#but to peter it's “do i look like you? the other you too?”

[imagineweasley]

Sirius Black’s Guide to Overreacting

Remus Lupin x reader, Sirius Black older brother

summary: you are sirius's little sister and you are dating remus, but keeping it from your protective older brother. james "accidentally" lets it slip and sirius is not happy.

warnings: some mention of sex?? but also not really but a little bit.

y/n: your name

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author's note: inspired by ross finding out chandler is with monica in friends!

--

"REMUS LUPIN I WILL TORTURE YOU SLOWLY UNTIL YOU DIE A SLOW PAINFUL DEATH!" Remus and y/n sprang apart when they heard Sirius bellowing down the hall. The few others who were also in the common room jumped as well. Sirius never used Remus's actual name unless he was angry, and this was the angriest y/n had seen him since his Dumbledore chocolate frog card had been stolen. The couple exchanged worried looks while the Fat Lady's indignant cries mingled with Sirius's yells, "MR. BLACK, YOU SLAM MY DOOR ONE MORE TIME AND YOU WILL BE SLEEPING IN THE HA--" her voice cut off as the door closed.

Sirius emerged, the picture of fury. His eyebrows were furrowed, his forehead vein was pulsing violently, and his fists were balled up, knuckles white. Y/n thought for a second that steam would actually start pouring out of his ears. He stomped towards the couple, or rather, towards Remus; his wide, dark eyes were fixed on him. In an attempt to look casual, Remus turned and leaned over the back of the couch to look at y/n's red-faced brother.

"What's up, Pad--"

"What's up?! WHAT'S UP?" The couple flinched and inched toward each other in fear.

"Merlin's beard Sirius, what--"

He whirled towards y/n, pointing his finger accusingly. "AND YOU! YOU KNOW WHAT'S UP TOO!"

"Don't talk to her like that!" Remus instinctively sprang up to protect y/n from her raging brother, even though they all knew Sirius wouldn't do anything to her. Sirius's black hair slapped him in the face as he immediately spun back around to glare at his friend.

The yelling triggered y/n's younger sibling instincts to poke the bear and see how far she could push him. She cooed, "Well, considering you haven't told us what's going on, I actually don't know what's going on, lovely brother." She then smiled a sickeningly sweet smile. Remus groaned.

Sirius's eyes grew even darker as he huffed and puffed, and as he opened his mouth to continue, the door swung open again and the Fat Lady's shrieks filled the rooms once more. "MR. POTTER, I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU WOULD LIKE TO JOIN MR. BLACK IN SLEEPING OUTSI--"

James sauntered in with his usual bored expression and Peter scurried in after him.

"Padfoot, I thought I heard your melodic tunes." James stuck his hand in his pockets and leaned against the wall. "Sorry I couldn't catch him you two, he really is quick when he wants to be." James addressed Remus and y/n, taking in the sight of Remus still standing protectively in front of y/n.

Y/n narrowed her eyes at James. "James," she said in a warning tone, "What did you do?" James shrugged in response and ambled over to the nearest couch. He flopped onto the cushions and took out a snitch from his pocket, and began tossing it up in the air and catching it. Peter wrung his hands in the corner, looking nervously at everyone.

"Well..." another throw and catch, "I might have accidentally let it slip that perhaps you and Moony have been -- well, fucking."

Y/n's eyes grew wide in horror and she began to stomp towards him, but Remus beat her to it. Blood rushed to his face in anger as he flew over to James to thump him.

"James Fleamont Potter, I swear to MERLIN you are such a GIT!" James merely looked up indifferently at his glowering friend.

"YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO BE MAD, HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?" The lamps shook and candles rattled in their holders at the noise.

"SIrius!" Y/n stepped forward cautiously, but he didn't seem to hear her. She tried again, "SIRIUS!" and failed once more, and on the last "SIRIUS ORION BLACK!" He whirled around and scowled at her.

"WHAT!"

"JAMES DIDN'T TELL YOU THE WHOLE THING!"

Sirius's eyes narrowed and a slight look of confusion took over. "Explain, then. Right now."

Y/n sighed and chose her words carefully. "Remus and I -- we're not--" she grimaced, "Fucking. I mean yes, I guess we are, that's what happens when you--" She then started rambling but skidded to a halt upon seeing the fire return to my brother's eyes, "That's -- what I mean is, Remus and I... we've been in a relationship for a while."

The whole of the common room could hear the wheels creaking in Sirius's head as he processed y/n's words. The whole of the common room was silent, and the other students' eyes bounced back and forth between Sirius, Remus, and y/n, as if watching a three way tennis game.

"A... a relationship?"

Remus took the opportunity to jump in and explain. "Yes! It's not nothing, we haven't been just hooking up. I'm... I'm in love with your sister--" you blushed a bright pink, "--and I'm sorry we didn't tell you sooner but I just didn't want our friendship to change."

The silence was agonizingly deafening. Sirius stared at Remus, and y/n's heart pounded as she tried to read her brother's face.

"A relationship." Remus nodded furiously. "So... how long..."

"About seven months now." Sirius turned slowly back towards y/n. "Seven... seven?" Y/n nodded meekly and waited for his response.

"How did you... how did you two hide..." Sirius trailed off. No one spoke. The only movement in the room was the flickering fire.

Sirius stared blankly at the wall for a few moments before speaking again. "Are you happy, y/n?"

"Of course I am Siri, this is the happiest I have ever been, and Remus really treats me so well. I love him, Siri." Now it was Remus's turn to blush. The knot in y/n's stomach uncoiled as Sirius's gaze softened.

"Alright then..." he nodded resolutely, and then the most unexpected thing happened.

Sirius began jumping up and down, punching the air in delight, and he yelled, "MY SISTER AND MY BEST FRIEND! MY BABY SISTER AND MY BEST FRIEND!" He pulled y/n to him and jumped her over to Remus, who was staring, stunned.

"COME ON YOU GUYS! THIS IS A CELEBRATION! MY SISTER AND MY BEST FRIEND!" His other arm was now around Remus, jerking him around with each jump. Remus and y/n looked at each other bewildered, and then burst into laughter. They started jumping with him, squealing, and then jumped over to Peter and dragged him into the circle.

Sirius broke out into a loud and off-tune rendition of the Hogwarts school song, "HOGWARTS, HOGWARTS, HOGGY WARTY HOGWARTS, TEACH US SOMETHING PLEEEEASE! JAMES ARE YOU HEARING THIS?"

Y/n looked over at James, who had frozen on his couch, the snitch flapping violently in his hand. "Come here James! Come join us!" After a beat, James threw his head back in laughter and sprang to his feet to join the circle. In all the excitement, the snitch had escaped from his hand and fluttered above their heads. The group all jumped up and down for a few more minutes while Sirius finished the song, and then panting, they slowed to a halt.

Remus grinned and wiped some sweat from his forehead. "I guess James wasn't completely wrong, I mean, it did start when we got drunk and--" Remus's eyes widened into the size of fanged frisbees as he slowly realized what had slipped out. Y/n's face dropped into her hands.

"I'm just kidding! I'm just... kidding..." Remus backed away carefully, his palms outstretched in submission. Sirius followed him menacingly. He was still panting, but now more so from rage than from leaping around.

Y/n threw her hands up in defeat and sighed, "Oh, Remus, my sweet, sweet idiot, I think you should start running." Remus looked at y/n in horror before taking off.

In the blink of an eye, Sirius was chasing Remus around the common room, Remus yelling, "WAIT A SECOND, LISTEN HERE, LISTEN PADFOOT--"

Laughing, y/n flopped onto the couch between James and Peter, where they had collapsed after the jumping fiasco. She punched his arm playfully, "You're an asshole, you know that?" James laughed and shrugged, feigning innocence.

They watched the chase and James wondered, "How long do you s'pose they'll be going for?"

Peter smiled, amused, and replied, "I don't know but they seem to be going strong to me."

Y/n waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, we'll just let them tire themselves out." And they watched the boys sprint around the common room for the next half hour.

[glossykissies]

how would peter react to finding out his sweet girl has all these hard kinks and wants him to be mean to her. I feel like he’d be conflicted with wanting to be gentle with you but also give you what you want

he’s doing nothing to soften your need for his meanness when he’s stood there, looking like that — looking so big in his work shirt, still tucked into his slacks. you were sitting on the counter, having worked up the courage to ask him all day — and by god, he was trying not to look judgmental.

“…hit you?” his face twists up a little, not in a rude way — mostly just disbelief. you’re sat there in pyjama shorts, his tshirt and frilly socks. the sight of you makes it harder to believe that this would be something you’d want, especially when you’re swinging your legs so innocently.

you nod and he blinks at you, studying you for a moment before he approaches slowly, standing between your legs where you sit. peter cups your face, hands so coarse but so gentle with you. your eyelashes flutter when his thumb strokes the skin beneath your eye.

“why do you want me to be mean to you?” he asks softly, tilting his head a little. don’t get it twisted — his softness turns you on too, already sucking on your lip with those guilty doe eyes just from the way he’s babying you, but you had urges.

“just for a little bit.” your voice is so quiet it cracks a little, leaning into his hand. “dont want you to hit me too hard anyway.”

peter sighs out his nose pensively. “but what if i do? what if i hit you too hard by accident and then — what — you’re scared of me.” he deflates, still keeping his voice fairly quiet whilst relaying his stress on the subject.

“you wont. i trust you and we can just try it out. it would make me feel good.” you shrug, trying to keep it light and casual but he’s sighing again, taking his hands off you to scratch his temple.

“i don’t know.” he responds, hushed and your face falls a little — feeling embarrassed that you even asked.

“then you don’t have to do it peter. it’s okay.” you offer him a wavering smile that was meant to look reassuring and take the time to hop off the counter to walk away — but before you even take one step he quickly stops you, pressing his body up against yours as he ushers you back against the counter top.

“no, no.” his voice is just above a whisper, eyes a little more pleading than before. “i wanna make you feel good.” just like that his hand is back stroking your soft cheek again and you can tell he’s envisioning delivering a slap to the spot, trying to feel it out. “i…will hit you a couple of times. we’ll try it out. i think… for now… i’m not gonna be mean to you. just yet. it won’t sound right it’ll be all unnatural and weird and… yeah. that’s my compromise. does that… work?” he furrows his eyebrows and you smile. the sight of you physically deflating doesn’t go amiss to him, like he’d just taken weight off your shoulders. he likes how that feels.

so, soon — he has you kneeling between his legs at the foot of the bed. he’s holding you still with one gentle hand before counting you in and giving you harsh little smacks with the other. you look all wrecked and clammy with tears crowding beneath your eyes but god do you look blissed out, hanging onto his every word and drinking up his praise like you were parched.

“there you go. took that so well sweetheart. i’m… proud of you, okay? want another one baby?” he’s getting a little breathless and worked up from seeing you in this state too, cock straining against his work pants.

“‘nother.” you softly beg out, slurred and spitty.

“alright, 3,2,1.” he counts you in and smacks a little harder making you whine, his thumb soothing over the burn instantly. “mm, yeah. ‘that a good one baby?”

“mmph.” you nod. maybe he could get used to this.

[cinnamxns]

☆ peter parker x gender-neutral!reader ⇢ tooth-rotting domestic fluff, established relationship au. 0.59k words.

the door clicks shut behind you, and the exhaustion crashes over you like a wave, pulling you under before you can so much as take another step. it’s like your body had been running on borrowed energy all day, just barely holding itself together, and now that you’re finally home, it decides to simply—stop.

your bag slips from your shoulder with a dull thud against the floor. you don’t even try to catch it. your limbs feel leaden, too heavy to move, too tired to care.

“bad day?”

you barely turn your head. peter’s standing in the doorway to the kitchen, hair still damp from a shower, dressed in the softest-looking sweatshirt known to man. he looks utterly at ease, like he’s been waiting for you, but the second he sees your face, his brows furrow in concern.

you open your mouth, trying to summon some semblance of an i’m fine or at least a meh, but nothing comes out. the weight of the day clings to you like a second skin, making it impossible to pretend. so you just nod, exhaustion pressing into your bones.

peter doesn’t hesitate.

he crosses the room in three long strides, closing the distance between you like the mere thought of you standing there, looking so drained, is unbearable. then, suddenly, you’re wrapped up in him—pulled flush against his chest, the scent of his shampoo filling your lungs, the warmth of him seeping into your skin like sunlight after a storm.

your fingers curl into the fabric of his sweatshirt, gripping onto him like he’s the only thing tethering you to the earth. peter lets out a soft breath, arms tightening around you, holding you steady in a way that makes it clear—whatever’s weighing on you, you don’t have to carry it alone.

“y’know,” he murmurs, voice slightly muffled against your hair, “i was gonna tell you about the absolute disaster of a sandwich i made earlier, but i think you need cuddles more than my tragic cooking stories right now.”

a weak chuckle escapes you before you can stop it. “i really do.”

peter hums like he’s considering something very serious, then shifts slightly, beginning to sway the two of you in the slowest, laziest rhythm possible, like you’re dancing to a song only he can hear. “well, lucky for you, i give A+ cuddles. it’s, like, one of my top three skills.”

you tilt your head slightly against his chest. “oh, yeah? what are the other two?”

“web-slinging and making bad jokes under extreme pressure.”

you huff a laugh, pressing your face into his shoulder. “sounds about right.”

peter squeezes you a little tighter, as if trying to make sure every last bit of tension melts away. his hand ghosts up and down your back, lazy and soothing, like he’s absentmindedly tracing invisible constellations into your spine.

“you don’t have to talk about it,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, more serious, “but if you want to, i’m here.”

you exhale slowly, feeling the weight of the day start to loosen its grip on you. it’s not even about words—it’s about this, him, the way he holds you like you’re the most important thing in the universe, like he’d stand here with you forever if you asked.

“just… stay for a bit?” you mumble, voice drowsy, already sinking into the comfort of him.

peter presses a soft, absentminded kiss to your temple, his arms never loosening. “for as long as you need. even longer, actually. you might have to be the one to kick me out.”

tagging @admiringlove 🤍

[leighsartworks216]

What's In A Name

dragon!Sylus x blind!oracle!Reader

Series Masterlist - Chapter One - Prev Chapter

Today has been rough, but I still wanted to get out this chapter since it's already written up

Warnings: injuries, pain, banter

Word Count: 1,005

Main Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You hiss as you carefully pour the medicine over your palm. The bottle clatters against the floor, unintentionally. The pain is all you can think about, willing the sting to fade so you can keep working. As soon as it becomes bearable, you pick up the roll of cloth from your lap and work through feel alone to line it over your hand and start wrapping it. It’s not the best job ever, but it’ll do. Hopefully.

You repeat the actions on the other side. Soon enough, your hands are as well treated as you can manage. You feel the ends of the cloth, checking that they’re secure and won’t come unraveling.

Something almost giddy wafts up in your chest. You giggle dumbly as you open and close your hands, testing the limits of the wraps. “Hey, not bad!” you say to yourself. “Hah! I knew I could do it!”

Your cheering voice echoes back to you, slowly petering off into nothing. The silence sours the glee. You sigh and wrap your arms around yourself.

You have no idea what time it is, no idea where you actually are, and no idea where the stranger went off to. All you do know is that the longer you sit here on the thin sheet meant to be your bed, the more aware of your exhaustion you become.

You try to set everything where you can find it again. The room is small, so it shouldn’t be too difficult.

You feel out how long the sheet is. It’s not even half as wide as you are tall, but you’ll have to make do. You wrap it tightly around your shoulders and lay down slowly on the rock floor with your arm acting as a pillow. You wrap your cold feet tightly in whatever excess blanket you have left.

With a quiet prayer to Astra, you let yourself be consumed by a restless sleep. Visions of darkness, blood, and flowers, and a story that spans hundreds of years.

-

“Has your god seen fit to answer my prayer, yet?”

“He has, actually.” You walk alongside the edge of what you can only fathom to be a pile of gold. The metal coins dig into your feet, but that you can handle just fine. It’s when a gem is suddenly underfoot that you’re cursing and trying to brush it aside. You can feel his smug look every single time it happens.

You hear metal clinking against metal a short ways behind you. “And?”

You shoot a sly grin in that direction. “Why should I tell you? What would I get in return?”

He huffs an amused laugh. “What do you want in return?”

“Fresh food and water, and new clothes. It’s freezing in here, you know? And I haven’t eaten anything since…” You trail off, thinking. “What time is it, anyway?”

“You’re demanding a lot for a simple prophecy, pet.”

“Oh?” You turn away, walking along the mounds of treasure again. “Then I guess you’re not interested in what your future holds? Pity. I found it quite interesting.”

He sighs. Good. Serves the bastard right for kidnapping you. You hope he regrets it every single day. Though… whether he’d kill you over it is definitely a risk.

“I’ll get you some food. There’s a spring in the tunnels that you can get your water from. As for clothes…” You turn to listen better as you hear furniture creaking. Heavy footfalls approach, rounding you. “I have some tucked away. Whether they’ll fit you or not is questionable.”

“Are they good quality?”

“They’re better than your tattered rags. Does that suffice?”

You hum, considering. “Your destiny is going to be intertwined with someone else’s.”

He scoffs. “That’s it?”

“Until I’ve had a proper meal, yeah! Besides, I’m still trying to decipher some of what the prophecy is saying.” You cross your arms over your chest with a frown. “It’s like it spans millennia, but that shouldn’t be possible.”

He’s blessedly silent for a minute, giving you time to consider this predicament, before something hard nudges at your back. “Come on, pet. I’ll show you where the clothes are.”

You follow the clinking of metal under his shoes out of the chamber. “Stop calling me that! My name is Y/N, I’m not a pet, least of all yours, and I’m not some helpless ‘little thing’ for you to toy with!”

He tests your name on his tongue. It’s startling to hear it said in your captor’s voice. Perhaps you should have held your tongue and let him continue insulting you. A name can be a dangerous thing, after all.

“What’s your name?”

“I don’t have one.”

“What?!” you balk. “You must have one! What am I supposed to call you?”

You run into something solid and warm. The heat of his breath brushes your skin again as he whispers teasingly into your ear. “You can always call me master.”

You try to shove his face away with no luck. He laughs at your efforts, but gives you space once more. “Not in a million years. What about…” You wrack your brain for any semblance of something he liked from what little you could piece together. “Silver? Or Gold, or something?”

He chuckles. “I’m a bit more precious than that.”

“Okay, fine, then how about, um, Jewel? Jewels are better than silver and gold, aren’t they?” You hear him sigh, long and drawn out. The clinking of coins follows his footsteps. You trail after. “Look, give me something to work with here!”

“Jewel is fine. I don’t need a mortal’s name anyway.”

“That’s the second time you’ve specifically called out mortals,” you point out. The airflow in the cave changes as you step from the grand treasure chamber (this guy has some weird hobbies) to the closed-in tunnels. You’re grateful when you hear him bypass the stairs. “What are you if not a mortal, too?”

“Like I said before, maybe I’ll tell you one day.”

You sigh. “Jewel, you are one strange guy.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @22carolina08 @lunaizhere @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @lalaluch @burningtrashgentleman @nothankyew @terriblesoup @jeleryyy @leiakitty

[wrongbodies]

Permanent Vacation?

Peter and Jackson, newly wed and excited for their honeymoon, had just gotten to their beachfront hotel in Florida. They were looking forward to sunning, splashing in the water, and the copious amounts of lovemaking they planned to do morning and night.

When they eventually wandered down to the beach, kitted out for a day of fun in the bright sunlight, they noticed that the property next to the hotel seemed to be sort of luxury senior living community. On the other side of a fenced area they saw dozens of elderly men and women lounging or playing games, like shuffleboard.

They paid the old folks little mind, they only had each other and their nocturnal activities to think of. Jackson was a former college jock, having played lacrosse and defying stereotypes. He was out and proud throughout college, and had the hot body and boy-next-door face to back it up.

Peter was leaner, but he had always been one to keep on top of his physical needs. He had studied nutrition science and pursued it in his professional life. Jackson was buff, with golden-brown hair and dazzling blue eyes. Peter was paler, with black hair and green eyes.

It was on the second day that the loving couple took notice of two old men peering through the fence of the senior living community. They were both a little portly, but clothed in cabana clothing that was likely popular in their heyday, but now looked quite dated... as did their bodies, of course.

Over the course of the week, the old men continued to stare at and ogle the couple. In truth, Jackson was something of an exhibitionist, and was teasing Peter to join in him giving the old perverts something to look at. The couple laughed, but come the morning, they'd find nothing about the situation humorous at all.

Peter was first to stir, and noticed that everything about his body felt exceedingly wrong. Worse, it was painful in places he had never felt pain before. His eyes seemed weak, too, as he opened them and looked up at the ceiling. The room was also nothing like their hotel. It wasn't too shabby, just... not their luxury hotel.

Sitting up, more challenging than ever before, he finally noticed his hands. Wrinkled, shriveled looking skin and gnarled fingers that definitely did not belong to him. He panicked and threw back the covers. Next to him, an old man he started to recognize was grumbling and trying to pull the covers back up.

Peter yelped, and jumped... well, clambered out of bed as fast as he could. He approached a mirror above a wardrobe and screamed. He was one of those old men! He spun and yelled at the other body in the bed.

"What did you do to me!? Why am I old?!" He demanded an answer.

The other man finally shook off the sleep and heaved himself up. "What are you talking about?"

It took him a moment to understand... he was staring at an old man, from another senior citizens body. "What did I do to you? What did you do to me?!"

The two would grapple with the bizarre and nightmarish situation until they realize it was their husband in the other body. Once they determined what happened, they formed a plan to confront their former bodies.

Exiting the senior home was not as easy as they expected, though. They had to check out and inform the caretakers of their plans. It seemed they were kept on a relatively tight leash. And it was difficult to keep their calm. It took a while before leaving to compose themselves, and even longer still adjusting to these creaky, aching old bodies.

After they succesfully exited the building, they marched over to the hotel and were able to slip in, riding the elevator up to their floor. The door being locked was not an obstacle they expected to encounter, but a nearby cleaner was easy to convince to key them in. They were coasting on some luck, because this situation was definitely insane.

After keying in, they walked into the room to find that their young, fit bodies were deep in the middle of a passionate bout of coitus. They barked at the impostors, the body-thieves. As the interlopers fell onto the bed, they looked absolutely terrified as they were faced with their tired old forms.

"Give us our bodies, you old freaks!" Jackson demanded.

"We are so sorry, we just wanted to relive a little youthful fun. We weren't going to keep these! The spell only lasts a day, anyways." One of the old men explained.

"What gives you the right? We nearly had heart attacks this morning finding ourselves in these decrepit forms!" Peter lamented.

"I know... I know." The other body thief said. "Don't worry. You'll be back to your bodies by sunrise tomorrow, we promise."

Left with nothing to assure them of the truth, they arranged to wait with the thieves for the rest of the day. They were disgusted after all, for the old men had been using their bodies for sexual gratification.

When they returned to the senior home to fall asleep, they kissed one another, promising to never visit Florida again after this. They chuckled at the thought of the state being the problem, but more to comfort themselves than anything.

The next morning they awoke in their hotel room, in their rightful bodies. It seemed the old men had told the truth. While they were disgusted at the thought of their bodies being stolen even for the day, it was a relief to know it was only temporary.

They cut their trip short, flying home. But honestly, just being in their bodies, and being together, felt more like home than anything.

[my-rats-call-me-daddy]

Hii!

I'm Peter, but more importantly I have three pet rats and they are the loves of my life, I will talk about Cheddar, Gravy and Meatball a lot.

Left to right is Cheddar enjoying a piece of his namesake, Gravy looking up at me innocently which means that she caused some chaos somewhere, and Meatball playing her favorite game, stealing my stuff Stardew Valley.

Cheddar: he/him Gravy: she/her Meatball: she/her

When I'm not with my lovely pets, you can find me playing chess, doodling or doing some gardening. I'm working on making a garden that Gravy, Cheddar and Meatloaf can play in!

And of course you can't play chess alone, so I'll often rope some of my friends into playing with me!

[list to be updated when everyone's made their accounts lol]

@deer-in-head1ights - James Potter, one of my best friends!

@siriusly-underrated - Sirius Black, another one of my best friends!

@r-moony-lups - Remus Lupin, yet another one of my best friends!

(how did I get three best friends?? /pos)

@marlene-and-co - Marlene McKinnon, she kinda scares me

@d3ad-l1ttle-st4r - Estelle Black, Sirius's sister

@madprofessorevan - Evan Rosier, idk him very well but he likes plants and art so he can't be too bad (just as long as you don't use lab rats >:( )

@pandoras-g1fts - Pandora Rosier, she seems cool and also not entirely human

@l0ve-1s-str4nge - Xenophilius Lovegood, idk him very well but he seems nice

@ultim4te-br4t-b4rty - Barty Crouch Jr, scarier than Marlene

@tarotpills - Sybill Trelawney, has terrible taste in men and is a little unsettling but I think it's a good thing

@ everyone else

Other stuff about me: I'm 16, i'm a guy so he/him please

I can get easily overwhelmed but I do in theory like talking to people

[ooc: he'll probably end up aroace and possibly non binary but he doesn't know that yet]

This is a rp account; don't like don't watch/read/interact

Also I have far too many classes so I'll be as active as I can be but I can't promise a quick answer lol

[fruchtfliege]

WIP THURSDAY 👰‍♀️🐺

Tagged by @slimeyslimeyballsack @ashyjingles @hemlocksandfoxgloves @ksbbb

They're both hunched over their coffees and Chris is pleased to know there's at least a moment in the day when Peter isn't his shiny bastard self.

“We already prepared a backstory, why do we need to see each other again?” the hunter asks even if it's barely been a minute since he sat down.

“Because that's what married people do?” Peter tells him with an unimpressed glance and a sigh, almost annoyed by the question.

Chris scoffs, taking a sip to occupy his mind. How the fuck did his life turn into this? “How would you know?”

“How would you know?” Peter snorts.

Chris frowns at the idiotic question. “I was married. Or did you forget how your nephew killed my-”

“She killed herself, Chris.”

They both stare at each other as the tense silence grows around them. Chris finally looks away and lets it go. It’s too early for a debate and he really doesn’t want to know what Peter Hale’s opinion is on this subject.

“All I'm saying is that it was an arranged, strategic, hunter marriage,” Peter huffs like it's no big deal.

Chris stays silent. It was all those things but it doesn't mean he never loved Victoria and it certainly doesn't mean he didn't love Allison. Still love her, even if she's gone. He wants to ask how Peter knows about the arrangement but the hunter doesn't want to give Peter the opportunity to gloat.

“I've got things to do.” Chris gets up to leave but Peter immediately traps his hand on the table with his clawed hand on top of it.

Chris looks at it before raising his gaze to glare at Peter, unamused. “Let go,” he says but it's really an order.

“What's your favorite color?” Peter smiles but it still doesn't have the same easy smugness it usually holds. Must be because it's so early.

“I'm not 12,” Chris groans, still trying to get his hand out of Peter's iron grip.

Peter rolls his eyes. “Well, be 12 for a second.”

Chris looks at the hand on top of his. It's hot and heavy and, each time he tries to pull away, Peter's grip gets discernibly tighter. Feeling rage bubbling up, Chris tries to stay cool and collected. He could reach for his gun and maybe get the best of Peter since he's not fully awake yet but… he honestly can't bring himself to fight so early and certainly not over something so petty. He relaxes his hand and lies it flat against the table, completely loose under the werewolf’s strong hold.

Chris sits back down. “Blue.”

“Boring but alright.”

Silence stretches but it’s clear that Peter is waiting for something.

Chris sighs. “And what's yours?” he asks with an obviously mocking tone.

“Oh, it's copper! You know, a very rusty shade of orange. Wait, I’ve got a picture.”

Getting his phone, Peter lets go of Chris' hand but the hunter doesn't get up, he stays seated. It doesn't mean he leans closer to properly look at the screen when Peter shows him a picture of a very particular rust color. All he can think is:

"You have a picture of your favorite color on your phone?"

“Obviously. What am I supposed to do? Try and find it for five minutes every time someone asks?”

“Who's asking?” Chris frowns, baffled.

Peter smiles brightly at that, tilting his head in interest. “Why? You jealous?”

No pressure tags especially since it's so late but I guess there's always WIP Friday lol: @honestlydarkprincess @thiamsxbitch @aristarr @akirasstories @opheliathiams @thiamsalpha @genetic-hellhound

[zeel-zzz]

im bored, so here are the jobs i think the marauders would have if they were just normal ass people pt 1;

James would work for his father in the company he owns. i'm not sure why but i get the feeling that after he graduated school he didn't really know what he wanted to do with his life so income Fleamont Potter (the man he is) and offered his son some low-level job in the company (we only allow an acceptable level of nepotism). he does regular paperwork and he loves making powerpoint presentations. oh and i get the feeling that James is the one who’s standing by the water cooler making small talk with everyone (in all honesty James is the personality hire and he knows that). the funny part about all of this is that James would tell everyone that he's only there until he figures out what he wants to do with his life and no one believes him (his current goal is to become team leader of a project) there are some people who despise James because he's the son of the ceo. like there have been complaints of James not working and stuff and they complain to Fleamont hoping they fire James and Fleamont's just like ok I'll deal with it (he does not in fact deal with it (James always gets his work done and always has lunch with his dad to give him updates on his work)).

Sirius is funny. i dont know how else to explain it but Sirius would be one of those guys who's like a mechanic but doesn't actually have the job of a mechanic. like he says he is, but he's not. and it's not to hate on him or anything because he's actually a really good mechanic, he just doesn't have the 'official qualifications' or whatever. and the only way he even makes money is by inserting himself in other people's conversations. like he'll be at an auto store and someone's having an issue with their car (about some part or another) and they'll talking with the cashier about it (the cashier doesn't know shit about cars, they just work there). in comes Sirius who'll pop into the conversation and give his opinion and offer to solve the issue for like free (because it's an easy fix) and when he goes they're just like 'no let me pay for this' and it's like fifty bucks, a beer and the request to fix a friends car (it's how he met James). and that's how he would make both friends and clients. also, i just know this man smells like brake fluid (the smell gives Remus a headache).

Remus is an odd one because i see him as being like an interpreter or something similar. and when i say interpreter i mean like the ones in the tablet that the doctors drag around when they don't have an interpreter on site. what language, i don't know, your choice really but i can just see him on the tablet, the image is lagging and the audio is cutting off a bit but know he still looks good with a headset. (i also see him as a Mcdonald's employee, but that seemed too basic for him (again the headset)). generally, i feel like Remus would be a polyglot (he was so bored he learned different languages for fun (definitely, knows like french and german)) so he would be translating a lot. in fact, that's how he met Sirius (you know before he was an online interpreter). Remus is also James' chosen interpreter whenever he is to meet with foreign companies (yes James does meet with other companies because although he's technically he's in a low level position he's still son of the ceo and he trust Remus not to fuck him over).

Peter works as either an accountant or works in marketing. i'm more inclined to say he's an accountant because he would mostly be in charge of Sirius 'business' (he's trying to actually open up an auto shop) but at the same time he would be in marketing in the Potter company and have all of the office gossip (he would be working with James and I one hundred percent believe Peter would be James' boss). Peter would be an absolute terror toward James when he first starts (always sending him out on coffee runs for the whole floor with complex orders, and James just takes it in good fun (no James never messes up an order) but he's the first one to help James if he ever feels overwhelmed by the workload. over time though James starts to do better and eventually becomes Peter's boss, and he's only a little annoyed by this but at least James isn't sending him on coffee runs (no, that's the job of the new intern that James can't keep his eyes off of (oh and god forbid Peter asks for coffee, James would chew him out for 'overworking' the intern)), Peter can't wait for that bit of information to spread through the department, he might just tell Fleamont and Euphemia next time he goes for dinner at the Potters.

this is slowly becoming more detailed than i thought it would be... the girls are up next.

[marzipanilla]

pff I've already forgotten tabs, friendships died with tabs, true friendship began with 'randomly remembered tidbit'

Forgot to mention this in the other convo- but Jasper has motivation and drive and an actual personality! I can see the smashy smash paralells w BB but BB literally has nothing else going on xD (and also a tangent off another thing bc I realized I forgot to say but a good post-beserker freak out IS great for a character lol)

Yeah Mark changing suits doesn't signify anything bc I don't feel like I know who he was! Plus, the suit change wasn't even his decision! it just. happens to him. like so many other things...

bc of watching JL show my brain was kinda gnawing at me to try and configure an Omni-Man + JL thing which I prolly wont do, but then it got me thinking about Nolan and Peter Parker (im aware they're different universes my comic knowledge isnt that bad lol) interacting and just the hilarity of Omni-Man deciding to absolutely FUCK w Spider-Man and like, help JJonah out- not just the JK Simmons connections for meta hilarity. just. most powerful man on planet deciding to fuck with this one particular guy. I'll get you pictures of spider-man : )

The 'They weren't promoted at work, turns out they were a supervillain' support group would be fucking amazing. What are the can't be called to testify against a spouse laws like in 'their spouse can turn into a pile of magma goo and kill everyone' world.

We kinda touched on it in the rogues gallery sidetrack- but fr, why couldn't we have more villains who fought against Omni-Man showing up??? did he just fucking kill all the people who ever went against him?? forget ppl coming after Mark bc screw your dad- what about people offering him a damn JOB bc wow that man sure did beat the shit out of me once, wait? he's evil?? any chance you're evil now too son ??? lol. that would be great. People not just being angry at Debbie but being TERRIFIED of her bc she was with the most powerful guy on the planet AND HE MIGHT COME BACK. you will tell him we were nice to you, future queen, right?? and her just having to be like I'M NOT A FUCKING SUPER VILLAIN !!

The fact Debbie refuses to move is so wild to me lol Give us a reason why that house is do goddamn important to her to justify why they don't want to design new backgrounds !! lol

Her just straight up starting to call him Mr Stedman bc FUCK if I am referring to you like a friend/colleague whatever the fuck. Her just full on NOT responding if he tries and calls her Debbie. She can't stop him but she can stop interacting like all his bs is normal. she can be a nuisance even if she can't be a threat.

I've thought but couldn't figure where to go with- the idea that she finds the GDA cameras instead of Nolan's bloody uniform when she was searching the house bc, wtf, are they using magi-tech nano cams or something?? she tore the house apart how did she not find anything!! I'm also super curious to know wtf the 'passive monitoring' looked like when that woman was about to jump off a bridge. would he have teleported down there if she was about to jump ??? an agent pop out of a car?? not do anything bc fuck it they were only watching the house??

I feel like their budget has def been squeezed SO tight. and it's just so sad. we'll always have S1, I guess.

While I'm not too familiar with the DCU- your batfam meta posts are intiguing- so in transfering some of the broader strokes from them- I think you tackling a 'Mark isn't Nolan's biological son' fic would be fascinating. Sort of a step to the side of the 'what if Mark never got his powers' fic that sometimes pop up in the fandom

OOOOOO chewing on this currently, hm, the much a distinct flavor of exactly what you’re talking about, but the potential for more family drama depending on WHO knows. Does Mark know?? Is he waiting every day only to be crushed? Does he confused non-Debbie features with Nolan’s? I suppose I’m not the most enthusiastic about non-power AUs, but I think there’s something very fun to explore about Mark having to settle with, if he knows all his life, he will never have powers? I think the trajectory of his dreams will obviously shift, I can see him still having that distinct fatherly idolization, but perhaps embraces being useful to the GDA? Cecil’s number one intern—only intern—curtesy of nepotism, ha! There is something tickling me about Mark taking the Robin Route/Role for the Teen Team in terms of having no powers, just insane skills, BUT there’s something way more delicious about intern Mark when s1e01 happens and Mark tries snooping around to find out the truth about what happened to his Dad.

I wonder if, with Mark having a whole another father, if they’re more or less distant relationship, depending on WHEN Nolan entered Mark’s life? Like if Debbie met Nolan later for this, or just for fun, they dated once, separated (Mark being born during then), then they happened to stumble into each others lives again and Mark’s already been born, anywhere from tween to teenager so there’s a gap in how close they are. I feel like one important aspect of the whole Family Drama is how close they’re supposed to be, a functional, loving family turned upside down? So I wonder what more distance does. I wonder how Nolan copes when his family is entirely human and he can’t project onto Mark.

I love thinking about these, omg.

[erinwantstowrite]

Do I look like him?

had a lot of people ask me to make a tiktok for it and i swear i tried but,,, making tiktoks just isn't working for me rn so we're getting still images until i can get my brain to cooperate. anyways!! i am obsessed with chromokopia and when i heard Like Him i ascended into heaven and also cried. and it very much reminded me of LoF

[o-uncle-newt]

I read Possession by AS Byatt after people told me "if you liked Gaudy Night you'll like this" and WELL.

Warning- spoilers for both books abound below!

So it sounded great- as a lapsed academic (though not in the field of literature by any means) there's a part of me that loves reading about academia because it's full of such obsessive people, and this book seemed to be exactly that and so I was excited.

Then I read it, and on the one hand, my first thought was "all these people are dull as heck, the only sane modern-day one is Val, and at the end of the day the historical stuff is just two people having an affair, who cares." My second thought was "there's just enough stuff here that makes me think that maybe the author knows that all of this is stupid, like the fact that Val is obviously one of the few sane ones here." But the ending made me doubt even that. Essentially, and I say this even as that lapsed academic, the author could not convince me to care about the important things at stake here, and as a result couldn't get me to care about the people who only seemed to care about those things.

I didn't care about Ash and LaMotte- they came across as two people high on their own supply who had a tawdry affair. (And each of them is the less interesting person, as a person, than their official partner!) As a result of not caring about them, I couldn't POSSIBLY care about Roland, Maud, and the rest of their crew, because their only functions were to be possessed by, and weirdly possessive of, these two entirely unworthy individuals, whose in-universe historical and literary significance Byatt couldn't convince me of, and to use that possession as a mirror for their own very lame romance. Beyond that they're utterly uninteresting, and there isn't even meant to BE much beyond that so it's not that surprising.

Anyway, I didn't like this book much, but it still made me think a lot. And there's a way in which a certain kind of person might say "well if it made you think then that's surely a sign of some positive quality" and... maybe? I don't know. I didn't hate all of it, and some parts were interesting, and I do have a whole separate list of things about the book that bug me including a breakdown of some of the book's (perceived by me) themes that I particularly disliked lol. Perhaps I'll post it another time. So I guess you can say it spurred me to thought, but loads of things that I don't like do that, and the only positive thing that that draws from me is that they're not downright dull.

The thing is, after finishing the book I was immediately struck by that "if you like Gaudy Night..." element, because it has a situation that felt weirdly similar (if for totally different reasons)- a young scholar stealing a letter from a library/archive. The circumstances are different- in Gaudy Night, the scholar does it to hide its existence so as not to contradict his thesis, and in Possession, the scholar does it so as to explore the document further, though still secretly- but there are still some interesting parallels vis a vis class. Possession goes into the class thing more than Gaudy Night does, but neither book goes much into it- the scholar is lower-class and someone who has scraped their way to their position, and is encumbered by a female partner of lower social and academic standing, and in the end they are juxtaposed against scholars who come from an elevated class and who have more money and opportunity. In Gaudy Night, Arthur Robinson is judged by the likes of Lord Peter Wimsey and a college full of women who don't have to do anything but think, teach, write, and grade papers; in Possession, Roland has to convince a bunch of academics of standing and resources to take a chance on him (and while this is more about money than class, he's the main one who's like "maybe it's good if Lady Bailey gets her wheelchair"). Byatt elides over this at the end by having him magically become in demand and on his way to achieving his academic goals, but I think in both books, the class element really could have taken on more significance in the text.

(I'd add as well that Byatt pits the upper-class and moneyed Maud, who of course is doing things for "the right reasons," vs the evil American businessman who clearly... doesn't care about Ash enough? Despite how much he clearly and obviously cares about Ash? The book was way more interesting when he seemed like a valid rival to the British team, who only thought that they deserved the letters more because of their obsession, rather than how it turned out at the end where the American dude is an actual cartoon villain. What made him genuinely less worthy besides having money without class, and of course having the bad taste to be American? What makes one scholar's possession more justified? Sayers was never this unsubtle.)

So that made me think more about Possession vs Gaudy Night, and the thing is, there are actual living people in Gaudy Night! Say what you will about the unworldliness of the academics at Shrewsbury, but you get a very keen view of their personalities by the end, even as they are (by necessity given the rules of their world) subsumed by academia, or subsume themselves in it. And the people who do fall in love are REALLY in love, and you understand why...

And somehow a book from 1935 feels far more interrogative of the possession (or lack thereof) found in love and romance, and just about the place of women in academia and relationships overall, than one from the late 80s. In Gaudy Night, Harriet accepts Peter once she has determined that despite their power differential (brought on by class, money, history, and to a degree gender) he will not threaten her personhood, because he has proven himself to her. In Possession, Maud accepts Roland because she has the power (money, class, position, even height) and so Roland actually cannot threaten her- and yet still that final scene is about her being taken by him, basically to prove some kind of a point. In contrast, in Busman's Honeymoon, the euphemistic sex scenes are about Peter trying to please Harriet.

When I say it's to prove a point, I'm paraphrasing Byatt, incidentally- who said: "And in the case of Maud I had made it very inhibiting. She was a woman inhibited both by beauty (which actually isn't very good for very beautiful women because they feel it isn't really them people love) and she was also inhibited by Feminism, because she had all sorts of theories that perhaps she would be a more noble kind of woman if she was a lesbian. And so she was a bit stuck. And Roland was timid because I am naturally good at timid men. It's the kind of men I happen to like. He's a timid thinking man, so of course it took him the whole book." I mean... yikes, but also that explains a lot. Maud can only bring herself to be with a man who is weak/effeminate (?) enough to justify whatever weird psyche Byatt has imagined up for her, but still she needs to get over her inhibitions and under him because... reasons. I don't know.

(Height is also interesting here as a point of contrast- Byatt makes Maud taller than Roland to make a point about how on the one hand she retains the power but on the other hand there is now even more of her that has to surrender. Peter and Harriet are the same medium height and wear the same size gown.)

I think the thing that most stuns me is how regressive Possession feels when it comes to gender politics on relationships than Gaudy Night does. I'd need a whole other post to talk about this, but the theme of Possession seems to me to be "relationships that produce things (whether art or children) are worth more than ones that don't." Roland is better with Maud than with Val because Val is a second rate scholar who drags him down (while supporting him financially) and Ash is better with LaMotte than with Ellen because LaMotte didn't only inspire his writing (Ellen's contributions are described only in the negative "didn't impede"), she gave him the child that Ellen refused to. Incidentally, in both cases it's the man pursuing a relationship that will give HIM something... But, to paraphrase Peter in Busman's Honeymoon, one wouldn't want to regard relationships in that agricultural light. Gaudy Night is about how two people can produce great things without each other but choose to be with each other for their own, and each other's, happiness. They aren't each less apart, and as I noted in a prior post, they don't need to solve cases together or conjoin their work in order for their relationship to be worth something. It is worth it for them to be together because it encourages some kind of inner balance within them and between them, as people. They enjoy collaborating but that is by no means the basis of their love (and, incidentally, I think that a lot of, if not most, detective series romances fail this basic test of "would they have fallen in love if they were accountants who met on a dating app." Peter and Harriet definitely would have- would, say, Albert Campion and Amanda Fitton have? I do NOT think so).

And here's the thing- another reason why Byatt's quote above is so off-putting is that it makes it clear that not only in the text but on a meta level, the purpose of the relationships is to prove a Point. I found Roland and Maud to have zero chemistry, and honestly I was expecting them to get together 3/4 of the way through and split up at the end when it turned out they had nothing in common- it seemed like that kind of book. I was kind of stunned when they only got together at the end in an "it's meant to be" way because nothing about it seemed meant to be. They were stuck together by that one thing and they each apparently needed the relationship for some kind of self-actualization or historical rhyming or other. (Whatever I say about Ash and LaMotte... at least they seemed to like each other!)

Peter and Harriet... they get together because they love each other. Do they change over the course of Gaudy Night, and over the course of the other books they share together? Of course they do. But if it makes sense, I'll put it this way- Harriet doesn't accept Peter's proposal as proof that she got over her hangups, Harriet gets over her hangups so that she can accept Peter's proposal. Her hangups only matter because they were keeping her from this particular kind of happiness- she was a fully actualized person even with them. She is a person who does things for human reasons so that she can build a mutually happy life with the person she loves, not a little plot mannequin being moved around in order to tell the author's desired Message. People can say what they want about Gaudy Night and its flaws, but despite the intricacies of its construction, nobody can call the characters' actions and motivations anything but brutally human.

Whether within their universes or on a meta level, the books have SUCH different things to say about the value and nature of love, the place of and purpose of sex, the place of art and intellectual accomplishment in relationships, all of the above in the context of femininity… and I can't help but feel that each time, Gaudy Night wins the contest. It's possible I'm missing something major about Possession, and maybe sometime I'll post the rest of my notes about the things I disliked and people can tell me what I'm wrong about- but if nothing else it made me appreciate Gaudy Night even more, so for that I'm grateful.

[monkee-mobile]

my headcanons… oughh… most of my monkees headcanons are just about them being domestic and snuggling and stuff and that’s too much for tumblr i fear… they’re a family… and they love each other very much…. and take care of each other…… oughhhh monkees….

[tenwhiteandalusians]

pertaining to the idea of tenax’s band of strays i do think it’s touching that the kids are the ones who saved him and waited outside the door to make sure he’s okay. for all tenax claims to be harsh and cruel it’s a fine indicator of his character that the kids won’t rest without him and are there every time he’s in danger.

[asyipyip]

hold on everyone shut up im getting super emotional about jonathan sims

[archiebaldo1414]

Research has begun for the lighthouse fic and I forgot how fun it is to learn about something I actually…want to learn about

Like I watched the first documentary last night and it’s was such a good time!! And I took notes!! And it wasn’t about the diseases that are eating my body so I enjoyed it!!!

[softblesses]

Part 3.

The rhythmic knock at the door meant only one thing… Mozzie had arrived to drop some essentials from Neal’s apartment off at the Burke residence. El went to the door, not surprised to greet a masked up Mozzie, who was holding a box of things in his hands. 

“I can’t stay for long,” he announced, walking in and taking one look at Neal. “You look terrible. Here’s your things!” He set the box down by the coffee table, before taking five, large steps back. 

“Thank you, Mozzie. Neal appreciates you coming.” El stepped in before Neal could retort back at the comment on his appearance, and goes to look through the box for him. She stopped as her hands grasped something, and opened up a glasses case. 

“Are these yours, Mozzie?” El asked, turning to see that their visitor was already lingering by the door. 

“Oh! You’ve unlocked another Neal secret! Good luck, see you when the plague passes!” He smiled, giving a wave, before opening the door and promptly leaving; all before Peter can even come back from where he’d been making more tea in the kitchen. 

Elizabeth just about managed to bid Mozzie ‘goodbye,’ before taking the glasses over to Neal. “Neal Caffrey wears glasses, huh?” She smiled, turning as her husband’s footsteps sounded behind her. 

“. . . You’re wearing your smart undercover disguise?” Peter hummed, carefully handing him his tea, “Did Mozzie rope you into something? El? Are they scheming? Sick people can’t scheme, y’know.”

“You don’t know everything about me, Peter Burke.” Neal muttered in a raspy voice — it sounded like he was about to lose any voice he had left. And, with that, he leaned against his cushion and closed his eyes. 

“That was uncomfortably ominous,” Peter muttered, before turning to kiss his wife. “I’ll see you soon, I’ll stop by the pharmacy and the store to get more supplies.”

“Okay, Hon. I’ll hold down the fort — me and Satch. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Later that day, after Peter had gotten back with supplies from the pharmacy, things seemed to settle a little. El was in the kitchen, making vegetable soup, and Peter was looking over case files at the table. Neal was propped up on the couch, holding the portable nebuliser to his face with one hand, and doodling in a notebook with the other. He seemed content, and the coughing fits had somewhat subsided since earlier on. Drawing helped calm him, gave him something to focus on that wasn’t the aches and pains or tickle in his throat. Peter was just thankful that he was staying put, and doing so quietly… Well, for the most part. 

‘hu—ggGKKch. . . kkcHew.’ Shortly followed by a small coughing fit. Peter looked over, with no doubt that Neal’s throat had taken a hit from that. 

Peter stood, momentarily going to the kitchen, before walking over to Neal. Now, he didn’t know how else to make him feel physically better; they’d made him tea, soup, gotten him an array of medicines. But, maybe he could make him feel a little more content, at least. Whenever Peter was sick, he’d watch old baseball games and wear comfortable clothing. He doubted Neal would like that very much, but it’s all he could think of. So, he took a seat beside Neal, watching as he moved his legs for him. 

“It’s alright, stretch out. May I?” He gestured to the remote, very much wanting to sanitize it before picking it up, but deciding not to offend Neal just yet. 

Neal was hesitant, but he stretched out his legs a little more, but eventually rested them atop of Peter’s thighs. He didn’t seem to mind. He nodded at the request for the remote — he’d barely been paying attention to the random show on the screen anyway. He placed the nebuliser mask back upon his face, and leaned back a little.  

“Is that helping?” The agent asked, turning to face him again. 

Neal nodded. Neal without a voice was much more unsettling than Peter thought it would be. “Good, good… do you need anything?” He asked next, still looking at him. 

A shake of his head this time. He hated not being able to talk, but after the amount of times he’d tried to in the past few hours and caused himself to cough, for once he was happy to stay quiet. He was grateful, at least, that Peter wasn’t teasing him about it anymore. It was only a moment until El brought in the tea Peter had requested she make for Neal — extra honey for his throat. He watched as the CI turned off the nebuliser, placed it down and took the tea. He tapped his chin afterwards with the tips of his fingers, before moving his hand towards her almost as if blowing a kiss, and Peter frowned. 

“You’re welcome, sweetie.” El smiled, glancing at her confused husband with a soft chuckle. “Sign language, hon. I had a client last year whose son was deaf — learned a little.” She walked back into the kitchen where soup was simmering away, leaving the pair together on the couch again. 

“Gonna put on a classic,” Peter assured, turning the TV onto a channel that primarily showed old baseball game reruns, delighted as he saw a personal favorite of his that they were just beginning.

“My classics and your classics are two different things,” Neal whispered, sipping at his tea. 

“Yeah, maybe. But give it a shot—maybe you’ll change your tune.”

He, in fact, did not change his tune in the slightest in the next 20 minutes, slumped over against the couch, bored out of his mind so much that it felt like his brain was melting.

“Okay, maybe this isn’t your kind of classic,” Peter admitted, receiving an exasperated eye roll in response to communicate the age-old sentiment of “ya think?” or perhaps even a “no shit, Sherlock.”

“Well… what do you usually binge when you’re sick?” 

That earned a small shrug from Neal. “I don’t,” he eventually whispered, surpassing a cough that was threatening to hurt his throat again. “I just… sleep.” He attempted to continue, but was quickly beaten by a fit of coughing. 

“Alright, no more talking — here.” Peter reached for the nebuliser, turning it on and holding it out for Neal. Maybe he needed to find him a notebook or something similar to write in whenever he had to talk, or he’d end up not being able to speak for days to come. 

Somehow, the coughing led to sneezing, and all Peter could do was awkwardly wait for him to be finished. It didn’t take a genius to see that he was miserable… nor would it need to take an FBI Agent and a very expert caretaker to realize either, because the look on the CI’s face was quite the sight as Peter held out a tissue box toward him. Neal nodded in thanks and blew his nose softly.

Poor guy. Peter got up and sifted through some drawers in his desk, until he returned with a simple, medium-sized navy blue notebook and a black ballpoint pen. “Want to try writing things down for a while since your throat’s too roughed up to talk?” he suggested, holding the items out to him.

Neal raised an eyebrow in hesitation, but relented since it did seem like the best solution and honestly sounded sort of fun anyways. After a few moments of writing, he turned the open page to Peter to show him the elegant, cursive calligraphy, lavished with grand swirls, that read: “[Sure.]”

“Drama king,” Peter scoffed with an amused huff.

Pen returned to paper and scratched softly against it, until a message in an even more intricate script was finished: “[Correct.]” He flashed his handler a winning smile—or, as that handler might interpret it, a shit-eating grin.

“Soup’s ready, Neal,” Elizabeth announced as she brought the meal from the kitchen and set it down on the coffee table, “try to eat as much as you can stomach, okay? Some nutrients and fluids will be good for you.”

Perking up immediately, since her cooking was frankly phenomenal, Neal put his notebook aside for a moment to try a few spoonfuls, savoring the tides of flavors. Then, he wrote, “[Delicious as always, El. You’re the best.]” The notebook was set on the table once more so his hands were free to form a heart. El returned both the gesture and the smile.

“You’re still flipping through channels, Hon?” Elizabeth asked, glancing over at the TV.

“Yeah, well, Neal’s not really a baseball guy—” Peter began.

“Ooh, shocking,” she teased fondly.

“Hey, to me, it is,” he defended, matching her playful tone. “But, yeah, I think we’re both kinda stumped about what to put on.”

“Ooh, let’s seeeee…” Elizabeth hummed, drumming her fingers against the counter in thought. “Oh, how about something like The Princess Bride? I feel like you’d like that movie, Neal.”

“[Haven’t seen that in a while. Sounds good!]” Neal wrote after mulling it over for a moment.

“Works for me,” Peter chimed in, hands raised slightly in surrender as the other two turned their gazes towards him for confirmation.

“Sounds like a plan then,” El announced, starting to search up the movie on the TV.

It was a rather peaceful, cozy atmosphere: hot homemade soup, warm tea with honey, a comfortable couch with a soft blanket, caring friends, and a nice little fantasy comedy with a compelling romance. Their small little corner of the world was only interrupted by the buzzing of a phone, soon followed by Peter having to stand and take the call. Neal’s frown clearly stated that he had indeed ruined that cozy atmosphere they had going on. 

“How’re you feeling, Neal?” El asked gently, ruffling his hair a little as she came to sit down next to him on the couch.

“Lil—” Neal rasped quietly, clearing his throat and coughing wetly a few times into his fist. “Lil better.”

“You don’t really sound it,” she chuckled, “but I’m glad to hear it!”

“I thingk the—” he tried to continue, but his poor voice gave out again, breaking pitifully. After coughing again, he wrote, “[Warm soup & steam’s helping w/ congestion & throat.]”

“Mission accomplished then,” she hummed contentedly. 

“Hh-hehh…”

“Aw, bless!” Elizabeth chirped preemptively.

“Hihhh… hehh!! Hhhihhh! Ihdktschhhhiew!!” After a few seconds of being teased by the sensation waxing and waning, he was able to sneeze—and quite dramatically, to be frank. Not only did it send him doubling over into an open tissue held in both hands, but that sudden motion was enough to knock his glasses off of his face aaaand into his bowl of soup below. Oops. Hearing the clink! and splish! sounds of glasses frame meeting ceramic and homemade soup splashing, he kept his eyes shut for a moment, too embarrassed to meet Elizabeth’s gaze.

“Are you okay?” El giggled.

“Depends,” Neal replied hoarsely, clearing his throat twice and writing down, “[Physically?]” followed by a checkmark. Underneath, he wrote “[My pride?]” followed by an ‘x’ that was then underlined at least five times.

“Awww, it’s okay, dear. Silly moments like this happen sometimes! One of my first events I worked at, I managed to knock over an entire champagne tower. Only reason I didn’t get fired was because it’s Burke Events.”

Neal’s demeanor relaxed and softened, an amused glint in his eyes. “[That definitely sounds like a memorable experience.]”

“Trust me, it was,” El confirmed. “I don’t think I’ll forget it for the rest of my life, though that’s not necessarily a bad thing. I learned to be very vigilant of the physical space at an event. There’s a lot of things that are breathtakingly beautiful, but also very fragile.”

Neal nodded back at her, scrawling something down on the paper. “[Like art!]” he turned the notebook around, just as Peter re-entered the living room, pocketing his cellphone as he did so. 

“Like the art you steal, y’mean?” He questioned jokingly, waiting for Neal to reply with… “[Allegedly.]” 

“That was Diana — there’s been a development in the case,” he explained, taking a seat inbetween Neal and Elizabeth. Neal nudged him with his elbow. 

“And, they need you back at the office?” Elizabeth guessed, from how her husband was acting hesitant all of a sudden. 

He nodded, scratching at the back of his neck; a sheepish sort of guilty look on his face. 

“It’s okay, go get dressed; I’m fine down here.” She smiled, gesturing towards Neal. 

“Fine. But, I’ll try make it quick. I’m sure they can continue without me after and —“

Neal finished scrawling something down, and held it up so that Peter could see. [go get the bad guys. Elizabeth is better in the doctor compartment. No offence. :-)’

His handler chuckled at that, moving to stand. “None taken… you’re right.” He leaned to kiss El’s forehead, before making his way towards the stairs and up to their bedroom. 

•••

“Honey, we’ll be fine. Go. Or you’ll burn a hole in the floor from pacing so much.” Elizabeth stood from her place on the couch, and walked over to her husband. 

“Are y’sure? I can work from here — I can ask Diana to bring some files and —“

“Peter, please go,” a scratchy tone came from underneath the little blanket pile that was Neal Caffrey. “You’re doing the over worrying thing.” 

El reached up on her tiptoes to kiss her husband on the forehead, before straightening up his tie. “We’ll be fine, I promise. I have some work to do, and I’m sure Neal has some napping to do, too.” She chuckled slightly, envisioning the frown from behind her right now. 

“Alright,” Peter eventually muttered, shuffling his feet and fidgeting slightly with his hands. “If you’re sure.” He leans to kiss Elizabeth on the cheek, and then once on the lips just for good measure. 

“I love you,”

“I love you too,” she hummed. “Now, go. Before we make you watch sappy romcoms on TV.” Elizabeth grinned as he kissed her, and made his way to the door. 

She turned to Neal afterward, a hand upon her hip, “I hope that’s okay with you — I mean, you can’t really beat them when you’re sick.” A frown crossed her features as she noticed him rubbing his temples, before trying to sniffle. He sounded uncomfortably stuffed up. 

“Hey, how about I steam the bathroom for you first? You can have a bath, if you want. I’ll set you out some clean clothes.. might help your voice feel even better, but I still don’t think you should talk too much.”

He smiled up at her, giving a small nod. She was right — it would probably help his voice, his throat and his sinuses. And, god knows he needed that right now. 

•••

Elizabeth stood outside of the bathroom door, the sound of the water from the bath she’d drawn up for Neal almost an hour ago finally rinsing away. “You okay, in there?” She called softly, waiting for a moment and busying herself with putting away some laundry whilst Neal blew his nose. 

Upon returning, a freshly bathed Neal wearing Peter’s plaid pyjamas (the ones he’s forced to wear at Christmas with her family, usually) was standing in the doorway before her. 

“Oh, good,” El hummed with a small smile, “I was starting to get a little worried about you.”

“‘Starting to?’” Neal teased, giving her a doubtful yet amused look; both Burkes had been watching over him like mother hens since the moment he first got fairly sick. “Yeah, I’m good, I just was enjoying the…” He trailed off as a prickling sensation in his sinuses caused his eyes to unfocus and his breath to stutter in his chest. After a hesitant sniffle, the feeling intensified and sent him pitching forward into his—or, well, Peter’s—sleeve. “Hihhh… hhKTSCHH!”

“Bless you!”

“Ugh, thanks,” Neal replied, still sniffling a bit. “But, yeah, I was enjoying the steam. It really helps to loosen everything up a bit,” he continued with a sheepish gesture to his face.

“Oh, I can tell, sweetie,” Elizabeth dismissed with a slight chuckle. “Happy to hear it though. Your voice sounds a little better too!”

“It’s… audible at least,” Neal decided hesitantly, only half in agreement, with an amused huff.

“C’mon downstairs, and I’ll get you some DayQuil and a fresh box of tissues. I think you might be needing both.” She smiled, gesturing for him to lead the way. 

It took almost an hour for the DayQuil to set in, and by now Neal was sat with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders on the couch; his eyes half closed, and the tickle in his nose by no means extinguished. In fact, it might’ve even gotten worse. 

The sound of a liquid sniffle came, before he managed to untangle his arm from the blanket just in time to (a little haphazardly) cover his face with his sleeve again. 

“HhHh’tTshhOo! … nghhhh. Snfff.”

“Bless you,” El murmured softly beside him, her gaze concentrated on the notebook she’d been hitting things down in for the past twenty minutes or so. 

She glanced up for a moment, a sympathetic crease in her brow. “You okay, honey?” El hummed, putting her notebook down for a moment, to reach over and feel his forehead — he looked a little flushed, and was clinging to the blanket a little harder than earlier. 

“Yeah, m’just… cold,” Neal mumbled under his breath, a shiver running down his spine as if to validate his words.

“No, you’re pretty warm,” Elizabeth corrected gently. “Fever probably went up again.”

“I think you’re right…”

“When aren’t I?” she joked with a slight shrug.

“… Y’know, I’ll have to get back to you on that,” Neal replied with a grin. Jokes aside, there honestly weren’t many examples that could come to mind, which was impressive. To be fair, his mind was somewhat foggy with fever, but still. Impressive.

“Are you up for checking in on that temperature of yours again?” she offered, already standing up. Receiving a nod in confirmation, she left to grab the thermometer.

A couple of minutes later, she returned, hearing a few coughs from the other room on her way back. “Here,” she hummed, holding out the thermometer.

Neal took it with a slightly shaking hand, tucking the metallic end underneath his tongue.

“Oh, Neal… you’re shaking,” Elizabeth fretted as he shivered again. She reached out to steady his hand with her own, murmuring a soft, “Here, give me.”

Neal only sniffled and let her take the thermometer, glad to be able to envelop himself more fully in his fluffy blanket. Then, more sniffles followed as that passive irritation that had been lingering near constantly in the upper reaches of his nasal passages began to burn a little more actively, like tinder catching a spark. He scrunched up his nose against the brewing itch, but that only seemed to fan the flame. 

“Ihhhh…?”

“Awh, do you have to sneeze again?” El asked with a slight chuckle. The only response she received was a dazed nod and another ticklish stutter of breath. “Do you want me to take the thermometer out for a sec?” She hesitated to believe him when he shook his head, since the way he pressed his knuckles firmly up against his reddened nostrils was not exactly very convincing. Nevertheless, she relented. 

Every second felt practically like a full minute to Neal, his poor sinuses aching with need. He blinked against the sensation, irritated tears welling in his crystal blue eyes.

“Should be almost done, Neal,” Elizabeth reassured, a small smile of amusement still tugging at the corner of her lips. “Let me know if you need me to take it out. It’s really no trouble.”

Stubbornly, Neal shook his head again in dismissal despite the way his eyebrows drew together in a twitchy sort of unsteadiness. Even though his damp eyelashes fluttered shut, he switched to pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger in, frankly, foolish hopes of quelling the prickling tickles that ravaged it.

“Allllllmost there. Should be any second now,” Elizabeth reminded.

Unfortunately, Neal had run out of seconds to spare, and his flu-ridden nostrils flared impatiently, refusing to keep teetering on the precipice any longer. Regardless of his best attempts to keep his poor nose in check, that extraordinarily fragile semblance of control he had barely managed to hold over himself shattered. He sucked in a small, shaky gasp and any pretense of being able to delay the reflex any longer went out the window.

“H-hiehh—! HH’gkkt!” Well, at least he managed to stifle that one quite effectively. He tightened his grip on his nose to prepare for the next sneeze he could feel following close behind. Once the dam was broken, it was nigh impossible to stop the flood.

“Oh, bless you,” Elizabeth offered with sugary sympathy dripping from her voice. 

Neal nodded in thanks before his features crumbled once more. “Ihh’kXXT!” While he succeeded in containing that sneeze as well—unsatisfying, to say the least, doing nothing to alleviate his discomfort—he had a bad feeling that his body wouldn’t allow him to do so again, rebelling against him in search of the much-needed relief he had been denying it. “… Hh… mhhh… hhgk—!” He tried to suppress the risky breaths that his lungs shuddered with, but they grew awfully desperate, and he couldn’t help but—

Beep!

Oh, thank fucking God. Neal’s nose took the beep of the thermometer as permission to let loose entirely, forcing him to suck in an urgent, shivering breath and pitch forward with a fit of overwhelming sneezes. “HehHhHHT—! EHHDKTSHh’uhh!!”

The sudden jerk of movement downwards was more than enough to knock the thermometer out of Elizabeth’s hand and onto his lap. In fact, now that he was sneezing unrestrained—whether he liked it or not—said hand was not safe from being misted slightly with the faint spray that escaped him. Luckily, he was able to bury his face into the crook of his arm before the vast majority of his fit over took him.

“Hah-aahdtschhh! Shit, I’m so s—IHDTSCHhh! —kDTSH! —ihpstch! —ihdtsch! So sorry, I-I—huhhh’KDTSCHhh!”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to apologize,” El insisted gently, a little surprised but mostly unfazed—she had a feeling this might happen. She placed the thermometer down on the table so it wouldn’t end up falling off his lap onto the floor. “You didn’t mean to. Just let it out, sweetie.”

“S-stihhhll—” Neal tried to protest, heart sinking in embarrassment and guilt. “Eihh’kHPTSCH! —IHTSCH! —tschh’ah! Ohgod— EHptschhh’huu!”

“Bless, my goodness. Making up for lost time, I see,” Elizabeth teased.

“Ahh-hahhpparently— IHHGKTSCHh! Ugh… h-huhh… hiiih…! EH’kDTSCHhh!!… Nguhhh…” Sniffling thickly in the aftermath, Neal plucked several tissues—only one would be nowhere near enough—and blew his nose into them.

“Bless you. You okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah, m’fine, sndff. Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be.”

“What’s it say?” Neal asked, still tending to his running nose.

“102.3,” Elizabeth announced, worry clear in her voice. “No wonder you’ve been feeling so cold.”

“Yeahh, that sounds about right,” Neal sighed with a clear of his throat. He wrapped himself up more thoroughly in the blanket once more now that he had stopped sneezing.

“Just rest for now and take it easy. You’re gonna feel better soon,” El assured with a click of her tongue.

After a little while, Neal’s eyes were finally beginning to grow heavy with the warmth of the blanket over his body, the TV playing an old crime drama on a low volume, and the scratch of El’s pen on paper as she jotted down notes for work. He was almost asleep… in fact, he’d love to be asleep right now. But, his body had other ideas, clearly. 

“Hhih’tschhh! —Ihdtschh! —kTSCHH!” He just about managed to haphazardly cover into what may have been his arm… or the blanket. Or both? He just wanted a nap. 

“Bless yoooh-hh-hih!” Elizabeth trailed off into sudden, soft hitches, before ducking forward into cupped hands with a sneeze of her own. “Ih’tschieww!” She blinked in surprise and rubbed at her nose to rid it of any residual tickles. “… And me too, apparently,” she joked with a small chuckle.

“Oh, I’m… sorry. You catchin’ this too?” Neal asked with a guilty pout and concern glittering in his eyes.

“No, no, I feel fine, sweetie,” El reassured, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Sometimes other people sneezing just tricks my body into joining in, I guess. Trust me, I know how it feels when that happens.”

“Mmmm… okay, if you’re sure,” Neal conceded hesitantly, still looking her over with a wary gaze in case somehow it would reveal her health. “That’s a fun party trick,” he teased with a playful grin.

“Not really,” she giggled, “it’s just a weird thing that happens sometimes.”

“Should I try to not trigger it or…?”

“Oh, no, it’s not a big deal, Neal. It’s just a sneeze here or there, maybe two. It’s nothing to worry about, I promise.”

“Okay. But you’ll tell me if you do start feeling sick though, right?” Neal’s brow was still furrowed, which was shortly followed by a scrunch of his nose; he could already feel his own tickle starting to return, and no matter how much he scrunched or willed it to leave him alone… swiped his knuckles underneath his nose, and sniffled? It just wasn’t going to work. 

“Of course.” Elizabeth’s audible promise drew him out of focusing on his temporary plight, but the lapse in concentration was apparently all his nose needed to act. 

“Hehh! Hihhh’ktschhh!—eh’tISCHH!”

“Hihhh…”

“Hedt’kschhh!”

“Ishhhiew!”

“‘M sorry.” Neal’s voice was muffled by the tissue held as firmly against his nose as his fatigued self could manage, and his watery eyes were also full of guilt. 

“Honey, I told you it’s completely fine. I’m completely fine. Here, look—” With that, she grabbed the thermometer and placed it under her tongue, folding her arms and fixing Neal with an intent look to verify that he was watching her be proven right.

“S-sorry, I think I got one or two more left in m-me,” Neal warned as his head tipped back slightly and his eyelashes fluttered shut once more before his lips parted with a wavering breath. “Hhihh—! Ihdktschh!… Hhkt’tshhh!… Ugh, there we go.” Sniffling, he looked back at her and froze when he saw what she was doing.

After a second or two passed, the thermometer beeped, and Elizabeth brought it up to her eyes to inspect. “Yeah, see? 98.5°! Hell, that’s even a tenth of a degree less than average. I have a negative fever, if anything.”

“El…” Neal sighed simply with a knowing, sympathetic pout etched into his features.

“Hm?” El hummed before her smile drained from her face.  “Oh… I… didn’t clean this…” El murmured slowly through a wincing grimace.

“Nope.”

“… After you used it…”

“Nope.”

“… Did I?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“… Well… shit.”

“Yeahhh,” Neal confirmed with a hissing inhale through his teeth and a few small nods.

“I’ll be right back,” Elizabeth muttered quickly before bolting out of the room without another word.

“Where are y—?” Neal tried to call after her, realizing halfway through that he wouldn’t get a response and giving up. “Okay, never mind, I guess,” he mumbled under his breath, resigning himself to wait for her to return.

His confused frown only deepened as he heard the thundering thuds of footsteps sprinting up the stairs and across the room above him. Then… the sound of a sink running briefly?

Although he wanted to keep listening for signs of what she ran off to do, his attention was demanded elsewhere as his lungs informed him rather cruelly that they didn’t exactly appreciate all the energy-consuming sneezing fits he had, unraveling him into a seemingly never-ending string of coughs so intense that he had to use the nebulizer again.

Ever the punctual man, Peter managed to arrive home with perfectly terrible timing, opening the door to find Neal alternating between hacking his lungs out and taking hits from his nebulizer. A concerned pout flooded his features as he shut the door behind him. Before he could even say anything or move to sit next to his partner in crime(-stopping), his partner in life came hastily running to the top of the stairs holding a bottle of mouthwash with a panicked look on her face.

“Oh, honey, you’re back!” Elizabeth exclaimed, a little out-of-breath. “You got it handled in here with Neal?” she asked.

“Uh, I… guess so?” Peter faltered in confusion.

“Great! I’ll join you guys soon,” she promised, immediately followed by taking a swig of mouthwash that she swished back and forth in her mouth as she ran back out of view, assumedly to spit it out in the bathroom sink.

“… What the fuck happened while I was gone?” Peter asked, almost unsure if he wanted to know the answer. Regardless, he sat down next to Neal on the couch and rubbed soothing circles into his CI’s back as the poor guy struggled to stop coughing.

Once he finally caught his breath, Neal clarified, “It’s fine, just, um. Elizabeth wanted to prove that she wasn’t sick, so she took her temperature with the thermometer I just used. Didn’t realize for a second, trying to disinfect her mouth now I guess.”

Honestly, not the answer he was expecting… although, Peter wasn’t really sure what he was expecting. But, he did know that Neal’s breathing sounded a lot more uncomfortable after that coughing fit, and he was worried about him. Again. 

“Hey, maybe you should use this for a little longer. Don’t give me that look, you sound like you smoke cigarettes on the daily, Neal.” Peter muttered, still holding out the nebuliser towards him, before his attention was momentarily diverted to his wife coming back down the stairs. 

“Sorry about that,” she chuckled sheepishly. “How’d working on the case go? Everything okay?”

“We made some plans, put out some hooks and bait. Just gotta wait and see if we get a bite.”

She turned to Neal after that, a sympathetic pout worn on her face. “Hey, Sneezy.” El teased a little, earning a smile from behind the nebuliser mask. 

“Hi, Sneezy by proxy.” He mumbled, voice a little shot from all that had been happening. 

“Touché,” El hummed with a chuckle, sitting next to her husband on the couch. “I’ll go look for the cough syrup for you… and, prep soup for dinner. Why don’t you lie down, sweetie?”

“I’m good, I’ve been sleeping 12 hours a day or more lately, I really don’t think I need to…” Neal trailed off with an ill-timed yawn into his hand that he couldn’t quite fend off. Before either Burke could comment on it, which they seemed damn ready to based on the way they were trying to pretend that they weren’t grinning or snickering a little, he backpedaled, albeit with an accusatory finger pointed at Elizabeth preemptively. “All right, fine, I’ll lay down for a little bit after downing some cough syrup. But you better wake me for dinner, okay?”

“Oookay, okay. You got it,” El chuckled, putting her hands up in mock surrender. As Neal started coughing and wheezing a bit more heavily again, her smile drained into a sympathetic frown. “Keep that thing on at least until we get that cough syrup in you, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Neal sighed, placing the nebuliser back up to his mouth and pausing for a moment… leaning against Peter’s shoulder with a small huff. Peter wrapped an arm around him, giving his shoulder a little pat. 

“Neal, you gotta sit up for me. Cough syrup!” Elizabeth turned the bottle to read the label. “It’s cherry flavour. Is that okay?”

“I guess,” he murmured, removing the nebuliser and switching it off, making himself sit with a grunt of effort. 

Elizabeth poured some into the cap, carefully handing it to him… only for Neal to just, wordlessly hand it back again. 

“I’m fine, actually. I think I’ll stick with this.” He held up the nebuliser, scrunching his nose at the liquid medicine. Liquid medicine is the worst. 

Peter turned to Neal, thinking for a moment. “I’ll take you to any art museum in the city, even if it’s outside your radius. If — if you take any meds El brings you.”

The offer was clearly too good to even try and negotiate with, as Neal reached for the medicine cap and downed it in one… trying hard not to gag afterwards. He fell sideways after that, landing against Peter’s side with a soft ‘oof’ as the older man steadied him, wrapping an arm around his side. 

It wasn’t surprising to either El or Peter that Neal fell asleep shortly afterwards; his congested snores background noise, as the couple quietly whispered conversation together about what to do next.

What Safe Feels Like.

This fic has been a long time in the making! I have partnered with the talented bean, @rosieknows to create a lovely W/hite Co/llar, N/eal C/affrey centric fic for the winter season <3. The events that take place consist of our favourite conman getting lots of tender care at the B/urke's residence.

Part 1.

Word Count: Just under 5k.

CW: illness, snz (duh), contagion, a little later on in the fic. A tiny bit of mess, medical talk/topics.

Don't reblog to non-kink blogs. 18+ only, thank you! <33

Earlier in the week, Peter Burke had told Neal Caffrey to start wearing a coat outdoors — “weather’s changing,” he’d said, “you’ll catch a cold!” And, obviously, Neal had informed him that fact was merely a myth. Besides, the autumn sun was still shining two days ago and he was only walking a short way to the coffee shop and back. How bad could it really be…?

Perhaps the universe picked favourites that day, and, for once, Neal’s charm couldn’t save him. It could have been much worse, certainly, but as much as Neal tried to focus his mind on that belief, he couldn’t quite get himself to fully deny that it was very, very bad. 

It was as if the second he’d gotten far enough away from the bureau, the heavens had opened above him and soaked him from head to toe before he’d even arrived at the coffee shop door. Which, by the way, was closed for the first time ever. And, so, Neal had to hurry across the street to another. The icing on top of the cake, though, was the taxi that drove through a puddle and splashed him when he finally reached the other side. 

To say Peter got amusement out of all of this later on would’ve been an understatement. 

Neal had been forced to wear some ancient-looking FBI training clothes for the rest of the day, and the scowl on his face didn’t falter for quite some time. He had eventually dried off and warmed up — Peter even started to feel a little bad, and gave him his suit jacket as a blanket at one point. When the day ended, the sun was shining and Neal felt right as rain again. Although, the same couldn’t be said for the morning two days later.

The first sensation that struck him was how utterly cold he felt, even wrapped up in his own bed and blankets, which he sleepily pulled tighter around himself. Perhaps the fickle autumn weather had turned for the worse during the night as it was so prone to do. The next feeling he was able to process was pure weariness like gravity had decided to be particularly insistent that his limbs stay firmly on the bed and lashed out in punishment when they did attempt to move. Perhaps he hadn’t slept well or had worked himself harder the previous day than he realized.

The third — or, well, the third, fourth, fifth, and so on for quite a few — sensations Neal felt were the nail in the proverbial coffin. An urgent, almost burning tickle budded in his upper sinuses, causing him to blink in irritation. Soon enough, the itch found its way to spread through the entire reaches of his nose. His eyebrows knitted together in slants, his breath caught in his throat, and his soft lips fell open before —

“Hihh! Hehhdtschh’uh! Hahh… hiht-ktschhh—tschhh!… Ugh, god,” he sneezed, ducking forward sleepily into his blanket since he had neither the time nor alertness to cover with anything else. Sighing in a mixture of relief and dread, he came to the conclusion that he was likely getting sick. Maybe if he was tired enough, felt cold enough, and pouted long enough, the cold would just take pity on him and leave. Unfortunately, to no one’s surprise, he still felt sick, which meant it was time for Plan B: work through it because it was a busy week and hope it didn’t get any worse. And, most importantly, hide it from Peter. 

The warm shower seemed to help a little, but it didn’t take long for the aches to start creeping back in and for his sinuses to grow irritated again. Once he was dressed, with his hair styled and shoes tied. . . Neal was ready. Ready as he’d ever be, at least. Besides, he felt fine, for the most part. Downing some water should help his throat, and a couple of Tylenol should stave off the headache that he could feel brewing behind his eyes. Peter should be here any minute to pick him up, and Neal placed his hat — one of his favourites, both for comfort and in the hopes that looking well-dressed or put together enough would dissuade any suspicion — upon his head with a sigh. He can do this. 

“Morning, Neal,” Peter greeted in his usual tone, toying with the heating in the car. “‘S cold out. I told you the seasons were changing!”

“Morning,” Neal muttered, climbing into the car and buckling up. “Y’know, you really missed your true calling as a weather boy.”

“That’s funny,” Peter remarked back, beginning to drive now. “But, I think my assets are best settled within the FBI. Criminals are more predictable than the weather if you know what you’re doing.” He chuckled to himself. 

Neal stared out of the window at the passing cars and orange and yellow leaves on the trees that rolled by. He was still tired and quieter than usual, Peter noted mentally, watching him unbeknownst to the criminal consultant himself, who was still focused on their outdoor surroundings. He gave a slow blink, directing his attention to the heating that was uncomfortably too warm all of a sudden. Pushing the vent closed, he glanced sideways. 

“What?”

“Nothing. You’re just quiet, that’s all. Quiet usually means up to something.”

“I can be quiet. It’s early. I thought you liked quiet, anyway,” Neal retorted, shifting slightly in his seat. He couldn’t get comfortable despite moving, crossing and uncrossing his legs. 

The rest of the journey was left without questions, and they made it to the parking garage without any more issues. Neal got out of the car, rubbing at his nose whilst Peter couldn’t see him. He paused. This really wasn’t the time, but he’d have to play it off somehow because this discomfort wasn’t going to let up. Reaching down for the leg of his trousers, Neal stifled a well-silenced sneeze.

“Are you coming?” Peter called out, and as Neal raised his head again, he sniffled. 

“Patience is a virtue, Peter! My anklet was stuck in my trouser leg. Appearance matters, you know.” 

“Everyone here knows you’ve got the ankle jewellery, Caffrey. I’m sure you wouldn’t cause mass hysteria with a flash of your leg.”

“You’d be surprised,” Neal grinned mischievously, keeping up with Peter as they made their way toward the elevator. 

The agent only rolled his eyes in response and pressed the button for the elevator, still none the wiser. For now. Neal had let Peter step in first, scrunching up his nose behind him, and then —  somehow and with great difficulty — he managed to resist the urge to sniffle the entire way up to their floor. When the elevator dinged to a stop and Neal exited it, he was immediately hit by everything all at once: the brightness of the lighting, the overlap of voices, and the general sounds of the morning bustle. Usually, it was like white noise to him, but today it hurt his head, and the lighting did nothing to relieve the itch in his sinuses.

He pressed his wrist against his nose, haphazardly managing to prevent another sneeze before he followed quickly behind Peter. “I’ll be right there! Just grabbing something from my desk,” Neal called across the bullpen, ducking down behind his desk as if he were looking for something. 

But, instead. . . “Hh—ushcht!” He buried his face into the crook of his elbow, frozen for a moment longer. “Hheh—htchht!”  Followed by a series of long sniffles.

“Lost something, Caffrey?” Diana’s voice interrupted his small recovery period, and Neal flinched so hard in surprise that he bumped his head underneath his desk with a small thud. Damn it. He paused for just a second before swiping a pen from his pocket. Then, he stood up straight again, flashing the pen in her general direction, with a scowl crossing his features. 

“Dropped my pen. Not a crime, last time I checked,” he muttered, placing it safely back into his pocket. After straightening his hat, Neal moved past her to get to the conference room. 

Peter looked up at the sound of footsteps and silently wondered what Diana had said to the CI to make him look so disgruntled. “Nice of you to finally join us,” he dared to jest, waiting for Neal and Diana to sit before starting his talk for the day; they had to find a new case, as well as complete the paperwork from their last one. Of course, Neal wasn’t exactly amused by the briefing topic. Yet, he didn’t seem to audibly complain for nearly as long as he usually did. Huh. 

Neal simply took the selection of case files that Peter slid towards him across the tabletop and found the one that he had to finish up. He opened the file slowly, tapping his pen against his forehead. He stared at the page for so long that he barely noticed Peter watching him from across the room. 

“Neal. . . You good?” His voice snapped the CI from his daze, who was quick to shake himself out of it and flash a signature smile the agent’s way. 

“Always. You know how much I love paperwork!” Neal responded, sarcasm evident in his tone. 

“Wonderful, you’ll have plenty to enjoy,” Peter retorted with a dry smirk, placing another file in front of his partner. “Focus up; we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“How do you sound so happy when you say that?” the younger man groaned, leaning back in his chair with folded arms.

Still, focusing was easier said than done in this situation. Despite his best attempt at listening attentively, his mind felt fuzzy. Additionally, his nose still itched, causing him to scrunch it up slightly. He rubbed at it with the back of his hand in what he hoped was a casual gesture. Unfortunately, the touch seemed to be ineffective at best and intensifying at worst. Either way, he quickly tipped past the point of no return and crumbled forward into his fist with a sneeze, stifled into near silence as usual.

“Hihh—kKTtsh!” After a few blinks, he dared to peek at his coworkers’ reactions, hoping that the others had been as distracted as he was himself. For a moment, he thought he was lucky enough.

“Bless you, Caffrey,” rang a deep, feminine voice. Damn it. Diana was perceptive even in the most hectic of times, so it was only natural that she would notice a disturbance — slight as it was — during a particularly slow and dull meeting.

“Thanks,” Neal muttered softly, if a bit shyly. He saw Peter’s gaze flick to Diana and back at him. Clearing his throat, he examined the documents in front of him intently to prompt the continuation of the meeting.

Peter continued to talk about the writing they had to do, but Neal stopped listening some time ago and was mostly focused on trying not to sneeze again. He glanced at his handler every now and then to keep up the facade that he was listening, and turned a few pages of the file in front of him. As soon as Peter had finished talking and a small hubbub started up, Neal saw his chance, standing up and using the file as a shield to hide his face. 

‘HnnKxt. . Heh’ngxt.’  Well, at least he’d gotten away with that one. 

He even almost made it to the door without anyone saying anything about it until Peter spoke up from behind him. “You going somewhere?” He questioned, and Neal stopped. So close. 

“To my desk…?” Neal replied, thankful for the fact that his voice barely sounded congested for the moment. “You can’t deny that I’ll get distracted in here.”

Peter frowned slightly before nodding. “Alright, but don’t try and get out of this.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Neal murmured, hurrying to his desk; his nose was beginning to run, and he didn’t exactly want anyone to witness that. He pressed his silk handkerchief to his nose after sitting down, keeping his head held low and sniffling quietly. He went to the men’s room a minute later, waiting until it was empty so that he could blow his nose and splash some cold water on his face. This was going to be a damn long day. 

He kept a low profile for as long as possible, dismissing Peter’s questions when he’d come over to see how he was doing and sneaking off to the men’s room whenever he could; by lunchtime, the congestion was worsening, and he had to keep sniffling to stop his nose from running too much. He barely even noticed Diana wandering over. 

“Caffrey?” Her voice made him flinch slightly in surprise, but he managed to pull it off as a stretching motion. 

Neal glanced up, blinking a few times. “Hm?”

“You’ve usually begged Peter five times to go on a coffee run by now… it’s already lunchtime.” Her eyebrows raised. “What gives?”

The CI shrugged, turning back to his papers and picking up his pen. He’d barely done anything yet, but he needed to keep up appearances. 

“So, are you gonna go get some?”

“Huh?” Neal just really wanted her to go away because he wasn’t really listening, and his head was starting to ache. 

“The coffee — Neal, are you okay?”

He plastered on a signature smile, hopping up to his feet. “I’m just messing with you, Diana. The usual drinks?” Neal asked, reaching for his coat on the back of his chair. 

He made his way to the doors, turning when Diana called his name again. “Caffrey, do you want a sandwich? From that place down the block? Jones is buying!” 

“No, thanks! I’ll get something at the coffee place.” Neal called back, only somewhat lying. He was getting something, and that something was coffee. Or maybe tea, actually. 

•••

He was gone for slightly longer than usual, but nobody was going to question it. Neal ensured it didn’t take too long, however, or Peter would start to get antsy and probably call or text him a few times. He got everyone’s drinks and opted for green tea for himself — he could feel the buzzing in his sinuses worsening, not to mention the congestion was starting to properly settle in and clog up his nose now. Going outside hadn't exactly made it any better, either, and he was sniffling in the elevator the entire way up. 

He carried the drinks into the conference room, setting them down on the table and exhaling slowly through his mouth as he stepped away.  Nobody seemed to pay much attention to him — they were all busy eating their food, and Neal had to stop himself from audibly gagging. Did he really feel that bad all of a sudden? His hand reached forward to grab his cup whilst everyone else began helping themselves to their drinks. It wasn’t until he took a sip that he realised he hadn’t taken his own cup at all, and from Peter’s confused expression, he’d gotten the tea. 

“Neal…” his voice started, and the CI wasn’t quite sure what would come next, so he butted in with a quick, haphazard excuse. 

“Hey! You said it yourself, the weather’s changing. Tea will do you good.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed slightly, but the little white lie seemed to satisfy him for now, and everyone got back to what they were doing. To keep up appearances, he sipped the coffee for a while, trying to ignore the way it made his stomach turn. After around five minutes, he snuck out of the door and headed back to sit at his desk; if anyone were to question it, he’d make up the same excuse about needing to concentrate. The coffee was thrown into the trash the second he sat down, and a heavy sigh came afterwards. 

•••

“God damn it,” Peter grumbled under his breath as he looked around the office. “Diana, Jones, have you seen Caffrey anywhere? It doesn’t look like he’s even so much as glanced at any of his work today.”

“Not in a while, no,” Jones answered, looking behind him to verify the absence, though if the CI had simply been standing in the middle of that open hallway, he probably would have been noticed by now. “He seemed kind of tired, though. Maybe he went home early?”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. Something feels off. I don’t think he’s just slacking off again,” Peter dismissed, forehead wrinkled in those signature frown lines and lips pressed firmly together in a mixture of concern and disapproval.

“Peter, your blood pressure’s high enough as it is,” Diana deadpanned, earning an offended head tilt from the man in question. “Go back to what you were doing; I’ll find your missing dog,” she reassured, already standing up without waiting for a response.

“I… all right. Thanks, let me know if you find him,” Peter relented.

“You gonna put up fliers?” Jones joked with an entertained smirk as he watched Diana beginning to leave.

“Nah, not yet. If I don’t see him, I think I’ll start with treats to draw him out. Maybe a nice Bordeaux,” she quipped in turn with a thoughtful expression. The clicks of her heels against the firm carpet seemed to echo more than usual as if the room felt emptier and quieter somehow. Though she tried to play it off, she had to admit to herself that she was worried; she’d felt that sour twist in her gut far too many times in her work and personal life to ignore it. She hoped he was all right, particularly since he wasn’t responding to texts or calls, and that she’d be able to find him soon if not.

It took less than 15 minutes, not due to any detective skills as an FBI agent either. While the office was large, it didn’t really take long to traverse, especially if you were familiar with it enough to avoid getting lost. Besides, the floor plan was quite open, and the majority of rooms had large glass panel windows, so they were easy to check. It was an older conference room, though, one without any indoor-facing windows or glass doors, where she found him.

“You good, Caffrey?” Diana asked, the light from the open door illuminating the scene before her just enough to see the CI in question asleep, lying on his back in the centre of the long, rectangular table. Seemingly, to cushion the otherwise flat, hard surface, he had rolled his suit jacket into a makeshift pillow to rest his head on. “Caffrey,” she called again.

“Hmmn?” Neal hummed groggily, stirring at the sudden noise. “‘M sorry… ‘s still on…” he mumbled almost entirely incoherently, fumbling around to pull his left pant leg up enough to reveal his anklet.

“Neal, you’re dreaming,” she offered in a gentler tone, heart twisting in concern. Fortunately, that seemed to bring him past the threshold into the waking world.

“Oh, hey, Diana,” he muttered, rubbing at his bleary eyes and blinking them open.

“We were looking for you,” she began, finally flicking on the ceiling lights of the room. “Are you—”

The sudden influx of light directly above him sparked a buzzing sensation deep in his sinuses that caused him to immediately crumple forward into his elbow. “Ehdt-ktschhh! H-huhh… ihdtsch! Heh’tischhh—dtschhh! Ugh…” Sniffling pitifully, he sat up properly and got off the table.

“Jesus. Bless you?” Diana said, scanning him over with her eyes.

“Thangks. Sorry, it’s, uh, the lights,” he replied sheepishly with another wet sniffle.

After a moment, she pulled out a travel pack of tissues from her pocket and handed them over to her coworker with a soft “here.” He flashed her a grateful smile and blew his nose quietly. “You, uh… get too tired to head home?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“You could say that, I guess,” he muttered in embarrassment before the next words caught in his throat, sending him coughing into the tissues in his hand.

“You know you could just go home sick, right?” Diana prompted with folded arms.

“Yeah, sure, if I was sick, but I’m not, and we have work to do. Just needed to rest my head for a minute,” he insisted with his usual winning smile, though it didn’t quite seem to reach his eyes as much as it typically did.

“World’s greatest conman’s off his game, huh?” Diana prompted, folding her arms. “Do you really think that sounds believable?”

His lips opened with a lie about his health on his tongue, but he sighed in defeat instead. “It wasn’t that bad earlier, but it kinda just hit me all at once… sorry for disappearing out of nowhere.”

Diana hummed in acknowledgement before asking, “You have a fever?”

“Uh… probably a mild one? I’m not 100% sure,” he replied, touching his hand to his forehead and neck despite knowing it would be a fruitless examination.

“All right, c’mere,” she beckoned, though she closed most of the gap herself and began to feel his forehead for fever with the front and back of her palm. 

“Heh-hh…” Neal’s breath caught softly, blinking before pressing his knuckles up against his nose.

“If you sneeze on me, I swear to god,” she warned.

“Hh-huhhh… hh!!” The pressure was quite clearly not enough to suppress the reflex any longer, so he turned as far away from her as he could—her taking a step back was likely still a wonderful decision—and ducked into the crook of his arm. “Hihhtschh! Huhhhhkdtsch! Ugh…”

“Bless you.”

“Thangks,” he replied, swiping a tissue under his running nose again and discarding it in a nearby trash can. “So, what’s my prognosis, Doc?”

“You feel warm.”

“If your career in the FBI doesn’t work out, you should really think about going into the medical field.” Neal sniffled, scrunching his nose in a poor attempt to stop it from running. 

“Watch it, Caffrey. One doctor in the house is enough already—not that it would take years of medical training to know you need to go home and rest.” Diana pointed a finger at him, spending a moment assessing the situation. “Don’t move. I’ll be back.” With that, she simply turned around and left.

“Okay? I-I thought we both wanted me to go home right now? Diana?” The confused, half-hearted reply was not granted the slightest form of acknowledgement, except for the door closing behind his coworker.

Neal blinked slowly, unsure of what to do for a moment, before hopping down from the table and, noting how horrible standing up felt, taking refuge in one of the spinny chairs. She said to wait, so… something in him took the instruction to heart. Still, he was impatient to the very end and soon curled up in the chair for comfort, eyes blinking slowly and heavily, and maybe just having them shut for a moment would be nice—

“Did you fall back asleep again?” 

The rhetorical question was from Diana, he was pretty sure, but he only really registered the presence of the words, not processing much else. Regardless, it quickly roused him from his short-lived respite of slumber, prompting him to sit up straight and rub at his drowsy eyes.

“Hmmn?” Neal mumbled with a small yawn, “Um, I might have dozed off a little?” He took another second to think about it. “Probably, yeah.”

“No shit,” Diana monotoned.

“Sleeping on the job, eh, Caffrey?” Peter teased.

“I doubt he’s been getting much work done with whatever plague he picked up from cold and flu season,” Diana shot back.

“Hey, I’m right here, you know?” Neal pouted. “It’s just a little cold, I’m fine.”

“If this is just something little, then I’d hate to see you with a full-blown flu,” Diana muttered, looking from Neal and then to Peter. “Peter’s taking you home.” She added, watching as her Boss’ expression turned to one of confusion. 

“I am?” A pause. A ‘look’ from Diana. “I. . . Am.” He looked at Neal, properly looked this time. He did look pretty awful, and it was doubtful even the best of con men could manage to hide whatever it was he’d managed to hide up until now; his nose was red, he looked exhausted, and his cheeks were starting to flush. Not to mention how uncharacteristically unkempt he was looking. 

“C’mon, Neal.” Peter stepped forward, holding out his hand.

It took them both a lot longer than usual to get downstairs and into the parking garage because a feverish Neal had decided to press multiple elevator buttons at once… and then tried to get into the wrong car once they finally did arrive, but they were eventually buckled in and ready to go. 

“Never a dull day with Neal Caffrey around, huh?” Peter muttered, mostly to himself, as he started up the car engine. 

“Never a dull… day with P’ter Burke… and his car..” Neal mumbled, sniffling and leaning to toy with the radio. 

“Hey, no touching. Sit back and don’t meddle.” He began to drive towards the exit, ensuring to press the child lock button. Just in case. 

No sooner than they were out of the building and driving into the sunshine, Neal shielded his eyes with his wrist and groaned. 

‘Nnn’gxChht… xXchhht—oo.’ He sneezed into the wrist previously used to try and hide his eyes and sniffled thickly. 

“Gesundheit,” Peter muttered, already stopping in a slight queue of traffic. 

Neal didn’t answer, leaning his head against the window with a heavy sigh. Now that he was caught, he couldn’t pretend he was fine, and he hated the sense of looking… weak. Especially to Peter, which was a whole thing to analyse in itself. He just wanted to be alone, but he couldn’t now, and Elizabeth certainly wasn’t going to let him. Of course, he was grateful to have people in his life who cared about him like that, but it was new and it was different, and Neal Caffrey liked it when things went his way. 

“You know you’re allowed to call in sick, right?” Peter spoke up again as the traffic started to move. 

“You’re allowed to call in sick.” Neal sniffled, still leaning his head against the window. 

There was a pause whilst Peter thought about Neal’s behaviour throughout the day. He was pretty good at hiding things. But… 

“Did you even eat anything today?”

“Mhm.”

“And, I’m guessing the tea you brought me was not for me…?”

“Wow, real FBI agent over here,” Neal grumbled, lifting his head slightly to glance at Peter, only to be once again blindsided by the sun. 

His handler sighed as they stopped at another red light. “There’s sunglasses in the dash,” Peter said after a moment, “they’re El’s. Blue eyes are more sensitive, right?” He questioned, watching Neal shrug out of the corner of his eye. The CI placed them on, seemingly relaxing a little more. 

“Thanks,” Neal mumbled, leaning back against the seat and closing his eyes. 

As Peter started driving again, he knew he wasn’t going to take Neal back to June’s. He’d only hide himself away and pretend everything was fine — while making himself worse in the process. Nope. Neal Caffrey was about to experience Elizabeth Burke’s expert bedside manner and Peter’s on-point tea-making skills. 

•••

“Honey, is that you?” Elizabeth’s voice rang out from the kitchen, “You’re home early; it’s only three o’clock! Is everything—” The footsteps came to an abrupt halt as she joined the pair in the living room. “— oh.” The moment she laid eyes on Neal, she immediately understood why her husband had come home so soon. 

Peter gave a sort of glance towards her that clearly said, “Help me,” and El chuckled softly. She pointed at Peter before leaning in to kiss his cheek. “You, kitchen. And you,” she paused to tap Neal’s chest with her index finger. “Upstairs. Let’s get you something comfortable to wear.”

He just sort of looked at her, crystal blue eyes a little glazed over. “Hi, Elizabeth. Peter’s supposed to take me home, but he took a wrong turn,” Neal mumbled, watching his handler walk away. 

“I think he took a very well-planned turn. Come on, honey, upstairs.” She ushered him towards the staircase, following behind. “You go to the bathroom to blow your nose, and I’ll get you some clothes. Neal, don’t give me that look. You sound terrible, and you can’t pretend you don’t.” Elizabeth sighed, reaching to help him with his suit jacket. “All that sniffling will give you a headache,” she chided gently. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

She fetched some of Peter’s pyjamas, a blue plaid set he only tended to wear during particularly cold weather, and placed them outside the bathroom door. “I’m going to get you some blankets for the couch, okay? I’ll be downstairs; the clothes are right here. Neal?” Elizabeth frowned, reaching to tap against the bathroom door, awaiting an answer. 

“Mhm,” came the stuffy, sleepy reply. 

It wasn’t long before the CI was curled up on the Burkes’ couch, wrapped in blankets and resting his head against a pillow. He looked exhausted and much more dishevelled than Neal Caffrey would ever dream of looking in front of someone else. Both El and Peter stood by, watching as their house guest snored and exhaled congested breaths; he’d fallen asleep just minutes after resting his head down. Turns out that masking your symptoms all day was pretty tiring work. 

“You can’t deny that he looks adorable like that,” El whispered, resting her head against her husband’s arm. 

“Looks can be deceiving,” Peter muttered back quietly, wrapping an arm around her waist. He sighed.