#// in updates: still sick but fever broke

[aleskie]

JUST DRINK THE DAMN WATER | Quinn Hughes x Reader

Summary: You've always tried to not be a nepo-partner. But when you're sick? Quinn throws all that out of the window. After all, you deserve only the best for your stay at the hospital!

Warnings: None!! Just Quinn being a lil (a lot) over protective when you get sick. Author's Note: Requested by my sweet @sweetestcaptainhughes MWAH MWAH

Oh Captain, My Captain Coming home late tonight.

Have you eaten?

Did you drink water at all today? 

Just so we're clear, Coffee is a liquid but it is NOT water. Same thing with tea. 

Also, get some rest. I know you barely slept last night trying to finish up work.

Take care of yourself.

I love you :)

Heart ♥️ I will drink water :D

And get some rest ;p

Thank you :>>

I love you too!

Let's be honest here.

You did not drink water. No rest either, too focused on finishing deadlines.

And that's how you ended up in Quinn's car enroute to the hospital.

You were pretty sure he broke every traffic rule trying to get you there, but you were too delirious to make sense of anything.

There were flashes—headlights streaking past, the sharp sound of honking, Quinn muttering curses under his breath. His knuckles were white against the steering wheel, gripping it so tightly it looked like he was trying to keep the entire world from falling apart. Everything blurred together, a mess of fragmented memories you couldn’t quite piece together. Then—hospital lights, the sterile chill of the emergency room, the sharp sting of antiseptic in the air. Unfamiliar hands everywhere, pressing, prodding, asking you questions you couldn’t answer to, trying to assess you. 

But through it all, there was Quinn.

You could hear him above everyone else, snapping at nurses, demanding someone check your vitals. You see a brief scene of him hovering so close they had to physically push him back. He only relented—barely—when they hooked you up to an IV, but even then, his eyes stayed locked on the bag, on the heart rate monitor, almost as if he didn’t trust them to do their job fast enough.

You see him pacing, checking your chart, running a hand through his already messy hair before he all but rips open the curtain to leave the small station they’d set up for you in the emergency room. You hear faint voices coming from outside as he pries them for updates. You hear muffled sounds of him pulling rank when they enter the room. Leveraging whatever he could to get information out of them until someone actually listened. Until they moved quicker, until you got better faster.

“C’mon, I’ll get you guys good tickets to the next Canucks game—just get them in a room.”

“Sir, we’re doing the best we can, but the combination of dehydration and exhaustion isn’t something to overlook. Especially with a fever starting to set in.”

Quinn groaned, a sound of pure impatience. “Then at least get them out of this damn hallway. Somewhere quiet where they can actually rest.”

“I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

More muffled voices. A heated back-and-forth. You couldn’t focus on it, the exhaustion pulling you under.

The next thing you knew, you were moving. Or maybe the bed was.

Where? You didn’t know. But sleep was already dragging you down before you could figure it out.

Finally, finally, your eyes flutter open. The room is hazy, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly above you, but you're awake. Awake enough to function.

“Quinny,” your voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper, but it’s enough. He’s at your side instantly, like he was just waiting for a sign, any sign, that you were still with him.

His touch is gentle, the back of his hand brushing your forehead, checking for any lingering fever before his fingers find yours. He links them together like he’s afraid to let go, pressing a firm kiss to your knuckles. Like he needs the contact to ground himself.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, his voice low and strained. “Don’t do that again.”

You blink up at him, still dazed, but the sheer worry in his expression makes your chest ache. His jaw is tight, shoulders tense like he’s still running on the adrenaline of getting you here. Like he hasn’t let himself breathe properly until now.

“Come here,” you murmur, barely able to lift your hand, but reaching for him anyway. “Please.”

He exhales sharply, like he wants to argue, but one look at you, and it’s over. He doesn’t hesitate, just climbs into the impossibly small hospital bed without a second thought.

It wasn’t meant for two people, but he makes it work, shifting until you’re tucked against his chest, his arms caging you in, careful of the IV in your arm. You feel the weight of his body, the warmth of him, and suddenly, everything feels a little less cold.

“They didn’t even want to give you a proper bed,” he huffs against your hair, his grip tightening like he’s afraid you’ll disappear again. “Had to make a fucking scene.”

You smile weakly, pressing your cheek against his hoodie. “Of course you did.”

Quinn lets out a breath, finally, finally relaxing for the first time since you collapsed. His fingers trace absentminded circles on your back, soothing, grounding. “Next time, just drink the damn water,” he mutters, and you can almost hear the pout in his voice.

“And get some sleep,” he adds, softer this time, like he knows you’re already slipping under again.

You hum, your body melting into his, exhaustion pulling you under. But as long as his arms are around you, you figure you’ll be okay.

[makeitmingi]

In Sickness And In Health

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Comfort

Pairing: Seonghwa x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Doctor!Reader, Boyfriend!Seonghwa

Summary: Seonghwa has always been known to be the mother of the group, the one that takes care of everyone. But what happens when he falls ill? Luckily, his girlfriend is a doctor and will nurse him back to the health, just like he would for everyone else.

Word count: 4.7K

Story warning(s): Mentions of needle used for medical purposes, medications, being sick.

"Seonghwa?" You called out softly when you entered your shared house, closing the door behind you, but was replied with silence. You dropped your duffel bag onto the counter to take out the IV drip kit, fluid bag and medication.

Earlier at work...

"Hey, Hongjoong. Sorry I missed your call. What's up?" You called your boyfriend's best friend once the patient queue was freed up and you had a small break.

"Sorry to bother you, (y/n). I know you're working... Hwa's probably gonna kill me for telling you this but he's sick."

"Hwa's sick...? What do you mean?" Your eyes widened.

"Yeah, he knows you're on night shift and you know him, he never likes to have people take care of him... But he sounded quite bad over the phone and he didn't even let us to over to check on him..."

"Mhmm, I know exactly what you're talking about. Thanks for letting me know, Hongjoong. I'll go take care of him." You said.

"Let me know if you need anything."

"Thanks, I'll update you." You hummed and hung up with the captain before returning back to work.

So that's why, before you left work, you grabbed an IV drip set and all the necessary medications from the pharmacy that you may need to nurse Seonghwa back to health. Being a doctor has it's perks in that sense. And you were so worried about Seonghwa's condition that you ended up leaving your shift early.

"Seonghwa?" You poked your head into your shared room and was surprised the find the bed empty. You frowned, where did your sick boyfriend disappear to?

"Did he go out...?" You walked to your office and it was empty too. Then you checked the guest room.

"Oh, there you are." You sighed in relief.

On the bed of the guest room, there was a shivering lump under the blankets. You approached quietly and pulled back the covers, not wanting to surprise him too much.

"Seonghwa..." Your heart broke seeing Seonghwa so sick. He was shivering so much, lips quivering and cold sweat on his forehead.

"(y/n)?!" Seonghwa opened his eyes and was shocked to see you standing there.

"W-What are you doing home early? Did something happen?" He blinked, as if he was worried you were a hallucination caused by his fever. You could tell he was worrying about you.

"Hwa, stop worrying about me right now. I came home because I heard you were sick!" You frowned. Seonghwa cursed Hongjoong's name under his breath, knowing that only his best friend would rat him out to you like that.

"Come, let's get you back to bed. Why are you sleeping in the guest room?" You asked, pulling the blanket away to help him.

"Because I didn't want to spread my germs on our shared bed and I've been cold sweating. I'm so gross. You can't afford to get sick, love." Seonghwa quivered.

"Ah, Seonghwa... You know I don't care about that. We're getting you back to our bed. Come on." You helped him up.

"You should wear a mask." He tried to cough away from you.

"Park Seonghwa. Let me take care of you, okay? Stop worrying, please." You begged. He looked so sick and he was still fretting over you, it caused an ache in your chest.

"Okay, okay." He noticed your desperate tone and slipped under the covers of your shared bed, letting you tuck him in.

"Here." You put the thermometer in his mouth then went out to get the IV supplies from the counter.

"Luckily Nurse Jung let me borrow one of the portable IV stands to take home." You chuckled as you wheeled the IV stand in and fixed the height beside Seonghwa. Then you removed the thermometer from his mouth and checked. Seonghwa's fever was so high if you didn't have the IV, you would have taken him to the hospital.

"Oh, Hwa." You softened, feeling guilt bubble in your chest. But for now, you pushed it down. Seonghwa needed your focus and attention right now.

"Let me wash my hands first." You went to wash your hands and prepared the IV port to put into Seonghwa's arm.

"It's alright, baby. Slowly." Seonghwa said when he noticed your hands shaking slightly as you wiped his skin with an alcohol swab.

"Take a deep breath." You instructed and inserted the needle with precision. Seonghwa's face scrunched at the pinch, which made you feel worse.

"Sorry. It's over." You pouted.

"It's okay, love. Not your fault." He gave you a small smile. You grabbed a syringe to add the ampoule medications into the IV bag.

"Alright, there we go. It'll help with symptoms and your fever should subside quickly." You told him as you adjusted the dial flow once the drip was hooked up to the bag.

"Can you hand me another pillow?" He requested. You nodded and placed a bolster under his IV arm so it'll be comfortable.

"I'll be right back." You went to get rid of all the trash in the area and wash your hands. While you were outside, you prepared a cloth and a bucket of cool water so you could wipe him down. And you put some juice into a tumbler for him.

"I missed you." Seonghwa smiled as he watched you put the tumbler of juice and bucket on his nightstand. You started with wiping his face, feeling how warm his face was.

"Your hands are cold." He chuckled, placing his free hand over yours on his cheek.

"They're not. You're just warm." You smiled softly as you gently wiped his neck too. Then you rinsed the cloth and wiped his arms.

"Hwa, careful." You hissed when he lifted his IV arm, trying to make it easier for you to wipe his entire arm. He pouted at you and placed his arm back down.

"I need to wipe your legs too." You told him.

"But it'll be cold." He whined, quickly gripping the blanket since he knew you were going to yank it away.

"Just for a bit, Hwa. Come on, be good~" You cooed at him, which made him frown. He liked to coo at you like you were a baby and of course, you will take the opportunity to do the same to him now.

"Fine." He sulked and let you pull the blanket away. His first instinct was to him to curl his legs up. You raised his pajama pant to wipe his leg, rinsing the cloth before moving onto the next. But when you were done, you didn't let Seonghwa cover himself entirely, only covering his legs from his hips.

"But I'm cold, baby." He said, shivering.

"I know, Hwa. I'm sorry but if you bundle up like this, you'll warm your body up too much. The air conditioning will help with the fever." You kissed his forehead.

"I'm going to shower. You try to get some sleep first." You told him. He nodded, eyes already half closed.

'Hey, Hongjoong. Thank god you text me, his condition was terrible... But I put him on a drip, he should be fine. - (y/n)'

'That's good to hear. Hwa's lucky to have a doctor girlfriend or else I would have to drag his butt to the hospital and that'll be a whole nother thing. - Hongjoong'

'He's a horrible patient. But I'll keep you updated. - (y/n)'

With that, you went to take a quick shower to wash off the smell of antiseptic and germs from the hospital.

"Soup... Soup... Soup..." Since Seonghwa fell asleep, you decided to start a soup going, digging through the fridge for ingredients.

While the soup was boiling on the stove, you quietly moved the air purifier from the living room, into the bedroom. You also refilled his waterbottle with cold water. Then you went to change the sheets in the guest bedroom.

"Myers' cocktail with Peramivir administered at 3:08pm. Temperature taken 39.2 degrees." You wrote down the information on your phone, just in case.

"That's done." You turned the stove off for the soup and went to check on Seonghwa.

To avoid waking him up, you used your forehead thermometer instead of the one that needs to be in the mouth.

"38.3..." You whispered. Covering your mouth to yawn, you went to retrieve the bucket and filled it up with fresh water, along with the cloth from before.

Were you tired? Of course, you worked the graveyard shift at the hospital last night. But your priority now was Seonghwa.

"Mmm..." Seonghwa let out a soft whine in his sleep.

"Sorry, Hwa. I'll be quick." You whispered, rinsing and wringing the towel before gently wiping his face and neck. Then doing the same to wipe his arms.

"Baby?" He croaked out, slowly opening his eyes to see you standing over him to wipe down his arm.

"I'm sorry to disturb your sleep, I just wanted to try and bring your fever down faster. I've made soup for you when you feel like it. You can go back to sleep after this." You whispered with a soft smile. He nodded his head, a small smile coming onto his face as he watched you take care of him.

Seonghwa always liked taking care of people, whether it's his family, his members and of course, he LOVED taking care of his precious girlfriend. He always put others' needs before his own.

Until now, he is still the best person that takes care of Hongjoong when he's busy being the captain of the team.

"Actually, I'm a little hungry." Seonghwa admitted.

"Oh, okay! It's good that you have an appetite. I'll finish here and get you some food." You threw the cloth into the bucket and brought it out. Then you got some soup for him.

"Here." You placed the tray on the foldable table on the bed. Then you helped him sit up.

"No rice?" He gave you a sad face.

"You know you can't eat rice when you have a fever, Hwa. When your fever subsides, I'll make you rice porridge." You told him, going to open the window to let some fresh air come in.

"Sit with me, baby." He said. You hummed, pulling a chair to sit at his bed side to watch him eat.

Seeing Seonghwa eat so slowly, you figured his throat must be hurting him. It hurt to see your boyfriend like this. You were out the whole night, taking care of others when you couldn't even care for your loved on who was suffering alone at home.

"This is delicious, baby. Tha- Why are you crying?!" Seonghwa panicked when he turned his head to see tears streaming down your face. You didn't even realise that you were crying.

"I'm sorry." You looked down, shaking your head as you wiped your tears with the sleeve of your hoodie.

"My precious baby. There's nothing for you to be sorry for." He reached out to hold your hand since he couldn't reach your face.

"B-Because... What kind of doctor am I? I treat people for a living and I didn't even know you were sick! Hongjoong had to tell me and I find you in that condition. You always take care of me and I can't even-"

"Okay, okay. Breathe, my love. Breathe." Seonghwa calmed you down, moving his tray away to make some space for you.

"Come here, love." He patted his lap and you moved to sit with him, being extra careful of his drip.

"Ouh, my precious baby. My love." You hugged each other for the first time that day, Seonghwa coddling you and cooing at you like you were his baby.

"No, stop! I'm supposed to be taking care of you! Not you comforting me." You wailed, wiping your tears. Seonghwa kissed your temple, rubbing your back. Honestly, this was what Seonghwa wanted to feel better too. He missed you and just wanted to have you as close to him as possible.

"I've been waiting to hold you since you came back but I didn't want to get you sick. And I'm so gross and sweaty." Seonghwa chuckled.

"You won't... Even if you did, I don't care." You mumbled.

"No, you need to rest." It took everything in you to separate yourself from Seonghwa's embrace and placed the tray in front of him so he could continue eating.

"You take very good care of me. You're a great doctor and a great girlfriend, your patients are lucky to have you. I'm lucky to have you."

"You always take such good care of me and I couldn't even do the same." You slumped.

"Don't say that. We take good care of each other. You've just finished a night shift and yet, you've been running around to take care of me." He held your hand in his, rubbing the back with his thumb.

"Eat while I get you your medication, okay?" You stood up and went out of the room.

"Your drip is done so you can take these." You handed him a small dish with the medication on it. Before he ate the medication, you disconnected the drip from the needle port in his arm. Then you carefully removed the needle, placing a band aid over.

"Thanks, baby." Seonghwa smiled and ate the medication, chasing it with gulps of water. You gave a small smile in return and cleared up the area before washing your hands.

"Luckily I didn't throw away your sharps bin." He called out to you as you were throwing the used needle away.

"It's not even half full, I just keep it around for cases like this." You replied.

"Baby, I'm being a good patient and resting. You should also be a good baby and rest. Come on, I know you haven't taken a break since you came back and you worked graveyard." Seonghwa said.

"I will... Later..." You replied, taking the empty juice tumbler and placing it in the kitchen.

"Baby..." Seonghwa frowned in disapproval.

"I'm fine, Hwa. I promise." You squeezed his hand, taking the thermometer and taking his temperature. Finally, his temperature was now a low grade fever.

"Thank goodness I don't have to take you to the hospital now. But I'll continue to monitor your temperature." You informed, taking your phone to note down the temperature and medication log. Seonghwa curiously leaned closer to you to try and take a peek at what you were writing down.

"Wow, I'm like your patient. Just that I have you to myself and I don't need to share you with other patients." He grinned.

"You are my patient. Even though it's usually the nurse that does the charts, not me. And you never have to share me, you know I'll alwyas prioritise you and your health." You scoffed.

"I know. I just like hearing you say it." He grinned.

"Hmm, on second thought, I think the fever has made you even more delusional." You chuckled, placing your hand on his forehead.

"That's impossible. I have the best doctor in the world taking care of me." He grasped your hand to kiss the back of it. You smiled and pressed your cheek against his.

"Now come to bed." He whispered.

"I will. Just let me clean up the kitchen. You should sleep more." You replied. He hummed obediently and let you tuck him in.

"Come back soon." He smiled. You closed the window and quietly left the room to let him sleep. Although, you didn't just clean the kitchen. You knew Seonghwa was particular about cleanliness so you did his daily cleaning routine for him, knowing he couldn't do it today.

"Lint roller, vacuum, wet tissue mop then lint roller." You tried to remember his cleaning sequence and took the necessary equipment you needed to clean.

However, you didn't want to wake him so you didn't use the vacuum, instead you used the broom to sweep the floor.

"Ah, finally done." You fell back onto the couch with the lint roller in your hand.

"Baby...?" Seonghwa came out, wrapped in his blanket. He woke up to find his bedside empty and when he felt how cold the sheets were, he knew you didn't come to bed like you said he would.

"(y/n)-" Seonghwa paused when he saw you asleep on the couch, still gripping the lint roller in your hand.

"Sweet girl." He cooed and put his blanket aside before gently easing the lint roller out of your hand and putting it aside.

Looking around, Seonghwa knew that you must have done his usual daily cleaning routine for him. He smiled softly, brushing your hair away from your face, you knew him so well.

"Rest well, my love." He kissed your head and placed the blanket over your body instead.

Seonghwa went to the room and took his temperature, writing down the reading and timing on a post it, knowing that you would want to log it in later. He was still running a low grade fever and felt aches in his body but he felt 10 times better than he did this morning, all thanks to you.

"Hongjoong ah." Seonghwa made the phone call in the room, not wanting to disturb you.

"Okay, listen Seonghwa. Before you come at me all mad, you were so sick and didn't want any of us to help you. That's why I told (y/n), okay? So it's your fault."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. You so owe me." Seonghwa rolled his eyes, even though he knew Hongjoong couldn't see him.

"You have a doctor girlfriend to give you first class care. I don't owe you anything. But I'm guessing you're feeling better already?"

"I do, thanks to her. She's resting now, poor thing worked the whole night and came back to take care of me. She didn't even have time to sit down and catch a breather." Seonghwa sighed.

"You both take care of people before you take care of yourselves. See? That's why you're made for each other."

"Right..." Seonghwa scoffed.

"Anyway, do you two need anything from us? The others should be done with their schedule and I just left the studio. I can pick up whatever you need."

"You shouldn't be around the house for too long or you might get sick too. But if you could drop dinner off for us, it'll be a great help. I don't really want (y/n) to do anymore cooking or for her to be eating ramyeon." Seonghwa knew you too well.

"Sure. Send me what you want and I'll go pick it up, drop it off at yours."

"Thanks, Hongjoong ah." Seonghwa said and hung up. He texted over the food for Hongjoong to buy, knowing your likes and dislikes.

As much as Seonghwa wanted to snuggle with you, he had to hold himself back. Firstly, he didn't want to wake you. Secondly, he was still worried about getting you sick.

"Ah..." He winced and dramatically held his arm back as he stood before you.

"Once you recover, you can get all the cuddles from her." He took a deep breath and returned to the room.

And of course, he found his nintendo switch in the charger, you must have put it there, knowing he would be bored and want to play when he wakes up.

When you woke up, you sat up in shock. You didn't even know when you fell asleep. But the curtains to the living room were drawn and there was a blanket placed over you.

"Yeah, she's still sleeping... I want her to get as much rest as she can get since she worked graveyard... Thanks, Hongjoong ah. I'll see you." You heard hushed whispers from the bedroom and assumed it was Seonghwa speaking to Hongjoong over the phone, maybe updating him on Seonghwa's current condition.

"Oh, baby! You're awake." Seonghwa was heading back into the living room and spotted you standing there, half asleep and confused.

"Was that Hongjoong?" You asked.

"Mhmm, he picked up some dinner for us. I didn't want you cooking and I shouldn't be cooking for you when I'm sick." He said, placing the empty cups on the counter.

"Ah, I'm fine to cook, Seonghwa. And besides, there's still some leftover chicken soup for you." You yawned, shuffling to him.

"I know. But I also know you'll give all the leftover soup to me and make ramyeon for yourself." He stated.

"I..." Your cheeks heated up as he exposed you. Seonghwa chuckled, watching you stand there, still half asleep and a little lost, with the blanket wrapped around your body like a child.

"You should be resting... Let me do all the dishes..." You said to him.

"I feel better already, baby. I took my temperature down and even took the medications." He said, showing you the post it note with all the temperature readings, the medications he took and the timings of when he took them.

"Let me feel. Come here." You reached up to feel his cheeks and forehead in your hands.

"Your fever is gone. Let's hope it stays that way. But still, you're not fully recovered." You frowned slightly. You were relieved that his fever was finally gone.

"After this." He kissed your knuckles.

"Let me put this back." You bundled up the blanket and folded it properly, returning it to the bedroom.

"Gosh, I didn't even know when I fell asleep." You rubbed your cheeks and let out another yawn.

"Poor baby. You were probably so tired and running on adrenaline to take care of me. Once the food is delivered, we should eat and go back to bed." Seonghwa frowned sadly.

"Yeah, we should." You smiled softly.

"I bought some immunity juice thingy in the fridge. You should drink that. It's good for you." You pointed.

"It looks horrible. Tumeric, black pepper, orange, ginger, carrot, apple, cucumber... I think just reading this is making me feel more sick than I already am." Seonghwa took the bottle out, cringing at the colour and ingredients listed on it. You took the bottle from him and poured him a glass.

"It's good for you." You re-emphasised and held it out to him. Seonghwa sighed in defeat and grabbed the glass to drink it. He gulped the whole thing down, shuddering when he finished.

"Now, you. You're always around sick people, you should be drinking it too to build immunity." Seonghwa refilled the glass.

"But..." Your face fell.

"Be good, baby." Seonghwa shot you a pointed look, repeating your own words back to you.

"I take you being able to boss me around as a sign that you're feeling better." You raised an eyebrow with him but still drank the immunity juice. Seonghwa was right, the taste was vile.

"See? Horrible, right?" Seonghwa chuckled and engulfed you in a bear hug, rubbing your back while you nodded glumly.

"There, there." He comforted. Seonghwa's hugs felt like home, you nuzzled your cheek against his chest and closed your eyes. It doesn't matter how long you are away from him, you always miss his hugs and his warm embrace.

"My love, are you falling asleep on me?" He chuckled.

"Shhhhh..." You hushed him. Seonghwa sighed in defeat and stroked the back of your head. He guided you to the couch so he could tuck you under his arm.

"Don't sleep, Hongjoong's coming to delivery dinner soon. After that, you can sleep." He said.

"If you don't want me to sleep, stop being so comfy and cozy." You grumbled. Seonghwa laughed at your nonsense.

"Wait! You should be the one resting! Not me!" You shot up suddenly, making Seonghwa jump in shock. He didn't have time to protest as you pulled him up from the couch and brought him back to the room.

"There. Stay here until I get the food from Hongjoong." You pulled the blanket over his legs.

"My love-"

"Shh, rest." You placed the Nintendo switch console in his hands and exited the room to prepare his next round of medications, as well as fill up his water bottle for him.

"Hongjoong ah! Thanks again for doing this... No, he's not sleeping, you can see him if you want... That's right, you need to remain healthy as the last Matz standing... Don't make yourself sick taking care of the kids and not of yourself." Seonghwa heard you talking to Hongjoong, it was nice to hear you so comfortable with him.

The love of his life and his best friend.

"Mmm, I will. Take care and let me know if you need anything!" You bid Hongjoong goodbye and brought the food bags in.

"Stay there, Hwa! I'll plate everything up." You said just as Seonghwa was about to stand up from bed. You knew him too well to know what he would do.

"Do you have a camera in here?!" Seonghwa yelled back.

"What are you talking about?" You chuckled as you entered the room with a tray of food for him. You placed the tray on the bed for him.

"Where's your dinner? And don't tell me you will eat after me. I won't eat unless you eat with me." Just like you knew Seonghwa, he knew you very well too.

"Fine, I'll go get my food." Your shoulders slumped and you went to get your bowl of noodle soup.

A nice silence fell over the both of you as you ate, the both of you were rather quiet eaters. Just that usually, you and Seonghwa would put food on each other's spoons but with Seonghwa being sick, you both didn't want to risk cross-contamination.

"I'll go take a shower. I really want to get out of these clothes." Seonghwa said with an uncomfortable frown once dinner was done. You nodded and let him shower while you cleaned up.

"Don't go under the hot water for too long, Hwa! It might trigger your fever again." You knocked on the door.

"Yes, Dr (y/l/n)." He replied. You laid on your side of the bed, checking your phone for messages.

"I'm back." Seonghwa wrapped his arms around you from behind, pulling you flushed against his body. He was still slightly warm but the medication seemed to really help.

"Still feel ill?" You ran your hands through his hair.

"No, I'm a lot better but the body ache is still there." He smiled softly, grabbing your hand and kissing your fingertips.

"I've set an alarm for you to take your meds, so don't swear at me for waking you up later, okay?" You joked, knowing that Seonghwa would NEVER ever swear at you.

"You don't have to wake up, baby. I can wake up on my own to take the medication, just put it on my table." Seonghwa said.

"It's fine. I want to, it will make me feel better knowing your temperature and reaction to the medication." You insisted. He knew there was no persuading you otherwise so Seonghwa just nodded and pulled you to him. You both didn't care about getting you sick anymore, you just wanted to be as humanly near him as possible.

"Thank you for taking care of me, baby." He kissed your forehead.

"What's there to thank for? You're always taking care of me and making sure I'm at my best." You looked up at him.

"Yeah, but I like to take care of you. It's not a chore at all, it makes me feel useful knowing I can help you. And with your job, you always take care of patients. It's nice to be taken care sometimes."

"Seonghwa, you're always useful, no matter what. I've never saw you as useless." You said.

"I know... It's just a personal feeling." He shrugged.

"I could say the same for you. You're always taking care of the other members and especially Hongjoong. So you can take a break and let me take care of you." You giggled.

"We'll always be here to take care of each other. You know like they say... In sickness and in health." He stroked your cheek.

"Exactly." You smiled softly and closed your eyes to join him in dreamland.

~

Masterlist

[stclaretarot]

PAC ⭒ how will your future spouse show you love?

reminder that this is a general reading and messages found here may not apply to everyone. take what resonates, leave what doesn't, and don't force anything if it does not fit.

BOOK A READING WITH ME · LINKTREE · 18+ PATREON · TIPS ♡ tips, bookings, and feedback are highly appreciated!

GROUP ONE

cards pulled · queen of cups, four of pentacles, four of swords, four of wands, five of swords. 

channelled songs · no name no 5 by elliott smith. night away by taemin. sick, nervous & broke! by jpegmafia. 666 in luxaxa by backxwash. 

my dear group one  ♡ your future spouse may be a busy person with little time to themselves, let alone time for you. however, they never use this as an excuse. 

your future spouse may constantly be away from home, for some, as they are a trucker, or because they moved somewhere with better job opportunities.

however, to your future spouse, effort equals love and love equals effort, and so they will still do whatever they can to show you that they love you. in particular, they will write you long letters that they mail to you. or write you long paragraphs keeping you updated about their life and checking in with you about yours. or they may take the time when they have it to write you what is essentially a newsletter. 

they may also send you long voicenotes when they can, or make the effort to call you, even if only for a few minutes. 

GROUP TWO

cards pulled · the lovers, page of cups, ace of cups, five of pentacles, four of pentacles. 

channelled songs · fever by ateez. bolo by penomeco & ydg. lubie by lous and the yakuza. tender love by exo. 

my dear group two  ♡ your future spouse is the epitome of a romantic. they are just SO romantic. they are romantic to their very core, and is almost certainly the most romantic person that you have ever known, let alone ever been with. 

this may be overwhelming, and also too good to be true. 

they will dance with you, make you playlists, and go above and beyond to take you to all the best events and restaurants in town. this may be to an extreme, where they may not have a lot of self-control when it comes to spoiling you and romancing you. 

GROUP THREE

cards pulled · page of pentacles, queen of swords, ace of wands, three of cups, eight of cups.

channelled songs · man in the mirror - 2012 remaster by michael jackson. suddenly by nct 127. solange by tobi lou & glassface. diet coke by pusha t. 

my dear group three ♡ your future spouse  is practical and has a very level head on their shoulders. they are a careful and cautious person, who will show you love by extending this care to you -- especially in making sure that you are looked after financially. 

but, not just by providing for you, but by making sure that you are able to look after yourself financially. by making sure that you are independent, have financialy knowledge, and are able to look after yourself without them.

they will help you save money in the now so that you can look after and spoil yourself in the future. they will constantly be on the lookout for ways you can make more money. they will also make it a priority to be careful with your money so that you can travel, have nice holidays together, and experience all of lives luxuries.

GROUP FOUR

cards pulled · wheel of fortune, eight of cups, the hierophant, seven of cups, king of cups. 

channelled songs · love this by cosmo jarvis. rose parade by elliott smith. real you by twice. guitare et tambourin by dalida. 

my dear group four  ♡ your future spouse will show you love by being your biggest hypeman. they will hype you up and compliment you constantly. 

you may be somewhat or quite insecure, and so it may be a priority to your future spouse to let you know how beautiful and attractive you are. no, not only that, but how absolutely amazing and incredible you are. 

they will make sure that never a day goes by without complimenting you. they will make an effort to overcome your insecurities with you. for example, if you are insecure about your body and want to lose/gain weight, they will go on that journey with you, supoorting you all the way. or if you are insecure about your education, they will take full responsibility of your household and finances so that you can study full-time. 

nobody believes in you more than your future spouse. 

[mariespen]

➸ Sick Days

Sherrif!Rafe x Teacher!Reader

➸ Masterlist!

Requests open!

When your youngest son gets a midnight fever, Rafe is happy to take the burden from your shoulders.

A quiet creak in the floorboards made you stir, blinking blearily as you adjusted to the dim glow of the nightlight. Rafe’s arms were still tangled around your waist, his steady breathing warm against your shoulder.

“M-mama?”

The small, trembling voice shattered the sleepy silence.

“Luke? Honey?” You murmured, groggily rubbing your eyes.

Standing near your bedside, your youngest, Lucas, sniffled, his lower lip trembling.

“Mama, I don’t feel good.” His voice wavered, tears already welling in his eyes.

Your body jolted awake. "Is it your tummy?" you asked, sitting up and reaching for him.

He gave a weak nod, small hands gripping yours as you guided him closer. Pressing your palm gently against his forehead, you felt the unmistakable heat radiating from his skin.

Your stomach twisted. Fever.

"Rafe..." you whispered, nudging his shoulder.

He groaned softly, rubbing his eyes, but the moment he saw Lucas’s pale, miserable face, he was instantly alert.

"Luke, what’s going on, buddy?" he asked, voice thick with sleep but steady with concern.

"My tummy," Lucas whimpered, his face turning greener by the second.

Rafe shot you a panicked look before throwing back the covers and scooping Lucas into his arms. You followed close behind as he rushed into the en-suite bathroom.

"Lucas, sweetheart, do you need—" But before you could finish, his little body lurched forward.

"No!" Rafe said quickly, steering him toward the toilet just in time. He held Lucas up, one strong arm wrapped securely around his small frame, while you brushed his damp curls back from his forehead.

"Honey, it’s okay," you whispered as Lucas collapsed against Rafe’s chest, his tiny body wracked with exhausted sobs.

“Daddy…” he whimpered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Rafe’s grip tightened protectively. You could see the exact moment his heart broke.

"It’s okay, buddy," Rafe murmured, rubbing slow, steady circles on his back. "Let’s take your temperature, alright?"

The night stretched on in a blur of fever checks, cold compresses, and restless sleep. Rafe barely left Lucas’s side, his exhaustion showing in the way he sank against the headboard, one arm draped protectively over his son’s sleeping body.

“Rafe,” you scolded when you caught him pressing another kiss to Lucas’s overheated forehead.

He sighed, looking up at you with tired blue eyes. “Sweetheart, he’s so sick.”

“I know,” you whispered, squeezing his hand. “But you’ll get sick too.”

Rafe just shrugged. “Worth it.”

You exhaled, pressing a kiss to his temple before sinking into his embrace.

“I don’t know how I’m going to take work off tomorrow,” you admitted, tension creeping into your voice at the thought of rearranging your lesson plans.

“I’ll do it.”

You pulled back slightly. “Are you sure? I can—”

“It’s okay," Rafe interrupted, his voice firm yet gentle. "I promise.”

The next morning, you found them curled up on the couch—Rafe still in his pajamas, Lucas tucked against his chest beneath a blanket, a cold towel pressed gently to his forehead.

"Okay, guys, say bye to Daddy and Lucas," you told Samantha and Oliver, ushering them toward the door. "But don’t get too close."

Work dragged. You checked your phone constantly, desperate for an update, but the house remained silent.

Rafe, however, wasn’t resting. Logged into his laptop, he scoured the internet, searching for answers:

"How long does food poisoning last in kids?""102 fever when to worry?""How to hydrate a sick child?"

Every hour, he made Lucas open his mouth for the thermometer, meticulously tracking the fluctuations in his fever. He ran purely on logistics and data when it came to emergencies—because if he stopped to think about how small and pale Lucas looked, he’d break.

By the time you got home, the wave of relief was immediate. Rafe stood in the kitchen, pressing an ice pack to Lucas’s flushed face, his movements careful, gentle.

"Oh, honey…" you whispered, guiding Samantha and Oliver to their rooms before joining them.

“He’s been getting better,” Rafe said, his voice soft from a full day of whispering. “But his temperature’s still at 102.”

You cradled Lucas’s warm face in your palm. “I think it’s food poisoning…”

Rafe exhaled sharply. “God… I’d do so much for this kid.”

You watched as he kissed Lucas’s temple, then effortlessly picked him up, carrying him back to the couch. Lucas curled against him without hesitation, small fingers fisting into his t-shirt as they settled in to watch his favorite LEGO show.

You leaned against the doorway, watching them—knowing you needed to make dinner, help Samantha with her homework, clean up.

But just this once, you let yourself soak in the moment.

You were so lucky.

[ghstyles]

House Call - FWFW one shot

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WC: 3K

Masterlist

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The Tokyo festival had been over for almost two weeks, but the exhaustion that had settled into Y/N's bones hadn't lifted. If anything, it had worsened, accompanied now by a persistent headache and a sore throat that felt like she'd swallowed broken glass.

Curled up in the oversized bed of the guest room she occupied in Harry's London mansion, Y/N pulled the duvet tighter around her shoulders, shivering despite the sweat beading on her forehead. The digital clock on the nightstand showed 2:17 PM—she'd slept most of the day away, yet still felt like she could sleep for another week.

A sharp knock on the door made her wince, the sound driving a spike of pain through her already throbbing head.

"What?" she called out, her voice a raspy croak that barely carried across the room.

The door opened without waiting for further invitation. Harry stood in the doorway, taking in the sight of her with narrowed eyes—the rumpled sheets, the pile of used tissues on the nightstand, the untouched tea that had long gone cold.

"You look like shit," he announced, making no move to enter the room.

Y/N glared at him through watery eyes. "Thanks for the update. Is that all?"

Harry crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. "You missed the charity luncheon."

Y/N's hand flew to her mouth. "That was today? I completely forgot—"

"Obviously," Harry cut her off. "I had to make excuses for you. Told everyone you had a migraine." His tone made it clear what he thought of having to cover for her.

"I'm sorry," Y/N said, genuinely contrite. Despite their arrangement being a business deal, she took her obligations seriously. "I would have gone if I'd remembered."

Harry's expression shifted slightly as he studied her more carefully. "You actually are sick, aren't you? This isn't just you skiving off."

"No, I'm lying here sweating and shivering for fun," Y/N retorted, then broke into a coughing fit that left her gasping.

Harry frowned, finally stepping into the room. "How long have you been like this?"

Y/N shrugged weakly. "Started feeling bad after we got back from Tokyo. Got worse the last couple days."

Harry approached the bed, his movements hesitant, as though venturing into enemy territory. "Have you seen a doctor?"

"Don't need a doctor," Y/N mumbled. "It's just a cold or flu or something. I'll be fine."

Harry reached out unexpectedly, placing the back of his hand against her forehead. His touch was cool against her burning skin, and she couldn't help leaning into it slightly.

He withdrew his hand quickly, his frown deepening. "You're burning up. You need to see a doctor."

Y/N shook her head, immediately regretting the movement as pain lanced through her temples. "No doctors. I just need rest and fluids. It'll pass."

"Don't be stubborn," Harry said, irritation creeping into his voice. "I'll call my physician. He makes house calls."

"I said no," Y/N insisted, struggling to sit up against the pillows. "I don't want some fancy doctor poking at me and charging thousands for telling me to take paracetamol and drink water."

Harry's jaw tightened. "Money isn't an issue."

"It is for me," Y/N shot back. "This is my body, and I decide who examines it."

"This is ridiculous," Harry said, throwing his hands up in frustration. "You're clearly ill, and you're refusing medical care out of what? Pride? Stubbornness?"

Y/N's eyes flashed despite the fever glazing them. "Not everyone runs to a doctor for every little thing. Some of us grew up learning to tough it out."

Harry stared at her for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. "There's nothing admirable about suffering unnecessarily."

"I'm not seeking admiration," Y/N replied tiredly. "I just want to be left alone to rest."

"Fine," Harry said curtly. "But if you're not better by tomorrow, I'm calling the doctor whether you like it or not. We have the album release party on Friday"

Y/N didn't respond, her eyes already closed as another wave of nausea and dizziness washed over her.

Harry stood watching her for a moment, his expression conflicted. Then, with a barely audible sigh, he moved to the en-suite bathroom, returning with a cool, damp cloth. With unexpected gentleness, he placed it on her forehead.

Y/N's eyes fluttered open in surprise. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to bring your fever down," he said matter-of-factly, avoiding her gaze. "My mother used to do this when I was sick as a child. Before she..." He trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished.

A tense silence settled between them, broken only by Y/N's labored breathing.

"Thank you," she said finally, the words barely audible.

Harry's expression hardened again, as though he regretted the momentary kindness. "Don't read into it. I need you functional."

He moved away from the bed, creating distance between them. "I'll have Mrs. Winters bring up some tea and dry toast. Try to keep it down—you're getting dehydrated."

Before Y/N could respond, he was gone, the bedroom door closing firmly behind him.

Y/N sank back into the pillows, too exhausted to maintain her anger. She knew, rationally, that seeing a doctor would probably be sensible. But years of growing up in a household where medical care was a luxury reserved for true emergencies had ingrained habits that were hard to break.

Besides, accepting help from Harry felt like conceding something in their ongoing cold war. An admission of weakness she wasn't prepared to make.

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By evening, Y/N's condition had worsened. The fever had climbed higher, leaving her alternating between violent chills and sweats so intense she'd soaked through her pajamas twice. Her throat felt like she'd swallowed razor blades, and a persistent cough had settled deep in her chest, each spasm sending pain shooting through her ribs.

She'd managed to drag herself to the bathroom once, nearly collapsing in the process, but otherwise hadn't left the bed. The water glass on her nightstand remained empty—the thought of navigating the stairs to the kitchen seemed as impossible as climbing Everest.

Through the haze of fever, she heard the bedroom door open again. Harry's tall figure appeared, silhouetted against the hallway light.

"Still alive in here?" he asked, his voice lacking its usual edge.

Y/N tried to respond but could only manage a weak cough.

Harry stepped closer, switching on the bedside lamp. In the soft light, his expression shifted from annoyed to concerned as he took in her deteriorated state.

"Jesus, Y/N," he muttered, reaching out to feel her forehead again. "You're burning up."

This time, Y/N didn't have the strength to argue when he pulled out his phone.

"I'm calling Dr. Reynolds," he stated firmly. "This isn't a debate anymore."

Y/N closed her eyes, too miserable to protest. She heard Harry speaking quietly into the phone, his British accent becoming more pronounced as it always did when he was stressed.

"Yes, high fever... No, I haven't measured it, but she's burning up... Coughing, sore throat from what I can tell... No, I don't think she can get to the phone... Yes, that would be ideal. Thank you."

He ended the call and returned his attention to Y/N. "He'll be here in thirty minutes. Think you can manage some water before then?"

Y/N nodded weakly, her pride long since overwhelmed by physical misery.

Harry disappeared briefly, returning with a fresh glass of water and what appeared to be a digital thermometer.

"Here," he said, holding the glass to her lips. "Small sips."

The cool water was heaven on her raw throat. Y/N drank carefully, grateful for the assistance despite herself.

"Now this," Harry said, holding up the thermometer. "Under your tongue."

Too weak to argue, Y/N complied. When the device beeped, Harry checked the reading, his eyebrows shooting up.

"39.7°C," he read aloud. "No wonder you look half-dead."

"Charming as ever," Y/N managed to whisper.

A flicker of something, perhaps relief at her retaining some spirit, crossed Harry's face.

"I'm going to get you something clean to wear," he said, glancing at her sweat-soaked pajamas. "You can't see the doctor looking like that."

Before Y/N could respond, Gary went back to their room, rifling through her dresser drawers, returning with a fresh t-shirt and pajama bottoms.

"Can you manage, or do you need..." he trailed off, suddenly awkward.

Y/N shook her head. "I can do it. Just... turn around."

Harry obliged, facing the wall while Y/N struggled to change, the simple act leaving her breathless and dizzy. When she finally collapsed back against the pillows, he turned back, assessing her with critical eyes.

"You look marginally less like death warmed over," he concluded. "The doctor will be here soon."

Y/N nodded, too tired to maintain their usual combative dynamic. "Thank you," she said softly.

Harry looked momentarily taken aback by the genuine gratitude. "Don't thank me yet. I'm still annoyed about the luncheon."

Despite everything, Y/N found herself smiling faintly. "God forbid you show basic human decency without reminding me you're doing it under protest."

A corner of Harry's mouth quirked upward. "Exactly. Wouldn't want you getting the wrong idea."

They lapsed into silence, the usual tension between them temporarily suspended by the more immediate concern of Y/N's illness. Harry remained in the room, scrolling through his phone but occasionally glancing up to check on her.

When the doorbell rang, he stood immediately. "That'll be Dr. Reynolds. I'll bring him up."

Y/N nodded, suddenly nervous. Despite her reluctance to see a doctor, the severity of her symptoms had convinced her it was necessary. Still, the prospect of being examined by a stranger, especially one who was Harry's personal physician, made her uncomfortable.

Minutes later, Harry returned with an older man carrying a medical bag. Dr. Reynolds had kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses and a reassuring manner that immediately put Y/N more at ease.

"Mrs. Styles," he greeted her, setting his bag on the nightstand. "I hear you're feeling rather poorly."

"Just Y/N, please," she corrected automatically, her voice barely audible.

The doctor nodded, already taking out his stethoscope. "Y/N, then. Let's have a look at you."

The examination was thorough but efficient. Dr. Reynolds checked her throat, listened to her lungs, felt the lymph nodes in her neck, and took her temperature again.

"Well," he said finally, straightening up, "you've managed to contract a rather nasty case of influenza. Your lungs are congested, and I'm concerned about the possibility of secondary bacterial infection given the duration of your symptoms."

Harry, who had been hovering near the door, stepped closer. "Is it serious?"

"Influenza is always serious," Dr. Reynolds replied, "though not usually life-threatening in otherwise healthy young adults. However, left untreated, complications can develop."

He turned back to Y/N. "I'm going to prescribe an antiviral medication, which will help shorten the duration of your illness. I'll also give you antibiotics as a precaution against secondary infection, and something for the fever and pain."

Y/N nodded weakly. "How long until I'm better?"

"Even with medication, you're looking at a week of significant symptoms, possibly longer," the doctor said frankly. "You'll need complete rest, plenty of fluids, and someone to monitor your condition."

Harry frowned at this. "I have commitments. The album release, interviews..."

Dr. Reynolds looked at him sternly over his glasses. "Your wife needs care, Mr. Styles. She shouldn't be left alone in this condition."

An uncomfortable silence fell. Y/N stared at the ceiling, acutely aware of the awkwardness of the situation. Their marriage was a business arrangement, not a partnership of mutual care and support.

"I'll make arrangements," Harry said finally, his tone clipped.

Dr. Reynolds nodded, seemingly satisfied. He wrote out prescriptions, giving Harry detailed instructions for Y/N's care.

"I'll have these medications delivered within the hour," he said, packing up his bag. "In the meantime, keep her fever down with cool compresses and make sure she drinks water regularly. Call me immediately if her temperature goes above 40°C or if she has difficulty breathing."

After the doctor left, Harry remained in the doorway, an unreadable expression on his face.

"You don't have to cancel your commitments," Y/N said, breaking the silence. "I can manage."

Harry ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in the gesture. "You heard the doctor. You need someone to monitor you."

"I'm not your responsibility," Y/N insisted, though the words lacked her usual fire.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Actually, legally, you are. And more importantly, if you collapse and die in my house, it would be terrible publicity."

Despite everything, Y/N let out a weak laugh that quickly devolved into coughing. "At least you're honest about your priorities."

Harry watched her struggling to catch her breath, his expression softening almost imperceptibly. "I'll have my assistant reschedule what she can. For the things I can't miss, I'll arrange for someone to stay with you."

Before Y/N could respond, he added, "And don't argue about it. You look like hell, and for once in your life, you're going to accept help without making it into some kind of class warfare statement."

Y/N blinked, surprised by the vehemence in his tone. "Fine," she conceded quietly. "Thank you."

Harry nodded curtly, turning to leave.

"Harry," Y/N called, stopping him at the door. "I'm sorry about the luncheon. Really."

He glanced back at her, something complicated flickering in his green eyes. "Just focus on getting better. We can go back to arguing when you're not half-dead."

With that, he left, closing the door softly behind him.

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The next three days passed in a fever-induced haze for Y/N. The medications helped, but recovery was slow and painful. True to his word, Harry had arranged for care. A rotation of his household staff checking on her regularly, bringing meals she could barely eat, and ensuring she took her medication on schedule.

To her surprise, Harry himself appeared periodically throughout each day, usually with a terse inquiry about her condition or to inform her of some commitment he was attending "in case anyone asks where you are."

On the fourth day, Y/N woke feeling marginally more human. Her fever had finally broken during the night, leaving her weak but clear-headed for the first time in days. She managed to shower and change into fresh clothes, the simple tasks exhausting but necessary.

When she emerged from the bathroom, she was startled to find Harry sitting in the armchair by the window, scrolling through his phone.

"You're up," he observed, glancing up at her. "And vertical. That's an improvement."

Y/N nodded, making her way carefully back to the bed. "I feel better. Still weak, but the fever's gone."

"Good," Harry said, returning his attention to his phone. "The album release party is tomorrow night. Think you'll be well enough to attend?"

Y/N hesitated. She was far from recovered, but she understood the importance of the event for maintaining their public image. "I'll try," she said finally. "I can't promise to last the whole night, though."

Harry nodded, seemingly satisfied with this compromise. "We only need to make an appearance. You can leave early if necessary."

A silence fell between them, less hostile than usual but still awkward.

"Thank you," Y/N said eventually. "For arranging everything. The doctor, the care... I know it wasn't what you signed up for."

Harry looked up, studying her face for a moment. "Neither of us signed up for a real marriage," he said bluntly. "But basic human decency isn't optional, even in our arrangement."

Y/N smiled faintly. "Still, I appreciate it. I know I was stubborn about seeing the doctor."

"Stubborn is an understatement," Harry replied, though without his usual bite. "You were being ridiculous."

"Maybe," Y/N conceded. "Old habits die hard, I guess."

Harry's expression shifted, curiosity replacing his usual guardedness. "Why were you so resistant? It wasn't just about the money, was it?"

Y/N looked down, fidgeting with the edge of the duvet. "Growing up, doctors were for emergencies only. We couldn't afford insurance, so unless someone was dying, we just... handled it ourselves."

She shrugged, embarrassed by the admission. "My dad once set my brother's broken arm in our kitchen because the ER was too expensive. When I was ten, I had strep throat so bad I couldn't swallow, and my mom treated it with salt water gargles and honey because the urgent care clinic wanted three hundred dollars up front."

Harry listened in silence, his face unreadable.

"So yeah," Y/N continued awkwardly, "I guess I learned that being sick isn't reason enough to see a doctor. You have to be really sick. And even then, you try everything else first."

Harry was quiet for a long moment. "That's fucked up," he said finally.

Y/N laughed softly, wincing at the lingering pain in her throat. "Yeah, well. That's life for a lot of people."

Another silence fell, this one heavy with unspoken thoughts.

"For what it's worth," Harry said eventually, rising from the chair, "you don't have to worry about that anymore. Not while we're married."

The statement was a reminder that their arrangement was temporary, that whatever understanding they'd reached during her illness was as transient as their legal connection to each other.

"Right," Y/N said quietly. "For the next nine months, anyway."

Harry nodded, moving toward the door. "I have interviews all afternoon. Mrs. Collins will check on you at lunch."

Y/N watched him go, struck by the strange realization that for the first time since their arrangement began, they'd had a conversation that wasn't filled with barbs and antagonism.

"Harry," she called as he reached the door.

He paused, looking back at her with raised eyebrows.

"Good luck with the interviews," she said simply. "I hope the album does well."

Surprise flickered across his features, quickly masked by his usual composed expression. "Thanks," he replied, the single word carrying an unusual weight.

As the door closed behind him, Y/N leaned back against the pillows, exhausted by even this brief interaction. Whatever truce had formed between them during her illness would likely evaporate once she was fully recovered, their relationship returning to its usual state of barely concealed contempt.

But for now, in this strange liminal space created by her vulnerability and his unexpected care, something almost like peace existed between them—fragile, temporary, but real nonetheless.

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Taglist:   @mysunflowerposts@lydiasfalling@panini@ell0ra-br3kk3r@donutsandpalmtrees@sunshinemoonsposts@angeldavis777@fangirl509east @maudie-duan @indierockgirrl @harryssunflower17 @lizsogolden @daphnesutton @spinninc @behindmygreyeyes@wheredidmyeyesgo@matildasatellite@drewrry@inlikea-coolway@jerseygirlinca@nosebeers

[bellaxgiornata]

Falling For the Devil [Part ninety-seven: "The Comforting Touch"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: You spend the day miserably ill at home with Mittens.

Or

Matt comforts you in the shower.

[Series of one-shots about Reader meeting, falling for, and dating Matt Murdock.] [FFTD Series Masterlist]

Warnings: 18+ for this series; contains humor, fluff, romance, angst, smut, violence

a/n: It's been quite a few months since this series had an update because of my unexpected crazy past few months, but here's a bonus installment while I still try to tidy up "The Rooftop." Sheer coincidence that I'm also sick while working on this one (because I've basically been ill the past few months straight). Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

A faint pressure along your shoulder broke through your peaceful sleep as something gently shook you, the sensation gradually drawing you back to consciousness. Unfortunately that also meant being able to feel the sharp, scratchy pain in the back of your throat along with the congestion in your head that you'd initially fallen asleep to briefly find relief from. 

You groaned miserably, the ache that had seeped into all of your muscles causing you to curl further in on yourself along the leather couch. Mittens, who’d been snuggled up in a little gray ball against you and asleep on top of the two blankets you’d tightly wrapped around yourself, raised his head and softly mewed at the disruption to his own nap. But you didn’t respond to the cat as another chill raced up your spine and you shivered beneath the blankets you’d been buried beneath ever since you'd managed to force down a single slice of buttered toast at lunch. You'd been freezing all day in the apartment despite the thick sweatshirt and sweatpants you'd dressed in this morning when you'd woken up sick.  

“Sweetheart,” Matt's gentle voice murmured somewhere near your ear. “Wake up, sweetheart.”

Curling further into a ball on the couch, you groaned in discontent again. If Matt was home it meant that you'd slept for half the day straight after you'd finished that toast because he was back from work. But yet somehow you still felt tired and cold. And sweaty. A light sheen of sweat coated your skin even though you felt like you were freezing beneath all the layers you had on.

“No,” you grumbled, eyes still closed. “Don't want to.”

Matt's hand, which had previously been lightly shaking you awake, affectionately gave your shoulder a squeeze. The sound of his soft chuckle while his warm breath brushed past your cheek drew another shiver up through you.

“Sweetheart, have you been curled up here since I left at lunchtime?” Matt asked.

“Yes,” you simply replied, your voice sounding even more nasally than it had this morning. “Comfy here. Warm-ish.”

“Warm-ish?” he questioned. 

You felt his hand release your shoulder before the tips of his fingers lightly pressed against your forehead. He hummed thoughtfully, the pad of his thumb lightly stroking your damp skin. Shifting under the cocoon of blankets, you leaned further into his touch despite Mittens’ protesting meow at the movement.

“Thought you had a bit of a fever,” he mused softly. “It’s not too bad, but it’s there.”

“You're warm,” you mumbled contentedly, eyes still closed. “Very warm.”

Another amused chuckle fell from Matt's lips as you pressed your forehead further into his hand. His thumb gave another stroke across your sweat-dampened skin before he finally removed it from your forehead. You whined in protest, your eyes finally opening as another chill shot through you at the loss of his warm touch against you. Matt was bent over the couch before you, his glasses removed as he gazed down towards where you lay on the couch, an affectionate twist to his lips.

“You've got a low-grade fever, sweetheart,” Matt informed you. “Have you taken anything for it? Been drinking any water?”

Another groan fell out of you at the questions, your eyes aching even just to blink. Of course you hadn’t because you’d been passed out on the couch asleep with Mittens all afternoon. You had been miserable and exhausted and hadn’t wanted to move.

“No,” you reluctantly confessed. “I didn't want to get up. Everything hurts.”

“Mmm,” he hummed out. “How about I get you something to help with the fever along with a glass of water? While you drink that, I can get a shower ready for you.”

“No shower,” you told him, shaking your head against the couch pillow. “I'm comfy here. Just said I didn’t want to move.”

“Sweetheart,” he began, tone lightly chastising. “You'd feel better if you did. And the steam would help your throat and your congestion. I can tell that they're bothering you.”

Squirming further beneath the blankets, you vigorously shook your head again. Humming out a negative noise in response, your arms wrapped tighter around the couch pillow.

“Why not?” he asked. “You always feel better afterwards.”

“Because I'd have to get undressed,” you croaked out. “And I'm warm now. Somewhat.”

Matt paused, a contemplative expression crossing his face as his unseeing gaze raked over your form on the couch. He was silent for a long moment, but you could still see the way he was piecing something together in his head. After a brief pause, he spoke again.

“Alright, how about this,” he said, sounding more confident in his suggestion this time. “You drink down the water and take the medicine, and I'll join you in the shower. I'll keep you warm.”

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you considered his offer. Truthfully, you really did not want to get up from beneath the blankets because the thought of taking your warm layers off sounded absolutely awful. But Matt ran incredibly hot–like a comforting heating pad in the form of a beautiful man. And having him wrapped around you sounded good, very good. Especially after having just spent the whole day miserable with only Mittens for comfort, having Matt to yourself sounded tempting. 

“I'm sick,” you weakly pointed out. “I'll get you sick.”

Matt shrugged his shoulders. “I'll be alright, sweetheart.”

“Pretty sure I've heard that before,” you mumbled.

Matt’s head tilted to the side, amusement glinting in his eyes at your tone as he gazed down at you on the couch. Your eyes narrowed curiously back at him. There was another part to his suggestion, you could feel it. You knew that look.

“What?” you asked him.

“I'll even wash you,” he added on, the smile growing on his face.

The thought of Matt holding you in the shower while his large hands washed you and eased the ache in your muscles was hard to pass up. A sharp exhale fell past your chapped lips as your body went slack beneath the blankets. Just like that, you immediately caved. 

“Fine,” you relented. 

“Knew that would get you,” he replied. “I'll be right back.”

Matt stood back upright, no longer leaning over your place on the couch. Eyes following him, you watched as he made his way around the furniture and headed towards the kitchen. Inevitably your heavy eyelids lowered as you listened to the sound of glasses clinking together before a cabinet door closed, then you heard the faucet running. By the time you heard Matt lightly shaking a pill bottle, you'd already felt yourself beginning to drift off again. 

“No sleeping right now,” Matt called back from the kitchen.  

His voice startled you back awake, your eyes flying open. A frown tugged at your lips in response. Him and those fancy Devil senses were always so in tune with your body. But as your gaze fell down on Mittens still curled up against your stomach, and you heard Matt’s soft footsteps approaching from the kitchen, you found yourself actually comforted by how closely he paid attention to you. You’d often spent a lot of time in the past wondering if a man like Matthew Murdock could ever truly love you, and situations like these always proved it.

In a matter of moments, Matt was once more leaning over you. Glancing up, you focused on both of his outstretched hands. There was a full glass of water in one and two little pills in his other.

“Take these,” he ordered. “Drink that whole glass of water, too. I can tell you're dehydrated and your body needs it, especially with that slight fever. I'll go get the shower warmed up for us while you do.”

Slowly pushing yourself upright on the couch with one hand, your other attempted to keep the blankets from completely falling off of you. With an aggravated noise, Mittens rose up from his place on the cushion beside you, shooting you an annoyed look before he hopped off of the couch. Ignoring Mittens’ dramatic reaction to being disturbed when he wasn’t the one who was sick, you reached out and accepted both items from Matt’s hands. As you did, you saw Mittens stalk his way towards his cat tree again before climbing all the way to the top. He settled down to nap again, almost intentionally turning his back to you and Matt.

“You don't even take this good of care of yourself,” you grumbled, focusing back on Matt. 

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards at your comment. “Because you're more important,” he stated.

“I strongly disagree with that sentiment,” you argued, voice cracking a little as you spoke. “I’m not the one going out and saving people at night. You are.”

“Debatable,” Matt countered easily. “You arguably make a lot of important impacts in the city with the articles you write, sweetheart.”

“Which leads me to get incredibly ill from it,” you muttered. “And put on Ellison’s shit list. Again.”

Matt’s lips shot up into a grin. He’d heard all about that the other night when you’d come home from chasing a lead and ranting about how Ellison had thrown you on probationary fluff pieces again. 

“I’m inclined to side with Ellison on this one,” he told you. He gestured his head down at your hands where the water and pills still remained untouched. “Now take those and drink.”

With a resigned sigh, you set the pills on your tongue before raising the glass of water to your lips. Swallowing down the pills, you winced at the effort when your raw throat stung. Grimacing, you shot the glass of water in your hand a dirty look. The thought of drinking all of it seemed like torture right now.

“There you go, sweetheart. That’s good,” Matt praised. “Now just finish that glass of water. I'll be right back.”

A shudder ran through you, your body involuntarily reacting to his words. As Matt made his way down the hall to the bathroom, you heard him chuckle lightly before he disappeared from view. Of course he’d caught that faint reaction your body had just had to his praise despite how awful you currently felt. Eyes shifting down to the glass of water in your hand, you frowned at how full it was. You did not want to drink it.

“Drink all of it!” Matt called out from the bathroom. “Don't make me repeat myself, sweetheart!”

Brows drawing together, you glanced up at the hallway he’d disappeared down. The frown on your face only further deepened at how closely he was focused on you. Because of course he knew you were hesitating on drinking the glass down–he could hear you. 

“Or what?” you called back, voice cracking once again at the volume. “You'll love me to death?”

“That’s a tempting idea,” Matt returned with a chuckle from the other room. “But I can tell you’re not quite up for that right now.”

Rolling your eyes despite a different sort of heat creeping into your cheeks now, you grinned back down at the glass of water in your hand. With a resigned sigh, you finally drew it up to your lips. Matt might have been a mess some days–thankfully far less of one ever since you’d moved in with him and things had clearly been growing more serious between you both–but he was nothing if not attentive and caring. Sometimes overly so when it came to you.

By the time you'd finished struggling to chug down the glass of water, your throat feeling like it was swallowing shards of glass instead of liquid, Matt had returned to the living room. Except now he was only dressed in his black boxers, which momentarily had you pausing mid-way of setting the now empty glass onto the coffee table to stare. 

Your eyes scanned over his toned muscles and the multiple scars adorning his body. There was a large bruise on his left thigh that looked like it had finally started healing after his night out a few days ago. Your heart gave a stutter at the sight of him, not because he was absolutely beautiful–which he was and you didn’t think there’d ever be a day that you wouldn’t be affected by that–but because he looked like home. Even battered and bruised. 

“Come on, love,” he said, making his way back towards you and skirting around the coffee table. He stopped in front of you with both of his hands outstretched to you on the couch. “Let's get you clean and warm.”

Struggling to breathe out of your congested nose, you reached out towards him and placed your hands into his. Matt pulled you up from the couch carefully before slipping a muscled arm around your waist and drawing you up against his side. The heat of his bare skin felt delicious even over your clothes. Almost immediately, your own arms wrapped around his waist as you pressed your forehead against his shoulder. A chill ran through you at the warmth of him and you felt his arm tighten around you in response.

Breathing in the scent of his skin, your eyes closing, you let Matt guide you around the coffee table and towards the hallway that led to the bathroom. You could hear the water running as you both approached, but the second you stepped into the bathroom, you could feel your sinuses clear just a fraction because of the steam. 

Matt’s head shifted slightly towards you, a small smile on his lips. “See? It’s helping already,” he murmured.

“Yeah, okay,” you muttered as he led you over towards the shower. “I’ll let you win this one.”

Matt chuckled softly as he brought you both to a stop before the enclosed shower. Gently, he disentangled himself from the way you’d wrapped yourself around his side. You’d been about to make a complaint, but then his fingers slipped into the waistband of his boxers and began tugging them down his thighs. At the sight of him completely bare, you’d entirely forgotten your argument.

A faint, knowing smirk was on his lips when he turned towards you, but he thankfully spared you a teasing comment in your current sick state. Instead, his hands grabbed onto the hem of your sweatshirt before he began carefully easing it up and over your head. Standing there in front of the shower, you let Matt tenderly and slowly undress you until you were just as bare as him. Though as he undressed you, a bout of shivers ran through you, goosebumps dotting your skin. 

Noticing your discomfort, Matt opened the shower door and ushered you inside. Once the warm spray of the shower fell over you, your eyes closed and the goosebumps began to fade. The heat felt good and the steam was quickly clearing your nasal passages, but what felt even better was when Matt’s arms slipped back around your waist before his entire front was pressed against your back. Instinctively, you leaned backwards into him with the smallest sigh. 

“There you go, sweetheart,” Matt whispered, his mouth suddenly beside your ear. “Just relax and let me help you feel better.”

Matt’s mouth pressed a soft kiss to your cheek before his hands slid their way to your hips. Slow and careful, he turned you around until you were facing him. Craving the warmth and comfort of him, your own arms snaked their way around his waist, drawing your chest tight against his as the warm water ran down the pair of you. Matt’s hands began running soothing patterns up and down your sore back muscles, his palms and the water easing the ache and tension in them. Melting into his touch, your forehead lowered to his wet shoulder as your eyes fell shut. This was even better than being cocooned on the couch with Mittens. 

“Can I nap like this?” you asked quietly. “Because now I don’t want to move.”

“I don’t know about that, sweetheart,” he replied, his hands continuing their comforting massage along your back. “Might be hard to fall asleep standing upright, and eventually the water is going to get cold.”

A frustrated noise fell out of you, your face still pressed against his skin. He had a point but you wished he didn’t. 

“Besides,” he continued, “I was planning to get some food delivered after this. You like that one soup from the cafe on the corner, figured it might help clear you up and soothe your sore throat. And you need more than that piece of buttered toast you had today. You haven’t eaten remotely enough.”

You knew you couldn’t even dispute that. Not only could Matt tell you were lying–not that you would–but you knew he was able to tell what you’d eaten today just by your breath. Despite your inability to understand how that didn’t gross him out when speaking with people in general, you knew that he was aware you hadn’t really even had a single meal today.

“Okay,” you agreed. “But I want to stay in here for a bit first.”

“I’m okay with that,” he replied, a hint of a smile in his voice.

Keeping one arm around your waist, Matt shifted in the shower. He turned you with him as he moved, one of his hands reaching up to the shower caddy hanging off the shower head as he grabbed the soap. Only then did he release his hold on you, which in turn had you clinging tighter to him. Not bothered by the way you were pressed against the front of his body, Matt began lathering the soap into his hands before they once more landed on your back. Somehow, you sunk even further into him as he not only washed you, but massaged your back and shoulders with the right amount of pressure to not hurt your already stiff and aching muscles. 

You had no idea how long the pair of you had stayed under the spray of warm water, the steam clearing the congestion in your head as you held onto Matt. His hands continued moving along your body in such careful, tender motions that he was about to put you to sleep. It was such a small moment, just him taking care of you while you were ill, but it felt good just being with him like this.

“Boyfriend of the year award goes to you,” you murmured half-awake against his damp skin.

“Sweetheart,” he began, his hands still moving in comforting patterns against your skin, “I think I lose points for disappearing on you most nights and coming home injured.”

“Stop it,” you weakly protested, your arms squeezing him a bit tighter in reproach. “You know I support you as long as you take care of yourself. I’d never ask you to stop.”

“Yeah,” he answered softly, a tinge of something tender in his tone that you were far too sick to pick up on. “You’ve always been supportive and accepting.”

“Because you’re my other half, Matty,” you admitted quietly, the words coming out nasally. “You’re part of me.”

With your eyes still closed and your forehead still resting against his shoulder, enjoying the way his hands were washing your bare body, you entirely missed the emotion that passed across his face at your words.

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[beefrobeefcal]

an Ezra & Cricket One Shot: Brass Knuckled Debauchee Summary: Ezra, after abusing your healing talents, returns to make good on his debt... for a price.

Pairing: Ezra x F!Reader | Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) | Word Count: 4,752

Content Warning: Smutty smutty smut smut, fingering (f receiving), weight gain, eating, edging, soft!dom Ezra being an overall ass, teasing, begging, crying, malfunctioning prosthetic limb, the occasional swear

Author's Notes: requested by two (count'em - 2!) lovely babes for the 900 Friendo Celebration - thank you to @xdaddysprincessxx and @morallyinept for bringing Ezra some love.

Huge thank you to @strang3lov3 , @noxturnalpascal & @bitchesuntitled for their beta badass skills and to my ever lovely beta fish, @neverwheremoonchild. None of you will understand the depths of gratitude I hold you all in.

No more tag lists - follow @beefnotes + turn on notifications for fic updates!

You’d cared for him when his appendage was newly parted from his person, after a young woman dumped him off at your meagre midwife’s centre.  

You hadn’t delivered a baby in at least eight cycles, but you were busy tending to broken bones and crushed limbs from the mine nearby, so the idea of caring for a wound caused by a missing arm wasn’t far from your everyday.  

What was far from the standard men in your care was that this one wouldn’t shut up. Truly. You’d never met someone so close to death spew such a narrative. You almost wished to have him out of his misery just to stop his linguistic vomit.  

Thank Kevva for sedatives.  

You didn’t even want to know his name, worried that if you had his, he’d need yours and there was no way someone this sick and wounded that could carry on like he’s memorized a thesaurus wasn’t capable of performing a hex or a curse on you. 

After three blessedly quiet and devoid-of-narration days, the open wound where his arm once hung from was no longer festering and the fever that wracked his body broke. Despite your own desire to keep him silent, you stopped administering such a high dose of the sedative, and you allowed him to regain consciousness.  

For the first little while, all you heard was his steady, deep breathing, so you left the room to grab some water and liquified sustenance for him, figuring that when he would finally come to, he’d be hungry. 

“To what do… do I owe the pleasure?”, you heard croaked as you walked softly back into the room.  

“Oh good…”, you replied flatly. “You’re awake and talking.” 

The remainder of his stay that time had revolved around you doing what you could to keep his mouth occupied enough to keep it quiet; you fed him. By the time he’d left, he’d made you aware of his name – Ezra – and bestowed a nickname on you for lack of giving your own. Cricket. He then made the terrible promise to return to see you and left with a wink and a smile.  

Your whole body bristled at the thought of having to deal with him again. 

***** 

The first return visit he made, his confidence and vocabulary were still obnoxiously inflated. Whining of a bruised rib, you resumed your frustrated feeding to keep him down to two to three sentences and responses between mouthfuls.  

The second time he returned, he stated that he had been ‘brutalized by a deviant, one who you should not even be told of his true form else your fragile and virtuous mind be stained’. There wasn’t a single mark on him, save for a bite on his only arm that looked to be self-inflicted. He enjoyed himself, smiling between bites of food. 

By the third visit – complaining of a sprained toe - you knew that he knew that you knew what you were doing - and vice versa. Despite this, you fed him, and he ate very well. After several days of ‘healing’, he hauled himself up and it was then that you noted his flight suit looking like it was getting tighter around his middle.  

Those visits happened in a fairly rapid succession, but a longer period – more than six cycles at least - lapsed before he darkened your doorway and approached your desk once again. Without even looking up, you knew it was him, having heard his cavalier long-form salutations being crooned out at anyone he passed approaching your unit. 

“What now?”, you sighed in irritation, dropping your head into your hand, not bothering to look up at him – something you would come to regret to save yourself future embarrassment. You didn’t see him close your door and lock it behind him.  

He approached your desk, and his hand came into view along with a mechanical one; the smooth-as-silk tongued devil was now outfitted with a prosthetic arm that looked like it had been stolen from a brass skeleton and had gears added. Your eyes followed the mechanical limb up to the hem of his shortened sleeve, hiding the joint between it and what remained of his actual arm. The new colour of his clothing caught your attention, too, pulling your eyes to his torso. Yes, it was definitely a different colour. He was no longer in the moss greens and soil browns you’d associated with him. Now, he was in a dark blue flight suit with a gold zipper that looked to just be barely holding together.  

Your brain paused to take in what was in front of you.  

“No more chirps for me, sweet Cricket?” 

His raspy, southern drawl sounded sweeter than you’d noticed before as your eyes took in the added weight on his middle. Before looking up to his face, you noted the way the zipper rippled from the strain and the clear indent his belly button made as the fabric pulled taut across his expanse.  

His face. As soon as you took it in, you regretted not doing it first. He’s held you in his big brown eyes’ gaze before, but you’d been able to avoid being trapped. But this time you couldn’t help but let them absorb you. His smile widened as he slightly leaned forward, arms putting further weight on your desk.  

“You seem at a loss for word, Crick-“ 

“You’ve been eating well.”, you managed to croak out in a somewhat aloof-sounding voice, nodding towards his middle.  

He didn’t shrink back at your comment; instead, it seemed to embolden him.  “You started me on a path of decadence that a mere man such as myself isn’t able to easily shake.” 

He stood to his full height, eyes never leaving yours. “Is that all you noticed?”, he grinned, lifting his brass appendage, bringing the crude and simple brass hand to his face, smoothing over his moustache.  

Your lips parted then closed and parted again before you were able to spit out, “I saw y-… I see you got a new… limb.” 

His eyes gleamed at you, seeing his every move had you further in his grasp. You inwardly scowled, chiding yourself on how quickly you were falling under his spell. Narrowing your eyes, you shrugged at him. 

“Looks old.” 

If it stung him, he didn’t show it; he simply kept that smile on his face and continued to look down at you from across the desk. “I’m not its first owner.” 

The pleasantries had only lasted a few more moments before Ezra moved around your desk and hovered over you. 

“I’m here to return the favour, Cricket.” 

“...Favour?” 

“For all the hard work you put into bringing me back to my full health.”, he cooed lowly as his brass hand cooled your cheek with its feather-light touch.  

“It’s nothing... I was just doing my j - “ 

He leaned over you further, cheshire grin pulled menacingly across his face. His voice slipped into a lower pitch and his eyes darted from your eyes to your mouth.  

“Doing your job would have been to send me away when I appeared with erroneous and fabricated injuries and illnesses. You, my sweet Cricket, stepped over and above the threshold of your employment and I intend to repay you for your sweetness in full.” 

You sucked in a few shallow breaths and nervously swallowed. This was a side of him you hadn't seen, assuming that he was a submissive and pliant brat who’d chosen you to dote on him. But no. There was no favour he intended to pay back. He was just sizing you up and wrangling you into his web, and now he was out loud declaring that you were his prey. His eyes were dark and fixed on you, in contrast with the gentle smile on his face.  

“Don’t be nervous, sweet Cricket. You can tend to your own wounds afterwards. Now, let me hear you chirp.” 

His brass arm shot out and gripped your wrist tightly and he pulled you from your seat. Dragging you to the maternity room, he tossed you onto the low soft bed.  

“Ezra!”, you squeaked as your body hit the push mattress below you.  

He dropped to his knees and crawled up, forcing your legs apart, and his belly barely grazed your middle as his face lined up with yours. You let out an involuntary whimper. 

“Oh, sweet Cricket. How badly I wanted you on your back, making those sweet vocalizations your namesake promised me.” 

His flesh and bone hand gently grazed your face and moved to the back of your head, softly fisting your hair, forcing your head to stay still as he traced his nose along the contours of your face. His eyes remained half lidded and he watched as your own rolled back when he pushed his knee into the crux of your thighs, knowing he had all but your verbal consent.  

“This is all you need, sweet Cricket? Someone to light the way?” 

All you can muster as his hold on your hair tightened and his knee applied more pressure was a light whine through your parted lips.  

You wanted to respond, but the moment you opened your mouth, Ezra’s brass arm made a clunk sound and began to shudder.  

“Oh, for Kevva’s sake.”, he muttered, sitting up on his knees as he examined the arm. It made a mechanical sound before it shuddered again, then a higher pitched noise droned as the arm vibrated.  

You watched him sitting between your parted legs as the realization of what he had at his disposal dawned on him. Your eyes widened as he turned and looked at you like a starved man with a wild grin.  

“Sweet Cricket, I think I could go for a bite to eat.” 

***** 

Once you’d gotten some finger foods together and brought them back into the room, you found Ezra laid back in a mountain of pillows on the bed. He nodded his head towards you and raised his hand, beckoning you to him.  

“Come on, Cricket. Tend to your weary traveller.” 

His eyes were glued to you, cascading up and down your form, as you hand fed him. He’d had a few pieces of the savoury pastries when you felt the cool touch of his brass hand slide between your thighs.  

“Curious...”, he mused as he chewed. “… that when I make a certain motion with my appendage, it malfunctions in such an amusing manner that I know you will find benefit in, pet.” 

Your brows furrow in question and before you can ask how that could benefit you in any way, the arm made that clunk sound again. You felt the vibration between your thighs and your eyes widened.  

“Ez – oh fuck!”, you gasped as he pushed his knuckle up against your mound and held it there firmly. 

Your mouth was open, allowing shallow panting breaths to puff out and your eyes were closed with your brows pinched as the shuddering vibrations pulsed against you. You’d never felt anything like this before in your life and you thanked Kevva.  

The low amber tones of his voice cut through to you and pulled you out of your silent prayer. “Now, sweet Cricket. We are both here to derive enjoyment from one another given we both now have the intel on each other’s vices. You can’t go holding out on me to seek your fruition – that is not fair.” 

He pulled his hand from contacting your core, and your eyes snapped to his, a pleading whimper bubbling out from your pouting lips.  

“Uh-uh, Cricket. We will play fair.”, he growled in warning. His smile dropped as his features darkened, and he nodded towards your suspended hand holding a small meat-filled pastry. “Don’t you dare hold out on me.” 

Shakily, you brought the morsel to his mouth and as he took it in and let his tongue touch your finger, his hand once again pressed against your core. 

***** 

Ezra had continued to eat and finished over half of platter. But every time you started to get close to your peak, he would pull his hand away, leaving you a shaking mess. 

“P-please… Ezra, please!”, you begged mere seconds away from ecstasy.  

“I am not finished, sweet Cricket.”, he said with a mouthful. “You will be sated when I have found my fill, and we are not yet there.” 

You could have screamed at him, strangled him in a rage. “Ezra please! I - ”. 

The warning look he gave you stopped any further pleading. Your mind reeled, trying to find some way to get relief. You could kick him out and try to finish yourself off with your fingers, but you knew it would be fruitless; you’d never gotten this worked up on your own before and you doubt that you had anything in this clinic that vibrated at that frequency.  

As you trembled and panted, Ezra watched, amused at how clearly you were seeking a solution to the problem he’d created for you.  

“Cricket…”, he cooed, soothing his biological hand up your arm and to your face. He gently guided your chin towards him. “Sweet Cricket, come back to me.” 

When your frantic gaze met his, his eyes softened and creased as he smiled. “I will not leave you unfinished. I repay my debts, darling nurse.” 

You sighed in defeat, nodded, and took a deep breath. Your eyes trailed down to his noticeably rounder middle that made the already strained zipper pull at the seams of the fabric. He shifted in what looked like discomfort.  

You put down the current half-filled plate of food and reached for the zipper tag, tugging it down. It only got to the beginning of the swell of his belly before you met resistance. You tugged a little harder, but it wouldn’t budge. 

“Suck it in.” 

“Now, Cricket, let’s not be hast-“ 

“I said suck it in.”, you snapped back far more forcefully than intended.  

Ezra froze then nodded. “Sweet girl, I will try, but…”  You saw his middle pull in slightly. “… the profound conundrum I experienced in getting it on…” 

The zipper finally moved, and he groaned as his stomach expanded. “Sweet Kevva… such relief.” 

You were desperate for him to touch you again, but seeing him fat and swollen before you, knowing it was your work that was filling him out. Ezra watched your gaze turn hungry and almost feral. Granted, he felt that way as he watched you teeter on the edge of falling apart over and over. He wasn’t ready to let the power he held over you go, giving him the drive to get through, bite by bite. But that power began to slip the moment his vulnerable and considerably rounder middle exposed, and it left him feeling uneasy and unsure. 

“A change of flavour… is needed, my sweet Cricket.”, Ezra crooned, trying to exude as much confidence he could muster, despite his self-consciousness lingering in the back of his mind. He swallowed down a moan as your blown-pupiled eyes met his. He pushed a faux-confident smile and spoke softer. “Something sweeter, perhaps?” 

Letting a small huff escape, you nodded and got up from the bed, cursing him under your breath for having this much power over you. 

As you stood in the small kitchen area, waiting for the food rehydrator to loudly prepare the freeze-dried baked goods, you didn’t hear Ezra huff and grunt as he got off the bed and saunter into the kitchen. You weren’t alerted to his presence until his belly hit your back and his brass hand went to your hip.  

His nose and mouth pressed against the back of your neck, whispering filth as his hand cupped your breast and squeezed. 

“You leave yourself so vulnerable, sweet Cricket... back to the door, not an ounce of concern…. any rapscallion of low morals could take advantage… of your sweet, supple figure…” 

You let out a light, breathy whine gripping his hand as he kneaded your breast. As much as you wanted his hands on you, you wanted his mouth on your own more, so you pushed your body back against his, making enough room between him and the counter for you to turn around. His brass hand stayed on the curve of your waist, not offering any resistance, and his other hand cupped your cheek, holding it in place while he kissed you softly. His lips moved against yours like he was able to read your mind, or maybe even needed this point of contact as badly as you did. His mouth parted and his tongue pushed for entrance into your mouth, and once it was granted, the kiss fevered and boiled over. You felt your core throb with need and want, soaking your pants and already ruined underwear, and he crowded you against the counter. So wrapped up were you in his mouth and teeth and tongue, that you didn’t feel his brass hand move from your waist. 

In one swift move, Ezra shoved your pants down in the front enough for his brass hand to slip with no barrier into your folds. The cool touch you would have expected from it was long forgotten as the metal now met your body temperature. Still engulfed in the kiss that was beginning to rob your breath, the telltale clunk barely registered in your mind until the vibrations started. Sending a jolt through your body, you pulled your face away from his and let out a shrill gasp.  

The timer on the rehydrator went off, and Ezra chuckled darkly, watching your brows draw together and your eyes flutter.  

“The rules stay the same, Cricket. Sweet or savoury, I will have my fill and you will have your petite mort. But one will meet the other at the same time.”, he said in a wickedly soft tenor. “Now, you can begin holding up your end, sweet girl.” 

Once again, Ezra ripped away any power you might have had or believed you had, edging you with each bite, withholding his metal hand’s vibrations from the moment his mouth was empty to the moment your hand shakily pushed another bite past his lips. Overstimulation mixed with the pent-up fury of being denied an orgasm had you panting rapidly, tears threatening to spill over. High pitched whines and shuddering whimpers were all you could produce, and it was music to Ezra’s ears.  

“You… create the most… glorious cricket song…”, he mused softly as he chewed the mouthful. “Keep chirping, sweet girl…” 

You were coming to a point where you weren’t sure you would make it. Your brain felt like it was filled with the static from a communicator’s blank channel and your hearing and sight felt fuzzy. The coil tightening in your cunt was hitting a painful level, causing you to drop the next pastry you’d picked up with your shaking hands. 

As soon as it hit the floor, Ezra tsk’d you, and pulled his hand right out of your pants. The pained sob that burst from you from the loss of contact was loud and harsh, and the tears finally spilled over, staining your cheeks.  

“P-please… I… I can’t!”, you cried out, jutting your hand out clumsily to grab his wrist as he pulled back. His dark eyes scanned your desperate ones, pausing momentarily, before his gaze shifted to one of pity and amusement. 

“You can’t what?”, he mocked with a cruel grin. “Can’t what, sweet Cricket?” 

A rasped and pained whine peeled out of your throat as your head fell to his shoulder, and his hand gripped your hair and pulled back, forcing you to look at him. You looked ruined. Your cheeks flushed and eyes wet and lidded, your lips parted, turned down and chin quivering. He shoved up back and up onto the counter. 

“Oh, come now, sweet Cricket. Don’t look at me like I won’t give you your due.”, he whispered, ghosting his mouth over yours. His brass fingers traced lurid shapes along your inner thighs, causing your body to shiver and that coil painfully wind up in your core once more.  

“I asked you for something sweeter, pet,”, Ezra mockingly cooed as he pulled back, your face involuntarily following his to try and capture his lips against yours. He shook his head, smile tugging at one side of his mouth. “Something sweeter and you dropped it on the floor. It’s precious currency, Cricket, and you mishandled it.” 

Your eyes followed his, stuck in the trance he’d put you under. He could have told you to do anything, given any order and you would have obeyed to your detriment. His brass hand moved to your throat, long, metal fingers grasping just tight enough to keep you precariously seated on the edge of the counter. His thicker middle forced you legs open wide, and his other hand took its place between your legs and without warning, he shoved two fingers into your core.  

Your mouth and eyes widened as a wrecked gasp escaped you and your hands went to grab onto what ever meaty part of him you could grab for stability. Ezra hummed in response as the pads of his fingers felt the walls of your cannel twitch and flutter at his intrusion. 

“Good Kevva, sweet girl…”, he groaned, watching your face contort. “As much as this contraption of a limb can bring me such sadistic joy at your expense, my own digits needed to feel the silken walls of your inner sanctum.” 

As he pumped his fingers in and out of you, he dropped his forehead against yours and hummed again, answering your repeated whining pants and moans.  

“Keep chirping, Cricket… sing me your evening song… that’s it….”  

As you felt your peak come careening in, he felt your walls convulse and slicken up. The soft tenor he’s just lulled you into a steady rhythm with fell away and the low chuckle followed by his fingers being removed made you scream out and dig your nails into the fattened flesh of his upper arm and shoulder. 

“EZ-EZRA! PLEASE! FUCK-PLEASE!”, you sobbed out in a shriek.  

His brass hand’s hold tightened around your throat, and he shoved your shoulders flush with the wall behind counter roughly.  

Your desperate eyes looked him over as best as you could, given the position he had you in. His bloated and full stomach moved with each laboured breath he took and the strain he put himself under to wreck you was fully apparent. You could feel the outline of his clothed hard cock seated against your thigh and the sweat beading on his forehead. He wiped his face and parted his lips to take in deeper breaths; his irises were indiscernible from his pupils as he looked down at you. 

You had never known need like this, and you felt as though you were going to succumb due to your lack of orgasm as a final line in the life that Kevva had written for you. 

“P…please…” 

“Is it my cock you want to be impaled on, pet? You want to whine and mewl while I rut my quiver bone into your sopping celestial cavern?”, he coolly growled, but there was a slight waiver in his voice. You saw the same desperation in the dark abyss of his eyes. 

You nodded dumbly and he scowled, baring his teeth, and tore his brass hand off you, trying to make quick work of getting his flight suit off his shoulders. The arms were tight around his fleshy arms, and you shakily sat up and tried to help. Once his arms were free, you tugged the material over his waist, taking note of the roll of flesh sitting just above his waistband, showing just how much he had been indulging. You gave it a squeeze, revelling in the sound he made, sucking his breath thru his teeth at your fingers.  

“Marvel the fruits of your labour, Cricket… The destination you set me on course to has made me beyond redemption and unfit for galactic adventuring…”, he grunted breathily, shoving his flight suit off his legs before kicking it off entirely. “You have effectively rendered me useless beyond what effect I am able to wield on you.” 

He shoved his mouth against yours before you could respond or ask what he meant, sucking you into a bruising kiss. His hands gripped your hips, pulling your twitching cunt flush with his weeping, hard cock, knocking the plastic plate that held the desserts onto the floor at his feet. Fumbling slightly, he pulled back and gripped his member, before lining it up with your entrance and pushing it in all at once. The sting of his intrusion melded perfectly with the relief of finally connecting, and the sound you made caused Ezra to almost break. His eyes softened and his brows tented, body tense at the gentle yet firm, warm hold you had on him.   

“I’m af-afraid I’ve pushed too far to allow for… for niceties and gentle welcomes, sweet Cricket…”, he panted against your face, teeth clenched as he tried to focus and draw this out as long as possible.  

“Please move...”, you begged in a strained whine.  

“If I move to fast, sweet Cricket, I will... end this fortuitous connection with an... an early release, and that would render me- fuck!... render me less than a gentleman...” 

“You’re no gentleman... now shut up an-and fuck me!” 

It seemed that your tight walls and frantic begging were too much for Ezra, and he pulled out with a grunt, followed by a whine as he came onto the plate on the floor. The vulgar sounds of his panting breaths mixed with the sploot of his spend had you seeing red. 

“You asshole!”, you screeched, shoving him off you.  

He panted and held his hands up in surrender as you charged at him. 

“Cricket... forgive me! You’re too sweet... your sacred cavern was too - “ 

The slap you landed across his face stopped his fancy wordplay. “You fucking bastard!” 

Ezra’s eyes flashed in anger, and he stood to his full height, towering over you.  

“That was uncalled for, Cricket.”, he snarled. “I will take the wrath of meeting an end without you by my side, but I will not allow you to besmirch my good mother with a question of my paternal lineage.” 

You stared at him, eyes wide with anger at his audacity, and before you could say another word, he tackled you to the floor. You tried to fight him off but the moment you heard the clunk of his brass arm and felt two metal fingers punch up into your slick heat, you ceased your struggle.  

“See, sweet Cricket? I may be a wayward traveler, but even I know the dangers of leaving a woman on the precipice of completion... “ 

“Don’t stop... please... don’t stop...”  

The vibrations of his arm and the smooth curves of the worn metal fingers found a rhythm that had you seeing stars.  

“I plan to keep demanding your company each time I move through this sector, and-” 

“Oh Kevva... Ez-Ezra!” 

He leaned forward and ghosted his mouth over yours, speaking in a low, husky growl, “... if I were to fail you now, what kind of welcome would I receive the next time I darken your doorway?” 

Your eyes rolled into the back of your skull and your body arched off the floor. Pent up energy burst from your burning cunt, sending wave after wave of precious release through your body. The scream that peeled out of you was dampened by Ezra kissing you forcefully. 

His movement slowed and he slowly pulled his brass hand from your core. You were greeted with his grin as he looked over his brass hand. 

“You’ve polished only two fingers for me... there are three more.”, he cooed, placing a delicate kiss on the end of your nose. “Next time.” 

“N-next time?” 

He nodded and stood up with a grunt. You sat up carefully, and it seemed you both took note of the plate on the floor, covered in his cum. The chastisement was on your tongue, but never became words out loud as you were struck speechless as you watched him pick up the plate and fling it out the window.  

He turned back to you, standing naked in the kitchen, fat and sweaty, with a grin on his face.  

“There is always a next time, Cricket.” 

[itwasrealtome]

AGENT GRAY

Chapter 17 • The Weight We Carry

TAGLIST FORM

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⚠️ DO NOT READ IF THIS MIGHT TRIGGER YOU

Olivia Benson x fem! FBI Agent OC

Summary: Miles explains what happened to Olivia and Amanda. Alexis runs after a suspect.

Content Warning: Usual SVU & Violent Crime talk • SA, bruises, mention of a struggle, description of a victim, assault, mention of med support | mention of a sick kid and sickness | Blood | Getting hurt | Falling down the stairs | Fight Scene • people getting hit and all

A/N: Hello my loves! Another long chapter just for you. Nothing to do with AGENT GRAY or Law and Order SVU, but I recently posted a quick survey on my blog to see if people would be interested in me writing some Carol Hathaway x fem!reader or fem!OC.

Carol is a character in THE ER series. If you're interested, let me know!

*

TUESDAY, MARCH 07

Manhattan— Charity Gala

11:07 PM

The ballroom looked like a dream abandoned mid-sentence, as if the narrative of glamour and celebration had been torn away halfway through and replaced with something raw and uncertain.

Hours earlier, it had been a study in opulence: laughter rising in elegant swells beneath a canopy of chandeliers, music rippling through the air like silk, the clink of crystal glasses echoing across marble floors polished to a mirror finish. Now, all of it felt ghostly–like a memory already fading.

In place of evening gowns and champagne toasts were officers in tactical gear, paramedics moving with hushed urgency, and evidence technicians slipping quietly through the space where society's elite had been mingling not long before. Radios hissed with quiet updates and clipped commands, a harsh contrast to the string quartet that had once filled the corners of the room with forgettable elegance.

The scent of expensive perfume still clung faintly to the drapery and floating votives, but it had been overtaken by the clinical bite of antiseptic, latex gloves, and something darker–metallic, earthy, a coppery undertone that carried panic in its wake. The atmosphere had changed, subtly but unmistakably. Where once there had been laughter and performance, now there was only tension. Purpose. A different kind of urgency.

Miles stood near one of the towering window panes, his figure partially framed by the cold gleam of the glass. Beyond it, Manhattan stretched out in glittering stillness, towers of steel and light stabbing into the night like monuments to ambition. The city was dazzling, yes–but distant, impersonal. A world apart from the one he inhabited in that moment.

His reflection stared faintly back at him: suit jacket still on, but his tie loosened, the top button of his shirt undone in silent defiance of the night's earlier formality. His shoulders were set a little too tight, the kind of posture that came not just from long hours, but from a deeper fatigue–the kind that lived in the spine and didn't go away with rest.

He should've been home by now.

Ava had called just after lunch–his wife's voice tinny through the earpiece, scratchy with the congestion she hadn't even tried to hide. Their daughter, Charlie, had caught the flu over the weekend. Her mother had tried to hold out, tried to play nurse and mom and functioning adult all at once, but Miles had heard it in her voice: the weariness, the faint edge of desperation. She wasn't doing great either. Fever. Nausea. Exhaustion. He'd promised he'd be home by ten.

But then the night had veered sideways.

The sharp, rhythmic click of heels on marble broke through the low murmur of radios and medical chatter, drawing the agent's eyes toward the ballroom's side entrance. The double doors opened with a gentle whisper, their heavy frames barely stirring the air–yet it was enough. He turned fully just as two familiar figures stepped into view.

Lieutenant Benson and detective Rollins entered like calm through a storm. They moved with the kind of measured precision that came from years of walking into scenes where beauty and violence met at the same table. Their eyes swept across the room with quiet alertness–taking in the shift in mood, the tension in the air, the cocktail of panic and professionalism that always followed violence in unexpected places.

Gone were the gowns and bow ties, replaced by the clean, efficient lines of Kevlar, shields at their belts, flashlights clipped and steady. Their presence threaded authority into the frayed edges of the room, grounding it in something steadier than the lingering chaos. What was once a ballroom–dripping in wealth, power, and performance–now resembled the scene of a collapse: a place where illusion shattered and left behind only questions.

Miles met them halfway, leaving behind the glow of the city lights that still blinked beyond the glass like they didn't care what happened inside.

—Hey, he said, voice low, the weariness woven through his tone like threadbare fabric. Sorry for the late hour.

Amanda gave him a half-smile, one corner of her mouth tugging up with dry familiarity.

—You say that like it's not our favorite time to be called in.

—Fair enough, he huffed softly through his nose. His gaze shifted toward Olivia, his expression pinched but steady. Thanks for coming. I know it's not what anyone expected when they got dressed tonight.

The lieutenant's eyes, sharp as always, scanned the room behind him. She took in the paramedics crouched beside the bathroom entrance, the officers taping off the hallway, the glint of shattered glass near the refreshment table. A trace of confusion crossed her face before it hardened into that familiar calm–a quiet readiness that only came from experience.

—What happened?

Langford exhaled slowly, the kind of breath that came from hours of pent-up tension. He dragged a hand down his face, fingertips pressing briefly at his temple before he lowered it and nodded toward the far end of the ballroom. Just past the last strip of yellow tape, beneath a gold wall sconce that still flickered like it hadn't gotten the memo, stood Esme Harrington.

Even now–disheveled and stripped of the curated lighting and attentive crowd–she looked like she belonged in the center of every photograph. Arms crossed beneath a draped shawl someone had handed her, one hip cocked in that casual defiance that blurred the line between model and politician. Her expression was unreadable, molded into that glossy mask celebrities wore when chaos dared touch their edge of the world. Under the watch of another FBI agent and two NYPD uniforms, she didn't seem nervous. Just... bored.

—We were here on security detail, Miles explained, voice low and even, his gaze lingering on the woman like he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. FBI assignment. Harrington's had some credible threats against her the past few months–stalker-type stuff. Most of it digital. Comment sections, emails, private messages from burner accounts. But a couple of things crossed the line.

The blonde's eyes tracked the poised figure standing across the room with the scrutiny of someone recognizing both trouble and tabloid headlines from fifty paces. She let out a low whistle, her tone laced with equal parts disbelief and amusement as she tilted her head toward the agent.

—Is that the Esme Harrington? The 'feminine rage' books and wine-soaked podcast rants? The one who got banned from Twitter three times?

Miles gave a slow, resigned nod, like a man who had already endured more than enough commentary on the subject.

—In the flesh.

Amanda leaned on one hip, folding her arms with the practiced ease of someone settling in for a bit of fun.

—Let me guess–she was just thrilled to have federal agents posted at her elbow all night. Probably thought the Bureau should've sent someone with a fan club and an audiobook subscription.

Miles held up both hands in mock surrender.

—Hey, Harrington wasn't interested in me. Not even a little. She had tunnel vision for Alexis all night.

Amanda's eyebrows shot up in delight, the corners of her mouth twitching as she made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a laugh.

—Oh no. She went after your partner? Bold choice. That explains the frosty glare from—

She paused for effect, her eyes sliding toward Olivia with theatrical innocence, though her expression was anything but subtle.

Benson stood beside them with the kind of composed stillness that only came after years of walking into disaster zones wrapped in glamour. She had maintained a veneer of detached professionalism since her arrival, eyes trained on the quiet bustle at the far end of the ballroom where medics folded trauma blankets with the precision of ritual. Her arms were crossed loosely, posture relaxed but attentive–until Amanda's words nudged her with more intent than teasing.

At the detective's pointed glance, Olivia blinked–just once–but the shift in her gaze was telling. She turned her head with an almost exaggerated slowness, the kind of pivot feigned curiosity while trying to hide how much it already knew.

—What glare?

Miles couldn't stop the grin that overtook his face. The weight in his shoulders didn't vanish, but it lifted slightly, as if the familiar banter peeled off just enough of the night's heaviness.

—You mean the one you just gave when I said Esme flirted with Alexis? he said, unable to resist the jab.

Olivia's reply came a fraction too quickly.

—I didn't give a glare.

Amanda, who had been waiting for exactly that, leaned in with delight. Her tone dropped to a conspiratorial murmur, the corners of her mouth tugging upward like someone about to drop a punchline they'd been sitting on all evening.

—Oh, you kind of did. Very subtle, though. Like a Supreme Court justice voicing dissent with a raised eyebrow.

Her boss' exhale was audible, brief but pointed, as she pressed her lips together in a thin, diplomatic line. It wasn't quite a smile, and it wasn't quite a denial either. Her gaze flicked away from the blonde, scanning the room with practiced indifference.

—I just think it's inappropriate to flirt with someone at a professional event–especially with a federal agent.

Miles let out a quiet snort, the sound dry and low in his throat, as his arms folded across his chest. His stance, until then tight with fatigue and focus, softened just enough to betray the thread of amusement winding beneath the surface.

–Uh-huh, he said, the sound a low hum of amused disbelief. He didn't bother hiding the smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, nor the raised brow that accompanied it. His voice slid easily into sarcasm, warm and unbothered, the tone of a man who'd seen through the veil and decided to make himself comfortable there. Sure. Just your average, principled disapproval. Completely objective. Nothing personal at all. Really.

Amanda didn't miss a beat. Her nod came slow and exaggerated, like she was cosigning a joke before it even landed. The grin that tugged at her mouth was sharp, wicked with delight, as if she'd been waiting all night for an opening like this. She leaned in just slightly–close enough that her words teased the edges of Olivia's composure, but angled toward Miles like they were co-conspirators in a courtroom sidebar.

—Translation, she murmured, her voice rich with mock gravity. Alexis is hers. And Esme can take her poetic metaphors and go long for someone else's end zone.

The breath that the lieutenant exhaled was almost imperceptible, a slow release of air through her nose, as though she were gently counting down from ten in the privacy of her own thoughts. Her arms crossed, not stiffly but with intention, and her eyes slid toward her detective with a level of stillness that was more precise than any outburst.

—Are you quite done?

Though the words were measured, there was a thin line of tension beneath them, a tautness that betrayed more than she intended. Olivia's gaze lingered on Rollins a beat too long, eyes narrowed just enough to send a message that didn't need translation. The thick of her jaw was almost invisible, but there if you knew where to look.

—Because while you two are busy writing fanfiction, she continued. I'm still thinking about the woman barely conscious on the bathroom floor.

Amanda blinked once, mouth pulling into a line that hovered somewhere between apology and rebellion. She nodded, but not without the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth–amusement flickering in her eyes like an ember not quite ready to die.

—Right, she cleared her throat. Victim. Crime. Federal agents. My bad.

The agent exhaled through his nose, and the residual grin that had lingered at the edge of his mouth finally faded. The lines in his face settled into something heavier, older, as though the weight of the night had just resettled across his shoulders. He straightened, his posture adjusting—not to impress or perform, but to re-engage the muscle memory of command.

—You're right, he said, voice quieter now. Woman in her late twenties. Found in the ladies' restroom around 9:20. Alexis was escorting Harrington when they got to the door. It wasn't locked. She opened it and–

He paused for a beat, jaw tightening before he continued.

—Victim was on the floor. Dress torn at the shoulder, visible bruising–jawline, upper arms, thighs. No ID on her, no bag, no phone. Pulse was weak when they found her. Breathing shallow, eyes half-open, but not responsive. Barely conscious.

Benson's face changed the moment he finished. Her expression pulled inward, sharpened into something hard and deliberate, the same way a lens adjusts to bring something brutal into focus.

—Did she say anything?

Miles shook his head.

—No. She wasn't lucid. Couldn't give a name. Couldn't track movements. EMS says she's being stabilized and transported to Mount Sinai under escort.  If she makes it through the night, maybe we'll get a name in the morning–if not from her, then from tox or DNA.

Amanda had gone still beside them, the joking fully burned off now. Her arms were crossed tight against her chest, eyes scanning the far side of the ballroom like she could somehow piece together the whole crime scene with a single glance. Olivia, meanwhile, glanced toward the corridor at the edge of the room–the same hall Alexis had apparently disappeared into. Her silence wasn't idle; it was loaded with calculation.

—Do you have a suspect? she asked, turning her eyes back to him.

—Alexis saw someone lingering near the corridor while security was still pushing the crowd out. He didn't belong—not the way he moved. Hoodie half-zipped, sneakers scuffed, head low, but he kept looking over his shoulder. Most people were heading for the main exit. He was going the wrong direction—and fast. Face wrong too. Not panic, not confusion. It was that look people get when they're trying to outwalk consequences. She made the call in less than a second. Told Esme to stay with me. Then she was gone.

Amanda's brow creased, her tone dropping with concern.

—She chased him? Alone?

Miles shrugged, but it didn't carry the relaxed rhythm of someone brushing it off. There was a weight behind it, the kind that came from knowing someone too well.

—It's Lexi. She runs toward trouble before the rest of us can even name it.

Silence fell for a beat, heavy and unspoken.

Olivia didn't move, but her jaw clenched, the tick just visible beneath the muted ballroom lights. It wasn't just concern in her expression–it was recognition. That split-second decision, that instinct to charge into danger without backup, wasn't foreign to her. It wasn't even unusual in this line of work.

But in Alexis' case, it wasn't just a reflex. It was a pattern. One Olivia had started to notice months ago, even if she hadn't dared say it out loud. One that came with too many memories–of partners walking into dark places and not walking out again. Her silence wasn't confusion.

It was memory.

*

Alexis was still running.

The corridor stretched before her like a vein of sterile light, white tiles gleaming beneath the flicker of overhead fluorescents. Each panel buzzed faintly above her, casting clinical rectangles across the floor that blurred underfoot. She ran through them in relentless strides, her boots hitting the linoleum with the dull rhythm of pursuit–measured, steady, but charged with urgency. The pounding of her pulse echoed in her ears, syncing with the ragged edge of her breathing. She was moving on adrenaline now, her muscles singing, throat dry, body honed to the simplicity of the hunt.

Up ahead–close–came the erratic percussion of fleeing footsteps. A stutter. A misstep. The telltale scrape of sneakers turning too fast on polished concrete. The man was fast, but he wasn't trained. His panic had taken over now, burning through any early confidence. He was running like someone being chased. She was chasing like someone who wasn't going to stop.

He'd slipped out of the main ballroom just as security began to corral guests into side exits. The agent had clocked him instantly: hoodie half-zipped, head down, pushing against the current of the crowd. His eyes had darted too quickly. His hands had been clenched too tightly. It wasn't just his direction–it was his intent. She knew the difference. Her hand had been on her weapon before he made it through the side hall.

She hadn't waited. No time for backup, for debate, for protocol. Just a breath, a decision, and a single instruction thrown over her shoulder–"Stay with Langford."

She'd followed him through a labyrinth of narrow staircases and shadowed corridors, each passage colder and more neglected than the last. The scent of bleach clung stubbornly to the walls, mingling with the musty tang of disuse and old concrete. It was the kind of air that felt stale in the lungs, dry in the throat, and loaded with dust from vents that hadn't seen maintenance in years. Her boots thudded with quick, muffled impact across tile, metal, and scuffed linoleum as she stayed on his heels, always just one breath behind.

He was fast–reckless fast–but that wasn't going to be enough. Not against someone who'd done this before. Not against someone trained to pace pursuit with patience and pressure, to close in without noise, to herd someone into exactly the wrong place at exactly the wrong time. He had no idea how close she was. No idea what was coming.

Her blazer was gone now, flung off mid-run when it began to cling and snag at her shoulders. It lay somewhere behind her, draped over a supply cart or the arm of a folding chair in the chaos of motion. She hardly remembered ditching it. Her shirt stuck damp to her spine, the collar soaked through with sweat, and her right sleeve hung half-detached from where it had ripped against a jut of exposed metal during a sharp turn. The thin sting of broken skin warmed her forearm, already tacky with blood she hadn't had time to inspect.

She slowed at the junction of two narrow service hallways, pressing her back against the cool metal of a maintenance door, breath drawn low and steady in her chest. The flicker of the fluorescent lights above sent sharp-edged shadows skating across the concrete, throwing her into stuttering darkness with each pulse. She welcomed it. Stillness was as much a weapon as movement.

Her ears took over where her eyes couldn't.

There—up ahead. A faint clatter. Lighter than before. Metal underfoot. A pause, then a shift. The sound of a weight changing direction. A faint creak of something old and bolted.

Stairs.

Her fingers ghosted down to the Glock at her hip. She didn't draw it–not yet–but the reassurance of its weight steadied her as she pushed forward, moving in silence.

The stairwell opened up like a throat, exposed piping crawling along the walls, rust blooming in the joints where metal had been left too long to weather. She crouched near the railing, peering downward through the open well.

There. A blur of movement. Two levels down, the suspect was a flicker of gray and black–hood damp with sweat, sneakers slapping against the concrete with diminishing grace. He was rushing, leaping the final steps of each landing in a way that screamed fatigue and desperation.

He hadn't seen her.

Her jaw tightened. This wasn't a shot she needed to take.

She moved.

With speed and silence braided together, Alexis took the next landing, her breath sharp in her chest, boots whispering over the concrete as she descended one flight and stopped. She pressed her back to the wall, the cold biting through the sweat-soaked cotton of her shirt. Two levels down, the suspect had just rounded a corner, his steps now unsteady, driven more by panic than purpose. He stumbled, overextending on a turn, arms flailing slightly to correct his balance.

She didn't hesitate.

One deep breath filled her lungs. Then she moved–fast, fluid, lethal.

The SEAL climbed the stairwell railing, one hand gripping the top bar as she swung herself up. Her boots found purchase on the narrow edge for half a heartbeat. She crouched like a coil of wire, every muscle drawn tight beneath the torn and clinging fabric of her shirt. Her fingers wrapped around the cold metal above her. Her weight shifted.

And then she dropped.

The impact was brutal.

She slammed into him mid-step, shoulder-first into the curve of his spine, her knees driving into his lower back. The air whooshed from his lungs in a strangled gasp as they went down, a chaotic tumble of limbs and startled violence. They struck the landing hard–his ribs crashing into the corner of a stair, her hip bouncing off the metal edge with a jolt of pain that flared hot in her side.

He didn't go limp like some suspects. He didn't surrender.

He exploded.

The man bucked beneath her like a wild animal, catching her with an elbow in the side as he twisted, fingers clawing for her arm, her holster–anything. His fist clipped her cheek, sent a white flash of pain behind her eyes. She grunted, rolled with the hit, pinning his right wrist against the stair as he twisted and–

He surged upward with sudden, panicked strength.

One hand slammed into her collarbone, the other grabbing at the railing behind her. He shoved.

Alexis's boots scraped over the edge. Her spine hit the railing.

The drop yawned beneath her–concrete and steel and four stories of open space. Her balance wavered.

But she caught herself.

Her left foot hooked hard against the bottom bar. She drove her elbow back into his stomach, then her shoulder up into his jaw. He staggered, off-balance now.

She surged forward with a growl, slamming him back against the wall of the stairwell with everything she had. His head thunked against the concrete. Dazed. Stunned. She didn't wait for him to recover.

Her knee buried into his gut, forcing him down. She followed him, driving her forearm into the back of his neck to hold him in place as he fought for breath.

He twisted again, desperate. One last lurch.

She ripped her cuffs from her belt, fingers slick with sweat and blood, and caught his right wrist first. The metal bit into his skin with a satisfying click. He bucked.

She slammed his shoulder into the ground again–firm, controlled, and final.

The second cuff locked in place.

—FBI, she growled into his ear, breath hot, teeth clenched. You're done.

He spat a curse, voice muffled by the floor. But he stopped struggling.

The brunette stayed crouched for a second longer, one palm planted on the cool concrete, the other still pressing down on the suspect's back. Her lungs burned. Her heart thundered. The sting in her arm sharpened now that the adrenaline was ebbing–blood slipping in slow tracks down her forearm, trailing from a jagged gash that had opened beneath the tear in her shirt. The whole sleeve now hung useless, shredded and soaked with sweat and red.

Her comm crackled faintly at her hip, the sound thin and distorted under the buzz of fluorescent lights and the distant echo of footsteps above. Alexis exhaled through her nose, sharp and steady, as she shifted her weight and leaned back against the cool cement wall. Her arm throbbed–warm blood still trickling down to her wrist–and her sleeve hung in shreds, the fabric soaked and useless.

She wiped her fingers once against her thigh—half-hearted, smeared more than cleaned—and reached for her radio with a wince.

The button clicked. Her voice came out rough, edged with adrenaline and just enough attitude to be unmistakably hers.

—Hey sunshine. Suspect's down. You owe me a new shirt–and maybe a tetanus shot.

*

The room was still humming with tension, every corner thrumming with activity–officers moving between statements and instructions, radios spitting static and clipped updates, security teams circling like they were still trying to understand how everything had gone sideways. People were talking over each other in low, urgent voices, the kind that carried the weight of too many questions and not enough answers.

And then the stairwell door slammed open.

Alexis walked through it with the unyielding momentum of a freight train that hadn't been built to stop. Her boots left scuffed streaks on the marble as she dragged the cuffed suspect forward, his body jolting with each uncompromising shove. The man–hoodie damp with sweat, jeans hanging too loose–looked small now, almost pitiful. Dirt streaked his face, and he limped slightly, favoring one side. But the agent gave him no leniency. Her grip on his collar was steel, and her expression unreadable.

Her left shirt sleeve was shredded, fabric hanging like tissue from her shoulder. Blood had soaked through, the trail of it tracking from a torn gash just above her elbow and running down her arm to her hand, where it dripped steadily onto the polished floor with quiet, rhythmic taps. She didn't acknowledge it. She didn't slow.

Miles was the first to turn, catching the sound of her approach before he saw her. Olivia looked up next, instinctively stepping forward. Amanda, just off to the side, narrowed her eyes at the sight of the SEAL's arm, concern flickering beneath her usual squint.

Alexis barely registered their presence. She brought the man to a halt in front of them, shoved him toward the nearest officer, and took a measured step back. Her breath came fast through her nose, chest rising and falling beneath the stained front of her shirt.

—Take him out of my sight, she said. Her voice wasn't loud, but it didn't need to be. It landed like a hammer on concrete–cold, flat, final.

The suspect twisted in the grip of the officer beside him, still catching his breath and clinging to whatever shred of ego he had left.

—Hey! That bitch practically ripped my balls off!

The room stilled.  Radios crackled softly in the background, but no one spoke. A long, hanging silence. No one flinched. The youngest detective blinked once, slowly. Her lieutenant's jaw locked. Miles didn't even turn his head.

The agent arched a brow, unimpressed, then offered a lazy shrug, her tone dry enough to blister paint.

—My bad. I'm just a woman. I don't always know the difference between beads and whatever it is you boys call virility.

He opened his mouth, but no more words came. The uniforms didn't give him a chance to try again. They moved, fast and silent, hauling him out without ceremony.

Alexis stood there, blood streaking her arm in slow, deliberate lines, her ruined sleeve still fluttering from her shoulder like a battle flag. The adrenaline was thinning now, leaving her limbs heavy and her breathing sharp. She could already feel the pulse of the cut growing louder.

Her partner approached, cautious but concerned.

—Lex–

But she was already walking.

She didn't explain. Didn't glance back. Just turned and slipped through the chaos like it didn't exist. Out of the main floor, down the short corridor where someone had left a stack of chairs, then out into the early evening air. The cold bit instantly at her sweat-soaked shirt and skin, but it cleared her head. She didn't stop until she hit the sidewalk, then turned down the block toward the unmarked black Bureau SUV parked under a crooked streetlight.

Behind her, Olivia had seen the signs.

She gave her detective a quiet glance, nodded to Miles–I've got her–and followed.

By the time she caught up, the back hatch of the Bureau SUV was already open, its interior light glowing dimly against the encroaching dusk. The city buzzed faintly in the background–car horns, the thrum of passing footsteps, radios chattering across the block. But here, just a few feet away from the chaos inside, it felt like a bubble had formed around the vehicle.

Alexis sat on the edge of the cargo space, legs braced against the bumper, breath slowing with the grit of stubborn control. Her hands moved without hesitation–popping open the emergency kit, digging through gauze and antiseptic like it was second nature. She didn't even glance up as she peeled off what remained of her shirt. The ruined sleeve tore free with a low rip, exposing the angry gash across her upper arm and the sheen of sweat clinging to her skin.

Blood streaked along the muscle, sluggish now, and her fingers–steady, practiced–ripped open a packet of alcohol wipes and pressed it to the wound without so much as a wince.

—You do remember medics exist, right?

Olivia's voice broke the silence just as she stepped into the glow of the hatch. Her arms were crossed, her tone low and tight with something that wasn't just irritation. Concern lived underneath, tempered by the weight of experience. She'd known Alexis less than a year and had already seen her like this far too many times–battered, bloodied, and convinced she had to handle it all herself.

But the commander didn't even look up.

—They're busy. And I'm not dying.

Her voice was dry, matter-of-fact. She didn't lift her gaze as she tore open another antiseptic wipe and dragged it across the edge of the gash, her jaw clenched so tight the other woman could see the muscle flex just beneath her skin. Blood welled, slow but persistent, a deep crimson that painted her forearm with streaks.

—No, but you're bleeding through your sleeve and treating a half-inch wound like it's a paper cut, Olivia said evenly, stepping closer. You can tell me again how 'not dying' is supposed to impress me.

Alexis gave a soft snort, still not looking up.

—You're hard to impress.

—Good. Means you're not getting a medal for ignoring common sense.

There was silence for a beat. The traffic a block away hummed like white noise beneath the city's pulse. The agent shifted, reaching blindly for the roll of gauze she'd dropped beside her on the floor of the cargo hold. The lieutenant caught it first.

—Let me, she said, holding it in both hands–not forceful, but firm.

Alexis finally glanced up. Her eyes flicked to Olivia's face, then down to the gauze, then back again. Something unreadable passed through her expression–annoyance, maybe, or pride refusing to retreat–but it didn't harden like it usually did. Instead, she nodded once.

—You wrap it crooked, I'm doing it over.

—I don't do crooked, the oldest said, stepping in and crouching just enough to reach her arm.

The silence between them settled into something more companionable as Olivia began to wrap the gauze. Her fingers were careful but efficient, confident in the way they worked–field-proven but softened now by something more intimate. Gray didn't flinch, didn't move, just watched her hands as they moved around her bicep.

—You don't have to be like this all the time, you know?

—Like what? Alexis asked, though the edge had dulled from her voice.

—Stone silent. Bleeding. Laughing it off like it's a bar fight.

Alexis looked away again. Her jaw shifted, tongue pressed to the inside of her cheek.

—Old habits.

—I know, the lieutenant said, pulling the gauze snug and pinning it down with medical tape. But you're not in uniform anymore. You don't have to prove you're indestructible.

The agent sat still for a long moment, lips parted like she might respond–but didn't.

Olivia didn't press.

Instead, she reached into the kit and handed Alexis a clean cloth.

—You missed your neck. You look like you walked out of a barbed wire party.

She huffed a tired laugh, accepting it.

—Feels like it.

The brunette wiped her skin in slow passes, the gesture suddenly heavy with exhaustion.

—Thanks.

Benson looked up to her.

—Anytime.

They stayed like that for a moment–two women, out in the open but away from the world, the raised SUV hatch their only shield from the chaos they left behind.

—You're okay?

Alexis didn't answer right away. She glanced down at the gauze, then back up at her friend.

—No,  she admitted, and it wasn't sarcasm or deflection, but honest. Quiet. Real. But I will be.

*

BONUS SCENE:

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 08

Manhattan— Alexis' apartment

01:17 AM

The SUV's engine gave a soft, mechanical sigh as Miles shifted into park. The digital clock on the dash glowed a muted blue, casting faint halos across the console, but outside, the city was a darker kind of still–post-midnight silence stitched together with distant sirens and the rustle of wind along rain-washed pavement. New York didn't sleep, but it did quiet down, and on this block at least, things had gone still.

The building above them stood quiet and familiar, its bricks steeped in shadow and the kind of worn strength that came from surviving too many winters.

The agent sat back in the seat, one hand still loosely curled on the wheel, the other dragging wearily down his face. His skin felt stretched too thin. He blinked slowly, trying to will away the gritty sting behind his eyes. He should've been home hours ago.

Ava was probably curled up on the couch by now, curled under one of the throw blankets she insisted didn't match anything in the house but refused to part with anyway. The tea she'd made earlier was likely cold on the table, untouched. Their daughter had been feverish and clingy, her little hands wrapped in her mother's shirt as she fussed and whimpered, wanting her dad. And Miles—Miles had promised. "I'll be home soon."

And yet, here he was.

—I didn't need a chauffeur, Alexis murmured beside him, breaking the silence as she turned slightly in her seat.

She was in a clean t-shirt now, soft grey cotton tugged slightly where the bandage on her upper arm wrapped snug beneath it. Her braid hung over one shoulder, loose and a little uneven. She sounded tired, but steady.

Her partner gave a faint huff of breath that didn't quite qualify as a laugh.

—You'd have tried to walk.

—Maybe, she admitted, then smiled–just barely. Thanks for sticking around.

He glanced sideways at her, the exhaustion giving way to something softer, familiar.

—Yeah. Anytime.

She nodded, already moving to grab the door handle when she paused suddenly, then turned back to dig into her bag.

—Wait–almost forgot.

Miles blinked as she pulled out a hardcover book. The Past Is a Wound You Name by Esme Harrington.

—You're kidding, he said, brows lifting as she handed it over.

—Nope. She tapped the cover with a fingertip. Ava asked you to get it signed, remember? You completely forgot. So I borrowed it from your bag, found Esme, and made it happen.

He flipped the cover open, eyes catching the inscription:

Ava —

Thank you for reading with heart. The brave ones always do.

Warmly, Esme Harrington

Miles didn't say anything for a moment. Then, softly:

—Lex...

—You're welcome, she cut in, too tired for sentimentality. Don't get all emotional about it. Just take the win.

Miles shut the book gently, his smile understated but real.

—I owe you one.

—You owe me a dozen, sunshine, she said with a teasing edge. But I'm keeping track.

Then she was gone, boots soft against the sidewalk, keys already in hand as she disappeared up the steps to her building.

*

TAGLIST: @ginasbaby @nciscmjunkie @thefatobsession @makkaroni221 @certainlychaotic @hi-i-1 @kiwiana145 @kobayashi-fr @alexis042499

[starrynini05]

help, I need somebody – ahn yujin x kim gaeul x 7th member!reader

Summary: your leader and your eldest would always be by your side, it’s never to late to ask for help

warnings: mentions of sickness, anxiety, vomiting, fever

tags: idol!au ; reader is '05 liner ; 7th member!reader ; platonic!gaeul x reader ; platonic!yunjin x reader

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, sickfic

word count: 1.3k

a/n: WE ARE SOO BACK‼️‼️, I’m sorry for disappearing, but I’m officially a high school graduate and have time to write again, I hope you like this and expect more regular updates 🫶🏻

Your dynamic in the group was very simple, being, a year and a half older than Leeseo you were in between the youngest and the adults. Apart from you and Leeseo everyone was a legal adult, being more than 19 and already out of school.

You were in the rare middle between not being quite an adult, but not a minor either. With only 17 years of age you still were required to leave events early and go to school, while also being expected to have enough responsibility to fulfill your duties as an idol.

Although you were the second youngest, you were not as nearly as coddled as the maknae and you knew it was mostly your fault. You were added to the lineup really close to debut, being a transfer trainee from SM. This made you reserved and somewhat scared of your teammates, mainly because you were really nervous around new people, and shy in general.

And, even if you longed for that care, you were too shy to willingly ask for it. Now, in your dimly lit room, you lay awake tangled in the sheets, shaking. Your members fast asleep in their respective rooms, blissfully unaware of the turmoil brewing within you.

Earlier that week, yours and Leeseo’s school had canceled classes due to a virus going around. Both of you were thankful that neither of you had caught it, but now you weren't so sure. During practice, you felt more tired than usual and a dull ache had installed in your body, but you gave it no thought.

Now curled up in your bed, trembling and with what you were sure was a high fever, you regretted not saying anything earlier. Nonetheless, refusing to wake the others, you convinced yourself that you could sleep it off and wake up the next morning feeling better.

You had worked so hard to create a perfect facade, you were too embarrassed to let it falter. But, as time went on you only felt worse, transforming it into a relentless torment. Beads of sweat clung to your forehead as you debated whether to wake Yujin and Gaeul. Your heart thumped like a drum, the anxiety of disturbing their slumber almost as unbearable as the pain.

Finally, with a surge of determination, you mustered the courage to knock lightly on their shared room door. Inside the room, both Yujin and Gaeul woke up confused as to why someone was bothering them at 2 a.m. Confusion turned into worry, and Yujin hurried to the door with concern. She was surprised to see you standing there, your usual calm demeanor replaced by an ashen hue of unease.

You cleared your throat, adjusting your posture so you wouldn’t look as fragile as you felt in front of her, at least. You hated looking fragile in front of anyone, let alone them. They were your elders and you didn’t want them to think of you as someone fragile or weak. Sensing your hesitance she broke the silence first “Is everything okay?" she asked, the concern in her voice genuine.

Even then you wanted to resist but she was looking at you with such caring eyes, and you just felt so tired. You sighed in defeat, not quite looking at her face, your voice barely audible as you responded, "I... I'm not feeling well." Yujin's eyes widened, her concern replacing any hint of amusement she might have felt at your shyness. "What's wrong?" she asked while motioning for you to enter the room and lay in her bed.

Your voice trembled with pain while you explained your symptoms, failing to see the frown on her face at your sudden drowsiness. With a tired groan, she helped you lay on the bed, placing her hand against your forehead. As she was about to comment on your high fever you suddenly jolted, a sudden wave of nausea dawning over you. You barely had time to run into a nearby trash can before you were violently sick. Gaeul, who was almost falling asleep, was now wide awake, hearing your retching sounds. She quickly got up and ran to your side, holding your hair back and rubbing your back soothingly. "Hey, hey, it's okay. You're going to be fine. Just breathe, alright?" she whispered, trying to calm you down.

Your face was flushed, your body trembling as you leaned over the bin. You felt tears sting your eyes as you emptied your stomach, feeling miserable and weak. You hated being sick, especially in front of them. You didn't want to bother them or make them worry about you. You wanted to be strong and independent, like they were. But right now, you couldn't help but feel grateful for their presence and support.

When you finally stopped throwing up, you leaned back against the bed, feeling exhausted and dizzy. Yujin handed you a glass of water and a wet towel, helping you clean your mouth and face. "How long have you been feeling like this?" she asked, her voice gentle but stern. You hesitated, not wanting to admit the truth. "Um... around 1 hour ago, I guess." you lied, hoping they wouldn't notice.

They did. Yujin and Gaeul exchanged a look of disbelief and disappointment. "An hour ago?" Yujin repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Are you sure? Because we saw you looking pale and tired during practice, and you barely ate anything at dinner. And you didn't say anything to us. Why didn't you tell us you were sick?"

You felt a surge of guilt and shame, knowing you had been caught. You lowered your eyes, avoiding their gaze. "I... I didn't want to bother you. You have so much to do, and I didn't want to be a burden. I thought I could handle it on my own. I'm sorry." you mumbled, feeling small and pathetic.

Yujin and Gaeul sighed, shaking their heads. They moved closer to you, wrapping their arms around you in a warm hug. "You're not a bother, or a burden, or anything like that. You're our friend, our teammate, our family. We care about you, and we want you to be happy and healthy. You don't have to handle everything on your own. You can always ask us for help, or tell us how you feel. We're here for you, no matter what. Do you understand?" Yujin said, her voice soft and sincere.

Gaeul nodded, adding her own words of comfort. "Yeah, what she said. You're amazing, and talented, and beautiful, and we love you so much. You don't have to hide your feelings or pretend to be okay when you're not. You don't have to be perfect, or strong, or anything else. You just have to be yourself, and that's enough for us. You're enough, okay?"

You felt a wave of emotion wash over you, making you choke up. You couldn't believe how lucky you were to have them in your life, how much they cared about you, how much they accepted you. You nodded, feeling a smile tug at your lips. "Okay. Thank you. I love you too." you said, hugging them back.

They smiled, kissing your cheeks and forehead. "You're welcome. We're glad you're feeling better." they said, tucking you in the bed. "Now, you need to rest. We'll stay with you until you fall asleep, and then we'll call the manager and the doctor in the morning. Don't worry about anything, we'll take care of everything. Just focus on getting well, alright?"

You nodded, feeling a wave of relief and gratitude. You closed your eyes, feeling their warmth and love surround you. You drifted off to sleep, feeling safe and secure in their arms. You knew you had nothing to fear, as long as they were with you. You knew you had found your home, with them.

[hetchiew]

another cold update in wav form? you sound so sick yet so hot that all I want todo is take care of you and cuddle you😅😅

Contains: sneezing, hitching, stuffy sniffles, a nose blowing attempt (I’m too stuffy to really blow properly), & other pathetic stuffy noises (“guh”)

Welp! I’ve been sick for 5 days now, and I still sound awful…😅

My fever broke yesterday though, so that’s a good sign!🎉

[theblindtree]

Spider-Sona lore dump with IMAGES

btw this is a long read and will be updated in the future if I get cool ideas

glhf

the Huntsman

The Huntsman, also known as Piotr Parkowski is a spiderman from Earth i (specificaly changed by Miguel O’hara due to its danger)

Poland, 1975. Piotr was working at an equivalent of a convenience store owned by his parents when a sheep broke in and bit him. The sheep was later captured by soviet scientists. The next day Piotr was feeling sick, sadly local doctors did not understand what happened and simply wrote it off as a heavy fever. The next day his body was extended, his legs all over the place and the same with his arms, but the place that should have had flesh had webs that were holding him together like small ropes. He stayed in his room for the next few days until he could hold himself together in the form that he was before the accident, or at least what he wanted to look without being too outlandish. After some time a cannon event happened, or at least should have since he saved his grandfather or at least tried since he died later in the hospital. His grandfather has seen his powersing and the typical “with great power comes great responsibility” talk. He tailored himself a suit, and since his body was like webs he made it themed on a spider, it was very simple but it ripped apart easily since he needed to extend his body to use his powers.

After years of crime fighting aliens came, they wanted to take over the Earth since it had a bunch of resources, Piotr fought them, and since he was winning the aliens started fighting dirty. They kidnapped him and went with him towards a black hole to throw him away there. In a singular moment he woke up from the trans because he felt pain in one of his fibers. In the last ditch effort he used all of his remaining energy he grabbed the ship so it would go into the singularity with him.

postmortem

He saw nothing. He felt infinite pain that bended itself into pure nothingness. seconds became years, milenia became milliseconds, time became length and it all just blended into nothing until he felt a slight strength to come out of the pull. Surprisingly he actually did it but his body was not one of the men, it was purely white and black and looked as if it was just a ball of cut up yarn. until he saw himself in a piece of space junk, after that he tried to fuse together into a body that he found familiar but he mostly failed as even his body was alien, his limbs twisted and spiraling.

After months of drifting in space he went to Earth, but the land he once called home rejected him. nobody remembered him, there was no grave for him, as if he never existed. but he has not rejected his people, even if he was a grotesque man-like creature. A few years went by, everybody aged but not him. He was still hated, but he did not care. In mere moments his planet disappeared just like he has. he was floating between the rubble. Galactus, a creature that seemed stronger than gods has appeared before him but Piotr, now just spider-man since he could not remember his own name, has escaped in fear. During the time he was hiding he explored the universe and obtained power, he killed and helped, he obtained the infinity stones and placed them around his eyes, he obtained all-black and placed it inside him so the symbiotes would be under his control. His body became more twisted and more stable. The black took up most of his body while the white, that once was the majority, turned into the symbol of a spider. After that he went to find Galactus and when he found him… he got his ass whooped. He was devastated, as he could not defend other planets but as he was being beaten he saw something, a machine, it was a drill that was mining the literal edge of the universe and surprisingly it actually was doing damage to the wall. in his mind he connected the dots, he knew that if he, a being of space, using an ancient weapon could have not defeated him then nobody could. In the last ditch effort he created a black hole in the center of the universe, it grew and grew until it contained the whole universe, until it was strong enough for nothing but him to escape.

multiverse

He was looking into the singularity. It stared back.

After a while of staring into the darkness a portal opened and a vampire got pulled out of it by the black hole. After a moment of confusion he looked through the portal and went through it, he looked around and created a small black hole to teleport somewhere else. He went and went to many universes where people actually exist and then he appeared in the spider society. Of course a white hole in the middle of the room was seen by everyone. He wasn't concerned by being seen since he was surrounded by a bunch of different spider-men, he was confused and interested by all the people around. after some time of staring at the halls and people he was captured and started to be interrogated by the leader Miguel O’hara, he wasn't speaking but instead just escaping, once by shapeshifting and then by using black holes as portals, seeing this Miquel saw what he was doing and started to contain him. Of course any way of closing him in a cell was worthless so he started to explore more obscure ways and landed on one that worked, securing him into an idol using gods of ancient Egypt, so he did it (i'm not explaining this, it kinda happened in moon knight). so he was enclosed, placed on a podium, guarded by cameras…

the end hey what the fuck are you do-

so… just after a few weeks the idol was destroyed by a kid. Widow looked at him confused, he was some kind of latino, maybe an European, he did not know but he was definitely O’hares kid (or so he assumed). He thanked the kid and gave him a chocolate bar that he quickly threw away since he was pretty sure it was radioactive. Of course Miguel runned up quickly and was furious so he disappeared in a black hole leaving a note with his universes number and a warning to not go there under any circumstances. when he appeared in a new reality he saw something weird, a spider-man being killed by some kind of vampire. He quickly killed the vampire but for some reason he knew it wasn't the end. He came back to spider society to research it. He found out about inheritors, and since he was immortal and not really seen as a good guy by the spider society he started to hunt them for the sake of the other spider-men. Now he comes back from time to time to the society to talk around and hear if anyone spotted the vampires, mostly he asks spiders-man since they are around the multiverse.

the new faction

Seeing the fact that he's the only one fighting them he, in his own universe, created a room. It was simple, a recreation of the room he had as a child. He looked around and thought, if there is a society of spider-men and he was not seen as one of them but a foe, there have to be more spider-men that are also seen in the same way. So he sneaked into the spider society where now he's seen more as an urban legend than a real person. He looked around the files and saw it, saw something weird, files on every spider-men, the ones that are and aren't a part of the spider society and saw even the files that were straight up banned due to the spider-man showed there were called “dangerous” or “unstable” or even “anomalies”. He saw it as a dumb idea, why should spidermen that are dangerous be seen as useless for the whole spider society. He stole the files and looked around the multiverse to find them and recruit them. one of the first spider-men he found a version of peter parker that was a zombie. he walked up to him, knowing that he could not be killed, and talked to him like if to a most normal person to ever exist and surprisingly it worked, so the first spider-man that he talked to became a friend and was transported into his room. he appeared there after the new spider-man, he looked around and created a new room, a large room so the new spider-man could be happy. He then went and repeated it more and more times again until he created basically a small army. sadly he had no way of allowing them transport by themself, he knew it would be risky but he did trust them, because of this he went into a universe he knew had something interesting. he went to hell of one of the worst universes and sold his soul, knowing well that it did not matter since he is immortal and not from this universe. due to the deal he became a ghost rider but yet, he did not care, he was already a part of the idea of them so he just went back into his universe with a very important thing he got for his soul (being a ghost rider was just a side effect), knowledge of how to transport the multiverse. After coming back into his universe he created the blueprints and showed it to the spider-men that followed him. He then went to the spider-men HQ to give back the files but he was caught by Miguell. of course did not really care since he knew how he was captured once, he explained the idea he had and how he and Miguell should collaborate in a way, the way being that he does his stuff and tells what happened to Miguell and Miguell would just leave him alone and help him recruit some more people if they wanted to. Miguell agreed to the deal and went along with it since he understood that Huntsman was doing this for a reason.

Failure

Turns out, the inheritors were defeated years after his organization started and he knew nothing about it, making the whole thing weirder was that they were killing actual vampires that did not prey on spider-men. To say he was devastated about his failure would be an understatement. Death made an announcement that every spider-man in his universe would soon be teleported to their original ones since there was no need for their collaboration. What felt like years passed, the hawking radiation of the blackhole that was most of the universe got stronger yet he did not notice. After another time, once again that felt like years, the whole structure fell into the black hole, leaving him inside of it, slowly turning into strings that barely held together. After some time he noticed something weird, instead of pitch black he noticed a few strings that were blue and purple. Galactus escaped.

last message

He was shocked, Galactus not only escaped the prison he created but also the universe that contained the prison.

The last message from the huntsman was to Miquel O’hara.

“HE ESCAPED! THE DRAGON ESCAPED!”

“IF ANYONE SEES STRANDS OF RED AND BLUE RUN! RUN! TELL THEM THAT!”

“HE TOOK MY LEGS! I CAN'T REMEMBER HOW THEY LOOK!”

“I'M CHASING HIM! I WON'T LET HIM KILL!”

The huntsman was only seen on occasion.

I hoped you liked the lore guys

btw, the kid that freed him was a spider-sona of my lovely moot @lisisdead big shout-out to them, without them my spidersona could not have more trauma

[npookie0]

Taking care of your overworked angel.

_____________________________________________

Trigger warnings!

- Nothing but sweet fluff to find here >:3

- Fear of disappointing someone

_____________________________________________

For as long as you know Angel, you always knew that this woman was overworked, mostly because of her trashy manager. But even with him gone, Angel was still putting a lot on her plate. A new video idea here, a new asshole to kill there, and it all summed up with her staying up at nights.

You and Ronin were both worried about her and her health, after all no human being was able to stay healthy like this. Both of you tried your hardest to get her to stop working as much on the channel and take a short break. But Angel can really be a stubborn woman.

Unfortunately the worries you and Ronin both expressed became true. You were sitting on the edge of Angel's bed as she was whimpering from the fever she caught. She was coughing, sneezing and shivering.

You had to use some serious strength and persuasion to have her stay in bed, and call off the photoshoot that she was supposed to give for one of the big clothing companies.

User: Angel, for gods sake. Why couldn't you just move some things around in your schedule? If it wasn't for me you could end up in the hospital!

You weren't the type of person to hide your feelings, so it was only natural for you to show just how worried you felt in that moment.

User: And it's not just me who's worried, Ronin is spamming my DMs to keep him updated on how you're doing. Seriously he almost came here, but I told him that you have to rest and he wouldn't really help.

You sighed. Angel moved her hand to cup your cheek and you hold onto it, nuzzling you cheek against her hot palm..

Angel: ... I'm sorry, I... I just don't want to disappoint my fans with the lack of updates.

She said and your gaze softened.

User: Angel, your fans would want you to stay healthy and not basically kill yourself with the amount of work you put into your channel and modelling.

Your lip trembled at the thought of Angel possibly ending up in the hospital because of her perfectionist nature. Angel seemed to notice just how worried her stubbornness made you, her lover, her partner, the person who was there for her in her worst time.

She still had a hard time when it came to realising that someone genuinely cared about her (someone else than Ronin at least) and it broke her heart to see you at the verge of tears.

You felt Angel's arms wrap around you, her face snuggled against the crook of your neck, her whole face was hot against your skin, so was her whole body.

Angel: I'm so sorry, mi corazon. I also wish that I wouldn't be so used to putting so much on my plate.

User: It's not your fault Angel. It's hard to get rid of something like this.

You took a long as deep breath, taking in the pleasant scent that always came off of your wonderful girlfriend. You calmed up and broke the embrace. Even if hugging with her felt like heaven, Angel had to lay down and rest.

User: I already went out and bought some medicine for you while you were asleep. But before we can cool your fever down, you have to eat.

You got up from the bed. Angel wanted to protest and reach out for your hand to stop you from leaving her. But you still went to the kitchen to prepare some food for her (even when snuggling up with your angel was one of your favourite things).

You returned to the bedroom, a tray in your hands. On the tray there was, a cup of tea, some fever cooling medicine, and a chicken soup that you had ordered some time ago.

User: I brought you some food. I'll help you sit up.

You put the tray on the night stand and moved to Angel's side. You helped her sit and placed some pillows behind her back to keep her seated. You sat on the edge of the bed and took a hold of the soup bowl and a spoon.

Angel: Will you feed me now?

She asked with a giggle. Even when sick, Angel was the most adorable woman you ever knew.

User: You can't really expect me to do everything on your own in this state.

You replied and moved the soup filled spoon up to her mouth.

Angel: Maybe getting sick is not that bad, if I can get this special treatment.

You just rolled her eyes.

User: You don't have to be sick for me to care for you Angel.

You knew that Angel had a hard time understanding that she too deserves love and gentleness. You wanted to be the one to help her and be there for her. You wanted to show this oh so, sweet, sweet woman, just how much love she deserves. She was your angel, your girlfriend. Sometimes you wished that you could be the one to end her manager, but you knew that Angel would never agree to it and her murdering him on her own was the only option for her to be freed.

After eating the soup Angel took the medicine you gave to her. You laid her down on the bed again, tucking her in so she'd be comfortable.

Angel: Can you stay with me, Mi Vida?

The pleading look in her eyes, combined with her sickness, made your heart throb. You gave in very reluctantly, you were worried that Angel's condition could become worse than it already is. But you loved this woman way too much.

Now you two were snuggled up, Angel was keeping her head buried into your shirt, and you gently rubbed her back.

Angel: Um... User... What would you say for a short trip after I get better? Just the two of us. It can be wherever you want, but I want to spend time with you...

She looked up, her glassy eyes from the fever were scanning your face. You were smiling softly, already imagining the time the two of you could spend together. You placed a small kiss on her forehead.

User: Of course Angel, anything for you. But you have to get better soon, or we'll have to wait a while.

You said the last sentence jokingly.

User: How about a quick nap? You should rest, and I'm tired after writing for a long time.

Angel: Writing? Please tell me the plot. It'll help me sleep, listening to your voice I mean.

She didn't have to ask twice. You were telling her about the book you wanted to write about Misaki, she was your second favourite person in the server so they deserved their own book.

You felt how Angel's body relaxed, her breath getting steadier. You pressed her closer to yourself, whispering a quick goodnight into her ear and falling asleep too.

_____________________________________________

So this one is short, short. But I felt like making it longer would destroy it and it sits in my draft for a while anyway :d (Ronin stop stealing the spotlight!!!)

I hope you enjoyed it and that Angel is herself in here :3

Bye bye <3

[missys-mansion-of-mistakes]

August 16th, 2024. Friday.

✨ Feeling a lot less sick today. Yay! My fever broke overnight, but my cough is a lot worse. Still, that's a lot easier to be productive with.

Managed to get done today:

Tried to get dad to fix my car, but he forgot the part we needed. RIP. That's going to have to wait until next Tuesday

Organized all the grants that I can apply for by date due

Drafted 1 grant application

Unpacked my bags from the Philly trip

Cancelled all my extra subscriptions that were sucking up money

Updated YNAB

Made a gameplan for finishing my book, Rot, by end of August

🌟 Gotta keep moving forward. It's the only way to progress.

[Photos: book haul from Philadelphia, todolist]

[loveindomitable]

Update: still sick. Broke a fever tho so I’m hoping that’s a good sign for getting better so we’ll see. Slept a majority of today, so you know I’ve not been feeling well. I’ll see if I’m up to getting on any of my blogs tmrw, but I’ve been resting as much as possible to fight this.🤞

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

Update 04 Jan 2025

Apologies for being kinda quiet lately. The new year is off too a terrible start.

SO lost his job because we had covid. Thought it was the flu, but it wasn't. Can't dispute it because he was officially fired for not calling out one day; we were both deathly sick and overslept, our son was with his grandmother because we didn't want him to catch this, by the time he woke up he had three missed calls and a text telling him to turn in his keys to the store. He was already told he "wasn't allowed to take any sick leave" because they're understaffed, but neither of us were capable of getting out of bed to do more than get to the bathroom for almost a week. On Christmas Eve he actually passed out at work for five minutes with a 102.5F fever and still had to finish his shift.

It was two days after Christmas that he was fired.

Yesterday, the main water line under our house decided to burst. We were lucky to realize that the tank of our water heater drained and shut it off at the breaker before it could burn itself out. That was three hundred dollars. We were lucky it wasn't more; the tech with the plumbing company who came out to fix it gave us a tremendous discount because he's good people. It should have been closer to six hundred.

Property taxes are also due on the fifteenth, so that's lovely. We had money saved up, but it's going to drain fast between taxes and bills this month. Several applications filled out, so far one interview on the 11th.

I am stressed beyond measure and spending the vast majority of my time consumed with housework I got behind on while sick (I'm still sick but I can at least move again); and rewatching the LotR films/Rings of Power/rereading the books during any free time I have to keep myself from spiraling too far into depression.

I'm still sore and exhausted from being sick. I lost my voice for several days and can still barely talk out loud, much less scream into the void like I'd like to. I can't sleep lately because (a) lying down makes me cough and (b) brain refuses to shut off. I broke down sobbing three times yesterday while SO was outside helping fix the water line because I thought we were going to have to drop over six hundred dollars we didn't really have to spare.

Everything feels completely hopeless and at this point I'm only able to function because staying busy is keeping my mind off of the horrors. The past couple weeks have been a nightmare and I just want it to be over.

Ah, and the 29th will be the sixteenth anniversary of the day my mom died, and I wish she was here more than ever. Just to talk to. To have someone to cry to/with. I'm so sick of toughing things out.

That's all, I guess. I hope everyone else is having a better start to 2025. I'm already fucking done with this year.

[toshootforthestars]

From the report by Beth Mole, posted 29 Feb 2024:

In a lengthy background document, the agency laid out its rationale for consolidating COVID-19 guidance into general guidance for respiratory viruses—including influenza, RSV, adenoviruses, rhinoviruses, enteroviruses, and others, though specifically not measles. The agency also noted the guidance does not apply to health care settings and outbreak scenarios. "COVID-19 remains an important public health threat, but it is no longer the emergency that it once was, and its health impacts increasingly resemble those of other respiratory viral illnesses, including influenza and RSV," the agency wrote. The most notable change in the new guidance is the previously reported decision to no longer recommend a minimum five-day isolation period for those infected with the pandemic coronavirus, SARS-CoV-2. Instead, the new isolation guidance is based on symptoms, which matches long-standing isolation guidance for other respiratory viruses, including influenza. "The updated Respiratory Virus Guidance recommends people with respiratory virus symptoms that are not better explained by another cause stay home and away from others until at least 24 hours after both resolution of fever AND overall symptom are getting better," the document states. "This recommendation addresses the period of greatest infectiousness and highest viral load for most people, which is typically in the first few days of illness and when symptoms, including fever, are worst." The CDC acknowledged that the eased isolation guidance will create "residual risk of SARS-CoV-2 transmission," and that most people are no longer infectious only after 8 to 10 days. As such, the agency urged people to follow additional interventions—including masking, testing, distancing, hygiene, and improving air quality—for five additional days after their isolation period. "Today’s announcement reflects the progress we have made in protecting against severe illness from COVID-19," CDC Director Dr. Mandy Cohen said in a statement. "However, we still must use the commonsense solutions we know work to protect ourselves and others from serious illness from respiratory viruses—this includes vaccination, treatment, and staying home when we get sick." Overall, the agency argued that a shorter isolation period would be inconsequential. Other countries and states that have similarly abandoned fixed isolation times did not see jumps in COVID-19 emergency department visits or hospitalizations, the CDC pointed out. And most people who have COVID-19 don't know they have it anyway, making COVID-19-specific guidance moot, the agency argued. In a recent CDC survey, less than half of people said they would test for SARS-CoV-2 if they had a cough or cold symptoms, and less than 10 percent said they would go to a pharmacy or health care provider to get tested. Meanwhile, "The overall sensitivity of COVID-19 antigen tests is relatively low and even lower in individuals with only mild symptoms," the agency said. The CDC also raised practical concerns for isolation, including a lack of paid sick leave for many, social isolation, and "societal costs." The points are likely to land poorly with critics. “The CDC is again prioritizing short-term business interests over our health by caving to employer pressure on COVID guidelines. This is a pattern we’ve seen throughout the pandemic,” Lara Jirmanus, Clinical Instructor of Medicine at Harvard Medical School, said in a press release last month after the news first broke of the CDC's planned isolation update. Jirmanus is a member of the People's CDC, a group that advocates for more aggressive COVID-19 policies, which put out the press release. Another member of the group, Sam Friedman, a professor of population health at NYU Grossman School of Medicine, also blasted the CDC's stance last month. The guidance will "make workplaces and public spaces even more unsafe for everyone, particularly for people who are high-risk for COVID complications," he said.

But, the CDC argues that the threat of COVID-19 is fading. Hospitalizations, deaths, prevalence of long COVID, and COVID-19 complications in children (MIS-C) are all down. COVID-19 vaccines are safe and effective at preventing severe disease, death, and to some extent, long COVID—we just need more people to get them. Over 95% of adults hospitalized with COVID-19 in the 2023–2024 respiratory season had no record of receiving the seasonal booster dose, the agency noted. Only 22% of adults got the latest shot, including only 42% of people ages 65 and older. In contrast, 48% of adults got the latest flu shot, including 73% of people ages 65 and older. But even with the crummy vaccination rates for COVID-19, a mix of past infection and shots have led to a substantial protection in the overall population. The CDC even went as far as arguing that COVID-19 deaths have fallen to a level that is similar to what's seen with flu. "Reported deaths involving COVID-19 are several-fold greater than those reported to involve influenza and RSV. However, influenza and likely RSV are often underreported as causes of death," the CDC said. In the 2022–2023 respiratory virus season, there were nearly 90,000 reported COVID-19 deaths. For flu, there were 9,559 reported deaths, but the CDC estimates the true number to be between 18,000 and 97,000. In the current season, there have been 32,949 reported COVID-19 deaths to date and 5,854 reported flu deaths, but the agency estimates the real flu deaths are between 17,000 and 50,000. "Total COVID-19 deaths, accounting for underreporting, are likely to be higher than, but of the same order of magnitude as, total influenza deaths," the agency concluded.

(say no to raw dough: CDC)