Tags: Vampire x GN Reader | Sick Day Softness, Warm Soup & Colder Hands, Devoted Care, Endless Adoration
AN CHAT I'M SO SORRY i had such a busy time but i'm BACK and hopefully on track. Unfortunatly i may not do all 31 days, let's at least kick off with my favorite character with the prompt- cold.
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It had been such an innocent thing — standing outside beneath the silvered autumn sky, watching the moon crest over the dark treetops. The air had been sharp and clean, the kind that kissed your breath into mist. You’d lingered too long.
Now, the fire murmured low in the hearth, the blankets heavy around your shoulders, and every breath came warm and slow through the haze of a growing fever.
He found you there, curled and half-drowsing, when the moon still hung bright in the window. His footsteps were soundless, but the shift in the air gave him away — the scent of rain and iron, the faint flutter of those tattered wings.
“My heart,” he said quietly, crouching beside you. “You’re burning up.”
You stirred, forcing a small, sheepish smile. “Just… a chill, I think. Stayed out too long.”
He brushed a lock of hair from your damp forehead, fingertips cool and impossibly gentle. “You caught the night instead of just watching it. You stubborn, beautiful thing.”
A soft laugh escaped you. “You make it sound poetic.”
“It’s not poetry when it’s you. It’s worry,” he murmured.
Before you could reply, he was already moving — smooth, composed, as if centuries of tending wounds and tempers had taught him precisely how to care without crowding. He stoked the fire, drew the curtains against the draft, and vanished for a heartbeat before returning with a tray: a steaming bowl, a folded cloth, and a glass of water that caught the glow of the flames.
“Soup,” he said simply, sitting at your side. “I took liberty with the herbs. You’ll forgive me if it tastes like concern.”
The first spoonful was warm enough to make your chest ache. You reached for the bowl, but he kept his hand lightly over yours. “Let me.”
You huffed softly, embarrassed but too tired to fight it. “You don’t have to fuss.”
“I don’t fuss,” he corrected, voice low and fond. “I dote. There’s a difference.”
Every movement of his hands was patient — lifting the spoon to your lips, wiping a stray drop from your chin with his thumb, tucking the blanket higher around your shoulders. He never rushed, never let silence feel empty. Between spoonfuls he murmured things in that rich, lilting way of his: small stories, fragments of nights long past, the scent of a faraway orchard, the shimmer of stars on foreign seas.
You drifted in and out of sleep listening to his voice through the fever haze. When the bowl was empty, he set it aside and pressed the cool cloth to your temple, the chill of his fingers almost divine.
“There we are,” he whispered. “My little moon watcher. Next time, I’ll bring the night to you instead.”
You smiled weakly. “Can’t bring the moon inside.”
“Watch me try,” he said, leaning down to kiss your forehead. The contact sent a wave of calm through you, almost enough to ease the ache in your bones.
He stayed until you drifted off, one hand smoothing slow circles over your back. His voice came one last time, a thread of sound against the crackle of the fire.
“Sleep, love. The moon will still be waiting when you’re well. And until then…” He pulled the blanket snug under your chin, tucking you in like a promise. “I’ll watch over you for both of us.”
missed my fucking haircut because of excruciating cramps i’m going to kill someone. thank you kurtis conner for curing insanity you are keeping me alive
