. But not quite like how it felt with him. His hand was larger, his fingers longer and thicker. He showed you sports inside you that you’d never been able to touch yourself. Maybe this was what people meant when they said ignorance was bliss. Knowledge of pleasure you could have but couldn’t give yourself was torture.

As much as you resented Joel now, you couldn’t help but conjure images of him as you brought yourself closer to release. His deep brown eyes, his large hand that he wrapped around your throat, the way he carried you from your chair and deposited you on your bed. Like a human being weighed nothing to him. Like you were his toy that he could bury his fingers in, play with and set aside when he was done, when he was bored. Entertainment for Men came to your mind again and you cried like you never had at your own touch. 

Your thighs trembled as you imagined yourself as one of those women in the magazines, but only for him. Entertainment for Joel. Splayed out on the center page for him to look at and fuck his hand to. You wouldn’t mind being tangible entertainment. Laid out on his bed, limbs arranged in an attractive manner for him, so he could access whatever part of your body he wanted to play with. To be bent to his will and fucked, to be used, given an affectionate pat on your pussy and put away when you’d outlasted his needs only to be given attention when he wanted to get off the next time. 

You shook uncontrollably, your eyes squeezed shut and the world went blank as you reached your peak. You pulled your spare pillow to your chest, needing some physical comfort after experiencing such a high. You wished it were him instead of an inanimate object. That he would make you feel good and hold you and kiss you all over. That he would stay when you woke up the next day and do it all over again. 

Once the haze of your orgasm cleared up, you cringed at the feelings it had brought out of you. How stupid… Wanting a man who broke in, fucked you with his fingers, and began ignoring you like you did something horrible to him. Fuck Joel Miller and fucking his stupid fucking face. As he said, there were other men in the town. Men who wouldn’t ignore you.

⌘

“How are the windows lookin’?” 

“Fixed ‘em up in time for the cold winds. No thanks to you, fuckin’ asshole.” 

“Sorry. Y’know I ain’t the church going type.” It wasn’t a lie. He wasn’t the church kind before Sarah died and he certainly wasn’t anymore. That the young aspiring doctor he fingered in her bedroom was the real reason behind him swapping work would remain his secret.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tommy grumbled, playing with the now cold fries on his plate. “It ain’t a church, by the way. Maria keeps correctin’ me. It’s the house of worship.” 

Joel rolled his eyes at that. He got the reasoning behind it. The town had people who believed in different Gods and had different religions. Calling the place a Church would be as unfair as calling it a– whatever, he didn’t know any other kind of place for worship. But it still pissed him off when his little brother came to him and went on about something his wife said.

Go off and do whatever your wife tells you, motherfucker.

No matter how he tried, the snide voice in his head that hated Maria never went away. He never said anything to her or Tommy. Maria was decent to him too, unlike the time he first arrived with Ellie. She trusted him with Miles. Invited him and Ellie over to family dinners. But they kept their interactions to a minimum, as though there’d been a silent agreement that it was best they kept it civil so as to not sow discord in the family. 

“Whatever. No point in worshiping, be it Jesus or whatever stuff they got goin’ these days.”

A shudder went down his spine, triggered by the talk of religion. As it became colder, Ellie had begun to revert to the empty shell of a child she was after the events in Colorado. There’d been grifters in the past hiding behind religion to cheat people out of their money, to damage children irreparably while preaching the word of God. The end of the fucking world somehow didn’t stop them from going on. Didn’t stop people from believing that an all-knowing, all-powerful guy in the sky was still watching and would protect them. 

If what protected people was God, guns were God. And Molotov cocktails. Sharp rocks and shoelaces.

Ellie didn’t tell him much, but from what he could piece together, it was a religious group with one guy leading them. And they were fuckin’ cannibals. Sounded like a goddamn cult.

“It’s a nice place to meet people,” said Tommy, snapping him out of his descent into the void of the recent past. 

Joel simply snorted and took a sip of his glass of water. He couldn’t handle his alcohol like he used to. Age and that he had been off his usual cocktail of oxy and whiskey for a long time now. He had to resort to having a lot of water to sober himself up after the occasional evening drinks with Tommy. 

“What? It is! I go there, catch up with everyone in town. Usually people go there when they’re going through some shit. It makes them feel conscious if you visit their house. So I just run into ‘em at the Chu– house of worship– and I just talk to them about their lives ‘n see if there’s anything I can do for them.” 

“Guess you’re right,” he said, slotting his thumbnail in the ridges on the bar counter absentmindedly, scraping off bits of the old softening wood. 

He could go again. Only so many days he could ignore you. But the reminder of the shame coursing through his veins when he saw you this evening made him shake the thoughts off. There was no way he could be anywhere you were without shriveling up and dying of embarrassment. 

You were so young.

Relatively unblemished by the world. A fuckin’ virgin. Never known the touch of a man and moaning his name as you touched yourself. 

Nope, nope, nope. Shouldn't have gone there, he thought as he felt himself hardening in his pants. Shouldn’t his dick be non-functional by now? He was dangerously close to sixty and spent a good two decades without adequate nutrition. Shouldn’t that be enough to turn his dick limp forever?

“Come over tomorrow, then. We’re doin’ a little memorial thing in the back of the house of worship. That young doctor’s idea, actually. She put the idea forward at the last council meeting. Thinks it’ll help people to have something physical to remember their people by.” 

Young, sweet, and so fucking thoughtful. 

Not meant for men like him.

Yet he went the next day. 

The topic of Sarah hung in the air around him and Tommy like a fog beyond which they couldn’t see. It sat heavy in his chest, the memory of his baby and worse, everything his shit brain had forgotten. He remembered that she gave him shit, mocked him over everything. But she didn’t have a voice in his head anymore. He could describe the sweetness of her voice, but it no longer sounded out in his mind. No matter how hard he tried. 

Her favorite color was purple and she loved soccer. He couldn’t recall the name of her team. She loved reading. He didn’t remember her favorite author. She liked animated movies. He couldn’t remember a single one. Just the vague memory of her falling asleep on his lap as cartoon characters chirped away on tv. Even her face was beginning to blur. When he recalled her features, it was only through images of the last seconds of her life.

“We could just do alphabetical order. Simple.” 

“Not really,” you said, scribbling lines on the paper. “We get new people in the town sometimes and we don’t want the names they add to stand out, away from the alphabetically ordered list. Might make them feel bad.”

“Yeah, you’re right. What about age?” Tommy suggested. 

“Still the same problem. It would force newcomers to have their own separate list at the bottom.” 

“How about a first come first serve system? We tell people when we’re taking names down for the memorial and they can come over, form a queue and give us the names they want included. That way, people can keep the names of the people they love in one spot on the memorial instead of having it scattered all over because of age or alphabetical order.” 

“What do you think, Joel?” Tommy asked, making him fold his arms over his chest and sigh. He didn’t give a shit. But that wasn’t the most amicale thing to say when someone was trying to do an objectively good deed. Unlike the other people in this town, he didn’t deserve to add the names of his people to a memorial. He failed in protecting them. He didn’t deserve to mourn like he wasn’t the reason they went into early graves. 

“Yeah, ‘s good. I agree.” He said, finding no faults with your proposal to order the names of the deceased by the order in which people gave it to ‘em. He didn’t know why he was being asked all this. It wasn’t like he was on the council like them. He was just takin’ measurements when he got dragged into this. 

“How many names do you think we’ll get?” Tommy asked him in yet another attempt to get him involved. 

Taking pity on his brother, he began a rough estimate of the number of names they’d get for the memorial and how much surface area they’d need for carving them in. “Six hundred people in town. Babies don’t have names to give. Kids wouldn’t have too many and if they had any, it would be on their parents’ list too. How many kids in this town?”

It was a fucking nightmare, sitting there at the table with you and doing calculations when all he wanted was to throw you over his shoulder and take you back to his place. Make you pose like you were posing in front of your mirror that day. Like women in those porno magazines he sneaked into his teenage bedroom and jerked off to. The fuck were you even thinking? Door left open, tits out, fingers in your cunt and his fucking name on your lips. 

Did you notice him at your door and decided it would be a fun trick to play on an old man? Or did you always scream his name when you fucked yourself? When was the first time? Did you always come so prettily on your own fingers like you came on his? Being in the dark drove him crazy. But part of him felt that getting the answers would drive him absolutely fucking insane. 

The thought alone was enough to make him feel uncomfortable in his pants. He adjusted himself on his seat and looked away from you, afraid that somehow you’d be able to tell that he was having improper thoughts about you when you were talking about honoring the dead. If thinking about you sexually in a church was bad, he was sure it was worse to think it when you were trying to help people memorialize their dead.

You had an air of innocence about you. The brightness of your eyes and the way you moved your hands about as you planned the details of this memorial and scribbled them out on your little notebook. He’d been attracted to that innocence from the very start. A rare thing to find out in the world. When even babies were born into violence and oppression, innocence was a luxury no one even thought to acquire. 

A virgin, too. 

His cock twitched in his pants. He gulped and looked around to check if anyone had caught his shameless response. Nope. 

He was surprised you were a virgin. For all your innocence, you were also fucking beautiful. There were plenty of guys in town. Ladies too, if you liked that. Anyone would’ve snatched you up quick and made sure to show you a world of pleasure. It didn’t take him long knowing you to give in to temptation. It was fucking impossible that no man had worshipped with his head between your thighs. That no man who saw you in your pretty little dresses bent you over and filled you up with his cock.

You were beautiful. Even more so when you came on his fingers. Made all those pretty little sounds. The way you said his name… Nobody had said it like that in such a long time. Not even Tess. 

It rang in his head whenever he found himself alone at home. Being in possession of your panties didn’t help matters. White cotton. Innocent. Covered in your dried up release. When he left that day, he made sure to suck on his fingers. Moaned like a fucking creep while going down your stairs. Eyes closed, he could still taste you on his tongue. After so many days. A little tangy with a hint of salt from your sweat and all woman. 

It had been embarrassingly long since he felt like a man. He’d been father, brother, smuggler, and father again. But long since he was just man. Never someone desirable. Out there, sex was just for release. Purely biological. The end of the fucking world did not afford good hygiene. You fucked someone because they were the safest option. Not because you were attracted to them.

You, however… You had others in this town. You were here before him. Younger, smarter, with a body that worked perfectly fucking well. You could have anyone but it was his name you were moaning out in the privacy of your room. 

He grunted as your voice crept back into his mind. The ‘Joel, please’, and the ‘Sir’. 

He grabbed on to the railing as his thighs trembled, afraid he would have an embarrassing fall. His breaths grew quicker and his mind void of everything but you. 

On your knees. On your back. On your front so he could fuck you from behind. Your hand around his cock. Your lips stretched out around him as you struggled with his size. Fistful of your hair as you begged for release. Please, Sir. Please, Joel.  The heat of your tight velvety cunt. Tears blurring your wide eyed innocence as he stretched out your rear hole. He wanted to take you everywhere, leave you burning with him. Mark you so deep every man you let in after you would know who fucked you first.

It didn't take long. The mental images of you were far too effective. His last time was too long ago. He was too old to last. Too old to want you. Somehow the reminder only pushed him further along. Sticky white cum coated your panties, mixing your scent with his. The mirror showed him a reflection of himself. Old, gray, crow’s feet by his eyes. He dropped your panties in the hamper, the warmth of his own release on his hand and the shame on his face sobering him up quickly. 

He wanted to teach you sin. But you had taught him more of it already than you would ever know.

⌘

“Cool jacket, dude!” 

“Uh…thanks. I traded for it years ago” you said, digging your thumb nail between the teeth of the zipper. It didn’t fit perfectly, but it worked well on cold nights that weren’t cold enough to warrant a sweater. “Is Joel in? I need to talk to him about a building project.”

“Yeah,” said Ellie before pressing her lips into a thin line. “I mean, he was awake half an hour ago when I left, but he could be in dreamland by now. Cause he’s old.” 

“Ah. Of course,” you said, smiling awkwardly at the girl. Joel’s kind of, sort of daughter. You were closer to her than Joel in age. You rolled the memorial plan tighter and tighter, your hands needing to be occupied with something as your mind reeled at the inappropriateness of your desires.

“I’ll make sure I don’t wake him up,” you said before leaving the girl to return to her group of friends. 

He was old enough to be your father. It should disgust you, scare you. Maybe it would’ve if you’d had an actual father in your life. A point of reference to know how vile a man of that age would have to be to want a girl your age. You tried to force some disgust into your veins, hoping that would help in putting out the fire in you that threatened to consume you whole. But it was hard to convince yourself that this was wrong when he’d made you feel so good. 

Your fingers had become inadequate overnight. If his fingers were so powerful over you… You shuddered to think what he could do for you with his penis. It had to feel better. The organ was made for it, unlike fingers.

You stopped outside his door and knocked without giving it a single thought. If you’d thought about it, you would’ve fled. It had already taken you hours to muster up the courage to make the walk to his house with the draft sketches for the memorial. You wouldn’t let your desperation ruin it. 

He looked surprised to see you, mouth opening and closing as though he’d forgotten how to process language. His dark brown curls and the silver that decorated it sat messily atop his head. Like he’d run his fingers through it. An old t-shirt stretched over his chest and struggled against his arms. A pair of dark sweatpants sat on his hips, the drawstrings hanging in the front. 

“Hey? Uh…what’s wrong?” he asked, bringing a hand up to his face and scratching his beard. Why was that hot? You had to be out of your fucking mind.

You cleared your throat and looked up into his eyes. “Does something have to be wrong?”

“You’ve never come here, so I thought…” 

“I’m here about the memorial plans. I have a few designs I want to run by you,” you said, holding up the rolled up sheets of paper.

“Ah. That. Sure, uh come in,” he said, opening the door and stepping aside to allow you passage. You looked around his house, careful to seem disinterested so he didn’t have more reasons to think you were a stupid little girl pining after him just because he made you come once. 

Shit. He probably already thought that. 

“A virgin. Pretty young things like you ain’t for men like me.”

You swallowed at the reminder as he led you to the dining table and offered you a seat. You looked around while he cleared the table. Plates, tools, some worn out novels. So he was the messy sort. You didn’t know who you would be if you’d had the chance to just be. You didn’t know if you would leave things lying around like that if you’d had a normal start to life. Like Joel. Like the others who were old enough to remember life before the cordyceps.

The place didn’t scream Joel Miller. There were no personal artifacts decorating his living room. No framed art. No books. No throw pillows or even a blanket on the couch. 

You knew what it was like to have nothing in your house. When you were still new to the town and it hadn’t hit you yet that you were allowed to have your own things. Collect stuff and not worry about having too many things to carry with you when you had to run. You didn’t own anything you couldn’t fit into your backpack. And you took that backpack everywhere when you managed to step outside your new house. 

But over time, you’d decorated your house. People you helped out at the clinic often gave you things as a token of their gratitude. Kids drew pictures for you. A lady once gave you the art off her wall that the previous owner had put up. Tommy and Maria gave you a new sweater that she’d knit when she was pregnant. New yarn from new wool from the town’s sheep. The first time you ever got something truly new. 

“No decorations, huh?” 

“What?”

“You don’t have any decorations here,” you pointed out again and licked your lips nervously.

“Uh, yeah. Not really the priority. Have’ta trade wisely. Can’t be gettin’ pictures when ya need bread.” 

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. “But you don't have to trade for it, you know? You could put up something of what’s in the house already. Surely the previous owners left some stuff.” 

“They did. Traded ‘em all for things we need. Fresh fruits, bullets, that kinda shit.” 

“Well, it doesn’t have to be framed art. You could cut up a nice picture from a magazine or something.” 

Joel looked up from the plans, head tilted and an eyebrow raised. Shit! Of course he thought you were talking about your magazines with the naked women. 

“I didn’t mean it like that!” you said, your voice coming out squeaky. Embarrassed, you cleared your throat and looked down at the plans. 

“Let’s discuss the plans,” he said, his voice all gruff and his tone so stern. 

“I-I- uh… May I use your restroom?” you asked, unable to look him in the eye after what you’d said. After how he’d reacted. You really didn’t mean it like that. But you could see why that would be hard to believe when the last time he saw you, you had a box full of those men’s entertainment magazines on your bed and one open in front of you as you touched yourself. 

Touched yourself and moaned his name. 

“Upstairs, second door to the left.” 

You squeaked out a thanks before you bolted out of his dining room and made your way up the stairs. There were two bathrooms. One decorated with band posters and a poster of a girl with weirdly cut black hair sitting on a motorcycle. Had to be Ellie’s. The second door to the left was another bathroom. Joel’s, apparently. There was just one bar of soap, a toothbrush, and a pot of toothpaste. No shampoo bar. You pulled the toilet seat and lid down before taking a seat. 

You let out a groan and planted your face in your hands. Why the hell did you have to go and make it awkward like it wasn’t already that way. After he made you come that day, he’d refused to be anywhere near you. You hoped it was just coincidence, but after over a week it became undeniable that he was avoiding you. 

He probably thought you were going to catch feelings. A girl in one of the romance novels you read fell in love with a guy who took her virginity. And there was the time you overheard this guy talking about not wanting to sleep with a girl because she was a virgin. He was afraid she would catch feelings and get clingy. 

Now here you were in his bathroom because you thought it was wise to make small talk and ended up insinuating he should put up dirty pictures on his wall. You could scream. But you wouldn’t. There was already enough awkwardness with him. 

You could always jump out of the window and run off to your house. Never speak of this again. Pretend nothing happened if Joel tried to talk to you about it. But something told you that he wouldn’t. He would probably be happy if he never had to interact with you again. You had been acting desperate. He caught you touching yourself moaning his name, for fuck’s sake! 

Your hands, permanently dry from all the times you scrubbed them clean for your patients, found some moisture from your salty tears. It was embarrassing, sitting in the bathroom of a guy who wanted nothing to do with you after you scared him off with your stupid little infatuation. 

You were a grown woman. Still young, but too old to be acting like this. You should have some experience already. Not sniffling over a man more than twice your age. He was right. He had been a grown man with experience longer than you’d been alive. Of course he wanted nothing to do with you. 

The window looked more and more attractive as the seconds passed. It had been a while since you did something like that. You didn’t need to jump out of buildings or trees anymore. You didn’t go on patrols like some residents. With no need to fight for your life and having all the food you could need to never go hungry even once, you’d become a little unfit. If you broke a bone jumping out of Joel’s bathroom window, there would be questions. And everyone would know. You’d have to avoid the whole town instead of just Joel. 

You’d just have to face it. Even if facing it was doing as little as just bidding him goodbye and bolting out of his house without an explanation. You got off his toilet and pressed the flush just so he didn’t think you were weird. Like it fucking mattered. He already found you weird and desperate. 

You washed your hands, letting the water wash away the tears on your hands before wiping your wet hands over your face in an attempt to remove traces of your crying. 

You should’ve just left after that. Not looked around. Not snooped like a creep. You didn’t ever dig. You didn’t have to look too deep to catch it. But a sliver of white peeked out through the netted walls of the laundry hamper. A sliver of white cotton with a light blue stitch. 

Without second thought, you dug into his dirty laundry. You came up with the white cotton fabric, going straight to the gusset where the blue thread stitched the fabric pieces together. The original stitch had given out and you sewed it back together just some time back. The blue thread was all that you had at the time. 

As though the sight of your panties in Joel’s bathroom wasn’t jarring enough, next came the smell. Of you. Your cum. You felt practically hear your own heartbeats as you recalled how he’d cleaned you up with your own panties. You recalled that he stuffed the fabric in his pocket as you lied on your bed, pussy still pulsating from his handiwork, brain melted, and life changed forever. 

You took another whiff of your panties, goosebumps raising the hairs on your body as you felt it. Your cum and something else. It was still damp.

Blood rushed back up to your face and you felt yourself getting tense. 

This fucker. How dare he? You’d been embarrassed just a minute ago over your desires and he was doing this the whole time? Noticing you on the streets and running away for days. Running back to his home where he kept your fucking panties, apparently. Avoiding you for so long only to cum in your panties. 

So he wanted you. 

If not you, he at least wanted sex. Dirrty old man who liked attention from you, but you weren’t even disgusted. Just angry he was pretending to be better than that. He could’ve used any old rag, but he used your panties. 

You brought your defiled panties back up and smelled them again. Strangely, it smelled something like bleach. Or you could be wrong. You’d never… You didn’t know what a man’s release was supposed to smell like. Was it different for each man or did they all smell the same? 

Wetness pooled in your panties as you imagined him touching himself. Large rough hand wrapped around himself. Did he think of you when he did it? Think of you naked in your bedroom and taking his fingers? What did his penis look like? What would it feel like? Soft? Rough? You’d wondered about having one inside you, but never about a particular man’s anatomy. But this was Joel. Joel was the only one who’d gotten this far in your head. 

He couldn’t deny it to you anymore. If nothing else, you could at least call him out for ignoring you when he was wiping his ejaculate off with your stolen panties.

“Joel!” you called out before your fears could talk you out of confronting him. Unsure if he would’ve heard you, you opened the bathroom door and yelled his name out again. “Joel!” 

“What?” 

“Come up here!” 

“What happened?” 

“Just come here.” 

You heard him sigh, the sound followed by the typical grunts and groans he made when standing up. Fuckin’ old man, ruining your life. Ruining your self-confidence. Ruining your fucking panties. His heavy footsteps thudded against the stairs as he climbed up, the sound getting louder as he got closer to the bathroom. 

“Why were you screaming my name like y–” he stopped mid scold, frozen in place by the door as he saw what you had in your hand. He opened and closed his mouth, as though attempting to explain but deciding otherwise. He licked his lips and scratched the back of his neck, his eyes looking everywhere but at you. 

“Do you not have rags, Joel?” you taunted, taking a step towards him and enjoying seeing him step back. You felt powerful, moving a large man with just your voice. It was very unlike how he made you feel all the days he ignored you. Weak, insignificant, undesirable.

“You weren’t meant to– Fuck, I’m sorry!” 

“Which part are you apologizing for? For breaking into my house and touching me? For ignoring me ever since? For stealing my underwear? Or for doing whatever you did with it?”

You moved him out of the bathroom, making him walk backwards in the hallway you hoped led to his bedroom. Even if it didn’t, you’d be fine. You’d exact revenge in any place you can. As long as you got to make him feel the way he made you feel. Pleasure. Shame. Want. 

“I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry. I never should’ve—”

You took your last step towards him, finally trapping him against a wall. You stood close enough to place your hand on his chest. You licked your lips, the rock hard muscles beneath your touch storing itself away in your mind for later use. 

“Imagine what would happen if I told someone? You sister-in-law, perhaps… She hates you, doesn’t she?” You smirked, though you were screaming on the inside. You didn’t know where you got all this courage from. You didn’t know you had it in you to threaten a man as imposing as Joel. 

He turned pale, his hands up against the wall in surrender. If you’d asked him, he wouldn’t tell you the truth that it was to keep himself from touching you. “Please don’t tell anyone. I won’t do this again, I swear.” 

“Maybe I want you to do this again…” 

“You don’t. Trust me.” 

“Shh!” You said, placing your index finger on his lips. Pink, perfectly shaped, and so damn kissable. “Don’t tell me what I want. You ignored me ever since you walked into my house without my permission and shoved your fingers inside me. I was walking around town believing I wasn’t good enough for big old Joel Miller. What did you say? That you’ve been experiencing longer than I’ve been alive?” 

You raised an eyebrow at him when he didn’t answer. Then he nodded reluctantly.

“Why were you coming in my panties then if I didn't measure up? ” 

“I won’t do it ag—” he groaned when you grabbed his cock through his pants. He let out a low grunt and his Adam’s Apple bobbed in his neck as he swallowed. You replaced your index finger with your thumb, tracing his trembling lips as you lazily stroked his cock with your other thumb. 

He filled your whole hand and there was still more. It took everything in you to not moan at the sheer size of him. To not grind your belly against it to feel it against you. You didn’t know how big it was supposed to be, but the romance novels you read always described the big ones as more desirable. 

“I don’t want to hear excuses. I asked why. Why did you steal my panties, Joel Miller?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Did you come on it? Don’t fucking lie to me cause I can fucking smell you on it.” 

“I did. I jerked off with it.” You had to choke back a moan at that. No, you had to be strong. Show him you could take the upper hand just like he did with you. You weren’t a little girl with a crush. You were a woman and you could have this effect on a grown man. You refused to be discounted with a pat on your pussy no matter how much you wanted him to touch you like that again. 

“Mmm. And that’s enough to get you going. Just a pair of my panties.” 

“Mhmm.” 

“Show me how you did it.” 

“What?” He asked, eyebrow raised. 

“Show. Me. How you did it.” 

He narrowed his eyes at you, his hand coming up to stroke the base of his neck. “Wh-What?”

You felt your heart thud against your ribs and if you didn’t know from experience and your textbooks, you’d have been afraid that he could hear it. You’d never done anything so daring. You were the timid girl when it came to this stuff. That the thought even occurred to you was a testament to how much you desired Joel. Not just to sleep with any guy, but to have Joel. Without a word, you reached under the skirt of your dress and tugged your panties down. 

He inhaled sharply as you bent down and came back up with your panties. Undyed white fabric, a little green ribbon in the shape of a bow stitched to the front, gusset a light gray from your wetness. 

“Show me. I want to see what you were doing in your bathroom with my panties after ignoring me everyday,” you said, taking his hand and forcing the fabric into it. His hand curled around it and you found yourself feeling lighter. You didn't know how long you could keep up the brave front if he continued to have no response. 

“Take your clothes off.” 

It was like something changed the moment you gave him the garment. His eyes were on you, his gaze unrelenting. He took a step ahead and you stepped backward. His lips curled up in a smirk. It seemed playtime was over… Like a lion letting the cubs play at predation before taking over to show how hunting was really done. 

You didn’t know if you were ready for that… Sure it was nothing he’d never seen before, but it was different. The last time, you didn’t do it with the intention to have him see you. He just happened to see you bare and you didn’t cover up when you realized. 

“I don’t have a box full of dirty magazines. I need to see somethin’,” he said, his eyes going down your frame like they had every right to be there. “Or you could leave these,” he said, holding your panties up in front of your eyes, “and run back home. What d’ya say?”

You swallowed, your hands shaking as you reached behind to find the zipper of your dress. You weren’t going to run off. Not when you’d been desperate for so long to do something, anything with him. Cold air kissed your back as you pulled the zipper down and the hairs on your body stood up in full attention. You pushed the sleeves off your shoulder and shimmied out of the dress, standing in just your dress in front of him. 

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. He looked you up and down. He tilted his head as he looked you up and down. He radiated superiority, putting you in some kind of a daze. “Your bra too. Show me your tits.” 

The crudeness had more wetness pooling between your legs. You nodded wordlessly, afraid that pathetic whimpers would be the only sound you’d make under his gaze. You reached behind and felt around for the clasp of your bra. With his eyes piercing into you, you failed to find it quickly like you usually did. Your mouth dried up, your tongue sticking to the roof. 

He made no effort to help. A mocking smile assumed its place on his lips as he watched you struggle in front of him. 

When you finally managed your task and stood fully naked, he stood up straight. His tongue darted out and licked his lips. You felt like a piece of meat placed in front of a starving man. Just seconds ago, you were telling yourself you didn’t need his approval, that this would just be revenge. But as he evaluated your body, your pussy wept with the need for your body to be nothing but what he liked.

“Room’s that way.” He nodded in the direction of the room. You turned around and took small steps, your shoulders curling inward and your head bowed in submission. Every inch of your skin burned with the strength of his gaze. 

“Kneel.” 

You placed your knee on his bed, ready to climb up. 

“On the floor.” 

One knee still on his white sheets, you turned around to look at him. He was so large. Imposing. The kind of figure you would follow without question. So, you did. 

“You look pretty on your knees.” 

He took a few steps towards you, stopping when the distance had your neck straightening to look up at him. Large, powerful, imposing. Another step and you were face-to-face with his crotch. His bulge was right there. 

“Go on, take it out. Since you wanted it so bad.” 

Joel didn’t think you would do it. You looked even smaller kneeling at his feet. Meek little thing. He didn’t at all expect you to taunt him the way you did. Especially after you threatened to tell on him to Maria. He fully expected you to start crying. Guess he really underestimated you. Virgin didn’t necessarily mean innocent. 

Yet you folded as soon as he took the reins. He saw the change in you right when he told you to take your clothes off. When your eyes went from determined to defeated. All that spunk evaporated to reveal the little girl underneath. He liked it like that. Made him feel like a real man. Not that there was any scarcity of masculinity in his life of taking out clickers and defending this town. But somethin’ about a beautiful woman accepting his authority did the trick faster than every other display of masculinity. 

Your hands fiddled with his belt, trembling as you tried to take it off. He stopped you with a hand on your wrist. “Just undo the zip.” 

No way he was going to get naked in front of a pretty little twenty something. It wasn’t anything great to look at even before he began a life of violence and traversing the wilderness. Sure he was well built from all the hard physical labor and constant fight for survival. It’d left several unappealing scars on his person. Time had done a number on him too. Especially his pudgy belly. It didn’t help that food flowed free in Jackson, fattening him up a little. 

Thankfully, you listened. You looked up, as though you expected him to complete the task for him. He challenged you with a look. Wanna be a big girl so bad, act like one.

You reached inside his pants and took his cock out. Your lips parted and he heard you inhale through your mouth. His cock hung in front of him, hard from your teasing. He had to give it to you, you were daring for a meek little thing. No one in town would believe him if he told them all that you’d done. And he suspected he didn’t even know the half of it.

“Not too late to back out, you know?” he said, wrapping his hand around himself. It took everything in him to give you an out. As much as he wanted to grab your face, force your mouth open and make you gag around him, he was man enough to let you know you didn’t have to do anything. Young girl probably bit more than you could swallow. And seeing his cock and your mouth so close by showed that he was definitely nothing you could swallow.

“I’m not backing out.” 

“First time seeing one?” 

“Of course not. I work at the clinic. You think I haven’t seen a penis?” 

“No anatomical terms. I ain’t your patient. Go on, touch my cock.” 

You reached up for him, but he stepped back, delighting himself in the disappointment on your face. “Come on, you want a man so bad, work for it.” 

You moved to stand up. “Did I say you could stand up?” 

“No.” 

“Then get back on your fucking knees.” 

You dropped to your knees and he groaned in satisfaction. The euphoria of wielding power over someone rushed through his veins. And he wanted more. It was the same sick satisfaction he got when he beat men to death. When he broke bones and dressed animals he hunted in the wild. “Good girl. You’re going to listen to what I say. Got it?” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

Fuck! That fucking word again.

“Come on, come get it. Hands and knees. Crawl to me.” 

He beckoned you forward with one hand, his other still on his cock. You bent over and god fucking damnit, you were a vision. You were an eager girl and he could see what you could become in the right hands. His hands. The things he could show you… Introduce you to your own body. Bring you pain and pleasure that were indistinguishable.

Your tits hung from your chest, swaying as you crawled towards him. Feverish, bright eyes followed him as he continued to refuse what you wanted. Too fucking late. He warned you. Told you men like him weren’t for pretty little things like you. But you didn’t fucking want to listen. Now you’d have to deal with the consequences. Maybe you’d stay away then. 

“Please, Sir,” you whined so prettily he almost gave in. 

“What are you begging for?” 

“You. Y-your penis.” 

“My cock,” he corrected. “Say it.”

“Your cock, Sir.” 

“Good girl. C’mere,” he said, giving you a nod to come closer. You crawled to him and when he didn’t back away, sat up on your knees. He placed his hand on the back of your neck and gripped your hair, making you hiss. Holding you in place, he brought his cock to your face. You looked up at it, your eyes widening and your mouth slackening. You brought your hand up and touched his tip with just your thumb. The rest of your hand followed, wrapping around him. He gasped silently as you stroked his slit with your thumb, making him leak precum on you. 

“Did…? Did you?” 

“No. Gotta do more ‘n that to make me come. That’s precum.” 

“Oh.” 

He didn’t think you knew what precum was. Probably not the focus of your education here. Not the most important thing when townsfolk came in injured after patrols or suffering from a fever that was life threatening without the medicines of the past. 

He pressed his cock against your cheek. The sight presented a visual of how you’d struggle if you took him in your mouth. He’d have you choking on him before you even took half. He twitched against your face at the mere thought. You were the picture of innocence, even with his cock on your face. Even with the stunt you pulled before he put you back in your place. 

“Think I’ll just do this. Fuck your pretty face.” 

You whimpered, spurring him on. He wanted to force himself inside you, punish your mouth for having the gall to speak to him the way you did. Make you cry from how full of him you were. Give you a sore throat so when you spoke to him again, you’d remember to speak with respect. But you wouldn’t be able to handle it. So he’d settle for defiling your sweet features, hold his cock against your cheek and rut like the animal he was.

“I ain’t gonna lay you out on my bed and take you nice and slow. I’m just gonna use you. ‘s what men like me do.”

He pulled away, giving you another opportunity to rethink this. “You can put your fucking clothes on and leave if you don’t like it.” 

To his surprise, you stayed put on your knees. You shook your head before reaching up and rubbing your cheek against his cock. You let out a soft moan, eyes closed and your thighs pressed together tight. “No, no. I like it.” 

“Fuckin’ slut,” he said, his hand back in your hair. He tugged at it and took his cock in his other hand. He tapped your lips with his tip, smearing the precum that leaked out of him. “You like an older man using your face like it’s a pussy?” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

He snorted, amused. “Never met a virgin slut before. Getting your face fucked before your pussy. Bet you’re wet from this.” 

There was the sweet little whimper from you again. He wanted to hear more of it. Trap you underneath him and make you weep and cry and whimper as he split you in half.

“Let me see. Touch your pussy, show me your slick.” 

You obeyed, spread your knees and touched yourself. Your hand glistened under the light of his bedroom, your wetness stretching between your fingers in strings. “Goddamn, would you look at that…” he said in a low rumble. “Rub it on my cock.” 

Your hand trembled slightly and you stared at him with a blank look in your eyes. He guided your hand to his cock, withdrawing his hand when he’d brought you close enough so you could decide whether you wanted to follow his command. You touched your slickened hand to his cock, covering him in the evidence that you wanted this. Wanted him. You reached between your legs and brought more of yourself, eyes soft yet glazed with lust as you smeared yourself all over his length. 

“Ask me for it.” 

“Please,” you whined. 

“Please, what?” 

“P-please fuck my face. Sir.” 

He returned his cock to your cheek, your wetness lubricating your face. Hand cradling his cock, he began to thrust. It wasnt much different from fucking his own fist. It was just skin. Not the tight velvety wetness of a pussy or a throat that would gag with his thickness. But your face was softer than his gun callused hands. Even better was your pretty face, looking up at him so adoringly… So full of desire. 

He didn’t have to let his imagination do the trick now. Not when you were right in front of him, lending yourself for his use. And no imagination, no memory did justice to you. Your body. Scarred, but beautiful. Tits that filled his large hands, clean and styled hair, a belly that showed you were well fed. He wanted to lay you out on his bed and consume you. Take your tits in his mouth, grab handfuls of your ass, spread your cunt lips and lodge himself inside you. Give it to you hard so your thigh jiggled and you felt them ache as they rubbed against each other when you walked around in your pretty little dresses. 

But as depraved as he was, he knew he shouldn’t be the first to take you. He’d have you just this once. Store your image in his head to get off with for as long as his dick worked. You acted all brave, but he couldn’t shake off that you were still inexperienced. The first time was meant to be good. The world was no longer normal, but you could have normality within the insular walls of Jackson. 

Even this was wrong. Using you like this instead of making sweet love to you. But he hadn’t been that man in a long time. He was selfish and cruel. If there was no town, no community where everyone knew everyone and you still threw yourself at him, he would’ve taken you in all your holes with no hesitation. Ruined you, kept you until your body wasn’t of use and tossed you aside. But being in this semi-normal place had gotten its claws into him. Softened him up.

He grew closer to the edge embarrassingly quickly, the haze of carnal pleasure beginning to muffle the voices screaming in his head to let you go. He only barely noticed that you were touching yourself. Enjoying this treatment of you. That spurred him on. There was no stopping now. 

You let out soft moans, your eyes never once leaving him. He struggled to get himself to focus. To check for any signs you didn’t want this. But all he saw was you on the precipice of pleasure. The world disappeared. His house, Jackson, the darkness that lay beyond. It was all him now. He felt lighter, like he would float out through the window and everything he’d ever been through would disappear. Every ounce of goodness quietened down, the last shreds of his morality discarded with your dress. He grunted and moaned your name as he kept fucking you. Your features morphed into nothingness. No longer a face, no longer a human woman. All he knew was the ache in his body, the tightness that begged to be released. 

He slapped a hand against the wall as his thighs stiffened and every muscle in the vicinity of his cock tightened. He took himself back in his hand and stroked himself over your face. Once, twice, and thr– mid stroke, he growled and spilled on your face, coating your innocent features in sticky white cum. You flinched as the first stream hit, screwing your eyes shut. He wanted to make you look, see how he could defile you, show you that he wasn’t for you. Force you to confront what you’d allowed into your life so you’d run and never look back. 

But all he could do was keep stroking as he came down from his high. It was unlike anything he’d had in the recent past. Not his imagination, not just his hand. A real human woman who wasn’t just a convenience. One who sought him out, stripped for him, and let him use her face like a toy. 

He took a minute to collect his breath and let his senses return to him. His cock hung semi-hard outta his jeans, like it could go again if he willed it. Like it wasn’t almost six decades old. But he wasn’t too surprised. He could go again for the utterly debauched girl in front of him. Innocence eclipsed by milky white ropes of his cum. Without thinking twice, he grabbed your hair and pulled at it. You yelped, but let him pull you up from the ground and drag you to the other side of the room. 

He stopped you in front of his mirror, and slapped your hand off your pussy before replacing it with his. “Look at yourself. I fucking told you,” he said, forcing two thick fingers inside your cunt. You sucked him in with little resistance, your cunt leaking enough for him to force a third finger inside you. You gasped and tried to wriggle away, but he wasn’t having it. He was a fucking monster, but he would never leave a woman unsatisfied. Especially a young thing who’d never had anyone else before. 

He wrapped his free hand around your throat, his half hard cock begging him to go again when he felt the vibrations of your moans. “I warned you,” he whispered into your ear. “Fuckin’ warned you. Told you how starved I was. And you still taunted me. Look at you now!” 

“Please… Please, Joel! Sir, please…” 

“Fuckin’ slut. Maybe you ain’t really a virgin.” 

“I am, I am, I promise. I wa–” you cut yourself off with a gasp as he pressed his thumb on your clit. 

“What was that?” 

You made some incoherent noises, too far gone to form words. Yet you managed to thrust onto his fingers and roll your hips like a real natural. 

“Joel…” 

“I know, pretty girl… I know,” he cooed, the softness in his voice contradicting how he’d used you just minutes prior. Contradicting the cum on your pretty little face. 

“You gonna come for me? Give me another one after you came so sweetly on my fingers that day?” 

There were no answers from you. Not even an acknowledgement that you heard him. Just whines and moans as you let him support your entire weight. Your head lolled back on his shoulder and your eyes rolled back into your skull as he fucked you stupid with just his fingers. Oh the things he could do with his cock… Reach deeper, take the virginity you’d held on to for so long. If he ever had you, he would never let go. He was too selfish a man to willingly lose a girl so precious after taking her cunt. 

You gripped him like a vice, so tight he couldn't pry his fingers out. Something that vaguely sounded like his name spilled from your lips as you crumpled in his arms. Your pussy pulsated around you as he held you against him, unwilling to remove himself from you so quickly. 

He withdrew your panties from his pocket– the fresh pair you took off in his fucking hallways like it was no big deal. He wiped your face with it the same way he cleaned up your cunt that day. Instead of tucking it in his pocket, he forced it into your hand. 

“Put it on. Your fucking dress, too. Hope you learned you fucking lesson.”

As you put it on and scampered away naked into his hallways, he hoped it would be enough to scare you away. But he knew in his heart of hearts that he would always crave you like an addict craving a drink.

⌘

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[strawbeerossi]

August || Chapter One

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Chapter Description: After a few days, you are back at the office whenever you have an emotional outburst over the JJ/Spencer situation. That leaves you to have a soul shattering boundary you need to put into place.

Content/Warnings: Drama in the workplace, mentions of questioning self worth, Penelope is the best friend ever (duh), horrible friends, Spencer is an ass (again, sorry lmao)

WC: 2K

Navigation || August Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Request

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“I don’t think I can come in today. I’m sick." You spoke to Emily over the phone, even feigning a cough, as you were just hoping she’d fall for it. It was only a few days after the wedding, the whole water in the face incident creeping up to embarrass you. 

“You can’t avoid them forever, you know. Now come to the office. All you need to do is work and then go home. No need to talk to JJ or Spencer.” The unit chief spoke over the phone, her tone making you just feel the disapproving look on her face. 

“Fine..” You huffed a bit while pushing yourself up from your couch, already dressed for the day, anyway. “I’ll be there soon.” With a defeated sigh, you were hanging up the phone and pocketing the device. It would be a good day, right? All you had to do was get through it.

The drive to the office was horrible, feeling nauseous with each mile you drove. Most people would assume that after your small outburst at the wedding, you’d feel better. That was far from the case. The action just made you feel worse, knowing that Spencer nor JJ attempted to follow you out, to explain themselves. There was radio silence from both of them.

You probably should’ve expected that. 

As you arrived at the dreaded building and parked in the parking garage, it wasn’t long until you were on the elevator and on your way up to the floor you needed to get to. The more you stood there, the sicker you felt. Facing two people who you are forced to work with is going to do nothing but hurt you even further. You could quit, although then you’d be homeless. Putting in a transfer was a good option, even if you’d miss your other teammates. 

The sound of the elevator’s ding was tearing you from your thoughts, your steps deliberately smaller and slower just to take the last few seconds to prepare yourself. The minute your hand was on the glass doors of the bullpen, you knew there was no more hiding. 

Much to your surprise, the team was too busy at their desks to even look up. Thank god. You quietly approached your desk, your purse being placed underneath, as you took your seat. That got everyone’s attention.

“Hey.” Luke spoke first, a smile on his face. “You’re later than you usually are, was worried we’d have to come get you.” He joked, causing Tara to laugh softly from her desk.

“We would’ve been there too. It isn’t a good workday when you’re not here.”

At least you knew the rest of the team considered you as a friend. No way they’d ever do the things JJ and Spencer did to you. Just thinking of them had a frown on your face, your eyes on a file that you’d opened previously. 

“Well, I couldn’t leave my favorite people hanging, could I?” You finally broke the silence while offering a forced smile. The idea of a transfer just made you feel horrible now. You were stuck here, no escape in sight.

While you were working on a case file you’d neglected, it wasn’t long before the door was opening again. This time, there was laughter and lighthearted discussion from two very distinct voices that you recognized. God damn it.

It was best to keep your eyes down, even though you could feel every person’s eyes burning into your skin, just waiting for a reaction. You felt like a circus act, expected to perform based on one interaction you had a few days ago.

The three of you didn’t even have to look each other in the eyes in order to make the whole room thick with tension that the strongest knife couldn’t even cut. “Can we be adults? I really don’t wanna discuss what happened.” JJ spoke up, knowing the attention was on all three of you. 

The audacity of her wanting to move on was what made you finally turn around, your ears heating from the anger that was still deep inside you. “Are you kidding me? You wanna be an adult and not get questions?” You asked, unable to help the laugh that fell from your lips. “Here’s a question that I know you want to be asked; How’s Will doing? Judging by how you wasted his time for.. Eleven years? Better yet, how are Michael and Henry? I think that someone needs to look out for them.” Venom seeped deep into every syllable.

She had a family. A husband who loved her, children who adored her and needed her. Yet here she was, with a man who she hadn’t even shown any interest in. The whole situation made you sick to even think about.

“That’s not fair.” The blonde spoke up, visibly hurt by the topic being brought up. The absolute fucking nerve. 

“You’re right. It’s not fair. It’s not fair to Will and the boys at all. I guess you didn’t stop to think about them, did you?”

“Enough!” Emily snapped from the doorway of her office, arms crossed over her chest. “This is ridiculous. The last thing any of us need is you two bickering all the time. I suggest you solve this and let it go. I will not deal with the bullshit. I’m sorry.” 

The frustration of your unit chief made you take a breath, putting your hands up. “I can’t pretend like this is right and I will not endorse this fraud of a relationship. If you choose to fire me, that’s fine.” Your built up anger and hurt made you push in your chair, your purse on your arm as you were storming out of the bullpen.

Penelope was the one that caught you in the hallway as you were making your escape. “Wait!” She screamed, quickly following behind you and grabbing your arm before you could make it to the elevator. “Come hang out with me for a little bit. Don’t make any rash decisions.” 

You didn’t answer, instead just letting the tech analyst pull you behind her into the safety of the batcave. As soon as that heavy door was closed and you realized you were with one of your best friends, it was like the dam holding in all your tears had been burst open as a hot stream of tears was running down your cheeks.

“Oh, honey..” Penelope frowned softly as she was letting her arms wrap around your body, giving you a tight squeeze as she was rubbing your back. “It’s okay, you can sit in here as long as you want. We will just tell Emily that you need some Garcia time.” Everyone could benefit from such time. 

You were forced into one of the chairs while the bubbly blonde grabbed one of her many phones to inform Emily on what was going on. “Just so you know, I don’t think you’re wrong for feeling the way you do. I would be just as upset.” She assured, the woman now sitting down beside you while gently holding your hand. “I just think that you should maybe calm down a bit. We don’t need any physical fights.” 

“I can’t help it, Pen. Why? Why would JJ encourage me to tell Spencer how I feel about him and then jump on him at the next opportunity. She has a family.” You knew that she wouldn’t have a concrete answer for you but you had to admit, it was nice just ranting to her about it. “It also hurts knowing that Spencer just.. Stopped talking to me. It made me feel like I was a placeholder for her. Like he was just entertaining himself until what he truly wanted came around..” 

There was a soft silence between you both, though it was soon being broken whenever there was a knock on the door. “Come in!” Penelope called to the mystery guest, although the both of you were in a stunned silence whenever Spencer Reid was poking his head through the door. 

“I come in peace, just let me talk.” 

“Too little, too late. I don’t wanna hear it.” You spoke, standing your ground.

Instead of taking the hint, the man just entered the room before closing the door behind him. “I understand that you’re mad at me, pissed at me even. I can handle it. That being said, I don’t want trouble. I came to personally apologize. I was a shitty friend to you these past few days with not reaching out.” 

“You are a shitty friend, Spencer. You know, I thought you were supposed to be by my side. I don’t expect you to be madly in love with me but what kind of friend ignores someone for days? What kind of friend makes their friend feel unimportant and makes them question their self worth?” You asked, keeping your composure as you were going to put everything on the table.

“I think you’re a horrible friend. Not just to me but to Will. I think you’re a horrible person who broke up a family. JJ may have left Will but you didn’t even stop and try to make her consider her husband. You were selfish.”

It seemed like a sobering realization, judging by the way Spencer’s eyes widened and his body went stiff. He needed to hear that, even if he wasn’t planning on changing things. “I- Wow. I don’t know what to say,” He let out an awkward chuckle as his hand rubbed the back of his neck. 

“I’m sure you don’t. Doesn’t sound like a good situation whenever someone says it out loud, does it?” You asked, voice cracking toward the end of the sentence as you were clearing your throat. “I just want you to know that I have no interest in talking to you outside of work. I think it’s best for you just to stay away.” A necessary boundary that killed you inside, however it needed to be put into place. 

“You don’t mean that. I don’t wanna lose you permanently like that. Please, just take some time to consider.”

“You lost me the moment that you chose to devote every ounce of your time to someone who didn’t ever say that she wanted to be with you until the night you were in a hostage situation together.” 

“We weren’t even dating, listen to yourself. We had sex, what, a few times? I hardly find that as something serious, especially whenever you never even seemed like you objected to the thought of something casual.” 

“Spencer Reid!” Penelope’s horrified voice was what solidified that you weren’t crazy, that he was in the wrong just as much as you could be.

You wanted to scream, punch him, cry, and just lose it. This wasn’t the place for such outbursts but you knew that the minute you got out of everyone’s line of sight, you were going to shatter. 

Your nights spent with Spencer were something you cherished. The way he’d touch you, the way he’d hold you.. It just felt like there was something real there, the potential for a love story that you could read about in novels, see in movies, even hear in songs. Instead, you were casted off as a casual plaything. There was no care behind the long nights spent tangled in one another’s embrace. 

“You know,” There was a laugh erupting, your arms over your chest. “JJ is gonna get bored of you. If she can leave her husband, she will leave you too. I think the day she does that is the day that you will feel the same way that I do. And you know what? I hope it fucking hurts. I hope she keeps you up at night wondering why you weren’t good enough.” 

With that, you were done. Emily would most definitely be calling you in her office for a meeting in the morning, so you just grabbed your bag and walked to the elevator.

You said what you needed to say and you thought it would make you feel relieved, instead, there was more hurt than you could’ve possibly fathomed. 

How stupid you were to think that he actually saw something in you.

[verstappen-cult]

#. . . Five times Max refuses to acknowledge he’s sick + one time he does.

request made by @lucien-calore. . . “hi, you asked for a max request and i shall deliver! can i please have a sickfic where max refuses to acknowledge he's sick (a flu or something, nothing too serious) but when he does, he acts like a drama queen?”

#1

You’re making dinner when you hear Max coughing from his streaming room, then the laughs of his friends making fun of him. 

You don’t think too much about it. That is until he can’t stop coughing while you’re eating, and when you’re getting ready for bed, and at all during the night. 

It’s only in the morning, as you’re making breakfast and he’s feeding the cats, when you decide to say something. 

“Baby?” You say, trying to look nonchalant while making the eggs. 

“Yes?” He puts the cat food away and makes his way to you. Max hugs your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “What happens?”

“I’m gonna go to the pharmacy after pilates, do you need anything?” 

Max hums, like actually thinking about it before saying, “No, love. Got everything I need.”

“You sure? Nothing for that cough you have?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He kisses your cheek and pulls away, grabbing an apple. “I’m gonna be streaming, make sure to say goodbye before you leave, okay?”

#2

“Are you okay?” It’s the fourth time in less than an hour that Max enters the kitchen to fill his bottle of water.

“Yeah, it’s just that all the singing and screaming at the concert last night left me with a sore throat.”

You try not to laugh but it’s impossible. It’s been three days since he started with that horrible cough, which hasn’t stopped, but he still doesn’t understand that he’s probably sick. 

“Max, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t that.” You close the book and get up from the couch, he looks confused as you get closer and place your hand on his forehead. “Jesus, Max, you’re burning up!” 

“I’m hot, don’t you think?” 

“Max, I’m serious, you got a fever.” 

“It’s probably nothing,” He reassures you by placing a kiss on your cheek before turning around. “I fell asleep on the terrace. I’m gonna take a shower, okay?” 

“Max, I swear to God—”

“You look hot when you’re angry.” That’s the last thing he says, walking away. 

“Max!” 

#3

It's impossible. You’ve tried everything to make Max understand that he’s sick and needs to rest, but he won’t admit it.

This morning you practically begged him to stay in bed to rest and recover, but he did not listen to you, saying that it was nothing — as he’s been saying all week — and actually dragged you to the Padel court because ‘I’m gonna win this time’. 

Dani’s visiting, so, everyone got together to spend Sunday morning at their favorite place, promising to go to brunch after. But it’s been three hours and they have just finished the second game. Who’s fault is that? Max’s. 

It’s no secret that Max is not very good at Padel, but now that he’s sick it’s been torture. Every couple of minutes they have to stop the game for him to cough, so it’s been impossible to actually play and he doesn’t want to give up. 

And it’s worse because Charles is his partner. Only a look at the Monégasque and you know he wants to murder him. 

“Max,” You call his name, leaving your book aside and walking closer to the wall that’s separating both of you. “you’re sick, why don’t we go home?”

“But, baby, I really think I can win this one.”

“No you won’t!” Lando shouts from across the court as he’s stretching. 

“Oh shut u—”

“Max, I’m serious.” You don’t know what else to do at this point. He’s always been so stubborn, but this has reached new levels. 

“I’m gonna win this for you, baby.” He winks and turns around to join the rest of the group. 

#4

“Max? Why are you still in bed?” You enter the room, gaze immediately going to the watch on the nightstand. It’s two in the afternoon. He never stays in bed past ten, not even during winter or summer break. 

“Jus’ tired.” He mumbles, face hidden in the pillows. 

“I’m gonna make you a cup of tea, okay?” You sit next to him, stroking his hair. 

“Don’t want a cup of tea,” He opens his eyes, looking up at you and pouting. It makes you giggle. “I want you.”

“I won’t kiss you until you admit you’re sick.”

“That’s so unfair!” He pouts again, this time grabbing your arm and trying to make you lie next to him. “I’m not sick. I’m like super healthy.” You snort, shaking your head and standing up. 

“Then, no kisses for you.”

Max groans, hiding his face under the blankets. “I can survive without your kisses, you know.” 

That makes you laugh because you know Max, and you know how much he likes to kiss you at every opportunity. The chances of Max keeping that promise… Impossible.

“Whatever gets you through the night, Maxie.”

#5

“Hey, baby.” Max places a kiss on your cheek as you leave the grocery bags on the kitchen table. “You got everything for tonight?”

“Yes. I already talked with your mom and they’ll be here at around nine.” Max helps you put the groceries away, frowning when he sees some medicine and a special broth he knows perfectly well among the things you will need for dinner tonight.

“What's this?”

You try to hide a smile, pretending to be busy with anything just to keep you from looking at him. “Your mom said you used to love it as a kid.”

“Yeah,” He says, still confused. “when I was sick.”

“You are sick, Max. I don’t know how many times I need to tell you this.”

“I am not!” He huffs, rolling his eyes. You can see from the irritated expression on his face that he's tired of you repeating the same thing over and over again. “I’m gonna go play for a little bit.”

You grab his hand before he can walk away, pulling him closer to you. “Hey,” Max raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to talk. But you cup his cheeks instead, placing a soft kiss on his lips. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m worried, I don’t want you to get worse.”

“Yeah, whatever.” 

You can only watch as he leaves the room, Jimmy following closely behind. 

“Well, I tried.” You mumble, looking at Sassy perched on the counter. She meows and you’re glad at least someone understands you.

+1

“Schatje?” You hear Max’s hoarse voice say. 

“Mmh?” It’s your answer, busy peeling some vegetables. “What happens?”

He hesitates for a second, you see from the corner of your eyes how he avoids looking at you, which makes you stop and turn your attention to your boyfriend. 

“I’m sick.” He whispers, surprising you. But he deserves a little teasing. 

“What? I didn’t hear you.” You play dumb, and Max sees right through you. 

“You were right, okay? I was being an idiot.”

“Yes, you were.” He pouts, making you feel warm all over. You walk to him, placing your hand on his forehead. “You have a fever. Why don’t you go lie down on the couch, uh? I’ll heat up the broth.” 

“I’m sorry for being an idiot.” He breathes into the air, blushing all the way from his cheeks to his neck. You know that admitting when he’s wrong is not something easy for him.

“I know, baby. But,” You reach up and boop Max on the nose with your index finger. “I’m gonna take care of you, okay?”

“But I wanted to help you, everyone’s about to arrive.” 

“Worry about what your mom will say once I tell her how stubborn you have been.” He sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. “If you’re a good boy and take the medicine, I’ll think about giving you a… reward.”

If Max takes the medicine and finishes all the broth is only because he wants to get better. It has nothing to do with the reward you’re going to give him tonight.

[thebestofoneshots]

birthday girl | marauders x reader

Pairing: J.P. x S.B. x R.L x Female Ravenclaw Reader Word Count: 3.8 k Warnings: none Prompt: It's your birthday but you're sick. The boys are just total darlings and care for you no matter the risks, making sure you have a super happy speacial day regardless. Comfort Fic // Birthday fic Written for @kquil

Soooo… thanks to @kquil's 1k follower celebration we discovered our birthdays are super close together, and it made me so excited I had to ask when her birthday was exactly and then I knew and then I had this idea in my head. 

And gosh, Kquil, I absolutely love the way you write love, so I wanted to make a little something for you. Hope you’re having a fantastic day sweetie, even if you’re sick with that goddamned awful virus, it feels like shit, I know it does, so I thought, perhaps a little comfort fic could make you feel better. 

This is just a little gift I wanted to make, a token of appreciation for you always sharing your lovely fluffy fics (that honestly make my days brighter)  with us, hope you enjoy <3

You woke up with a headache, sighting as you shut your eyes close again, the brightness coming from the large castle windows causing you to wince. You had felt the signs, the sore throat, the mild headaches and stomach pain, you were well aware you were getting sick but you honestly hoped your body would hold at least after your special day to break down. 

Hopes be damned, it was your birthday and you felt like shit, actually, no, you felt like you had been run over by a truck, which was slightly worse. You took your wand out and cast a spell to muffle the sounds of the already waking castle, especially the sound of your roommates, whom you adored but were too loud for your sick mind to tolerate. You grabbed your pillow and placed it over your head, groaning from how uncomfortable and sore you felt, you’d hoped the pillow would at least muffle the sound a little, no such luck, since just minutes after Mal was popping her head through your curtains and looking at you with brows furrowed in concern. 

“You all right luv?” 

You shook your head in response finally lowering down the pillow from your face, “feel like shit,” you admitted. “Remember I mentioned my throat was feeling funny?” Mal nodded “Well, it looks like it finally decided to give in.” And it really did, it felt like sandpaper every time you said a word. 

“Hold up a sec,” she said and pulled her head out “Hey Sage, do you still have those lemon caught drops we made in potions last month?” 

“Yeah, why?” 

“Sweet!” she said, you heard her step away and the rest of the conversation was toned out by your charm, after less than a minute later, Mal popped her head back in, small cystal jar in her hands “There you go love,” she said with a smile “Happy Birthday!” 

You chuckled and took the jar from her hands, cranking it open and placing one of the yellow candies in your mouth “Thanks!” you said with a smile. 

From the other side, Sage popped her head “Happy birthday sweetheart,” she said with a smile. 

You smiled at the two girls, shaking your head as you continued to suck on the candy, it was nice to know you had them in your life. You then heard the door creak open and another girl poped her head next to Mal “Hey luv, Happy Birthday!” she said, and then waved her hand, a tower of pancakes with a candle on top appeared on the side of your bed, you sat up, smiling wildly, and completly ignoring the headache and soreness. 

“This is– Thank you girls…” you said, looking at them with a grateful smile, making room for them to sit on the bed.

“Only the best for our best girl,” Eryn said with a wink as she sat on the edge. 

“She’s feelin’ sick thought,” Sage added, with a small pout. 

“The cough drops–“ 

“–we’ve already given them to her,” interrupted Mal “How’s the throat?” 

“Much better,” you said honestly, the caught drops really were doing their magic “The headache and the soreness is still there, unfortunately.” 

Sage pouted now, looking at you with a bit of a frown as you munched on your pancakes “Eating will make you feel better. You can skip breakfast if you want.” 

“Oh no, she can’t,” Eryn said shaking her head. “There’s a certain someone waiting for her just outside. And he looked just about to pick up a fight with the eagle for not letting him in.” 

You opened your eyes in shock “Don’t tell me it’s…” 

“Yup,” Eryn said with a smile “he might bring the door down if you don’t actually get out.” 

You shook your head in disbelief but nodded “I better hurry then.”

“You sure luv?” Sage asked “We can tell him to screw off and come back when you’re feeling better.”

You shook your head “I’ll just pass by Pomfrey before class or something,” you said with a smile and the three girls nodded, they were already wearing their uniforms, blue ties shining over their crisp white shirt. 

“You done?” Mal asked, pointing at your plate, you nodded and she vanished it right after. You looked at her surprised “I’ve been practicing evanesco lately.” 

You nodded and made an O in between your thumb and finger to indicate it’d been a fantastic casting. She nodded excitedly in response and the three girls went back to their respective beds. You stood from your bed, taking a long deep breath as you felt the pain and soreness after moving just a little, and started to slowly put your uniform on. 

You struggled so much while attempting to tie the tie with your scrambled mind that you decided to leave it as is, and deal with it later, genuinely worried one of the boys would actually break the door down if you took too long. You grabbed your bag and lousily threw your books and some parchment inside before walking out of your room and towards the entrance of the common room. 

The door opened easily and the first thing you spotted was his bright red converses, tapping against the stone floor impatiently. He ran straight to you and pulled you into a bone-crushing hug, which you enjoyed as much as it made you squirm, the pain in your muscles being very present. He started to slather soft kisses over your face when you gently pushed him off you. He looked at you with concern, trying to search for what was going on in your eyes. 

“I’m sick,” you told him, still trying to move away from his grasp. 

“Don’t care,” he said pulling you into a hug again. You shook your head but hid your face on his chest either way 

“You’re gonna catch my cold.” 

“Will be worth it as long as I can hug my birthday girl,” he said, still hugging you “And kiss her,” he whispered sneakily. 

“James!” you whined, It was already hard enough to resist his charm without him actively trying to charm you. 

“What’s the plan today?” 

“Class, probably,” you said with a shrug and went back to look at your tie, attempting to tie it by yourself, only to groan and let it hang over your neck either way. 

James frowned “You have a headache, don’t you?” You nodded as you leaned into his chest, not bothering to answer. 

“And my whole body aches, I’m more sore than that one time we fell off the broom.” 

James winced, remembering how bad that time had been “Moony should have something to help, let’s go!” He said, grabbing your hand and pulling you along with him. 

“Where are we going?” You asked as you allowed him to pull you along. 

“Gryffindor common rooms,” he said as he sneaked the two of you behind a statue. 

“Your portrait’s not gonna let me in.” 

James stopped and turned to you, taking your tie in between his hands and gently pulling it off your shoulders, it slid right off easily. He placed it in his pocket and took off his own, placing it over your head and accommodating the neck of your shirt with ease. 

“The tie wasn’t the only…” you started, but he was already taking off his vest and putting it over your head. “But what about the…” With a swish of his wand, your robes turned wine red instead of blue. You started at the boy in disbelief “Could’ve just charmed my entire uniform instead…” 

He shrugged “Maybe, but you look too cute in my clothes, there was no chance I passed the opportunity up.” You smiled and shook your head at his antics, he placed his hand over yours again and started dragging the two of you through the passageways until you were just outside of his common room. You stood beside him with an awkward smile as he told the lady the password. You swore she threw you a look, but instead of saying anything she just smiled, as if she knew something that you didn’t, and allowed the two of you to come inside. 

You noticed some stares on James, but no one dared to say a thing as he pulled you along the stairs and towards his room, when he opened the door you spotted your two other boyfriends inside, Sirius was buttoning up his shirt and Remus was lacing up his boots. 

“Happy birthday dove,” he said when he spotted you, finishing the bow he was working on and walking towards you in three long strides, he placed a hand on the top of your head, letting it gently fall down as he brought your forehead to his lips “what brings you here?” 

“James,” you joked, you saw Sirius finish up his buttoning and he ran up to you, planting a kiss right on your lips, but you pushed him off with a worried expression and attempted to wipe his face with the sleeve of your hand. 

“What’s with her?” Sirius asked when he finally managed to get your arm off his face.

“Says she’s sick,” responded James.

“I AM sick!” you said “I had a cough drop in the morning, my head is dizzy and everything hurts. That’s why James brought me here.” 

“I should have something to lift your spirits,” Remus said thoughtfully as he moved towards his desk and started rummaging through his medicine cabinet.

Sirius pouted “Does that mean you won’t kiss me today?” 

“Well, I don’t want you to get sick too.” 

“But it’s your birthday,” he argued “You should get all the kisses in the world.” 

“Not at the expense of my boyfriends getting sick.” 

Remus came over again, handing you a small potion “Should help with the pain and headache,” he said as he handed it over to you. 

You took it in one go, “How long will it take for it to… oh.”

“Yeah,” Remus nodded with a smile “Pomfrey gave me the recipe for that time of the month, it’s great innit?” 

You nodded in response and Sirius inched closer “Does that mean I can kiss you now.” 

“Not because I don’t feel sick does it mean I’m not,” you scolded. 

“What if we take something to stop us from getting your cold?” 

“Is there such a potion?” James asked. 

“‘Course there is, isn’t there Moony?” Sirius said looking straight at the boy in question, who quickly deciphered Sirius’ intentions and nodded “Yeah, yeah… I’ve got some in my closet.” 

You narrowed your eyes at the boys, you knew of no such potion, but your head was a bit too cloudy to argue, and Remus was better at potions than you were anyway so you decided to trust them in this one. 

Remus grabbed a small potion and they divided it between the three. Sirius smiled and brought you close to his face “Wicked! Now do I get to slather you with kisses?” 

You looked at the boy, his curls falling beautifully at the side of his head, there was a slight blush on your cheeks as you nodded, but you weren’t quite sure if the blush was because of Sirius’ beautiful face, his adoring eyes, or because you were getting a fever, or perhaps all three. 

He leaned in and placed a kiss on your eye “Happy birthday love,” he said and pressed a kiss on your other eye “Happy birthday,” he said and then pressed another kiss, this time on your cheek “Happy birthday...” 

And he would’ve gone on, but James stopped him, removing the boy from your face, which earned him a glare “All right, that’s enough, you’re hogging her!” 

“We should get to class,” you said as you grabbed Remus’ wrist and brought it closer to your face to check the time on his watch. It was something you did rather often, and Remus enjoyed it a lot more than he let on. There was nothing like the soft touch of your hands over his wrist, over anywhere on his body, if he was honest. 

“Should we?” asked James as he placed a hand on your forehead “I don’t know sweetheart, it seems to me like you’re a bit too sick for class.” 

You looked at him in disbelief “Too sick for class but not too sick to kiss you?” 

“Hey I don’t make the rules,” he said raising his hand with a diverted smile “What do you think Pads? Does she look well enough for class?” 

The boy in question placed a hand on your cheek, and looked at you attentively “Now that you mention it Prongs,” he said slowly “Our lovely Kquill does look a bit pale, doesn’t she?” 

You took his hand off your face and turned to Remus, hoping he’d be the only sensible person left “Come on Rem, you know we have to go to class don’t you?” 

He tilted his head “How many classes have you missed this year Sweetheart?” 

“I…uh-“ 

“–She hasn’t missed any,” James said, very sure of his answer. 

“I have.” 

“Really? Which one?” 

“I… I missed History of Magic last month.” 

“And what else?” asked Sirius, stepping closer now.

You looked to the side “No-nothing else.” 

“Then, my love,” Remus started “I think it’s best if you stay and rest. You said it yourself, just because you don’t feel sick anymore it doesn’t mean you’re not.”

James smiled and placed his hand over your shoulders “There we go sweets, Doctor Moony’s orders. You’re stayin’” 

“What, you mean here?” 

Sirius nodded, and with a wave of his wand both his bed and Remus were next to each other, making a huge one, another wave and there was soft rock playing in the background.

You raised your eyebrows “There we go luv, we can chill and listen to some of your favourite tunes,” he said with a smile “Your mixtape’s on.” 

You still looked at the boy in disbelief, and then you heard a knock on their window. James frowned but approached it either way, an owl was waiting there, with a letter on its beak. James grabbed it and took a treat out of his pocket to feed the owl who hooted merrily before leaving, “It’s for you,” he said, walking towards you again. 

“For me?” You asked confused. 

“Yeah, go ahead, sit on the bed, you can read there more comfortably,” he added and held the letter between his hands as you tried to reach for it “Sit on the bed, I’ll bring it over,” he insisted. 

You rolled your eyes and did as told “May I have my letter now?” 

James nodded and handed it over, you looked at it and a smile grew on your face as you read the envelope “Oh! It’s from my brother!” you said as you unfolded it and started reading its contents. He was wishing you a very happy birthday, telling you how much he loved you but not to let it go to your head, and he also told you to kick Sirius in the balls if he kept trying funny things. 

“What’s with the hate?” the boy said as he read the letter from over your head. You laughed, your brother had been the one to leave you at the station that summer, and he had seen Sirius approach and hug you from behind. But then he’d also seen the boy dig his head into your neck and give you a whiff, long story short, he thought Sirius was weird and that you should stay away from him. Of course, he had no clue Sirius was an animagus, and a dog no less. 

You shrugged “He’s crazy let him be.” 

“I just hope he doesn’t actually kick me on the balls next time we meet.” 

“Don’t be so dramatic Puppy,” you told him as you ruffled his hair, he let his entire head fall over your lap then, looking at you contently. What a twat, you thought looking straight into his eyes and charming smile as you continued playing with his hair. Your brother had also left a couple of galleons on the letter, for you to buy yourself something next time you went to Hogmeade. Which is why you stopped playing with Sirius’ hair and left the letter on the table, the boy complaining just seconds afterwards. 

James and Remus joined the two on the bed eventually and chilled for a while, Remus took out a book and you asked him to read out loud for you to listen, and he did, he was reading Peter Pan, and the story put you in a surprisingly good mood, even if you were in that place between sleep an awake as his soft and yet deep voice gently soothed you to sleep. 

When you woke up the lights were off, you heard a couple of whispers coming from the door and you felt Sirius shift, you wondered how you’d ended up leaning on his chest but then you heard Remus whisper a spell and suddenly a bunch of candles had turned on and he and James were approaching you with the cake on his hands. You smiled, at their silly antics, the three of them started singing Happy Birthday.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear–“ they started. But the three of them said their own pet names to you which is why it turned into a completely uneven choir of “dove”, “Love of my life” and “Kquil”. Which obviously had you giggling. 

“Come on make a wish,” James said once the cake was close enough. 

You stared at him, taking a deep breath and leaning in to blow the candles, closing your eyes as you made your wish, more of this, you thought, more of them.

“Can we turn on the lights?” 

James shook his head “We certainly can’t.” 

“But I want to see the cake!” you said, “Where did you get it?” 

“James made it sweetheart,” Sirius informed “That’s why he doesn’t want you to see it.” 

You smiled at that and fetched your wand from the bed, using it to turn the light on and look at the cake, you smiled, they had used your favourite colour for the cover, and it was lopsided and uneven, with a “Happy Birthday Kquil” written with white on top. That was definitely Sirius’ handwriting, you could tell since it was the neatest part of the cake. You wonder how he could write it if you had been laying on his chest, but perhaps it was one of those mysteries you would never decipher. 

“I love it,” you said honestly, as you dipped your finger in the soft buttercream and threw it in your mouth “Did you put flavouring on it?” 

James smiled and nodded “It was Remus’s idea, to use extract of your favourite fruit.” 

You smiled at the three boys, “Now give it a bite!” Sirius said, still from behind. 

“What?” you asked in disbelief “Aren’t er gonna cut it?” 

“Nah, it’s just for us,” James said “We brought spoons and we’ll eat it straight from the plate.

“That’s ridiculous!” 

“It’s economic,” said Remus “less dishwashing.” 

You gasped “You don’t do the dishwashing, Remus! The elves do.” 

He shrugged “Yeah, less work for them, isn’t that better?” 

You scoffed but smiled, “Fine then, with spoons it is.” 

“But you still have to bite,” James insisted. 

“What for?” You asked him. 

“Cause it’s your birthday,” Sirius responded, “go ahead, give it a bite.” 

You rolled your eyes but finally leaned into the cake, close enough to give it a small bite, and then you felt a hand push your head into the cake, you sprang back out with a gasp completely surprised and feeling a little betrayed by the boys.

“What the hell was that?” 

“A tradition we read about in an old book,” James said with a shrug “They say is for good luck.” 

“Good luck my ass,” you said as you started to wipe the buttercream with your hands, until you an idea popped into your head, with your hands filled with the creamy thing and them looking at you diverted and completely unassuming, you extended your hands towards both Sirius and James’ faces, successfully slathering with the meringue. 

“How dare you?” James gasped with an amused expression. 

“I’m just sharing the luck,” you said with a shrug and a small, innocent-looking smile. 

Sirius was cleaning his face and hair, who’d also been the victim of the buttercream slathering, “Why is it that only me and James that got this mistreatment?” 

You shrugged “Something tells me it was your idea,” you said as you shrugged and grabbed some of the cream from your face and dipped it in your mouth. Remus took his wand, and with a short spell vanished all the cream from your faces. 

“Can we eat now?” he asked with a smile, handing everyone their own spoon. The cake might have been a little lacking on the decoration part, but the taste was so on point you asked James three times if he really had baked it himself. 

“He did! I saw him!” Sirius said, “He was carefully measuring the ingredients and all.” 

Maybe it’s the potioneer in him, you thought as you continued enjoying the cake, the rest of the night went on in fits of laughter and singing along to your favourite song, talking with the boys and in general just passing the time with them. It was absolutely lovely, even your sick birthday had been one of your best birthdays. 

Later that week you figured the boys had lied to you and that the “contagion prevention” potion didn’t actually exist. You smacked them playfully but took soup up to their room several times. You still had James’ tie, and the lady from the portrait seemed to always be willing to let you in.

“Go take care of your boys,” she told you one time with the same enigmatic smile as the one on your birthday.

A/N: Hope you like this little thing sweetheart, and I hope it makes you feel better, even if it’s just a lil wee bit. It sucks to be sick on your birthday, but I’m sure you’ll be back up in no time, enjoying time with friends and loved ones, lysm. 

PS. Sorry is there are any spelling mistakes, I really wanted to get this out and ready for you to read and I couldn’t spell check like usually…

[angrygirlromero]

PERFECTION — LUKE CASTELLAN

A/N: hi! I’d just like to say that this is based on the show, because I haven’t read the books as yet, and I’m so very in love with Luke and don’t worry I do know what happens to him, so hope you like it!

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Apollo fem reader

Warnings: established relationship, mentions of asma attacks, bad parenting, soft luke, possible grammar mistakes.

REQUEST ARE OPEN! For: pjo, got, Saltburn, hotd, hunger games, fnaf, etc.

——————————————————————————

Adeline Basset had always been a daddy’s girl, doing everything in her power to prove herself worthy of her father’s affection no matter what it was or what it took, and even without all her efforts, Apollo would’ve still call her his favorite.

The Apollo girl had been in the infirmary all morning long attending to a young Ares boy with asma problems, “I know it’s the third time this week” explain the boy in embarrassment to his elder sister, Clarisse shook her head slightly in disapproval lifting her hand to play with younger boy’s hair, “it’s alright nick, if you ever feel the least bit breathless then just tell me” said Clarisse with a sympathetic smile.

“Now that you’re better remember you have training in an hour so go ahead I’ll catch up with you” ordered the Ares girl to which her half sibling nodded before getting off the infirmary bed, “thanks so much Adi” said the little boy with a grin, “anytime” to which Adeline replied with a friendly smile as she put away the tools she had used to get the boy’s breathing under control.

Leaving the two girls alone Clarisse spoke up, “I’m sorry about the timing” “it’s alright as long as he’s okay” smiled back the Apollo girl, “thanks by the way, I don’t know what would’ve happened if you weren’t here early” said Clarisse with a stressed look overtaking her face.

“I’ve been reading up about his condition, and I spoke to my dad, and he said that there should be some herds in the enchanted forest that could help him” explained Adeline, “but it’s gonna be hard to get my hands on them” she went on.

“I could try and get them for you” offered Clarisse, “it’s not that simple, but thanks for the offer I’ll see what I can do, just make sure he has his inhaler with him at all times” said Adeline, to which Clarisse nodded, “I will thanks again” “it’s my pleasure” Clarisse gave Adeline one last thankful look before leaving to start training her siblings.

——————————————————————————

Ever since the night of the arrival of Percy Jackson Adeline had not seen much of her boyfriend, not because she did not want to, but rather because she had been more busy than usual at the infirmary.

From the very moment she had met the boy she knew he would do great things, despite his sassy personality Adeline and become quite close with the young boy, despite the short time of their meeting.

Adeline could remember that night clearly, she had stayed late in the infirmary with Luke that night, “come on pretty girl, you’re over working yourself, I’m sure there are other solutions” said Luke as he kissed his girlfriend’s cheek, his large figure wrapping around her from behind as he watched her scramble through old enchanted books.

“No I’m not, his condition is worse because of his father’s genes he’s harder to heal” said Adeline not moving her eyes from the book, “it’s late you haven’t slept in days, you need your rest, besides the Ares kids are always mean to your siblings they don’t deserve your hard work” spoke luke.

“I’m not doing this for them I’m doing this for him, for nick he’s so young and innocent, he can’t walk for two minutes without coughing” “are you sure you’re doing this for him, or is this you trying to prove yourself to your father?” Asked Luke as he turned Adeline around to face him.

Adeline kept her head down, Luke frowned at her reaction lifting his fingers to her chin to look up at him, “hey, hey I didn’t mean to make you mad pretty girl” he said, “no you’re right, it’s not only about nick, it’s about proving myself worthy of my father’s affection, he’s been talking to me a lot more recently, he’s been giving me more gifts and we’ve been bonding, and I feel bad for my other sibling that he doesn’t even talk to…” explained Adeline.

Luke paused for a moment leaning down to press a deep kiss on her lips, “you have nothing to prove, Apollo has adored since the moment you entered camp and you and everyone knows it, it wouldn’t matter if you weren’t the best archer or the best singer and song writer, even if you didn’t have your powers or knowledge, you’d still be his favorite. All the Gods are selfish and they know they have other children but they choose to acknowledge the ones they think are worthy” spoke Luke, “it’s not fair” “I know pretty girl it’s not” said Luke leaning down to press his forehead against his girlfriend’s”

“Adi! Adi!” Called out Grover as he entered the infirmary with Mr. D, Chiron and some other campers breaking the two lovers from each other, “what’s the matter?” Asked Adeline, “it’s the new kid, he’s injured he killed a Minotaur!” Exclaimed Grover.

“Set him on the bed” ordered Adeline, which the campers quickly did, as Adeline rushed to check him and begin to heal him.

Luke stood in the corner admiring his girlfriend work, doing what she loved, “aren’t you supposed to be in your cabin?” Asked Mr. D causing Luke to jump, “I-“ “get to your cabin kid” ordered Mr. D causing Luke to rush out of the infirmary stoping at the door to look back at his girlfriend, smiling as he watched her hands glow as she pressed her hands onto the new kid’s arm to heal him.

“Hey Adi” called out Perch smiling at her from the door way of the infirmary, “we’re heading to lunch, you ready?” Asked Percy as he glanced at Luke who stood behind him leaning against the door with a charming smile on his handsome face, “yeah I’m coming” replied Adeline smiling at her boys.

[leafsbabe]

Vince Dunn - flu season

cw: discription of reader having a flu... 1.3k words

Waking up sick was never fun but at least you got sick while Vince was away on a road trip with the team far, far away from your germs. The last thing you needed was to get him sick too.

What had started with a sore throat had quickly developed into a full on flu. You felt horribly gross and in pain but at least you didn’t have to worry about work since your doctor gave you a note that excused you for two whole weeks.

The boredom was the worst of it, since everything you could think of to pass the time hurt. No phone because looking at a screen made your headache worse. No TV either since the noises made your headache worse. You couldn’t even blow your stuffy nose or cough without making your headache worse.

So napping it was.

After days of naps you expected to feel at least a little bit rested but no. Everything felt exhausting. There was nothing besides sleep, painkillers, and plain yogurt in your life. 

Your muscles ached as you fought your way out of the blanket pile you slept under. Two days ago you had mustered up the strength to swap your bedding with the guest room set in an attempt to be surrounded by less germs. Today you shuffled to your closet and changed into a different shirt for the same reason.

Just as you were debating if you should try and make your way into the kitchen your bedroom door opened, revealing your boyfriend.

The two of you just looked at each other before you spoke up at the same time.

“You look terrible. Get back into bed.”

“I thought you wouldn’t get home until Tuesdays?”

You immediately regretted speaking, your throat burning now.

“It is Tuesday.” Vince said, dropping his bag with a dull thud. “Bed. Come on.”

You went without protest, letting yourself be tucked in and hiding your face in the blankets when he attempted to feel your forehead.

Vince didn’t stop fussing over you though. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” 

“Didn’t want you to worry. You needed to focus on the games.” It felt like a silly reason but you didn’t want to distract Vince during a road trip.

“Baby…” He trailed off, one of his hands coming up to brush over your sweaty hair. “Those games aren’t as important as you.”

You wanted to protest but Vince shushed you. “I could have at least asked the boys to send one of their wives over to check in on you and make sure you’re not dying.”

Just as you wanted to reply your body betrayed you, a coughing fit wrecked your body so hard your eyes started to water from the pain.

Vince didn’t comment on it; he just brushed your hair out of your face and tucked the blankets around you tighter. Well.. it looked like you would be staying in bed for a little while longer.

“I’m going to the store real quick.” Vince decided. “I’ll only be gone a few minutes but if anything happens promise you’ll call.”

“Hmmmm.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” You mumbled or maybe slurred. You couldn’t quite tell.

It wouldn’t matter anyways because somewhere between Vince pressing a kiss to your feverish  forehead and him walking towards the door, you fell asleep.

By the time you woke up again twilight had set in. The low light coming through the window didn’t agitate your throbbing headache and you managed to get up and out of bed without the struggle you had earlier in the day.

The apartment was silent as you made your way out of the bedroom. It seemed like several hours had passed since Vince left but you couldn’t tell if he’d come back, which worried you more than the flu. You knew Vince wouldn’t just leave you alone while you were sick, that was the whole reason why you didn’t tell him about it in the first place. 

Finally you spotted light coming from the kitchen but the sight that greeted you when you went to investigate wasn’t something you expected. Vince was standing with his back to you, working on something on the stove you couldn’t see. From what you could smell —and that wasn’t very much— whatever he was cooking smelled amazing. You didn’t know Vince could cook.

“What now?” He spoke, his voice loud over the quiet noises of the boiling water. For a moment you thought he was talking to you before his mom’s voice filled the room.

“Turn the heat to low and let it simmer. It should be done in 15 to 20 minutes.”

Vince nodded and as he moved you could see his iPad propped up, his mother’s face on the screen on a video call.

“And you better set a timer because we both know you’ll just forget about it and let the soup burn.”

“Mom, that’s—”

“Don’t say anything. You know I’m right. Now show me what tea you brought.”

You watched in silence as your boyfriend picked up a bag and placed it on the counter before holding up box after box after box of tea.

“Oh dear. How many different kinds did you get?”

Vince shrugged, the muscles under his shirt moving from where you could see his back. “I dunno. Like ten?” He looked between the bag and his mother’s face on the screen, then held up two more boxes.

“The red box.” His mom decided. “Do you have a kettle?”

Vince didn’t respond for a moment, freezing up at the question. “Uh…”

“Cabinet to your left.” You decided to help him out, alerting him to your presence.

He jumped, dropping the boxes he was holding. “You’re awake.”

“You’re cooking.”

The two of you just looked at each other for a moment before he finally seemed to register that you were standing in the kitchen with him. “Why aren’t you in bed? You're sick and need to rest.”

He walked over to you and felt your forehead again. “You don’t feel as hot as before. That’s good right?”

“Feel a little better too.” Speaking still hurt a little but you’d manage for the moment. “I wanted to look for you.”

Vince smiled. “You found me. Now get back to bed. I’ll bring you some tea and some soup soon.”

You wanted to fight him just on principle but a weird shiver ran through your body. “Okay.” You conceded, turning towards the iPad and addressing his mom for the first time since you stepped into the kitchen. “Hi. Thank you for helping Vince with the cooking.”

“Of course sweetheart. Get well soon. I’m gonna log off but don’t hesitate to call if you need any more help, okay?”

Vince barely managed to get out a “Thanks mom. Love you. Bye.” before the call ended. He then turned back to you, placing his hand on the small of your back and gently steering you towards the hallway. “Come on baby. Let's get you back into bed. A little rest and we’ll get you healthy again in no time.”

You laughed a little at his attentiveness. This side of him wasn’t exactly new but it surprised you time and time again, the amount of attention he paid to every little ailment. Vince cared. A lot. “Whatever you say, Dr. Dunn.”

Vince tucked you in again, this time letting you sit against the headboard as he went back to the kitchen to finish the soup and bring it to you alongside two different mugs of tea and some medicine. Smiling, you carefully tried the hot soup as he watched, a small satisfied moan leaving your mouth at the taste. Not bad at all. When you looked at Vince he smiled down at you with a soft look in his eyes and you couldn’t help but hope for a quick recovery. The last thing you wanted to do was get him sick but you also really wanted to kiss him. Soon, you thought. You’d be back to health in no time, but until then you could be convinced to let Vince play doctor (and private chef) a little longer.

[skzhua]

Episode eight.

MASTERLIST

pairing: XO, Kitty's Min Ho x Female Reader

genre: Fluff, angst, enemies-to-lovers, slow burn, coming-of-age.

word count: 3.8k

warnings: Swearing, that's it. This one is cute as hell, y'all.

summary: Transferring to KISS was the last thing you had asked for and, yet, a certain tall boy made it seem both worse and better than you expected.

note: Bold - Korean, Italic - Over the phone

a/n: So I got productive and wrote this in under a few hours only... I hope you'll enjoy this!

(let me know by filling the form in my bio if you want to be added to the taglist!)

You looked at your two friends in surprise. While Kitty was smiling widely as she held Dae's arm, the latter gave you looks of pleading. From that, it wasn't hard to get that he didn't want you to speak about the fact him and Yuri were fake. A shame, you were thinking that this would give you the chance to be free of lies.

"I'm happy for you too." you grinned and raised your coffee cup. "Long live Kitty and Dae."

"And not us?" Min Ho huffed as he sat next to you.

Us. A term with which you were still quite unfamiliar. It had only been a day since what you and Min Ho started whatever that was happening. You weren't sure what you were or where it was going but you preferred it that way. Putting tags on it honestly frightened you.

"Us?" Kitty frowned. "Did I miss something?"

Min Ho put his hand on your thigh, squeezing it gently. "More or less."

Dae coughed. "Well, while you two do your thing, we'll go do ours. Kitty, let's go?"

He brought her along behind him, grabbing her purse for her in the way, and left the dorm. Q having gone to the Outdoors Club already, you and Min Ho finally had some time alone. Approaching you, he laid a quick kiss on your lips before stealing your mug.

"Dude, come on! I didn't finish it."

"You had one sip left." he said and then drank the rest of your beverage. "And now it's empty."

You shook your head in disapproval. "You're kind enough to make me coffee but evil enough to steal it away from me."

He walked to you and got you off your stool before wrapping his arms around your waist. "You'll have to admit, it kind of turns you on."

You held onto him by the neck and frowned. "Being both a gentleman and an asshole?" you asked and he nodded. "You're way too confident in yourself."

"You said I was a gentleman, I'll take it and ignore the rest." he laughed.

You exchanged a long-lasting kiss, and he positioned himself to help you up so he could hold you by the thighs. He was still kissing you as he walked to his room but the door just had to open at this exact moment. Min Ho dropped you as horror plastered on your face.

Widening his eyes, Q nearly screamed. "What is this? When?" he asked but stopped himself. "You know what? I don't want to know. I'll just grab my water bottle and let you finish your business."

He hurried to do so and slammed the door behind him. Looking back at each other, Min Ho let out an awkward chuckle.

"We can continue..."

You rolled your eyes. "Get ready, we have class in a few."

But class didn't seem so important as the days went by. Making out in the library, cute dates in Gangnam district, more kissing in his room with a disgusted Dae on the side (as if he wasn't any better with Kitty)... This thing you two had was going strong. You were hoping that he might not see it as a simple casual thing. Because you were falling, and deep. There wasn't going to have any turning back at that point.

Q packed some last minute items in his bag. At the same time, you were debating whether it was a good idea to bring cute outfits despite the fact you were going in the middle of nowhere for two days.

"Oh, that dress is dead gorgeous." Q commented as he checked up on you.

"Not this one, too revealing." you said and pushed it aside.

He took it and put it in your bag. "And that's exactly what we are aiming for."

"What? No, Q." you complained while letting him zip it all close.

"Min Ho is going to lose his mind over this."

You suddenly got shy. "Min Ho? Why would I dress for him? I don't need to do that, it's stupid."

He laughed. "You'll thank me later." He went to the kitchen and you followed him behind. "Okay, time to go. Bus leaves in twenty." he told the other couple.

Just then, Min Ho got out of his room and was bringing with him a huge ass luggage. Plus one of those luxury bags of his.

"Gosh." he mumbled to himself, struggling a little.

"Dude, the class trip is camping. In tents. In nature. For two days." Kitty told him, unimpressed.

"I know." he rolled his eyes. "That's why I packed light."

You laughed and walked up to him. "Right, you did. Let's go."

The five of you headed outside to where the bus was waiting for you. You stayed with Min Ho and he exchanged a few things about Kitty with Dae. And that made you rather uncomfortable.

"She wants to go over everything that happened with Yuri." Dae explained.

"Don't, it's a trap." Min Ho advised right away.

You shrugged. "I don't know. Honesty is always the key, don't you think so?"

Dae sent you a glare, visibly not wanting you to reveal you knew all about his fake relationship. Meanwhile, Min Ho shook his head in disapproval.

"You're right about honesty. But in this case, they say they want to know all the details to move on, but then they obsessed about them."

You let out a huff. "You really know women..."

"Is that how it is with her?" Dae asked Min Ho, nodding his head to your direction.

"Y/N?" he said before he slung his arm around your shoulders. "No, she's totally uncomplicated and chill."

You looked at him. "Really?"

He sent a smirk your way. "Really. You're quite great, actually."

Growing more embarrassed, you broke away from his grip as soon as you came closer to Yuri. She was already with her other friends but didn't seem to mind your presence. In fact, she seemed reassured.

"You've kept yourself busy this week." she said, referring to your few make-out sessions she had accidentally stumbled upon.

"And you have been moving on quite well from Dae."

Her face became serious. "Not a word, please."

The girls suddenly started to scream and Madison came closer to show you a video on her phone. There stood the famous actor Ocean Park. He was explaining how his grandmother's village had been ravaged by a flood and was thanking Madison and your school to come help them out. She squealed at the mention of her name, jumping up and down.

"He said your name!" Eunice exclaimed.

"I know! And we owe it all to Min Ho and his famous mom." she replied before running to him and giving him a hug, almost making him fall.

"Whoa..." he let out before breaking away from her.

Leaning on him, she went on to explain about how his mother had worked with Ocean Park before. Apparently, Principal Lim agreed to cancel a ski trip to go to the village instead. But you weren't listening, you could only focus on her arm that was on top of Min Ho's shoulder.

"Your mom is really good with pulling strings." Madison finished off with telling Yuri that.

"For evil, usually."

You choked out a laugh and Yuri followed. You, then, proceeded to get seated in the bus. Analyzing the places, Madison and the other girls had already took the back seats. Kitty surprisingly sat with Finnerty, leaving Dae stuck with another student. Florian and Q together, the others with their friends... That left you a two-seat spot that you could share with Min Ho. However, the image of Madison being glued to him from earlier still fresh in your memory, you hesitated.

"Hey." Yuri said. "Sit with me?"

You ended up agreeing and got yourself comfortable with your friend. So when Min Ho got on the bus, he was more than confused to see you seated with Yuri instead of keeping a spot for him next to you. He stopped where you were with a perplexed look on his face.

"What is this?"

You shot your head up as you heard his voice. "Hey. I'm sitting with Yuri if you don't mind. We'll see each other when we get there."

He seemed disappointed but acquiesced nonetheless. "It's okay."

You watched him getting to a solo seat and started to feel bad. At this point, though, who could blame you for being mad? First off, you had never brought up the subject of Madison in the last week and, second off, you were now wondering why the hell she went to hug him after telling everyone he helped her with organizing this trip.

After a while in the bus, you were growing tired more than you'd liked to be. Yuri had shared a ballad playlist with you and that only made you more sleepy. After some time, she shook you out of your daze and told you she was going to speak with Dae and that she'd switched places with the guy next to him. As she left her seat, Min Ho took the opportunity to go beside you, sending the other guy at the singular seat he was previously at. You let out a scoff at him.

"Excuse me but I believed we agreed last night that we would sit together." he justified himself.

You shrugged. "That was before I learnt you were still hooked on Miller."

He sighed. "Is it about this morning?"

"I don't know, Min Ho. You tell me." you answered, growing frustrated.

"Jealousy kind of looks good on you." he joked but you slapped him across the chest.

"I'm not jealous. I don't want to be in your collection of women, that's all."

"You hid your trip arrangements with her very well, though."

"I have spent every second of my free time with you this last week. You would have known way sooner if I was seeing another girl at the same time."

"Exactly. It was trip arrangements."

You plugged in your earphones again, not wanting to hear any more of his unclear answers. He did look at you for a bit afterwards but he ended up getting the message. That didn't stop him from taking your hand in his, and neither did it restrain you from liking it.

You arrived at the camping site soon after and joined Eunice outside. She and the others were still scrolling through social media as they wanted to see more pictures of Ocean Park. You weren't necessarily a fan, but you had to admit that the man was fine as hell.

After Professor Finnerty gathered everyone together, he asked you all about the rooming arrangements. You were taken aback when Yuri told him she'd be with Kitty. That wasn't even the best... What followed shook you even more.

"Y/N and I, sir!" Madison shouted.

Barely having any time to process what she had just said, Finnerty noted it down and she took your hand to head towards your tent. She started to talk about how excited she was and all about the whole trip, ignoring completely the elephant in the room.

"I'll take the left side and you can take the right. Does that work for you?"

"Yeah." you confirmed. "Why did you pick me?"

She hummed. "What?"

"For the room. We barely know each other."

"Ah." she smiled and invited you to sit with her. "I have noticed that I might be creating some tension between you and Min Ho. No hard feelings about him choosing you, by the way. I would've picked you too."

"Thanks..?"

She continued. "I want you to know I was only looking for a casual fling that night at his party. And he only kissed me back because he told me you went all out on him so he got sad."

You smiled in guilt. "I did, yeah."

"And the day after, I thought he was still on with the casual dating but he obviously told me off and went to you instead."

You were still in doubt. "That does not change the fact he's Min Ho. He'll go after someone else in a week at most if I'm lucky."

She exhaled. "Well, you are more than lucky, then. He wants you, I can see it. And, by the way, the trip thing was because I begged him to do so. And the hug was just friendly, I swear."

"It's fine." you let out a laugh. "I appreciate you for telling me all this. I was barely getting anything out of him when I asked."

"Men are like this." she shrugged.

You could do it for an extra hour before curfew but nothing was going to make you like cleaning up. You did enjoy having a clean personal space and cleaning a village for a good cause was good too. Still, you were not having the most fun. You and Yuri being similar on that aspect, you helped each other as one raked the branches together and one put them away in a bag.

Min Ho watched you from afar. Considering you were still not acknowledging him, he took it as in Madison told you something that put you off. That was the last thing he wanted. The night before, he called his mom to tell her about you. He wanted to know her opinion on the situation and it made him realize a lot of things. One of them being that he wanted something more with you, something real. Not a close friend he'd kiss whenever he'd want to. No. He wanted to try and date you.

"You're looking at her again." Madison snapped him out of his thoughts.

"I know."

"She's not mad at you, I told you I cleared things off with her."

He scoffed. "Explain why she is still avoiding me, then."

"From what I got, she feels like a fling to you... which she is so-"

"Not." he corrected. "She's not."

"Then, show her."

"How?"

Madison had shifted her attention elsewhere by then. A car pulled over in front of the camping site and everyone – meaning every fangirl – rushed to see what was happening, Madison being the first. Min Ho followed lazily as Ocean Park stepped out of the car, greeting his fans.

You joined out of curiosity. It wasn't like he was a nobody; you were getting to meet a celebrity. You stood next to Min Ho. Not on purpose, it was only because he was close to the front. After Madison introduced herself, Min Ho did the same but with much less enthusiasm.

"Hi. My mother, Dami, says 'hello, Mr. Park.' "

Ocean looked up dreamily. "Ah, Dami... Your mother is an incredible woman. Did she ever tell you about the time I ran into her at Sundance?" Min Ho gave him a very clueless look. "She kept me warm on a very cold night."

Min Ho was baffled. "Excuse me?"

"And who are you?" Ocean smiled at you.

"Park Y/N." you bowed.

He held his hand up. "No need to be so formal. Are you with him?" he asked, pointing at the man next to you.

"Oh, we're not-"

"She is." Min Ho cut you off while bringing you closer to his body by your waist.

Ocean nodded his head at him in acknowledgement. "You got yourself someone as beautiful as your mother." Clasping his hands together, he then addressed the crowd. "Let's take a selfie."

You pushed yourself away from Min Ho while Ocean Park and his groupies went to a spot to take photos. "What is it with you?"

You walked off to continue your task. You didn't get why he acted all possessive when, clearly, Ocean was only being polite. Nor did you get why he felt the need to keep you so close to him. It made you feel things and you hated feeling things.

An hour was added to your time before curfew as a reward to the hard work you had done all day. Yuri had briefly told you what happened so far. You felt much better now that Kitty finally knew the truth and that Yuri didn't forget to tell her that she asked you to keep it shut for her. Kitty texted you later on to tell you she forgave you and understood that it was not your place to tell. Overall, a weight had come off your shoulders.

Exhausted from the day, you didn't plan on doing much other than watch some shows you downloaded before leaving and staying in bed in your pyjamas. You were going to have the tent to yourself since Madison was going to Ocean Park's grandmother's house for dinner. You were more than okay with finally getting some time for yourself. Well, for a few minutes at least.

Min Ho: Come to my tent.

Min Ho: I've got a bit of a surprise for you.

Y/N: No. :)

Min Ho: Do you want me to beg or something?

Y/N: Maybe...

Min Ho: Please, come to my tent, my sweet puppy?

Min Ho: Get all ready too, it's a formal occasion.

Y/N: I'm in my comfy fit, so it's still a no. I'm not coming out.

Min Ho: I have strawberries dipped in chocolate.

Y/N: Coming in ten.

Most people would tell you that this was a bad idea. And usually, you'd say that it was, indeed. But, hey. Strawberries and chocolate couldn't be a better bait for you. You loved food, he knew that and he got you just how he wanted. You honestly didn't care, as long as you had something to eat in the end.

You thanked Q mentally for forcing you to bring the tight off-the-shoulders dress. You picked it to go with some golden jewellery and did some waves for your hair. Once you determined you were all good – which was more than ten minutes after you told Min Ho that you were coming – you finally left your tent.

You weren't sure how to react when you saw him in a suit, standing in the middle of the room he had decorated with candles, petals and all. On the table were the strawberries with a bottle of non-alcoholic champagne. You stepped closer, growing more confused.

"What is happening here?"

"Surprise." he said. "I was hoping this could help me for you to not be mad at me anymore."

You acquiesced slowly, still scanning the room. "I can't say that I am not impressed."

"Want some?" he offered you the treat and you happilly took them.

"I never thought I'd see you do something like this for anyone. Even less make a heart out of petals." you teased.

"Can you appreciate my effort instead of mocking me?"

You laughed. "Alright, I'm sorry. This is a very nice surprise, thank you."

"You're welcome, beautiful."

He came closer to you and wiped off the chocolate that smudged on your lips. With a single look down your lips, it was just enough to make you melt all over again and press your lips against his. He let out a gasp, startled by your move.

"I'll take it as we are good now?"

You nodded. "Yeah, we are. I'm sorry, by the way. I was overthinking things and you have the right to see anybody else because it's not like I'm your girlfriend or anything." you laughed nervously.

He bit his lip. "Actually, that's what I wanted to talk about with you."

And, of course, your little insecure self had to start thinking about all sorts of negative thoughts. Was he about to tell you this thing was over? Would he still want to be friends? Was he only playing with your heart?

"I can't believe I'm about to say this, but..."

And it was coming, you knew you were going to get your heart broken.

"... I think I want more."

And just like that, everything stopped. Your brain short-circuited as you attempted you comprehend properly what he had just said.

"You, what?" you said in a whisper.

"I think I'm ready for a real relationship and, honestly, I don't see it happen with anyone else other than you."

You said nothing, you just couldn't physically speak. So you kissed him, slowly and passionately. In all the times you kissed, this felt like the most intimate you had ever been. It wasn't physical intimacy, it was emotional. Without even noticing, teardrops came out of your eyes. Just a couple as Min Ho brushed them off with his thumb.

"Are you okay?" he asked once he pulled away from your face, but still kept his forehead to yours.

"What... Why the change of heart?"

He sighed. "You really want me to tell you how special you are, don't you?"

"I actually do, yeah." you admitted without any shame.

But the evening went on like this. There was some friendly teasing, kissing here and there, talking for what felt like hours. You wanted to stay forever there with him.

"I could kiss you forever." he said softly after lifting your chin up to make you look at him.

You held onto him even closer. "Me too." And you kissed him again. "I should really go."

He shook his head and placed a couple of pecks all over your face. "Or you could stay."

"No." you laughed. "Curfew starts in five minutes."

He pouted but still help you up on your feet from the bed. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yes, you will."

"On the bus, this time."

You sighed heavily. "Yes."

"Good. Then sleep well." he kissed you one last time for the night.

"Good night."

As soon as you got to your tent, Madison was already sleeping. You lost no time in dialing Kitty's number but she didn't answer. The next person in mind was Yuri but she did not respond either. Last person was Q who, thankfully, picked up.

"So? How was it?" he asked.

"It couldn't have been any better."

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Copyright © 2023 skzhua. All rights reserved.

[music-royal01]

The aftershocks

Sully family x deaf!Omaticaya!reader part 3

Part 1: silent world loud mind

Part 2: hearing the unheard

You start acting a little weird after that night you went swimming and no one fails to pick up on it

You were frantically trying to get out of the water. The idea that you had heard something had startled you, mostly because Norm had told you that there was no chance you could ever hear again. You hoist yourself onto the flooring outside the marui coughing from some of the water that had entered your lungs. Neteyam had heard your distress and immediately runs out to where you are

“Y/N! What happened” Neteyam says looking at your frantic movements and becoming worried

“nothing Neteyam I’m fine” your tone was harsher than necessary as you ran your hands through your hair trying to get the water out

“You sure?” Neteyam was kind of shocked at the tone of you voice but he didn’t show it

“Yes I’m sure” you push past him and walk into the marui

~The next day~

You and Kiri where hanging out at the beach. she was picking seashell while you were looking at the pool things in the sand as you floated in the water desperately trying to see if the same noise from last night would return

“What is she doing?”

“She’s just looking in the sand”

You had noticed some ripples in the water and looked up

“Did you say something?” You asked confused as to why Ao’nung and his friends had surrounded you

“Are you a freak” Ao’nung said

“He ask if you are a freak”

You sigh getting up from the water “no”

“Are you sure I mean you can’t even hear anything” Ao’nung says in a mocking tone which you couldn’t hear but were able to understand perfectly well because of his facial expressions

From farther away Lo’ak hears all of this and begins to walk towards you

“Hey! Back off fish lips” he says looking in Ao’nungs direction

“Oh look a four fingered freak” Ao’nung smiles sadistically as all of his friend surround Lo’ak, one of them pulling his “baby tail”

“Leave us alone!” You yelled desperately trying to the group of boys away from Lo’ak as Neteyam walked up angrily as his feet stomped in the sand

“You heard what she said…” Neteyams voice is cold as he pushed Ao’nung “…leave them alone”

One of Ao’nungs friends start to say something until Ao’nung pushes him as a way of hushing him as Neteyam continues to tell them to back off. Even though he was still a little upset about yesterday he would still defend you

Ao’nung puts in hands in the air showing that he gives up

“Good..” Neteyam turns to the rest of Ao’nungs minions “and from now on I’m gonna need you to respect Y/N”. One of the minions begins to hiss until Ao’nung cuts him off

You, Lo’ak, and Neteyam begin to walk away until Lo’ak turns around and Neteyam gives him an almost scolding look as Lo’ak starts to showing his hand to Ao’nung and saying things, then suddenly Lo’ak punches Ao’nung in the face… multiple times hard enough to make him fall down. Ao’nung tackled Lo’ak and the two start fighting on the beach shore when Ao’nungs and his friends start to hang up on Lo’ak

Neteyam sighs and starts going to help his brother as you stand there frozen, you knew if the adults found out your friends would be punished but if they didn’t stop now they would have to deal with injuries worse than a few scratches and bruises

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What did I tell you” Jake yells at Neteyam and Lo’ak

“To stay out of trouble sir” Lo’ak mutters looking down at the ground

“It was my fault sir” Neteyam says stepping infront of his little brother

“No it wasn’t, you have to stop taking the blame for this idiot” Jakes says frowning and pacing around

“Ao’nung was picking on Y/N. He called her a freak”

Lo’aks voice was strong and his statement stopped Jakes pacing as his face soften

“Go apologize to him” Jake sighed

“But-” Lo’ak started but his father cut him off “he’s the chiefs son. Understand. I don’t care how you do it just go”

Lo’ak walks away and Jake turns to Neteyam

“What did the others look like”

“Worse sir” Neteyam replied sort of surprised his dad would ask him that

“Good…good” Jake says as he dismisses Neteyam

You were sitting outside the marui your feet dangling in the water. Jake had noticed that your behavior had been off since last night

“What’s the matter Y/N” Jake said after he tapped you on the shoulder so you could look at him and read his lips

“I heard something last night Mr Sully, it was like Eywa herself was calling out to me” you felt crazy saying that, you weren’t supposed to be able to hear anything

“Oh Y/N… I don’t know what to say, Eywa works in mysterious ways” Jake said as he sat down next to you, he wrapped his arm around you and pulled you into a hug. You gave him a sad smile not knowing what else to do or say

———————————————————————

Tag list: @inutheangel @thesecretsoftheuniverse @imnyira @mae-is-crazy @junnniiieee07 @yeosxxx @khaleesihavilliard @eywaisalwayswithyou @perseny @yourmamacom @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @ladylovegood-69 @ashrocker123 @jikxeu-blog @dumb-fawkin-bitch @in-luvais @elegantkidfansoul @aonungs-tsahik @fireflystoughts @dani-d0rk @scarletrosesposts @nyotamalfoy @inluvwithneteyam @reguluscrystals @totesnothere04 @he110hon @thewh0renextdoor @tejas-kris @navs-bhat @ducks118 @ymmpily @eirianna @lemonmoonmochi @myh3artttt @thehoneymushroomhealer

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Authors note: IM ALIVE!!! :) sorry for being inactive for so long and I know that it’s been months since I updated my blog and stories but I’ve had majors writers block that I’ve only just overcome so hopefully I’ll get back into writing more her :) :)

Ps thank you do all the people that still been reading my blog and liking, I appreciate all your support!

[teaffrogy]

𝙄 𝙨𝙬𝙚𝙖𝙧 [König] smut?

Sum: Ghost couldn't sleep yesterday at night from so much noise happening in König's room. So, Ghost confronts him, and [Name]

König x fem reader

Ahead: Oral(Male receiving), smoking weed(do not smoke while working pls), mention of choking. If I miss anything pls tell me :D

Ghost had heard sounds last night that made him not sleep well( which made it mostly worse when he struggles already with his sleep). His room is next to König, the tall(very) Austrian hooded man. He is known for his social anxiety but also known for his amazing skills in the fields. Also for being discussed in the most recent meeting about who should be a colonel. König had been moving around his bed way too much, kicking on the wall, and he also heard another voice other than königs room.

And it wasn't allowed before 10 to have someone else in the rooms. So, being the professional lieutenant he is, called for König and [Name].

"Yes Lt?" You say as you walk inside Ghost's office alongside König. König looks at you and looks down to your chest. That tight string gray shirt looked too good on you, it distracted him.

"I called you two to ask a question." Ghost says, but König was too distracted from what had happened last night. "I heard sounds last night coming from your room König." And his thoughts had snapped. He looks at Ghost and asks, "What are you talking about, Lieutenant?"

Ghost crossed his arms together, he had short sleeved shirt on and you can see his big arms and the one that is tattooed. "I heard you two talk." Ghost says. "It was after 10, the hour you all are supposed to be in bed and be prepared for Tomorrow." Ghost says. "Well, you must have heard things, sir." König says as he also crosses his arms. "I heard you two talk. I know her voice well and yours too."

"[Name] and I?"

"Yes you two."

"We didn't do anything last night, I swear." He says. You stood there as you looked at the wall behind Ghost. You knew you two were in trouble. But König was so calm about it, too. That's what made it so weird.

"We didn't do anything last night."

That was a lie

"So, have you ever smoked before?" One of the crews asked. They decided to do a camp fire yesterday. They got permission to do one since being past the bed hours is a strict rule.

"What type are we talking about?"

"Weed." He says while grinning. "Yeah, of course I have." He says. "I do it from time to time on days off."

"Well, today is your lucky day today." König at first had not decided to go. He wanted to rest in bed or maybe not exactly rest, but just be by himself. But you insisted, wanting to spend some time with him. "There will be a small fire. And I don't want to go alone." Was what you said. And here he is, wrapped around a blanket with you. You were close, very close. He could feel you breathing and the way you moved. He wasn't really interested in the conversation, he was just looking at the fire and enjoying you being beside him.

"Who wants some?" One of them says as they hold out a joint. "I want some." You say as you hold your hand out. König looks at you and sees you hold it. The lighter is pressed on it and you take the first hit. You cough and shake your head as you pass it on to someone else. You get back close to König and he wraps an arm around you. "You want to try it?" You asked.

He has gotten high before, but with an edible he was given to on accident. He thought it was a normal brownie with some good chocolate chips. He ended up having to take the whole day off.

He looks around and nods. He did want to try it. It wasn't as if when he got high from the brownie wasn't the most fun and relaxed day he had. He wanted to feel that again. Soon, the joint was passed on to him. He grabs it and holds his hood up, far from the fire and sucks in. You watched as he did and placed your arm on his thigh. He starts coughing and he hands it to you.

You smile at him and suck in.

__

It was getting late and the fire was slowly coming down. Some had already left and some left in pairs. The few that left in pairs were you and König. You two went to his room and laughed the way there. You two brought up funny jokes, that were probably horrible if you two weren't as high, and had been laying on his bed. "Your bed is bigger than mine, not fair."

"It's because I am tall. I needed a bigger bed." He says as he gets closer to you. It was clear the tension was high between you two(no pun intended). König wanted to be on top of you and suck on your tits while he fingers you. You wanted to get down on your knees and finally see that tent he always has that you couldn't stop looking at.

You two looked at the ceiling, and that's when you feel König turn to look at you. You turn too and lift up his hood only where you can see his nose and down. He moved his hand to your cheek and caressed it. His hand goes to the back of your head and pushes your head close to his lips. You open your mouth slightly and feel him kiss you. You kiss him back and wrap a leg around him. König moans in the kiss as he holds on to your hips. You pull from the kiss and pant. "I bought something." You grin and pull something out from your back pocket. It was the joint. It was almost done.

"Here." You smile as you put the joint in his mouth and pull out a lighter. You light it up and smile at him. He sits up as you get off the bed and go down on your knees. He sucks and pulls the joint out, his hood falls down and smoke comes out. You smile and lay your head on his thigh. You could see the tent you've always seen, just bigger. You press your head on his thigh and squeeze the other. He looks down at you and pushes your hair behind your ear.

"I want to taste you." You finally say as you press your nose on to his boner. He breathes in and pushes your face, groaning. You look up at him and he nods. You smile and cup his boner. You start to undo his pants and pull them down with his boxers. He helps you by lifting his hips up and his cock springs out, hitting his lower tummy. Your eyes go wide and see just how attractive it looked. The way his cock hung to the side as precum dripped. It needed attention with how red his tip looked, and you were going to give it that attention.

You look up at him and see him hold the joint to you. You put your lips around it and suck on it. You blow the smoke down to his cock and smile as you see it twitch. König pants and caresses your cheek. You lean on his hand and move your hand to his thighs. His thighs are one of the many things you find so attractive about him. They are so big that when he wraps that tight gun holder sting on, it just hugs on it so well that it spills some on the sides. You squeeze on his thigh and he groans. He looks down at you and feels your hand brush up from his keg to finally his cock. König moans and shivers at your touch. "Liebling, bitte." He whines and feels your hand wrap around his cock. It was huge, bigger than your hand. Your hands aren't small and it was amazing how huge his cock was. You squeeze and more precome comes out.

König closes his eyes as he bucks his hips to your hand to get any sort of friction. You smile and rub your thumb on his tip, spearing his precum. You lick your lips and open your mouth, finally putting the tip around your mouth. He gasps and holds his hands up, not knowing where to put his hands on. You breathed in as you pushed more of his cock inside your mouth.

"Ah– just like that my Liebling– fuck" König moans and takes one last drag of the joint and puts it out. He leans on to the wall and puts his hands on top of his head, exhaling as the smoke comes out of his hood. You moan and try to push everything you could in your mouth. He moans and tries his best from pushing your head further. But he felt so relaxed right now, all he could do was enjoy and watch. He closes his eyes and moans as he feels you start to move your head. You moved it up and down, slowly. You didn't want to choke on it just yet, you wanted to taste him, hear his moans and groans and feel him twitch in your mouth.

König moves his hand to your hair and moves it back, helping you from it being in the way. You start to move your bead faster, and he soon hears you start to choke. He moans and looks down to see you try to deep throat. "You got it, Liebling j-just a little m- ahhh- just like that. Good girl." König says and sees you took him all in your mouth. You stay there for some seconds before you go back to bobbing your head back and forth again.

You knew he was starting to get close. His cock was twitching in your mouth and hid moans were getting louder. He looked relaxed and beautiful the way he was. Panting while having his eyes closed. "I-Im coming!" He says as he pushes your head and moans as you feel his warm seed fill your mouth up more. You moan and stay there till he is done. You pull away and feel some of his come drip out of your mmouth. He paints and brushes his thumb on your mouth. "Open." He says and you do so. You pant and stick your tongue out to show all his seed in your mouth. You close and swallow it all up. "Good girl."

"Nothing happened?" Ghost asks, getting you out of your thoughts. König shakes his head. "Nothing?" He asked one last time. This time, I look at you. "Nothing."

"Alright. You two can head out." He says. You nod as you two leave the room. "Good girl." König says as he holds your hip. "Keep it up, and we will have more fun." He says as he walks away, leaving you a hot mess.

I haven't edited. Sorry for the typos :(

Fanfic was inspired by this tik tok

[helloalycia]

𝐍𝐎 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐘𝐄𝐒 [𝐎𝐍𝐄] — 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐍

summary: when Katniss gets sick and doesn't show any signs of getting better, you fear the worst and have to do whatever you can to make sure she does.

warning/s: mentions of dying + usual warnings that come with writing for the hunger games.

author's note: thanks to everyone who voted on my first lil poll yesterday haha, here’s the katniss one that won! there’s 2 parts and it was written after i just reread all the hunger games books and became hyperfixated on katniss again lmao

i’ll post the jackie taylor yellowjackets one after this for anyone who voted that too :)

two / masterlist / wattpad

I tightened the woolly scarf around my neck, hoping it would do something to keep the cold, bitter air out despite its flimsiness. Winter in District 12 could be unforgiving, but by the look of things from the front window, it hadn't snowed anymore last night.

"I'm leaving, mum!" I called from the front door, grabbing my school bag.

"Have a nice day, hon!" she called back from the kitchen.

When I left my house, the first thing I stepped foot in was grey slush, and I wasn't sure if that was worse than a blizzard at this point. Nonetheless, I sucked it up and headed over to my best friend Katniss' house, not far from my own in the poor, ragged part of the district, the Seam.

We always met at her place before school since it was on the way and we could walk in together, but when I arrived, her little sister, Primrose, answered and looked worried.

"Hey, darling, what's up?" I asked, accepting the hug she gave me as I stepped inside.

"It's Katniss," she muttered. "She won't get out of bed."

Trying not to show my concern, I said, "I'll go check on her. You finish getting ready so we're not late, yeah?"

She nodded and I watched her go into the kitchen to finish her breakfast with her mum, the older woman offering a small smile when she saw me. I returned it before letting myself into the other room of their house, the bedroom that all three of them shared. Inside, Katniss was still in her bed, under the covers and blocking out the light. Whether she was awake, I wasn't sure, but this was certainly unlike her.

"Katniss?" I called, shaking her body slightly. "We're gonna be late, you've gotta get up."

She groaned slightly, not appreciating my interruption, and then seemed to realise what was happening as she rolled over, eyes squinted with confusion.

"Huh? What are you doing?" she mumbled, rubbing her face, and her voice was raspier than usual.

"It's time for school," I said knowingly, before frowning when I saw her cover her eyes with her hand. "Why are you still in bed? Prim has been trying to wake you."

"What...? I don't..." She stopped, before attempting to sit upright, but she squeezed her eyes shut and steadied herself on the bed.

"Hey," I said, much more concerned now, taking a seat on the edge of her bed. "You're not okay. Is it your head?"

She clutched her forehead, breathing out slowly. "I don't know. It hurts, it– god, it's bright in here."

I frowned, taking in her pained expression and connecting all the dots. "You're sick. You should stay home today. Get better."

As if I'd accused her of murder, Katniss shook her head and pulled the duvet off her with determination. "I'm not. I'm fine, I–" But just on cue, a throaty cough rattled her.

"I can stay home if you want," I offered, already pulling the duvet back on her. "Help you."

The last thing I wanted was to leave her alone whilst she was ill. Technically her mother would be here, but she wasn't the most attentive since she'd lost her husband, so it was essentially like leaving Katniss alone.

"No, you don't need to," Katniss gave in with a sigh.

"I don't mind," I offered, resting a hand on hers. "I can–"

"It's one day," she assured me, before clearing her throat. "I'll be okay. Go. Please. Or you'll be late."

I sighed disapprovingly before nodding, knowing one day of rest would hopefully prove to be useful. I leaned forward to hug her, about to wish her well, but she shoved me back quickly.

"Don't or you'll get sick," she argued tiredly, making me rub my chest where she shoved me.

"Ow," I said with annoyance, before rolling my eyes and standing up. "Very well. Lay down at least."

Thankfully, she obeyed which was how I knew she must've really felt rundown. Pulling the duvet to her shoulders, I tucked her in before wishing her well and leaving the room. After letting her mum know what was wrong and to keep an eye on her, Prim and I left the house together.

"She's okay, right?" the twelve-year-old asked me as we trudged through the muddy snow.

"Oh yeah, of course," I reassured her with a smile. "It's nothing. Just that time of year."

This seemed to work, as Prim sighed with relief before smiling too. But deep down, a small part of me was a little worried. Firstly, Katniss never got sick, ever. And secondly, whereas a cold might not take some people out, it could be the difference between life and death in a place where it was freezing and had no electricity. I only hoped she'd be able to sleep it off and recover soon.

All day I was thinking of Katniss, unable to focus much at school. When the final bell rang and we were finally let out, I was relieved, only wanting to check on her and hopefully see some improvement. Our friend, Gale, accompanied Prim and I back home, since he lived in the Seam also, and we all went to the Everdeens to see if Katniss was okay.

When we reached their house, we saw Mrs Everdeen helping someone out as part of her job as a healer, so decided not to interrupt and instead headed straight for Katniss. When we walked in, Prim ran to her bedside whilst Gale and I took in the scene. Katniss was still under her covers, as if she'd not moved all day.

"Hey, Catnip," Gale said, hoping to lighten the mood and stir her awake, if she was even asleep.

An annoyed moan was the only response we got, so I settled by her bedside and pulled the duvet down carefully, revealing her face. Her eyes were closed, scrunched with discomfort, but she was sweating. I felt her forehead, surprised at how hot she was, and my worry was increasing.

"How is she?" Prim asked from behind me.

I cleared my throat, pulling my hand back. "Er, warm. But it could be nothing."

Clearly I wasn't the best liar, since she pushed me out the way and felt her sister's forehead before frowning immediately.

"That's not nothing," she exclaimed, before going for the door. "I'm getting mum."

I sighed, but knew it was for the best. When her and her mum returned, the four of us attempted to coax Katniss awake properly. She was reluctant, but finally opened her eyes when I closed the curtains, blocking out the light that was bothering her.

"You're burning, Katniss," I told her gently, taking her hand. Her mum rested a cold cloth on her forehead, moving her hair from her face, and I looked back to her tired eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm just tired," she said dismissively, yawning. "A little cold."

I exchanged nervous glances with Gale, who was as concerned for her as I was.

"You need to listen to your mum and sister," I told her. "They're gonna help you feel better, okay?"

"I'm fine, I just need to rest," she tried to assure me, but she wasn't very convincing.

"Katniss, please," I said quietly, and she looked to me with dark eyes, softening. "Just listen to them."

She nodded, giving in, and I offered her a small smile before looking to her mum for the next step.

"You should both go home," she said to Gale and I. "You can visit tomorrow."

I nodded, not keen to leave Katniss' side but knowing the best care she could be in was her family's. Gale and I said our goodbyes before walking home.

It was supposed to get better after that, Katniss was supposed to get better. But none of it did. She was still bedridden when I visited her after school the next day, though a little more awake than yesterday and itching to get up and leave.

"My legs work fine," she told me with frustration. "Why can't I just get up and push on?"

"Because you're weak, idiot," I told her, giving her a disapproving look. "You've still got a fever, too."

She frowned petulantly, staring off at the wall instead of me. I sighed, resting a hand on hers, and thankfully she didn't pull away.

"Your mum is taking good care of you," I reminded her. "You're gonna be okay, but you need to rest."

"You shouldn't visit me meanwhile," she said after a moment, finally looking at me. "What if I'm contagious?"

I tried not to smile, the thought of not visiting her sounding insane. "I'll live, Katniss."

She exhaled weakly, not bothering to argue. I swallowed hard, taking in her expression. Circles were becoming deeper under her eyes, showing her struggle to sleep properly, and she was still glistening in a thin layer of sweat. Even now, her hand was hot beneath mine, and it terrified me. But I tried not to think of the worst, instead manifesting positive thoughts the best I could.

Enough positivity to make Katniss puke, that was the goal.

Unfortunately, it only got worse from there on out. It was getting colder the deeper we got into winter, which wasn't helping, and Katniss was missing more and more days off school. And then we finally finished school for the year, and Katniss was still unwell.

Unlike that second visit, she wasn't fighting her weakness anymore, unable to play it tough when her migraines were ruining her. Her fever would break, then return, then break again. I didn't understand what was wrong and I'd never been so scared in my life. Gale and her family felt the same, but her mum was surprisingly consistent with her care, doing everything she could to make her daughter better.

But we all knew what nobody would admit – Katniss needed real medicine, none of this herbal stuff.

One day, I was visiting Katniss, going over more and more now that school was done, but she wasn't always awake when I visited. Thankfully she was today, and when I walked in, her head turned to the door to see who it was. When she saw it was me, she shook her head, unimpressed.

"You shouldn't be here," she said as she always did, and I rolled my eyes playfully.

Ignoring her, I took a seat at the edge of her bed, aware of her eyes following my every move.

"Prim," she began, but I answered before she needed to finish.

"She's at Gale's," I reassured her, making her sigh with relief.

Having Prim seeing her like this always worried her, but I was making sure that the younger Everdeen wasn't always around. Of course, she was stubborn like her sister and sometimes insisted. Today though, she was content spending the day with Gale's siblings.

I looked down at Katniss, noticing how much weight she'd lost these past few weeks. She was already skinny, a consequence of living in District 12, but this was sickly, haunting. I'd never seen her so rundown before and I was seriously terrified that if we didn't get her real medicine soon, she could die. Nobody had a cold or flu or whatever it was for this damn long. She was struggling to eat properly, to stand at all, and she looked like hell. I couldn't just watch her deteriorate like this. Not my best friend. Not the girl I cared way too much for.

"Stop it," she said, an accidental whisper. "Stop looking at me like that."

"I'm not doing anything," I defended, embarrassed I'd been caught.

She knew me too well though. "I'll be okay. In fact–" She paused, and then suddenly attempted to sit upright, but her arms were too weak to hold her up and she slipped right back down. The tears were quick to pool in her eyes, a matching scowl on her face, at her incompetence.

"It's okay," I said sympathetically, taking her hand in between mine.

She squeezed it tight, like a lifeline, but avoided my eyes. A tear slipped from hers, and I pretended not to see it for her sake.

"I need to hunt," she said with a hoarse voice, no doubt holding in her emotion.

"Gale has it under control," I said, only imagining all she'd been worrying herself with whilst stuck here. She was the sole provider for her family, and with her out of action, the responsibilities were piling up.

"He has his own family to worry about," she snapped, before catching herself, instantly feeling bad. Quieter, she said, "It's not enough."

She wasn't wrong, of course, but I would never let her know that. Gale barely found enough to feed his own family, especially during winter, and he was sparing what little he could to keep Prim and her mum afloat. I did the same with what scraps I got, but I was no hunter and couldn't offer extra game like he could.

"We're sorting it," I said confidently. "Your mum and Prim are okay, aren't they?"

She finally met my eyes, hers glassy and exhausted. "For how long?"

It was much harder to lie to her when she was looking right at me, so I cleared my throat and forced a small smile. "All the more reason to get better, right?"

She pursed her lips, looking away again. It was quiet as she laid there, me holding her hand and keeping her company. I knew how horrible it could be when you were sick and alone, so I made sure not leave her side, as her eyes began to flicker close, struggling to fight the tiredness. I moved closer, pushing the hair from her eyes and raking my hands through her roots, knowing she liked the feeling but would never admit it. I was proven right when she let out a deep breath, squeezing my hand in approval, and I smiled softly at how cute she could be when she didn't even know it.

Only when she was out of it did I feel my tears blur my vision, unable to pretend that I was okay. She wasn't looking any better, and I couldn't just watch her like this, unable to do a thing.

I leaned forward, kissing her forehead, and closed my eyes briefly, praying to whatever God was out there that she'd be okay.

Everyone had their special something, a skill they had perfected or a hobby they could get lost in. Mine? I hadn't discovered it yet. I suppose I was doing pretty well in school, so taking tests could count, though it was a shit skill to have, impractical. But hunting, that was Katniss' and Gale's thing. No, definitely not mine.

They'd taken me out once, letting me join them on their weekly escapade. Gale found it hilarious that I moved too loudly, scaring away the prey, or that I stepped in my own trap, getting my foot stuck in the rope. I let him enjoy himself at my expense, knowing it was inevitable. Katniss however, despite the small smile that would ghost her lips at something stupid I'd do, was adamant on helping me. She took it too seriously, showing me how to use her prized bow and how to sneak around better. I'd like to say it worked, that I learnt something, but it didn't. It was safe to say they never took me again.

So, when I found myself in the forbidden woods outside the District 12 fence, with Katniss' bow in hand, I felt like a foreigner. I wasn't familiar with these woods, especially not in winter when it was a completely different ballgame to what I'd 'practiced' in last summer. Katniss' bow was too big for me, and no matter how hard I tried to take her familiar hunting routes, my approach always scared away the prey.

I was out there for two hours, certain my fingers would fall off from the cold, but I refused to give up. I couldn't return empty handed. Gale hadn't been successful last week, and family responsibilities had kept him from hunting today like he usually did. So, I took it upon myself to do it, especially because Prim was so hungry, her little face shrinking the longer Katniss was bedridden. I couldn't let her down, any of them, so I pushed on.

But every arrow I let fly missed its target, and every squirrel I approached scampered off. The sun, hidden behind thick clouds, was setting and it was getting dark out, even though the afternoon was barely over. I had to go home, but I had nothing to show for it. I couldn't even pick any edible plants because everything was frozen. I was a failure.

I couldn't catch a thing; the one job I had, to keep Prim fed, was failing; Katniss was dying and I couldn't do a thing to change any of it.

Tears streamed down my face, hot against the cold of my cheeks, and I collapsed in the snow, unbothered by it melting into the cotton of my trousers. It didn't matter anymore.

She wasn't getting better. Every day I visited her, she looked worse for wear. If it wasn't her fevers, it was her migraines. And if it wasn't her migraines, it was her throat. I was losing her day by day and I felt powerless. I couldn't even shoot a fucking squirrel to help. Nothing was working.

I was going to lose her.

Admittedly, I wallowed in self-pity for a little longer, appreciating having somewhere private to let it all out. It was hard playing it positive and tough all the time, for Prim's and Katniss' sake, when the truth was I was scared shitless. Living in a world without my best friend, the girl I so deeply loved to the point that she'd laugh if she ever found out, was terrifying. I didn't even want to envision it.

It was dark by the time I returned to the Everdeens home. I would have much preferred to go straight home, but I couldn't not update them on my false promise.

"Y/N!" Prim exclaimed when she opened the door, before tugging me in instantly.

"Hey," I said, forcing a smile, and I was glad the redness from the cold disguised my red eyes from crying.

"You're freezing," she realised, before calling for her mum. "You were gone for ages! Come, sit in front of the fire."

I pulled back as she attempted to drag me to the fire, and then her mum appeared and noticed the same thing Prim did.

"Y/N, you need to warm up–"

"I will, at my house," I promised her. "I just came to tell you that I– that–" I paused, afraid of the shakiness of my voice. Swallowing thickly, I said, "I'm sorry. I couldn't– I'm not–"

Fuck, why was this so hard?

"I'm gonna figure it out," I changed my words, nodding confidently. "I'll get some food. I'm sorry. I–"

Prim suddenly hugged me, arms wrapping around my torso and squeezing so tightly that I could have snapped in half from how frozen I was. But I appreciated it nonetheless and returned the gesture, letting out a shaky breath.

"Don't do it again," her mum said gently, resting a hand on my cheek before hugging me too.

I blinked back my tears as I let myself relax in their comfort.

I couldn't just stand by and do nothing anymore, and there was only one thing that I knew I could do. None of us could ever afford the medicine Katniss needed from the doctor in town, unless we traded something valuable, like food.

If I used my tesserae, adding my name another time into the potential tributes for District 12, I would receive a year's supply of oil and grain. Participants could only apply once for themselves, and once for any of their family members if they were between the ages of 12 and 18. I'd used mine for this year, but I could still use it on behalf of my parents. They never wanted me to, but this was an emergency and they didn't need to know.

So, on behalf of them, I used my tesserae and traded that two years' supply of oil and grain with the doctor in exchange for the medicine that would make Katniss better. After describing all her symptoms, he explained how it was some complex form of a cold, rare but deadly. I was lucky I'd got to him in time.

Gale didn't approve of my plan when I told him, trying to talk me out of it. Just like Katniss, he cared about whether I used my tesserae without needing to. I could see it was killing him to watch me do it anyway, wanting to do it himself if he could, but he'd already used all his family's tesserae for the year. It was the first thing he did every time it was available, having no choice since he had a big family.

After I collected the medicine from the doctor, I was quick to return to Katniss' house, giving a rushed explanation to her mum about the medicine and what the doctor said about administering it and how it would save her life.

"Y/N, how did you get this?" she asked once I finished to catch my breath.

"It doesn't matter," I said to her. "But it'll help. We can give her the first dose now."

"Y/N–”

"Mrs Everdeen, please," I pleaded, and she must have seen the desperation in my expression because she nodded slowly and went to make Katniss some tea with the medicine in it. It was a syrup of some sort, so the mint tea should have made it a bit more palatable.

Eventually we both went to Katniss' room, where Prim was sat beside her, holding her hand and chatting quietly. When she spotted us both, she perked up and smiled a little.

"Hey, Prim," I said, returning her smile and joining her side. "How's the patient?"

"She's got a headache," Prim answered, and I looked to Katniss who had a wet towel pressed to her eyes, both cooling her down and also blocking out the light.

"Y/N?" Katniss whispered, though unmoving.

"Yours truly," I said playfully, needing to disguise the permanent concern that was in my voice. "We brought you some tea, Katniss."

She groaned quietly. "I don't want it."

Her mum glanced at me, unsure how to proceed, so I took the mug from her hand and placed it on the bedside table.

"It'll help," I promised her, before gently pulling her duvet down. "Can you sit up for me, please?"

She sighed but thankfully obeyed, allowing me to help her sit upright. She leaned against the bed frame and let me remove the towel from her eyes. I smiled when I saw her blue eyes, though they were fatigued as they had been since she'd gotten sick. Not for long, hopefully.

"Drink up," I encouraged, offering her the mug.

She silently accepted it, blowing on the tea before taking the first sip. Her face scrunched up with disgust. "What is that?"

"New herbal remedy," her mum answered before I could struggle to.

Katniss wasn't impressed, but managed to drink the whole thing, probably because she knew I'd let her go to sleep if she did. After laying back down, I pulled the duvet back over her and pushed her hair behind her ear, smiling reassuringly.

"You should feel better with that," I told her with certainty.

She didn't reply, eyes avoiding mine, something I'd noticed she'd been doing for a while now. It was like she knew she wasn't getting better and was scared to admit the truth, but this was different. This would finally work.

Prim and I stayed by her side until she fell asleep, and that was when I told her about the medicine. The pure joy and relief on her face was enough to let me know I'd made the right decision, and she hugged me so tightly that I almost lost my breath.

"I told you she'd be okay," I said with a small smile, accepting her hug. "And so will you."

"Thank you," she muttered into my shoulder.

I squeezed her gently before we stayed there, sat side by side. She didn't want to leave Katniss' side, and neither did I, but it was getting late and, at some point, Prim had dozed off on my shoulder. Only after I had tucked her into her mum's bed did Mrs Everdeen politely kick me out, forcing me to get some rest of my own at home. For once, I didn't argue it, my exhaustion catching up to me. Plus, I could sleep well knowing Katniss would already be doing a lot better tonight.

As soon as I woke up and remembered the medicine the next morning, I headed straight to the Everdeens place, hoping to see some sort of improvement with Katniss. So you can imagine my surprise when I walked into her room and saw her sat upright in bed, eating an actual breakfast on a tray.

"Katniss!" I said with disbelief, before rushing to hug her. "You're eating!"

She returned my hug and I pulled up a chair beside her bed, studying her curiously. She'd looked like she'd had a better sleep than she usually did, and she was actually holding up her own weight which was an achievement in itself. The medication was working!

The sight of her looking a lot healthier and actually improving from her poor condition brought tears to my eyes, but I willed them away. She'd hate to see me crying over her, but I genuinely couldn't believe it.

"I'm not stupid," she said with a raspy voice, eyes narrowed my way.

I furrowed my brows. "What?"

She frowned. "You think I don't know that you gave me actual medicine last night? There's no other explanation for why I'm feeling better. And I know it's not because of a damn herbal remedy. I was doomed, Y/N. So, what the hell did you do?"

"So you do feel better?"

"Y/N!"

I sighed as she raised her voice. "Okay, look, I'm sorry for lying to you, but you wouldn't have taken it if I'd told you."

"Damn right I wouldn't have!" she snapped, glaring at me. "We can't afford that! Which brings me to my next question. How the hell did you get it?"

I shook my head, looking down at her breakfast tray. "It's not your concern."

"Y/N, I swear to God I'll–"

"What?" I cut her off, meeting her hard stare with my own. "You'll what?"

Her eyes flickered between mine before softening. "Y/N. Please."

I could have given in so easily, just from a simple glance, but I refused to let her bait me. I ignored her instead, shaking my head and returning my gaze to her breakfast tray.

"You traded something," she guessed, back to her irritated self. When I didn't answer, she said, "What? What did you trade?"

Again, I said nothing, neither confirming nor denying, but she wasn't having it.

"Goddamn it, Y/N!" she shouted, but her voice was still weak so it was more of a broken yell. "You can't just sit there in silence whilst I–"

"Stop it!" I raised my voice too, glaring at her.

"What the hell were you thinking?!"

I frowned, eyes pooling with tears. "I was thinking that I couldn't just sit here and watch and not do anything! I was thinking that I was terrified that you would die! That you were getting worse and worse every day, and that I would lose you, Katniss!"

Her eyes were glassy as they met mine. "How many times?"

I scoffed, looking away. "Katniss, not now."

I expected her to yell again, but she said in a quiet voice, "Please. How many times is your name in there?"

I clenched my jaw, crossing my arms over my chest stubbornly. But when I glanced at her, she was watching me like a little girl who'd just lost her puppy, and I couldn't not respond.

"Not a lot," I tried to sugar coat it. "Only twelve times." At this, she released a sharp breath. "I traded two years of food with the doctor. It was enough to get the medicine."

She pushed the tray off her lap before pulling her knees to her chest, hiding her face between them. She was shaking her head and I knew she was crying, the sniffling giving it away. Feeling insanely bad, I sat on the bed beside her and pulled her in for a side hug the best I could.

"It's okay," I told her, rubbing her arm. "I chose to do it, Katniss. And I'd do it again, over and over, if it means you'll be okay."

She shook her head. "You shouldn't have," she said with a muffled voice, her head still tucked between her legs.

"You shouldn't have got sick," I tried to joke, but she only looked up at me with red eyes and quivering lips. I lost my smile, admitting, "I wasn't going to lose you. You don't get it."

I love you, I wanted to add, but I couldn't.

"Neither do you," she mumbled, before shoving me off her childishly.

I didn't get to question her because she pulled the tray back onto her lap and tried to finish off the remainder of stale bread in her plate. I returned to my seat next to her bed, watching as she sulked, ate and gave me the temporary silent treatment. I didn't care too much, as long as she was eating.

Once she finished, I took the tray and put it to the side momentarily, flashing her a supportive smile.

"You finished every last bit," I pointed out. "I'm proud of you."

She rolled her eyes, but that only made me smile more because it meant she had the effort to be annoyed at me, which was something she hadn't had for a while now.

"Did you have your morning dose of medicine?" I asked reluctantly, but needing to know.

She nodded, crossing her arms. "My mum gave it me earlier."

I relaxed. "Good."

Before I could say anything else, the door to the bedroom opened and Prim ran in, a bright smile on her face. Despite Katniss' annoyance with me, she couldn't resist returning her sister's smile, accepting her onto the bed and hugging her.

"You already look so much better," Prim was saying with amazement. "I was so scared."

"Well, there's no need to be," Katniss reassured her. "You didn't struggle too much without me, right?"

Prim shook her head. "Gale and Y/N have been helping. Y/N wouldn't leave. Mum had to kick her out a lot."

I facepalmed, feeling my cheeks heat up with embarrassment. It only deepened when Katniss glanced my way with an unreadable expression.

"Yeah, she has a tendency to not listen," she said, making me roll my eyes.

"She saved you," Prim said to her.

Katniss licked her lips. "I know."

I felt awkward, definitely not wanting the credit, I just wanted her to be okay. But then Prim changed the subject, catching Katniss up on all she'd missed, so I was able to sit back and witness it all, chiming in whenever Prim needed.

For once, Katniss was able to listen and actually hold a conversation. It was heartwarming to see, and if this was what she was like after one dose, I couldn't wait until she'd had the full thing.

[imaginedisish]

Graceland Too (Din Djarin x fem!Reader)

A/N: Hi everyone!!! Wowowow am I active this week LOL (fyi this is a re-upload. Decided to proofread one more time bc I uploaded at like 2AM last night). Here is a little sick fic I wrote for my friend who isn’t feeling too great (hope you’re feeling okay <3). The fic is heavily based around “Graceland Too” by Phoebe Bridgers but it is also inspired by “oh baby” by LCD Soundsystem. Highly suggest giving those a listen. Anyway, requests are open. Enjoy!

Summary: You’re terribly sick, but one night and one fever dream might just change everything for you and Din. 

Warnings: SMUT! 18+, Praise kink (imo at least), oral (f!receiving), fingering, reader is sick, Jedi!Reader (it’s like I only know how to write Din x Jedi!readers I stg), idiots/friends to lovers, pining, mentions of death/major violence (canon typical I'd say), cursing, probably some grammar stuff....that’s it I think. 

Word Count: 3,018

The wind is cold as it slices you in half, but you feel overwhelmingly hot, clammy even. Sweat dribbles down your forehead as you tread across the rocks beneath your feet. Blaster shots ring out in the distance.

You struggle to pick up your pace, your boots sticking to the ground as you try to put one foot in front of the other.

“Mando!” You call out, remembering not to use his real name.  Fog covers the ground, filling the air at an excruciatingly quick rate. You’d never be able to find him in this. You call out to him again, but there’s no answer. You’d take a grunt or even a groan at this point.

Then there’s a disembodied, brittle voice coming from behind you.

“Looking for him?” It’s grating, nasally. You’d recognize it anywhere.

You turn around frantically, practically giving yourself whiplash.

“Bo Katan.” Your voice is low, hushed. Din’s body is limp on the ground, being held up on his knees by the woman in front of you. There’s a smirk on her face. She has the darksaber in her hand…

And it’s at Din’s throat.

“Let him go,” You plead. You go to grab your lightsaber, a blaster, something, anything at your utility belt, but there’s nothing there. You have no defense, just your words. “You got what you came for, you have the darksaber.”

She scoffs, shaking her head, her smirk widening. “I haven’t finished the job yet. I still have to kill you and your Mandalorian.”

Your eyes widen with fear, blurring with tears. “No please, please don’t hurt him.” Your voice croaks as you choke back sobs.

“Too late.” She moves the darksaber from his throat, plunging it into his chest with one fatal swoop.

“DIN!” You scream, crashing down to your knees next to him.

“I’m here mesh’la…” He whispers, but it doesn’t sound like he’s next to you, he’s somewhere off in the distance. His husky voice calls out your name.

“I’m right here.” He repeats himself. Your eyes force themselves open as you shove your palms into the bed to push yourself up. You almost hit your head on the top of the bunk in the process, but Din stops you before you can, his cold, gloved hands coming up to your shoulders. “It was just a nightmare.” His voice is honeyed, gentle.

You look to your left to see him standing at your side, armor off, helmet on.

“M’sorry,” You mutter, rubbing your eyes. You feel like absolute shit, worse than yesterday. Your skin is so hot that it threatens to burn a hole in Din’s gloves. You choke down a cough, the sensation vibrating painfully against your already pounding head. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

You had been sick for a few days now, and Din was doing everything by himself: the ship’s maintenance, the flying, the hunting, taking care of Grogu, and taking care of you. Now, to make matters worse, you had woken him up. You know he doesn’t get enough rest to begin with. You feel like a burden – and not just in this moment, always. You were a danger to yourself, to Din, to Grogu; a force wielding ex-Jedi, ex-Empire captive wanted by anyone and everyone. And yet, he had let you into his little clan of two with open arms. Now he was here, caring for you. You could’ve gone home, made a place for yourself in the New Republic, continued your Jedi training, but you didn’t.

You met Din. And you felt so, so guilty for the repercussions of your meeting.  

You part your lips, ready to usher him back to bed, to apologize again. But Din doesn’t leave room for you to protest. “Don’t apologize, please.” He shushes you, taking off a glove and pressing the back of his hand against your forehead. You hum lightly under his touch. He feels like ice against your blazingly hot skin.

“Your hand…” You trail off, struggling to speak, “feels good.”

Your hoarse voice sounds like nothing more than a set of incoherent mumblings, but Din seems to understand every syllable. He chuckles shortly and softly, as if the laugh was only meant to be heard by you. “That’s ‘cause you’re warmer now than you were yesterday.” He flips his hand over so that his palm rests against your skin. His forefingers and thumb rub gently at your temples, working tirelessly at your raging headache.

With his free hand, he reaches down for something you can’t quite see. Seconds later he’s holding two pills in front of your face. You immediately take them from him, no questions asked. Whatever it was, you’d take it. This was absolutely unbearable, and the constant fever dreams certainly didn’t help. You swallow the pills with no hesitation, and Din brings a metal cup to your lips.

“Drink,” is all he says, and you do.  You take the cup from his hands, the cold water rushing down your throat, temporarily easing the pain you feel there. Din apprehensively settles his arm on your waist. “This okay?” He asks, a slight shake in his voice. You nod in response, smiling appreciatively.

“Thank you,” You whisper, tilting your head to the side with affection. You swallow harshly, clearing your throat. “You can go back to sleep now if you want. I’ll be okay.”

But Din doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t move at all. He ignores your permission to leave completely. “What dream did you have this time?”

You shudder, remembering what you had seen just moments ago. Din instantly takes account of the look on your face, his grip on your waist tightening, stabilizing you, keeping you tethered to reality – to him.

You draw in a deep breath, practically coughing up your lungs in the process. “Bo Katan, s-she,” You stutter, your eyes shutting tightly in between words. You could still see it. It was ingrained in your brain, burnt into the grooves, sowed in between every empty space. You can still feel her. It was so real. “She had the darksaber and she…” But you can’t finish. Your vision is blurry, your surroundings morphing into an amalgamation of streaks of light and grey metallic colors. You blink and a few cool tears drip down your searing cheeks.

“Hey,” Din coos, his helmet inching closer towards your face, his hands still glued around your waist and atop your forehead. “I’ve got you now. It was just a nightmare. Nothing’s gonna hurt you, mesh’la, nothing.”

You cough out a laugh. “Nothing except a red-haired Mandalorian and whatever this fever is.”

But Din shakes his head. “Not if I can help it.” It isn’t until those words fall from his lips that you realize how close he is to you, how intimate this moment is. His armor is long gone, and you can see the outline of his muscles in his shoulders and arms, his deltoids, his triceps, underneath his flight suit.

“I would…” He trails off, a tremble obviously present in his voice. His confidence has completely disappeared. The vulnerability of the moment makes your head spin faster than it already is. You watch his chest rise and fall, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. You hear him suck in a sharp breath through his vocoder. “I would do anything for you.”

Anything. He would do anything? For you?

Your heart beats rapidly, threatening to combust against your ribs as Din’s hand on your forehead slides down to your cheek. You’ve forgotten your fever at this point, forgotten your headache, your sore throat. All you feel now is Din, his thumb grazing against your cheek, his fingers ghosting along the exposed slit of skin between the hemline of your shirt and the waistline of your shorts.

You want to keep him here, to ask him to hang on to you all night long, but you don’t know if you have the courage to ask. You close your eyes, inhaling through your nose, gathering your words before they spill from your lips. “Would you…” Your voice fades out, evaporating into silence, unable to finish your sentence.

“Anything,” Din’s modulated voice echoes against the walls of the bunk. “Say the word and it’s yours. Whatever you want, cyare.”

Fuck. He really means anything. Whatever you want.

“Would you stay…with me?” It’s a garbled, incomprehensible mess of a question, but as always, Din knows what’s on your mind better than you do.

Din nods immediately. “Of course.” It’s short, but certainly not curt. Those two words say far more than what they mean. “I have to let go of you for just a second, but I’ll be right back, I promise.” Ever the caretaker, Din Djarin. Eternally putting others before himself. It makes your heart pang in your chest, your breath catching in your throat.

He hesitates a moment before finally letting go of you, his hands brushing over your skin for a few extra seconds, stealing time that had already been borrowed. He slips deeper into the hull. You hear him press a few buttons in the distance, and then with a sudden flick, the lights of the hull go out. Darkness fills the room, and you can hear Din shuffling back towards the bunk.

There’s a click and a hiss, and then the sound of metal falling onto metal. Din had taken his helmet off. It wasn’t the first time he had done this. You occasionally found yourself in his bunk, clinging to him for warmth when you were on a particularly cold planet or when the Crest’s heating system had broken down, but it was rare.

“Should you keep it on?” You ask as Din pushes the covers of the bed down. You feel the mattress dip as he slides into the bunk. “I’m still sick, you know.” The last thing you wanted was to make Din feel the way you feel right now. You didn’t want him to get hurt. You had to protect him, too.

You don’t realize how close he is to you until you feel his breath fan across your lips. “No.” It’s a whisper, barely audible. “Wanna make you feel safe.”

“But-,”

He cuts you off. “It’s worth the risk.”

You were worth the risk.

The darkness isn’t so scary when he’s next to you. You close your eyes, listening closely to his unmodulated breaths. His arm snakes up your body, coming to rest around your waist, in the exact spot he was in before.

“Din?” You call out in the darkness. You inch forward a bit, unexpectedly bumping your nose into his. The sudden touch, the proximity, it’s all becoming too much for you to bear.

“Yes, cyare?” His voice is husky, low, rough.

You can’t even remember what it was you were going to ask him. All you can think about is how close he is, how his fingers graze over your stomach, how his breath ghosts over your cheeks, how much you want him to kiss you.

Maker, you want him to kiss you. Would he if you asked him to? Was that under the category of, anything?

“Cyare?” He’s concerned. You can hear it in the way the pet name plays on his lips, hanging around in the air longer than normal.

“I-I,” You stutter. Was now really the time to do this, to confess your feelings to Din? “I don’t know what to say.” It was true, maybe a little too true. “I just, I like you Din.”

He chuckles. Maker, it sounds so much better without his helmet. “I like you too, cyar’ika.” He’s unserious, carefree.

“No,” You mumble. You feel like a child, a padawan once again, not knowing how to communicate or to feel. “Not like that. M-more than that.” You wish you could see the look on his face, to gauge what he was feeling.

Silence takes hold of the bunk. Shit. Too much. Too much too soon. I shouldn’t have-

And then, like always, Din reads your mind. His lips come crashing down onto yours. The kiss is reckless, frenzied, deep. He molds against you, as if he was always meant to fit here. You almost regret not doing something sooner. You think, maybe you’ve wasted valuable time that you could’ve already spent with this side of him. But you know you’ve lived through everything you’ve been through, just to get to this very moment, to feel his lips taking yours, his tongue sliding along your lower lip, seeking permission to explore more of you. You part your mouth, gladly accepting his invitation.

His hand at your waist travels lower, resting along the inside of your thigh. You moan against his lips at the touch. You can feel your wetness growing between your legs, the pulsing of your core. You instinctively try to press your thighs together, searching for some sort of friction, but Din stops you, using his hand to keep your legs spread wide for him.

His fingers tread achingly slow up your inner thigh, teasing you, his nails softly scratching against your exposed skin. Din’s hand finally lands on top of your clothed cunt, his thumb tracing circles into the overly sensitive spot. You’re trembling under his touch as he presses harder into where you need him most.

“S-shit,” You mutter. “Feels s-so good.”

Din swallows harshly. “Wanna taste you, mesh’la. Bet you taste so good.” Desire coats his voice. His hand slips away from your heat and you groan at the loss of contact. He finds the waistline of your shorts, tugging a bit, searching for permission.

“Please, wanna feel you,” You whimper. And that’s all he needs. Din drags your shorts and panties down your legs. You’re not sure where they end up, but you can’t be bothered to care.

Din presses light kisses against your inner thigh, his stubble scratching lightly against your skin, until he finally reaches your core. His tongue begins to explore your folds, pushing through before finally settling on your clit.

“D-Din!” You cry out as he takes the sensitive bud into his mouth, sucking roughly. “Fuck, feels s’good.” Your words slur and your eyes blur as he laps at you.

“Tastes so good, so fucking sweet.” The vibrations of Din’s voice against your clit pushes you closer to the edge. You were already practically there.

He brings a finger to your folds, spreading your slick before sinking deep inside of you. The sensation coaxes a moan from your lips, and Din takes this as a sign to add another finger. He gives you a moment to adjust to him before pulling out and crashing back into you. He’s pushing further inside you as he takes you on his tongue. Nothing else matters, and nothing else will ever be the same.  

“Doing so good for me, sweet girl,” He soothes, his tongue swirling around your clit as his fingers thrust in and out of your entrance. “You sound so pretty when you say my name.”

“Din.” It’s a whisper, a plea. More, please, more. “Don’t stop. Fuck.” His free hand glides under your shirt, pushing your bra up and out of the way. He takes a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching lightly, rolling the nub around before switching to the other. He squeezes softly, luring you closer to your breaking point.

“Taking me so good, being such a good girl,” Din groans. You throw your head back against the pillow. His words alone were enough to drive you mad. “Gonna make you come, gonna give you whatever you want, mesh’la.”

His name rolls off your tongue. You’re unsure of where it starts and where it ends, whispering it over and over again like you’re trying to commit this moment to some eternal memory.

His tongue presses harder into your clit, his fingers pumping faster, deeper inside of you. You couldn’t hold back anymore. You were right there, your walls tightening around Din’s fingers.

“Din I’m gonna-,” But it’s impossible to get the words out. You’re a bleating mess underneath him.

“That’s it, come for me, pretty girl. Wanted this for so long,” His praises, his confessions, send you over the edge, searing heat spreading across every inch of your body. “You’re so beautiful, so perfect for me.” You can feel yourself shattering under his touch, your walls fluttering around him.

“F-fuck Din,” You whimper, riding out your high. Din slowly laps at your swollen clit, his fingers gently pumping in and out of you a few more times before pulling out. You feel empty without them. “N-need more. Need to feel you.” You can’t help but beg. It wasn’t enough. You wanted all of him, needed all of him.  

“Not tonight, cyar’ika,” Din breathes as he finds his way back next to you. “Don’t wanna push you too far. You’re sick, don’t forget. I promised I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, remember?” There’s a faint laugh in his voice, a certain genuine happiness that you can’t wait to hear more of.

“Tomorrow?” You ask, shifting so that your head rests against his chest.

“As long as you’re feeling better…” He trails off for a second, mulling his words over in his head before continuing, “I’ll do anything you want me to.” You know there’s a smile tugging at his lips, you can hear it. It makes your heart flutter in your chest. “Get some rest, okay?”

You nod your head, nestling even further into him. You wrap a leg around his waist, and he follows suit by wrapping his arms around you.

“Goodnight, Din.”

“Goodnight, mesh’la.”

No longer a danger to herself or others

She made up her mind and laced up her shoes…

Said she knows she lived through it to get to this moment

Ate a sleeve of saltines on my floor, and I knew then

I would do anything you want me to

I would do anything for you

I would do anything, I would do anything

Whatever you want me to do, I will do

I will do anything (whatever you want)

Whatever she wants (whatever you want)

[suddencolds]

The Worst Timing | [3/?]

part 3 (6k words)!! you can read [part 1] here! (it gets worse before it gets better). this chapter is more character-centric (sorry again 🙇‍♀️). i wanted to post this before work eats me alive this week T.T

this is an OC fic - here is a list of everything I've written w these two!

Summary: Yves invites Vincent to a wedding, in France, where the rest of his family will be in attendance. It's a very important wedding, so he's definitely not going to let anything—much less the flu—ruin it. (ft. fake dating, an international trip, downplaying illness, sharing a hotel room)

—

It’s fine, until it isn’t.

—

Yves gets home, showers first (only after Vincent insists that he shower first), heads out into the living room, and shuts off the lights. The lights in the bedroom are still on, bleeding in from the doorframe. 

His head hurts. Every part of him feels cold. He burrows deep into the covers on the pullout bed, rearranges himself until he finds a sufficiently comfortable position, and shuts his eyes. 

Tomorrow, he’ll be away for most of the afternoon—with the wedding rehearsal, and then the rehearsal dinner with the rest of his family—and Vincent will grab dinner and drinks with some of Genevieve’s friends in the meantime. Yves will probably be home late. They won’t see each other for the entire day—at least, until he gets back from dinner some time in the late evening. 

Everything for the wedding is ready. His suit jacket is ironed, his shoes polished; his speech has been written for weeks and rehearsed first alone, and then in front of Leon and Victoire, who’d told him how to make it funnier (Leon) and more concise (Victoire). Two days from today, Aimee and Genevieve will be married.

All he has to do, now, is just see it through.

—

Yves wakes up coughing.

He feels distinctly wrong. His head is throbbing. His limbs feel strangely leaden, like they’re weighing him down, like it’d be a considerable inconvenience to move them—he isn’t sure if he’d be able to sit up properly.

He presses a hand to his forehead, in an attempt to gauge whether he’s running a fever. It’s no use—his hand is warm and clammy. He can’t tell.

Fuck. This is not good. 

One wrong breath leaves him coughing, harshly enough that the coughs seem to reverberate through his frame. His throat burns. He reaches blindly through the dark in an attempt to find one of the waters he’d bought yesterday night, at the convenience store. Had he left a bottle on the nightstand? Or had he gotten rid of the one he’d drunk from last night? His breath hitches, so sharply that he has practically no hope of holding back.

“Hhehh’YISHh-CHHiew! hhHEHH’iIDTSSHh-iiEW!”

The sneezes tear through him with little warning, leaving him flushed and shivering. It’s not warm enough in the living room. He doesn’t know if it’s the air conditioning in the room, or the relative thinness of the blanket he’s under, or if perhaps the window is open just a crack, or if perhaps he just hasn’t been moving enough to get warm. He’s not sure he could pinpoint the cause if he tried.

The only thing that seems evident to him, now, is that he feels immediately, uncomfortably cold. He could get out of bed and look for something to wear—he hadn’t packed any thick jackets, because Provence in March isn’t especially cold, but even one of the dress jackets would be better than nothing, so long as it’s one of the ones which can withstand getting a little wrinkled.

But when he sits up—or, rather, when he attempts to sit up—he feels the world tilt, uncomfortably. He braces himself on the frame of the couch, propping himself up with one arm up on the armrest. 

He definitely has a fever, even if there’s no way for him to verify that right now. Otherwise, it would be strange for him to feel so cold. Even now, only half-vertical, he finds himself shivering so hard he can barely move the blanket back up to sit comfortably around his shoulders.

One wrong breath sends a painful twinge down his throat, and he finds himself coughing, gripping the armrest tightly to keep himself upright. He should get out of bed. He should find water, put on a jacket, make an attempt to get back to sleep.

For now, all he can do is muffle the coughs as best he can into a cupped hand. His chest aches with every cough. Every breath he takes in feels like it only manages to irritate his lungs further.

Through the haze of his exhaustion, he thinks he hears footsteps. The knowledge that he’s keeping Vincent up is the last thing he needs, right now. 

Through the crack under the doorframe, he can see the line of light from the hallway, which is lit even at night. Maybe if he’s going to be up anyways, he should spend the night out in the hallway—at the very least, he’ll be a little quieter out there.

Someone presses a bottle of water into his hands.

“Drink,” Vincent says. “It’s uncapped.”

Yves brings the water to his lips and takes a short, tentative sip, and then another. His throat is sorer than it had been yesterday—the water burns against the back of his throat as he swallows.

Vincent steps past him, past the edge of the couch, to do—something. Yves doesn’t know what. He hears a click, and the lamp on the cabinet by the sofa flickers on, floods the living room with dim yellow light. Vincent regards him carefully, his expression unreadable.

“Sorry,” Yves says. The next breath he takes in exacerbates the tickle at the back of his throat, and he twists away, muffling cough after cough into a tightly cupped hand. “I didn’t mbean to wake you.”

Vincent’s eyebrows furrow. He looks… upset, somehow, though the light is dim enough that his expression is hard to make out. Yves tries to think of what else he should say, but his head feels heavy.

He tries to re-cap the bottle of water, though his hands are shaky enough to make it a little difficult. Vincent takes the bottle from him and screws the cap tight in one fluid motion. Yves tries and fails to think of something to joke about.

Vincent presses a hand to his forehead. His hand is comfortingly warm, and a little calloused. It’s strange, how good it feels to be touched—he knows and knows well that it means nothing, but the gentle press of Vincent’s fingers to his skin—when he’s spent the past few days trying to keep his distance from everyone—is strangely comforting. Yves leans into the contact, despite all logic.

Vincent pulls away, too soon. “You’re—”

“Warm?” Yves finishes for him.

“Feverish,” Vincent clarifies, with a frown. “Did you already know that?”

“I had a hunch,” Yves answers, honestly.

Vincent just stares at him, for a moment, frustration evident in the set of his jaw. Yves repositions the blankets over his shoulders, a little self-conscious. “It’s fide. I’ll take something for it,” Yves says. “You should go back to sleep.”

“We slept early,” Vincent says. “I’m not tired.”

“What time is it?”

Vincent glances at his watch. “5:34.”

“That’s still early enough that you should be asleep.” Yves sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. His head hurts, and there’s a prickle in his nose again. “Sorry. I can be quieter.”

His breath hitches. In a frantic attempt to keep his promise, he lifts the blanket to his face and stifles—or, rather, attempts to stifle—the sneeze into the fabric.

“hh—! hhEHH’NGKTSHCH-iiew!”

It’s still not very quiet, despite his best efforts, and the attempt to stifle leaves him coughing a little. It’s a good thing they’re not sharing a bed, he thinks. He hasn’t exactly been careful about keeping this illness to himself.

“Bless you,” Vincent says, rising to his feet. He ducks into the bedroom, only to be back a moment later with a box of tissues, which he tucks into the crook between the pullout bed and the sofa armrests, conveniently in reach. “Was it like this last night?”

“What?”

“Were you unable to sleep last night?”

It’s not an accusation, but Yves freezes at the question, nonetheless. For a moment, he worries—that Vincent knows precisely how little sleep he’s gotten since they landed in France. That Vincent was awake last night—or worse, that Yves was the one who kept him up—which is why he’s asking this question now.

But if he knew, wouldn’t he have said something about it yesterday? 

“I slept fine,” Yves says. 

There’s a cold breeze coming in from somewhere—from the hallway, or from one of the air conditioning vents, he can’t say. Yves tries his best to suppress a shiver. He can tell, by the change to Vincent’s expression—the way Vincent’s eyes linger on him a little too long—that he doesn’t do it well enough.

“You should really have taken the bed,” Vincent says, with a sigh. “It’s warmer.”

“It’s warm here too,” Yves says. There probably wouldn’t even be a problem if he weren’t feverish—it’s just the relative temperature difference that’s making him shiver. “Are you goidg to stop interrogating me ndow?”

“If you stop giving me reasons to be worried,” Vincent says plainly, “Then I will.”

Yves sighs. He’s cold, and exhausted, and he wants this argument to be over. He doesn’t want to have to justify all of this to Vincent, who should be enjoying this vacation instead of worrying about Yves and whatever cold-slash-flu he’s managed to pick up this time. “This is not the first time I’ve been under the weather,” he says. “I—” he veers away to face the opposite direction from Vincent, pulls the blanket up to cover his face. “hHeh-!-hHEHh‘nGKTTSHH-iiIEw!”

“Bless you.”

“—I kdow what I’m doing, snf. I don't even feel that—hh… hHheh'iiDDZZCHH-iIIEW!” The sneeze comes on too quickly for him to stifle. “—that udwell,” he finishes, sniffling, though that’s not entirely truthful. He lifts an elbow to muffle a few coughs into it, blinking through the tears that are surfacing, irritatingly, in his vision.

“So you’ve said,” Vincent says.

“Yes,” Yves says. “You can trust me on this.”

Vincent looks at him for a moment. For a moment, Yves waits for him to refute this, waits for him to point out just how unprepared he is, just how little of a plan he has aside from sticking this out until he has the chance to crash and burn.

“What do you need?” he says, instead.

Yves blinks at him. It’s not the question he expects Vincent to ask.

“Nothidg,” he says, honestly. “Seriously. It’s just a cold. I’ll take somethidg for it when I wake up.”

“Cold medicine?” To Yves’s nod, Vincent says, “I can get it for you, if you want.”

“No need. I’ll probably just — hhEhh-! HhEHh’IITShh-iiEW! Ugh… I’ll pick somethidg up from the codvenience store on the way to breakfast.”

Vincent turns aside to muffle a yawn into a cupped hand. Yves is unpleasantly reminded that he’s probably the sole reason why Vincent is awake right now.

“You should sleep, seriously,” Yves says, insistent. “Maybe you’ll be able to squeeze in a few more hours of sleep before sunrise. I’ll be okay.”

Vincent blinks at him. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay,” Vincent says, softly. 

Then he stands, sets the bottle of water on the cabinet by the sofa, switches off the lamp, and heads back into the bedroom. Yves listens as his footsteps recede. His sinuses are starting to feel like they’re slightly waterlogged, and the pressure from behind his eyelids is back, throbbing.

The tickle in his nose heightens, momentarily, and he finds himself muffling another set of sneezes into the bedsheets. He desperately hopes it’s quiet enough to not be disruptive. It’s hard to be fully quiet when whatever he has leaves him sneezing so forcefully, but he’s determined to try. 

The coughing fit that follows leaves his throat feeling like it’s been nearly scraped raw. He clears his throat quietly, though that hurts, too. He takes another small sip of the water, though it goes down his throat with such difficulty he finds himself coughing again.

Two more days. He just has to make it through. He’ll grab a pack of cold and flu medication from the convenience store downstairs—the kind that’s supposed to smother all the symptoms—and then he’ll be good as new, he’s sure.

Yves shuts his eyes, turns to the side, and tries his best to get comfortable. He’ll be less disruptive if he’s asleep. It’s just getting there that’s the problem. He’s exhausted—that fact only seems to become more evident the longer he stays awake—but every time he finds himself drifting off, he’s jolted awake by another untimely sneeze which wrenches him back into consciousness.

In college, whenever he was up unreasonably late for some reason, Erika used to tell him to Stop worrying, Yves, I can hear you overthinking from the other side of the room. Ask anyone else and they’d say that Yves has his life reasonably put together—being the eldest of three does that to you. He’d spent his formative years growing up trying to be the sort of person Leon and Victoire could lean on—the kind of person impervious to the sorts of stressful situations he’d gotten regularly thrown into—and for the most part, it’d worked.

He’d learned, early on, that it is not really that difficult to keep things from people. He likes to think of himself as reliable, even if that means that whenever something does come up—something that feels frustrating and insurmountable—it doesn’t really hurt any less when he goes through it privately.

Erika had always been good at seeing through his bullshit. It was one of the things he liked about her—that he could lean on her if he needed to, without worrying that it’d take its toll on her. That she’d take a look at his problems, which always felt so all-consuming in the moment, and make them seem simple and solvable and almost trivial.

It’s hard not to miss her, now, when he’s alone in the dark, devoid of any and all distractions. Or maybe it wasn’t her. Maybe it was just having someone he didn’t have to hide from.

Yves wonders, faintly, what Vincent would’ve said if he were more honest with him. He and Vincent aren’t actually dating, but he thinks maybe Vincent would understand. He thinks that they’ve been getting along well, as of late—he might even consider them friends.

But then again, hasn’t Vincent agreed to do all of this—lying to Yves’s friends and family, falsifying their relationship, letting Yves drag him from one celebration to the next—because it’s easy? Because he is willing to tolerate going to a party, or a housewarming, or a wedding, where there are no strings attached, when after the night is over he can drop the act cleanly?

It’s a lie that they’re telling, but it’s a self contained one. The moment they step foot out of whatever event they’re attending, there’s nothing left to pretend. Yves can go back to living his own life, and Vincent can go back to living his. Would Vincent really have agreed to do any of this if that weren’t the case? 

It’s going to be fine, Erika would have said. Just breathe. She’s not around to tell him this, now, but he still tries.

The medicine will be enough to get him through today, and the day after. It has to be.

—

When Yves falls asleep, it’s the kind of restless sleep that sits somewhere in between unconsciousness and wakefulness. He dreams in fragments of scenes—him at Aimee and Genevieve’s wedding, the details hazy and illogical and unusually bright, the weddings he’d been to in the past all superimposed into one.

When he wakes up to the sound of his alarm, it’s to a pounding headache and what he’s certain must be a fever. He can’t seem to stop shivering. It’s already bright out—the curtains in the bedroom are pulled shut, but light streams in from the sliver of space between them.

He feels too cold and somehow entirely devoid of energy, though he doesn’t remember doing anything particularly tiring. Sitting up makes the throbbing pain in his head sharpen, so painfully that he has to grip the side of the couch to steady himself, blinking against the dizziness. If Aimee saw him right now, he thinks, she’d send him straight home—he’s in no state to attend a wedding, and he’s not sure if he’s in any state to pretend that’s not the case.

He breath hitches. He raises an arm to shield his face, habitually, even though there’s no one here to witness—

“hhEhh-’iZZSSHH’Iew!” The singular sneeze is, unfortunately, far from relieving. The tickle in his nose is irritatingly persistent, even when he reaches up to rub his nose, which is starting to run. “Hh-! hhEH-!! HEHh-’IDDZSCHh-yYew! hHEHH’iDDSCHh-iEWW!hhEhH-! H‘IIDzZCH-YIIIEEew! Ugh…” The sneezes scrape unpleasant against his already-sore throat, leaving him hunched over as he muffles cough after cough into his arm.

There’s a small packet of cold medicine on his bedside, along with an uncapped bottle of water, and Vincent is nowhere to be found. The medication is a relief. It’s strangely thoughtful—a part of him is a little worried that Vincent’s only gotten this for him out of a sense of obligation—but he’s grateful for it, nonetheless. 

It’s exactly what he needs. Surely if he takes something for this, his symptoms will be, at the very least, tolerable enough for him to function as usual.

He picks up the packet, squints down at the instructions. The text is inconveniently small, and he’s always been better at speaking French than he is at reading it, but he gets it eventually. It’s supposed to last six hours. If he times this right, he can take a dose that will last him until the end of the rehearsal dinner tonight, and then—if he’s not feeling better by tomorrow—take another before the wedding starts. 

It will be fine. He uncaps the bottle by the cabinet, downs two pills, squeezes his eyes shut, and sits there for a minute, forces himself to breathe, waits for the uncomfortable pressure in his temples to subside.

Then he shoots off a quick text—

Y: thanks for the cold meds :)

Y: sorry i essentially left you with some strangers (again)

Y: this seems to be a theme for me huh

Vincent texts him back just a few minutes later:

V: No problem. I hope you feel better soon

V: Leon and Victoire invited me out for lunch

Yves blinks. That’s a little surprising. But come to think about it, Vincent’s plans with Genevieve’s friends aren’t until dinner time, so it makes sense that he’s out doing something else.

His second thought is: he is definitely in for an earful from both Leon and Victoire.

Y: jealous! have fun! 

His phone buzzes not long later with Vincent’s response.

V: I considered waking you, but I figured you could use the sleep

V: Do you want me to bring anything back?

Sure enough, when he checks his unread texts, Leon has texted him, are u alive????? And then, a few minutes later, ur sick? dude worst fucking timing ever 😦, to which Yves types back, thanks for your glowing reassurance

Victoire has sent him, vincent told me you’re sick :((( and, feel better soon (preferably before 3pm tomorrow!!), to which Yves says, thanks, fwding this to my body. hope it gets the message ✌️

Then he sends back to Vincent:

Y: i’m good, but thanks for asking! enjoy lunch 

Vincent doesn’t say anything, to that, which means that he’s probably busy. Yves makes a note to thank him in person later. And again, much later—when all of this is over.

He just has to get the next day and a half to go according to plan.

—

The wedding rehearsal is mercifully uneventful. They walk twice through the processional, and then twice through the recessional. Yves picks a seat near one of the back rows, shivers through thirty minutes of run throughs, and tries to cough as discreetly as he can. He stifles every sneeze into a vague approximation of silence—he’s never been good at stifling—and does his best to ignore the mounting congestion in his sinuses, the persistent ache behind his temples.

It's easy enough to ignore all of those things in his excitement. He’s happy to be back—here, in France, surrounded by his whole extended family A part of this still feels unreal to him. He’s really here, in a place that feels familiar and simultaneously so novel, to watch someone who’s influenced him so fundamentally get married. 

They’re all dressed for the spring weather. For the wedding rehearsal, Yves picked out a gray blazer over a dress shirt, chinos, and dress shoes. It’s not quite as formal as what he’s planning to wear tomorrow—the shoes are the only item he’s planning to rewear—but he finds himself distinctly grateful for the blazer jacket when the wind threads through the trees, knocking his tie slightly out of alignment.

It’s not unusually cold out—this would probably be considered temperate weather here, in March—but the wind is cold enough to offset the otherwise agreeable temperature.

The cold medicine helps, too—it keeps him feeling well enough to stay upright, which is already an accomplishment. He’s congested—his sinuses hurt a little, like everything’s a little waterlogged—but at least he isn’t sneezing as much as he was last night. His head still feels heavy, but the pain is a little duller, a little more muted; he’s tired, but he thinks right now he could stay awake on pure adrenaline alone.

“Dude, you sound awful,” Leon says, after the rehearsal ends.

“Thadks,” Yves says, muffling a fit of coughs into his elbow. “You always kdow just how to flatter me.”

Leon looks him over with a frown. “Are you sure you’re good for tomorrow?”

Yves doesn’t know. “Let’s hope so,” he says. “I don’t have any contingedcy plans for if I’m not.”

“I’m sure Aimee would understand if you told her.”

“I’m sure she would.” Yves looks over to where Aimee’s standing—she’s in the middle of a conversation with Yves’s parents and some of the adults on Genevieve’s side of the family. He’s too far to make out what she’s talking about, but she looks happy—she’s gesturing animatedly, her eyes bright. Every so often, he sees her flash a smile at Genevieve, as if to make sure Genevieve is following along.

Leon seems to understand that Yves has no intention of telling either of them, because he sighs. Yves changes the subject before he can say anything. “How was ludch with Vincent?”

“I like him,” Leon says, brightening at the question. “He’s surprisingly pretty funny. I hope you guys stay together.”

“Just because he’s funny?”

“That certainly doesn’t hurt,” Leon says, grinning. “But you work with him, right? If he’s a nice person while he’s looking at like, tax forms, or whatever, he’s probably a great person when he’s doing anything else.”

“Yves! Leon!” someone waves them over. When Yves turns, he sees it’s Roy, one of his younger cousins from his dad’s side of the family. “Pictures!”

“Coming,” Leon shouts back. 

Yves has no idea why there are pictures happening today when the wedding is tomorrow, but he fixes his tie hastily and heads over to join them both.

—

When dinner rolls around, Yves finds he has no appetite, but he eats what he can and spends the rest of the time making conversation with some of his aunts and uncles. He’s always found this kind of small talk to be more enjoyable than it is tedious. They ask about his job, about his workload, about life in the states, about his parents, about Vincent—all things that he knows intimately, and has no problem speaking on. He thinks that speaking in French makes him a little more deliberate with his answers, partially because he has to spend some time formulating the sentences when they get more complicated, and he likes that, too. It has all the camaraderie of a family gathering—warm and crowded, welcoming, a little chaotic.

He finds Genevieve after dinner, sitting out on the steps.

“Hey,” he says, in French. She looks up, and he motions to the steps beside her. “Do you want some time alone before you get swamped with codgratulations tomorrow, or can I crash your alone time early?”

She smiles up at him. “You can sit here,” she says.

He takes a seat on the steps—a few feet away from her, because he doesn’t want to risk passing whatever he has onto her. He doesn’t know Genevieve very well. He knows her best through Aimee—through the stories Aimee has told about her, through the way Aimee’s entire disposition seems to change around her—but he’s exchanged very few words with her outside of that, all over the summer during their yearly family reunions in France. His extended family is large enough and the family reunions hectic enough that he can probably count the number of conversations he’s had with her in person on one hand.

“So,” he says. “How are you feelidg before the big day?”

“Do you want the good answer, or the honest answer?”

“The honest one,” Yves says. “hit me with it.”

For a moment, Genevieve doesn’t say anything. Yves zips his jacket up a little higher, just to have something to do. Genevieve pulls her legs in towards her chest.

“I’m terrified,” she says.

“You think somethidg might go wrong?” Yves asks, surprised. “You guys have planned this all out so thoroughly.”

“It’s not that,” she says. “It’s more like—this is probably going to be one of the most important things I’ve ever done,” she says. “You know, when something is really important to you, so it’s just that much more crucial that you don’t mess it up?”

“You’re the bride,” Yves says, clearing his throat. “I don’t think you can mess up. Unless you like, hheh-! hHheh… HEH’IIDZschH-YIEEW! snf-! Unless you get cold feet and say no when you’re supposed to be saying your vows. I wod’t forgive you if you do that, by the way.”

She laughs. “God, no. I’d never do that. It’s just—there’s all this perceived… I don’t know. Like, fragility around the moment. Like you’re just waiting for the moment to crystallize, and once it sets, it will be like that forever, so you have to make sure that it crystallizes right.”

“I’m guessing you’re ndot a fan of, like, pottery,” Yves says. He tries thinking about what other kinds of art carry the same lack of tolerance for backwards revision. “Or sculpting.”

“I haven’t tried either of those things,” she says. “Though I would probably be bad at them.”

Yves looks off into the distance, towards the countryside, the rows of verdant green hills which unfurl before them, the white cobblestone paths, the houses lining the winding roads all the way to the horizon.

“I think you don’t have to be so concerned about what it’s supposed to be,” he says. “You can give yourself permission to just—live it. Enjoy it, free of expectations. Who cares what you think about it after, right,” he says. “You’ll have a ring on your left hand. That’s good enough to offset any—well, awkwardness, or clumsiness, or anything, because as the bride, you are sort of incapable of doing anything wrong, by default.”

“I guess,” Genevieve says.

“It’d be a disservice to Aimee if you spent the wedding worrying about how to get things right idstead of like, just living,” Yves says, turning to face her. “What’s the worst that could happen? Like, you spill your drink during the wedding toast, or your mascara smears a little, or you trip on your wedding gown and you have to be helped up by the woman you love most? I think that almost makes it more romantic,” he says. “Because however the moment crystallizes, it’ll be you.”

“Did you learn all of this through pottery and sculpting?” Genevieve asks, wiping at her eyes. She looks a little better than before—she’s sitting up straighter, and the tension in her shoulders is less pronounced.

Yves grins at her. “I have a younger brother and a younger sister,” he says. He clears his throat again, though it doesn’t really do a good job at making his voice sound less hoarse. “It’s exactly as bad as you think it is. I have to be the one to talk them out of their stage fright like, all the time.”

Genevieve laughs. “It must be lively,” she says. “Your whole family is very accommodating.”

“They’re certaidly a handful,” Yves says, with a laugh that tapers off into a short cough. “I love them to death. And I’ll be happy to have you as part of them.”

She smiles at him. The evening light strikes the windblown strands of her hair gold. “Thanks for this.”

“Yeah,” he says. “No problem.”

They sit for awhile in silence. Yves crosses his arms in an attempt to conserve warmth and tries his best not to shiver too visibly.

“How did you kdow it was her?” he asks—a sudden, impulsive question.

As soon as he says it, he feels the urge to take it back. Genevieve is already stressed out enough about the wedding without him asking her difficult, abstract questions the day before the ceremony. He opens his mouth to apologize.

“There was never any doubt,” she says.

When he looks over at her, her expression looks a little wistful.

“Like, one day I woke up and I realized that whatever future I imagined for myself—in Marseille, or elsewhere; as a copywriter, or a journalist, or a director, or something entirely different—she would always be there.” Yves understands that—back when he’d been dating Erika, he’d felt like that too. That she was going to be the last person he’d ever date. That there was no conceivable future for him that didn’t involve her.

“Those kinds of revelations would come at the most insignificant of times,” Genevieve says. “I’d look over her halfway through morning coffee, or I’d watch her pick groceries from the aisle, or I’d watch her fiddle with the radio as she drove, and then it would strike me.”

“That you wanted to be with her?”

“That I was happy.” Genevieve tilts her head back to face the setting sun. “I’m really happy. It sounds like such a simple thing, and it is, but even a few years ago I’m not sure if I could’ve told you that that was true. And I think that finding someone who makes you feel that way—like they’d guard your happiness under any circumstance—is really something special.”

“You were the one who proposed to her,” he says. He remembers Aimee texting him about it, the night after it’d happened, remembers how he’d excused himself from dinner somewhere or other, ducked out of the room to get on call with her. She’d sobbed recounting it, the engagement ring on her finger.

“I was,” Genevieve says. She smiles. “I knew that if I gave up this chance I’d be kicking myself for it for the rest of my life.”

—

When he gets back from dinner at last, it’s late.

The cold/flu medicine he took from earlier is starting to wear off. His whole body aches—spending the evening outside in the cold probably didn’t help with that—and even in the relative warmth of the hotel room, he finds that he can’t stop himself from shivering.

He takes a hot shower, which feels pleasantly indulgent in the moment, but not long after he shuts off the water, he finds himself shivering again. The absence of the hot water makes him a little dizzy—he finds himself gripping the tiled wall, pausing for a moment behind the shower curtain to catch his balance.

His head really hurts. It’s the kind of sharp, throbbing pain that makes him all too aware of his heartbeat. He gets changed, towels his hair dry, and steps out of the bathroom.

Vincent is sitting on the bed, reading something. He must’ve gotten back at some point while Yves was showering. At the sound of the door, he puts the book down and looks up.

“How was the wedding rehearsal?” he asks.

“Great,” Yves says. He clears his throat, but clearing his throat irritates his throat enough that he has to muffle a few coughs into his elbow. “How was dinner with Genevieve’s friends?”

“They were very nice,” Vincent says.

“Ndicer than my friends in New York?”

“I felt less like I was being evaluated,” Vincent says, with a smile. “But if they were to express their disapproval of me in French, I would be none the wiser.”

Yves laughs. “I’mb sure that even if you learned the ladguage in full, you wouldn’t hear any disapproval from them.” He takes a seat on the couch, if only because he can’t quite trust his legs to keep him upright for the entire course of the conversation. “What did you guys talk about?”

“Lots of things. Life in France,” he says. “Life in the states. Individual freedom and the formal institution of marriage.”

“Do you believe in mbarriage?”

Vincent looks at him. “I think I believe in it just as much as everyone else does,” he says. Then, after a moment: “It worked out for my parents.”

“The busidess competition proved to be a good edough reason?”

Vincent traces a finger down the spine of the book, over the gold lettering. His shoulders settle. “They weren’t in love when they got married,” he says. Hearing him state it so plainly comes as a surprise to Yves. “Strictly speaking, I’m not sure if they ever were in love. But I think they came to love each other eventually.”

“What about you?” Yves asks. “Do you think you’ll fall in love someday?”

“Is that really something I’d choose?” Vincent says. “It either happens or it doesn’t.”

“Sure, but there are plenty of ways you can seek out love actively.” 

“If I found something worth pursuing, I’d go after it,” Vincent says.

Yves laughs. “That’s very like you.” he wonders what kind of person Vincent might be drawn to enough to see as worth pursuing. Wonders if, after all of this is over, he’ll even be in Vincent’s life for long enough to know.

His head hurts. The slight prickle of irritation in his sinuses is already tiringly familiar.

“hHEh… HeHh’IIDZSCH-yyiEW!” The sneeze snaps him forward at the waist, messy and spraying. He reaches for the tissue box Vincent left him this morning, still nestled into the crook of the couch, and grabs a generous handful of tissues. “Hh… hehh-HEh-HhehHh’IIzSSCH-iEEw! Hh…. HEHh’DJSCCHh-IEew!”

The sneezes leave him coughing, afterwards. His throat feels raw and tender—he raises the tissues back up to his face to blow his nose.

“You sound worse than you did last night,” Vincent says, with a frown.

Yves opens his mouth to speak, but he finds himself coughing again. He can feel Vincent’s eyes on him. It’s embarrassing, he thinks, to be seen when he’s like this by someone who’s usually so well put together. “I’b a little prone to losidg my voice when I’m sick,” he admits. “It’s pretty incodvedient.”

“I’m probably not making it any better by talking to you,” Vincent says. That might be true—Yves is half sure that any time he does lose his voice, it’s because he typically makes no effort to converse any less than usual—but Yves likes talking to Vincent. Besides, they haven’t talked all day. 

He opens his mouth to say as much, but then Vincent asks: “How are you feeling?”

“Good as new,” Yves says. When Vincent raises an eyebrow, at that, he amends: “Good enough for tomorrow, at least. The ceremony doesn’t start until three, but I’ll probably be up earlier to see if there’s anything else Aimee and Genevieve ndeed help with.”

Vincent’s eyebrows furrow. “If anything comes up, I can help.”

“It’s fine,” Yves says. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You don’t have to ask. I’m offering.”

“I can handle it on my own. Even if it doesn’t seem like it, I— hHHEh’IDJZSCHh-yyEW! snf-! I’mb really fine. I swear.”

“Yves—”

“I’ve done this before,” he insists, which is true, too—he’s certainly been through worse. It would be wrong to put himself first, to take things easy when he might be needed still. “It doesn’t have to be your problem.”

For a moment, there’s something there, to Vincent’s expression—a flash of something that looks suspiciously close to hurt. Then it’s gone. When he blinks, Vincent’s expression is carefully neutral, as usual. He wonders if he’d imagined it.

“Okay,” he says. He sets the book gingerly on the bedside counter, and pulls the cord on the lamp. Darkness engulfs the bedroom. “You should sleep soon, if you’re able to.” A pause. The rustling of sheets. “Goodnight.” Yves wants to say something. He has a feeling that he’s messed things up, somehow, though he’s not entirely sure how. 

But what can he say? He just—he just wants, desperately, for all of this to be okay. He wants the wedding to go just as planned, wants to be as present and as reliable as Aimee deserves for him to be. All of that responsibility falls on him and him alone, doesn’t it? 

“Goodnight,” Yves says, instead.

[ Part 4 ]

[courtforshort15]

Fever Dream

Pairing: Matt Murdock x GN Reader

Word Count: 3,100

Summary: You feel like utter death. Good thing you have a boyfriend whose mother-hen tendencies mean he’s the best at taking care of you.

Trigger warnings: None. Just my self-indulgent imagination of Matt taking care of me while I’m sick.

Masterlist

The sneeze you let out at seven in the morning is almost embarrassingly loud.

It wracks your entire body, the force of it causing you to jerk in your bed, and you barely have time to cover your nose with a tissue. Cringing, you blow your nose before tossing the tissue into the trashcan you’ve moved next to your bed, no longer having the energy to get up and walk each individual one over. 

The feeling of sick came on so unexpectedly and savagely that you didn’t have time to make a grocery trip to grab any medicine, and you were currently stuck using almost-expired Benadryl for the congestion and a nearly empty bottle of ibuprofen for your headache and sore throat. 

Seriously, you were mostly fine last night. Maybe a little stuffy, but nothing close to this. 

With a loud groan, you call your boss on her cell phone to let her know that you won’t be in today, and the raspy tone in your voice paired with the sound of a stuffy nose was enough for her to tell you to take the rest of the week off. 

“No, really, please don’t come in,” she tells you, and you can practically feel the way she’s shuddering on the other side of the line. You’ve worked with her long enough to know she’s a major germaphobe, and she’d rather miss a soft deadline by a day or two than have you anywhere near her. You’re not above using that to your advantage, and have done so in the past, especially in instances when you need an excuse to stay with Matt when he’s recovering from a night that’s rougher than usual. 

“I am willing to bribe you to make sure you stay home. I will send you all the soup you need if you just stay away.”

“You got it boss lady,” you somehow manage to croak out, cringing at both the pain and the way you sound. “I’ll see you Monday.” With a sigh, you hang up with her, grateful for a large balance of PTO, and fully planning on taking her up on the soup once you have an appetite. She’ll splurge on good stuff, too.

Matt is next. Instead of calling him, you send him a quick text, knowing he’s likely already at the courthouse for the morning, and you’re unwilling to interrupt him at work. He’s less likely to check a message than take a phone call, for obvious reasons, so it's easier to escape the laser focus of his concern for just a few extra hours. Typing out the message, you let him know you’re not feeling well and unable to meet him for lunch, as you usually do on Wednesdays. Knowing him, he’ll call you the second he’s on recess, and will likely end up swinging by this evening anyway.

With a loud exhale that causes your throat to burn and offers an abrupt coughing fit, you lay back down against the pillows, and pass out.

---------

You wake up to the sound of someone pounding on your door, and it startles you enough that you nearly roll out of bed. 

It takes you a few moments to get your bearings, grimacing at the way your body feels worse than when you’d fallen asleep, and you mentally curse the person interrupting your rest. It’s probably your obnoxious landlord who finds random excuses to check-in on you, much to your annoyance and Matt’s suspicion, but the man is harmless, guilty of nothing other than using far too much cologne to cover up the stale smell of body odor and of cigarettes. 

You’d roll your eyes if the idea of the simple motion didn’t sound so painful. 

If you weren’t already certain about having been knocked on your ass by the flu, specifically, there’s no doubt in your mind now. A throbbing headache. A throat that feels like it was being torn apart with glass. Congestion. It was all there, and all you want to do is pass out until you feel better.

The pounding on the door continues, combined with an extremely muffled voice, and deciding your body is too sore and too sick to get up, you roll back over in bed, burying your face under a pillow to drown out the noise. Another coughing fit hits you unexpectedly, and your body spasms with the force of your lungs revolting against you. When you’re done, you vaguely pick up on the silence when the pounding abruptly stops, and you sigh, grateful for the quiet once more.

Neil has given up, it seems, but you’re still bitter that your sleep has been interrupted, and the idea of sending the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen to rattle his fire escape at 1am has never felt so appealing.

You’re just about to drift off into sleep again when, not even five minutes later, the sound of your window being opened from the outside shatters the blessed silence once more.

…oh. 

Guess that answers the question of who had been pounding on your door. You mentally apologize to Neil.

“Sweetheart?” His voice is quiet as he steps into your room, and you don’t need eyes to know the way he’s probably wrinkling his nose at the smell of sickness that’s wafting inside the cramped space. His sense of smell is so sensitive, and you definitely don’t envy him for it. You can only imagine how your sweat-damp skin smells, or the mouth that had only experienced half of the recommended amount of teeth brushing this morning, too weak to remain standing for long.

Nose wrinkling, you cringe on his behalf.

You feel him settle on the edge of your bed behind you, hand immediately reaching out to rub your back, and your body can’t help but instinctively arch into his touch, despite the fact that you feel like death. He trails his fingers up to the back of your neck, the touch soothing and offering comfort in a way only he can. His skin on yours is the most natural feeling in the world. 

“Not feeling well, sweetheart?”

You shake your head miserably, a full body shiver shaking you all the way down to your toes, before coughing into your pillow, too sick to bother covering your mouth and trusting the pillowcase to stop the spray.

Gross.

Matt’s hand gently pulls you over with a light hand on your shoulder until you’re laying on your back, and he makes sure to adjust the blankets around you so that no warmth seeps out from underneath the covers. Your eyes remain tightly shut, unwilling to subject yourself to the bright light of your bedroom. Your head is pounding, borderline migraine material, and even the thought of sunshine makes it throb. “Just a cold?”

Shaking your head again, you open your mouth to answer. “I think it’s the flu.” Your voice is barely more than a whisper, your throat too sore to get much else out. He makes a sympathetic noise in the back of his throat. If there’s anyone who understands the feeling of your entire body being sore and in pain, it’s him.

The man, even while he runs himself ragged, hardly ever gets sick. He averages four hours of sleep a night, ends his evenings with grazes and cuts that are likely full of all the various types of bacteria known to man, drinks way less water than he should, and he still remains relatively healthy.

Maybe it’s a good thing, though, you think wryly. He’d either be the worst case of man-flu you’ve ever seen, or he would end up in a ditch somewhere, out patrolling while delirious with a fever. Your man is a hot mess on a good day, and you can’t imagine adding sickness to the foray.

You feel him lay his hand softly on your forehead, and you shudder at how cold it feels in comparison to your warm skin. Your fever must have returned with a vengeance, and you acknowledge it with a barely restrained groan. 

“You feel pretty warm,” he tells you, his voice quiet and one of concern. You appreciate that he’s using a gentle tone that is kind on your ears, not wanting to add anything loud and overwhelming less it makes the headache worse. “Have you taken anything?”

“Ibuprofen when I woke up.” Finally opening your eyes, you blearily watch as he frowns, red lips tilted down at the corners. His hand is still on your forehead, but he moves it to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

“When did you wake up?”

“Seven, I think.”

He sighs, moving his hand so that it rests on your cheek. “Sweetheart, that was almost six hours ago. Have you been asleep this whole time?”

“I think so,” you whisper, watching as he shrugs his suit jacket off. He tosses it on the chair that’s in the corner of the room, face still tilted towards yours. You always seem to be his sole focus when he’s around you, and it never fails to make your heart stutter. “I fell asleep after I texted you.”

Matt leans over to place his glasses on your bedside table before he returns back to you, his face one of confusion, and his eyes looking more hazel than normal in the sunlight as they roam blindly over your form. “You didn’t text me.”

Your own eyes briefly flutter close again, even as hard as you try to keep them open. You reach up and pull his hand away from your face so that you can lace your fingers with his. His hand squeezes yours gently. “Yeah I did. I told you I wasn’t going to make lunch today.”

“I didn’t get a text from you,” he reiterates with a calm shake of his head. “I’ve been calling you for the past hour when you didn’t show up.”

“But I–” Eyes opening again, you move to sit up, but he pushes you gently back down. Your neck and shoulders immediately relax back into your pillow with a sigh. “Can you hand me my phone?”

Matt grabs your phone from where it had apparently been resting by your knee and places it into your outstretched hand without a word. His hand goes back to your cheek so that can resume rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone, and it takes great effort to not fall back to sleep and close your eyes again. Fingers weak with sickness, you press in your fingerprint to unlock your phone, noticing immediately the several calls, texts and voicemails, most of them from him but a few from Karen, too. You grimace at the obvious display of his concern, knowing the level of anxiety that had likely popped up when you didn't answer any of the calls.

No wonder he had been pounding on your door. 

You open up your chat with him, wincing when you see what had happened. “I never hit send,” you tell him with a whisper, throat still rebelling against the words forcing themselves out of your throat. “I’m sorry, Matt. I really did mean to text you. I was pretty out of it.”

He leans down and presses a kiss into your forehead. His stubble briefly rasps against your skin, and you can’t help but want to lean into it, even while the texture feels scratchy on skin that seems to be more sensitive than usual. “It’s alright, sweetheart. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

You snort softly, unable to help yourself. “If you call feeling like I’m dying okay, then sure. I’m okay.”

Matt makes another sympathetic sound in the back of his throat, hand still softly rubbing your cheek. You shift in your bed, trying to burrow yourself further into the covers. He pulls the blankets tighter around you, helping them settle up around your neck. “I’m going to grab Tylenol to help bring your fever down.”

You cringe, and Matt’s brow furrows, indicating he’s caught onto the brief twitch of your face. “I don’t have any.”

“You don’t have any Tylenol?”

You cough again, this time covering your mouth to avoid coughing in his face. He doesn’t shift away from you as you do, just continues to keep his face near yours so that you don’t have to strain your voice to speak to him. “No,” you manage to rasp out when you’re done. “I’m out.”

He groans suddenly. “I depleted your stash last week, didn’t I?”

The same memory that had apparently hit him hits you a second later, the image of him holding a bloody rag to his shoulder that had taken a heavy hit flitting through your head briefly. You’d given him the last two tablets in the bottle as his lips twisted into a wry grin, promising to buy you a new bottle. You’d asked him to promise to avoid getting hit so frequently instead, the grin on your face just as dry and fond.  “I– yeah, I think so.”

“I’m sorry, love. I meant to grab more for you.”

You twist your head to cover another cough. “It’s fine, I forgot about grabbing some, too.”

“Do you have Ibuprofen?” he asks as he runs a hand through his hair, still looking somewhat frustrated at himself as he shifts slightly on your bed.

“Not much, but yeah,” you say with a wince. “That bottle’s almost empty, too.”

“How about any cold medicine? Decongestants? Something for your cough?”

“No,” you reply with another grimace. To his credit, he doesn’t twist his face into the disbelief he’s surely feeling, both at himself and at you. His eye twitches, though.

“How are you out of that, too?”

“Judgmental, much?” you ask with a grin that’s far too humorous for the situation and the way everything seems to hurt, including the muscles in your face. “I wasn’t exactly planning to get this sick.”

“You should have–”

“Don’t be such a hypocrite, Matthew.”

He sighs, hand darting up to run a quick hand down his face, attempting to hide a smile that relays a level of exasperation. “What do you have, then?”

“Just Benadryl…that’s almost expired.”

Matt lets loose another loud exhale and slowly lifts his head to face the ceiling as if sarcastically thanking the universe for letting him fall for someone who seems to be so bad at taking care of themselves. You’d laugh if it wouldn’t lead to a loud coughing fit. 

Pot. Kettle.

“Okay, I’m going to call Karen to see if she can bring some stuff by.”

“I don't–”

He's shaking his head before you even finish your objection. “Sweetheart, you’re so congested you can’t breathe out of your nose, and you've got a 101 degree fever. You need to take something," he tells you, and you know there’s no arguing against this man once he’s set his mind to something.

“How would you know my fever is that high?” Matt gives you the flattest look you’ve ever seen. “Okay, stupid question.”

“Just close your eyes,” he says, leaning down to kiss your forehead again. “I’m going to bring you a glass of water and some Ibuprofen, and call Karen to see if she can bring anything over.”

You nod miserably, energy suddenly draining and turning you back into a whimpering mess. He leaves the room, kicking his shoes off in the process, and you pick up your phone again once he’s out of sight, a wince twitching on your face at the notification of thirty emails that have popped up in your inbox. You open the app, scrolling down through the messages with a sigh.

“You better not be checking your email right now,” Matt’s voice calls out to you from the kitchen suddenly, and you almost drop your phone onto your face in surprise.

He knows you too well.

“I’m not,” you say as loudly as you can, which is still minimal, but you know he can hear you regardless, so you’re not too concerned. You roll over to place your phone back onto your bedside table with a loud sigh, wrist and arm feeling entirely too weak as it reaches out.

“Liar," is all he responds with, before his voice quiets down again. There’s a brief moment of silence before you pick up on the soft murmur of his voice, no doubt on the phone with Karen. The sound of your cabinet being opened and the faucet being turned on hits your ears, and you sigh at the domesticity of it all. Things of yours have been slowly migrating to his apartment in preparation of the move that’s happening in a month’s time, but there’s just something about him knowing your apartment like the back of his hand and feeling comfortable in a space that’s been solely yours for the past two years.

A few minutes later, he’s walking back into your bedroom, a glass of water in one hand, your dwindling bottle of painkillers in the other, mouth turned up in a soft, soothing smile. He helps you sit up, his arm gently snaking around your shoulders to support you, and encourages you to drink the water and toss back the pills as lips ghost across your forehead.

Even swallowing something cold makes your throat burn on the way down, and you groan in pain. 

He helps you lay back down, easing you backwards and holding your weight so that you don’t just flop back onto the pillows. He pulls his arm out from underneath you and reaches out to set the glass onto your night table as he moves to stand up. You close your eyes again against the light of your room, and you hear the subtle sound of a belt being unbuckled and fabric hitting the chair in the corner. 

Matt lifts up the covers and slides in beside you, his bare skin pressing up against yours as he nudges you onto your side so that he can cradle you from behind. Despite the brief chill, he quickly becomes a furnace pressed against you, and you can’t help the quiet moan that sneaks past chapped lips at the heat you hadn’t known you’d been needing.

“You’ll get sick,” you protest weakly as you settle into his chest, almost immediately soothed by the feeling of his arm wrapping around your waist.

“Don’t worry about me,” he whispers into your ear before leaning over you to kiss your cheek, settling back down behind you when he’s done, the warmth of his kiss still lingering. “Just go back to sleep, sweetheart. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Despite the sickness ravaging your body, or maybe because of it, you slip back into an easy sleep, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest behind you settling you the way it always does. Your head is pounding, your whole body aches, and you can’t breathe through your nose, but everything feels better when he’s holding you.

[wren-dy-flowergarden]

Hello, there! Since you got the final request slot open, can I request a fluffy scenario in which Leona and his fem! s/o share a kiss in the rain. Takes place during the Tamashina Mina event. If you can't write Leona or don't know much about him, I understand if you don't wanna write him. Thank you!

*ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴A/N: You want fluff- I gotchu fam. Also disclaimer- I only played half of this event in Japanese and had to go find the end on a wiki page lolllll. I'm not sure if this is accurate but fluffy hehe I'm sure it is. I hope my rendition of Leona is still in character let me know your thoughts on this sweet request hehe (´∀｀)♡

*ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴Leona x f!Reader (can be read as gn!Reader)

*ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴WC: 1.2k

*ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴Tags: kisses in the rain, fluff, possessive Leona, mine mine mine, gotta do anything to win mindset, good luck rituals

The score is not looking good.

You glance around at the team. Lillia has already been disqualified for using magic, which in your understanding should have been nothing more than a penalty! Which is worse? Being disqualified or that imperial guard cracking his head on the slate after being pushed off the ring?

Vil's ankle is swelling more and more, and it further cements the idea in you that Lillia should still be in the tournament as you see Kalim ready his stance.

Jack was their third member and would have been perfect for the last round but he was already out due to a heatstroke from before.

You're on the edge of your seat as the referee calls the match for Kalim. A stroke of luck that his opponent was the bus driver they helped earlier in the week. Another tick on the board for NRC. That doesn't make you any less nervous, though. 

Grim already moved a couple spaces after you accidentally squished him too hard. That left you to fidget with the end of Leona's outfit as you tried to make plays, any plausible strategies for the last round with the players you had left. 

The fabric that ties around his tunic in golden sunset weaves through your anxiety as you fiddle.

"Nervous Herbivore?"

You jump, looking to your left where you see a Leona, his ears are perked up. Kalim exits the stage for the second time. Two small beast men jump on to clean the stage for its last round, giving you a little more time to think. 

"You're asking me that now? We have no more viable players, and you are going to stay here for an entire week if we don’t win!" You cry as the fabric strains against your pulls. "How are you not nervous?"

It seems like the question went in one ear and out the other, because all Leona is repeats with that sly grin is, "Ah~ So what you're saying is that the little herbivore will miss me?"

Bullseye. 

You stupor for a mere second. "N-No! I'll just miss Ruggie cooking extra for you." In reality, you will miss the late afternoon naps in the garden with Leona. He was like your personal blanket as he wrapped around you in the grass. You never felt better rested after a long day of classes. 

"Oh, really now?" He's closer and you feel warmer than usual even with the pockets of clouds coming in. He knows your lying.

A cough interrupts the both of you as the royal Chamberlin clears his throat, stone eyes not even remotely moving from the empty stage. "It be best for you both to focus right now."

You feel red and turn back to the stage, giving Leona a small push with your shoulder. Of course, her doesn't budge, but you can feel the pleasant hum run through his body into your own as you nudge him. You wish he stop that. "Yeah, focus or else you're giving lessons for a week at least."

Leona, with his signature smirk, lowers the mask on top of his head. You can only see his emerald eyes contrasting against gold. "Don't worry herbivore this is the last play before checkmate."

You stop fiddling with the end of his robes as he stands up, abruptly grabbing your hand leading you towards the staircase leaving the assortment of the NRC team and a few others in confusion.

"And I'm going to be borrowing you."

You hold your hands out, like a private hanger for Leona as he strips down his robes to the tunic beneath. You're a blushing mess as you see the way he slides fabric off bare muscle. He’s such a tease, the way Leona languidly slides his arm through one sleeve of the robes before depositing it in your arms.

Another piece of ornament clinks around your neck you grunt. "Is this really going to work?" Another trail of beaded gems and you swear your arms will start to buckle if he continues, "We look nothing alike ack-!"

A scarf covers your head, and you flail for a moment, before Leona hushes you, "I'm not tucking my tail between my legs and letting that prissy Vil fight with that leg." Large hands wrap the scarf a couple times around you head until you can see Leona's eyes again, "Heh- you sort of look like a wild monkey.”

You open your mouth to rebuttal that comment but the smell of fresh water touches your nose and soon your head, then your cheeks. Rain is falling.

"Ah..." Leona groans. You look up, and he looks displeased.

"What?" You ask, the tip of your lips becoming a smile. "You never told me you were part cat?"

His tail whips against your thigh and you almost drop his clothing out of reaction, "It was just a joke!"

Hu huffs, bringing a hand up to the rain. It was becoming heavier now. "There's nothing to joke about." His tail is swinging back and forward now, a frown etched on your face as he clicks his tongue. You look up into the sky and even with it raining so heavily you can still see the sun peeking through some parts of the clouds.

You blink rain falling down your lashes, "It’s kind of nice it started raining already. Like a good omen of sorts,"

He pauses. "What are you even talking about. Rain is supposed to fall for the victor." Leona crosses his arms over his chest, and you shrug the best you can with everything holding you down.

"Well, yah silly. That’s you.”

Maybe this is why he kept you so close. The way you speak your mind, unhindered by others. The way you break through walls in his life with full force. Something akin to shock is plastered on his face before it quickly disintegrates with laughter. Shoulders bobbing up and down. 

"That's some type of logic there Herbivore."

"Yes, so please hurry and go win.” You joke. The rain is seeping into the fabric around your arms and is starting to drag you down, "Especially if I have to hold this the whole match." The muffle of the announcement echoes in the stadium for the last round.

You're about to make your way inside the arena, but a cool yet warm heat enters your back as Leona holds you still. The ornamental beads trail off his mask onto your head as he tucks his head above, a warm chuckles leave his throat. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

You tilt your head upward to be met with his usual smirk. He’s playing games with you again, but you're not the type to back down.

Twisting around, still captured in his arms you look at his eyes hidden by layers of gold and precious gems hanging off the edges. "Hmmm, no you still look just as pompous as ever."

He huffs as he pulls you closer, you would be chest to chest, but you're carrying his dirty laundry- or soaking laundry. That doesn't stop you from feeling a little abashed though with the proximity. 

"Before battle, there is a tradition of sorts, beast men would receive a trinket from their king before going to battle. Sacrificing themselves for the kingdom."

"We went over this before.” You hum, "I thought you served no king?"

It the same type of rumble in his chest that you fall asleep to those quiet afternoons, "I don't."

"Well Mr. I-don't-follow-anyone, I'm not sure what I can give you." You beam. You want to make him ask for it. They were reserved for special occasions after all.

It's a quiet growl Leona makes close to your ear. The rain is slipping off the two of you, you can it dripping down his cheekbones down to you, you feel the headscarf becoming heavier as it slips of you head onto the back of your neck as you tilt you head to the side, playfully.

"Wasn't it Kifaj saying how a prince should have manners?" You ask as he digs closer into you.

"You can't deny me Herbivore." He mumbles, the strings of gems give a cold tickle on your face as he moves, he mask to his forehead exposing his face.

You laugh, he can be so cute when he wants to be. "I can you can't, but I'm feeling rather nice and I'm sure there will not wait any longer for,"me" to go on stage so just one.”

You tilt your head, and he leans closer than your lips touch. It's sweeter than usual. He tastes like the mix of hibiscus and coconut juices you have been drinking the past weekend.

It's also different from the small pecks you shared in NRC or the sessions you had when no one was watching. The chill of rain soaking you to the bone, the weight of fabric clinging to your skin wanting to drag you down if you were not careful. Leona's hand felt like fire against your back as he held you still, the other rubbing gently massaging your cheek. Gems would clink against gold in a soft chimes vibrant against the pelting of the rain on the concrete. 

He wants to deepen it, you can feel his tongue asking for permission as he swipes against your lips. To explore you deeper in a more intimate fashion compared to other times. It’s so quiet here and you almost let him if you didn't hear the microphone boom again.

NRC last contestant. Make way to the arena immediately or risk disqualification! I repeat-

You break away with a breath and Leona looks irritated as his ears twitch in annoyance. "Damn committee, can't they wait a couple more minutes?"

A laugh erupts out of you push against him escaping towards the arena, "We can continue later 'me'! Back at NRC when you win."

It's a little comedic to see a lion soaking in the rain by himself. You don't even hear him call anything back not that you needed that.

Words are useless in front of actions.

[carolmunson]

a mini blurb for the blurb party by @superblysubpar - ‘how do either of the boys act when you’re sick?’

steddie x asthmatic!reader. self indulgent as i’ve been chest deep in a flare up since december. just a little something.

Steve hates when he can’t fix it, but there’s nothing he can do. No soup, no medicine, no matter how many blankets and how high he turns up the humidifier — you continue to wheeze and rattle.

The past few weeks your symptoms got worse and worse, and you kept ignoring it. Puff after puff of your inhaler, only to be worn out less than an hour later. Kept putting off the doctor, thinking it would get better. You don’t even talk that much these days — they both miss how you sound.

Eddie sits under your calves on the couch, warming his chilly hands between your knees. You smile at him with cracked lips while he squeezes the meaty start of your thigh.

“Y’know, it’s sort of Regan-y of you,” he grins, you wheeze a laugh through closed lips.

“Regan-y?” Steve asks, brows knitting while he eases another pillow under you. Hot tea, finds its way into your hands from his. Anything to open your airways until your doctor’s appointment next week.

“Like the Exorcist,” Eddie says, looking back at you, “If you start speaking Latin we have to get an old priest in here.”

You wheeze again and it goes into a cough. The lack of oxygen has pulled life from your skin, under eyes sunken, rawness at your throat. The cold weather wasn’t helping.

“Mirabile dictu, don't you agree?” you rasp out low, enough to take a chunk of energy out of you.

Eddie laughs back, tapering off when he sees that Steve isn’t happy with the joking, especially when it makes you cough like this.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly to Steve, squeezing your thigh again, “We can’t have any more fun, kid.”

‘No more fun,’ you mouth, shaking your head no slowly.

Steve scooches next to Eddie on the couch with your feet now resting on his thigh. You welcome his large warm hands on your socked toes while you sip your tea, finally soothing your airways enough to open them slightly. You yawn, not from being tired, but from trying to get a full breath. They both frown at you while they flip through the channels on the TV in Steve’s living room.

You were happy to not be hacking, in the ‘silent phase’ of whatever flare up you were having these last few weeks. Quiet, but scary. The weight on your chest getting heavier and heavier, the tightness of your throat more and more uncomfortable.

At least with these two you knew it wasn’t weird that you were mouth breathing, that you were too tired, that you weren’t really yourself. Though that was not to say that they could not wait for you to be back to yourself. They missed hearing you laugh, Steve missed bickering with you when you and Eddie would be up whispering next to him in bed. Eddie missed giggling with you when Steve would get that grouchy sleepy face on when you wouldn’t shut up.

But for now, they wanted nothing more than to love on you while you made it through to the other side. One breath at a time.