#fluff without plot

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You could hardly contain the excitement coursing through you as you finished getting ready, adding the final touches to your makeup, fixing your hair just the way you wanted it, then applying your favorite perfume. It isn’t often that you get to go on dates with Leon, so on the rare occasion that the fates, or rather your work schedules aligned for once, you never hesitate go all out for it.

You smiled contentedly as you looked at your reflection in the mirror, finding him standing in the doorway to the bathroom, watching you with an admiring gaze as you finished getting ready. A whistle left his lips at the sight of you. “Not excited for tonight at all, are you?” He asked playfully, a soft grin resting on his lips as his eyes lovingly scanned up and down your body, taking in how good you looked in the dress that currently clung to your frame. You gave a soft giggle in response. “Nope, not at all. What ever would give you that impression?” you quipped in return, looking at him from over your shoulder with a playful grin of your own as you put a pair of earrings in.

His tall frame leaned against the doorway, watching you as you smoothed out any wrinkles or ridges in your dress from leaning over your sink to get close enough to the mirror. His baby blue eyes almost piercing straight through you in a way that made you remember the first night you met, how he had the same look in his eyes then. How he’d give you that look every time he would come home from a long mission. He stood before you clad in a dress shirt that almost looked as if it were too small and too tight for him, the fabric pulling across the broad muscles of his biceps and chest, looking as if it may rip with one wrong move.

Had he somehow managed to get even bigger since coming home from his last mission? Certainly looked it.

Not that you were complaining.

His sleeves were rolled up just above the crease of his elbow, leaving the cuffs to squeeze his arms a little when his muscles would stretch and flex with each movement. You could see the ridges of veins speckling his arms and hands. Even as he’d gotten older he was always sure to take care of himself, to stay fit to not only stay in shape for work but to be healthier for you too. It helped that age had been nothing but kind to him.

His shirt was paired with a nice set of dress slacks that suited him quite well. They hadn’t rest as tightly around him as his shirt, but they were certainly tight enough to show off his frame nicely. Specifically his ass and his thighs. He finished off his look with a nice pair of dress shoes, his favorite watch adorning his wrist and his jacket draped over his shoulder. He even went as far as to wear his dressier wedding band that he only broke out for special occasions.

He looked so fucking good you contemplated skipping dinner all together.

A coy smirk rest on his lips at your less than subtle stares, he took great pride in knowing how much you loved when he would dress up. Knowing that glint in your eyes as you looked him up and down. “Didn’t realize how much I’d grown since the last time I wore this. Doesn’t look too bad, does it?” He asked, as if he even needed to. “Bad? Leon, I’m convinced there isn’t a single thing you could wear that would make you look bad. You look hot” you responded, earning a half chuckle and a slight blush from him as if you hadn’t been married to each other for over a decade.

“What do you think? Do I look okay?” You asked in return, making him chuckle as he finally entered the bathroom with you. “You look beautiful, baby” he commented as he came up to you from behind, wrapping his arms around your mid section as you fought to focus on finishing getting ready instead of gawking at your husband who you swore was the embodiment of Adonis in mortal form.

Could anyone truly blame you for being so distracted though?

The smell of his high end cologne filling your senses, paired with the protective grip he had around you and that gorgeous smile he was giving you. It was dizzying almost, the effects he had on you with just a simple look and smile thrown your way, it only proved to make it that much harder to finish what you were doing. “Thank you, incase I wasn’t clear before you look very handsome yourself. Almost too handsome, if there is such a thing” you complimented him once again as you reached your hand up to cup his stubbled cheek, earning a breathy chuckle from him once more. His hands passively kneaded at your plush thighs as you spoke. Those large, calloused hands that have done so much fighting in his lifetime already, hands that bear the scars to prove his relentless fight for a safer, better world but with you, they were so incredibly gentle. Delicate even. A far cry from the force they show when he’s working. “Really? Too handsome huh? I could always remove a few items…would that fix it?” He asked with a mischievous expression, earning a bubbly giggle from you.

You worried your bottom lip between your teeth, feeling a surge of heat rush to your lower stomach as he looked at your reflections in the mirror with a slightly darker glint in his eyes now. He loved when you looked at him like this, like he was the only man in the world. The only man in your world and in a way, he was. “Careful baby, you know what that look does to me” he said, his hands gripping you a bit tighter as his tone dipped in octave, making you giggle. “It’s tempting…very tempting” you replied.

“You’re almost too good looking to leave the house like this. What if someone was brave enough to try to hit on you and steal you away from me?” you answered with a playful pout in your tone as you turned to face him, draping your arms around his neck before looking up at him with those cute doe eyes and fluttered lashes that left him absolutely weak in the knees. You felt as your pulse began to quicken when his hands came to rest at your hips, sliding ever so gently down your gorgeous curves as he pulled you even closer to him, leaving no room for space between you.

He always hated when there was unnecessary space placed between you, always either having an arm around you, his hand in yours or his body against yours somehow. It was comforting to him but it was also a show of his love to you, showing you how much he craved you and your presence. His arm around you or his presence near you meant that you were always safe in his eyes, that no one could take you away or try to harm you without having to get through him first. No one was ever stupid enough to fuck with his wife when he was around, he made sure of it. “No one could ever steal me away from you, pretty girl. No one in their right mind would be foolish enough to try, especially not when you’re around” he replied with a chuckle, leaning down to capture your lips in a soft, sweet kiss. “Damn right” you responded, tone a little deeper with a mischievous grin stretched to your lips. No one messed with you but absolutely no one messes with your man. “What did I ever do to deserve you?” He asked into it.

You smiled, one of your hands coming up to softly cup his cheek as the other trailed along his broad chest as you kissed him. You giggled softly as his hand lovingly rubbed circles into your hip, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. “Hmm well…you being friends with Claire” you said between kisses. “Us both working for the same agency for a while certainly helped” you added, each time ending your sentence with another kiss. “Then there was our first date and there was no way I’d have not fallen head over heels for you after that night” you finished, making him chuckle as you planted yet another kiss to his lips.

“I really left that good of an impression to you that night?” He asked, making you pull back a little in pure shock of such a question. “Are you kidding? I was smitten after that night! I called Claire literally screaming with excitement just gushing about how great of a night it was and how sweet and perfect you are. She was soooooo sick of me by the end of that night” you answered, making him laugh at your admission, a bright smile coming to his lips as your compliments inflated his ego just a tad. “Between her and Chris I’m not sure who picked on me more, always teasing me anytime they saw me talking to you” he added. “Hopefully I still live up to those thoughts after all this time?” He asked, making you smile warmly. “Even better, you exceed them every day. Every time that I think you’ve gone and out done yourself, you manage to only amaze me even more. Every day I wake up knowing I’m the luckiest woman in the world to have you” you answered whole heartedly, making his heart swell in his chest as he held you tight, his fingers gripping your hips a little rougher now as his nails bit at the plush skin of your hips, his lips finding yours in a more passionate kiss than before.

It didn’t take long for the kiss to take a less than innocent turn with a soft moan leaving your lips as one of his hands grabbed at your ass, allowing the kiss to deepen into something a little more heated and intimate. It was a good thing you decided to forego lipstick or else it would be smeared all over his mouth by now. Not that it would be the first time, nor would it certainly be the only place your lipstick has been smeared on him but you worked hard to make your makeup look good, so you were thankful that you hadn’t done your lips quite yet.

————

Soon you’d found yourself being pressed against the sink of your bathroom and the soft, excited gasp leaving you as he did so only worked him up even further. “Have I ever told you how much I love this dress on you?” He asked, making you giggle. “Maybe…but it doesn’t hurt to tell me again” you replied with a playful tone and coy grin, making him chuckle between your shared kisses. “You look so fucking good” he complimented almost breathlessly. For a moment you wanted nothing more than to allow this to continue, but he went through so much trouble to get that reservation for you that you knew you would both regret it if you cancelled.

“As much as I’d love nothing more than to continue, we’re gonna be late to our reservation if we do” you managed to get out between kisses, making him pull away but his arms still sat around you. “Damn…you’re right” he replied, a slight grin rising to his mouth at the sight of you all flushed, panting and lips all kiss swollen and shining now because of him though. “I’ll drive?” You asked with a playful grin, making him laugh. “Oh no. Last time you drove I thought I might have had to break you out of jail. You’re scary when you drive and that says something coming from me” he responded, making you laugh in response. “Hey in my defense, they were being a dick! It’s not my fault they didn’t know how to drive properly” you said in a pouty tone, making him chuckle. “I’ll drive sweetheart, don’t worry. I like it better when you’re my passenger princess” he admitted, making you chuckle. “I suppose I can accept that” you answered playfully as you placed a quick peck to his lips before grabbing your purse, putting on your heels then headed out the door, hands intertwined as you walked to the Porsche that sat in the driveway.

If there was one thing about Leon that you could really appreciate, it’s that he was a gentleman. He outstandingly good manners, something you’d become accustomed to over the years that you’d been together. To this day his gentlemanly ways still pleasantly surprise you, like how he goes out of his way to open every door for you.

As you approach the passenger door to his car, he doesn’t even allow you the time to so much as even think about touching the handle, already having it open for you and offering you his hand to help you get inside and settled into the leather seat. No one had ever done that for you before, so the first time he’d ever come to pick you up, you were so surprised and warmed by the lengths he went to in order to make you feel special. He still exceeds at making you feel like you’re the only woman on the planet.

When you’re in the car with him, the radio is yours to control, the temperature, the seat warmers, all while his one hand is on the wheel and the other is resting on your thigh. He keeps small things in his car that remind him of you, or small things of yours to keep you with him everywhere he goes. On his dash rests a Polaroid of you both on your honeymoon and hanging from his rear view mirror is a small charm from your most recent trip together. He kept a blanket and neck pillow in the car for you, always folded and resting on the passenger seat for you should you ever get too cold or for those long road trips you’d often take together. You loved that he went out of his way to make sure you always had a pair of sunglasses in the car hanging from your visor, to make sure he had extra napkins and straws in the glove box for your early morning coffee runs or late night bites together.

When he’s backing the car up, despite having back up cameras and sensors he’s far too stubborn to use them, opting to do it the old fashioned way. He’ll place one arm against the back of your seat just below the head rest, looking out the rear windshield and to the left and right as he backed into the space, always offering you a quick glance and wink your way when he would before putting the car in park. Something he knew sent butterflies to your stomach with the way a blush would never fail to rise to your cheeks as he did. He loved to toy with you any chance he could.

When you arrive at your destination, he’s quick to exit the car and open your door for you once again, offering you a hand to help you up and out with a soft, chaste kiss to your cheek as you’d stood up fully. “So beautiful” he complimented as you stepped out. It always brought a smile to your lips and a slight flutter to your stomach when he would, never afraid to then intertwine his fingers with yours as you’d stand, walking to the restaurant where he’s then opening the door for you before giving them the name for the reservation. “Kennedy, for two.” It just has such a lovely ring to it.

Never once did you have to lift a finger to touch door knobs, handles, or even speak if you didn’t want to, he had all of that under control for you and was always more than happy to do so. He would never settle for anything less than the best for his wife, your happiness and safety was always his top priority.

————

You smiled excitedly as you sat down across from your husband, browsing the menu for all the different options while sipping on your drink. He made his reservation here because not only was it a newer restaurant that neither of you had the chance to try yet, it was a very elegant restaurant so it was perfect for a night like this. You couldn’t help but admire him from across the table a little, getting lost in the way his eyes scanned the menu and that look on his face when he was concentrating on something just always made you smile. He’s just so effortlessly handsome. It made you wonder how you managed to get someone like him. You locked eyes with Leon as he looked up from the menu, a slight flush rising to his cheeks at your admiring gaze. “Have you looked at the menu any or are you just gonna stare at me all night?” He asked with a half smile, making you hum. “I wouldn’t mind staring at you all night. Especially when you look this good” you replied with a grin, making him chuckle as he shook his head. “You’re a menace” he replied, making you laugh. “Like you’re complaining. I’m a menace for you and you love it” you responded, earning a grin from him before he went back to browsing the menu.

After you both took some time to decide, waiting for the waiter to come back around to your table you held your glass up a tad. “Feel like this is the sort of occasion you have a toast for” You suggested making him smile, his gorgeous eyes locking with yours as he held his glass of whiskey up. “To a night off for once, one that I get to spend with my beautiful wife” he replied, clinking the glasses together. “To a lovely date night with my stunning husband” you added before both of you took a respective sip of your drinks before ordering your food.

The evening passed by delightfully, filled with your joined laughter and chatter of your work weeks and what you’d both been up to over plates of delicious food. It was as indulgent as you could have imagined it to be. Perfect food, paired with a perfect drink and even better company. The way the candle light danced along Leon’s silhouette, bringing out his eyes almost made you wish you’d have taken a picture to have the moment forever. It was a beautiful night all and all.

After the bill, then came time for dessert. Leon certainly never forgot about dessert.

It was his favorite part.

————

So there you lay all pretty against the back seat of his Porsche that was parked off in a remote spot only you two seemed to know about, your hair fanned out beneath you as he sat between your spread legs. Your panties lay forgotten on the floor as your legs were hoisted over his shoulders, a loud moan leaving you as his tongue found your sensitive clit again after spending so long teasing it with his fingers. One of your hands fell to his head, your fingers tangling in his luscious locks while he lavished in your sweet taste. You were thankful to be in a spot devoid of any people, you would likely alarm the neighbors with the sounds leaving you should you have waited until you’d gotten home.

He simply couldn’t wait, he’d been dying to get his hands on you all night and after being away for so long because of work only made it that much harder for him to be able to contain himself.

And when the car the DSO gave him had this much space? Hard not to put it to better use.

Your eyes fluttered shut as your back arched from the door you were pressed up against. The sound of his music playing from the radio in the background, paired with the low hum of the engine as it sat idle did little to muffle your cries of pleasure but should anyone step foot near the car, it would be obvious what was going on inside. From the thick layer of condensation and fog covering the windows and windshield, to the sounds of your sweet voice crying his name as your pleas for more left your lips in a sinful cacophony. Anyone would be able to tell you were having a great end to your night. “Leon!!” You cried out, warning him that your orgasm was near and catching up to you quick. You could feel the knot in your core snap as his tongue swiped across your clit ever so perfectly, leaving your back to arch once again as your eyes squeezed shut, a loud moan leaving you as your body practically collapsed with bliss.

You didn’t even try to hide what was happening at this point, the rock of the car from his harsh thrusts was evident to you even from within the cab. Both of you were too horny to care, too caught up in the moment to think of what others would hear or see. You needed each other. While usually he saves this sort of depravity for the privacy of your shared bedroom, he just didn’t have it in him to wait tonight. He’d waited long enough to see you after his last mission, he didn’t want to wait anymore. “Fuck, yes! More!” You pleaded through your moans, making him groan as he gripped your hips harshly. “So tight for me…it’s like you’re made for me, baby” he complimented. “Been looking forward to this all night” he added, making you whimper. “Fuck, me too” you responded, feeling him dig his nails into your plush hips as he thrusted into you harshly, fucking into you without mercy. “So deep…oh! Right there” You let out, your well manicured nails scratching into his back, leaving streaks of angry, puffy red skin in their wake as he pounded into you with relentless force. “Yeah? I know baby. Know just how you like it” he said lowly in your ear, making a shudder run through you. “Always know how to take care of you” he added, his thrusts reaching deeper, every stroke followed by a loud smack of his hips against your ass as he fucked you like an animal in heat.

You swore you were seeing stars at this point, his cock bullying your cervix with each thrust. So deep you could feel it in your lower belly. “So pretty all splayed out on this seat for me, letting me wreck you in a company issued car like a total slut” he said, making you gasp softly and your walls clench around him at the degrading name. He gave a chuckle, bringing his thumb to your bottom lip, making you open your mouth as you stuck your tongue out for it to rest on. “My pretty little slut” he added, noting the way your moans had begun to pick up in octave some, signaling you were getting close. He watched as your eyes rolled back, tongue out and mouth agape with moans falling from you. Fifteen years and never once had he grown tired at the sight of you. You had a beautiful way of making him feel young again, even after all this time. You tried to choke out his name as a warning, making him draw his hand back to let you speak. “It’s okay baby, I’ve got you. Cum for me” he assured, bringing that hand down to your clit, circling it with practiced precision. That was all it took to send you over the edge, your walls squeezing him sending him along with you.

You both sat there for a moment, fighting to catch your breath as you basked in the afterglow of your orgasms. He couldn’t help but smile down at you, seeing you in such a wrecked state because of him. “What?” You asked with a growing grin, making him chuckle. “Nothing, just admiring the view” he replied, making you roll your eyes with a laugh. “Missed you while I was gone” he said softly, his hand smoothing along your hip as he leaned down to be closer to you. “I missed you too, honey” you replied, looping your arms around him and pulling him into a sweet kiss. “I love you so much…feel like I don’t tell you that enough” he said, making you hum as you cupped his stubbled cheek. “You don’t have to, you say it plenty through your actions” you replied, looking into his eyes as your thumb rubbed soothing circles along his skin. “But I’ll never say no to hearing it, ‘cause I love you too” you added playfully, making him chuckle as he kissed you again.

————

Ever the trooper, he rises anyway, heading to the bathroom and checking the medicine cabinet to find what he’d feared - no cold medicine. Awesome. Resigning himself to trucking through the day, he blows his nose, pops a couple tylenol, and gets ready. His respiratory system isn’t too fond of the assault, however, and he’s coughing up a lung before he can finish. Today should be fun. He’ll need to stop by the drugstore on his way home. 

Once he’s dressed for the day (trying his best to look alive), Joel trudges down the stairs to see Sarah at the kitchen table, half-eaten bowl of cereal in one hand and a pencil in the other as she finishes the last of her homework. She hears him shuffle in and looks up just as he sniffles, locking eyes right before he can still his features into a facade of rested wellness. The  look on her face tells him he’s not getting away without worrying her, and he hates that. She doesn’t say a word as he makes his way to the coffee pot, she just watches him, only speaking up when he shivers at the mug’s warmth in his hands. The weather’s typical for an early autumn morning, but nowhere near chilly. Though the temperature should drop today with rain in the forecast, Sarah knows her dad and he’s never cold. 

“You know, I could just head next door. I guarantee she’d be happy to drive me,” she says smiling into her textbook, trying to be nonchalant with her concern. She was referring to you, their neighbor of a few months now, who’d given Sarah rides, helped her with homework, or checked in on her when Joel needed. You’d been around since the day you moved in, and neither of them could complain — certainly not Joel. Maybe she was hoping to fluster him a bit as well, suspecting his feelings for you were a bit more than the friendship he insists they are. 

He chokes on his coffee and coughs a little, shaking his head as she closes her book and begins leafing through her notes. Joel’s been worried enough lately that he’s taking advantage of your kindness too much — afraid he’s inconveniencing you and you’re too nice to say no, despite your insistence to help on more than one occasion. Besides, he already feels crappy, the last thing he wants today is for you to see him like this, hardly able to keep himself together. Or worse, to get you sick as well. Absolutely not. He opens his mouth to respond, but she speaks first. “It’s not like she hasn’t before. Maybe just one day? You need…,” she trails off, losing the battle with her expression as her eyebrows knit together and she notes the pallor and exhaustion on his own.

He takes a swig of his coffee hoping it will soothe the growing soreness in his throat before responding, “That’s alright kiddo, I-,” but the words catch in his throat before he can finish, and he cuts himself off coughing harshly into his elbow. Sarah grabs a glass and fills it with water while he coughs, longer than he has all morning, and hands it to him when he catches his breath. The look on her face is challenging now — she knows she won’t win this game, but she’ll still put up a fight. Predictably, Joel continues his previous thought as though unfazed by the fit, though his voice tells another story. “It’s just a cold, I’ll be fine. You don’t need to be worryin’ about me, babygirl,” he says hoarsely, waving her off with a sniffle. “You got a science test today, worry about that. You feelin’ ready?,” he asks, subverting talk of both his illness and mentions of you.

Sarah relents with a sigh, “As ready as I’ll ever be,” she says, gesturing to the textbook and notes on the table. He’s more confident than she is, and he smiles brightly at her.

“You’ve got it down, not a doubt in my mind. Now finish getting your stuff together before we’re late. I’ll get the car runnin’,” he says, moving his coffee to a travel thermos before grabbing her lunch from the refrigerator and getting it packed up. She looks back at him hesitantly before leaving the room to gather the last of her school stuff. 

Joel’s got his coffee in hand and Sarah’s lunch in the seat next to him as he waits in the truck. It’s nice enough outside, but he’s still chilly, and wonders if he should run back in and grab a jacket. He forgoes this idea when he realizes Sarah’d put up more of a fight if he did, knowing he’s warm-blooded as all hell, and vocally hot until at least November. Not to mention Tommy’d see right through him the second he shows up to work. No, it’s just early in the morning. The day will warm as the sun climbs to its apex for sure. He’ll be alright. 

While he’s thinking too hard through the fog in his head, Sarah climbs into the car with her backpack on, pulling it off to throw into the seat next to her. But not before she’s placed two additions in the seat between them - a box of tissues and a water bottle. She doesn’t say anything to him, just gives him a knowing look before loading her lunch into her backpack. Joel stills a moment — he’s not surprised by her care, but softens at the gesture. As Sarah shuts the passenger door, Joel wonders how the hell she turned out so sweet, and kisses the top of her head in silent thanks before pushing the truck into drive.

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By the time Joel gets to work, his headache has bloomed into pain behind his eyes, leaving him squinting hard in the bright morning sun. He’s also used quite a few tissues since he dropped Sarah off at school. He’s definitely grateful she thought to grab them, but unfortunately, his congestion won’t budge. He’s not naive enough to think he can hide from Tommy, but hopeful that his brother might at least leave him be today. He can muscle through if he’s just working and not being nagged by his brother for hours. He’s sure of it.

—--------------------

Tommy’s not an idiot, but he lets him slide for the first few hours. It’s clear he knows something’s wrong. Joel’s a quiet enough guy, but never this silent, only speaking up when the work demands. He noticed when Joel got out of the truck this morning looking particularly drained - both in face and demeanor - and had checked in as casually as possible, hoping to avoid his brother’s evident and exceptional irritability. Joel, of course, had promptly brushed him off and clammed up for the remainder of the morning. Speaking only when spoken to hadn’t stopped Joel from making noise, though, much to his brother’s dismay. Tommy had seen him all morning, breaking into intermittent fits of coughing he’d attempt to mask beneath the racket of power tools. Tommy’s just about as good at hiding his concern, and Joel catches him looking in his direction in the thick of it on more than one occasion. After which Joel would rip his eyes from his brother’s fretful gaze, hoping to deter him from moving forward to give him a once-over. 

Despite his many efforts otherwise, Tommy knows Joel’s sick - too sick to be working like he is today. It’s when the guys break for lunch around noon and Joel just quietly nurses a bottle of water (which he only has because Sarah made sure of it, no less), that Tommy decides he’s got all the evidence he needs. Tommy sidles up next to his brother who’s leaning against his truck bed, and by the looks of it, allowing it to hold most of his weight, too weary to do so himself. Tommy sighs next to him, and Joel braces for what’s coming.

“You know, we’ve pretty much got it covered over here today, not a lot left to do before we pour anyhow. Probably a good thing, bottom looks like it’s gonna fall out before long,” he says, gesturing to the darkening sky above them. “We can manage for the day if you wanna head on home, maybe take a nap? Hate to tell ya, but you look like hell.” Tommy nudges his brother’s shoulder with his own playfully, attempting to lighten the mood. Joel rolls his eyes at Tommy, sniffing and clearing his throat to talk.

“Nah. ‘S just a cold. I’ll be alright,” Joel says, hoping to end the discussion with his curt response, but failing when his throat catches on the last word. Tommy’s face is etched in worry at the sound of the cough tearing up his brother’s throat. 

While Joel attempts to catch his breath, Tommy takes in the reddened flush on Joel’s otherwise pale face, and the distant glassiness in his eyes. Taking advantage of his distracted state, Tommy places the back of his hand against Joel’s forehead. He’s barely there long enough to get a read on his temp before Joel swats his hand away, but it’s enough. No wonder he’s caught Joel shivering more than once today. 

“Dammit Joel, you know better. We’ve sent guys home for less and you know it,” says Tommy, face twisting in frustration and concern. 

“Tommy it’s fine I-“ Joel attempts to reply, but Tommy cuts him off. 

“Did you even bother to check it before ya left? You know this is a fuckin’ hazard on the job. Damn accident waitin’ to happen,” his tone is grave, but his expression is worried and achingly sincere. Joel pushes the thought from his mind and shapes up - not his little brother’s job, he can take care of himself. 

“No. I’m fine to keep workin. That’s it. We got stuff to do,” Joel says with finality, turning on his heel and promptly returning to his tasks. Tommy’s not happy about it, but he could spend all day arguing with his bullheaded brother, tiring him out more without making any headway. No, he’ll just keep a closer eye on him while they work. That’ll have to do.

—--------------------

It’s when the rain starts coming down a little after two that Tommy hits his limit. Once he notices a couple drops beginning to fall, he looks to Joel, just in time to see his brother shivering when the drops make contact with his overheated skin. That’s enough of that. Tommy stalks over to his brother, whose reaction time is significantly slowed, and Joel turns to look at him a bit dazed. 

“Alright, that’s it. Rain’s coming down, you’re shaking like a fuckin’ leaf. Go home.” It’s Tommy’s turn to remain steadfast in his convictions. Joel looks over at him with tired eyes and Tommy can’t help but soften. 

Only when a few chilled drops hit Joel’s face and neck making him colder than he’s felt all day that he concedes. “Yeah, alright.” It’s clear he doesn’t have the energy to put up a fight, especially when Tommy pats his shoulder comfortingly and he slumps a bit. Joel’s shivering again as Tommy ushers him back toward his truck. 

“We’re heading out soon as we get cleaned up anyway. How ‘bout I pick up Sarah? Just go home and get some sleep?” Tommy asks, hopeful now that his brother’s folding. 

“Okay,” he breathes out, running a hand down his face before trying in vain to rub out the pain behind his eyes. Joel stops just outside the driver’s side door and looks to Tommy to thank him. 

“‘Course. Now head home. I’ll see you in a little bit,” Tommy responds, to which Joel nods, then climbs into the truck. Tommy takes another look back to find his brother sitting in the driver’s seat gathering himself, mildly satisfied with this result 

_____________________________________________________________

For once you actually make your way to the parking lot right after school on a Friday. You're notorious for staying too late, grading, planning, or straight up yapping, but today you’d made a rookie mistake. You’d showed up to work on Day 2 of your period without checking your advil stash. Fuck. 

After a day of cramping, crabbiness, and guilty apologies after being kind of a bitch to your students a couple of times, you head to your car as soon as the bell rings. You’ll stop in the Walgreens around the corner from your neighborhood for a quick supply run, then head home to be comfortably horizontal for the remainder of this fine Friday afternoon.

—--------------------

Truth be told, Joel is relieved to be done for the day by the time Tommy makes him leave. The last of his resolve had crumbled and fallen with the first raindrops and the chill they set in his bones. He turns the heat on in his truck and settles in, letting the air warm him up and willing the pounding in his head to subside just long enough to focus on the road. A few minutes and a bout of coughing later, he finally works up the strength to drive home, only to realize he’s still horrifically unmedicated. Shit. Guess he’s stopping at the drugstore on his way home if he wants even a little relief.

—--------------------

Joel’s standing in the cold and flu aisle of his neighborhood Walgreens, sniffling miserably and squinting heavy-lidded at different cold medicine boxes in each of his hands. He remembers one particular medicine helping at least a bit more than others last time he was sick, but for the life of him he can’t remember which one it was. Dammit, he really just wants to get out of here. He’d much rather keep this cold to himself than be hacking in public, but he needs something if he’s ever gonna stop coughing long enough to get the sleep he desperately needs. 

The tiny white letters on the back of these orange and green boxes are starting to run together, and the pain behind his eyes digs its heels into his frontal lobe. He squeezes his eyes shut and curses a little louder than he realizes, triggering a coughing fit in the middle of the store. Great. Now everyone in the store knows he’s carrying a respiratory plague. He’s sniffling and feeling like a walking germ when he hears his name called.

“Joel?” you call from the end of the aisle, having heard his voice from a few lanes over. Joel turns his head to see - oh no. Jesus. Boy did he wish you weren’t the one seeing him look so gross right now. As you come closer to find him squinting under the clinical brightness of the drugstore, you get a good look at him. He looks… rough. His hair’s a bit damp, and more disheveled than usual - not the fresh, styled damp you see when he leaves the house after a shower, but a clammier mix of sweat and rain. His posture is far from the typical confidence and swagger he typically wields with each step, and is more evidently haggard. You notice his eyes first though, with dark circles and brows creased in confused exhaustion. They’re half-closed too, like he’s fighting to keep them open. 

He tries to open them wider and stand up straighter as you approach, clearing his throat to speak, but he’s coughing again before he can get a word out. He’s shaking with the force of it and you notice his shirt is damp in places as well - must have gotten caught in the rain. Just minutes ago, he’d have been uncomfortable under your scrutiny, but he’s too wrapped up in catching his breath to be embarrassed at this point. You draw nearer with pure concern in your eyes as his coughing subsides, and his resolve melts a bit more.

“Whoa, hey, you okay over there? That sounded painful,” you say, finally meeting his eyes. He notices the fretful tone in your voice — it’s gentler than his brother’s but carries the same intention. 

“Yeah, can’t say it feels great,” Joel says hoarsely before attempting to clear his throat once again, hoping his lungs will cooperate this time. “Can’t seem to remember which of these damn pills will give me a hand though.”

“Didn’t I just see you on Wednesday? When did you start feeling bad?” you ask, leaning against his side to take a closer look at one of the boxes from his hands. Maybe with some details you can help figure something out to get him feeling better, or at least let him rest.

“Last night, I guess. Came on pretty quick. Was workin’ okay this morning, but once the rain started, Tommy sent me packin’.”

“You went to work like this, Joel?! Isn’t that like, dangerous? You could really hurt yourself,” you chastise, rubbing his upper arm comfortingly while staring up at him looking utterly devastated. Christ he may melt into a puddle right here. He’s seen this look before, and though he doesn’t want you close enough to catch this, he doesn’t have the heart to shove you away like he did Tommy. He bothers to look at least a little guilty, and you sigh before continuing: “Bad idea. And you know it. Now, let’s figure this out. You’ve got the cough down for sure - what are your other symptoms?”

Before Joel can respond, he looks down into the small basket hanging over your arm and notices its contents: a box of pads, tampons, a bag of peanut M&Ms, a resealable bag of bite-sized chocolates, sour gummy worms, two different pain medications, and a box of peppermint tea. Pain relief, pads, and candy salad. Caught. This is not a conversation you want to have with Joel — men get weird about periods for some childish reason, and you’re really not in the mood. You glance down and move the basket behind you a bit, ready to brush him off and keep the conversation on him, but when you meet his eyes they’re wider and his brows are furrowed above you, drinking you in.

“You sure you’re feeling alright?,” he asks, gesturing to the contents of your little black basket. His tone mirrors the worry you’ve been bleeding since you turned onto the aisle. You’re taken aback by the question at all, given the obvious nature of today’s dilemma — one most men you know wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. His voice doesn’t waver, and his expression doesn’t falter, or express an ounce of discomfort. It’s interesting, but you’d rather not dwell on it, and laugh him off anyway.

“Oh, yeah. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before of course,” you smile and wave your hand in the air to brush off his concern, but his eyebrows inch closer to one another, and his head tilts slightly to the side. You’re the one growing warm under his perusal now, so you turn the subject back to him. “Anyway, talk to me. What’s the matter?”

Joel stares a moment longer, but begins to rattle off a list of fairly standard cold symptoms. You’re glad it isn’t anything too serious, he’ll probably just feel crappy for a couple of days while his immune system does the heavy lifting. Now to figure out what can be done to make him more comfortable in the meantime. One thing you know for certain after hearing the growing congestion in his voice and the rasp in his throat — he’s gonna need the stronger stuff. You take the boxes from his hands and return them to the shelf. He looks at you perplexed, struggling to sniffle against the congestion that — according to the pained squinting he’s still doing beneath the fluorescent lights — is giving him a hell of a sinus headache, and keeping him from breathing through his nose. Fine as he may be in a few days, at the moment he looks devastatingly uncomfortable. 

“Yeah, this crap on the shelf isn’t gonna work. Let’s get ya some of the stronger stuff,” you say, patting his shoulder before tugging him along to the pharmacy. He doesn’t ask any questions, just quietly follows your lead. Along the way, you explain the useless nature of the phenylephrine in the easy stuff, and how the good stuff requires you to show your ID. You tell him why the drugs with the pseudoephedrine are more helpful, and he nods and snuffles in understanding. Sounds good to him, he’ll let you take the lead on that one. As smart as he knows you are, he more than trusts your judgment.

You approach the counter and begin perusing the options, talking with the pharmacist about what you need, when Joel starts coughing again. You can’t help but rub his back and whisper soft words in comfort when his face twists in pain from the fit wreaking havoc in his chest. As your hand moves in soothing circles across his back, you can feel the heat of his skin through his t-shirt. Shit, he didn’t say anything about a fever. You need to get him home as soon as possible. 

When he’s composed a bit, you wrap up with the pharmacist, and she asks for your ID. You pull yours from your bag and hand it to her, but pause. Should you show her your own? Does she need to see Joel’s too?

“Oh, for sure. Uhm, do you need to see his too, since he’s the patient?” you ask, wanting to get done with this as quickly and smoothly as possible so you can get him out of here. She’s looking at the card in her hand intently and entering your information into the computer, busy with the transaction.

“No ma’am. We don’t need your husband’s ID since you’re the one purchasing,” she responds, not lifting her eyes from the computer. You blush at this, but she doesn’t seem to notice until Joel’s eyes go wide and he chokes, forcing him into another bout of harsh coughing. Jesus, his throat must be torn up. You reach for him with one hand and place your own basket and a few other sick day supplies on the counter with the other before she finalizes the transaction. 

“Thanks for all your help!,” you say a bit frantically as you begin to usher him toward the exit. You walk out of the store in silence, neither one of you looking at the other, each of you trying to keep a nervous smirk at bay. Only when the automatic doors shut behind you do you turn to look at each other and laugh heartily, extremely entertained by the pharmacist’s assumption. The laughter only ceases when it sends Joel coughing again — you need a read on that fever he’s sporting. Once he’s mostly caught his breath, you move closer and place a gentle hand on his forehead, then move it down toward his cheek. Joel closes his eyes and without realizing, leans forward into your soft touch. When your hand leaves his face, his eyes open to find that look again, and he muses that you may make him sweat before the fever gets the chance. 

“You didn’t mention this earlier. Did you know you’re running a fever, Joel?” you ask him, and he looks guilty toward the asphalt. 

“Tommy mighta mentioned somethin’ about it earlier, but I’ll be alright,” he responds, but fails to suppress a shiver when the breeze kicks up. Your heart breaks a little seeing him shaking — how did you miss that earlier? You sigh deeply before telling him you’re hesitant to let him drive home. He insists it’ll be fine, and you understand it’d be more of a hassle to come get his truck later on. You concede since it’s such a short trip back, but you’ll follow him back to your adjacent homes. 

—--------------------

After parking your car in the driveway next to his own, you meet Joel at his truck. You bat his hand away when he attempts to grab the bags from yours, and tell him to go unlock the door. Ever the gentleman, he’s a little perturbed, but follows your instructions anyway. Once you’re both inside the house, you set the items on the table and sit him down next to it before heading for the cabinet and filling a glass with water. After passing him the glass and watching as he slowly sips, you unload the bags, and begin reading the back of the box from the pharmacy. 

“Have you eaten anything today? It’s probably not a great idea to take this on an empty stomach,” you say. He goes a little green at the thought of eating anything before swallowing and huffing a response.

“No, haven’t really felt like it. Don’t think it’d sit well right now, to be honest. I’ll be alright with just the medicine, I bet.” You sigh in response, a little anxious it’ll make him feel worse, but either option could do that at this point. At least the thought of the medicine isn’t nauseating for him at the moment. You’ll let it slide, for now. 

“Fine. But you’ll definitely need to eat something substantial later,” you tell him, giving him a once-over, taking advantage of the single instance he’s below you to get a good look at him. You’re already thinking through take-out options that might help tonight. Another day, you’d make some soup for him — get him full and warm him up. Hell, tomorrow you might. But today you’re exhausted, with the period fatigue and the cramps that won’t let up, you’re definitely ready to get into some more comfy Friday Afternoon Clothes. 

“Alright, you get changed and get comfy on the couch. I’m just gonna run home and get outta these work clothes, then I’ll be right back.” 

“You’ve done plenty already today, darlin’, really. Helped me out more than you know. And I’d hate for you to catch this too,” he explains, looking guiltier than you’d like. You’re plenty aware of the risk here but at the moment you couldn’t care less. You don’t really feel like sitting by yourself in your house right now anyway. No reason both of you should feel crappy alone. 

“Uh, Joel, did you forget that we’re ‘married’ now? I’ll be back in just a minute to check on you,” you insist, smiling at him. He looks at you admonishingly and smiles back, shaking his head. You have no idea how happy that makes him — his stomach flutters at the joke, and it isn’t from his illness. You hesitate on the way out the door, and turn to check with him once again. “If having me hovering is gonna keep you up though, I can totally leave you be. I don’t want to keep you from getting the rest you need.” Your voice and expression are apprehensive, afraid to be a bother. 

He probably doesn’t still his face well enough, and he’s certain you can see desperation in his eyes when he shakes his head. He can’t tell you quite yet, but he’s over the moon you want to stick around. All semblance of nobility is dropped - having you near him could never be unwelcome. “You don’t hover, sweetheart. Nothing about you is bothersome. I’d love the company, actually,” he tells you in earnest.

Your expression settles at the reassurance, and you smile back at him. “Good. I’ll just be a few minutes,” you begin, but your smile turns to a grimace with the last few words as you feel a sharp twisting in your stomach and lower back. Your hand instinctively grips your stomach, hoping to ease the pain. There’s definitely no escaping that one. Joel’s eyes widen, but you cut him off before he can ask if you’re okay. “Yep, I'm gonna get out of these pants and into something loose before my uterus tries to kill me,” you joke, reaching for the knob. 

Joel chuckles in response but he’s frowning a bit. The look from the drugstore is back, and you don’t know what to do with his sympathy. You can’t look long before heading out. 

He hates seeing the pain you’re in, but what upsets him most is the way you brush it off. Like your pain is smaller, or insignificant by comparison — one he wouldn’t draw anyway. It sticks with him more than it probably should, but he can’t seem to shake it. He needs to act, somehow. Once he’s changed, he grabs a few blankets from the closet and the heating pad they keep around for his back and for Sarah’s own cycles. He knows how much it can help her, so he figures it couldn’t hurt to offer, at least. 

He sets up a spot on the couch for you both — a little nest for staring at the tv and, (he hopes), cozying up just a bit for extra comfort. He’s still not hungry, but he microwaves a bag of popcorn and grabs some other assorted salty snacks to join the candy you’d picked up. He’s seen how snacky you can get after school sometimes, and wants to make sure you have an array of options, prepped for any craving. 

You return as he’s placing the last of these items down on the coffee table — he’s rather proud of his little presentation — and sees your hair up and a comfy set of sweats that are just a little too long in the arms and legs. Lord help him, you look fucking adorable. He can’t stop the grin that spreads across his face when you walk toward him. 

“Well don’t you look cozy,” he says with eyes shining at your improved expression. You give him an exaggerated little twirl to show off the baggy outfit you’ve adorned yourself in for this evening’s activities. 

“Damn right! I’m ready for anything now,” you say, stuffing your hands in the pocket of your hoodie. He’s laughing in response before it catches in his throat again and he starts coughing. 

“That makes one of us,” he jokes once he’s caught his breath. 

“Yep, I want you on the couch. Right now. Go ahead and get comfy and I’ll get the medicine. We gotta get you drugged up enough if you’re gonna get any sleep.” You’re ushering him to the couch when you stop in your tracks. When you catch sight of the coffee table snacks and the heating pad set up on one side of the couch, already plugged in and waiting, you nearly tear up. You’re speechless for a moment — no one’s ever done anything like this for you before. This little thoughtful gesture means the world, and you’re not sure what to say. 

“Joel! You didn’t need to do all this. You’re sick, I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” you insist, nudging his arm with your own, leaning lightly into his side. 

“Wasn’t hardly anything, darlin’, just some stuff I know helps Sarah when she gets to feelin’ like you do. She likes her snacks salty, and always feels better with this little fire hazard next to ‘er,” he says, gesturing to the heating pad on the couch. His grin turns mischievous before he starts again: “Besides, you said it yourself, we’re ‘married’ now, huh? I oughta know what my wife needs just as well,” he finishes, voice too satisfied, and eyebrows raised in jest. 

You’re giggling when you grab his hand and squeeze it, thanking him. “This goofy little bit we’re doin’ ends the second Sarah and your brother walk through the door, by the way. Not looking to scare her, that’s the last thing I wanna do,” you instruct.

“‘Course, but fuckin’ with Tommy sure woulda been fun,” he says to you, and you laugh in agreement. Once you see he’s settled, you make tea for the both of you, hoping it’ll work magic with the medicine to get him resting comfortably and — with any luck — napping before long. He’ll probably protest, but with a little coaxing, you’ll get it into him. 

When you return with the tea, he takes it from you with both hands, before using one to pull you down on the couch next to him. He’s pulled you a little closer than you may have sat yourself, and he’s pleased when you don’t pull away or readjust. You just grab the heating pad, crank it up, and stick it behind your lower back while leaning forward to grab the medicine. You check his temperature again with the back of your hand while he’s preoccupied taking the medicine you’d doled out to him. He’s a little warmer than he was outside the drug store. 

“Maybe we should get a number on that. Where do you keep your thermometer?” you ask, worry written on your face all over again. You attempt to rise from the couch to go hunting, but he grips your hand again, keeping you in place.

“Nope, nope, it’s fine sweetheart, I promise. You need to get some rest too. Sit,” he directs, his tone leaving no room for discussion. You roll your eyes, but wriggle back against the couch again before pulling a blanket into your lap. Joel fiddles with the cord of the heating pad and readjusts it behind your back, making sure it isn’t folded or sitting uncomfortably against you. You sigh in relief and fall a bit toward him as you settle in, and he inches you way as well. You arbitrarily turn on a movie you’ve both seen, fully aware neither of you will be making it to the end, and snuggle closer. The fevered heat humming beneath his skin is pleasantly warm against you as he settles deeper, and he’s slipping in and out of conversation within minutes. 

_____________________________________________________________

Sarah walks through the door with Tommy in tow while end credits roll across the tv. They head into the den to check on Joel, but conversation falls silent and they stop in their tracks at the sight they discover. You’re sleeping peacefully, legs tucked up under you and head lolled against the back of the couch. Joel’s head has somehow found its way into your lap, and he’s resting warmly on your stomach, no doubt alleviating some of the pain with his warmth and weight. Your hand rests on his shoulder, holding him securely.

Tommy’s face goes slack, but Sarah’s smiling ear to ear, and turns to her uncle, trying to quiet her laughter. He looks at her wide-eyed, but says nothing, and she holds her hand out between them, fingers curling toward her palm.

It was then when the corner of his eye caught her hand nearby. With shaky timid fingers, Clark slid his hand toward hers, unintentionally knocking out the mug of coffee that she had just served for herself.

“Oops-a-Daisy!” Clark was quick to pick the mug up and used paper napkins to clean his mess. “Are you okay?” He looked up to find Lois was holding her hand close to her chest, but had a very peculiar look in her face.

It took her a brief minute to react, her mind processing his reaction. There was nothing but warmth and amusement in her eyes. “Yeah. Lucky, I’ve got quick reflexes.” She showed him her hand; not a scratch on it.

Licking his lips, Clark gently took it and examined it. His fingerpads tickled against her flesh and so Lois felt her heart speeding up a little. As his eyebrows twitched, her eyes grew big — they both aware that he had picked on that.

“Um, I-I…” Lois gently took her hand back and rubbed her arm, her attention shifting to the empty coffee pot; “You owe me a coffee, though.” That’s all she said before she offered a playful smile and walked back to her desk.

Clark followed her with his eyes and once he made sure the coffee station was cleaned, he headed to his station where he found his phone.

Lois’s desk was behind him, so he couldn’t see her as he faced his computer. Clark could feel his entire body doing this weird thing; he had never felt like this — anxious and scared but also looking forward to a positive outcome. He cleared his throat as he typed, sending Lois a text message:

Hey, wanna go grab a coffee?

Upon pressing send, he slumped over his desk and covered his head with his jacket; he couldn’t believe he had just done THAT.

His phone immidiately pinged, though. Clark looked up and fixed his eyes on the notification, he was still holding his phone.

“DO YOU THINK MY HAIR’S TOO LONG?”

You looked up from where you were working on a pile of paperwork from a recent case only to stare at a pouting Spencer.

Cute, you thought.

“Why?” You asked, now facing the man in front of you who was busy fretting over his hair. “Is it bothering you?”

“No, not really.” He mumbled. “I just—I don’t know. I want to keep it this way because it’s always been kind of on the longer side but I also want to try cutting it short.”

A bit shy from his admission, Spencer started fiddling with the hair tie on his wrist, obviously not that comfortable implying that he did care about his looks even for a small bit.

You almost cooed at how adorable he’s being for a grown man.

“Okay,” You prodded him again, wanting to make sure you understood what he was trying to say. “So, you wanna try a new haircut but you’re not sure about it. Well, I can help you with that.”

Spencer looked up from where he was playing with his hair tie and scrunched up his brow in question.

“How?”

You instantly blushed at what you were about to suggest when you noticed Spencer being all for it. The thing about Spencer is that he’s a great listener as much as he likes to talk. Coming from a household where he never got to have a good companion unless his mom was doing okay, Spencer knew what it felt like when no one wanted to listen to whatever it was one has to say. With all your doubts starting to vanish at Spencer’s obvious interest, you shared your thoughts.

“Well,” You decided to share. It’s not like you would recount to him an embarrassing childhood story. That’s a story meant for another day. “I may or may not have worked at my aunt’s salon over the summer back when I was in high school. I wasn’t a hairstylist but learned a thing or two.”

Spencer’s eyes widened in wonder. You no longer regretted sharing your experience and were sure he was about to share a tangent on hairstyling in typical Dr. Spencer Reid fashion.

“Archaeologists discovered that cutting our hair and styling it have both been practiced by human beings as early as the Ice Age.” Spencer babbled. “Also, they said that people’s social class, age, ethnicity, race, and genetics determined the style of their hair throughout history even up to the late 20th century.”

You grinned at Spencer’s info dump and ruffled his hair, to which he scrunched his nose.

“So, Reid,” You replied. “When are we gonna cut your hair?”

“What, did you join a boy band?”

Everyone around the table started giggling and smiling as soon as Hotch directed the question at Spencer, as your cheeks reddened. Unfortunately for Spencer, you being a former employee at your aunt’s salon certainly did not do you wonders. Because what was supposed to be a trim here and there became a short haircut for him, quite shorter than what he has envisioned, he shared with you.

You almost dug yourself a hole right then and there.

But apparently, Spencer liked it enough—loved it even—to not hate you for cutting his hair too short. It’s fortunate—for him and especially for you who gets to see him in his new hair every day—that Spencer was pretty. He looked good both in long and short hair.

However, with Hotch asking him that question, you were sure Spencer would hate you for cutting it wrongly.

“No?” Spencer replied as his brows crinkled. You breathed a sigh of relief with his answer, which Rossi didn’t fail to notice. 

You were about to head out when Hotch just announced, “Wheels up in 30.” When you heard Rossi speak to Spencer

“I like your hair, kid.” You almost smiled until Rossi questioned him. “Who’s your barber? Maybe I’ll get myself the same haircut.”

As if it couldn’t get any worse, you heard Morgan join in on the conversation, like both he and Rossi knew something you don’t. Spencer probably didn’t know what that something was too.

“Yeah, pretty boy. Who’s your barber?”

Spencer looked like he had swallowed a frog and he had seen a ghost with how comical he looked right now. 

It seemed Spencer knew what Rossi and Morgan were trying to imply in their prodding.

“It seems to me,” Rossi continued. “It was our lovely Y/N who cut his hair.”

At this, your eyes widened as Derek smirked.

“You move fast, kid.” He turned to Spencer who looked like he was on the verge of passing out. “Letting Y/N cut your hair without going on a first date.”

Spencer likes you back? 

As in more than friends? 

Non-platonic?

Spencer likes you back!

“Shut up!” Spencer screeched.

“Let’s leave the kids alone.” Rossi appeased Spencer while looking at you. “They have a date to plan.” 

Spencer sputtered out as both men chuckled while moving out.

It takes a moment, yet eventually his eyelids flutter open. His dark lashes fan out against pale skin. The constant bags underneath his eyes from his illness make him appear as if he never slept at all. Plump lips form into a cute pout.

“No. I’d rather stay here with you,” he refutes instantly, not even bothering to begin sitting up despite now clearly being awake and aware of his surroundings.

His fingers curl into the folds of your clothes where the fabric rests against your legs as if to root you in place so you won’t move. He’s always been a brat, though, you muse fondly, caressing his cheek with the same finger you used earlier to rouse him from slumber. You indulge him, delighting in the way he melts under your touch. Something in him softens at your attention, driving him to press his cheek into the heel of your hand.

“You know why you can’t,” you admonish, unafraid of the coming reaction because he always looks at you as if you’re the most precious thing in the world.

“My medications and exercises. Yes, I know,” he grumbles, huffing as he forces himself to release the piece of fabric still trapped by his fingers.

Instead of leveraging himself upwards, however, he rolls over in your lap and presses his face into your stomach.  It’s not really proper since you aren't married, or at least betrothed or engaged, but with his delicate condition, the way you shower him in unconditional love and unwavering care, and the closeness of the two of you with each other silences most disapproval before anyone could voice it. By this point, everyone knows nothing will drive you apart, so no one bothers. This also means, however, that you have a secret weapon you can unleash against him when he's being particularly stubborn about something. You nibble on your lip, then lower your head and glance at him from beneath your lashes with wide, doe-like eyes and an innocent smile that would fool a devil.

“Please? For me?”

Muzan considers it, eyes narrow and calculating. He knows what you’re doing. He always does. It’s just never enough to actually prevent him from giving into you. He nuzzles your stomach, lips twitching as they war between obstinate, resistant scowling and indulgent, accepting smirking. Why a smirk of all things you couldn’t say. It’s as if this…satisfies him, somehow. It’s as bewildering as ever.

The satisfied edge melts away into the soft, sweet smile reserved only for you. Something trembles in your chest at the sight of it. Your thumb seeks out the dimple peeking out at you against Muzan’s silken cheek. You can tell he’s ludicrously pleased by this simple affection. He glories under your attention like a light-starved plant basking in the sun. It feels…good.

“Well, if it’s for you,” he murmurs, both reluctance and a hint of teasing clear in his voice even as he finally regains an upright posture. For anyone else it might come across as mocking—or even actually be mocking, depending on the person—however here, for you, it comes out as playful. You roll your eyes at him, something many would deem neither appropriate nor respectful, but if the Heir, Lord, and Lady of the house don’t care about such matters of decorum, why should you? Which of course means nothing—no social conventions or pointed stares from elderly servants—stops you from resting your forehead against his. The bridge of your nose slots in nicely alongside his as you inhale deeply, breathing in his familiar scent.

You don't kiss. You merely remain there, connected through your proximity and breathing. Muzan leans into the gesture like he needs it to avoid suffocation. You lightly touch the tip of your nose to his, rubbing gently. A moment passes, another shared breath exchanges, and then you repeat a similar action but with each cheek to both of his, before recentering and inhaling again. After a few moments of consideration, you add in an additional show of affection and trail your lips briefly along his cheekbones. His breath hitches to such a concerning degree that for a moment he sounds like he’s choking.

“This is why you’re my favorite human,” you murmur, a clear joking lilt to your voice.

A perfectly manicured brow arches as he regains his composure, his voice emergeing wry and amused rather than affronted.

“Because I cannot deny you anything and will always give into you and your desires? My, my, how manipulative of you, Star-chan,” Muzan drawls, as perceptive as ever.

“At least you are clever enough to recognize this fatal flaw,” you sniff in a false imperious tone, affecting a faux air of sagely wisdom.

“How unfortunate for everyone, then, that I shall refuse to ever view my devotion to satisfying you as a flaw, fatal or otherwise. After all, how else will I keep you at my side for now and always?”

A startlingly coy smile accompanies the frank answer. There is something speculative and questing hiding in his gaze now. You consider it as you study his features. You sense no hint of deception, but truly? At his side for now and always? That almost sounds like…

You part your lips, lick them, press them together and then part them again, unsure how to feel or what to say. Your hands come up and cradle the back of his head and neck while your eyes trace every line of his face. He maintains his lax posture within your grasp, relaxed and confident, aware you won't hurt him. Never. Something he doesn't doubt, as, if anything, this new hold makes him sink into your embrace, near boneless aside from exerting the minimum amount of effort needed to support his own weight.

“Muzan…”

“Don’t,” Muzan pleads, literally pleads, almost edging into desperation. “Don't do me the disservice of denying it. Let me dream of such perfection. A man can dream, can't he?”

“Oh, Muzan,” you sigh. “When have I ever expressed the intention of leaving you behind for anything or anyone. Of course I will stay with you.”

“Always and forever?”

In a move far bolder than the last, his arms wrap around you. He disengages from your sharing of breath and closeness so he can bury his face into your neck outright as he clutches you close. Your cheeks heat a faint, shimmering pink that looks like crepuscular sunlight. His breath ghosts along your neck, lips mere inches away from your collarbone. They never land, however, hovering nearby as if shy while he awaits your response.

“Always and forever.”

It feels like a vow, one you're not sure you can keep when they claim he will die anywhere from within five to ten year’s time, though you will certainly try to uphold it. You will stay by his side until his last dying breath, whether it be in less than five years or over twenty. This you know. The stars are eternal. They understand watching and waiting as much as rising and setting or flaring and dimming.

“Then I will execute my due diligence and perform whatever actions I deem necessary for accomplishing such a feat,” Muzan declares.

A shiver of foreboding travels down your spine.

“Be careful what you wish for, Mu-chan. Someone might be listening.”

“Then I challenge them to interfere with us. I will gladly endeavor against any obstacle barring the way between us.”

“Then don't forsake yourself, Mu-chan, because the only being in this entire world who can truly turn me away from you is you.”

“Then we are eternal, for I would never turn against you, either. After all, how can a man betray his own heart?”

How can—

This is so much. Too much. Does he know what he’s doing to you, promising you forever even while his body fails? He has already pierced your heart using words alone without knowing it, so you sit there biting your tongue as that wound aches and bleeds. He must have some concept of his own mortality. He must know what future a Fallen Star and a human together spells. The fact that it doesm’t stop him…

You deflect such musings with practiced ease, and instead of pursuing it, you allow yourself to wind your fingers into his hair.

“Are you calling me your heart, Muzan?”

Rather than becoming upset or separating himself from you, he clings to you, lips trembling against the hollow of your throat as his head tilts.

“Are you claiming you are not?”

Turning your head down, you peer down into vulnerable violet eyes.

“Then would that make you mine?”

“If I ever belonged to anyone, it would be you,” Muzan confesses. “My heart, black as it is, is yours to claim.”

“Tch,” you scoff, “the blackest thing about you is your hair, my sweet little nightingale.”

“Oh, no, my heart,” Muzan assures you, reaching out to cup your jaw. “I know who and what I am at my core. Your light illuminates that more clearly than ever, but you are the one being I will never let my darkness consume.”

“A star has no fear of the dark anyway. After all, the brightest of us shine most brilliantly amidst the blackest of nights. We were always meant to be companions of the dark.”

“Then I hope you will illuminate me from this day forth until the end of days. I could ask you for no greater gift.”

“Then so mote it be.”

Because in the depths of your soul, you know you cannot bear to part from him a moment too soon. You cannot bear to deny him this. You cannot bear to look away. So why not indulge him?

At least while you search for a solution so he can live a normal life without the burden of his debilitating illness. Whether it be caused by a disease, a curse, a toxin, or something else, you reefuse to give up on finding a solution. You won't let this distract you from that mission, or erode your resolve. You just also can't say no to him when he looks at you like this, for you are weak and soft when it comes to him.

It’s a distraction. It’s a weakness, too. It’ll hold you back. You realize that. It might even kill him, if he steals all of your attention away from your own efforts to preserve his life. Yet…

How can you not offer him this one thing? How can you not share your light? How can you deny his heart’s desire? His soul burns with it, so bright it hurts to look at its aura.

“It will be. Not even my body or my limited time in it will ever keep you from me. I will never abide by any authority except my own will.”

“You love tempting fate, don't you?”

“Don’t let it incite any jealousy in you,” Muzan warns with a second hint of his trademark biting teasing creeping through, voice smooth and serene despite the humor now shimmering in his eyes. “I would prefer tempting you by far.”

“How utterly shameless and uncouth of you,” you counter, lips curling up at the edges in fondness. “Do you make such bold statements and dramatic overtures often?”

“Only in the presence of one so beautiful and worthy of my admiration that all sense, wit, and self-preservation flee me.”

“How unfortunate for you, then, to lose all reason over gaining one person’s favor.”

“I believe you mean ‘how unfortunate for everyone else’, my star.”

“You say that now, Muzan, but…”

“And I mean it. I pity the poor, unfortunate souls who try to stand in my way.”

“Well right now you are standing in your own way. You need your next dose of medicines and exercises. Now don't fight me, and hold onto me.”

Muzan doesn't protest as you release your original hold to shift his weight around, scooping him into a bridal carry as you stand. His left arm loops around your neck, his right grips your left shoulder for purchase, and his head rests on your right shoulder against yours. Having his neck and wrists so close to yours leaves you forcing down an elated glow. His life blood pumps so close to the surface there, his scent inescapable. It wafts up to you as you turn, dropping a second kiss onto his temple. You’d smell like him for days even if did you somehow manage to avoid him that long. It’s why you never mind. You don’t think he would either if he really understood the implications.

As things stand, he only feels comfortable being carried or helped back to his rooms by you, and even then it’s rare. It makes you wonder just how bad he feels today that he refrains from insisting on at least walking himself since he usually finds this mortifying. The only reason he’s not being a major asshole right now is because it involves you and not concerned servants and attendants. Anyone else would probably get their head bitten off for their trouble since he hates exhibiting any weakness despite his frail constitution.

This entire experience grates on his pride and self-worth. That he permits anyone to see him like this without any airs or facades is as endearing and fascinating as it is worrying and terrifying. It triggers a quickening of your steps as you effortlessly dodge around anyone who might catch a glimpse of him as he is now on the return trip from the gardens where he napped while laying across your lap earlier. You sense that he notices your efforts, though he speaks again only when you reach his quarters and deposit him on a nest of cushions. He surprises you when he lashes out lightening quick, far faster than he usually moves, and catches your wrist before you can drift further away than arm’s length.

“Thank you,” he tells you with sincerity instead of throwing a tantrum like he would if the helpers assigned to him had tried the same thing.

He sounds so quiet, so faint. It hits you then that he’s just used a decent reserve of his fleeting energy to make sure his message reaches you, or more likely, to move with such force and speed. You twirl your hand around until you can hold his in your own, then you squeeze. After hesitating for a few seconds, you rub a soothing circle into the underside of his wrist that has him closing his eyes in silent enjoyment.

Such a simple gesture evokes something inside of you that you can't name, yet it doesn't bother you. Instead, you step back into his personal space, lower yourself onto the cushions next to him, and open your arms. He chuckles, eyes lighting up in smug pleasure as he resumes a similar position, somehow managing to recline like a graceful—if spoiled—lap cat. Your hands fall to his hair, gently finger-combing it as he stares up into your face. He stretches a limp hand toward the underside of your jaw, but it starts to falter, losing strength before he can make contact with you. Seeing the frustration burning within those twin violet irises prompts action on your part. You lean down until your face skims his fingertips. You feel his pulse jump when you tilt your head so your lips brush against his knuckles. He looks utterly captivated by the simple action, mesmerized by the sensation of yet another almost-kiss against his skin.

“While your thanks is appreciated, Mu-chan, you know it's not necessary. I would do it a thousand times for you to ensure your comfort.”

“Yes,” he agrees easily, “you would. That is why you are my favorite, Star-chan.”

You tip your head to the other side without dislodging him from his position.

“If I’m your favorite, does that mean you’ll do your exercises and take your medicines without complaint? Maybe even without insulting this latest doctor or making his assistant cry?”

It may perhaps seem unbecoming of a noble heir to roll their eyes, yet that hardly stops Muzan after he hears the chastisement in your tone.

“If he were not a simpleton or a fraud, perhaps I would respect him more. I’m planning on dismissing him if I show no signs of improvement after six more months. As for his assistant, however…He should rejoice over my lasting illness while he can, as if I ever find a cure, I will not be responsible for my actions. I don’t like the way he looks at you. It makes me wish I had the physical capability to gouge out his eyes so they can never catch a glimpse of you again.”

The words spill out all at once, Muzan all but ranting by the end of it. After the deluge ceases, he recedes into breathless pants for a moment, after which he begins gasping and gurgling. Recognizing the signs, you swiftly right him and position him so you can hold him steady and rub calming circles into his back. It happens like clockwork—an almost startled-sounding inhale of a last gasp transitions into a wracking cough and sucking wheeze. You hum a nonsense tune as you cradle his trembling, jerking body against yours until the fit passes. By the end of it, Muzan is panting and the sharp tang of freshly spilled blood bathes your nose and tongue. You prop him up against a stack of cushions so you can call for someone to fetch him some clean water to rinse his mouth, his favorite tea, and his medicines, then you go about cleaning him up and making him as comfortable as possible.

“You overexerted yourself and let yourself get too agitated today, Mu-chan. Rest for me now, okay? I’ll take care of you.”

And address what caused this later. Muzan was right, of course, about that creepy assistant. You just don't view it as a great cause for concern since you know you can obliterate him or any other human bold, foolish, or deluded enough to try anything. Somewhat literally as a star, as you can make your touch burn. Stars are hot, after all. They’re not just light; they’re also heat. You could incinerate him if you really wanted to, yet he’s never been worth your time because he could never pose a threat to you. To Muzan, however…

Well, if that assistant ever tries anything on him, he’ll suffer such an unpleasantness by your own hand that no one would ever find enough of the scattered pieces of him to burn or bury.

Muzan seems content to let you fuss over him, not even whining further when his medicines arrive. He ingests them dutifully despite the bitter taste, then gladly accepts his tea with a grimace, still scowling at the aftertaste. His expression smoothes out into a serene mask as he overrides the unpleasant taste with a more desirable one. You perch nearby, hovering around him in case he has another fit. Silence persists until Muzan finishes off his tea with a sigh, passing his empty cup to you. He sounds more hoarse than earlier, no doubt due to the strain on his throat from his attack.

“What would I do without you?”

“I'm sure you’d manage.”

“No,” he denies, a wry smile twisting his lips. “I don’t think I would.”

“You don't give yourself enough credit.”