#unfortunately laughing turned into coughing

[hakxs]

͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ⎯‎⎯‎ㅤ ㅤ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ HIGHER ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ TIMES.͏ ㅤ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ \

ཻ ﹑ ♥︎ ⌉ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ 2 instances where nat let her guard down around you, in the form of a cigarette and a few lingering touches.

ཻ ﹑ 📝 ⌉ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏dusted off this draft in my notes and got to work :—) as always, mistakes might be here cause I didn’t double check the writing ( whoops! )

you and nat always had this weird tension towards eachother, it was hard to name. not sure if it was easier to ignore it or let the feeling die.

it all started when you took a drag of her cigarette at one of lotties celebration parties after the yellowjackets won a game.

a few minutes ago, nat had spotted you inside in the kitchen. you looked a little uncomfortable because you were just sulking in the corner without a cup watching a bunch of people drink. so, nat grabbed you by the arm and dragged you out here without saying much of anything.

you had been sitting there with her on the poach stairs for a minute and the situation was awkward. not sure if you wanted to thank her for saving your ass, or, if you wanted to go back inside to get away from this situation.

she suddenly shuffled beside you. and pulled a cigarette from the pack tucked into her jacket and lit it with ease. you must’ve been staring at her too hard because she raised an eyebrow and held it out to you. “ do you wanna try? “

nodding, nat gives you the cigarette. watching you take your first blow. it obviously wasn’t perfect, she giggled at how you inhaled the smoke and choked on it, coughing up a storm.

“ don’t inhale it, idiot. breathe out. “ she snaps, her thumb brushing against your bottom lip in a quick motion as she snatches the cigarette from your mouth and wears a big grin, “ watch after me. “ nat says as she takes a puff, blowing it off to the side and handing it back to you.

if you weren’t already embarrassed, you definitely are now. but you swallow your pride, holding the cigarette in your hand.“ alright, watch this. “ you say, determined to not choke on your own smoke.

once you got the hang of it you two were sharing the cigarette and tossing it back and forth to eachother — smiling ear to ear as you both talk about nothing and everything, you and nat were already close because you shared classes together and played on the same team, so the both of you were just catching up. after awhile the topic eventually lands on the current and how you both felt about the party.

“ i dunno. ” you said, exhaling a trail of smoke, “ I don’t exactly love these parties. they’re always loud, full of weird people, sweaty .. kind of... exhausting? too? “ your voice cracks, nose scrunching a little.

for a moment, your focus shifts. the music thumps in the background, too loud. you think. but your little bubble that consists of just you and nat on the steps was just right. nat’s coughing cuts through your thoughts and brings you back to the moment.

“ okay so, “ nat fiddles with the cigarette inbetween her pointer and middle finger, “ you seriously came to a party you didn’t want to go to in the first place? ” she asks, wheezing a little as she begins to laugh at you.

you grin, leaning back as you examine her face. “ I didn’t want to be mean to lottie and turn the invitation down, I know parties mean the world to her after big games. “ you pause, “ even laura lee comes to them sometimes! I’d feel like a loser if I didn’t go. “

“ right, like you aren’t already one. ” nat hands the cigarette back to you after she rolls her eyes, making you smile alot harder than you were — nat’s fingers brush against yours a little longer than necessary. or maybe you imagined it? hard to tell with the way your thoughts are starting to drift.

unfortunately, your thoughts were cut short when the front door behind you suddenly flew open, the loud creak making you flinch.

“ hey, nat! we’re playing beer pong inside, get in on this. “ some guy shouts from the doorway. nat looked over at you, getting up from her position as the guy wanders back inside, leaving the door open.

she looks down at you now, leaning on the railing of the stairs. “ come with me? I promise I’ll be with you the whole time. “ nat starts, crossing her arms loosely over her chest. “ it’ll be a bunch of fun, even if you just watch. “ muttering out, nat gives you a reassuring smile.

you could hear the faint sound of music drifting out from the house, rolling your eyes at how enthusiastic everyone inside was, but the way she looked at you made it harder to say no.

“ no, yeah– I’ll go with you! “ you speak up, cutting off her nervous rambling, you flick the cigarette off to the side and nat reached out a hand to help you up from the stairs and you took it. her grip on you was stronger than you expected as she wrapped an arm around your shoulders and the two of you headed inside.

after this night, nat was alot more talkative towards you — definitely not full conversations, but brief greetings if she saw you around school.

the second time you talked to her, this building feeling felt unbearable .

you were at practice this time, it felt like it was going on forever. however, much to your relief coach ben called a quick intermission to talk through a few future game plans with jackie, the team was free for a moment.

you wondered off and looked for nat like it was second instinct, spotting her across the field, you walked towards her.

she was sitting on the ground by herself, absentmindedly picking at the grass around her as you squat down next to her and sat down, she was sitting with her legs extended out.

abruptly, nat breaks through the silence; “ you ever think about quitting? “ nat asked, you couldn’t tell if she was serious or completely honest.

“ hummmm.. “ you start, dragging your humming out for a second, “ quitting the team? “

there was a quiet moment that passed by, she only looked up at the sky before she spoke up again. “ partially. “ she finally said after a long pause, “ quitting the team, leaving wiskayok, do you ever think there’s something better we could be doing right now? “

you glanced over at her, watching the way the sunlight lingered on her face, perfectly hitting the curve of her jaw. “ uh, sometimes I think about leaving the state, does that count? “ you admitted. “ but then I’d miss this. ”

you definitely didn’t mean to admit that to her, but nat immediately caught on and turned her head to the side to look at you, like, really look at you. “ .. this? “ nat questioned.

“ yeah,” you said, pausing to think about how you could save yourself. “ i like practice. seeing everyone happy, playing around, it’s nice. “

she gave a lazy nod, not responding for a moment. the silence wasn’t uncomfortable at all; it just felt heavy in a weird way. nat started to fidget with the grass again, looking down at the ground.

“ you remember that party? ” she asked after a while, not looking at you, moving her legs to hug them. laying her head on her knees.

“ lotties last party? ” you ask, laced with confusion. how could you forget it? you went home that night and thought about her the whole time, you've been thinking about her smoking with you again in the back of your mind during your classes every so often.

“ mmh. “ she hums in response.

you smiled. “ it was hard to forget. you made my night uhh.. “ you trail off, “ bearable. “ settling on that, your sentence sounding unfinished. you really wanted to say she made your entire night and leave it at that, but you fought the urge.

“ okay well.. you looked so sad just standing inside in the corner! I had to save you. ” nat explained, then she spoke up once again. “ it was fun. being out there with you.” she whispered, the mood suddenly changing — or maybe it was just you again? imagining it like before? just like how she brushed your fingers at the party? but nat kept talking.

“ and you fuckin’ suck at beer pong, had to save your ass a billion times. “ you both laugh, but she cuts it short and starts to murmur again, “ I don’t usually have that much fun at parties, so thanks. “

you stared down at your shoes, unsure what to say for a moment. “ I had alot of fun too, even though I didn’t want to be there. “ you comment, lightening the mood a bit.

nat chuckled, but the moment was cut short after a whistle was blown from across the field, coach ben calling everyone back to the center.

nat stood up quickly, brushing grass off her shorts. then, without hesitation, she offered her hand to you. you took it.

“ alright loser, let’s get our head in the game. “ her fingers intertwined with yours for a second — not by accident. you were sure of it this time. she held your gaze just a little too long before letting go, smiling in that subtle way of hers.

and this time, you knew you weren’t imagining things.

[honeyvettel]

43. fake dating | pecco/alex; crack treated seriously, bisexual disaster pecco bagnaia, set in 2025.; [3/3] (part two here)

the restaurant is all polished glass and dim golden lighting. pecco stands outside for a full minute, staring at his reflection in the window—shirt collar slightly rumpled from the jacket, hair doing that unfortunate curl it gets when he’s nervous. a car door suddenly slams behind his shoulder, and pecco turns, hastily. alex is striding toward him, dressed in a black button-down slightly wrinkled; his hair’s a little damp and he is adjusting his watch on the wrist. “you’re late,” pecco says flatly, because he needs something that isn’t you look annoyingly good right now. alex barely glances at the time. “fashionably late,” he bites back with a grin. pecco rolls his eyes so hard that he’s pretty sure they’re stuck at the back of his head now. he shifts his weight, glancing at the glowing entrance to the restaurant. through the glass, he can already see his old classmates laughing and hugging each other. “listen, we need to go over the story,” he says, a little urgently. “they’ll ask. hell, alessandro will probably ask. i tried to make a timeline that makes sense but i—” alex cuts him off by placing a hand on his shoulder. it’s casual, but warm, reassuring. “relax,” he breathes. “don’t need to overthink it. if you do, they’ll know something’s off.” pecco exhales, tries to keep at bay the stubborn beatings of his heart. “okay. but be convincing. and for the love of god, don’t start a debate about anything. please.” alex half-laughs, reaching to straighten his shirt collar. “no catalan pride speeches. claro.”

as soon as they step inside, a few heads turn. alessandro, naturally, is the first to stand to greet them. “so this is him, uh?” he says, not even bothering with pleasantries, dragging his eyes up and down alex’s form. alex immediately extends a hand, all smooth charm and mock-courtesy. “hi. alex. pleasure to meet you,” he cheers, with that spanish tilt to his vowels just thick enough to sound foreign and deliberate. there’s a brief pause where pecco watches as alessandro size alex up, like he’s waiting for the punchline to come. hus breath catches somewhere between his chest and his throat, until alessandro finally shakes alex’s hand. “didn’t know you had a thing for spaniards, bagnaia,” he smirks. pecco opens his mouth to say something, brows knitting, but alex beats him to it. “yeah, well,” he chuckles, flashing a look at pecco that’s just the right amount of playful and possessive, “turns out he’s got excellent taste.” 

they sit at the far end of the table, across from laura, who hugs pecco tight like it hasn’t been ten years since graduation, kisses his cheek, and tells him he looks “just the same, only more tired.” she introduces her boyfriend, a bulky guy with a handshake like a hydraulic press, and pecco nods politely, his brain too buzzed to actually register the name. alex slides in beside him a beat later, knocking his knuckles lightly against his thigh as he sits. it’s not long before the first course arrives; tiny plates with unnecessarily elegant arrangements of what looks like citrus-marinated sea bass. pecco stares down at the fish like it might judge him back. his fork clinks against the porcelain as he tries to focus on the plate, but his eyes keep flickering sideways to the brush of alex’s arm against his on the table, the not-quite-accidental press of a sneaker nudging his leather shoe. “so,” laura leans in, chin cradled in her hand. “what do you do, alex?” alex sips his wine, unhurried, then drapes an arm lazily along the back of pecco’s chair. “i’m a mechanic,” he says, smooth and effortless. “in pecco’s garage.” there’s a long stretch of silence where pecco almost chokes around his food. from the other side of the table, martina’s eyebrows shoot up, claps her hands together. “oh my god. that’s so hot. like, pit crew romance? are you kidding me?” pecco coughs. “he mostly handles the rear setup,” he mutters into his glass, fish stubbornly sticking against his palate. alex flashes him a grin that’s all teeth and zero innocence. “only when he lets me. very particular, your guy.” pecco actually kicks him under the table at that, but no one notices and alex just shifts a little closer, like he likes being within striking distance. for one long, unbearable second pecco is convinced alex is about to kiss him, right here, in front of everyone. “okay, but who did the first move?” laura breaks the spell, now suddenly intrigued. pecco’s ears burn before the heat even reaches his cheeks. he sets his fork down, neat and careful. “i did,” he says, voice strangely steady. “i, uh… crashed. nothing serious. stupid, really. but it messed with my head. i stayed overnight in the garage, trying to figure out what went wrong.” suddenly, his mind floods with scratched memories, things he thought he couldn’t even remember; him and alex, sixteen, pacing the paddock after hours, the sky velvet-black above them. he swallows. “he was still there,” pecco adds, glancing briefly at alex. “fixing the bike. not fixing, because you can’t, whatever, but— checking. i didn’t know what to say, but i was tired, and he looked like he hadn’t slept either, so i made coffee. thought i’d offer him some.” he remembers inviting alex back to his motorhome without really thinking about it, sitting side by side on the small couch, playing his old game boy and downing lukewarm red bulls. “and well…” he shrugs, cutting his fish into clean little bites just to keep his hands moving, “he took it.” a ripple of laughter goes around the table—warm and genuine. laura clasps her hands under her chin. “god, that’s actually kind of sweet.” “yeah,” pecco manages. he wants to say it’s not. that it’s not even real. that all he knows about alex marquez is that he is shitty at playing pokemon and he loves his brother more than anything holy on this planet. and that’s it.  but then alex’s hand slides over his knuckles, squeezes just enough to feel like something true. “he didn’t say it was awful,” he adds lightly, eyes still on his wine glass. “a little burnt. no sugar. but i appreciated the effort, you know.” that gets a louder laugh, echoing off the walls. pecco swallows, and doesn’t say anything at all.

he stands on the curb with his hands buried deep in his coat pockets; the distant traffic hums low beneath the rustle of leaves, streetlights twinkling between the branches. pecco has missed this—the hum of his city, his language in the mouths of strangers. alex stands beside him, absorbed in his phone. “that went surprisingly well,” he murmurs after a beat. “honestly, i thought we were going to mess it up halfway through.” alex smirks. “honestly, i didn’t think we could pull it off. me and you? ah.” he makes a little explosion gesture with his hand. “i expected at least one wine-fueled disaster or emotional breakdown. maybe two.” pecco hums, a dry little noise of agreement. he glances at alex, the sharp slope of his nose, the tousled hair curling slightly from the humidity. he looked perfect all night, like he actually belonged there. “last week,” he says suddenly, almost before he’s decided to. “you said i don’t like you.” alex looks up from his phone at that. his expression doesn’t shift much—just a slow blink, a slight tip of his head. “that’s not true,” pecco says, shifting on his feet. his hands flex inside his coat like they’re looking for something to hold. “you are—fun to be around.” alex lets out a short, soft laugh. “well, thanks for the heads-up,” he says, teasing. “i’ll remember that next time we crash into each other.” “alex,” pecco cuts in, firmer now. “you know i don’t mean half the things i say to the press. they twist it. i don’t—” “you don’t what?” pecco looks at him; the way the light from the streetlamp shadows the edges of his cheekbones. the small scar just under his eye. the soft lift of his mouth even when he’s pretending not to smile. “i don’t hate you,” he says, plainly, and something gives out in his chest. alex steps in, close enough that pecco can feel the body heat radiating off him. their shoes nearly touch. “you’re fine,” he says softly. “it was a joke. and you’re not so bad yourself.” he shrugs, like he’s not even sure why he’s saying this. “everyone would be lucky to be your real boyfriend.” pecco just stares down at the pavement, can feel the heat creeping up on his neck. he wants to believe it—even if it’s coming from someone he barely knows. maybe especially because of that. “for the pretend,” pecco adds. “and for not… making it harder than it already is.” alex studies him a moment, then flashes a smile—smaller than usual, more careful.  “anytime,” he says. “but next time, maybe something less exhausting. i don’t know. bowling? a funeral?” pecco laughs, the sound slipping out before he can stop it. the wind stirs around them, tugging at his coat. “come on,” alex says, nodding toward the street. “let’s get out of here before you start saying more nice things. i’m not built for that much sincerity in one night.” pecco rolls his eyes, but he follows, diligently. when alex’s hand brushes against his in the dark—knuckles, nothing more—he lets it happen.

[faunandfloraas]

Trying to lay down and go to sleep but my cat just genuinely quacked like a duck that it started me and it was so funny, I've never heard anything like that

[rainydayathogwarts]

Low waisted jeans - Remus Lupin

summary: you don't realise you have bruises on your hips when putting on low waisted jeans, and your brother becomes protective over you. cw: allusions to sex, secret relationship, jily part of my remus x potter!reader secret relationship au! This is set before james finds out. read more on my marauders masterlist! 0.6k+ wc

"You're going to make us late y/n!" Marlene yells, Lily chuckling by her side as they wait for you to get ready. It wasn't your fault that you were still in class, and definitely not your fault that everyone had made Hogsmeade plans whilst you were in said class. You heard the door to the dorm open and slam shut, three extra voices added to the commotion in the room. You run around the bathroom, throwing off your tie and running your hands over your slightly crinkled shirt, hoping the outfit you picked out matched the image you'd created for it in your head. Kicking off your skirt, you shimmy on a pair of low waisted jeans. You pull the material of your shirt up, wondering if you should tuck it in or not before deciding against it.

Shrugging, you open the door to the bathroom, closing the closet door after stuffing your school shoes in its bottom compartment. You sit on the floor, putting on your sneakers and tying your laces. You glance at the boys who have joined your dorm mates in the room. James, your brother, sits with an arm wrapped around Lily's shoulder, whispering something into her ear. You pull a disgusted face, turning your attention to the others. Remus catches your eye and smiles widely, which you immediately return. Oh, the things you would do to stroll up and kiss him, but unfortunately, all that would do is expose your relationship to your brother. You push yourself off the ground, your shirt riding up your torso a little, and you walk into the open space of the room, putting your sun glasses on your head. "Okay I'm ready." You announce, attracting five pairs of eyes.

Sirius is the first to make a comment, asking "What counter did you have a fight with?" The comment confuses you, and you pull a face at the boy. "He means, how come you have bruises on your hips?" Marlene corrects, clearing her throat awkwardly. You glance down, view of your hips obstructed by your breasts. Huffing, you turn towards the mirror, jaw dropping just as James says "I think what they both mean is which boy fucked you so hard you have bruises on your hips?" You grimace at your brother's rephrasing, looking at the expression on his face through the mirror while Sirius barks out a laugh. James's jaw is tightly clenched, eyebrows furrowed angrily and you laugh nervously, watching as he slowly stands up. You definitely didn't think about the after effects of Remus having you bent over your desk yesterday, a hand slapped over your mouth despite the dorm's emptiness. At least the sex was good. Regaining your composure with a cough, you say "My sex life is none of your business, James."

James crosses his arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes at you. "What, you don't think an older brother should care about their sister's romantic involvement with boys?" You grin, putting your arm through the handle of your purse. "No." You walk towards him, poking him in the chest. "And three minutes doesn't count as older." You open the door to your dorm, saying "After you, princess." Marlene and Sirius burst into a fit of giggles, and you can see Lily and Remus's unhidden grins from the corner of your eye. Three people stand up, following your brother out of the dorm, but one person stays behind, letting you close the door before approaching you.

Remus's hands land on your hips, massaging the bruises sorry with a small smile on his face. "I'm sorry about those sweetheart." He says, pecking your lips sorry. You hum, opening the door again, and shooing him out. "I think that smile says otherwise, Lupin. Causing me trouble with my brother..." He laughs at your comment, chasing after the others before you attempt a weak attack at him.

[mangooes]

Sleepwear Crisis

It started with a simple suggestion.

"Sylus, you need new sleepwear."

And it ended with Sylus standing in the middle of a luxury boutique, arms crossed, lips curved into a knowing smirk, while his wife aggressively flipped through racks of pajamas.

"Sweetie," Sylus drawled lazily, watching her with amusement, "I already told you, there’s no point. They’ll just get ripped again."

She turned to glare at him. "And whose fault is that?!"

His crimson eyes gleamed mischievously. "Yours, obviously."

She gasped, scandalized. "Excuse me?"

Sylus chuckled, stepping closer, voice dropping into that teasing purr that always made her toes curl. "Kitten, let’s not pretend here. Every time I wear a shirt to bed, you somehow find a way to get me out of it."

She huffed, rolling her eyes. "That is completely untrue—"

"Oh?" Sylus raised a brow, smirking. "Shall I recount the incidents?"

He held up one finger. "The first set got ripped because you decided my buttons were too annoying and just—" he made a dramatic tearing motion, "—handled the problem yourself."

She coughed. "That was one time."

"Then, the second time," Sylus continued, holding up another finger, "you got ‘too warm’ and used me as a personal cooling device, pulling my shirt off in your sleep."

She pursed her lips. "Listen—"

"And let’s not forget the last one," he smirked, leaning down so his lips brushed against her ear, voice wickedly smug, teasing, "Where you got frustrated mid-kiss and literally clawed it off me."

(Name) turned completely red.

"SO!" she clapped her hands together loudly, turning back to the clothing racks with extreme determination. "Matching pajamas it is!"

Sylus threw his head back and laughed. "You’re just ignoring me now?"

"Yes."

She yanked a pair of soft, red-maroon silk pajamas from the rack and shoved them into his arms. "These. No complaints."

Sylus arched a brow, unfolding them. "A button-up again? We both know how that’s going to end, sweetie."

(Name) huffed. "Fine." She grabbed another set—this time, a plain black tee with matching pants. "This then."

Sylus smirked. "Mmm, better. But what’s this about ‘matching’ pajamas?"

She grinned, holding up a soft crimson set for herself. "You heard me, mister. We’re getting couple pajamas. You’re not getting out of this one."

Sylus chuckled, draping an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "I would never dream of escaping, kitten."

Then he glanced at the shelf nearby and spotted something that made his grin turn downright wicked.

"Matching slippers too?" he asked innocently, holding up a pair of absurdly fluffy, pastel animal-shaped slippers. One was a tiny donkey. The other was a tiny dragon.

She gasped. "YES! WE NEED THEM! wait are you calling me a donkey???"

Sylus snorted. "Glad you see the resemblance sweetie. My donkey."

"You’re ridiculous."

"And you love it."

She sighed dramatically "Unfortunately, yes."

Sylus chuckled in response, leaning in, pressing a kiss to her temple.

And that was how Sylus—one of the most wanted criminal, feared bosses in the N109 Zone.

Ended up walking out of a luxury store carrying couple pajamas and ridiculously fluffy slippers, all because his mischievous wife demanded it.

Or yet maybe sylus, sleeping shirtless might be the better option.

hEYY i'm back! And i'm on schedule i think, if i can revise another fic tonight i might post another one later! :)) anyways i HC that mc would be involved in sylus's sleepwear always being torned LMAOO

[lowkeyren]

NOT EVERYONE KNOWS!

in which — being in a secret relationship with them but they’re all idiots

featuring — dan feng, blade, jing yuan (separately) x gn!reader

wc: total 2.6k, from event req: here!, debut fic for my milestone event yippee, they keep fumbling but it’s ok cus they’re hot, reblogs w comments are appreciated, please enjoy!! <3

#DAN FENG

+ wait… since when are you guys married?!

dan feng? i just know he’s gonna mess this shit up so badly. he’s the high elder, but also the epitome of boyfailure. he really can’t help it, those terms of endearment just slip out so easily when you're by his side.

and it doesn’t stop there. he’s completely oblivious to the shocked silence and wide-eyed stares from others; for example, he might be holding your hand absentmindedly while discussing serious matters, and only snaps back to reality when you cough awkwardly.

but unfortunately, it’s not that simple when the gang (re: high cloud quintet) find out about your relationship. disclaimer: chaos ensues

dan feng immediately sits up upon seeing you enter the room, a fresh batch of tea brewing in hand. the discussion among the group gradually fades into the background as his eyes trail your figure while you carefully pour tea into each person’s teacup.

the piquant aroma fills his senses, and he can’t stop a small smile from creeping across his face when you take a seat next to him. he takes a sip, the delicate flavor enveloping his taste buds, leaving behind a delightful aftertaste that lingers long after the tea is swallowed. 

“—thus we require a substantial amount of time, speaking of which, anything on your end dan feng?” 

he finds himself watching you out of the corner of his eye. “imbibitor lunae…?” and it’s almost impossible for him to tear his gaze away from you. 

“hello? dan feng?” he snaps back to reality, blinking a few times before processing the initial question. “a-ahem, yes. darling, could you pass me the report?” he says, turning to your side.

the room falls silent, and a shocked gasp escapes from baiheng's mouth before jingliu clasps a hand over it; jing yuan shifts in his seat, exchanging a bewildered glance with yingxing. 

“hm..? did you forget to bring it?” his tone is soft and gentle, a stark contrast to the shocked expression on everyone’s face. “are you alright my dear? your face is quite red, do y—”

before he can finish, you manage to find your voice, trying to mask your embarrassment with a strained smile. “no, i didn’t forget the report, and i’m perfectly fine…  though our friends might need a minute to recover.” 

baiheng, still wide-eyed, blurts out, “hold on, are you guys… in a relationship?” 

dan feng blinks in confusion ”oh, did i forget to mention that part?” —to which you hear someone across the table audibly facepalm. 

you sigh, voice strained but laced with amusement, “i can’t believe you never told them we got married.” your words are followed by the sound of a cup shattering on the floor.

“wait… since when are you guys married?!” you pat jingyuan’s back, trying to stifle a laugh. “since last year.”

“seriously, and you never thought of telling us.”

“it was an honest mistake, yingxing.” dan feng replies, crossing his arms defensively.

baiheng shakes her head, “an honest mistake? like forgetting to water your plants, not like forgetting to tell us you got married!”

“well congratulations, i suppose. though a heads-up would’ve been nice.” jingliu manages a wry smile, though she internally cringes at baiheng’s exaggerated (or not) reaction, opting to just let her be. 

"sorry, it slipped my mind.” dan feng's nonchalant shrug only serves to further fuel jingyuan's irk, his eye visibly twitching; yingxing lets out a groan, still reeling from the revelation. you can’t help but chuckle softly at the scene unfolding, taking a sip of your tea. 

“you weren’t planning to tell us at all?!”

"honest mistake."  you can tell he’s just teasing his friends by the way a small smirk appears on his face as he attempts to hide it behind his teacup. (you nearly had to restrain baiheng as she tried to leap over the table.)

well, it seems like you’re not going to get anything done today.

#BLADE

+ easy, just buy me a nice ring and leave the lying part to me.

please. if you had a penny for every time blade almost exposes that you’re dating, you’d have three pennies. which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened thrice. 

the first time was when he received a call from you while in the car with firefly. he answered almost immediately, without realizing that wearing earphones does not necessarily mean he isn't able to be heard in real life, just that others can’t hear what he’s listening to. 

“went to boomerville n the locals said they knew u” —silverwolf, probably.

second was when someone confessed their feelings to you, and he “instinctively” jumped in to say you have a husband. "what husband? i don't see a ring on your finger." so now, that same man won't stop asking you about this so-called “husband” (that doesn’t exist). 

and third time, well we’ll see.

“are you sure you don’t want me to kill him.” 

you huff out in annoyance, “this wouldn’t even be an issue if you hadn’t mentioned i had a husband.” sighing, you push yourself off the bed and turn to face your boyfriend.

“...that aside, how exactly do you plan on handling him?” blade raises an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his gaze. “easy! just buy me a nice ring, and leave the lying part to me.”

if blade hadn’t seriously considered taking care of the man before, he certainly seems determined to do so now. “hey what’s with that reaction…”

blade’s eyes narrow as he takes in your response. “a ring huh, what are you going to do with it?” you roll your eyes, trying to stifle a smile. “what else? pretend i have a husband.” 

he sighs, “is this really the best solution you can come up with?” (he really doesn't like the idea of you having a husband…that isn’t him, fake or not)  “yup!” you reply with a grin, “i’ll be eagerly awaiting the ‘surprise’!” with that, you plant a quick kiss on his cheek and swiftly exit the room.

oh you’re lucky he loves you. (even though this is totally, 100% his fault)

—

“hmm, bladie? why the sudden interest in jewellery?” kafka smirks, curiosity dancing in her eyes. blade chooses to stay silent, picking out the most expensive ring; and kafka’s expression only broadens with amusement as she watches his intense scrutiny of the display.

“planning something special, are we?” she teases, leaning closer. “or are you just trying to impress someone?”

blade finally glances up, his face inscrutable. “just taking care of business.” he replies tersely, slipping the ring onto the counter along the pile of designer jackets. 

“right… well, i’ll be interested to see how this turns out.”

—

“what?” the man in front of you asks, his confusion evident. 

you tilt your head slightly, trying to gauge his reaction. “you seem surprised. did you think i was joking?” you casually brush a strand of hair away, subtly flaunting the ring to him —and to any onlookers; trying not to crack a smile when you hear a loud gasp followed by a flurry of hushed whispers.

he grits his teeth, clearly embarrassed and humiliated by the commotion. “i didn’t expect you to be married… especially since you never wear the ring.”

“or is it that you’re not all that attached to your husband?” the audacity of this man… just as you’re at a loss of words, a firm hand grips the man’s shoulder from behind.

blade yanks the man back, and away from you. “you’re pushing your luck.”  the sudden motion causes the man to stumble, his face pale with a mix of surprise and fear.

“w-who the hell are you?!” the man’s voice trembles as he tries to regain his composure. meanwhile, you notice a crowd beginning to form around you, with some people eagerly pulling out their phones to record the escalating drama.

“leave, now.” you can tell blade’s patience is wearing thin, dangerously so.

the man’s eyes narrow in defiance. “why should i? you’re the one to talk when you’re hiding behind a disguise.” blade pins the man with a steely gaze, his intense stare making the man stiffen under its weight.

but what you didn’t expect was for blade to turn around, remove his mask and letting it dangle from one ear; he then raises your hand to his lips, placing a tender kiss upon it.

the man’s face immediately drains of colour, and the crowd around you erupts into a cacophony of gasps and murmurs. you’re not sure whether he's more shocked by blades' bold gesture or by the fact that a notorious criminal is standing right in front of him. (its the latter)

the man, now visibly shaken, scrambles away, yelling out a “sorry!” before disappearing into the crowd. blade pulls you away, ignoring the flashes of cameras and ducks into a nearby alley.

the next morning, you wake up to a barrage of notifications on your phone. you discover the group chat flooded with messages from your friends.

“@barcodewrist @[you] explain yourselves”

“Bladie, so that was what the ring was for~” 

“bro i cant believe this old ass man has rizz”

you quickly type out a message asking for context, in which you only receive a link from silverwolf. as you click in, you can’t help but wish you can unsee what’s on the screen.

“‘YOUR NAME’, IDENTIFIED IN ASSOCIATION WITH STELLARON HUNTER ‘BLADE’: WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE. BOUNTY SET AT 3.5 BILLION.” and attached below is a video of what transpired yesterday. 

“great” you mutter under your breath, “not only am i dating a wanted criminal, now i'm one too.” you shoot a quick message to the group chat “any tips on staying out of trouble when your boyfriend’s a fugitive? asking for a friend... and my sanity.”

on the bright side, at least you’ll be greeted by a very pleased blade, now publicly acknowledged as your husband —oh and don’t question the second ring on your finger.

#JING YUAN

+ stop you're not allowed to smile at me like that. / like what?

how do i even start. he’s so smug, please throw a rock at him and wipe that “:3” off his face.

you really do sometimes wonder if jing yuan ever truly intended to keep this relationship a secret, especially by how he practically transforms into a lovesick puppy whenever you’re within a 10 meter radius. 

goodluck because he's also such a tease, an insufferable one. despite that, you can’t deny there’s something endearing about how he always seems to light up when you’re around, his constant teasing remarks making it harder to stay mad whenever you call him out for being “too lax”. 

after all, he may be a headache, but he’s your headache —one that comes with a hefty dose of affection and a penchant for making every single moment spent together memorable.

being the general’s secretary, and his lover isn’t an easy job. 

you’re focused on the task before you; reviewing documents, scheduling meetings, coordinating logistics for high-stakes missions —ensuring no crucial information slips through the cracks. 

but you can’t help but feel a pair of eyes boring into you. it’s a subtle sensation, a weight that pulls your awareness away from the task at hand. you glance up from your desk, only to be met by jing yuan’s gaze, fixed on you with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken.

“jing yuan, what are you doing?” you ask, but he doesn’t answer. though a smile slowly spreads across his face as he continues to watch you. his overwhelming stare makes it difficult to concentrate…

and worse? he looks utterly and hopelessly in love.

“stop, you're not allowed to smile at me like that.” the words come out softer than intended; he leans in slightly, the warmth in his expression only deepening.

“and why not?” he asks, his voice carries a hint of amusement. the twinkle in his eyes suggests that he knows exactly what he’s doing, and it only adds to your annoyance. 

“because” you reply, trying to sound exasperated, “you’re looking at me as if you’re in love with me or something!” —and your handsome face makes it impossible to focus.

jing yuan’s smile only widens, clearly enjoying your reaction. “is that so? i didn’t realise my smile had such an effect on you.” (you hope his pants catch on fire because he’s obviously lying about being unaware of the effect his presence has on you)

“and i am in love with you.” 

that, in fact, did not ease the fluttering in your chest. “shh!” you quickly cover his mouth with your hand; you hold your grip for a moment longer, feeling the warmth of his breath against your palm.

“hmm… so i can't even look at my beloved partner now?” his voice comes out slightly muffled and distorted due to your playful assault on his face. you give his cheek one last, harsh pinch before finally letting him go.

you heave a sigh of relief once you’re sure no one heard anything, you loosen your grip but keep your palm resting on his face. with a playful pinch, you squeeze his cheek. “you tease!” you furrow your brows, though a small smile tugs at your lips despite your effort to remain stern.

you shake your head with a smile, “do you have any idea how hard it is to stay focused when you’re looking at me like that?” the admission slips out before you can stop it, and you feel a flush rise to your cheeks.

“i know,” he replies with a grin, “and i wouldn’t change a thing.”

jing yuan rests his chin on his hand, his elbow propped up on your desk; the warmth of his gaze and the cheeky grin on his face makes it hard to stay frustrated at him. 

“you’re impossible,” you say with a mock scowl, though your tone carries a lighthearted edge. “but it’s also hard to stay mad at you.”

he chuckles softly, clearly pleased with your reaction. he leans in a bit more, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “oh? then would you like to head out—”

“you wish.” you cut him off with a deadpan look, “that stack of papers has been sitting there since this morning, and it’s not going to magically sort itself out.”

you gesture toward the mountain of documents on your desk, which has only grown throughout the day. he sighs, settling himself comfortably into the seat beside you. you pick up your pen as you try to regain your focus again amidst the lingering warmth of his presence.

this time, you really do consider throwing a rock at him when his head falls on your shoulder as he dozes off just five minutes later.

but hey, at least he makes it clear that he’s head over heels for you, even if it comes with a side of embarrassment, and a few near heart attacks. 

MASTERLIST ; EVENT M.LIST

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 Cradle Song.

Spencer Reid x Pregnant!reader

main masterlist

Summary: The situation is complicated when Spencer is trapped in a lab with anthrax and worried about communicating with you and his future child one last time.

Words: 2,4k.

Warnings & Tags: mentions of death, therapy. spoilers for s4 e24 ("amplification"). anthrax. established relationship. angst with a open ending. implication that the baby is a girl. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: I wrote this after posting my first two one shots here (several months ago), and now I just found the uncorrected text and decided to improve it for posting lol for you to mentally decide if it's a happy or sad ending, because I could never write one that I really liked.

Your phone rang somewhere in the room, but you had no idea where. In the distance, you could hear the classical symphony by Johannes Brahms that your boyfriend had chosen especially for you, with the excuse that it would calm you and the baby every time it played.

Unfortunately, this time it wasn't helping to calm you down.

After tossing and turning around the room several times, you sat up in bed, completely exhausted and hopeless. That's when you felt the noise nearby and realized that the phone under your pillow was vibrating nonstop. You were about to snort with stress from being so distracted lately, but an automatic smile appeared on your face when you saw that it was a call from Spencer. You hadn't heard from him in several hours, the last being his usual call to wish you a good morning every time he was away on a case.

“I think I'd lose my head if I didn't have it attached to my neck.” Was the first thing you said as you tried to tuck your pillow behind your neck to make yourself more comfortable.

“You've lost your phone again.” You heard him let out a small, weak laugh, followed by a cough that caught your attention and made you frown. “Sorry, I got stuck.” He quickly excused himself.

“Are you okay?”

In response to your question, he looked around the lab where he was confined, focusing on the broken vial of anthrax on the floor that had caused all his problems so far. Reid didn't know how to explain that an ordinary case had turned into a national problem that was taking over his life and future moments with you with every passing second.

And he certainly knew even less how to tell you that this would probably be the last time you would hear from him if the team didn't find a cure soon.

“I'm fine.” He lied immediately, feeling his breathing getting harder and harder. “Really, love.” He tried to reassure you, but he lost his balance and leaned heavily on the counter, his free hand gripping it hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

All you had to do was hear him call you that and your whole world would light up, you could even feel the baby in your belly kicking at the sound of his voice. You smiled as you realized that you were both happy to hear from Spencer after not seeing him for most of the day due to the demands of his job.

Although you've never said it out loud for fear of making him feel guilty, you miss him excessively, and you're always trying to multitask and be productive, so you don't think as much about how much you need him by your side. Especially when dinner time comes and his seat next to you is empty, or when night comes and his side of the bed is cold.

Perhaps it was the pregnancy hormones, but you seemed to have a stronger need for him than ever.

“And how did you feel today? How are my girls? Did she kick a lot today?” The usual questions he asked you every time he was on a long case began to appear. “I need to hear everything.”

“She just kicks a lot when she listens to you and you know it.” You replied, stroking your belly out of laziness. “She’s definitely a daddy's little princess.”

The lump in his throat and all of his fears became more intense and uncontrollable. The tears he had tried to keep from escaping to stay strong and focused began to flow unchecked down his cheeks. Hearing you talk like that, knowing it might be the last time, was killing him much faster than the anthrax itself.

“And what are you doing? All your agent stuff?” You spoke again at his silence, trying to ignore the bad feeling something was giving you. “Are you coming home soon?”

“I don't think that's possible, love.” He replied quickly, his voice hoarse and raspy, the lie slipping from his lips almost too easily. “I'm doing some paperwork, it'll take some time.”

It was the second time he had called you by that nickname in just a few minutes. Something seemed a little off, as he only used it when he wanted to calm you down. You knew him too well to miss it.

“Oh, okay.” You said it in a way that showed you were a little disappointed.

Spencer was about to try to comfort you when he suddenly felt the cough return to his throat and he put a hand over his mouth to stop it. It was no use, the cough shook his whole body, spinning him around and making him pant in between. He tried to cover the phone with his hand so that the sounds coming out of his mouth would not be heard, but it was useless. The hacking cough seemed to tear at his lungs, leaving him breathless, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, and he could only hope you didn't hear it, because the last thing he wanted to do was worry you. He knew it would hurt you and the baby.

“Are you sure you're okay? Maybe you should drink some water. It sounds pretty bad.”

He tried to answer you right away, but the cough took over and prevented him from speaking. He gripped the phone tightly, struggling to breathe, trying to force his lungs to stop spasming. And when he finally stopped coughing, he managed to speak, his voice cracking and rather hoarse.

“Yes, I'm fine. It's probably just a cold.” He lied again, breathing shakily. “But it’s nothing so bad.”

“Take care of yourself, don't let it get worse.”

If only you knew that there was no way to make it worse, that it was already at its worst point and unlikely to improve.

“I will, don't worry.” He tries to sound convincing, but his voice comes out rough and raw, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from coughing again. “Just focus on you and the baby, okay? I'll be fine.”

He spoke again so quickly that it was difficult to think of an appropriate response.

“Could you do something for me, love?”

“Of course, I'll do whatever you need.” You reply, feeling a little perplexed by the urgency in his voice.

There was a long, awkward silence after you answered, and you could feel your mind racing with worst-case scenarios. You had a feeling that Spencer was holding something back from you, and the thought of what it could be made your left leg start to twitch nervously. You didn't even bother trying to make yourself more comfortable in bed.

“Go to my part of the closet, to the top drawer. Open it and take out a box next to the socks.” Finally he spoke and began to give you instructions, which you followed as best you could. “Let me know when you have it, carefully. Don't rush or-”

“I've already got it.” You interjected.

“That was quick.” You heard the surprise in his voice as you looked at the box, curious to know what was inside, after having seen it several times and thinking it was just more socks.

You smiled before speaking again. “What should I do with this, love?”

The mere word coming out of your mouth made him tremble.

Love. Love. Love.

He was your love and you were his. He refused to accept that this would be completely shattered in a matter of minutes if he could not find a way to keep his eyes open and his heart still pumping blood.

“I need you to open it, but be careful. Take your time and don't rush. Don't make any sudden movements.” He said, trying to relax so that when he spoke again his voice would be calmer, softer. “And once you open it, I want you to imagine that I'm there with you, okay?”

You couldn't help but open the box quickly, even though you were careful. You were surprised to find a bunch of envelopes and papers inside. You left them on the bed, wondering what they were about. It had been five months since you knew you were pregnant, and all the envelopes and papers were the same age according to the dates in the top corner.

“Have you seen it yet?” Spencer asked.

“I'm sorry, I don't understand, could you explain what this is?” You asked, carefully running your hand through the neatly organized papers on the bed.

“Could you close your eyes and imagine I'm with you, like I told you before?” He asked, trying to keep a neutral tone as you complied with his request.

He needed you to see him there with you, he needed to say goodbye and at least touch you one last time.

“That's what I'm doing. I'm holding your hand right now.” You said with a small smile, feeling the warmth.

It was like feeling an automatic medicine with your name on it flow through his system and relieve a few aches and pains. His hands stopped shaking automatically as he imagined himself holding yours again.

“Okay…they are notes and letters.” His voice was soft, the intensity of his heartbeat gradually increasing as he remembered each time he wrote those words to you. “I started writing them when we found out you were pregnant. They're for our baby.”

He still remembered the day he found out you were expecting a baby, his baby. He recalled how he felt his whole world stop and turn a different color, his hand sliding down to your stomach, and his breath hitching in his chest as he held your face in his hands and kissed you lovingly, overwhelmed with joy and so in love that he hadn't known what to do with his own feelings.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I...I found myself writing frequently and my therapist said it was fine…I was inspired to write about my feelings for you and our baby."

From the moment he revealed to you that he had resumed therapy with the goal of healing the wounds of childhood and becoming the father he never had, it was clear that his dedication surpassed any commitment. Now you just added to the list of reasons why he was already an exemplary father, one that any child would be lucky to have.

“Spencer, this is so sweet.” You said, completely moved and on the verge of tears, as you noticed all the dedication I had put into each and every piece of paper. “Why didn't you tell me this before?”

He felt like a bucket of cold water had been thrown on him at that moment. It was so hard to explain, to tell you that every thought and every dream he'd ever had included you and the baby now growing in your belly, and his great fear of not being able to be there for you someday.

“I-” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling a bit overwhelmed. “I just wanted you to know now how much you mean to me and how blessed I am that you gave this to me. I've spent the last few months trying to even talk to some kind of God, and I don't even know if exist...” He swallowed hard and closed his eyes, the words lost somewhere in his throat, making it burn and hurt. “I just...I need the baby to know what you and her mean to me, how I see you, how I feel when I wake up next to you. What I want, what I dream for her, what...”

I want to marry you.

The thought almost escaped his lips, his aching heart pounding hard against his aching chest. He felt as if a pair of strong hands were strangling him.

“I don't understand...Tell me what's going on.” You interrupted him with a shaking voice, knowing that there was definitely something more to all of this.

Oh, how you know him and his big, messy, troubled brain.

He closed his eyes and shook his head, though you couldn't see it, knowing that you already read him like an open book.

“Nothing...Nothing's wrong, love, just...” He tried to breathe deeply through the phone, his heart pounding in his chest and his mind racing too fast. “I love you so much. Don't forget that, okay?”

“Spencer—”

He always loved your voice calling his name, and now, in his weak, tired, fearful state, he couldn't stop the words from pouring out of his mouth.

“I want you to know that you'll be okay, that she'll be okay, that everything will be okay, and that I love you. I love you both very much. Please, please...” He kept going. He knew he was babbling, but he couldn't stop. His mind was racing, and his words came out like a confession.

He was an expert profiler, a genius with an eidetic memory and a sharp mind, but at that moment, with his body weakened and his head spinning, he found himself unable to contain himself. He was exposed, open, and experiencing discomfort. All of the things he wanted to tell you, all of the questions he wanted to ask, and all of the concerns, worries, and thoughts in his mind came pouring out, like a dam breaking. He sensed that you could feel it through the line, and he realized that he could no longer deny it any longer.

“I love you. I have to go now.”

“Wait.”

You had a feeling something wasn't quite right, and those letters seemed to confirm your suspicions. They were a precautionary measure, a way of ensuring that everything would be taken care of in case something happened to him.

“I have to go, I'm...I'm busy, love.” He tried to sound convincing, and he knew he was failing miserably, but if he stayed a moment longer, he would continue to talk and confess more. “I love you both.”

“We love you too.”

If he wasn't already weak and trembling, hearing your voice telling him that you loved him, in that soft tone, would have made him fall to the floor again. He closed his eyes again and leaned against the wall, his own trembling hand going to cover his mouth so he wouldn't say more, because he would tell you everything if you kept talking in that sweet tone.

He wasn't ready to say goodbye.

So it was that he thought of you and your kind way of loving him before he felt his head hit the floor and his eyes close.

[hyeinette]

☘︎ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ 𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕, 𝒂𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏─────𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝗈𝖿 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖻𝖻𝗈𝗋𝗇 𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑔ℎ𝑜𝑜𝑛 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗌 𝖺 𝖿𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋.

𝗳!𝗿 ⠀⠀🗝️ ⠀⠀𝑓. est rl kisses fluff psh drabble ─── 11OO >ᴗ< 𓈒 𓈒 亲

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ 𝑙𝑖𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑟𝑦 ⠀⠀⠀୨୧ ⠀⠀⠀𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀⠀〝⠀ 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝖽𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄

the air was warm. everything felt warm to sunghoon right now, really. his head, his body, his heart… well, the last one couldn’t really be blamed on the sweltering fever that currently had him bedridden. it was because you were here, in his kitchen, making him chicken soup. the thought that you came for him made him smile despite himself.

then, as if his throbbing forehead had pulled him away from his blissful thoughts of you, sunghoon groaned, pressing the heel of his hand against his blazing skin. the sound of his pained voice made you put down the ladle and peek over your shoulder, glancing at sunghoon, who looked like a cat, sprawled over the couch on his stomach, a sight that made you giggle.

sunghoon thrashed around with discomfort, hoping that if he acted pathetic enough, you’d hurry it up. “babyyy.”

somehow, it seemed to work, because next thing he knew, the floral smell of your lavender perfume wafted through the air and into his (very congested) nostrils. sunghoon abruptly lifted his head towards the source of the scent, feeling straight away relieved at the sight of you holding a soup bowl, looking unfairly pretty under the sun’s eventide glow.

sunghoon huffed and sat up, or tried to; the second he pushed himself off the couch, he winced. he couldn’t even complain before you were by his side, propping him up on one too many pillows. the cool, gentleness of your fingers on his shoulder was a nice contrast, and he found himself leaning towards your arms.

“you’re burning up,” you murmured worriedly.

sunghoon lifted his head to meet your concerned eyes. his chest tightened at the way your eyebrows knitted together and your lashes fluttered as your gaze travelled his reddened face.

“i’m fine, really.” both of you knew he was lying.

something about being cared for made sunghoon feel oddly guilty, like he didn’t deserve your ministrations.

“hoon, you are not fine. don’t be stubborn.” you scolded in the softest way you could.

he wanted to protest, to tell you he was fine, that all he needed was—

“all i need is a kiss from you,” he rasped.

you rolled your eyes, but still had to bite the insides of your cheek to stop a smile from appearing. unfortunately, the blush gave you away, making sunghoon chuckle (which quickly turned into a cough.)

“you sound delirious,” you teased, pushing a few strands of dark hair away from sunghoon’s damp skin.

finally, sunghoon relented, falling into the couch while watching you pick up the bowl of soup and sit as close as possible without being on top of him.

you blew on the soup and then nudged his lips with it, as if daring him to refuse. sunghoon had a certain glint in his eyes, like he wanted to be difficult, just so he could see that small blush creep up your neck and hear you reprimand him. but he resisted, for your sake.

he opened his mouth and the soup soothed the scratch in his throat quickly.

“there,” you smiled, satisfied. “not so bad, hm?”

all sunghoon could manage was a hum in response. he wanted to tell you that it wasn’t bad at all, but he didn’t trust his voice currently; it would probably sound like a dying frog, or something, and you’d probably laugh at him.

this pattern continued for a while: you feeding sunghoon, him holding back from kissing you senseless every five seconds. after he’d managed around half the bowl, you set it aside and picked up a thermometer, deciding to check his temperature.

you furrowed your brows and fumbled with the instrument. after finally getting it to work, you turned back to sunghoon, whose eyes haven’t left you. you moved closer to him, to the point that you were hovering over his body.

sunghoon’s half-lidded eyes met your wide ones, which made not only your breath but your heart hitch, as well.

“yn,” sunghoon muttered earnestly, placing his hands on your waist in an almost tentative manner. before he could overthink it, he found that his arms were completely enveloping your torso and pulling you down into you. you gasped, the thermometer slipping as your hands found purchase on his shoulders.

his head rested against your stomach, and the moment your warmth met his skin, he felt himself being grounded by just the feel of you.

“yeah?”

“i hate being sick.” his voice was muffled but truthful.

you giggled, running your hands through his hair and twirling it through your fingers, for it was very soft. “i know, love. at least you’re a very cute sick person?”

sunghoon grumbled, the sensation vibrating through your chest. despite feeling embarrassed, sunghoon didn’t let go, not when you in his arms felt like the only right thing in the world at this moment.

“how can you say that when i’m dying here…” he complained, pulling you completely onto his lap now, so that you were sitting sideways facing him.

“you’re not dying,” you placed a kiss against his forehead and playfully booped his nose, making him scrunch it and then push your hand away, only to entwine his fingers with yours a moment later. “you’re dramatic, is all.”

sunghoon hesitantly flickered his gaze to your lips and swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how close you were to him. he felt himself burning up all over again, though this time not because of the fever.

“i like when you take care of me,” he admitted, making you tense for a second, before quickly relaxing.

“it’s a good thing i like taking care of you, then.” you smiled, tilting his head up and gently placing your forehead on his.

sunghoon shut his eyes for just a minute, wanting to revel in your tender embrace forever. before he could think, he felt your soft lips against his, smiling.

after a few seconds, you pulled away, giggling at the way his lips chased yours just slightly.

“you should sleep now. i’ll be here when you wake up.” you promised, slipping out his grasp slowly.

content with your words, sunghoon let his body slip into the couch while you threw a warm blanket over him.

sunghoon felt his breathing even out as he slowly fell asleep, with the only thing on his mind being you. with a smile on his face, he decided that if being sick meant he’d have your undivided attention, he didn’t mind it so much.

𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝓈𝗍. @bywons @sugarikiz

[raven-dor]

i wanna be yours

in which gwayne hightower is entranced by his sister’s best friend

PAIRING: gwayne hightower x fem!reader, alicent hightower x PLATONIC!reader, rhaenyra targaryen x PLATONIC!reader

WARNINGS: fluff, young love, obliviousness, denial, delusion, slight angst, FLUFF ENDING

WORD COUNT: 6.4k

🎶 : i wanna be yours - arctic monkeys

AN: sorry for how long this is!!

“Come along, Y/N!” Rhaenyra yelled. “The flowers will still be there when we return.” 

“Very well, Your Highness.” She sighed, hooking her arm through the princesses. “They only bloom once a year. I am simply taking in their beauty before they wilt.” 

“I understand. Unfortunately for you, I now need a chaperone to walk my own halls, as every lord in the land vies for my hand.” 

“Oh, poor poor Rhaenyra.” Y/N teased. “I can only imagine.” 

“Rhaenyra, Y/N!” The girls turned around, Alicent running toward them with a young man in tow. 

Y/N leaned over, whispering in Rhaenyra’s ear. “It seems even your own friends are playing matchmaker.” 

Rhaenyra laughed, coughing to cover it up. Alicent looked suspiciously at Y/N. “What have you done?” 

“Nothing, Alicent, nothing at all.” 

“Oh, never mind.” She pulled the man forward. “May I introduce my brother, Ser Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown. He’s just arrived for the tourney.” 

Alicent’s brother was handsome: tall, with auburn hair and deep blue eyes. One could tell from a single glance he and Alicent were related. Freckles adorned his face, and Y/N could only assume it was from his ample time outdoors. She curtsied quickly, staring at the ground. 

Rhaenyra smiled politely. “Ser Hightower.”  

Gwayne bowed, kissing Rhaenyra’s hand. “Princess.” 

Protocol regarding courting was odd and often confusing. With different social statuses came different rules. The Princess was the highest ranking of the two girls before him; thus, he would kiss Rhaenyra’s hand last. It was an honest mistake, a lapse in judgment, Y/N was sure. Odd, she’d thought to herself, she assumed that Gwayne was taught these sorts of things. 

Her eyes drifted back to his, holding back a gasp as he extended his hand to her, after Rhaenyra. She placed hers in his palm hesitantly. He bowed once more, his hold gentle, like he was scared to break her. His lips were soft, and her cheeks turned bright red from the touch, eyes wide with shock. 

She realized, amid her thinking, that Alicent and Rhaenyra had been taunting her, much too entertained by this simple encounter. Y/N ripped her hand away; any passerby would have thought it was on fire. 

“My lady.” 

She’d almost frowned. “I am no lady, Ser.” Entertaining the thought of him would only come back to haunt her, she told herself. The entire point of the tourney was to field potential suitors for the Princess, none were here for the ward of the crown, an orphaned bastard in her own right. He was attractive, there was no denying it. The way his eyes twinkled, or the way his hair fell over his eyes, or when his smile- 

“Oh?” The young man frowned, his voice snapping her back to life. Her cheeks were still flushed. This avoiding business would prove to be harder than she previously thought. “My mistake. You are the very picture of a lady, I must say.” 

Their spectators gasped. Y/N scoffed. “Do not think you can mock me, Ser.” She tightened her hold on Rhaenyra’s arm. “If you will excuse us…” 

Not bothering to wait for a response, she turned around, dragging the princess along with her. Rhaenyra whispered, nudging her friend. “I believe he was smitten.” 

Y/N shook her head. “And I believe it was all a game, most likely a way to make you jealous.” Her heart clenched at the thought. “Just a game.” 

Rhaenyra’s room was a disaster, but when had it not been? 

For as long as either of the Princess’s companions could remember, her suite had been covered with gowns and riding suits thrown haphazardly on the floor. 

Not that either of the other girls cared, they were happy to lay on the Princess’s plush cushions, taking in the sun as it filled the room. Y/N’s head hung off the sofa, laughing as her friend ran through her closet. “If it were any larger, you would get lost inside.” 

Rhaenyra stuck her tongue out. “I would be content with just my riding suit, thank you very much.” 

Alicent laughed. “You know you’d rather die than look simple. You live for fine silks and designs-” 

Y/N nodded, doing her best to imitate the Princess. “Oh Y/N fetch the purple dress, will you? Fetch the red dress! No, not that one. The one with the jewels. No not that one, the other-” A pillow slammed against her face, and she giggled, holding her hands up defensively. “Mercy, I beg of you!” 

“You could have had all this.” Rhaenyra sat beside the girl, whispering. “If my father simply acknowledged-” 

“That my mother gave birth to me out of wedlock? No amount of Targaryen blood can excuse that dishonor.” Y/N sat up, frowning. “It does no good to dwell, Rhaenyra. Besides, I am content with the life I lead, spending time with my favorite cousin.” 

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. “I am your only cousin.” 

“Not true.” She laughed. “There is Daemon and-” 

“My brother seems rather taken with you, I must say.” Y/N’s heart broke at the thought of Gwayne being smitten with Rhaenyra. 

Why, she could not quite place. “Hear that ‘Nyra? I told you I was-” 

“I was talking to you, Y/N,” Alicent smirked.

Her cheeks grew hot, her hands itching to cover her face. “You must be mistaken.” 

“Do you truly think so little of him?” The auburn-haired girl reached out, grabbing Y/N’s hand comfortingly. “I assure you, he is honorable and loyal to a fault.” 

“I am sure he is.” Y/N smiled. “He must be leaving soon, now that the tournament is nearly over.”

Rhaenyra smirked. “I must say, it was not as extensive as I would have liked.” 

“Really?” Y/N laughed. “It has already been a fortnight since its beginning.” 

“And if the Princess feels it is not finished…” Rhaenyra wiggled her eyebrows. “The Princess will announce an extension.” 

Alicent giggled. “Or rather your father.” 

“My lady.” 

She’d almost escaped. Y/N sighed, turning around. “My lord.”

She had seen the man following her for quite a while, hoping that he was merely visiting the library. She bowed quickly. “How may I be of service?” Lord Frey’s scent could make a man grown faint. She felt the bile rise as he took a step closer, whispering.

“I was wondering if you could put in a word with your Princess.” 

She nodded. “What would you like me to relay?” 

“Well-” His ‘kind’ facade was cracking. If he could barely handle a simple question, she doubted Rhaenyra would enjoy him. “If you could-” 

“My lady.” Her heart fluttered at the sight of Gwyane Hightower, his hair bouncing as he walked toward her. “I’ve been waiting. We agreed to meet in the gardens.” 

“I am sorry.” She smiled, genuinely smiled. “I was simply talking to Lord Frey.” She looked back to the older man, urging him to continue. “You were saying, my lord?” 

He gritted his teeth. “It is of no consequence. I shall take my leave.” He bowed. “My lady. Ser Hightower.” 

“Lord Frey,” Gwayne replied, waiting until he had rounded the corner. “Always a pleasure.” 

Y/N fought the urge to laugh. She walked past the young knight, her heart beating faster as he diligently followed after her. “Do you not have somewhere to be, my lord?” 

“As I said, I have been waiting for you.”

She scoffed. “I must say, you are the very picture of a knight. Saving a damsel in distress? How chivalrous.” 

He smiled, bowing sarcastically. “Thank you, my lady.” 

“I am not a-”

“A lady. You have said.” He grabbed a book from the shelf, pretending to read it before throwing it over his shoulder. She rolled her eyes, walking around him to pick up the book he’d discarded. The maester would have her head if he found it lying there. “I must say, a lady has never been so-” He laughed as she opened her mouth to correct him. “So unmoved by my advances.” 

“I’m sorry to disappoint. If you’ll excuse me-” 

“What are you doing with the remainder of your day, I wonder.”

“Why?”

“I would like a proper tour of the castle, and my sister has been too busy as of late.” He looked too eager, too eager to spend time with a mere lady in waiting. “Would you care to show me?”  

“I would not.” 

“Wonderful. I will-” He stopped. “I beg your pardon?” 

“I said, I would not.” She put the last book away, climbing up the ladder. “It is quite cruel, this game you are playing.”

“I am sorry?” He tilted his head. 

“I know this is a ploy to gain Rhaenyra’s favor, to win the tourney, and possibly win your father’s approval.” She scoffed, eyes watery at the thought of yet another man using her to gain advantage. “This is by far the cruelest way, I must tell you.” 

He laughed, actually laughed at her, which only angered her further, tears falling as a result. He stopped his laughing, reaching out to comfort her, frowning when she stepped back. “Do you really think I am using you for your lady’s hand?” 

“I do.” She climbed back down from the ladder, ignoring the way he held it from wavering beneath her. “There is no reason for you to be interested in me.” 

He shook his head as if he’d misheard her. “Are you aware you are beautiful?” 

Y/N ignored that comment, facing him with pleading eyes. “Please spare me from your taunts. I understand that you may- you may find it amusing-” 

Gwayne was confused, extremely, and utterly confused. He had just complimented her, why was she asking him to spare her? “I must make this clear and simple, as you seem to get the wrong impression from me. I am not interested in your lady. I am interested in-”

“Every suitor I have encountered has gone through either myself or Alicent to gain Rhaenyra’s favor. By the gods-” She flailed her arms. “Some even go to me inquiring about your sister!”  

He practically growled, her heart leaping from the sound. “Then they are cowards.”

“Yes, well…” She had to leave before her resolve broke. “My lord.” 

“Do you let anyone other than yourself speak?” 

Y/N gasped, whipping around. “Excuse me?” 

“I have been trying to explain myself to you, to tell you that-” He stopped himself. “So far every attempt has been overpowered by you.” He crossed his arms, a smirk gracing his lips. “Now…” His voice was practically a whisper. “May I speak?” 

“I-” She swallowed, nodding. She did not trust her voice when he looked at her so… so longingly?

“The outing I suggested earlier, would simply be a tour, nothing more.” He took her hand in his. “Nothing untoward will come of it, I swear to you.” 

He looked sincere. So sincere that she began to consider it. “We will need a chaperone. The king would not allow me to go off alone, even with a knight.” 

“The king?” Gwayne was intrigued. “Exactly why would the king care?” 

“Because I am a ward of the crown. I have been since I was born. My mother was a-” She stopped herself. “She was a close friend of King Jaehaerys, and he took me in. King Viserys has been gracious enough to let me stay.” 

“Well, then I shall have to thank him.” 

“For?” 

“If it had not been for him…” He reached out, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “We would have never met.” 

She rolled her eyes, pulling herself out of his hold. “I shall see you tomorrow, my lord.” 

He grinned, calling after her. “I look forward to it!” 

Gwayne smiled as he watched the woman in front of him. She was glowing in this light and practically skipping through the gardens with joy. It was funny, seeing a woman he had often seen as melancholy at best so energetic. “Do you often find yourself at peace here?” 

“I do.” Y/N nodded. “I was told my mother loved the gardens, I suppose I feel she is still with me when I am here.” 

“Did you know her?” Gwayne inquired. “Your mother, that is.” 

“She died when I was a babe.” She leaned forward, taking in the scent of the roses in front of her. “I have glimpses of her. She had bright eyes, bright hair. Her laugh was the most beautiful melody you could ever hear. At least…” She drifted off, staring at the ground. “From what I can remember.”  

“I have the same.” His voice was quiet. “Although, my mother died when I was eight years of age.” 

“That’s awful.” She frowned. “Alicent told me she had died, but not how old you’d been. That must have been worse, I suppose. Having known her, and then in a moment, gone.” 

He shrugged. “My mother was… less than maternal. She had always been one for court and fashion rather than her children.” 

“Ah.”

“Still, it hurt. Me more than Alicent, I suppose. She’d only been four years old.” 

She ached to reach out and hold him. “I am sorry.” 

“For?” 

“Reliving the past.” 

“If I remember correctly…” He plucked a nearby daisy, placing it behind her ear ever so delicately. “I found this topic of conversation.” 

“Yes well…” She smiled, leaning into his touch ever so slightly. “Still…” 

He leaned forward, his breath hitting her nose. “I am sure your mother would be proud.” 

To that, Y/N laughed. “She was always the adventurous sort, at least, that is what I’ve gathered from the stories. She was highly admired too, beautiful…” She looked down, picking at the skin around her thumb. “I hope to be half the woman she was.” 

“You are.” He whispered, holding her hand. He had noticed, much to his dismay, that she’d adopted the habit of picking at her skin. It hurt him, to see her do that to herself. 

His sister did the same.

Her heart stopped, looking up to meet his gaze. He was beautiful. Staring into his eyes, she began to realize how inappropriate of a position they were in. 

Where was their chaperone? She took a step back, forgetting the rose bush behind her. Yelping, she jumped forward, falling into his arms. 

Gwayne laughed, throwing his head back. “Have I startled you?” 

She scoffed, pushing him away. “Not at all. I simply remembered we have much more of the tour to get through.” She darted around him, leading the way out of the garden. “Now, come along.” 

“Yes sir,” Gwayne muttered, mockingly saluting. 

She looked behind her, a smile gracing her lips. “What was that?”

“Nothing.” His pace quickened until they were side by side. “Simply admiring your hospitality.” 

She shoved his arm, rolling her eyes. “Ever the jester.” 

The remainder of their day passed quickly, much quicker than Y/N would have liked. By the end, she came to realize that the noble knight was a near-perfect companion. Serious when required, a jester when the moment called for it, he was kind, and a good man. 

Their last moments had been silent, soaking in the dull roar around them. Every so often, their hands grazed, neither daring to reach out. The sunset with the perfect blend of orange and pink, the waves crashing against King Landing’s rocky cliffs. It made Y/N smile, the way it brought out the red in Gwayne’s hair. She whispered, the words barely leaving her. “You’re hair is the most perfect shade. Have you noticed?” His cheeks turned red, and she smirked, taking his silence as a no. “If only it were transferable.” 

That had made him laugh. “Have you just given me a compliment?” 

She laughed. “We are friends, are we not?” The night was coming to an end, her door just a few paces away. “Friends compliment each other.” 

His shoulders visibly deflated, but he smiled nonetheless. “Yes. Friends compliment each other.” Silence fell over them again, neither daring to speak until she’d reached for her door. His hand grabbed her wrist, holding her just so. 

His voice was raspy, quiet enough the breeze itself could have carried it away. “You are perfection itself.” Her cheeks were bright red, and she grew grateful he could not see her, knowing that she would surely become the subject of his jests if he saw her blush. “As your friend…” 

She nodded, smiling to herself as she pushed the door open, his hold releasing her wrist. “Goodnight, my lord.” 

“My friends do not call me my lord.” 

She turned around, curtsying ever so lightly. “Then goodnight, Gwayne.” 

He bowed, kissing the back of her hand. “Goodnight, Y/N.” 

“Are you not terribly tired of reading?”

“If I was tired of it, I would not still be doing it, now would I?” 

Gwayne groaned, rolling over on their shared blanket, staring at the sky. “One should not confine themselves to a book when the whole world is sitting in front of them.” 

Y/N rolled her eyes, setting the book down in her lap. “I will have you know I am not confining myself.” 

“Oh?” He laughed, his eyes closing. “Then what exactly are you doing?” “I was trying to relax.” She murmured. “Something I can never seem to do when you are present.” 

“What was that?” His smirk was growing increasingly mischievous, and she knew that he had heard her. 

“I will not repeat myself. You heard me.” Grabbing her book out of her lap, she opened its pages once more. “Now hush. This is the best part.” 

“Read it to me then.” He closed his eyes, laying beside her. “I would like to hear what is so interesting it has taken you away from me.” 

“It was you who suggested the picnic, Gwayne, not I.” She laughed. “They are supposed to be tranquil.” 

“Maybe in King’s Landing.” He muttered. “In Oldtown, they are supposed to be fun.” 

“Well, I am not from Oldtown, nor are we there, which could imply why I was unaware of your customs. Which could also explain how we have reached this argument.” 

His eyebrows raised. “Is this an argument?” 

She ignored him, mumbling to herself. “This is fun.” 

“Well, it would be.” He teased. “If you read to me.” 

“You jest.” She mumbled. “Now let me sit in peace.” 

He stood up, walking behind her just to sit down once more. “May I?” 

“May you what, exactly?” Her cheeks felt hot, he had this effect on her. 

“Alicent once taught me to plait hair, when she was young.” He smiled to himself. “I assume it was a self-serving act, but still.” He leaned forward, his voice causing goosebumps to run up her spine. “At least let me pass the time this way.” 

“Fine.” Y/N could never say no to him, no matter how hard she tried. “Do not make me look hideous.” 

“That…” He pulled out the pins that held her hair elegantly. “Is not possible.” Her cheeks flushed, ignoring that compliment. “Are you attending the tourney tomorrow?” 

Y/N nodded. “I must. Rhaenyra has insisted I attend as her lady-in-waiting.” She laughed. “It is quite odd.” 

“How so?” 

“She has never required that of me before.” 

Gwayne grinned. “Well, I shall enjoy knowing you are watching.” 

“Really?” She laughed again. “I thought you would enjoy it more if I had not attended. Then you could recount the story as outlandishly as you pleased.” 

“Y/N…” His voice sounded desperate, and her heart skipped. “If you do not wish to attend, I’m sure the Princess will understand.” 

“No!” She practically yelped. “I want to.”

He smiled, his blush growing darker. “Then I shall do my very best.” His fingers grazed her neck, a gasp leaving her lips before she could silence herself. Gwayne made no comment of it, simply finishing the braid and standing up, extending his hand. 

She glared playfully, standing up of her own accord. She knelt, picking up the blanket and folding it haphazardly. 

“Let me.” Gwayne took the blanket and basket from her arms, carrying them back up to the castle. “A lady should never carry such things.” 

“A basket and blanket?” She raised an eyebrow. “I am not weak.” 

“I know.” He smiled, enjoying the fire in her eyes. “You are decidedly, not weak.” 

She nodded, puffing her chest. “If we walk any slower, you shall be late.” 

He groaned. “Why must I attend this soiree?” 

“Because it is meant for you. For knights participating in the tourney, that is. Rhaenyra will be there, as will her father-” 

“And will you?” Gwayne interrupted. “Be in attendance?” 

“I shall.” She smiled brightly. “Now come along and follow after me closely.” 

He tilted his head. “Where are you taking me, exactly?” 

“Maegor’s tunnels.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “They were made as an escape plan. Now the servants use them to move around the castle unseen.” The corridor was dark, the lanterns doing little to illuminate the path. 

Gwayne felt a chill run down his spine, and he reached out, grabbing her hand. “Are you quite sure this is safe?” 

“I have used them my whole life.” She placed a hand on his cheek. “Trust me.” 

He smiled, all fears of imminent doom leaving him as her skin touched his. “Lead the way.”

“You are going to break my hand.” Rhaenyra hissed. 

Y/N smiled guiltily, releasing the Princess's hand. “My apologies, Princess.” She straightened the fabric of her dress, sitting tall. “I am simply excited. I love tourneys.” 

“You do not. You have not been to a tourney since we were ten years of age.” 

“Untrue,” Y/N muttered, looking over the edge of the box for her knight. “I am simply busy.” 

“With what?” Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow. “Who are you looking for anyhow?” 

Alicent sat on the other side of the Princess, leaning forward and wiggling her eyebrows. “I believe she is looking for my brother.” 

Rhaenyra grinned. “Has that-” Alicent elbowed the Princess, widening her eyes. 

Y/N tilted her head. “What was that?” 

“Nothing,” Rhaenyra muttered, holding her side. “Nothing.” 

A knight approached the royal box, and Y/N grinned, waiting for Rhaenyra to stand first, as was customary. Rhaenyra smirked, looking at Alicent quickly before approaching the ledge. “Ser Hightower.” Alicent and Y/N approached second, arm in arm. Curstying quickly, she smiled at Gwayne brightly. The knight nodded his head. “Your Highness.” He turned to Y/N, his eyes softening. “My lady.” 

“Ser Hightower.” Y/N greeted. “This is quite the tourney. I’m impressed.” 

He grinned. “May I-” He swallowed. “May I have the honor of wearing your favor?” 

Her cheeks grew bright red. “You-” She looked at Rhaenyra. “Do you not-” 

He laughed. “I believe it is quite obvious I do not.” 

Rhaenyra laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. She leaned over, whispering in her cousin’s ear. “This is when you give the man your favor, Y/N.” 

“But, I-” She turned back to Gwayne once more. “Are you quite sure?” 

He nodded, cheeks slightly flushed. “Yes, my lady.” 

She turned around, pulling her arm out of Alicent’s. As she was a bastard, her house colors were unknown, opting to simply decorate the ring with her favorite flowers. 

Of course, Rhaneyra and Y/N had known, but to blatantly defy the order of the king… she locked eyes with King Viserys, who was gazing at her curiously. Her eyes darted to the floor, turning back around.  “May your luck bring you to victory, Ser Hightower.” 

“As long as I have you to think of…” He looked positively giddy. “I shall never lose.” 

Y/N was sure her cheeks were bright red. She rolled her eyes, ignoring his compliment. 

Her heart twisted, knowing that they could never marry, as who would allow their firstborn son, their heir, to wed a bastard? She pushed his lance playfully, pulling herself out of her thoughts. “Go on, then.” 

“You look stunning.” Alicent smiled, placing her hands on Y/N’s shoulders. “The very picture of a lady.” 

Y/N’s cheeks flushed. “I cannot name a time I have dressed so…” She smiled. “So elegantly.” 

“It is a ball,” Rhaenyra interjected. “I will not have my dear friend in something drab.” 

Alicent glared, and Rhaenyra stuck her tongue out. “She knows I do not mean that she is drab. I was simply-” 

“It is alright, Rhaenyra.” Y/N laughed. “I was not offended in the slightest.” 

“Red is most definitely your color.” Alicent grinned, spinning her friend around.

Rhaenyra smirked. “Your knight shall not know what to do with himself.” Alicent gasped, smacking Rhaenyra’s arm. The Princess winced, glaring at her friend. “You cannot keep hitting me whenever you are disappointed.” 

Y/N tilted her head. “My knight?” 

“It is no matter.” Alicent stopped the Princess from blabbing anymore. “Shall we?” 

The ballroom was filled to the brim with nobility from all over the Seven Kingdoms, the Hightowers, the Tullys, even the Starks had come to participate in the tourney and celebrate its results. 

Y/N stepped back, watching as her friends entered. The squire stomped his cane, effectively silencing the ballroom. “The Princess of Dragonstone, Rhaenyra Targaryen, heir to the Seven Kingdoms, accompanied by the Lady Alicent Hightower.” 

They looked elegant, lighting up the room as they walked. Y/N walked up to the squire, smiling lightly. “No need to introduce me, Orvyn.” 

He nodded, smiling kindly. “As you wish, my lady.” 

The ballroom had not paid attention as she walked, not that she minded. It was better that way, she convinced herself as she glanced around the room. She smiled, waving at Gwayne, who was already staring back at her, rather intensely. His eyes… she shivered, ripping herself away from his gaze as she curtsied before the King. “Your Majesty.” 

Viserys smiled, eyeing her royal red dress with curiosity. “Y/N.” 

She rose; she could still feel Gwayne’s eyes fixed on her. Sitting beside Rhaenyra, she took a large gulp of her wine. “Is Gwayne still-” 

Rhaenyra nodded, laughing to herself. “He is walking over.” 

“What?” Y/N’s eyes widened, her heart pounding. “Why?” 

“I assume…” She whispered, Gwayne now mere inches away. “He is going to ask you to dance.” 

“He-” 

“Your Highness.” The knight bowed. “My lady.” 

Y/N avoided eye contact and took another large sip. Rhaenyra smirked. “Ser Gwayne, congratulations on your victory.” 

“Thank you, Princess.” He smiled. “Would you mind terribly if I stole your lady for a dance?” 

Rhaenyra shook her head. “Not at all, my lord.” She looked at Y/N, enjoying this situation too much. “Y/N?” 

“What?” Y/N whispered. 

“He is asking you to dance.” Rhaenyra hissed. “Now get up.” 

“I-” Y/N looked at Gwayne for the second time that night, feeling as if she could faint at any moment. “I would be delighted.” 

His hand waited for hers, as it had so many times before. He whispered, placing his arm around her waist as they stood on the dance floor, his touch shocking her to her very core. “Is something the matter?” 

She shook her head. 

“Then why, pray tell…” His voice sounded desperate. “Have you refused to meet my eyes? I have missed your company.” 

She raised her gaze, falling for the trap he’d set. “I saw you but two days ago, Gwayne.” 

“There you are.” He grinned, pulling her closer as the dance began. “Now tell me, what is the matter?” 

“You are leaving soon.” 

“I am.” He replied as if this were any normal conversation. And perhaps it was, but Y/N would not say so. No normal conversation made her heart beat as fast as this. 

“And I-” She sighed. “I did not want to bother you while you prepared for your journey back.” 

“Back?” He tilted his head. “And where am I journeying to?” 

“To Oldtown, of course.” His eyebrows scrunched, and Y/N fought the urge to burst into laughter. “I assumed-” 

“Well, there’s no good in that, is there?” He whispered. “Assuming is a dangerous business.” 

“But why would you stay?” She felt entirely confused. He had won the tourney and now would go home to tend to his duties. “There is no-” His eyes sparkled as she spoke, halting her momentarily. “No reason.” 

Gwayne leaned down, his breath hitting her cheeks. “There is one reason. A very compelling one, in truth.” 

Her heart stopped. “Is there?” 

He nodded, eyes fluttering down to her lips. 

Oh. 

She was the reason. 

Before she could fall for his spell, she pulled back, disrupting the dance. His eyes widened, reaching out to hold her hand. “Y/N?” 

She ripped her hand back, staring wide-eyed. “I am not feeling well.” 

His tone was gentle, it made her stomach flip. Gods, he had to stop being so- so perfect. “Would you like me to-” 

“No!” She yelped, slapping a hand over her mouth. Nobles from around the room curiously gazed at the couple. “No, I shall go alone.” 

“Y/N-” 

She whipped around, stalking out of the ballroom. It broke her, to walk away from his hold. She knew she could no longer be around him; she was fighting her very soul to leap up and attach her lips to his. 

There was only one solution to this problem, this vexing complication - she would have to avoid him entirely. No more traipsing around the halls waiting for him to see her, no more walking by the stables or the training yard.

No, she would have to stay confined to her and Rhaenyra’s rooms. 

That was the best course of action, for both her and Gwayne. 

Little did she know, Gwayne would not stand for it. 

“They say-” Rhaenyra spoke carefully as she addressed her cousin. “That your knight is leaving today.” 

“Ah.” Y/N nodded, staring off into the distance.

“Y/N…” The Princess sat beside her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Punishing yourself because of your birth… You must stop refusing any sign of affection or love simply on the-” 

“Who said it was love?” Y/N scoffed, walking out to the balcony. “Certainly not I.” 

“Anyone with eyes can see it. He is mad for you, as you are for him.” Rhaenyra muttered under her breath. “Even if you refuse to admit it.”

“I cannot admit something false, Rhaenyra.” Her lips curled into a twisted sort of smile. “I am content with my life, serving you.” 

“All perfectly fine with me,” Rhaenyra reassured. “But you have a chance with Gwayne. Swear to me you will not waste it.” 

“I-” She sighed. “I must retrieve your dinner, my lady.” Y/N curtsied before racing out of the room. By the gods, she couldn’t breathe when Rhaenyra lectured her. It was horrible enough that Alicent had begun to look upon her as if she was a kicked puppy, now Rhaenyra had began to do the same. 

She pushed open the servant's door, twisting through Maegor’s tunnels with ease. It was odd, she told herself, at the lack of maids in its halls. Normally, she was dodging servants left and right. This felt strange, unnerving in a way. 

Footsteps echoed behind her, and her heart lept when a hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling her into a dark corner. She gasped, flailing her arms around, anything to beat this intruder off her. Gwayne’s familiar voice ripped her from her panicked cries. “It’s me! It’s me.” 

She rolled her eyes, pulling her arm out of his grasp. “What possessed you to drag me-” 

“You will not talk to me.” He crossed his arms, staring at her intensely. “I am sorry if I scared you.” She turned around, walking back to the hallway. Gwayne followed diligently. “My party is set to leave today.” 

Y/N nodded, ignoring the way her heart clenched. “So I’ve heard.” 

“I wanted to say goodbye before I left.” His voice wavered. “I will miss-” 

“You’ve said goodbye.” She cut him off, whipping around. “Now you may leave.” 

He closed the space between them, eyes running wild with confusion. “Why must you be like this? Have I truly upset you?” 

“Will you not respect a lady’s wishes?” She took a step back, scoffing. “I thought you were a knight, Lord Hightower.” 

“Don’t.” 

“I must attend to my lady. Her dinner is past due.” She continued her walk through the tunnels, ignoring his overwhelming presence. 

“Damn her dinner.” He hissed, walking a pace behind her as he whispered. “I have been trying, for weeks, to court you, and you’ve denied me every step of the way. Just as soon as I-” 

She scoffed. “Court me? Did Lord Tyland put you up to this?” 

He shook his head, laughing. “Is it so hard to believe that I am interested in you? That the very thought of you consumes me?” 

“Yes, it is.” 

“Why?” 

She could only imagine his expression, his beautiful face creased with shock. Her cheeks flushed at the thought. “I am a bastard, you a lord’s son. By the gods, your father is hand to the King, and I am merely a lady in waiting.” She frowned, eyes watering. “It is not proper-” 

“Then damn propriety!” He yelled, grabbing her wrist and halting her in her tracks. Her back was pressed against his chest. “I- I am mad for you, you must see that.” 

Her shoulders shook, tears falling down her face. “Gwayne, it is for the best.” 

“No!” He twirled her around, his hand gently caressing her cheek. “You- you make me think, and feel, and act as none have. Your laughter- it brightens my day. Your wit makes me proud. I am-” He sighed, smiling brightly at the mere sight of her. “How?” 

She tilted her head. “How?” 

“How can I show you?” Her back collided with the wall, her breath leaving her, her heart thumping at their proximity. “How can I make you believe?” 

“Gwayne…” 

“Damn it to hell…” He leaned down, colliding his lips to hers. She gasped, eyes fluttering shut as she instantly pulled him closer. “I am not deterred by your status, nor do I care. I will have you, regardless of what the court thinks is proper.” His forehead leaned against hers, his hand resting at the bottom of her neck. 

“We cannot-” Tears continued to fall down her face. “Gwayne it cannot happen-” 

“Do you want it to?” He remained steadfast. “Is this what you truly feel, or merely what the lords and ladies of Kings Landing shall say?”

“Gwayne, your father will never approve.” 

“By the gods woman…” He laughed. “Do you love me?” 

“Love?” She choked on a sob. Her body felt as if it could burst into flames at any moment. He was standing close, closer than what was deemed appropriate. “Do I-” 

“I do.” He whispered, nudging her nose with his, lips barely touching. “I love you.” 

“Gwayne, just listen to me.” She was fighting every bone in her body not to kiss him senselessly. “I am not good enough for you. There are hundreds of ladies-” 

“You are, you are good enough. Perhaps too good. Besides…” He whispered. “I want you. Only you.” His eyes were intense, his thumb caressing her collarbone. By the gods, he was trying to make her burst into flames. “Only you.” His lips collided against hers, her eyes fluttering shut once more. 

Her hands found their way to his chest, slowly pushing him away. “We cannot.” 

“Oh?” He looked around the hallway. “I do not see anyone.” 

“You know what I meant, Gwayne Hightower.”  

“Would you like to stop?” 

“No!” Her eyes widened, and she slapped a hand over her mouth.

His eyebrows rose, laughing to himself. “So eager.” He nudged his nose against hers. “Whatever shall I do with you?” 

“Why have you stopped?” Gwayne’s voice was but a murmur. “I did not know you were listening.” She smiled. “You appeared to be sleeping.” 

“Merely basking in your presence, my love.” His eyes fluttered open. “I must say, you look radiant in this light.” 

She laughed. “As opposed to?” 

“You know that I find you impossibly perfect.” His eyes shut again. “How long has it been since you began this book?” 

“Hard to say. Possibly half an hour?” She squinted suspiciously. “Why?” 

“No reason.” He smirked, finding comfort in her lap once more. 

“Well, there must be.” Her laughter filled his heart, his soul. “You never ask for the time.” 

“May I not ask the beautiful woman, whom I love, what the time is? I simply want to know how long I have been lying in the garden.” His eyes peeked open once more, her eyebrows raising in amusement. “If you must know, I  have an appointment at half past three.”

“An appointment?” She shut her book, running her hand through his hair. “Whatever for?” 

“It is a secret.” 

“Really?” She pulled her hand away from his hair, laughing as he sat up, obviously disappointed by the sudden lack of touch.

“Really.” He stood, extending his hand. She smiled, placing hers in his gladly. “It is with the King.” 

She laid her head on his shoulder, smiling as they walked. “Has something happened?” 

“Yes.” 

Her heart dropped. “Is it serious?” 

He nodded. “Deadly.” 

She groaned. “Now you must tell me.” 

He sighed, stopping by the fountain. “Fine, fine. But you must not tell.” 

She nodded, interlocking their pinkies. “I swear.” 

He leaned forward, whispering in her ear. “I am asking the King for your hand.” 

Her eyebrows crinkled. “My hand?” 

“In marriage, my love.” She stood there speechless. He laughed, kissing the back of her hand gently. “I cannot be late.” 

He had been halfway down the trail when she’d been brought back to life. 

“Gwayne!” 

He turned around, laughing at the sight before him. Y/N was racing toward him, skirts in hand and book discarded, grinning wildly. “Gwayne, you come back here this instant!” 

He shook his head, running away. “This is highly unladylike, I must say!” She glared, almost tripping over a tree root, his laughter cascading through the garden. “Almost makes me rethink my question!”

taglist: @beebeechaos @i-padfootblack-things

[channieschaoscorner]

Looking after you - Hyung Line - Stray Kids x female!9th Member Reader

Pairing: ot8 x 9th member reader platonic

Summary: As one of the oldest, you've spent so long looking after the boys, it's their turn to look after you.

Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, mentions of being sick in Minho’s section

A/N: Hi guys!!! Here's a new update for you, this is the hyung line so far. If anyone has any ideas for the maknae line, feel free to send them in. This can be read as a stand alone or along with my other 9th member works. Thank you so much for you support!!!!! 💕

Maknae Line

Masterlist

Chan (Predebut)

Chan yawned and stretched upwards. He pulled out his phone and groaned when he saw the time.

“Time to go home.” He thought to himself.

He packed his stuff up methodically, double checking to make sure nothing had been left behind. He made his way through the halls of the building, pausing once he heard the soft echo of music floating down the hallway. He spun on his heel, following his gut feeling that he knew who would be down there.

He pushed the door to the practice room open slowly, stepping in once he saw you sat on the floor.

”Hey! You didn’t text to say you were staying late-“ He stopped himself once you looked up.

You didn’t return his happy smile, you couldn’t. In fact you could barely even meet his eyes. He took in your appearance properly. Cross legged, hood pulled up so far over your head in an attempt to hide away, eyes far too bright and glassy. Concern sliced through him like a knife, any thoughts of sleep and his bed were long forgotten.

“What’s happened?” He dropped to his knees in front of you.

You shook your head, no trust in your own voice that it would remain stable long enough for you to answer and make him go away. This was not the plan, you hadn’t text him specifically. You wanted to lock yourself away from the world and pretend everything was fine. You couldn’t do that in your dorm so the practice room was the next best thing.

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest hurt, you dropped your head into your hands as the tears that had been threatening to make an appearance since he walked in had started to spill over. You felt his hands on your shoulders as he pulled you towards him. You gave no resistance and let yourself fall forward, his arms held you tightly and one of his hands settled on the back of your head. His thumb stroked the back of your hood and he rocked you side to side softly, like someone would do with an upset child.

He made no motion to move, he just held you until your sobs started to slow and turned into sniffles. He only let you go once you moved back on your own. You sniffed and coughed again, pulling your sleeve down to wipe your eyes.

“Well…that was mortifying.” You laughed, but there was no humour in it.

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

You inhaled deeply, and willed your voice to stay strong. “They’re debuting. All of them. So they’re moving out and debuting and I’m…” Your voice wavered.

“And you’re being left behind.” Chan finished for you. This wasn’t the first time this had happened and unfortunately it wouldn’t be the last. You had both supported each other through this but it didn’t get any easier. In fact, you’d only admit it to each other but it was getting harder.

You shook your head. “It’s not fair.”

“I know.”

”I don’t know how much longer I can do this.” You admitted quietly.

Chan’s heart rate shot up at your confession. “What?”

“I’m tired Channie, it’s so hard seeing them debut again and again and I just feel like I’m never going to be good enough-“

”Stop. You are good enough, you’re one of the best dancers here. You just need to wait a bit longer, I’m sure they’re planning on debuting you soon and then it’ll all be worth it.” The words were flying out of his mouth, he was panicked hearing you talk like that. You were one of his best friends, a constant in his life that he had gotten very used to and the idea of you giving up made his stomach flip and chest tighten like he was drowning.

You were nodding listening to his words, this wasn’t the first conversation you’d had when one of you just needed to be reminded why you were pushing through this.

“And I’m going to be your biggest fan when you do, I’ll be fighting at the barrier with everyone.” He continued once he saw you start to smile. “I’m serious, I’ll be worse than a sasaeng because I already know where you live.”

You pushed him over. “You’re ridiculous.”

He grinned at you, he was ridiculous but you were so grateful to have him in your life to ground you and remind you who you were when you needed it.

────୨ৎ────

Lee Know

Minho was at least 99% positive that when he stumbled to the bathroom in the middle of the night that he wouldn’t have to fight to use it.

However living with 8 other people meant that 1% made an appearance more often than not.

He waited when he was met by the locked door but biology was not on his side so he knocked. It was soft at first but when silence was the only response, he knocked again harder. The groan that sounded through the closed door left his hand hovering mid air. He knocked again but with less intensity than the last.

“What?” Your tone was clipped and you sounded exhausted to him.

“Y/N? What’s going on?”

More silence and then, shuffling?

The door unlocked, the bright light hit his eyes unexpectedly. He winced and raised a hand up, blinking rapidly to try and adjust. He dropped his gaze down to avoid the worst of the glare only to see you kneeling on the floor. Your face was a sickly colour, almost giving off a green hue and the sheen of sweat running down it had you shivering. Your eyes were shut and the way your breath was coming out in short gasps clearly showed how much effort it had taken for you to move from the toilet to unlock the door.

“What’s wrong?” Minho crouched down next to you and placed the back of his hand on your forehead. He could feel the heat coming off you before he even touched your head. You made an attempt to swat his hand off but you could barely lift your own. He wiped his hand off and stood up. He guessed you had a fever judging by the sweating and shivering, that and your body temperature felt like a furnace to him but he wanted to be sure.

“Open your mouth.” He instructed, holding the thermometer in front of you.

You grimaced but did what he asked, you were in no condition to argue with your dongsaeng. The thermometer beeped finally and when he removed it, he confirmed what you both already knew.

“You have a fever.”

“Really?” You replied weakly. “I never would’ve guessed.”

Minho clicked his tongue at your sarcasm but said nothing. Instead he busied himself with wetting a cloth in cold water and wiping down your face. The heat returned instantly but it was better than nothing. He repeated the action a few more times, taking notice of how your shoulders dropped and how you leaned your head back against the tiles on the wall.

“Did you get sick?” He asked.

You nodded, you’d closed your eyes again and were attempting some deep breaths in some weak attempt to settle your stomach which was currently doing somersaults. You could feel Minho wiping down your face and trying to concentrate on the feeling of the cold cloth that was marginally helping with your headache.

“Maybe it was something you ate?” He thought out loud.

Something you ate.

Food.

Wrong thing to think about.

Your eyes snapped open as you lunged back towards the toilet, barely registering how you all but shoved Minho out the way as you heaved into the bowl again. Your stomach heaved and cramped, the pain bringing tears to your eyes as your body started shaking again from exhaustion.

Minho settled next to you on the floor, murmuring comforting words and placed a hand on your back. He carefully removed the hair tie that was in its usual place on your wrist, he gathered back your hair. It was a messy and clumsy ponytail but it would do.

“It’s ok noona, I’m here.”

He stayed with you until you were sure you wouldn’t get sick again and then he walked you back to your room, holding you up in case your legs gave way. He sat you down on the corner of your bed before rummaging through your drawers to find you fresh clothes to wear. He handed you a t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms and then turned around to face the wall while you struggled to change. He normally would’ve left the room to be respectful but he was scared that if he left you’d collapse and hurt yourself.

“It’s ok you can turn around.”

He helped you into bed, tucking the bedclothes up around your waist but left your arms free. (He remembered you mentioned once about hating the trapped feeling of your arms being tucked in.)

“Ok I’ve left some water next to your bed and the bin is there in case you need to get sick again but I don’t think you will.” He explained, your eyes were half shut but you nodded anyway. He took another look around the room, deciding to leave your lamp on in case you needed to get up again. He closed the door behind himself but hesitated to go back to his own room.

He rolled his eyes at himself once he realised what he was going to do.

You woke up that morning and groaned feeling like you’d been run over. You stretched your arms up, feeling your joints crack into place. You rolled over in search of the water that you vaguely remembered Minho leaving behind but when you lifted your head up, you saw something that was definitely not your water on the floor.

“Did you sleep in here last night?”

Minho didn’t even open his eyes. “If you tell anyone, I’ll deny it.”

────୨ৎ────

Changbin

Today was not your day.

Between a terrible night's sleep, meetings that never seemed to end and dance practice that by the time you finally ended up in the recording studio, you were exhausted.

You were only there to record a few of your lines but by the 5th attempt of your first line, your stomach was starting to twist uncomfortably. You adjusted the headphone over your ears again and pulled the sleeves of your hoodie down over your hands in an attempt to soothe the anxiety that was starting to bubble.

“Ready?” Changbin asked.

You nodded.

You just about made it through your first line and allowed yourself to relax by a millimeter but you winced as your voice cracked at the high note.

The other producer next to Changbin groaned. “We’re going to be here all night.” You didn’t recognise him, he was a new producer in the building. You were more familiar with the choreographers and dancers for Stray Kids. Honestly you only came to the recording studio when it was time to record your lines or nap on the sofa when you waited for Chan to finish late at night. Either way though, you were clearly making a terrible first impression of what you could actually do.

“I’m sorry.” You apologised. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.”

“It’s fine Y/N, we’ve got the time for this. Just relax.” Changbin told you.

You nodded and took a deep breath. You started your lines again but from the second you started singing you knew this wouldn’t be good. You powered through the first section but you could hear the strain in your voice.

“Stop, just stop.” The producer cut you off.

Your head dropped, you dragged your hands down your face and groaned.

“Are you even trying?”

“What?” That surprised you. Changbin too apparently because his jaw dropped, he opened and closed it a few times but no words would come out.

“Are you even trying? We’re going to be here all night if you don’t get this right.”

“I’m trying.” You ground your teeth, fighting the urge to snap back at him that clearly you were trying and that you were obviously having an off day.

Changbin was tense next to him, he could see the annoyance on your face. Not just at the new producer but at yourself. The way your jaw clenched, the fists hidden under your sleeves and the way you kept rolling your neck and shoulders to crack them. The sly comments from the producer weren’t helping and they’d gone from sly to just cheap shots now like you couldn’t hear him. Changbin didn’t know what was worst that you could hear them or that the producer felt comfortable enough to keep saying them to him like they were in this together. When in reality, Changbin was trying to calculate just how mad Chan would be if he used the recording system as a weapon.

“I mean that was just shit.”

You ripped your headphones off. “I’m done.” You stormed out of the studio, abandoning all of your stuff. Your phone, your bag, the extra large coffee that you’d walked in with. It was the best option as your other option was staying and throwing it in that asshole’s face.

He shook his head as you left and turned to Changbin. “Fucking girls man, this is why I hate working with them. So dramatic about everything.”

Changbin narrowed his eyes.

“Channie hyung can buy a new system.” He decided.

Changbin found you on the bottom step of a staircase near the studio. You had your knees pulled up to your chest in an effort to take up the smallest amount of space possible. He sat next to you and leaned back on his elbows. When you didn’t acknowledge him, he bumped his shoulder into you.

“I’ll apologise in a minute Binnie, I just need a minute.” Your voice was flat, you didn’t sound annoyed or angry, just defeated.

He scoffed. “You don’t need to apologise.”

“I’ve been screwing up all afternoon with you and the other-”

“Fuck him.”

Your jaw dropped. “Changbin!”

He shrugged and smirked. “He was a dick to you. I don’t care. We all have bad days and mess up, taking it out on you and making you feel bad about it doesn’t help anyway. You’re human, you’re going to make mistakes.”

You opened your mouth to object but he kept going.

“You’re also going to make mistakes when you’ve been running around with a mad schedule for weeks and you were sick last week.” He looks at you knowingly. You look away sheepishly.

“How did you find out? I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Minho hyung threatened me with the airfryer if I ate your food last week and let it slip.”

You groaned and dropped your head into your hands. “I didn’t want you guys to know.”

Changbin rests a sympathetic hand on your shoulder. “You’re doing your best noona, it’s ok if you make mistakes or you’re struggling. That’s what we’re here for. We’re a team.”

You lean into his side and give him a one armed hug, relaxing into his hold. You were always grateful for boys but having that little bit of reassurance every so often was good.

────୨ৎ────

Hyunjin

“Hiatus?” Your voice cracked.

“We’re sorry Y/N but with the increased amount of negative attention on social media you’ve been receiving, we think it’s for the best.”

“How long?”

“We aren’t sure yet.”

The room tipped at that point. Your hand gripped the edge of the table so hard that pain was starting to radiate down your arm. Your stomach flipped and the word ‘hiatus’ was doing circles in your head like a car at a race track. You were painfully aware of the people talking around you but you couldn’t bring yourself to tune in. Static had filled your senses and you didn’t feel like you existed at that point. You’d worked your entire life to get to where you were. You’d gone against your parents' opinions, pushed through those dark years with Chan when all your friends were debuting and you were being left behind. You’d trained religiously, pushed yourself to the point of breaking sometimes, looked after the boys like they were family which after so long they were, all for this?

Hiatus.

You felt a hand on your arm and sensed people standing up, you looked down and saw it belonged to Chan. He’d come to the meeting with your manager as support. You were grateful he was there because you hadn’t heard a thing since they announced the plan. He steered you out of the room into the hallway, he stayed silent until everyone had left and you were alone.

“Y/N?” His hands gripped your shoulders and he could feel the tremor running through you.

“Hiatus Chan. They’re putting me on a hiatus and they can’t even tell me how long.” You repeated back to him, your eyes couldn’t focus on him. They held a dazed look that told him it hadn’t fully sunk in for you. You knew it was happening but the reality of it seemed too ridiculous to accept. Your heart hadn’t accepted what your head already had and that was going to be a painful experience when it did.

“I think you should go home.” He suggested gently.

You nodded.

“I’ll get a car sorted for you ok? And I’ll let the others know, don’t worry about that.”

The others.

The boys.

What were they going to do without you?

Rapid possibilities ran through your head, scenarios of what could happen without you there to help look out for them. Chan becoming overwhelmed, diets being enforced, staff talking out of turn, the boys feeling pressured into decisions they didn’t want to do.

You let Chan steer you into the car with the promise to be home early with everyone but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond. The reality of what was happening as you pulled away from the building hit you like a freight train and you couldn’t get enough air in. You didn’t know when you would next be there, if at all? What if they decided to keep you on a permanent hiatus? That it simply wasn’t worth the trouble. You worked too hard for this to be the end but what if it was?

You just about held it together until the car pulled up to the dorms, you thanked the driver and stumbled inside. Your legs had lost feeling as you took in the sight of the mess surrounding you. This was your home and your family and you were being taken away from them.

You had held onto this for so long and now it felt like it was being taken away from you, no matter how hard you tried to hold on.

You pulled the blinds in your room and collapsed into your bed, welcoming the darkness like it could shield you from the outside world. Your eyes zeroed in on the framed photo next to your bed, it was one of the first concerts you’d performed in. What started out as someone slipping had led to everyone piling on top of each other, the photo showed the nine of you laughing as you all attempted to balance long enough to get the photo.

That photo, it turned out, was your final straw. Your happiest memories were performing on stage with them and now you had no idea when you would again. The tears came slowly at first, but they consumed you eventually. The weight of what was happening took over your body and you felt like your heart had cracked in two.

You were so consumed by your pain that you barely noticed the bed dip next to you, only briefly registering someone’s presence as they slid an arm around you and turned you towards them.

“Shh, it’s ok. I’ve got you.”

Hyunjin.

You let him move you until he’s fully holding you and cradling the back of your head. He doesn’t say anything, he just holds you as you cry. He has to move his hand occasionally as hearing you sob has tears of his own spring. He swallows and pushes down his feelings though, this isn’t about him.

He remembered how you were with him when he had to take his own hiatus, how kind and caring you were, that despite your busy schedule, you still called him everyday, texted him constantly, met up with him for dinner, lunch or just to walk. Anything he needed, you did it for him. It’s because of this that when Chan told the boys what was happening, he begged to be allowed to go home to you. Not just because he understood more than the others what you were going through but because he wanted, no he needed, a chance to show you how much he appreciated you and all the work you did. How you looked after and cared for everyone, often forgetting yourself in the process. He wanted to be your person now, someone to care for you for once

He lets you cry yourself to sleep and stays the night with you. No one comes to disturb the two of you that night, or the next morning. He wakes to a text from Chan, telling him that his day has been cleared and he can stay with you. He looks down at you, still clinging to him like a lifeline, like if you let go that everything will disappear with him. You look so young to him right now and he can’t believe that you so willingly accepted looking after him and the others when they joined. You weren’t much younger than Chan when you debuted and you never once complained about the maknaes that you were responsible for now. They were just children, he was a child when you met him and you never once made him feel unwanted or unwelcome. A comforting presence in his life always, that now made him afraid about the future and what he would do without you.

That wasn’t important right now though, what was important was looking after you right now. That was his priority right now, he was going to repay back everything to you. You could depend on him for anything you needed and he wouldn’t let you down.

────୨ৎ────

Taglist: @m-325

[narnian-neverlander]

For You, Always [Viktor x GN!Reader]

Plot Summary: You press your forehead to his lightly and whisper your thanks again, and “What you did was more than enough. You will always be more than enough.” He tightens the arm still looped around your waist and pulls you impossibly closer, the hand on your face slipping to the back of your neck, mirroring you. This is how things have always been between you two and how they should stay: clearly caring and loving, yet a certain line never crossed.

Word Count: 4,7k

Warnings: slight angst, self-worth issues (both of them need a freaking hug), internalized ableism, talk about a non-consensual relationship (nothing explicit/graphic or sexual, but reader’s ex is clearly an abusive, ableist pos)

This is part of a series of stand alone One-Shots that all feature the same reader, you can find the masterlist here :3

A/N: Jayce is playing matchmaker, because both Viktor and the Reader have such bad self-worth issues, they’re not gonna get anywhere unless he whacks them over the head with his hammer

“According to Mel, he is an absolute ass, but unfortunately one of the most influential people in Piltover, so—“

“Unfortunately, he’s also kinda, sorta my ex…” you mumble into the rim of your glass, interrupting Jayce and it is comical, cartoonish almost, how his head turns to look at you so fast you’re afraid his neck might snap. Not to mention Viktor accompanying his reaction perfectly by choking on his own drink. You watch Jayce open and close his mouth several times until he finally settles on: “That guy? Seriously? Didn’t think that was your type…”

He casts an incredibly unsubtle, overly obvious glance over at Viktor as he says this and you would’ve loved to strangle him for it; thankfully the man in question is too busy coughing up fancy champagne to notice, he does however manage to get out a “Oh please tell me you lost a bet.”

Downing the rest of your drink in one go, you shake your head. “Gods, I wish. Just… young and stupid and naive and always too eager to please and — and he’s coming this way. Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me.” You all but flee the scene about to unfold, grabbing another glass off a passing waiter’s tray as you make a break for the nearest balcony. Your friends watch you disappear into the crowd with worried frowns; Jayce’s statement of “Probably a pretty bad breakup…” getting answered with an eye roll and a heavily sarcastic “You think so? I never would have guessed.”

The next hours are spent hopping from hiding spot to hiding spot, snatching drinks and snacks off trays whenever you manage while keeping an eye out for your personified worst nightmare. By some godly miracle you manage to utterly avoid the man and the next familiar face you spot when you dare venture back into the crowds is the Man of Progress himself, surrounded by nobles and merchants alike, polite smile on his face as he makes conversation. A polite, fake smile in danger of slipping that you spot from a mile away. Catching a glimpse of the band getting ready to strike up another song, you decide to be merciful and rescue him. It’s not entirely selfless though, as you figure if the asshole does end up spotting you, watching you dance with Piltover’s very own golden boy might be a good enough repellant.

“Excuse me, Mr. Talis?” Relief floods his features as he turns around to find you right behind him, having shoved your way through the circle of admirers. “I hate to interrupt, but you did promise me a dance. You’re not the kind of man to go back on his word are you?” Voice all sweet and coy and honeyed, batting your lashes at him; the picture perfect flirt making starry eyes at the man leading the city of progress into a brighter future. And it takes all he has not to burst out laughing, because he’s seen this from you before, except it’s usually not him on the receiving end of it, but his partner. It is charming, endearing even, he will admit. No wonder Viktor can never say no to you when you look at him like that. And right now he’s beyond elated you’ve decided to play his saving grace for some reason, so he wouldn’t even dream of turning you down.

“Of course not. If you’ll excuse me.” he states, ignoring any protests from bystanders and guides you to the dance floor with a hand on the small of your back. He leads you into a waltz and waits until you’re swallowed by dancing couples until he lets his face drop into an exhausted grimace. “Oh sweet Gods, thank you. Anymore of that and I would’ve driven the cocktail sticks into my ears.”

“You’re welcome. How did you even end up like that, though? Where’s your better half? He’s usually pretty capable of getting you both out of situations like that.” He sends you a knowing grin as he spins you. “Oh so you think he’s the better half? Ouch.” It earns him an eye roll, but you’re smiling nonetheless. “Like you don’t know I have a favorite. Now answer the question, golden boy.” There’s hesitation before he answers with, “He went home for the evening.” and you almost fumble your next steps. “Excuse me? The bastard begged me to come along for weeks and now he just ditches? The only reason I agreed to come was because he actually promised me a dance.”

Jayce hems and haws and you’re ridiculously close to intentionally stomping on his foot to get him to cough up an explanation; luckily for him he manages in time. “No, no, it’s more like… I sent him home cause if he would’ve had to be in the same room as your ex any longer, I was genuinely afraid he’d take the guy’s head off with his cane.” The laugh that bubbles up from your throat is joyful and real; Jayce has always been good at defusing your irritation with humor. It takes another few seconds and another look at his face to realize that he’s dead serious and your laughter dies on your tongue, leaving behind the taste of ashes. “You can’t be— He— What?! I left you guys for two hours max!”

“Yeah, well…” he starts as he dips you, “your ex has a way of getting under people’s skin.” No shit. But you’d honestly thought Viktor was above it. “What did the asshole do? Dismiss Hextech as an obsolete fantasy?” Shaking his head, he leads you into another turn. “No, quite the opposite, actually. He was incredibly interested, but his demands for becoming a sponsor were ludicrous, to put it mildly. Final say in the direction of Hextech, majority of the shares, unrestricted access to all stages of development and… you.” This time, you do stumble over your own feet in shock, falling straight into his chest. “Pardon?!”

The poor man looks as uncomfortable as you feel as he explains. “Apparently he saw the three of us talking earlier and one thing led to another and— fuck, I don’t know what happened between you, but that man is absolutely not over you. For some reason that is entirely beyond me, he was under the impression that because we’re friends we’d somehow be able to coerce you into being with him again. And the way he was talking about you? Gods, it made me wanna punch him in the face; it was so utterly vile I can’t even repeat it. Scratch that, I just really don’t want to.” All things considered, you’re glad for his hands steadying you, cause the room’s spinning even without the dance you’re still enagaged in and you feel like you’re gonna loose all the fancy hors-d’oeuvres from earlier on the polished marble floor any second now. “Great. Lovely. Perfect. And how exactly does Viktor fit into this now?”

He sighs. “Honestly, I can’t repeat what he said either.” This seems to ground your spiraling for a moment and you cock a brow at him. “Are you kidding? He’s usually pretty eloquent.” To say you’re surprised when he snorts in amusement would be an understatement. “I mean I literally can’t repeat it, because he was so utterly livid, he slipped into his mother tongue and while I can’t be sure, it didn’t exactly sound like he was complimenting the guy.”

Finally all the pieces click into place and when they do, you slow your steps to a stop and blink up at your friend owlishly. “He… Viktor got upset on my behalf?” The way he so openly laughs at you makes your ears burn and your fist connects with his chest in a halfhearted punch. “I don’t see what’s so funny about that!” Catching your hand as you ready yourself for another swing, this time aimed at his stupid, handsome face, he reigns in his laughter and simply smiles at you; not mean spirited or teasing, but shockingly gentle and sweet. “You really can’t even begin to understand the way he sees you, huh? The lengths he’d go to for you?”

The anger and embarrassment in your veins all but evaporates, replaced by something soft and warm; heat gathering at the back of your neck and the balls of your cheeks for an entirely different reason now. Your mouth drops open as you try to formulate some sort of response, only to fail miserably; incoherent stuttering and beginnings of words the only thing you manage to produce. The music finally fades out and is replaced by applause for the band as your friend chuckles and inclines his head towards the door. “You should go talk to him.” A glance over his shoulder shows you the gaggle of potential investors you’d saved him from earlier already making their way towards you again. “And you’ll survive if I leave you alone with these people?” An overly dramatic sigh is your answer. “I’ll gladly sacrifice myself for your happiness.” The ‘my hero’ he gets in return is dripping with sarcasm as he winks at you and makes a shooing motion towards the exit, then turns around to head back into the fray, giving you a clean escape.

Freezing winter air hits you as you exit the venue; bitingly cold but a welcome change from the sweltering warmth of the gala nonetheless. Starting left, you catch yourself after only a few steps to reconsider. Left would be Viktor’s apartment. Right would be the lab. You know him better than that, don’t you? So you change directions, readjusting your scarf over your nose. It’s a relatively short distance to the academy, even so your fingers are starting to go numb when you reach one of the big, heavy doors leading inside. The hallowed halls are quiet and dark, making the high ceilings and ornate walls seem even more imposing than usual as you make your way towards the lab with hurried steps. It all feels like you’re doing something illegal - or maybe it would, if all the security guards hadn’t seen you hang around the two Hextech pioneers often enough for you to know all their names by heart at this point. Arriving at the lab, first glance tells you it’s as empty as the rest of the building. Except for the tiny sliver of light peeking out from under the door. Bingo.

You gingerly, quietly press down on the handle, not wanting to involuntarily startle the man you know to be inside, just in case he’s handling something explosive. One experience like that had been enough to last you a lifetime. You’re in luck, as you instead find him hunched over one of the desks, furiously scribbling notes onto various scattered pieces of paper, muttering under his breath. The small lamp at his side casts deep shadows across his face, but you’re still able to make out the frown; thick eyebrows drawn together in irritation and lips pressed into a thin line. He couldn’t possibly still be upset about what happened at the gala, could he? No, impossible. Preposterous. Idiotic. He’s hit a roadblock in his equations, that had to be it. But seeing as you’re not in any danger of accidentally causing him to blow you both to pieces you make your presence known to him.

“I do believe Jayce told you to go home, didn’t he?” Viktor almost drops his pen in alarm, swiveling around on his stool to find you have sidled up to him, leaning against the desk, in the process of ridding yourself of your coat and scarf, an amused grin on your lips. He puts a hand over his racing heart, as he says “And a heart attack is a fitting reprimand for my crime in your eyes, yes?” You only raise your brows in return, smile slipping from your face, disapproval obvious in your eyes as they flit towards the clock in the corner of the room for just a second; it’s the same look he always gets from you when he’s working when he clearly shouldn’t be. Running a hand through his already messy, chestnut hair, he shrugs. “I simply didn’t feel particularly tired when I left.”

“So I’ve heard.” you muse and pick up a random cogwheel from the table to fiddle with. “Apparently you had some… disagreements with a potential investor?” He clicks his tongue in annoyance and all but chucks the pen still in his hand across the desk. “Potential investor, don’t make me laugh. That appalling, pathetic excuse of a man shouldn’t be allowed in a five mile radius of anything Hextech. Or a five mile radius of you, for that matter.” Humming in both agreement and intrigue, you continue with what’s really been eating you up. “Jayce said you hit him with some choice words. Mind repeating those for me?” A sideways glance your way to confirm you’re certain and then he launches into a repeat of his rant from earlier that evening. He gets about three or four words into it before you throw the cogwheel at him; it bounces off his shoulder and lands on the floor with a ping. “Oh someone thinks he’s particularly funny tonight. In a language I understand, maybe?” Try as he might to hide it, you catch the corners of his mouth tugging upward slightly. “That’s not what you asked of me, though.” Know-it-all bastard.

“Oh how dare you?” Hopping up on the table for additional theatrics, you grip your chest in mock offense and throw your head back dramatically. “Here I am, having braved a journey of freezing winds and complete darkness, to bestow my thanks upon you and you don’t even have the courtesy to thrill me with a retelling of your courageous deeds. Disappointing, truly.” A pointed cough into his fist does little to hide the laugh at your antics. “Please, the venue is a ten minute walk from here and all the streets are lined with lanterns. You’ll need to try a little harder, miláčku.”

Huffing, you run a hand over your face, desperately trying to hide how much the nickname affects you and give you a second to think. Your salvation stares at you from the other end of the lab, the golden horn of the phonograph glinting in the light of the moon that filters through the windows. And he immediately knows he won’t like what comes out of your mouth next, with the way your eyes flash and your lips curl in an absolutely wicked smile. “Well you see, I still haven’t been paid for tonight.” Confusion is clear as day in both his face and his voice. “I do not recall discussing payment for your participation in the gala…?”

“Oh but we did!” you giggle as you hook your foot around the center of his roller stool to drag him closer, very much enjoying the look of utter shock on his face and the slight graze of his hands on the sides of your things as they land on the desk next to you to try and regain his balance. “A certain someone promised to dance with me if I showed up. Guess who ditched before he made good on that?” At least he has the courtesy to look sheepish, a little knowing ‘Ah…’ sound escaping him as he rubs a hand over the back of his neck and drops his gaze to his lap. With how the night had gone, he’d genuinely forgotten all about it. And before the night had even started he’d hoped you’d forget. He really should’ve known better. A finger enters his field of vision to poke him in the chest. “You’re in luck; I am nothing if not merciful, so I’ll leave it up to you: a dance or an explanation. So what’ll it be, darling?”

He’s beyond grateful you can’t get a proper look at his face at the moment, with how pink he knows his cheeks to be, lest you realize how much the nickname actually affects him. And this shouldn’t be such a hard choice, really; the way his heart stutters at just the thought of either, he should be doing both. Besides, you deserve to know. Deserve to know that he’d told that pompous swine to go choke on his wine the moment he’d as much as uttered your name. Told him that he shouldn’t even be allowed to breathe the same air as you, much less be allowed close enough to touch you. That he could amass as much money and power as he liked, he’d never be worth even a fraction of you.

You deserve to know all of that. And yet he doesn’t tell you. Because while he did what he did for your sake, it had still been selfishly motivated. Because if he tells someone interested in you off, then at least it feels like you’re his, even for just a second. Because the irony of the situation is that while your ex might be undeserving of you, so is he. For different reasons, yes, but he feels it’s true nonetheless.

So he doesn’t tell you any of it, his personal demons are not your burden to bear after all, simply grabs his cane in silence and walks over to the phonograph. Slow notes of a gentle melody fill the air a few moments later, as he turns and offers you his hand.

And you’re absolutely shell shocked, to say the least. This is… not the choice you’d been expecting. Words are his forte; he’d always choose them over physicality if given the opportunity. Or so you’d thought. This doesn’t make sense to you; why was he so desperately trying to keep what he’d said about you a secret? Or had Jayce completely misunderstood the situation he’d recounted to you and Viktor had never said anything about you at all? Why would he bother to anyways? You and your past demons aren’t his burden to bear, after all. The uncertainty must be written all over your face, as you’re met with a concerned, “Are you alright?”

It’s a simple enough question, with a simple enough answer, yes or no, but all of a sudden, you’re a child again. Sitting bruised, bleeding, soaked to the bone and crying your little heart out in the shallows of one of the offshoots of the river, an altercation between you and some other kids having turned out to be another case of you biting off more than you could chew. And then a little pale hand holding out a dirty handkerchief had appeared in your peripheral, belonging to a small, lanky boy with a cane and big, worried golden eyes.

Are you alright?

You hadn’t known him then. But you’d taken his hand anyways. Had decided to trust him. He’d never once let you down since and you have no reason to doubt him now. So you do the same thing in this exact moment as you did all those years ago: just take his hand and trust him.

He pulls you flush against him, hands linked behind your lower back, your own coming up to rest on his shoulders. It’s nowhere near as elaborate and elegant as your waltz earlier this evening, more of a simple swaying from side to side, but it doesn’t have to be. Not for you. Not as long as it’s him.

Smiling softly, you say, “A dance with each one of the Hextech geniuses in one night. I must be the luckiest person in Piltover.” He hums in acknowledgment. “And do you have a preference?”

“Oh come now, that is an utterly unfair comparison.” And your heart aches at the way his face falls just the tiniest bit. “I’ve had my preference for years, regardless of dancing abilities; poor Jayce never even stood a chance.” It’s quiet and subtle, barely more than a deep breath in and out, but it’s a laugh nonetheless. “Don’t tell him that, it’ll break his heart.” In direct comparison to him, the bark of laughter that escapes you is loud and boisterous, only amplified by the muted, soft atmosphere surrounding you both. “Please, he knows. He’s been yanking my chain about that for a bit.” Not that you particularly mind; it’s a chain you wear proudly and for all to see after all. You’d shout your love for this man from the highest towers of Piltover if only he asked. “Besides…” you start while tucking your head into the crook of his neck, “I’m here dancing with you because I want to be. I really only danced with Jayce because I thought if… if you-know-who saw it, it might keep him off my back a little longer.”

A slight turn of his head has him nuzzling your hair; the hushed whisper of your name almost sounds pained as his arms tighten around you protectively. He isn’t sure what exactly happened between you and your ex, but he’d be willing to bet that the nature of your relationship hadn’t been… consensual. It’s plain to see that the man scares you and it makes him sick. Angry. Desperate. But most of all, he’s disappointed - in himself. The conversation him and Jayce had had with him had been one thing; the bastard knew how to behave at least somewhat diplomatically while there were people of importance present. Of course, Jayce, and by extension, you, couldn’t know that he’d had the misfortune of running into him yet again while he was leaving. He’d had to listen to that waste of oxygen in expensive clothing talk about you like you were nothing more than a filthy piece of his property yet again and this time around he hadn’t managed to remain even remotely civil. Had thrown every curse and threat under the sun in two different languages his way. Had hissed at him that he’d turn him inside out if he ever even looked at you again - only for the pig to laugh in his face, pat his cheek condescendingly and give a disgusted, embarrassed look at his cane, telling him that he was ’welcome to try’ before vanishing back into the crowd. Viktor had wanted to scream at the top his lungs; it had been a while since he’d felt so utterly livid, yet so humiliated and useless at the same time.

And here you are, wanting to thank him for some courageous, chivalrous deed he didn’t actually commit. Looking at him with the biggest eyes, like he’d hung the stars in the sky just for you, when in reality, he couldn’t even properly defend you against someone who’d clearly hurt you. He has to tell you. He’s not the hero you think him to be.

“About what I said to him—“ is as far as he gets, as you promptly cut him off with, “Don’t tell me. It doesn’t matter.” Not even ten minutes ago, you were essentially blackmailing him into spilling this secret and now you don’t care anymore? “I would argue that it does.” He feels more than sees you shake your head, your hair tickling his cheek. “You stood up for me, right? That’s all I have to know. It’s enough.”

Anger and disgust come back full force, choking him like bile rising in the back of his throat, not aimed at you, never at you, but at himself.

“It’s nothing.”

He doesn’t mean for it to come out so harsh and bitter and cold.

“It’s plenty.”

Soft and sweet and warm, the exact opposite of his own words in every way; the reassurance and comfort he’s supposed to be offering you dripping from every word. When did your roles get reversed? You’re the one in distress and you’re comforting him? He’s not just useless, he’s absolutely pathetic. And even though you might be none the wiser to his self destructive thoughts, some part of you seems to know; it always seems to know as your fingers dance across his shoulders to busy themselves with the hair at the nape of his neck, calming his nerves.

“I haven’t had— I mean, no one’s ever— Most people—“ A sigh, a clear sign of frustration as you try to get your thoughts in order, warm breath fanning over his neck, leaving goosebumps in it’s wake. “I can count the people who ever stood up for me over the course of my life on one hand; I mean, my birth parents never even bothered to. So knowing there’s someone who has my back, even when I’m not present? It’s…” Pulling back to look at him, his breath catches at the way the silvery light from outside empathizes the affection in your eyes and the tenderness of your smile. “It’s a nice feeling. Thank you.”

His hand is moving before his brain has time to play catch up, cupping your cheek and all but melting when you nuzzle into his warmth, eyes fluttering closed.

“For you? Always.”

He’s not sure he’s ever seen you look quite so peaceful and at ease and it feels like his heart is gonna jump right out of his chest; his gaze is drawn to your lips before he can fully think about what that could entail.

He watches your lips part slightly and when he manages to wrench his golden eyes back up, he finds yours already on him, wide in astonishment and he knows he’s been caught red handed.

And you consider yourself most fortunate, cause if he’d looked up even a second earlier, he would’ve caught you staring. The air is heavy and promising and whoever makes the next move decides wether or not things between you both are gonna change irrevocably.

Tonight, you’re the one that makes that decision. The decision that you’re not ready for things to change. You like what you have and are too scared of losing it. Instead, you settle for something different, yet just as poignant and important; a clear and explicit expression of love for people from Zaun. Softly tugging on his neck, he goes oh so willingly, happily even. You press your forehead to his lightly and whisper your thanks again, and “What you did was more than enough. You will always be more than enough.”

He tightens the arm still looped around your waist and pulls you impossibly closer, the hand on your face slipping to the back of your neck, mirroring you. This is how things have always been between you two and how they should stay: clearly caring and loving, yet a certain line never crossed.

Neither one of you notices the music coming to an end, replaced by the scratchy static of needle against vinyl, too wrapped up in the moment, in each other. A bell tolls outside, signaling the coming of midnight and just like in a fairytale, the spell you seem to be under comes to an abrupt end. With a deep breath, you step back, putting some much needed distance between you, if you want your brain to function properly again, that is, and clear your throat awkwardly. “I uh… I should be getting home. Some people still have a regular day and night schedule, unlike you.”

With a small smile, you go to gather your coat as he switches off the phonograph. When he turns back to you, his heart falls in disappointment; you’re already dressed and halfway to the door. He would’ve liked to walk you home, at least, but you honestly look like you’re fleeing from something; he apparently has imposed on you enough for tonight. Pausing with your hand on the handle, you call his name again, delicately, quietly. When your gaze finds him, you’re pleased to find his full attention already on you.

“Next time you’re pulling an all-nighter… save me another dance?”

And with the way his golden eyes start to shine like the stars and his beautiful lips quirk up into that crooked half smile you adore, you can almost believe Jayce’s words - almost.

You really can’t even begin to understand the way he sees you, huh? The lengths he’d go to for you?

“For you? Always.”

[wosospacegirl]

fever - kika nazareth

Summary: Kika is sick, and Y/n is falling in love

Word count: 1.2k

Masterlist

a/n: This is a schedule post. I had this fic lying around, but I forgot in what doc it was 💀💀💀

..

It started at training.

Kika had shown up looking ridiculously good–her hair in a messy ponytail, flushed cheeks, sleeves pushed up, all effortless and pretty and… hot. Like, really hot.

Y/n had genuinely stopped in the middle of a rondo to stare. Pina even smacked the back of her head when she lost possession of the ball to the other team… but Y/n couldn’t help it. It had been four whole days since she’d last seen Kika.

Kika had gone on a trip back to Portugal to see her family. She got some time off and decided to enjoy it back in her homeland.

Unfortunately, Kika didn’t think about how much it would affect Y/n… poor girl was getting sadder and sadder each day.

“She looks so pretty,” Y/n whispered to Alexia during their water break, eyes fixed across the pitch as Kika talked with the manager.

“Um… no,” Alexia muttered back. “She looks like she’s about to pass out.”

Y/n blinked. “What?”

But before Y/n could make sense of that, Kika began coughing–a lot. Romeu even put a hand on her back, either for comfort or to actually help.

And then came the sneezes. Y/n counted seven, while Alexia counted eight.

When Kika was done, the tips of her ears were red and her forehead was shiny with sweat, as if coughing and sneezing had taken a toll on her body.

“Flu season,” Alexia said. “She’s probably burning up.”

Y/n, still in complete denial, shook her head. “Nah. She just has... allergies.”

“She just sneezed again,” Alexia said, deadpan, pointing to Kika, who’d just been handed a paper towel to clean her nose.

“I think it was more like a… new form of communication she’s trying.”

“Her neck is red.”

“She’s just—radiating energy.”

“Nena,” Alexia said, now more impatient. “She’s not radiating energy. She’s radiating a fever.”

Y/n gave one last look at Kika, and yeah… she looked bad. The assistant managers had just walked her off the pitch into the hallway that led to the locker room. Guess no training for Kikinha today.

The reason Y/n absolutely didn’t want to believe Kika was sick?

They were supposed to have a date today.

Not a romantic one–just… casual.

A friends-with-benefits-who-are-hungry-and-go-out-to-an-Italian-place kind of date.

But now that Kika seemed to have lost one of her lungs, it looked like those plans were about to change.

Y/n ended up volunteering–casually, definitely not suspiciously–to check in on Kika for the rest of the team.

Kika didn’t even argue when Y/n knocked on the door and let herself into the locker room.

She was slumped on the bench, hoodie pulled over her training kit, legs curled up under her like a sleepy cat.

Her nose was pink. Her eyes looked glassy. Her hair was still in that hot, messy ponytail.

“Hi,” Y/n said, trying to sound casual. Normal. Not worried. Not in love.

Kika sniffled. “Hi.” Her voice was so raspy it made Y/n wince.

“You dying?”

“No, I’m fine,” Kika mumbled, swaying a little as she stood in front of her locker. 

“You’re not,” Y/n said, one hand hovering behind her back in case she stumbled again. “And you’re, like, weirdly warm. I thought it was because you looked… good. But I think you’re just ill.”

Kika gave her a sleepy smile. “You thought I looked good?”

Y/n, tragically, had no comeback. Not a single sarcastic one. “That’s not the point.”

“It’s a little bit the point,” Kika teased, before groaning and pressing a hand to her head.

“You’ve been gone for four days,” Y/n mumbled, brushing a hand over Kika’s back. “I was gonna take you out tonight.”

“Ugh,” Kika groaned. “The pasta.”

“I know. I had my outfit picked and everything.”

Kika sniffled again, tugging Y/n’s sleeve and curling into her more. “I can still go.”

“You can’t even stand.”

“Carry me?”

“No.”

“Piggyback?”

“No.”

“Stretcher?”

Y/n laughed soflty. “You’re delirious.”

Kika turned her face into Y/n’s shoulder. “I’m touch-starved and flu-ridden.”

“I’m taking you home” Y/n finally said, helping her sit up. “No training. No pasta. Just meds, soup, and me bossing you around.”

“Hot,” Kika whispered.

“You are hot,” Y/n mumbled, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Let’s make a quick stop at the infirmary.”

The nurse confirmed it–Kika had a fever of 38.4°C and was sent home with strict instructions to rest.

Y/n, ever the idiot-in-love, offered to stay with her. You know… in case she fell or needed something.

..

That night, Kika was curled up on the sofa with a blanket over her legs, hair messy and cheeks pink, sniffling into a tissue and blinking up at Y/n like she’d never been more adorable.

“Still think I’m hot?” she croaked, voice all raspy.

Y/n handed her water with pink ears. “Honestly? You’re sweating and your nose is red and I think I’m even more into you.”

Kika smiled so softly it made Y/n’s chest ache. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah,” Y/n said. “And you’re sick.”

Kika was not usually clingy.  At least, not like this.

Normally, she was composed and soft-spoken–the kind of affectionate that snuck up on you: gentle touches, shy smiles, casual thigh presses on the bench.

But whatever virus had taken over her body had apparently also overridden her emotional regulation.

Because now she was sprawled across Y/n’s lap like a cat, sniffly and half-asleep, one arm wrapped stubbornly around her waist.

“I don’t wanna move,” she mumbled, nuzzling into Y/n’s hoodie like it was a pillow. “You’re comfy.”

Y/n blinked at the wall, hands hovering awkwardly above her. “Okay but… I need to pee.”

“No,” Kika said firmly, burrowing closer. “Stay.”

“This isn’t fair,” Y/n muttered. “You’re burning up, you’re sweaty, and you still smell good. How is that even possible?”

Kika just made a sleepy little noise and tightened her grip.

Y/n had never taken care of a sick person before. She was the one who usually got looked after–stubborn and grumpy when ill, but quietly appreciating the attention.

This?

This clingy, feverish Kika who wanted nothing but popcorn–for some unknown reason–cuddles, and her presence at all times? She didn’t know what to do with it.

“Should I, like… make soup?” Y/n asked out loud.

Kika whined. “No, I don’t like soup.”

“I think sick people need soup, though.”

“Don’t go.”

“I have to get up and make something for you to eat, bebé–like real food.”

“No.”

Kika pulled the blanket up over both of them and held her tighter. “Soup later. You now.”

Y/n’s heart physically ached. “You’re so clingy,” she whispered, brushing sweaty hair off Kika’s forehead. “I didn’t know you got like this when you get sick.”

She ended up texting Alexia, after 30 minutes of staying perfectly still while Kika clung to her even more.

Y/n: what do i do when she’s sick and clingy and adorable and i think i might die

Alexia: You hold her and kiss her dumb forehead and accept your fate.

Y/n: I dont think i ever got to this part before

Alexia: welcome to being in love

Y/n stared at the screen, then at the girl drooling slightly on her hoodie. 

Yeah. She was doomed.

..

Hope you guys liked it!! <3

[plutosillywrites]

neighbor!price x reader except she’s moving in to the house next door and needs help from the strong man next door..

fyi: oral f! receiving, age gap (not explicitly mentioned), praises, sweet talk

it’s hot, and your sundress is not helping at all to elevate the burn on your skin, your hair is tied pretty up in a bun, and your carrying probably one of the heaviest boxes known to man.

you set it down right before the stairs to your porch and groan, “fuck, my back hurts.” you comment, your hand resting on your lower back.

you look to the house next door, it’s beautiful. blue, and white adorned the whole house, the trim of the windows and doors being white and the rest being blue. you notice a man sitting on a chair on his porch— hat tugged so you can’t see his eyes, and a cigar between his lips. (and he’s so hot you could drool.)

you look to the rest of the heavy boxes and bite your lip, you’d hate to be a bother— but, you really can’t lift all these alone. you walk towards the edge of his yard, your soft voice ripping through the silence. “i’m sorry, sir?” you ask, his head lifts to get a better look at you. “yes, ma’am?” he responds, and you feel an odd flutter— he was being nice for the love of god!

you fiddle with your dress a bit before saying, “will you please help me load these boxes inside? i’d hate to bother you— and i’ll give you anything you want for helping!” you say, quite innocently, it’s unfortunate for you that john has a dirtier reward in mind.

he goes to stand, a grin plastered on his face. “i wouldn’t mind helping a pretty girl like ya’self anyday.” he says, and you thank god that it is sunny and you are already burning red— or else your blush would be way more noticeable.

you smile and go towards the boxes to help before john just coughs and scoots you out of the way. “you’re all right love, sit down and look pretty for me, yeah?” he smiles before grabbing the box in front of you. “don’t want you to hurt ya’self lifting these heavy things.” (they don’t seem very heavy to him.)

you laugh and nod, move to sit on the steps of the porch. you fluff and play with your hair, smiling at john so sweetly he works twice as hard loading these boxes inside.

when he’s all finished, he wipes his hands together and smiles. “all done, pretty. now.. can i get my treat for helping you so kindly?”

you smile, standing to go make him a nice drink, thinking all too literal of his request. “of course.. you worked so hard! thank you— what are you wanting?” you ask, entering your home and gesturing for him to come with.

“oh, i’m in the mood for something a little..” he comes close to you, closing the front door with his foot. “.. sweet, like a delicious cupcake.” he says, but you notice his face is a lot closer to you now. you have to resist the urge to bite your lip and tell him the cupcake is standing right in from of him—

“of course, let me get the cupcake tin—“ as you turn to go open the boxes, he slides behind you, hands resting lightly at your sides— allowing you to move away from his advance if you didn’t like it.

“oh.. you’re so sweet..” he says, having leaned close to the shell of your ear. “clearly i was too vague.. you’re the cupcake, darlin’.” you smile, and giggle from nervousness, turning to meet his gaze. “really? you— me?” he laughs, loudly and boisterously before meeting your eyes again.

“have you looked at yourself? especially in that pretty lil’ dress you have on..” his fingers dance along your sides, wanting to get closer but not daring to cross a line. “let me have a bite?”

you leave him no more room for talking as you pull him down to your lips, your mouths in a synchronized wave, the kiss is leaving you wanting more— harder, faster.

your arms wrap around his neck and at some point he lifts you, setting you atop the kitchen counter, breaking the kiss only to pant and try and catch yours and his breath.

“you look so pretty..” you tell john, slipping his hat off, and sliding your hands down his chest. “i’m just a little jealous of your eyes..” your mumble, leaning up to capture his lips in a searing kiss again, legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him close.

he smiles into your lips, slowly tugging the hem of your dress upwards his hands feeling so big on your thighs, sliding them back and forth. “should be calling you pretty, baby..” he mumbles in your lips, his fingers softly nudge your legs apart.

one hand slides down to where your clothed core is, fingers making slow figure 8’s as you moan into his mouth, pulling away just so you can look down and watch him work. “does that feel good, lovie?” he asks, his fingers speeding up when you whimper out a “yesss….” .

he smiles, before his hand grabs the hem of your panties and tugging them down your knees and off completely. you gasp at the cold air touch your slick cunt, you grab the hem of his jeans before unbuttoning his them. “not fair if i’m the only one..” you say, tugging his pants down but john stops you with a smile.

“need to have a good excuse to see you again, and again..” he says, before moving his hips away from you and sliding his fingers up and down your cunt, before slowly inserting one.. then two fingers. pumping them with want and desire, rubbing in a spot deep inside.

he laughs pitifully at your quiet whines and cries, “poor baby.. not enough hm? i’ll fix that..” he leans down to his knees, his mouth face level with your pearl and hole, (which is squeezing his fingers harder cause he’s so close.)

he leaned close and sucks gently on your pretty little bud, slow but getting faster quickly. you whine and moan under his incredible feeling attack, “fuck- fuck!” you cry out, hips moving on their own.

before you know it, there’s a tight bundle of heat twisting and turning, exploding at its peak which has you crying out johns name and sagging slightly on the table. “so perfect.. just for me now, yeah?” and you nod dumbly.

maybe you won’t be moving into your house, you’ll be moving into his.

an: oh my i hope you enjoy this yummy treat, i’m so eepy so i will be crashing as soon as this posts so not a proof read (they never are..)

[zeroseuniverse]

ahhh that zb1 ask of the idol crush looking damn good and walking past their table at awards was scrumdillyumptious! perchance, could the same prompt be applied to skz?

Stray Kids When Their Idol Crush Looks Too Good Walking Past Their Table at an Award Show

Taglist: @sh0dor1 @zaycie @tinyelfperson @ltfircracker @lezleeferguson-120 @emilywjinnie @torkorpse

Bang Chan

Chan is deep in conversation with the members, but the second you step into his line of vision, he completely loses his train of thought. His mouth parts slightly as he watches you glide past their table, looking effortlessly stunning under the stage lights. He blinks rapidly, trying to compose himself, but Felix nudges him with a knowing smirk. "Hyung, you good?" "Yeah," he clears his throat, sitting up straighter. "I just—wow." Seungmin snorts. "Real smooth." Chan can only chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck, but his eyes keep flickering back to you when he thinks no one is watching.

Lee Know

Minho is casually sipping his drink, effortlessly cool as always—until he sees you. His grip on the cup tightens slightly, and his eyes subtly follow your every movement as you pass by. Felix catches him staring and wiggles his eyebrows. "Hyung, you’re looking a little too focused." Minho scoffs, rolling his shoulders back. "I’m just appreciating good visuals." "Uh-huh," Hyunjin teases. "Then why do you look like you just forgot how to blink?" Minho clicks his tongue and looks away with a smirk, but the slight pink in his ears betrays him.

Changbin

Changbin is laughing at something Han said when he notices you approaching. The laughter dies in his throat, and suddenly, he’s hyper-aware of everything—his posture, his expression, even his breathing. "Earth to Binnie," Han waves a hand in front of his face. Changbin doesn’t respond. His brain is buffering as he watches you pass, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. He tries to play it cool, but when you throw a polite smile in their direction, his ears burn red. Hyunjin snickers. "That was painful to watch." Changbin glares. "Shut up."

Hyunjin

Hyunjin was already feeling himself that night—perfect hair, perfect outfit, the whole deal. But the moment you walk by, it’s like his world stops. His lips part, and he sits up straighter, subtly adjusting his jacket as if that’ll somehow make him look more composed. When you glance their way, he meets your eyes for a split second, and suddenly, he’s self-aware in a way he never is. He swears his heart skips a beat. Felix leans over, whispering, "Hyung, you’re literally blushing." "Shut up," Hyunjin hisses, clearing his throat and forcing himself to look away. But inside? Absolute meltdown.

Han

Han is in the middle of snacking when he notices you. Unfortunately, he wasn’t prepared for the way you looked that good. Cue him choking on his food. Seungmin smacks his back, sighing. "Really? This is how you go out?" Han coughs, eyes watering slightly. "I—whew—I wasn’t ready, man." You don’t seem to notice the chaos, just continuing past their table like some ethereal being. Chan shakes his head, laughing. "You’re never gonna survive if they actually talk to you, huh?" Han groans. "Don’t remind me."

Felix

Felix was already enjoying the night, but seeing you? That’s a game-changer. His usual sunshine demeanor turns into something softer, almost dazed, as he watches you walk by. "Whoa," he breathes, eyes locked on you. Hyunjin catches his expression and grins. "Dude, you look like you just fell in love." Felix chuckles, rubbing his arm sheepishly. "Can you blame me?" When you turn slightly and send a small nod of acknowledgment their way, Felix practically melts. His hands go to his face immediately, and he just beams. "Okay, yeah," he sighs. "I’m doomed."

Seungmin

Seungmin is usually the most composed, but even he isn’t immune. He watches you walk by with an unreadable expression, his fingers tapping lightly against the table. The only sign of his inner turmoil? The way he subtly swallows and shifts in his seat. Jeongin grins. "Hyung, your ears are turning red." Seungmin scoffs. "That’s just the lighting." "Uh-huh," Han smirks. "And the way you keep staring?" Seungmin huffs, looking away. "I was just analyzing their stage presence." But the way his gaze flickers back to you immediately after? Yeah, he’s caught.

I.N

Jeongin thinks he’s prepared for anything—until you casually strut past like you own the place. His confidence takes an instant hit. He stiffens in his seat, suddenly questioning everything. Should he adjust his tie? Fix his hair? Why does his hand feel awkward just sitting there?? Felix catches him panicking and grins. "You okay, maknae?" Jeongin lets out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yep. Totally fine. Just—uh—breathing." When you glance his way and offer a slight smile, he freezes completely. It takes Seungmin flicking his forehead to snap him out of it. "Yeah," Jeongin mutters under his breath. "Doomed."

[winterstelltales]

Crush [Zayne x f!reader]

warnings: jealous!reader, really bad writing ig

you're not a jealous person, well, most of the times.

you just watched with amusement as the new intern ogled your boyfriend right in front of you while he checked your medical files.

it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, zayne usually turned a lot of heads wherever he went without even noticing. still, you couldn’t help but be amazed at how oblivious he was to the intern's huge fat crush on him. or maybe he wasn’t oblivious at all and simply chose not to care, you’d never know with him.

you and zayne had been dating for some time now, while you hadn’t publicly announced your relationship to the world, a few people close to both in your life already knew that you were together. but right now you wanted nothing more than to show this woman that he was taken. that he was yours. 

“miss, your arm,” the resident called you in a sweet voice, pulling your attention away from zayne. she had just finished taking the vitals and had put on some gloves. she motioned toward your injured arm, making a gesture for you to lift it.

zayne was still looking at your records with his brows drawn together. oh how bad you wanted to smooth that line in between.

you looked down at your arm, it couldn’t even be called an injury, to be honest. just a shallow cut running down your elbow to your wrist.

“ah it’s fine, it doesn’t hurt anymore…” you were saying when the man beside you suddenly turned his head with an all-familiar gaze that sent shivers down your spine which made you quickly avert your gaze. 

“even a small wound can lead to an infection if not treated properly,” he says, his voice firm, “let her do her job.”

oh he was upset.

you raised your hand so she could treat your wound. her hands were cold to the touch and had a tighter grip on your uninjured skin as she began to clean the cut with antiseptic. 

you sighed quietly when another intern came in, calling zayne over to check on your other colleagues injured on the mission. he spared you a glance, eyes softening before leaving.

you usually had a high pain tolerance, but you couldn’t help wincing when the resident wiped too hard with the antiseptic. 

you cleared your throat slightly, “could you—um, maybe be a little gentler.”

“oh!” her eyes widened in embarrassment as she loosened her iron grip on your arm. she chuckled nervously, “sorry, i am a little nervous around blood.”

you blinked, what the fuck?

before you could say anything, she had already applied the ointment and was hurriedly wrapping a bandage around your arm. you could only watch helplessly as the bandage ended up crooked and uneven. 

the curtain covering your bed suddenly opened and zayne stepped inside. his eyes narrowed at the lousy bandage on your arm.

“what is this?” you wanted to laugh at the way he asked the question.

The girl in front of you flamed red and coughed lightly before speaking.

“sorry dr. zayne…”

she says as zayne steps closer to you, “wait i’ll do it again.”

your eyes widens and you quickly looks at zayne pleadingly, shaking your head slightly.

zayne sigh heavily and gently takes your arm in his, “no need— just go help dr. greyson with the others,” he doesn't seem to be good at lecturing students too much. 

you watch the girl leave in silence, but your focus is quickly pulled back by the cold touch of the surgical gloves brushing against your arm. 

“i think she has a crush on you,” you grinned and said.

zayne glanced at you with a calm face, “unfortunate choice, i’m taken.”

you hum, satisfied with the answer you received. he doesn’t say a lot but unwraps the bandage wrapped around your arm and puts it aside. he is silent as he cleans the wound with precise practice, then picks up a new piece of gauze bandage and wraps it around your arm a few times before carefully tying a firm knot with his hands.

it wasn’t rare for you to see him working like this, but no matter how many times you see it, it will never be enough. his hands, even calloused and marked with scars, were far too gentle when touching you. you observe the way his lashes brush his skin, and the way his hair falls on his forehead with amazement.

“you have really long eyelashes” you blurt out and smiles when you see the tips of his ears reddening as he looks up. zayne had never been good at responding to your compliments, so he coughs and looks away.

“I see you still have the energy to talk nonsense.” he says, turning to leave.

“ah wait, it really hurts,” you suddenly cries out, squeezing your eyes shut and grabbed his hand, stopping him on his tracks.

he is in front of you in a flash, hands grabbing at your sides, “where?” his voice is filled with concern and you almost feel bad.

“here,” you speaks lowly and guides his hand towards your chest. zayne’s eyes narrows, already seeing where this is going.

“you—”

you shuffle closer to the end of the bed, looking pitiful as you speak, “this is so sad, i think only a kiss can make it better.”

“is that so?”

“yeah, on the lips,” you nodded seriously.

zayne smile tug at the corner of his lips, “but i don’t think you deserve a kiss.”

you pull at his arm, bringing him closer, “please?”

he looks at you helplessly, not having the ability to deny you.

his hand caresses the soft skin of your cheek, titling your face upwards before wrapping his lips around yours. it’s a slow kiss, sensual but not very long because he soon pulls away, but you’re faster. you grab his white lab coat and bring his face back to yours, he stumbles forward, making you lean back on the bed and steadies himself by placing his hand on the bed. his other hand pinches your waist gently.

you smile into the kiss, feeling your heartbeat rise with how close his body is to yours. zayne’s hand wanders up body, cupping your jaw and deepening the kiss when suddenly the curtain is pulled apart.

you pulls away from zayne while he closes his eyes to regain his composure. he takes a deep breath before straightening himself up and turning around.

The intern who treated your wound stood speechless for a moment, her eyes wide and red faced before squeaking out an apology and quickly running out of the room.

maybe you are a jealous person after all.

[moonstruckme]

Hey! 👋🏼 Ty for taking the time to write such eloquent and inspiring fluffy works for us!

I'm a writer as well, and what I've read of yours (most of your marauders in the last 2 days 🫣) has scratched an itch I've had for inspiration! This is greatly appreciated!

I was wondering if you'd mind writing something for Gn!reader and poly!Wolfstar where one of them aren't well (a cold or flu perhaps?) and reader cares for them, convinced they won't catch whatever the other has. But, it inevitably happens anyway and then they're all miserable and help each other through it? Muggle AU or whatever you're comfortable with. :)

If not, no worries! I just love your writing style and it's refreshing!

Have a fantastic day!

Thanks for your request babe <33

poly!wolfstar x gn!reader ♡ 711 words

“Rem.” You kiss your boyfriend’s temple, trying to wake him gently. “Remus.” 

He hums, a tired, croaky sound. His face turns further into the pillow. 

“Sorry, lovely. Your soup’s going to get cold.” 

Remus cracks an eyelid. “Oi,” he grunts. “Get away.” 

You let out a breathy laugh, sitting up. “Gosh, you’re so sweet when you’re sick. Aren’t I lucky?” 

“You’re going to be sick too if you’re not careful,” he says, though he scoots into an upright position against the pillows of the bed once he sees the soup you’ve made him sitting on the nightstand. You pass it to him. “Thank you, love.” 

“Don’t mention it.” You lift your hand, brushing some hair aside to feel his forehead. “How’s your throat?” 

As if reminded to do so, Remus makes a gravelly throat-clearing noise before blowing on a spoonful of soup. “Better, I think.” 

You make a pitying sound, stroking your thumb over his temple. 

There’s a tsk from behind. You turn to find Sirius carrying in a cup of tea. He levels you with a reproachful look. 

“You’re begging to get sick.” 

You roll your eyes. “I’m not.” 

“S’what I told them,” says Remus. 

“I never catch the flu,” you defend yourself. 

“Just…” Sirius sets Remus’ tea down on the nightstand, taking you by the hips to pull you a few inches down the bed. “Let’s keep some distance from patient zero here. Not that I don’t love you,” he says to Remus with a saccharine smile, “because I do, but I don’t need to miss my work party on Friday because this one felt cuddle deprived.” 

“Totally understand.” Remus slurps his soup. 

You frown. “It’s nothing so wholly selfish as cuddle deprivation. If I wanted those, I could just get them from—” You’re cut off when a bit of phlegm gets caught in your throat. You clear it hastily. “From you.” 

Sirius’ eyebrows have inched upwards. “No, I don’t think you could. You’re catching it already.” 

“I am not,” you say, but you can’t help coughing a couple of times. “Sorry, there’s just something stuck in my throat.” 

Remus groans. Sirius pins you with a glare. 

“Get in the bed.” 

Unfortunately, despite Sirius’ best efforts, Friday morning finds all three of you sniffling and foggy-headed, each too warm to tell if the others have a fever. 

“Two blankets is plenty,” Remus reasons with Sirius. 

“I’m freezing.” 

“I’m sweltering.” 

“I’m going to make tea.” You haul yourself upright, dragging one of Sirius’ three requested blankets with you like a cape. 

“Oh.” Remus sounds hesitant. “I’m sorry, lovely, I ran us out of honey last night. I’ll go to the co-op.” 

You try not to let your shoulders slump too obviously with disappointment. Or to curl up on the floor, or to start crying, or any of the things you’d really like to do. 

“That’s alright,” you say. “I can just dissolve a cough drop in it. It’ll work the same.” 

Sirius whines. “Baby, that sounds pathetic.” 

“I’ll only be a few minutes.” Remus starts to rise. “We need more tissues anyway.” 

“No,” you and Sirius say at the same time. 

“The last time we let you go on an errand,” says Sirius, “we found you nearly passed out in the lift.” 

Remus’ already flushed cheeks turn a deeper pink. “I did have all the groceries, though.” 

“I’m calling James,” you announce. 

“No,” Sirius and Remus chorus. 

“Why not?” 

“Lily said if we got him sick, she was going to take Harry to her parents’ and leave us to take care of him.” 

“James invented the man cold,” Remus tells you, sniffling. “It would be awful.” 

“Fine, then I’ll go to the store.” 

“No, come here.” Sirius reaches for you, wrestling you back down onto the bed. His warm cheek presses to your clammy forehead. “I’ll do it, I’ll call James. We’ll just tell him to leave the stuff outside the door.” 

“You know he’s going to want to come in,” says Remus, though he reclines against the pillows again with a relieved sigh. 

“Yes, well.” Sirius sets his lips to your temple. “Better to risk a whiny James than one of you keeling over on the sidewalk, I suppose.” 

“I did not keel over.” 

“Hush, darling. You’re growing delirious.”