#he's sick and prefers sleeping on the couch whenever he has fever

[tripably]

the horrifying ordeal of posting a fic on ao3: a story of skipping all the meals in the day because you Have to get this edited To Perfection Right Now and, quite importantly, Without Any Delay

[jaeyunverse]

yang jungwon as your roommate

pairing: yang jungwon x fem!reader

genres: lots of fluff, crack, miiiiinor angst you won’t even see it unless you use a microscope, some hurt/comfort

warnings: mentions of nightmares (??) i think that’s all tbh this is very light-hearted but lmk if you think i missed a warning and want me to add it!

summary: in which you’re lucky enough to live with yang jungwon a.k.a the best roommate in the world.

note: i hope everyone enjoys this :)) do lmk what you think <3

masterlist

01. lets you sleep in his bed whenever you’re having nightmares

you’re prone to waking up in cold sweat every once in a while. it sucks, but jungwon always pulls through. your roommate doesn’t show any annoyance when you knock on his door in the middle of the night with a pillow tucked under your arm. all he does is grab you by the wrist gently and pull you into a comforting hug. he reminds you that he’s there for you and you’re not alone. once you’ve calmed down, he leads you to his bed and tucks you in. during the rare times when you’re too shaken up, he holds your hand till you go back to sleep. you feel terrible for being such an inconvenience and making him sleep on a couch in his own room, but he dismisses your concerns. he jokes that you can repay him by buying him an ice-cream, but also makes you promise that you won’t ever hesitate to come to him if you’re experiencing nightmares. jungwon’s caring nature never fails to bring tears to your eyes.

02. insists on shopping for food and home decor together

jungwon values your opinion a lot. he asks for your input whenever he purchases something for your shared apartment even if you aren’t buying the item with him. he firmly believes that a home is a person’s safe space; he would rather not have something in yours if both of you don’t approve of it. he makes sure to take into account your food preferences at all times. besides, jungwon has always thought grocery shopping is a great way for the two of you to spend time together in a productive yet fun way.

03. often cooks on days that you are supposed to (definitely NOT because he’s scared you’ll destroy the high-end appliances he stole from his mom’s kitchen back home)

jungwon loves cooking. he doesn’t think of it as a chore, but after you insisted on helping him out, he relented and agreed to let you cook twice every week. little did you know at the time, he had no intention of following through on his promise. he loves the smile that adorns your face when you eat his home-cooked food. watching you lick the plate clean like a starved animal fills his heart with warmth. you aren’t a picky eater either, so there is always someone to provide him with an honest review on the new dishes he learns. jungwon loves having his own food critic.

04. takes care of you when you’re sick

your parents entrusted jungwon with your well-being and he makes sure to not disappoint them. he is there to hold your hair up when you vomit into the toilet bowl after a long night of partying. he is there to place damp washcloths on your forehead when your fever is too high. he skips class and backs out of previously made commitments to take you to the doctor even though you might be capable of going by yourself. he makes you soup and remembers your medicine schedule. he asks you how you’re feeling. he wipes your tears. he promises to take you to your favourite restaurant if you make a quick recovery. he knows you’re a foodie and a cheapskate; no illness is strong enough to stop you from taking up on that challenge and winning it. 

05. looks out for you

jungwon makes you coffee when you’re too busy studying late into the night. he defends you fiercely when people talk smack about you behind your back. he stocks the pantry with chocolates and ice-cream when your cycle is close. he carries you back home on his back when you’re too drunk to walk. he drives you to class everyday even though your building is not on his route. he records your favourite shows when you don’t have the time to watch them. he helps you make your ex jealous by pretending to be your boyfriend when you run into them. he sets you up with his friends, who, he assures you, will treat you right and not break your heart. he then adds that he will beat them to pulp if they make you cry. you laugh and promptly remind him that he calls you to be his saviour whenever there’s a cockroach in his vicinity. jungwon, obviously, ignores you, but there’s a bittersweet smile on his face. he’ll miss being your roommate once you graduate college and move on with your respective lives.

[fanficwrit3r]

When He's Sick - Peaky Blinders Preference

Hello! Life has been crazy and mental health poor, so writing is a little further between. But, my second job is seasonal and ends very shortly, which is bittersweet. I should have more time after that!

In the meantime, enjoy!

I will be making most of the preferences I write gender-neutral.

To make a request, you can find prompts here and here. Requesting guidelines here. You don't need to use a prompt to request.

You can even request preferences or suggest preference ideas!

This is a related part to this post; When You’re Sick.

Characters included: Tommy, John, Michael, Arthur, Alfie, and Finn.

Warnings: Sickness and things that go with it, such as vomiting or coughing up gunk.

Masterlist

When He’s Sick…

Tommy always tries to hide whenever he’s feeling ill.

He’ll cover his coughs, drink whiskey or smoke more to cover up his voice sounding rough, or even go so far as to wear more layers of clothes to have an excuse for why he feels feverish.

You could always see through these childish ploys.

It took a lot for you to finally convince Tommy to stop doing the paperwork and just come to bed.

Once you could coax him into bed, you grabbed a bucket and some soup.

“I know you usually survive off whiskey, cigarettes, and whatever I manage to feed you, but you are going to sit here and eat your soup.” You told him firmly, not taking no for an answer.

Tommy would already be grumpy. It was no fun being sick and he was also forced into bed.

“What if I’d rather sleep than eat right now?” He asked you stubbornly, his stomach rumbling loudly to give him away.

You sighed, sending him a glare. There was no playing nice when he was sick, Tommy was the absolute worst patient.

“Your stomach gave you away. Eat, then you can sleep.” You told him firmly, sitting with him to make sure he ate his soup.

He would grumble, pretend it was worse than it was, but he would eat it all eventually.

Tommy dozed off after you took the bowl from him.

When he was sleepy, you could let your guard down and gently rub his congested chest. You would kiss his cheek, hoping to soothe him. “Get some good rest, love…”

John always wanted to be comforted when he was sick.

Of course he would play tough at first and he would definitely play it tough when he was at work.

But the instant he got home he could just curl up, wanting nothing more than to be held by you.

John was more prone to stomach bugs than coughs, so you had a routine down.

You would make him some soup that was mostly broth, chicken, and vegetables.

He could get a bucket from the hallway closet and go lay on the couch with a cold wash cloth on his head.

The couch was easier than the bed sometimes. It also meant you had to snuggle close to him.

He would eat his soup before laying down, mumbling.

“Please hold me?” He would ask you, looking at you with large sad eyes that always melted your heart.

He was like a child when he was sick, just needing the comfort of someone he loved dearly.

“Of course, love.” You would tell him, snuggling behind him on the couch incase he needed the bucket.

You would spoon him from behind, rubbing soothing circles onto his stomach. He was always hot with fever, but you didn’t mind.

John would always fall asleep like that once his stomach settled down. No matter what, he just enjoyed being held.

Michael always pretended everything was okay, even for you, but he would break down and ask for comfort pretty quickly.

You would come home to find him curled into a ball with a bottle of whiskey.

He made sure to avoid Polly when he was sick since she would just fuss over him.

If Polly found out, you would assure her you could take care of him.

Michael would usually get a horrible wet cough when he was sick.

His favorite thing would be for you to hold him from behind, your legs wrapped around his waist, your hands massaging his bare chest.

He would lean into your touch, his breathing settling a little bit as you would gently press his ribs.

When you have to get up to make dinner, he would always complain.

Your arms were safe and warm; he never wanted to leave them.

"Hmm, some tough guy you are." You would tease him.

Michael always rolled his eyes in response.

Even when he was ill, he still had some energy to joke with you.

Arthur would always try to seclude himself when he was sick.

He didn't want anyone around him to contract whatever it was that he had.

You were included in everyone.

He would lock the door to the spare room, breaking the lock so you couldn't easily break in.

Of course, this made it difficult for him to get things like food or water, so he would usually just pull open the door, but block it when he was inside.

You always tried to give him some form of comfort, but he did not want to risk it.

You would bring him food, water, and remedies.

On the nights where it was rough and Arthur wasn't as lucid, you would sit on the edge of his bed.

You would tend to his fever, humming softly to him to soothe him.

You always made sure to be out of the room by the time he regained lucidity, but he knew you had been there.

Arthur kept his mouth shut though, because even with his worry, he is grateful to have you to care for him.

Alfie was impossible to convince to stay home.

He had to be feeling like walking death in order to let you keep him in bed.

He would dramatically moan and groan that you were holding him prisoner.

It's not that Alfie didn't want to be in bed all day with you, it's just this is not what he had in mind.

You would mix up a concoction of medicine and soup for him to eat.

He knew there was medicine in the soup, of course.

Once he would drink the broth though, he was putty in your hands.

You would just tuck him in, tending to his fever, hoping it would break.

He would wake from time to time, mumbling about whatever dream he had been having.

You loved listening to him talk, even when it was just nonsense.

Eventually, his fever would break and the soup would wear off.

"You fuckin poisoned me." He mumbled sleepily, shaking his head, his voice teasing. A small smile would be on his lips. "Can't believe I let you poison me."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Only for your own good."

Finn was a big baby when it came to being sick.

Of course, he played it tough around his brothers, but he didn’t mind being cared for.

When he got home to you, he would just drape himself over you, practically begging for attention.

You would always smile, gladly giving him the love he was clearly craving.

“It was miserable, trying to cover my coughing. John kept giving me side-eyes. Arthur threatened to send me home if I couldn’t stop the coughing.” Finn whined dramatically, just needing to rant about his day.

He tried to act so maturely all the time… it sometimes surprised people to remember he was still a teenager. An adult perhaps, but a teenager.

“I’m sorry love, but you don’t need to hide. You can just stay home.” You suggested, Finn, shaking his head.

He went on a long ramble about how his brothers didn’t take time off so he shouldn’t either. He would break into coughing fits while talking.

“Shhhh, Finn, just relax.” You would remind him, running your hand soothingly through his hair.

Finn would usually calm down relatively easily, too exhausted to argue for long.

He was miserable when he was sick, but as long as you would hold him, he could manage.

[captaincravatthecapricious]

Ill and Alone- Prompt Fill

cw food mention, nausea mention, fever, anxiety, the concept of not feeling bad enough to merit comfort, depression, isolation

Hi!  I am still accepting bingo prompts!  The crossed out prompts are already written, the starred ones are ones that I have gotten, but not posted yet!  Let me know which character you want and if you prefer writing on a drawing! Bingo sheet by the wonderful @celosiaa​

Jon wakes up to Martin leaving before dawn.  Walks him to the door, hands him breakfast and a thermos of tea.  Goes back to bed, the sticky exhaustion nipping at his heals, at the back of his skull.  Inserted in the grit in the corner of his eyes.  

He wakes up to an empty bed, Martin’s side of the room looking sad and empty, usual trinkets of their cohabitation lacking.  No prescription on the nightstand, no glasses, no poetry book, no neatly folded outfit set out for the morning, closet looking empty.  

The room is bathed in the grey light of early morning.  Jon goes back to sleep.  

He wakes up properly at nine.  He makes tea, staring at the faded sticky note that Martin had written precisely how both he and Jon respectively take their tea.  Jon remembers by this point.  It’s been years since he Needed to look at the note, but he still looks at it because… well… it’s Martin’s writing.  Instructions written with care and precision, with a little heart and a smily face.  He doesn’t trace the writing, he isn’t that pathetic, and he doesn’t want the paper to disintegrate any faster than it already is�� but he wants to.  

Martin will be back in a couple days.  He shouldn’t be this clingy…  But the flat already feels empty and cold.  Jon shivers, holding his tea close to his chest, and resisting the temptation to make a second cup for Martin.  

Jon teaches his classes.  He eats lunch in his office.  A sandwich that tastes like chalk and fills his mouth with cement.  He grades a few papers.  He teaches another class.  He rides the tube home.  He falls asleep on the couch.  He wakes up on the couch.  The flat cold around him, the cushions stiff and frozen against his slight and hurting frame.  Joints stiff against the chill.  

He thinks about making dinner, or even just reheating some leftovers, but he doesn't.  He texts Martin.  'Love you, hope the volunteer training is going well.'

He falls asleep.  Heavy and aching and so tired.  

He wakes up on the cold couch to a buzz from his phone.  'Going well, just finished up for the night.  Love you!'

It's dark now, but not late.  Daylight doesn't last long in the grey of winter in London.  Jon shivers.  He thinks again about dinner, and how Martin would want him to eat, but he just wants a warm shower and to go to bed.  

He considers his cane, but doesn't feel it worth the effort.  It is out of his way, and he would just like to get this over with.  

Jon hates sitting in the shower, but he hates baths more, and his hurting limbs won't keep him up any longer.  

Jon wakes up in a cold sweat.  Salt on his lips, saltwater on his lashes.  The flat is cold.  Cold like his dreams.  Panic on his breath as the Lonely dreams still hold him in their vice.  He wraps his arms around his chest.  He tries to rub his own back despite aching muscles, trying to make his own boney hands sooth him like Martin can.  He shakes and he cries silently.  

He checks his phone, the low brightness still stinging his eyes, and smears the numbers of the time beyond recognition, but he makes out no new messages.  

He pushes himself out of bed on aching legs, and shaking arms, pulling on one of Martin's sweaters and stopping by the loo.  

He makes tea.  And tries to take comfort because it is almost as good as when Martin makes it.  

Jon goes back to bed.  

It's morning and Jon's head hurts.  His head hurts and his arms hurt and his legs hurt and his back hurts.  

He almost pushes himself up to get ready for work, but he remembers it is Saturday.  

Jon rolls over to Martin's side of the bed.  Placing himself in the divot where Martin would be, if he were not out of town.  

Jon texts Martin.  'Morning, have a nice day, love you.'

Jon dozes.  

He should make breakfast.  But he isn't hungry, and he doesn't want to move.  Even if his small frame isn't holding heat, even under the thick covers of their bed.  He wants the weighted blanket.  He wants the heated blanket, but those live in the closet.  Those are for bad nights.  Mostly of the time He and Martin under the thick duvet is enough.  

But it isn't night and it isn't that bad, is it?  And even so, that is more effort that he thinks he can spare.  

He texts Martin.  

He texts Martin.  

He texts Martin.  

He texts Martin.  

Meaningless texts with the mundanities that are beyond him.  Little messages about missing him, about making tea, about reading.  None of them lies, but cutting out the dragging exhaustion that has given way to a dragging fever.  

And Martin texts back.  

Jon bundled in the heated blanket and Martin's jumper on the couch.  Dosing off to the Archers.  He still hates that show, but it's easier to hate something for the content than admitting he feels too shitty to even enjoy the documentaries he has been saving for the weekend.  

He grades some.  Not much.  And he makes tea.  

He thinks again about the leftovers in the refrigerator, but he doesn't have the energy to eat them.  Lacks the appetite.  

Jon falls asleep on the couch.  Tea cooling on the coffee table.  Papers spread around him in uneven heaps.  

Jon texts Martin.  And Martin texts back.  

Only the buzz of the phone keeping him from sinking deeper into misery.    

Jon texts him whenever he is awake to do so, and Martin texts back during his breaks.  

Jon's head hurts.  He is shivering despite the heated blanket that is tight around him.  Woken from another nightmare by his own gasping breath.  The Stranger this time.  

He calls Tim.  

"Jon?  Everything okay?"

Still gasping from the phantom hands rubbing him down, fighting the nausea that comes with that particular brand of terror, of that trauma of his invaded personal space.  And the desperation that someone come and save him from his cold and empty flat and end this lonely weekend.  

"Jon, are you alright?  Where are you, do you need your inhaler?"  

Jon probably does, but he fights for breath for a minute and he's more or less okay.  

"I'm home.  It's fine, sorry for calling."  He feels foolish for being needy, and more foolish still because he's fighting back tears now.  Tears over nothing at all.  Just the fever.  Just the dreams.  Martin will be home tomorrow, and Jon will probably be feeling better by then, and if not, it's probably mostly exhaustion anyways.  He's been having a hard time getting restful sleep.  

"Hey, hey, hey Jon.  It's okay to call.  Are you alright?  Do you need someone to come over?"  Tim isn't angry.  It still surprises Jon that there is no bite to his voice.  No snipping, not sarcasm, not annoyance.  Just... warmth, caring.  

"Just a little under the weather.  I'm okay.  Sorry for bothering you... Had a dream... and just... Sorry it's foolish.  I'm alright."  Jon shivers, and hoping he doesn't sound too soggy over the phone.  He aches.  Stupid joints.  Stupid immune system.  Gives out the minute Martin leaves.  Which... good.  He guesses… at least Martin isn't losing sleep over him this time.  He hates that Martin doesn't sleep when caring for Jon.  He Hates it.  He hates stealing sleep for him, even if this is the mundane way of doing it, he still has cost Martin too much over the years.  

"I'm gonna come over, okay?  It's not a bother, it's not an inconvenience, I had been planning to give you a visit anyhow, I've been too busy to drop by in a while and I want to see you because you are my friend, and if I make you soup as well, hey we both get dinner out of it.  I promise I Want to.  Sasha still has work, so I don't have any company tonight anyhow.  No plans.  Nothing."

"Not been hungry."  That's all Jon has the energy to argue.  

"Feeling queasy, or just the usual fever nonsense?"  Tim asks.  He sounds too cheerful for this.  

"Nightmare queasy now, but mostly just... fever probably."

"Oof.  One of those nightmares?  Yikes.  Well, that kind usually passes in a bit, then we can make you some Spicy Stoker Sick-day Soup.  This Is to my benefit.  Sasha isn't a big fan, and Martin isn't either.  It's a good excuse to make some good comfort food."

Jon almost smiles.  "'kay."  

Tim must guess he's falling asleep again.  "Get some rest.  I'll be there soon with some soup stuff and meds.  Don't worry about letting me in, I have a key, remember?"

Jon falls asleep on the couch.  

He wakes up to tea being set in front of him.  

Jon groans and rubs at his eyes.  

"I know I've said it before, but that note in the kitchen is fucking adorable!  I mean... a little sad that it took you that long to learn how to make yourself tea, but still fucking precious that the note still has a place of honor.  Not to mention, it's good reference for when I want to make you the perfect comfort cup of tea!"  Tim smiles at him.  

And it isn't the same as with Martin, but it still warms him up.  At least a little.  

"Hey bud, how are you feeling?"

Jon tiredly rock his hand in a so-so motion.  

"Mind if I take your temperature before you drink that tea?"

Jon turns his attention inward to see if what remains of the Eye wants to be helpful today.  "38.6."

"That... I can't tell if that is handy or inconvenient.  In any case, not bad but not great.  You okay if I start the soup?  You can either get some more rest of join me in the kitchen and we can watch some Buzzfeed on my laptop?"

Jon nods.  He gathers his blanket and his tea, and limps to the kitchen.  

Tim sucks in his breath at Jon's clearly stiff movements, and rushes to plug the blanket back in before Jon can move to do so.  

"You.  Are not gonna help, okay?  You can help by drinking your tea, and some water and then getting back to the couch and using me as a pillow and eating a little something."

Jon opens his mouth to argue, but sees the steel in Tim's glare.  Nothing unkind, but still solid resistance.  He nods.  

Jon falls asleep on Tim.  On the couch.  Empty bowls stacked next to Tim's laptop, cord plugged in next to Jon's blanket.  

Tim stays the next afternoon until Martin gets home.  Marin scolding Jon for not telling him he was ill.  Martin thanking Tim for coming.  Martin wrinkling his nose at the soup.  

Martin's prescription and glasses, and clothes and book back in their proper places.  Martin in Martin's divot in the mattress, Jon smooshed against Martin, still a shade too warm, but much better than earlier.  

Jon falls asleep in Martin's arms.  

[itseivwhore]

Hey can you do something short about ezio and jacob with a sick reader, I have the cold and it's so overwhelming and painful, and I can't help the sore throat

Heyo there anonimo,thank you a lot for requesting this,it's something that I have never written before,so now the time has come! I am glad you sent me this little request just now,for I am having a pretty much rough time lately,so writing this managed to distract me,someway,even if a little...

I started to write this as soon as I saw your request in my inbox,I didn't want to make a reader of mine wait for so long (because 1) you are sick,and I HATE having a sore throat; and 2) I said 'so long' because I take a lot of time in writing my one shots). I hope you will feel better soon!Just stay at home,rest,sleep,all comfy in your warm bed between fluffly blankets aaanddd...read this ;)

So,starting with this little note: I didn't and I don't actually understand what you truly meant with 'something short' ...a mini one shot with BOTH Ezio and Jacob in it?Two separated imagines,each one with Ezio and Jacob?

I don't know,but I have decided,since I have never done this before,to go for modern heacanons (pretty long ones too,so am I forgiven?). I am so sorry if,maybe,I misunderstood you and if you wanted just a whole imagine,or two different ones. Just let me know once you'll read this?Mh?

Now,let's start,shall we?

~~~~~

|°Ezio°| :

"Dolcezza?Are you alright,amore?"

When you returned from a long,tiring,to say the least endless day at work,the first thing you did was to collapse on the sofa,sighing heavily and deeply as you closed your heavy eyes,your head spinning as you tried to melt in with the softness of the sofa.

As soon as you entered the house,you heard a muffled,sweet sound coming from the kitchen,not far from the living room where you had let yourself go;managing to smile slightly when you recognized the familiar voice of Ezio who,while cooking,was busy humming an Italian song you grew accustomed to know,to learn and to sing with him.

But he stopped humming cheerfully when, hearing the sound of the keys in the lock and the loud noise of the door being locked, he did not see you coming.

Usually,every evening and every time you finished your shift at work,once at home,the first thing you did was to run into the arms of Ezio,who constantly and faithfully waited for you to come back:finding him sitting on the sofor preparing dinner,or doing some chores around the house,knowing that you would come back tired after a long day at work...but always happy to find him here,promptly with open arms and with that bright and joyful smile,to hold you in a strong and long embrace and with sweet and passionate kisses,immediately followed by his genuine questions,purely interested in knowing how your day went.

So the guy became quite concerned when he didn't see you running towards of him as usual.And he worried even more when he didn't hear an answer from you,a thousand thoughts that suddenly flooded his mind.

As he left the kitchen,he quickly leaned on the door,softly called your name in a barely audible whisper.

His eyes grew dark with worry as they wandered around the big living room,finding your form lying,almost helpless,on the couch,not moving even a little.

No,you were not alright.

And Ezio understood that immediately.

Walking quickly in the living room,he sat next to your lying form,his eyebrow furrowed,a worried and thoughtful expression on his face when he heard you mumbling something under your breath,your voice being muffled by the couch.

He stretched out a hand,delicately turning your head to the side,rising up a corner of his mouth and giving you a small and sweet smile as he observed,and studied,your visibly tired and weak face,leaning down and pressing his lips on your forehead as he caressed your warm cheeks,you lazily leaning in his gentle touch.

Let's be honest:when Ezio understood that you were not just tired,but you were terribly sick,with a headache and most likely with a fever too,he started to panick a little.

The poor boy was not used to get sick,he rarely did,thanks to all that sun and warm days he grew up with in his homeland.He was not used,at all.

But he knew his things:many times his little brother,Petruccio,got sick,and many times he watched how their mother looked after him.

So,keeping his worry and panick within and for himself,not wanting to worsen the situation and not wanting to make you worried for him,he started to organize everything.

Preparing and fixing the kingsize bed you shared,delicately picking you up and bringing you in your bedroom,laying you on the bed,helping you changing your clothes,leaving chaste kisses all over your warm skin before covering you with layers of warm blankets,pillows all around you;a bottle of water on the nightstand and a glass there too.

Ezio was so devoted and focused,now even more than he already was:laying beside you on the bed,his chin resting on his palm as he gazed at you,softly talking with you,humming lowly,playing with your hair,reminding you how much he loved you,making you flattered,making you giggle amusedly too with his funny,dirty jokes.

"I can't wait to make you tired for another reason,tesoro"

Of course he was there all the time,rushing and running inside the bedroom from wherever he was whenever he heard you calling him,giving you everything you wanted and needed.

"Salute!" every time he heard you sneezing,shouting that loudly and hearing his voice from downstairs.

And,obviously,being the good chef he was,he didn't stop cooking,preparing you some of your favourite dishes,showing up in the bedroom with plates for lunch and hot drinks during the afternoon.

"Don't be uspetti,eat some spaghetti".

Tons and tons and millions of sweet Italian nicknames.

Him occasionally being dramatic,just to make you laugh,throwing himself on the bed beside you as he started to speak and to gesture in a very theatrical way,pretending to be sick too.

Malicious smirks and sly winks when,once you started to feel a bit better and when you were able to leave the bed,he found you standing near his drawer.

His shiny,clearly excited brown eyes wandering all over your body,that smirk only growing more as he saw you wearing one of his t-shirt,obviously way bigger than you,knowing how much you adored wearing them,feeling his perfume on you.

"Stealing my shirts again,I see" seeing Ezio giving you one last grin before walking away.

"Where are you going?"

"You know I can't control myself when I see you wearing my clothes,vita mia!" he shouted,going downstairs.

You were eternally grateful to have Ezio always at your side,helping you to rest and recover,making you smile when you last feel like laughing,making you feel extremely loved,making you feel special and making you feel better for the way he was looking after you.

"Anything for la luce della mia vita"

~~~~~

|°Jacob°| :

"Tea"

That was the first thing that Jacob said when you told him you were sick...not that he didn't already know,anyways.

The younger twin could seem distracted and nonchalant,but underneath all that thick layer of sarcasm and cheeky smiles,his observer side was hidden.

And Jacob watched you,more than he could ever admit;not that you didn't like this,but quite the opposite:you loved as his hazel eyes always watched and observed you in that warm way,you loved as he remembered the smallest details of you,you loved and admired him with all of yourself,because he was the only person in the world who knew you so well.

And the younger Frye also watched you closely,and more importantly,when one weekend evening,while waiting for you to come back from work,he saw you running towards his car,rushing in,soaking wet,head to toe,trembling violently.

Oh,the infamous downpour of the UK!

Jacob knew well,way too well how lethal the violent,sudden winter downpours were.Who knows for how many times he had or stayed at home when he was a child,whole days spent out in his garden in the rain,serious consequence of him getting a rough cold and a high fever.

As soon as you started having the first symptoms of what was preparing to be a severe cold,Jacob didn't waste any time.

Needless to say that,all your protests and all your futile attempts to convince him that you were fine,were not exactly taken into account by him.

Perhaps you were stubborn,not wanting him to worry any more...

But no one could be more stubborn than Jacob Frye himself was.

"You aren't going to win,love.Not with me"

He preferred you staying in the livingroom more than in the bedroom,saying that it was easier for him and that he didn't had to run up and down when he could have you right there,him at your disposal,and you under his attentive gaze.

A lot of pillows and blankets around and on you as you comfortably laid down on the sofa as you took naps there,or as you watched the TV,lights switched off as he lit up some candles all around the living room,making just a relaxed and soft atmosphere.

A lot of pillows.He nearly built a pillow fort.

The younger twin always was there when you needed or called him,finding him standing in front of you in a blink of an eye.

"Your humble servant is here,Miss,to fulfill his duties" saying that in such a solemn way,bowing down and bringing his hand towards his heart as his eyes shone brightly in hearing you giggle.

"Tea cure and heal everything,remember this,darling" that's what Jacob kept on saying every day,almost every hour with a firm tone,it becoming his loyal and faithful motto.

So you bet that Jacob always made sure you had a cup of hot,warm tea between your hands,warming you inside and out.

"Headache?Tea.Insomnia?Tea.Sorethroat?Tea.Stressed?Tea!"

Tea was the answer,and of course the solution,of and for everything.Everything seemed to revolve around tea for that guy,and he had a couple of reasons to defend his thoughts on the subject.

"Earl Grey tea?Or English Breakfast tea?" the choices were infinite,innumerable,intermimable,for you were pretty sure he had all kinds of tea in some specific and hidden drawers of the kitchen.

And oh God,the tea he prepared was something divine,to say at least.Starting to think that,most likely,he was right with all the long speech about his tea being the cure of everything.

If Jacob was good at something,more than anything else,was preparing tea.

You madly loved to watch him preparing it:you sitting on the counter of the kitchen,a big blanket wrapped around your trembling body as your legs swinged forward and backward;adoring to see how focused and precise he was while making it,adoring to see how his brows furrowed in concentration.

But the thing you adored the most in that precise moments,was when he turned around to face you,giving you a big smile,walking towards you and wrapping his muscular arms around your middle,pulling you closer to himself,really and truly warming you so well,swinging you lazily;closing your eyes,a genuinely happy smile on your lips as you placed your head on his broad chest,his slow heartbeat calming you.

Obviously,his sarcastic and witty will was still there,accompanying him and his words every hour of the day.Cocky answers and sassy phrases filling his cheerful voice,not helping but feeling proud of himself when he managed to gift you of a laughter and of a smile,feeling incredibly glad in seeing you getting better day by day.

But that smug behaviour quickly faded away when Evie started to visit you,checking upon you,making sure that her twin brother was doing a good job.

His sister telling you some little,funny stories about a younger Jacob when he had colds,which,as you knew,was not rare.Making you laugh in a purely amused way in hearing how he behaved...

Not that he changed much anyways.

"He was so,so whiny"

"He WaS,sO,sO WhInY.Liar!"

But he didn't care about his pride and ego being a little hurt by all Evie's stories,as long as he heard your amused laugthers and your joyfull smile he loved to bits.

°*TrAnSlAtIoNs!*°

"Dolcezza"= literally:sweetness.Sweetheart;

"Amore" = love;

"Tesoro" = darling;

"Salute!" = bless you;

"Vita mia" = my life;

"La luce della mia vita" = the light of my life.

~~~~~

I know you asked for something short,and well,as you can clearly see this is everything but short.

Anyway,this apart,I hope you'll like it!Pleaseee let me know if you will,even sending me a private message...or not if you want to keep your persona as an anon!Just let me know,I am still a a bit afraid/insecure of what you wanted.An one-shot with both Ezio and Jacob in it?Two mini separated imagines? Guess we will never know.

Cia.

[earliebirb]

the big small things

steve/tony, hurt/comfort, established relationship, 1510 words 

“Ugh, just kill me,” Steve mutters, lying on the couch and burying his face in Tony’s stomach. 

Steve would feel bad interrupting Tony’s work—Tony has been on and off the phone for hours and whatever is on that tablet in his hands must be Very Important—but he is in the middle of battling a ruthless bout of migraine. He wants nothing more than to lie down and close his eyes, preferably with his husband within arm’s reach.

“And yet you come to the one person you know is definitely incapable of ending your life.” Steve feels Tony’s fingers threading through his hair and already he feels some of the pain melting away. 

“It’s not that hard,” Steve grumbles into Tony’s shirt. “You’re a genius, I’m sure you could figure something out.”

Tony snorts. “I hope you know I’m being a hundred percent serious when I say I would literally rather die.”

At that, Steve gives a reproachful hum. “You’re not allowed to die before me.”

“You’re not allowed to die before me,” Tony counters. His hand wanders down to Steve’s right ear, worrying gently at his earlobe. “What’s wrong, honey bunches?”

“I have the worst headache,” Steve says miserably, inhaling lungfuls of Tony’s comforting scent through his nose. 

“You want me to go get you some meds?”

“Had some. Still hurts.” 

“My poor baby. Let’s get you to bed, huh? I think you could use some sleep.” Steve hears the distinct click of the tablet being locked. Tony leans forward, setting the gadget down on the coffee table.

“But I don’t want to move.”

“I know you don’t, but you’ll be a lot more comfortable in bed, okay?” Tony says, his thumb caressing the back of Steve’s neck. 

“With you?” Steve asks hopefully. 

Steve knows that Tony is very busy with work. Steve also knows that he is being selfish. Still, he can’t help the stubborn flicker of hope that maybe—

“Yes, Sir. With me,” Tony says, easy as anything, as if Steve’s headache took obvious precedence over all of his work plans for the day—the weapon upgrades he has to do, the meetings he has to attend, and all the investors he has to charm. 

Again, Steve would feel guilty if he weren’t too busy relishing the rush of relief running through him at Tony’s promise.  

When Steve sits up, the movement sends a sharp pain shooting through his head. The previous pounding behind his skull returns just seconds later, continuing persistently like a silent tattoo. Squeezing his eyes shut, he cradles his head with a low groan.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Tony leans in to press a kiss to his temple before standing up, offering a hand to Steve. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

Steve accepts his hand, letting Tony lead him up to the master bedroom and into their bed. Tony fluffs his pillow for him before sitting him down on the bed. 

“You get comfy. I’ll be back in a minute, need to get something in the kitchen,” Tony whispers, taking both of Steve’s cheeks in his hands and giving him a quick peck on the lips.

Steve is not proud of it, but he does frown petulantly at the thought of being left alone. Tony gives him a small smile in return, one that is less bright but much more genuine than the one reserved for the press and flashing cameras.

It never fails to warm Steve to his core.

Squishing his cheeks together, Tony leans down once again to plant another feather-light kiss on the tip of Steve’s nose before walking away and disappearing out the door. In the meantime, Steve tries to do as told, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to ease the pain. 

He doesn’t know how much time has passed, but he opens his eyes when he hears Tony’s footsteps approaching him. Tony is carrying a mug of something steaming. Very gingerly, he hands it to Steve. Upon holding the warm mug in his hands, Steve recognizes the liquid for what it is: green tea.

“Careful, it’s hot.”

Tony detests tea. In fact, he makes his distaste of the beverage abundantly clear to all and sundry, often proclaiming loudly of coffee’s superiority over it. Tony also knows, however, that Steve loves to have a cup of it every morning. Ever since Steve moved into his floor, he has kept a seemingly never-ending stock of the stuff in the penthouse kitchen.

Blowing on the hot drink before taking a cautious sip, Steve lets the tea’s warmth provide brief but very much needed relief from the pain. 

“Jarvis, draw the curtains shut and turn down the lights, will you?” Tony says, slipping into bed beside Steve.

The lights dim to a gentle yellow and there is a quiet whirring as the curtains are closed, preventing any sunlight from streaming in.

Tony sits beside him quietly, fingers drumming an uneven beat on Steve’s thigh as Steve finishes the mug of tea in gentle sips. Once he is done, he sets the empty mug on the nightstand and slips under the covers. He inches closer to Tony, letting Tony’s thighs pillow his head.

“Better, sweetheart?”

Steve nods, blinking up at Tony. Brown doe eyes blink back at him. “Thank you.”

“You are very welcome. Now go to sleep,” Tony says, voice hushed, fingers tracing unidentifiable shapes into Steve’s sideburn. 

“Tell me a story?” 

“A story?” Tony hums in thought. “Okay. So, when I was little, there was this huge tree in the backyard of one of my family’s vacation homes, right?”

Steve hums, urging him to continue. He lets Tony’s low and soothing voice wash over him, his eyelids growing heavy. 

“I think it was in Tuscany? I’ll take you there sometime, darling. You’ll love it. So, one day, I climbed up to the top of this tree because I got curious and wanted to see the view of the neighborhood from up there. And— Come on, you know me. A curious Tony is a dangerous Tony and all that. I think I must’ve been about eight or nine years old.”

All the while, Tony runs his fingers through Steve’s hair repeatedly in slow and gentle strokes.

Steve closes his eyes and takes the time to send a silent thanks to the universe for granting him the privilege of being loved by such a wonderful human being. Not for the first time, Steve finds himself wondering just what he has done to deserve Tony as his life partner.

He used to feel sorry for whoever his future spouse would be—a thought that plagued his mind whenever he had to watch his mother worry herself sick and stay up late at night to help him fight his raging fevers. He remembers feeling uncertain as to whether he would ever settle down with someone, uncomfortable with the thought of having to subject his partner to the task of taking care of his sickly self for the rest of their lives. 

He didn’t even know if he would be able to find someone willing to do so.

And yet here is Tony, letting himself be pulled away from work in the middle of the day to take care of Steve. Tony, who has held him through countless nightmares and sleepless nights without a word of complaint. Tony, who acts like taking care of Steve is something he genuinely enjoys and takes pride in, instead of treating it as the extra work that it is. One of the things Steve has learned throughout his relationship with Tony is to convince himself to not be afraid of ever becoming a burden, at least not to Tony—something Tony continues to remind him of every single day. 

Steve is no futurist; he has no guesses or conjectures as to what the future may hold for him. Whatever happens in the future, though, he knows this much:

He may not have gotten a lot of things right in his lifetime, but at least he did one thing right—marrying Tony Stark is the one decision he knows he will never regret. 

Tony is his one constant, the one sure thing he believes in with the kind of fierce conviction that settles deep within his heart and thrums through his bones.

With his eyes still shut, Steve reaches up to take the hand that has been combing through his hair. He presses a grateful kiss to the inside of Tony’s palm before holding the hand in his. 

Tony squeezes his hand and continues to talk, voice not once faltering.

Steve loves him so much his heart aches with it.

“...Suddenly, I heard Jarvis calling me from down below. He was all ‘Come down here before you get hurt!’ and I was afraid of getting into trouble, so I just stayed there, perched up on the tree. But then…”

Steve doesn’t get to hear the end of the story, but he does get to drift off into a very pleasant dream of smiles, laughter, and warm hugs smelling of coffee, lavender, and metal.

[sneezyminniejo]

I would love an Ateez fic with some Jongho whump if you're up for it! It's pretty canon that he doesn't show emotions easily, but maybe he lets down his guard if he's not feeling well. No emeto pls, but fever, snz etc would be great- I love your fics!

Here it is hope you enjoy

Don't Cry Over Spilled Milk

Jongho didn't really like showing his vulnerable side. In part because he's the maknae of his group and did want to seem even "younger". And also because he's crazy strong and can break apples and other fruits in half using his bare hands. It just wouldn't make any sense for someone as physically strong as him to have an obvious vulnerable side.

The only time Jongho gets even remotely vulnerable is when he is sick or injured. Jongho had somehow managed to make it three years without being sick in front of his members. He considered this quite a feat as he and his members are always in each other's space.

Today, however, was a different day. Jongho had woken up feeling absolutely miserable. He was feeling hot and cold, his hurt, and he couldn't really breathe through his nose. Jongho groaned as he looked at his phone. It was only seven in the morning. No one was going to be awake for at least another hour. Knowing he wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep, he decided to move to the kitchen to find some food.

Jongho, not wanting to put any effort into his breakfast, went with some cup ramen. He didn't really care about getting scolded for poor eating choices, but he also knew that if he does get scolded, it wouldn't take much to make him start crying.

The next person to come out of their room was Wooyoung. Wooyoung entered the kitchen and grabbed an apple. He always got a kick out of watching Jongho break an apple in half, and since he was awake he decided to ask.

"Hey Jongie, can you please break this a-” “EH-TIEW, hih-stish.” Wooyoung was abruptly cut off mid sentence by Jongho sneezing a rapid double into his elbow.

“Bless you Jongie. Anyway I was asking if you could please break the apple in half. You can totally have one of the halves if you want.” Jongho sighed, he really wasn’t feeling great, but complied nonetheless. He struggled a little bit and was almost unable to break the apple. He could feel tears beginning to form in his eyes, but quickly blinked them away before going to make tea.

Jongho took his cup of tea into the living room and turned on the tv. Some random children’s show was on. The plot wasn’t anything special. Just a dragon that lost a baby tooth and couldn’t find it, two human children that came from somewhere helping him find his baby tooth. In the end the tooth had been in the boy’s pocket the entire time as he had thought it was a cool rock. By the end of the episode, Jongho was a blubbering, crying mess.

Wooyoung hadn’t seen the entirety of whatever was going on, but did hear Jongho as he became more and more distressed. He decided to get one of his hyungs, even though they’d just be in the process of waking up themselves. Wooyoung knocked on Seonghwa’s door. “Hyung! Jongho is in the living room crying his eyes out. I don’t know what to do.” Seonghwa quickly exited his room, as did many of the other members upon hearing that their maknae was in some kind of distress.

The seven members quickly walked into the living room only to find that Jongho was indeed a crying mess. Seonghwa was quick to go comfort the crying boy by bringing him a box of tissues. “Hey Jongho are you okay?” Seonghwa was hesitant to get too close because he honestly had no clue how the younger preferred to be comforted.

Jongho accepted the tissues and went to blow his nose. Shortly after he started to blow, he felt the all too familiar tickle. He frantically grabbed more tissues and placed the wad against his nose.

“Heh-mphhh, huh-itcshhh, HIh-stiEW!” The others were a tad shocked at the mini fit. Hongjoong was the first to speak. “Bless you. Jongho, what’s got you so worked up?”

Jongho sniffled a bit while still crying. “It’s just that the one dragon l-lost his baby t-tooth and couldn’t find it, and the two children who had never seen dragons be-before helped him find it without any fear.” Hongjoong tentatively sat down next to the maknae and gently began rubbing his back.

“Okay Jongie. It was very sweet of the kids to help the dragon, but are you sure you’re okay. Is there anything you need to get off your chest. Jongho sniffled again and took another tissue to blow his nose. “I just love you guys so much. I’m glad I got to debut with you.” He paused for a moment and pouted. “Can I have a hug?” He asked no one in particular.

Since Seonghwa was on the couch right next to the youngest, he went in for the hug. While he was hugging the younger, he felt the heat coming off his neck. “Jongie, you have a fever. Is that what has you so worked up?” Jongho merely nodded.

Mingi was the next to speak. “It’s not an issue that you’re sick Jongho. It won’t be an issue to get you a day off to get better.” At that moment Yeosang walked in with a glass of water, a thermometer, and some fever reducers. Yeosang placed both the water and the medicine on the coffee table and took Jongho's temp. It read 101.8. Jongho put the medicine in his mouth and swallowed it down with the water. However, he miscalculated placing the water back on the table, causing it to spill all over the floor. This of course caused him to start crying all over again. Yunho went to grab a towel while San went to comfort the younger.

"Hey, it's okay Jongie. It's just a little bit of water. We'll clean it up, as they say in English there's no need to cry over spilled milk. Or I guess in this case water." Everyone chuckled at that, including the sick maknae.

It didn't take much longer for the other seven to figure out that Jongho wasn't upset about being sick, but the fever had made him extremely emotional. So they spent the next couple of days doing what they could to keep his fever as low as possible and reassure and comfort him whenever tears started to bubble up.

While the fever never got above 102, it didn't break for two more days without medication. Hongjoong had made sure to have his schedule cleared for the week as Jongho was in no mental state to go to schedules. Fortunately, the other seven had staggered schedules, so they took turns staying home with the sickie to make sure he wouldn't feel lonely. They knew he was feeling better when he was no longer crying over nothing and began teasing his members back. It was a bit rough, bit now Jongho's hyungs knew what to look out for if they suspected him of being sick.

[cecevolume]

On The List (Part One)

Prompt from @halfbloodfox:  I’m looking for something where Lucifer has to take care of Trixie. Maybe, Decker is stuck at court testifying on a case, Dan is whothefuckknowswhere, Maze is on a hunt and at school Trixie gets hurt or sick. Surprise, Lucifer gets the call. He’s on The List? Since when? During Season 2 or 3, pre 4 nonsense at least. What do you think?

This was...unexpected.  And perhaps a little unprecedented.

Just a half hour before, it had been a semi-normal day for he and the detective, dressed in their best--well, not him, but the respect for the court was there--as Chloe waited to be called to testify.  Per usual, he tagged along, a charming ace in the hole, just in case.

But then his shirt had started buzzing outside the large double doors; to be more exact, his phone was ringing.

“Lucifer,” Chloe hissed as a clerk eyed them while they passed by, “turn it off vibrate!”

Smiling winningly, he reached for his chest pocket, purring, “An honest mistake, Detective; I assure you, I know proper procedure for the courtroom.”  He glanced at the screen, eyebrow raising as a bell of familiarity rang in his head.  “Should I know this number?” he asked, turning the screen towards Chloe.

She frowned, taking the phone from him as she murmured, “That’s Trixie’s school.”

“But why--”

Holding up a hand to stop him, she answered, “Hello?  Yes, Ms. Hendersen, I’m being brought to testify today.  Uh huh.  Oh, no, did you try Dan?  Of course not.  No, no, it’s not a problem; I’ll send Lucifer to pick her up.”  She paused for a long time, a muscle ticking in her brow.  “That’s a question for him at another time, don’t you think?  Uh huh.  Yeah, goodbye.”

Tilting his head, Lucifer asked, “Was that Trixie’s lovely school administrator--”

“Don’t.  Even.  Star,” Chloe growled, handing him back his phone.  The door beside them opened just a crack and the DA motioned for her to join them.  With a nod, she didn’t spare Lucifer a glance as she moved to the doors.  “I need you to pick up Trixie; she threw up in math class.  I’ll leave here as soon as I get the okay.”  Before she squeezed in the door, she muttered quickly, “Ginger ale--she likes Canada Dry best--for her stomach, some toast or crackers to have in her system.  Make sure she takes little sips.  This should be done in a couple hours and then I’ll be home.”

“Detective--” he said in alarm, reaching towards her, but the door was already closed.  For a moment, he just stood there, wondering two things simultaneously: did Chloe really trust him with her sick offspring and why did the school call his phone?

It hardly mattered now, however, what made sense.  Sitting in his Corvette outside an elementary school, he found that he was...uncomfortable.  It wasn’t often there was a situation he found himself unable to figure out--in fact, the first hadn’t been until he’d met the detective two years before--yet here he was.  Sure, he’d learned how to occupy Trixie, but this was new territory.

How did one pick up a sick child from their school and adequately take care of them?

Taking a deep breath, he got out of his car, striding towards the doors.  How hard can it truly be? he wondered, confidence growing the closer he got to the building.  If Daniel can do it, of course I’ll be able to.

Following the signs to the “office”--a large, gray room with children’s paintings hanging everywhere, most of the space taken up by a quadruple desk with five women squished side by side at their computers--Lucifer idly took out his handkerchief, wiping his hands as he eyed several of the drawings.

Surprisingly, there were a few that showed a real talent, should they continue honing the craft.

“Hello?” one of the women greeted hesitantly to his back.  “Can I help you?”

He turned with a charming grin, noting the immediate softening of all the secretaries’ faces.  “Hello, ladies,” he answered, strolling to the desk with his hands in his pockets.  “I actually received a call from Debra--Ms. Hendersen, asking that I pick up Beatrice Decker-Espinoza.  I know I’m not her parent--”

“Oh, you’re the infamous Lucifer Morningstar!” the first woman cried, nearly tipping her chair backwards as she stood.  Holding out a hand, she added, “Trixie is through that door, in the nurse’s office.  Karen will go and grab her while you sign her out.”  She shoved a clipboard with an attached pen under his nose.  “Just her name, your name, why you’re picking her up, and the time.”

Holding the pen, he raised an eyebrow at the woman.  That was certainly easy.  Did she already know to expect a deal?  Or was this her idea of flirting?  The memory of Malcolm Graham flashed through his mind and his gaze turned foreboding.  “Is it truly that easy to just pluck a child from your facilities?” he demanded, anger burning in his belly.

“Oh, my, you’re right!  I do need your picture ID to compare your information to what we have in the system,” she answered quickly, blushing wildly.  “I’m so sorry, it’s just that Debra gave such a...thorough description of you, I completely forgot!”

He slowly reached for his wallet, pulling out his license and handing it to her.  “Why would a primary school have my information?”

“Well, after the...kidnapping,” she said slowly, peeking a quick glance at one of the other women, who dropped her head, “Ms. Decker updated the people on Trixie’s approved list.  We aren’t supposed to release her to anyone other than her parents, her grandparents, or you.  There is a Mazikeen Smith on here, too, but that’s on a call ahead basis.  But if Ms. Decker and Mr. Espinoza aren’t available, we’re to contact you first.”

Blinking in shock, he made a noncommittal noise in his throat, taking back his ID and signing out the urchin.  “I, uh, thank you for your diligence,” he murmured, spinning on his foot to stride towards the chairs lining the windowed walls.  He was allowed to just come to the school and pick up Chloe’s child whenever he felt like?  No permission, no questions, no call aheads necessary?

Chloe Decker trusted the life of her offspring in the hands of the Devil?

“Lucifer?” a small voice whined from behind him, making him turn back around.

Straightening his jacket and cuffs, he answered, “Your mother has been held up in court today, Spawn.  So she sent me with clear instructions.”  He’d already called Patrick at LUX to provide the Canada Dry and crackers.  “I’ll be taking care of you this afternoon, until she is finished.  Is that all right?”

The little girl nodded her head slowly, face pale as she reached for his hand.  When he didn’t immediately take it, tears started to fill her eyes and he panicked.

Taking her hand gingerly, he raised the other to wave at the women.  “Thank you very much for your help.”

Then they were off.

-.-

If she hadn’t felt so gross, Trixie might have giggled at the scene before her.  

Lucifer had brought her back to his penthouse, explaining that it was closer to both the courthouse and school, that her mother wouldn’t be too much longer.  She’d thrown up during the elevator ride, only half-listening as he tried desperately to comfort her in the weirdest ways--“I’ll have the cleaners come straight away; you don’t have to worry about cleaning it yourself”--when he’d picked her up, rushing her through the doors to the bathroom.

He’d waited there, awkwardly patting her back until she was finished.  He’d then ushered her through to the couch, saying, “Don’t worry, urchin; I’m sure I have a bowl somewhere, or at least something similar.”

And there he’d left her, bringing them to now.  His suit jacket was gone, the sleeves of his white undershirt rolled up.  He held a fuzzy black blanket in one hand, a paint bucket in the other, holding them out to her.  “I’m sorry it took so long; I had to go into LUX’s storage to find a...vomit receptacle.”  When she didn’t take it from him, he placed it directly beside her face on the floor, gripping both edges of the blanket to lay it over her.  “I don’t know if you have a fever or not, but I’ve noticed you and your mother enjoy your ‘snuggle blankets’, as it were.  This is the softest one I could find; I hope it’s...snuggly enough for you.”

She giggled a bit, sniffling.  “Thank you, Lucifer,” she murmured.  “Can I have some ginger ale?  And something to eat?”

Nodding curtly, he turned towards the hallway that led to his mysterious kitchen.  “I have a variety of crackers, from wheat to sesame to pepper; do you have a preference in this state?” he called from the other room, the sound of cabinets closing echoing his words.

“Do you have saltines?  Or the Ritz circle ones?” she asked.

He was silent for a long time before she saw him come back around the corner.  “Well, there’s no accounting for taste,” he sighed striding back in to the room.  Brandishing a crystal plate that held at least half a box of both saltines and Ritz crackers, he set it on the coffee table.  “And Patrick will be bringing your ginger ale up; I assume a case should be adequate for just a few hours?”

Smiling, she said, “That’s actually way too much.”  He started to open his mouth, but Trixie knew better than to push the teasing with him.  “Will you turn on the TV and watch with me?  My mom usually rubs my back when I’m sick.”

After a moment, he nodded, crossing to the mantle to grab the remote.  He sat on the opposite side of the couch, pressing some buttons as a projection screen rolled out from the ceiling, a projector starting to whirl from behind them.  “Is there a particular show or movie that you prefer?”

“Can we watch Secret Life of Pets?  It’s funny and it’s on Netflix,” she added when his jaw clenched.  “It’ll help me fall asleep.”

He perked up at that.  “Is sleep good for you at this point?  At some of my...parties, you’re supposed to keep the humans awake until they have finished vomiting.”

Nodding, she answered, “As long as you help me if I wake up and have to puke again, I should be fine.”

“Then I suppose I’ll just sit here and keep watch.”

She smiled as he pulled up the movie, though she really missed her parents.  Lucifer was doing a great job, but he didn’t know what he was doing.  Her mom knew right when she needed snuggles and gave them to her without her asking.  She might be nine years old, but that didn’t mean being sick wasn’t scary.  Especially when her stomach was still roiling and her throat and mouth burned....

“Are you all right, spawn?” he asked immediately, making her realize that she had started to silently cry.  “Are you going to be sick again?”

She shook her head, but that’s when the sobs started.  “I miss my mom,” she whispered between savage breaths.  “She always strokes my hair so I can fall asleep.”

While she got control of herself, Trixie felt him leave the couch for a minute, making her feel even more alone.  He was really trying, but he didn’t know what to do, and her mom didn’t have to ask her how to take care of her, and she wasn’t left alone to cry--

Hands gently pulled her off the throw pillow she’d been using, only to deposit her head on sweatpants-clad thighs.  She tilted her head back to see Lucifer wearing a bright green T-shirt and gray sweatpants (they still had a tag on them).  “I needed to change in case you don’t make it to the bucket,” he explained easily, reaching over for the remote once again.  “Now, lay back; I’ll attempt to stroke your hair, but you may need to direct me.”

Shocked, Trixie did as he said without a word, feeling his hand gently rest on her head.

She fell asleep to the sound of the elevator dinging.

This will be getting a part two shortly because it is getting very long! That will be Deckerstar though. :)

[xxx-cat-xxx]

Peter Parker and Bruce Banner’s Guide on How To Make Iron Man Sleep

For @sallyidss. Happy Birthday, Sally! This is about 1% hurt and 99% comfort, or in other words, pure fluff and chicken soup. I hope you enjoy it and I hope you have a wonderful day!

Thanks to @whumphoarder for beta reading and to @maikkuax for the video game reference.

____________________

Peter wakes up to a dazzling amount of texts on Saturday morning. 

One is from Tony, sent at 3am, telling him that Bruce is sick and might not be able to help Peter with his biology project today as they had planned, but he is still welcome to drop by the tower.

Then there’s another one from Tony three hours later asking him whether he could pick up some soup while on the way; one from Bruce at 8am, telling him that Tony is sick too, but ‘he won’t admit it so just try to somehow get him to rest once you come over’; and then one more from Tony telling him to ignore whatever Bruce just told him.

Peter grins to himself while reading the texts - he can almost hear his favourite superhero couple bantering and fussing over each other. Then he gets up for breakfast with May and a shower before heading down to the corner grocery store. He gets soup (chicken for Tony and vegetable for Bruce), as well as some of the Fairtrade chocolate bars that Bruce buys for ideological reasons and Tony eats en masse because he’s got a secret sweet tooth. Peter stuffs the groceries into his school bag along with his laptop and makes his way to the tower. 

*

Tony definitely looks under the weather when he opens the door; pale and with a very clown-like red nose that is dripping constantly. 

“Hey kid, thanks for the delivery,” he jokes with a raspy voice. He takes the bag and mimics shutting the door in Peter’s face before smirking and opening it fully to let his unamused mentee in. 

“Very funny, Mr. Stark.” Peter removes his shoes and jacket and then stops, frowning. Through the hallway, he can see that the bed in the master bedroom has been demolished into what looks like a heap of firewood. “Uhm, what happened to your bed?”

“Well…” Tony interrupts himself to cough harshly into his elbow. “So, uh, we had a bit of an exciting night. Not in the fun way, unfortunately…” he trails off. “Anyway, Bruce went back to sleep after breakfast, but I thought we could head to the lab and start working on the chameleon fabric you suggested for your suit.” 

Peter is sure that working in the lab is the opposite of what Tony should be doing just now - his mentor looks even more tired than usual and the slightly glassy quality to his eyes suggests that he is running a fever - but Peter also knows that saying this out loud will only be counterproductive. 

“What if we watch a movie instead?” he suggests.

“I’m not watching a movie at eleven in the morning,” Tony protests. “We have the whole day in front of us - time to build, invent, change the world..." He flaps his hand. "All that jazz."

“Okay, okay…” Peter thinks for a second before an idea hits him. “But before we start with the suit, I do need your help with something else.”

“Now what?”

“So, Ned and I have this gaming commentary channel on YouTube where we livestream playing “The Witcher 3”? And it’s going pretty well, but Ned says he needs help developing his stage persona, you know, talking in a way that is interesting and keeps your audience engaged? So, he thought that you might give us some advice because you’ve got a ton of experience with speaking in public and all that?”

(It’s not entirely a lie - Ned and Peter have joked about getting Tony involved in order to increase their viewership, but he is pretty sure that Ned would be mortified upon hearing that Peter actually suggested it to the billionaire.)

“Wait, you and Ned are making videos of you killing virtual trolls while talking about it? And people actually watch that?”

“That’s...another way of putting it.”

“Sounds like a gigantic waste of time.” Tony scrunches up his nose. “Either I play the game myself, or I spend my downtime watching something interesting.” 

“Hey! Our last one has more than 3000 hits!” Peter defends.

“People have too much free time. Including you.” Tony points his finger at Peter before quickly covering his mouth to contain a sneeze. “But I suppose I can take a look if you really want me to…”

Peter grins. Stage one: complete.

They settle on the couch in the living room. Tony can’t suppress a small sigh when he leans against the cushions. He massages the bridge of his nose in a way that makes it clear to Peter he must be nursing a headache. 

“Hit me, kid,” he orders.

“Okay, but before we start, you need to know a few things...” Peter launches into a long-winded explanation of the game’s storyline with more than a few unnecessary details of the characters’ backgrounds. He pretends to concentrate on the screen where he walks Tony through different tutorials, but out of the corner of his eye he sees his mentor slowly sinking deeper and deeper into couch.

“...and then they bring Uma to the witcher school of Kaer Morhen,” Peter goes on as Tony tiredly attempts to follow along, his blinks growing longer and longer each time, “where Yennefer removes his curse and transforms him into Avallac'h...” 

When Peter can’t think of anything else to babble about, he starts playing their most recent video. Tony sits up a little straighter and rubs a hand over his face to concentrate. But at about the two minute mark, he stops the screen with a wave of his hand.

“So, not to be rude, but that was kind of painful, Tony declares. “You guys literally started with a 45 second explanation of why you prefer the old controller design to the new one. No wonder you’re putting people to sleep.”

Peter frowns a bit. “I mean, we weren’t that bad…” he defends. “And the new ones do kind of suck.”

“Sure, kid,” Tony huffs. He shifts position on the sofa with a sigh. “Alright, listen. It’s obvious that you two are knowledgeable about this game, but if you want to engage your audience, you’ve gotta try to establish your credentials in a way that’s still interesting and relatable. For instance, I once started a TED Talk by describing how I hacked NASA during an MIT frat party so that I could send a rocket to draw a dick over San Francisco. ”

Peter snorts at that admission. 

“See? Exactly,” Tony points out. “That’s the kind of reaction you want your audience to have - that’s called a hook, kid.” 

The longer they watch, the more Tony seems to be melting into the couch. His comments become less and less frequent, and at some point he leans his head back against the pillow, barely looking at the screen anymore. By the third video, Peter can see his mentor’s eyelids fluttering shut. 

He waits for a few minutes and then pauses the screen, just to see Tony’s eyes fly open again. “I’m listening!” he assures. 

“Yeah, I know.” Peter hides a smirk. “Just, uhm, relax a bit.”

“I see what you’re trying to do here, kid. I’m not stupid,” Tony protests nasally, stifling another sneeze, but he doesn’t make any move to get up from the couch. 

Peter starts the video again, knowing that the battle has been won. Five minutes later, Tony is asleep. 

Peter watches a few more videos on his own (now that he pays attention, he realises that most of Tony’s suggestions, despite being sarcastic, are actually in line with what the popular streamers do) before FRIDAY informs him that Bruce has woken up. 

He finds the scientist in the kitchen, making tea. 

“Hey Dr. Banner,” Peter greets. “How are you?”

“Hey Peter.” Bruce gives him a warm and slightly sleepy smile. His voice is a bit hoarse. “I’m fine. Is Tony asleep?”

“Yep,” Peter declares proudly. “Used my hypnotically soothing voice. And obscure video game lore."

Bruce heaves out a sigh. “Finally, thank god. I had, uhm… kind of an incident last night and I don’t think he slept at all after that.” 

Peter thinks back to the broken bed frame and chooses not to comment.

“Do you want some tea?” Bruce asks.

“No, thanks. I’m okay.”

Bruce takes out a box of cookies instead and hands a few to Peter. “So, what was this thing you wanted me to look at with you?”

“Oh, it’s just a bio project,” Peter says with a shrug. “But we can do it some other time, when you’re feeling better.”

“I’m okay...” Peter gives him a suspicious look and Bruce’s smile deepens. “No need for that - I’m not Tony, I would tell you if I wasn’t up for it. But I am actually feeling much better after sleeping and I wouldn’t mind some distraction.”

“Okay, well then...”

Peter likes Bruce a lot. It took him a while to get close to him because Bruce is not a person who easily lets people in, but now whenever Peter visits the tower, he looks forward to seeing the scientist almost as much as he does to seeing Tony. 

Tony is brilliant, energetic, and funny, and he constantly encourages Peter to think deeper, work harder, do better - to improve himself. Which is a fun challenge, but it can also be quite exhausting at times. Working with Bruce is the exact opposite. He makes Peter feel calm, slows him down when he overthinks, and makes it clear that mistakes are something that happen to everyone and nothing Peter should be too concerned about. While spending time with Tony is the equivalent of a rollercoaster ride, being with Bruce feels more like a calm day at the beach, and Peter has realised that he needs both from time to time. 

They move to Bruce’s study (since Bruce doesn’t allow food in his lab and they don’t actually need to do any experiments for Peter’s project) with Peter’s laptop, biscuits, and several bars of Fairtrade chocolate. 

*

Tony wakes up with the blurry images of a nightmare still on the rims of his consciousness. He feels cold, achy, and slightly out of breath. It takes him a few disoriented moments to realise that his face is mostly buried into a couch pillow, blocking his mouth and nose. He frees himself and sits up stiffly, wiping at his slightly damp cheeks. His nose is dripping annoyingly and he isn’t sure whether that’s only because of the cold. 

“FRIDAY?” he prompts nasally. 

“It is 1:17pm on Saturday afternoon. Dr. Banner and Mr. Parker are working in the study room. Everyone is safe and well, boss.” 

“Okay. Thanks, FRI.” Tony takes another few moments to ground himself before getting up from the sofa, rather unsteadily. His body seems to have tripled in weight and his head feels like an overfilled balloon that’s ready to burst. He kind of wants to fall back onto the couch and go to sleep again, but at the same time he definitely doesn’t want to revisit the dreams he just had. 

Instead, he ventures into the study where he finds his partner, who is sporting an adorable bedhead, together with his mentee enthusiastically modelling a DNA strand on a laptop screen.

“Coffee?” Tony asks hoarsely.

“Good afternoon to you too, Tony,” Bruce smirks and nods towards a pot sitting on the table. Tony pours himself a mug and downs it in one go, marvelling at how much better it makes his throat feel immediately. 

Feeling slightly more human and ready to deal with the actual world, he leans over Bruce’s shoulder and nuzzles his head against his partner’s ear. “How you feeling, green bean?”

“I’m much better. Sleeping helped a lot, actually.” Tony gives him a critical once-over and seems to accept that. “Peter is doing an impressive job with his project, by the way,” Bruce adds.

Peter blushes at the compliment. “It’s not me - Dr. Banner is helping me a lot!” 

“I’m really just sitting here and watching you work,” Bruce dismisses before addressing Tony again. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m”—Tony’s voice breaks in the middle of the sentence and he has to clear his throat before continuing—“I’m good.”

“Mm-hmm.” Bruce raises an eyebrow. “FRIDAY, what’s his temperature at?”

“100.2 degrees, Dr. Banner.”

“Thanks.” He turns to Tony, who is coughing again. There seems to be a brick stuck inside his chest and it feels like he can’t take a full breath at all. Bruce gives him a concerned look. “This sounds painful.”

“‘S okay,” Tony dismisses.

“Maybe you should try using the inhaler -”

“Stop mother-henning, Bruce,” he grumbles with a glance at Peter, who is very clearly trying to act as if he isn’t listening to every word, but the pain in Tony’s chest is suddenly replaced by a surge of warmth upon realising Bruce’s worry about him. The scientist seems to understand and just squeezes Tony’s hand before turning back to the screen.

Tony pours himself another cup of coffee and grabs a slice of toast as well as two of the chocolate bars before settling into the chair across from the two of them, munching away and watching them work. Seeing them together leaves him with an annoyingly sappy feeling. Bruce, usually rather shy, is much more self-confident around the kid and visibly happy about Peter’s genuine interest in everything scientific. He is also a much more patient teacher than Tony ever manages to be, which seems to be putting Peter at ease. 

After finishing his food, Tony debates moving to his own lab to get some actual work done, but he is so, so tired, and everything kind of hurts. Standing up seems like a lot of effort. So instead, he crosses his arms on the table and rests his head on top of them, closing his eyes for just a moment.

He listens to Peter and Bruce when their conversation shifts from Peter’s project, to May’s new vegan disaster recipe, to the idea of using Peter’s webs in order to create a hammock that can hold the Hulk. Tony smiles into his sleeves, imagining Hulk chilling at the beach between two palm trees, swinging to and fro, to and fro, to and...

“Hey.” Bruce rests his palms lightly on Tony’s shoulder.

He jerks upright. “Wasn’t asleep.”

“What, I would never think that,” Bruce says with a smirk. 

Tony rubs his tired eyes and then his aching forehead. “Where’s Peter?”

“He went to heat up the soup for all of us.”

“Hmm.” Tony grabs Bruce’s hands and presses them against his overly warm cheeks, enjoying the cooling feeling they provide.

“Did you have a nightmare earlier?” Bruce asks, his hand now moving up to cup Tony’s forehead. “You seemed kind of out of it.”

“Yeah,” Tony admits, leaning into the touch. “I don’t remember what it was about, though.”

Bruce hums and presses a light kiss to the top of Tony’s head. “Fever dreams are awful. But at least you didn’t break any furniture upon waking up.”

Tony, sensing the guilt below the light tone, only huffs. “I’d been wanting to get a new bed anyway for a while now. Did you know there are self-making ones now? And levitating mattresses? Or we could go for one of those free-swinging beds, to match Hulk’s upcoming hammock.” 

Bruce smiles and shakes his head. “A normal one would do, Tony. Or we could try something different. Did you know that sleeping on the ground is actually quite good for your back?”

Tony snorts. “Yeah, no. I’m a billionaire, Brucie, we’re not sleeping on the ground because our bed is broken. Levitating one it is.”

Peter comes back with the steaming soup, which does wonders for Tony’s raw throat. At Bruce’s advice, he takes some Advil that muffles his headache a little and remembers the times a few years ago when he would be sick with only JARVIS as his company, feeling a little chilled and very lucky. 

*

In the end, Tony does agree to watching TV, but mostly because Bruce admits to still not feeling up for anything more demanding (which Peter suspects is not entirely true, but he definitely won’t call him out). They let Peter pick, who of course goes for the newest Orville episode, and settle on the huge living room couch with a steaming mug of tea (Bruce), a packet of chocolate (Tony) and another helping of soup (Peter). 

Peter notices after a while that Bruce is gently massaging Tony’s head, playing with his hair. Tony seems to be sort of melting into the touch, his head leaning against Bruce’s shoulder, eyes almost closed. He looks old, but not frighteningly so - more in a serene way that makes Peter want to capture the moment on film. 

In the years he’s known him, Peter has rarely seen Tony anything but buzzing with energy, jumping to and fro between ideas and lab tables. The only person who is able to slow him down and occasionally get him to take a break without having to outright trick him into it seems to be Bruce. And as sorry as Peter is to see both of them sick, it’s also heartwarming to observe how they are taking care of each other. 

Peter knows that most people his age find the idea of spending a lazy movie Saturday with their family kind of boring, but something in him loves the idea of settling down like this. Maybe it’s the fact that it reminds him of how it used to be with Ben and May, or that the time he spends as Spider-Man is already adventurous enough, or the sheer thrill of seeing Iron Man and the Hulk’s alter ego in their pyjamas on the couch, nuzzled up against each other. 

But whatever it is, there’s nowhere else Peter would rather be.

____________________

If you liked this, make sure to check out @twentyghosts‘ beautiful fic Cold, Comfort with a similar setting that inspired me to write this one.

All my fics

Taglist: @toomuchtoread33  @yepokokfine

@badthingshappenbingo This is my fill for the ‘Common Cold’ square.

[totally-incorrect-theatre-quotes]

Sick Day (fanfic)

While the votes were very close the sick day prompt won out last night, and I was kinda grateful because I had already started writing some of it before I got most of the votes. I’m sure you guys were looking for something more fluffy since my last fic was nothing but sadness and while I delivered some what this is still gonna be kinda sad, but I promise it has a sweet ending! I’m not sure if I’ll post this one to Ao3 but we’ll see :)

TW: sickness, mentions of death, mentions of Nosocomephobia

____________________________________________________________

The one thing that makes getting the flu even worse is getting the flu during spring break. No missing school because school is already out, so the days off just get wasted laying in bed with one stuffed up nostril, a pile of tissues sprawled on the bed, and the blankets half n and half off because it’s somehow both too hot and too cold. Lydia didn’t get sick often, but when she did it was never fun. Two days before she had felt a fever coming on but decided not to say anything because she still wanted to hang out with Wendy that night, but the next morning she woke up shivering and turns out she had a temperature of one hundred and two. Not the end of the world, but to say Lydia was annoyed was an understatement. Growing up her dad was always paranoid about germs, something Lydia thankfully didn’t inherit, but she still didn’t want to deal with him, lovingly, quarantining her. She took the thermometer, wrapped herself in a blanket, and went to seek the guidance of the ghosts. Ghosts can’t get sick, so they should have nothing to worry about. 

Barbara instantly pulled Lydia over to the couch while Adam ran around frantically trying to think of what sick people need, even though all Lydia asked for was a drink of water and maybe some Tylenol to bring her fever down. She ended up with a bowl of chicken noodle soup, slippers, about four different kinds of flu medication, and a cold compress. The first night she just slept on their couch, begrudgingly comfortable as a result of all the stuff Adam brought up to the attic. She would wake up every hour or so feeling crappy but she did get some sleep that night, hoping that maybe she was just tired and not actually sick, she read that online somewhere before. Unfortunately, when she woke up the next morning she definitely was still sick and it was not getting better as quickly as she would have liked. Her throat was all scratchy, she had a terrible headache, and she felt her body burning up under the blankets. She kicked the blankets off her and winced when her warm feet touched the freezing cold ground, she forgot that the Maitland’s couldn’t really feel the temperature so it was always a guess if it would be a sauna or the arctic up there. She coughed into her arm and shuffled downstairs to grab something small to eat, even though she was sick to her stomach she knew that she couldn’t take any medicine on an empty stomach. She managed to eat about half a piece of toast before feeling like she was going to puke, and she quickly swallowed down two pills. She sat down at the table with her head in her hands.

“Not feeling good?” Delia asked form behind her, Lydia simply groaned in response her throat too sore to even speak at this point, “Yeah I heard the flu was going around, I thought you got your flu shot though?”

She rolled her eyes not wanting to get into the debate of how the flu shot isn’t 100% effective and if she hadn’t gotten it she would be much sicker than she was right now. Instead, she just let Delia ramble on about what essential oils and crystals she thought might help ease the symptoms. It was almost soothing monotony as Lydia downed her second glass of orange juice hoping that maybe the extra vitamin C would destroy whatever virus was wreaking havoc on her immune system. Instead, it just made her stomach feel worse. By the time her father came down for the morning Lydia was almost passed out leaning on the table despite the fact she had just woken up maybe fifteen minutes before. Charles walked up to his unusually pale daughter and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead.

“Honey, you’re burning up.”

“I‘ve got a fever.” she mumbled, “Barbara thinks it’s the flu.”

Charles stopped dead in his tracks, he didn’t mean too but he couldn’t help himself from thinking about the past, and what signs he had missed, and now he was starting to overreact. This was a flu, people get the flu all the time, not every fever is a death sentence. Not every stomach bug is a sign of...he wasn’t going to let himself get sucked into it again. He didn’t want to frighten Lydia. Besides she knew as much about the whole ordeal as he did, if she thought something more besides a flu was wrong she would have told him. He forced himself to put on a sympathetic smile, “I’m sorry sweetheart, I hope you feel better soon. Will you be okay if I go to work?”

Lydia nodded knowing fully well that even when Delia and her dad went to work she still had the Maitland’s in the attic if she needed them. Her plan for the day was to either pass out on the couch or in her bed under all the blankets and preferably with her cats to keep her company so she didn’t feel obligated to make conversation. The first day or two of the flu was usually the worst, so she just wanted to sleep through it. She could see the look in her dad’s eyes though, he was worried about her. It would have come off to most people as fatherly or even endearing but to Lydia, it was nothing but a source of anxiety when her father worried about her like that. She sighed a breath of relief when he did eventually go off to work. She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, scooped up Cation in her arms and figured if Kraken was roaming somewhere around the house and would come join them whenever she saw fit. She had just about settled on her bed when her phone went off and she saw a text from her father asking if she was alright. She replied with a quick yes, hoping it would satisfy him for now, but she was rewarded with a series of four more texts asking if she needed anything, if she wanted to go to the doctor, if he should come home, and once more asking if she was feeling okay. Not wanting to fuel his compulsive questions but not wanting to make him even more worried she tried to reassure him that if something bad was happening he would be the first to know, she did also gave to his one question and requested some popsicles for her sore throat. 

She put her phone on silent, started watching a movie on her laptop and drifted off to sleep after about forty-five minutes. She wasn’t sure if it was the fever or the flu medication she had taken but she had the strangest dream, and that was a statement coming from the girl who lived with ghosts, and had been to the underworld before. It was nothing out of the ordinary at first, she was at school but instead of all the uniforms being white button-up shirts and black plaid skirts/ black pants they were an ugly green and yellow color. The details were fuzzy but the dream ended with her math teacher marrying the Sandworm and somehow Lydia was the maid of honor. It was very confusing but also entertaining so Lydia was slightly annoyed when she was woken up by a particular demon whom she had forgotten she had promised to hang out with the afternoon.

“Sorry BJ, I can’t really hang out today unless your idea of hanging out was sitting on the couch and watching TV while I pretty much sleep the whole day.”

“What the hell is wrong with you kid? You look like you saw a ghost.” BJ laughed very hard at his own joke and even though she was super out of it she still had it within her to fake gag at his lame attempt at comedy. 

“I’m sick.”

“Well, that’s pretty pathetic. I were you and I was still a living human I simply wouldn’t be incapacitated because of some bitch-ass virus Like RIP to you but I’m different.”

“You’re also already dead and didn’t you live like during the black plague?”

“And that sure as hell didn’t kill me. It would take a lot more so some dumb virus to take me now.”

“I think the plague was bacterial,” Lydia replied, straining her voice to argue with him. Under no circumstances would she not argue with Beetlejuice. 

“Same difference,” he waved his hand dismissively, “Anyway since you aren’t going to be any fun today while you milk this fake illness I’m going to go bug the Maitland’s. And while you’re at it...can you tell that bastard cat of yours to stop staring at me? It gives me the creeps.”

“Don’t be a jerk, Kraken loves you!” Lydia snapped defensively, pulling her cat up and presenting it to BJ, “She’s just a baby…”

“Look, there’s only room for one bastard in this house and that role is already taken.” BJ glared once more at the cat who seemed utterly indifferent to the presence of the demon. He walked through Lydia’s door but just to be a prick when he was outside of it he opened it partway and flipped her off. Grumbling Lydia got up to shut the door, hoping she’d be able to fall asleep again. She couldn’t, her cough was getting worse and it was making it impossible to lay down comfortably without feeling like she couldn’t breathe. She had to compromise and sit up in bed with her pillows stacked up behind her. She watched the clock with an almost obsession counting down the minutes before she could take another dose of the cough medicine and get some kind of relief from the symptoms. By the evening it felt as though she had been hit by a bus. Her muscles ached, she could hardly keep her eyes open, and her whole body felt like it was on fire. Barbara had tried to make her something for lunch but she could only manage a few bites before pushing the rest of it away, even the smell making her feel like she was going to throw up. 

“Maybe you should see a doctor when your dad gets home.” Adam suggested, “Not much they can do for the flu but maybe the can give you something stronger for your cough just so you can get some sleep tonight.”

“I’ll be fine!” Lydia snapped a little too harshly, “I’ll be fine, it’s just the flu. I don’t need to go to the doctor.” Adam backed off and left Lydia alone in her room. She couldn’t stop shivering even though she was boiling under the blankets. Her teeth clattered against each other and she felt a dizzying pressure building up in her forehead and sinuses. The hours in the day seemed to drag on with cruelty, she tried to distract herself with videos on her phone but she couldn’t keep focused on them long enough. She wanted to sleep but every time she was about to drift she would need to cough or her stomach would get upset, or her head would start pounding. She would alternate between her bedroom and the attic but nothing was comfortable. By the time her father and Delia got home from work Lydia was huddled out on the couch, her knees tucked into her chest and she was muttering feverishly in her half-awake half-asleep daze.

Charles rushed over to Lydia and his heart sank down to his stomach as images of Emily flashed through his head. He felt Lydia’s forehead and quickly grabbed the thermometer to check her temperature. He was devastated to read out that Lydia had a temperature of one hundred and three. Instantly fearing the worst he shook Lydia awake and told her that they were going to the hospital.

“Wait, what?” Lydia mumbled, still not completely aware

“The hospital, you’re burning up. You look like you’re about to faint, come on get your coat and shoes on. Can you walk?”

“Can I wh-? What are you talking about, of course, I can walk. Dad for god sake I have the flu. I feel like crap but I am not dying!” Charles tensed at those words and Lydia glared at him, shakily standing up with the blanket still draped around her shoulders

“Lydia, you’re not making sense. Please, just for me. Can we just please go to the hospital, I’m worried about you.”

“Dad you’re being ridiculous right now! You’re always worried about me!”

“I’m your father! It is my job to worry about you, now can you please get in the car so I can take you.” He was begging her at that point, he didn’t know what overcame him and Lydia wasn’t sure why she was so opposed. She felt awful, a fever at high was not a good thing, she logically knew that there was nothing wrong with going to a doctor but some part of her was shouting at her not to. She felt tears welling up in her eyes and she didn’t understand why, she wasn’t upset she was annoyed. She was annoyed at him for being so overbearing. Charles noticed this and went over to her, she slumped into his arms just taking in the much-needed hug. Lydia just kept repeating that she didn’t want to go to the hospital, and he nodded, “Okay, okay no hospital alright? But can we please go to the doctor or the urgent care? Honey, I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

After a brief and silent car ride Lydia was sitting in the urgent care waiting room with a mask over her mouth and nose to keep her from contaminating anybody else in the waiting room. It was already dark outside and Lydia leaned up against her father’s shoulder while they waited to be called back. She stared blankly at the wall trying to ignore the fact he was staring at her, even though we was pretending to scroll through his phone. He had one arm wrapped around her, rubbing her shoulder comfortingly and while she wanted to be stubborn and pull away she really did find comfort in him holding her. He was never unaffectionate while she was growing up, he would give piggyback rides and carry her, and hug her but he was slightly more distant since her mother had died, any kind of affection she got from him was cherished, even if she wanted to be a sullen teenager. 

“Deetz?” the male nurse called out

Charles helped steady Lydia while they walked into the examination room. They took her temperature and Charles explained a list of symptoms after Lydia tried too but couldn’t speak as clearly as she was trying to. The nurse scribbled some notes down, swabbed the inside of Lydia’s mouth and said that the doctor would be in shortly

“Man they take you from one waiting room to another huh?” Charles tried to joke in an attempt to ease the tension. Lydia was having none of it and she kept her eyes down on her phone while she was ranting to Barbara about how annoyed at her father she was. Though Barbara quickly proved to not be the ideal ranting partner in this situation so she turned to BJ who she knew would always agree with her no matter was as long as he got to complain too. After another twenty minutes of waiting the doctor came in holding a sheet of paper in her hands, “Bad news, you definitely have the flu young lady. Luckily it looks like it’s a mild strain even though I know it sure doesn’t feel like it huh? I’m going to prescribe you something to help you with that cough and something to work on killing the infection. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

Lydia was about to shake her head no when Charles interjected, “Are you sure it’s just the flu?”

“Pretty positive, flu swabs are fairly accurate why?”

“But you’re sure it’s not something else, like something I don't know..” “He wants to know if you think I have cancer.” Charles jolted his head and looked at Lydia with such disbelief that she had to scoff, “Don’t act so shocked dad, that’s what you want to know. You want to know if I have what mom had.” She turned her attention back to the doctor and in her strained and scratchy voice, she said, “My mom she had non-Hodgkins lymphoma and apparently she started out with just flu symptoms too, she died. He’s worried that I’m going to die too, so can you just tell me if I do or don’t have cancer?”

Stunned the doctor fumbled a response, “Mr. Deetz Lydia has the flu. I am truly sorry for your loss and while I cannot say for absolute certain without doing blood tests I am fairly confident that Lydia simply has the flu. She doesn’t have any of the other tell-tale symptoms of the condition that your wife had. Now, do you have any other questions?”

“Yeah can I go home now?” Lydia demanded

The whole ride back home Lydia sat with her arms crossed and her head leaned against the car window. Her father wouldn’t talk to her, she wouldn’t talk to him. It was obvious to everybody else that something happened between them the minute they walked in the door. Lydia instantly went towards the stairs but Charles went after her, insisting that they need to talk. She waved her hand and slammed her door shut, complaining that she didn’t feel good and wanted to go to bed. She didn’t lock the door though, she knew it made everybody in the house angry if she locked the door when they were fighting. They respected not to come in if she didn’t invite them, but the rule was not door locking. She curled back up on her bed, cuddling with a chatty Kraken who was already lounging on her mattress. Within thirty seconds there was a knock at her door, and she threw her pillow at it in response.

“Lydia we need to talk about this, we need to talk about what you said at the doctor today.”

“What I said?” She laughed shaking her head, “Just come in dad, I know you’re not going to go away until you do and I feel like shit and want to go to bed so let’s get this over with.”

Charles cautiously opened the door and sat down on the edge of Lydia’s bed, mindful of the collection of tissues and bottles accumulating throughout the room. Having felt better since taking the medication the doctor prescribed she sat up in her bed and looked at her dad, waiting for him to scold her for behaving like a child in the doctors. She wouldn’t deny it, she acted very immaturely but she was so sick of how he was treating her that day. 

“Can we talk about it?” she questioned, “That’s what you wanted isn’t it?”

“I wanted to say I was sorry, Lydia. I know that I probably made things a lot worse for you. I know you aren’t feeling good and I didn’t mean to scare you with the whole...anyway it doesn’t matter the details. I shouldn’t have overreacted when you told me it was the flu, I trust you to know your body. I just don’t know what came over me, seeing you looking so sick and pale, it had me terrified. I just couldn’t imagine losing you too.”

“Dad I’m okay.” she tried to explain, “I’m fine.”

“I just, I don’t understand why you got so worried when I suggested you go to the hospital, you had a really high fever. Lydia, I understand that our relationship is going to require a certain give and take but when it comes to safety I think we need to make some more compromises. I was probably jumping to conclusions when I thought the worst but even the nurse was concerned when he saw how high it was, we should have gone to the hospital.”

“I didn’t want to go to the hospital.” 

“But I don’t understand why.”

“Yes, you do! And it kills me that you can’t understand it, you think it scares you when you see me getting sick and having the same symptoms mom did, imagine how I feel! I am terrified any time I get a cold or I have a stomach bug or even a bad headache because I worry that the same thing that happened to mom is gonna happen to me. I know there’s a genetic link, it’s not a high one but it scares me too dad but the thing is you’re supposed to be the calm one. You’re supposed to be the one convincing me it’s just the flu and that I’ll be okay in a few days, I shouldn’t have to convince not only me but my father too. Any time I’m sick I dread telling you because I know exaclty how you’re going to react. That’s not good dad! It’s making me afraid to come to you and god forbid I do get sick like that how long am I going to unintentionally ignore the symptoms because I’m afraid to tell you! I don’t want to go to the hospital dad because I’m afraid I might not come back, and I know that’s crazy. I know I’m being dramatic but that’s what happened with mom. She was fine one day and the next day you’re driving me to the hospital and she tells me she has maybe a few weeks to live? Can’t you get why I might not like hospitals so much anymore?” Lydia was trembling slightly now weak from the flu and the medication she was on, “There’s a line in the sand dad, there has to be because the worst part about being sick right now is that you looking at me like you might blink and I’ll be dead. Do you no understand how stressful that is?”

He bowed his head, “Lydia I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you but it’s been so hard since Emily died to not go right to the worst-case scenario.”

“And I do the exact same thing, but the difference dad is that I’m your kid. I need you to have a level head about this, and I don’t mean to just attack you because you all kind of do it. You all smother me with attention when I’m sick or hurt, I love you all but it’s suffocating sometimes when all I need is to stay in bed and take some Tylenol.”

“I’m sorry, I’m going to try harder to be better about it, alright? I promise, but I need you to promise me that you won’t hide things from me. Your mom tried to mask the signs, tell me she was okay, and not that it would have saved her but you can’t lie to me alright? We’re in this together, okay?”

Lydia nodded and hugged her father, rubbing at her eyes both in fatigue and in an attempt to clear away the tears welling up in her eyes. For the rest of the night, she and Charles sat in the living room wrapped in blankets, watching reruns of old movies on the television. Lydia burrowed her head the crook of his arms and eventually dozed off into the first peaceful sleep she managed to get that day. Though he was incredibly uncomfortable in that position he just relished in the closeness he felt in that moment. He couldn’t help but to remember when Lydia was small and he and Emily would spend hours trying to soothe the fussy baby, both of them completely exhausted when she would finally fall asleep but neither of them able to look away from the tiny human they had created. She was so grown up now, so funny and intelligent, wise beyond her years, but despite all of that when he looked down at his sleeping daughter’s face he could still see that little baby he cradled all those years ago. 

[keiwritesstuff]

With You

Kuroo Tetsuro x f!reader

Summary : Kuroo and her are classmates, but never really talked to each other since he’s a social butterfly while she prefers to do things alone. One day, their teacher assigns both of them to be assignment partners, and they discovered new things about each other.

Genre : slice of life, soft

Notes : Long. Written in 3rd person ‘s POV. Absolutety self-indulgent. Slowburn-ish. Happy ending. Bokuto is adorable.

  ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“For this topic.. Kuroo Testuro and L/N F/N,” the teacher announced before nonchalantly proceeded to name the other pairs. She subconsciously straightened her back, totally not expecting to be paired up with a boy, what more a really famous one. She’s not that interested in sports, but she knew enough that he’s somehow very popular, considering how he’s the captain of Nekoma vc and is very often surrounded by people (mostly girls, but what’s the difference?).

She prefers working alone, and knows that she’s very good at it. But this project… this presentation, will contribute to her getting good grades should she does it well, and she would really like to maintain the ones she had achieved, if not get better ones.

She has to.

After the teacher had finished assigning the topics to all pairs, the teacher had them sit together to start their discussion. From what Y/N knew, Kuroo is good in Science. She had never seen him fail the subject, if that is any indication.

It won’t be too bad, she told herself.

 “I’ll be in your care, Kuroo-kun.” she spoke.

“Same goes with me.” he smiled before taking out his textbook to start the discussion. “I don’t think this topic is too difficult to present on, but I do think that we need to look for more examples to make our explanation easier to understand.” he added. She was rather impressed, considering he hadn’t even turned to the page related to said topic.

Both of them immediately set up a schedule for upcoming discussions since he is busy with volleyball practice.

 That weekend, he goes to her house to work on the contents of the presentation. He was greeted by a young boy, who welcomed him into the house. The boy brought him to the kitchen, where he saw Y/N cooking, with a pair of twin boys clinging onto her legs.

“I didn’t know you’re a single mother.” he started, couldn’t help himself from doing his habit of teasing people.

“Shut up.” she laughed (which amused him, since he didn’t take her as someone who accepts jokes easily).

“These are my brothers. My parents are out working. Usually mom is at home taking care of these kids, but whenever I can do it, she’ll be at the shop, helping my dad.” she spoke, still busy stirring the food in the pot. “I think you can put your stuff on the couch. I’ll be there in a second.” she continued, somewhat apologetically, since she couldn’t immediately start their discussion. Kuroo sensed it, and quickly replied, “Alright. Tell me if you need a hand, though my assistance does come with a hazard warning.”

He saw her smile again before walking to the living room. He didn’t notice the warmth blooming from somewhere inside his chest.

   After making sure her brothers have finished their meal, she rushed to Kuroo with iced peach tea in her hand. “Sorry. I’ll try .” she starts to jot down and rearrange the notes that she had collected through her own research for Kuroo’s opinion. Kuroo looked at her and noticed the conforting smell of homemade oyakodon. He couldn’t help but smile. Though they rarely talked in class, she had always given him this impression that she prefers to be left alone. Who would’ve thought that at home, there are three little gremlins glued to her hips all the time?

 After school, both of them stayed in class along with other pairs who seem to be struggling as well. Both Kuroo and Y/N are more exhausted than usual, and Kuroo definitely took back what he said about the topic being easy. Linking the examples with the main points has been proven to be more difficult than they deemed it to be, especially in efforts to make it as simple and as easy to understand as possible. Y/N wanted to ace this assignment, and Kuroo noticed how she was struggling to digest the notes, reading the same page over and over again but to no avail.

“You reeaally want to ace this presentation, don’t you?” he asked.

She rested her head on the table, a few strands of her hair tickling her nose.

“Of course. I need to make sure I maintain impressive grades in my result transcript. Gotta get those scholarships.” Y/N replied, exhaustion could be heard from her voice, probably from taking care of her younger brothers. Funny, Kuroo thinks, that he couldn’t notice this side of her before. Had she been this… at ease before?

“Scholarship?”

Y/N nods. “Yeah. I’m aiming for Tohoku University.” she replied. “It’s not easy to get a scholarship there, but their Natural Science department is top notch and I’d love to study there. Not to mention, if I survived uni, that Tohoku logo would look good on my CV, don’t you think?”

Her head is still on the table, but her eyes are looking somewhere else now, her facial expression clearly shows that she can already visualize that life, that dream.

Kuroo was rather impressed. Tohoku isn’t so easy to get into, it is not a place for everyone, and if anyone wants to earn a scholarship there, they have to work extremely hard (and maybe offer a sacrifice to the gods for good measure).

“That’s pretty amazing,” he commented. “But what about your brothers? Will they be okay? Aren’t you worried? They seem to be really attached to you.”

“I am, but at the same time I want to work hard and secure a good job so that they don’t have to worry much about money, just in case one day they want to apply to any college institution.”

If Kuroo was impressed before, now he has an utmost respect for Y/N.

“Well, it’s just a dream for now, but, just like how your team works hard to win matches, I’m going to work hard to make my dream come true.” Y/N said, patting her cheeks hard, back straightened, tucking those stray hair behind her ears, and re-reading that page, again.

                                                         ++++

On Friday, surprisingly, Kuroo was suddenly absent without telling Y/N. They were supposed to have another discussion after school, since Kuroo won’t be available that weekend due to volleyball practice (there is an upcoming match with a strong team whose captain is a dorky owl, he said. Not that she understood, but he seemed ecstatic, so she just agreed on the change of plan in the schedule.).

She texted him during recess, but received no reply. He didn’t even read them. Did something happen? It’s not like him to ignore her texts like this. At least, he had never done so before.

Would his teammates know what happened to him?

She stumbled upon a familiar second-year student on her way to the gym hall after school. He had a game console in his hands. If she is not mistaken, she had seen him before, walking with Kuroo.

“Uh, excuse me, sorry.. You’re Kuroo’s friend, aren’t you?” she said.

He looked at her. “And what if I am?”

She gave him a meek smile. Sheesh. What’s with that attitude?

  “Do you know where he is? We’re supposed to have a pair discussion today for our assignment, but he’s absent and didn’t reply to my texts. I mean,I get it if he’s occupied with practice, but it would be nice to receive a heads up.”

She has a life too, you know.

The second-year stood straight. “Oh. I see. I thought you are one of those girls who are constantly bugging him.”

Oh.

Oh.

 “He told us he wasn’t feeling well yesterday. His blocks were easily broken through too. He didn’t reply to my texts, either, let alone answer my calls. So, it could only mean one thing.”

She raised her eyebrow.

“He is definitely sick. Most likely fever. I’m planning to check on him after practice today.”

                                         ++++

Kuroo stirred in his sleep. The doorbell is ringing relentlessly.

Oh gosh, do I HAVE to open the door?

Dragging his feet, he could feel his joints ache with every movement. He rarely gets sick. He takes pride on that. But when he actually does, he could not deny how bad it can get. Fever is the worse. His head feels heavy, cloudy. His throat is in pain. His body is in pain. He doesn’t have the strength to move, and usually it’s either Kenma or his grandmother who would help to nurse him back to health(Kenma is not really good at it, but he tries).

He opened the door. “Hey Kenm---eh..?”

It was not Kenma.

“I told Kenma I’d check on you. He won’t be coming over today.” Y/N said.

Y/N?

“Are you sick?” she took a step forward, putting her hand on Kuroo’s forehead, startling him in the process.

“Yep, you definitely are.”

Huh?

“Ojamashimasu*,” she invited herself in, and Kuroo is still standing in the doorway. Weak, but shocked nevertheless.

Wait a minute. Hold up for a second. What is all this? What is she doing here? What is going on? Did she just come into the house? Eh..? Has she always been this forward?

And then he remembered the discussion that they were supposed to have that day. Oh no.

Crap.

“Uh, hey, Y/N.. I’m sorry I didn’t inform you earlier--”

“Rest, Kuroo It’s fine. Just take out all your have on the assignment, and I’ll see what I can add to the contents. You, rest. I’ll be here for a while though. I’ll leave whatever part I can finish on the table so you can take a look at them later. Is it okay with you?”

Goodness grief, the determination in this girl. How important can that scholarship be?!

“S..sure..? I… I’ll make you some tea..” he winced in pain, taking a step towards the kitchen, but stoppped when he felt a tug on his sleeve. He turned, only to face a stern-looking Y/N. “Kuroo, rest. I know this is your house and I’m a guest, but in your defense, I came here on my own accord, and you’re sick. You should rest. I will drag you to your bed, by your feet if you insist on entertaining me.”

What is she? A mother? Oh wait, she kinda is.

He chuckled. “Okay, okay..”

He wanted to say more. Thanks for coming. Make yourself at home. I’ll buy you ice-cream when I get well. Thanks for helping me with the notes. Thanks for understanding and not getting mad.

But his body is aching all over, and all he could do is to just listen to her, and walked into his room. After handing everything he had on the assignment to her, he fell onto his bed , sleep immediately overtaking him.

  He gained consciousness every now and then, only to shift his position and fall back into slumber. His fever is really bad this time around, and the fact that he has his assignment partner doing all the work in his living room is making him feel even worse. Not to mention, his family members are not around.

“..roo.”

He dreams of warm, chicken soup. He has no appetite to eat, but it would be nice to have some, to help him get better.

“Kuroo-kun.”

He felt something cool on his head. A hand. He wasn’t sure if his mind is playing tricks, but he could smell chicken soup.

“Kuroo-kun, hey, wake up.”

Another hand shook him gently, and he pried his eyes open, only to see Y/N sitting on his bed next to him, a bowl on her lap.

“Y/N..?” his voice came out hoarse.

“Here. I made you some porridge and ginger tea. Can you sit up?”

Truthfully, the ache on his joints says no. But the captain in him insisted, and as he was struggling to sit up, he noticed that she had her hands steady on his shoulders, ready to guide him if he suddenly falls to his side. His head is spinning, and it takes some time for his vision to clear.

Wait. She said she made porridge?

He stared at the bowl on her lap. She handed him the cup of tea. “Did you just---” he pointed to the bowl.

“I know, I know.. I used your kitchen and some ingredients in the fridge.. I’m sorry. I waited for a while to see if any of your family members would come home. Maybe they would bring home some food. But no one did, so I went ahead and cooked.. sorry.. I’ll pay you back for the ingredients I used. It’s just.. you looked like you hadn’t eaten anything today.”

 No, that’s not the point, silly.

He stared at her in disbelief.

And something, like a gentle wave, is washing over him from all sides.

 Kuroo looked at this girl.

This unbelievable girl.

 Did he do something to deserve this kindness?

Stop.

Why is she so nice? So unquestionably thoughtful?

 Stop it.

If he didn’t feel it before, Kuroo can definitely feel it now, that warmth inside his chest, blooming bigger and bigger. Like an onslaught, refusing to spare him.

As if it’s going to explode anytime soon. Has it always been there?

 “Yeah.. my dad usually comes home from work at night, and my grandparents are visiting our relatives in Chiba for a week. So.. yeah.” he took the bowl in silence, inhaled the smell of chicken, rice and spices, and at the first taste of the warm porridge on his tongue, Kuroo immediately slumped, his emotions are suddenly so overwhelming that he could feel heat prickling on his eyes. He hadn’t felt this fragile in such a long time.

Bullets fly, from his left and right, front and back. There is nowhere to hide.

She noticed the change. “Kuroo-kun..? Hey, you alright? Is it too hot? Are you in pain?” Y/N panicked, quickly taking the bowl away and trying to get him to drink the tea.

What is this?

He couldn’t understand.

Kuroo shook his head lightly. For some reason, words just failed him. What is this feeling? Why does it seem like he had missed this feeling for so long? This gentleness, this--this

-yearning?

The next thing Y/N realized, she was in his arms. She couldn’t see his face, her own is buried his chest, but he was shaking, and she could hear a faint, shaky whisper of “thank you” from him, and it was enough for her to understand.

How he didn’t mention his mother. How there seem to be a lack of a female’s touch in certain corners of the house. How she noticed that there were mostly men’s shoes in the doorway.

She gently pat him on his back, as she would often do when her little brothers get sick.

                                                +++

“You seem off today.” said Kenma, fishing his water bottle out of his bag, panting. Today’s practice is harsh as usual, but exciting nevertheless, since they are very much looking forward to see their good friends from Fukurodani.

“Do I?” Kuroo asked. “The Science assignment, I guess. I’m just hoping that I’ll do well. I mean, Y/N wants to maintain her grades. She’s aiming for a scholarship, you know.”

There was a short silence before Kenma chuckled and spoke, “Why does it sound like you’re bragging? You make it sound like she’s your girlfriend or something.”

Kuroo tensed. It was a nonchalant comment, but it definitely got to him.

G....girlfriend?

  He had never thought about dating anyone. He had always been occupied with volleyball practice. Y/N however, might be different. She’s probably dating someone, considering how wonderful she is. Kuroo stared at her, her eyes  are currently focused on the sheets of paper and cue cards.

Does she have a boyfriend? Who is he? Does he get upset whenever she spends her time with him?

And somehow, that thought alone irked him.

 “So..maybe it’s better if we connect this part with this example right here. I think it’ll  make it easier for us to get our point across.” she said, pointing to said contents on the notes.

“Yeah, okay. Sure.”

That attitude did not go unnoticed.

“Kuroo-kun.” she called. “Are you alright?”

“Hm? Yeah.” Kuroo doodled circles on a piece of paper, refusing any eye contact.

“You don’t look alright. You’re clearly upset.”

“How’d you know?” Kuroo asked.

“You scrunch your nose when you’re upset.”

“No, I don’t!” he exclaimed, covering his nose.

Y/N laughed. “Okay, you don’t, but still, I know you’re not okay. Is something bothering you?”

 Kuroo was silent before answering her. “It’s.. nothing. I’m just not thinking clearly, I guess.” Kuroo scratched his head. How does she know?

“You want to talk about it?”she asked again, this time staring at him straight in the eyes. To make sure he knows that she will listen if he decided to share something.

That stare. Those eyes. Oh, how different it feels whenever he’s with her. With her, he is not the captain of Nekoma vc. With her, he doesn’t have to focus on leading anything or anyone. With her, he doesn’t have to hide his feelings (she can see through him anyway). With her, he is just Kuroo Tetsurou from Class 5.

There it is again. That warmth. Blooming. Bigger and bigger.

She still waits for his response.

There is no escape.

“Y/N, I..”

She listens.

“I..I think I….li--”

 The classroom door slid open, revealing a tall boy with light grey hair, panting for air.  “Captaaaaaiin! I’m here to get you!”

Kuroo almost fell off his chair in shock. Talk about the worst timing ever. “Lev..! You idiot!” he muttered under his breath.

 “Where were you?! You’re late! Practice started 15 minutes ago! Why didn’t you text back?! They had me searching for you all over the school!”

“What? Oh! Crap! I forgot!” Kuroo stood up in panic. Crap crap crap. Now he even forgets his captain duties. The practice match with Fukurodani is on the weekend and here he is, not being able to function well in neither his assignment nor practice!

 “You have practice today? You didn’t tell me?” Y/N looked at him

“Yeah. I forgot. Sorry, both the presentation and the upcoming practice match with Fukurodani is getting to me, I guess.”

He lied, hoping she would not see through that lie.

Fortunately, she didn’t. With a soft sigh, she placed her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Tetsurou. We’ll do well.”

Tetsurou.

As if he was struck by lightning, it took a while before Kuroo could move. Tetsurou. Tetsurou. It sounds different when she says it. It sounds good when she says it.

Y/N stood up and tidied up the table, packing her stuff. “You go ahead. I’ll clean up. Uh… Lev-kun? Sorry you had to come all over here to look for your captain. If I had known, I would’ve sent him to the gym hall.” Y/N gave the tall boy a smile, and Kuroo noticed how the younger boy’s ears turned into a darker shade of red.

“It… It’s okay!” the boy replied enthusiastically.

Kuroo doesn’t like it.

“Let’s go,” he simply said, and dragged the boy with him.

                                            +++

“Let’s do this.” Y/N whispered, their presentation is being projected onto the white screen. Kuroo nodded. They had done everything they could for the contents of the presentation, they even did a mock presentation the day before to make sure they deliver the contents smoothly.

“For some reason this feels like a volleyball match.” he commented, gripping his cue cards in both excitement and nervousness.

She smiled at him, though she too, shares the same feelings. “Well then, if that is so, I’ll be in your care today, captain.” she smiled.

Captain.

His heart beats faster, harder, not because of the presentation alone, and Kuroo knows it.

Bigger. Blooming bigger. Hotter.

  “Phew, that was nerve-wrecking!” she exclaimed, obviously relieved that everything is over. If the applause they received from their classmates and teacher is any indication of how well they did in their presentation, they could say that they did pretty well.

“Now that this is over, I can focus on the practice match with Fukurodani this weekend.” Kuroo puts away his notes, sighing in relief.

“I wish you luck with that. Sadly there is nothing I can help you with.” she said apologetically.

“Nah, you’ve done enough. I still hadn’t bought you your well-deserved ice cream, for taking care of me the other day.”

She laughed at him. “Well, don’t you forget that.”

Kuroo took some moment before speaking, unsure of how he should choose his next words.

“Uh, anyhow, Y/N.. Do you want to come to see our match this weekend..?”

Kuroo himself didn’t expect that he would say that. It just came out, and he immediately added, “I mean, if you have time! If you don’t have anything to do on that day! You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but it would be great if you’d come, you know!-- For.. for--”

He stopped himself when he noticed her staring at him with an expression that he could not read.

“-for moral s..support..”

The last part came out shaky.

Her eyes brightened. “I’d love to. Not sure how much support I can give, though. I don’t know much about volleyball.” Y/N replied, pink tinting her cheeks.

Kuroo beamed. “N..No worries! Just cheer for us!”

                                                 ++++

The day came, and when Y/N arrived at the hall, she immediately noticed the white jackets close to her, warming up and talking to each other. Nekoma’s team is across the hall, but she doesn’t think that it would be appropriate to come up to them. After all, the only person she’s familiar with is Kuroo, and she had only talked to Kenma and Lev once.

Lost, she looked around to find a place to sit and wait for the match to start. As she turned around, a tall presence stood behind her.

“Hey hey hey? You seem lost!”

No lie, she felt like a midget next to him. He isn’t just tall. He’s pretty big, as well. Looking at his grey spiky hair and big eyes, Y/N couldn’t help feeling a little intimidated.

“Uh, no… I’m just waiting for the match to start.. I…I’ll be going, then..”

Her attempt to escape failed when the boy spoke, “Wait! Will you be cheering for us? You should! We’re pretty awesome, you know! We will win this--”

“Hyaaaaaah!”

Kuroo ran from afar and tackled the boy down.

 “Idiot rooster head! What was that for?!” the boy pushed Kuroo off him. It seems like that tackle didn’t affect him even a little bit.

“What were you doing to Y/N, Bokuto?” Kuroo asked, calm, but irritated. He pinched Bokuto’s cheeks really hard.

“Oi, oi! I did nothing! Oww! AKAAAAASHIIII!”

Y/N can only watch. Another dark haired boy came and tapped on Kuroo’s head. “He asked her to cheer for us.

“Haaaaah??!!” Kuroo pinched harder.

“Akaaaaashiiii!!”

After a few smacks on his arm, Kuroo finally released the boy he called Bokuto, and stood next to Y/N. “She! Will! Be! Cheering! For! Me!”

Bokuto stared at him in disdain and pouted.“Huh? Why should she? You’re not even that good.”

“Haaaah?!!”

 As another one of their bickering started, Kenma tapped on Y/N’s shoulder. “I think you should go up there. It’s pretty dangerous down here during the game.”

                                                     +++

It was like a new world for her. The crisp sound of the ball being hit, the cheers every time any one of the teams scored, and the intensity of the game itself truly amazed her. She got lost sometimes, not understanding why points were given, but it didn’t stop her from watching the whole match.

Bokuto and Kuroo, she noticed, despite being good friends, can also get on each other’s nerves very easily.

And Kenma radiates a different energy when he’s in the court. He was right, too. Y/N could’ve easily get hit by a stray ball if she stayed close around the court.

Kuroo, on the other hand, looks so different. He’s not the same person as he usually is in class. From what Y/N could observe, the team really listens to him, respects him even and there is this intensity to his demeanor. Where did the laid-back guy go to?

 It was clear to her why all those people (again, mostly girls, but what’s the difference?) surround him all the time.

 He looked up, looking at her after he successfully blocked a particularly hard spike from Fukurodani (Bokuto’s, to be exact). He flashed her a wide, teethy smile and gave her two thumbs up. For some reason, her ears feel hot, and she smiled back at him. Lev noticed her looking at them from above and frantically waved at her. She waved back, laughing. Kuroo frowned at him.

Lev noticed his captain’s stare and pouted. “I blocked that spike too!”

  The game was exciting to watch. If she had known all along that this is how it feels like to watch a match, she would’ve come to every volleyball match as much as she could. Kuroo had once mentioned the names of other strong teams, one of them being Karasuno High School, complimenting Karasuno’s ‘shrimpy’ especially. She couldn’t help thinking that if Kuroo himself (who loves his team the most) respectfully acknowledges that team, then it definitely means that they must truly be a force to reckon with. A match between Nekoma and Karasuno would be as intense as this one, if not more.

As the match proceeds, the heat in the court gradually got to Y/N, and she doesn’t notice that she is no longer holding back her voice. She cheers for Nekoma, claps her hands when Fukurodani scored points (smug was evident on Bokuto’s face, only to spur Kuroo on), and without realizing it, as Bokuto was about to spike hard, she was screaming someone’s name.

Everyone in the hall cheered in amazement. Nekoma managed to block that spike, the ball bounced back too quickly for Fukurodani’s libero to save.

Y/N’s breath hitched when the whistle was blown, ending the match with Nekoma’s victory.

 Her eyes automatically darted to Kuroo, who fantastically blocked that last attack, and she saw the pure joy on his face, smiling at his teammates and rival team, before finally, at her.

And she swore she felt time stopped.

   She stood outside the gym hall. She wasn’t sure how long she should stay inside, or if she should see Kuroo to congratulate him and the team.

“Hey hey hey! It’s you again!” Bokuto appeared behind her, with the team. Why is he everywhere?

Y/N bowed. “Your team was amazing. Please do come again for practice matches, Bokuto-san.” Y/N said, already familiar with the grey-haired captain. The boy beamed with joy. “We were, right?! Ah, if only you didn’t cheer for that rooster head and cheered for us instead, we could’ve won!” Bokuto said, though Y/N wasn’t sure if he was just joking or truly regretful.

 “Wait, did you hear me?” she suddenly grew alert. He couldn’t have, right? Was it that loud?

 “Hm?The whole hall did? You called Tetsurou’s name like, really really loudly.”

 And in an instant, her face turned beet red.

Suddenly, she remembered. She actually did call Kuroo’s name. Screamed, to be exact.

 “Tetsurou, you can do it!!”

 Oh. Oh no.

 What was she thinking?!

It wasn’t like her at all! What is this?!

 “Ah, her face is red.” Bokuto commented in confusion. “But like I said, next time, you should definitely cheer for us! We are much better than---OWWWW!”

Bokuto was tackled down again, Kuroo appearing out of nowhere, pinching his cheeks for the nth time that day.

 “Akaaaaaaashiiiiiii!!!!”

                                                ++++++++

Kuroo waves his hand as Fukurodani’s bus leaves the premise. Y/N stood next to him, doing the same thing. After the bus disappears from sight, Kuroo turns to her. He was wearing this smile that Y/N couldn’t read. “Thank you so much for coming, Y/N.” he spoke. The setting sun hits him differently. He looks gorgeous, Y/N thought.

Y/N doesn’t know why, they are talking normally as they always do, but her heart seems to beat faster than usual.

“Well, I hope I managed to give you the moral support you asked for.” she replied.

 Kuroo smirked. “You definitely did. I didn’t even know you can scream that loud.” he chuckled.

She turned red again, this time caught by Kuroo. He laughed. “You should watch us play again next time. It’s good to hear people cheering for you. Especially when they’re suuuper loud.”

 She huffed at his teasing. “You normally have a lot of friends to do that, anyway.”

 “Yeah, but I want to hear yours.”

 Y/N was rendered speechless. She looked at Kuroo, looking for any hint of playfulness, maybe he’s joking around again, maybe she should tease him back,-

but there was none. He was looking at her, eyes intense, awaiting for something from her.

“Kuroo..-”

“I--” he cut her off, “I don’t know how to say this, Y/N.. I’m not used to it.. but..I just…I know that.. I want to be with you.”

Y/N’s breath hitched quietly, not expecting Kuroo to confess his feelings so directly like that.

“You don’t have to answer immediately. I just.. I don’t think I can hide it any longer. Especially after you screamed my name in front of everyone like that. I thought I was going to explode out of sheer happiness.”

Kuroo took a shallow breath before continuing, “Whatever your answer is, I just want you to know that I enjoy you around me a lot. Even if you can’t return these feelings, I still hope we can still be friends. It’s nice to have a--”

This time, Y/N cuts him off, pulling him down into a tight hug. Kuroo’s eyes widened in shock.

“This is my answer, Tetsurou.” she spoke, voice trembling, burying her face into the crook of his neck. Trying to get over his shock, Kuroo gently wraps his arms around her waist, trying to hold himself back. He wanted to hold her tighter, to wash away any traces of disbelief in his heart, -she likes me too?- but he wasn’t sure how she would take that.

“Y/N…” he whispers her name, and she tightened her embrace. If there’s anything that he understands about her, he knows that she is definitely more actions than words. He understands what that means.

I like you. A lot.

This time, Kuroo doesn’t hesitate. He hugged her tight, unwilling to let go even a second. His heart is bursting with love and joy, and he instantly becomes sure that this is the person that he wants to be with.

For the rest of his life.

  Eventually, they pulled apart, because Lev and the rest of the team emerged from behind them.

“I want a hug too!”

Y/N laughed while Kuroo stared at the first-year in disbelief. “How dense can you be? Can’t you read the atmosphere here??”

“BUT I BLOCKED THOSE SPIKES TOO! I DESERVE A HUG!”

“Then go hug Yaku!” Kuroo pointed at said boy.

“Aw, hell no!”

Yaku ran when Lev sprinted towards him.

 ________________________________________________________

[A/N] How did this get so long? Thanks for reading! I’ll work hard to improve!

[taexual]

Baby / Hyungwon x Reader

Ever since you told Hyungwon you had a strong immune system, he would insist you took care of him whenever he got sick. Soon enough, you felt yourself start taking care of the whole group, much to Hyungwon’s disapproval.

Pairing: best friend!Hyungwon x Reader

Warnings: fluffy, needy hyungwon

Words: 2.4k

REQUEST: Can you do a monsta x one shot about Hyungwon that his your bff and gets hurt or sick and he only wants you to take care of him basically needy Hyungwon it can be a fluff or smut i do not care

You had already picked a movie out for your weekly movie session that you and Hyungwon hosted every Friday at your house, when your phone rang, showing Hyungwon’s name as the caller’s ID.

“Yeah?” you answered the call. “Oh, before you say anything, the pizza place said they weren’t delivering today. Something happened to the—”

“Y/n,” a voice cut you off but it wasn’t Hyungwon on the other end of the call.

“Hyunwoo?” you asked, confused. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Well, kind of,” Hyunwoo replied. “Hyungwon is sick.”

You put down the pizza place leaflet as you heard him say this. “Again?”

“Yeah,” Hyunwoo chuckled awkwardly. “Flu season is not the best time for him. Uh, anyway, so he told me to tell you that you need to come here.”

You groaned. “Of course he did. Look, I’m in my sweats, I look like a mess, can’t you—”

“Y/n, you know he wants you,” Hyunwoo said, cutting you your pointless arguments off.

Both of you knew Hyungwon would continue to harass you until you went over to the dorms and took care of him. Chances are, he already kicked both of his roommates out and quarantined the place. You were the only person he allowed into his room when he was sick.

The first few times that happened, you felt really honored. After that, you just started to feel like Hyungwon just needed the attention.

Nevertheless, he was still your best friend – sometimes you wondered why – and he was sick. You couldn’t say no to him.

“Fine,” you said to Hyunwoo. “I’ll come. Has he kicked you out yet?”

“No, I left on my own. Hoseok, on the other hand, is still putting up a figh—” Hyunwoo stopped talked for a moment and you heard a door slam shut loudly in the background of the call. “Okay, he’s not putting up any fights anymore. You alright, Hoseok?”

“He didn’t even let me get my phone!” you heard Hoseok complain. “Honestly, he’s the worst. I’m sleeping on the couch.”

“I’m sleeping on the couch!” Hyunwoo disagreed, not letting you interrupt his conversation with the younger member. “I already left my blanket there.”

“Too bad,” Hoseok replied. “You know my back is still hurting, you can sleep on the kitchen floor.”

“On the kitchen flo—Y/n, please come,” Hyunwoo said, suddenly redirecting his attention to you. “You need to help us figure out the sleeping arrangements now that Hyungwon’s sick.”

“Alright,” you said, knowing there was no way to get out of this situation now. “Watch out for him, though. If he starts yelling—”

“Why would he start yelling?”

“The fever makes him do weird things,” you replied. “Last time he had it, he insisted on screaming G-Dragon’s whole verse in “Fantastic Baby” at the top of his lungs.”

Hyunwoo exhaled deeply. “Right. Please get here as fast as you can.”

After gathering everything you would need in order to help Hyungwon, you headed to his dorm, all while unable to believe that you were about to spend another Friday night cooking chicken broth soup. Honestly, ever since January, Hyungwon has already been sick over four times. He recovered quickly, sure, but you were still convinced that it was not healthy to catch colds that often.

You considered bringing a doctor to the dorm with you but you had a feeling Hyungwon would much rather jump out of the window that allow a doctor to take a look at him. He was weird like that and you were sincerely concerned about him sometimes.

Once you reached their building, you saw Hyunwoo already waiting for you by the front door.

“Hey,” he said, letting you in, so you wouldn’t have to wait in the cold.

“Hi,” you replied. “Is everything okay? Did he get worse?”

“We heard him cough a lot but that’s the only way we know he’s even alive,” Hyunwoo said. “You know he doesn’t let us in.”

“He just doesn’t want you guys to get sick, too,” you tried to explain Hyungwon’s actions. “I’ll check how bad is it this time and, hopefully, you’ll be able to spend the night in your own room.”

“That’d be nice,” Hyunwoo nodded, walking with you to the room which Hyungwon has locked. Hyunwoo knocked on it gently. “Won? It’s Y/n. She just came.”

No response came. Hyungwon clearly thought this was just a trap made for him to let Hyunwoo and Hoseok back in.

“Wonnie,” you called out. “Let me in.”

The door unlocked a second later, as a tired and sniffling Hyungwon – wrapped in a white blanket – appeared behind it.

“Hi—” he started to say but you pushed past him into the room, grabbing his arm and leading him back to bed before he could say anything else.

“Good luck!” Hyunwoo called out as you turned to nod at him quickly and then closed the door – per Hyungwon’s request, of course.

Hyungwon lied back down in bed, bursting into another coughing fit just as you got a thermometer out of your backpack.

“Here,” you told him as he took a few deep breaths to recover and then took the thermometer from you. “Anything hurts? Throat? Head?”

Hyungwon shrugged his shoulders, putting the thermometer into his mouth.

Since he couldn’t answer, you finished unpacking the medicine that you’ve brought and then placed a hand on his forehead, instantly noticing how hot it was.

You sighed. “You probably have a fever. Do you feel cold?”

Hyungwon shrugged his shoulders again, either not in the mood to talk to you about his symptoms or honestly unsure what he was feeling at the time.

Both of you waited a few more minutes until the electronic thermometer beeped and then you gently pulled it out of his mouth to check his temperature.

“38.8°C,” you read it aloud, sighing afterwards. “Lie down properly. I’ll make you hot soup and if the temperature does not go away, you’ll take Tylenol. Deal?”

Hyungwon nodded weakly, starting to cough wildly again.

“Oh, NyQuil, too,” you remembered, pulling the cough medicine out of your backpack, too. “Can you sit up for just a moment to take it?”

Hyungwoon nodded obediently, lifting his upper body up from the bed, so he could take the liquid medicine, swallow it – and frown at its taste – and then lie back down.

“Are you going to be okay here for a bit?” you asked then. “While I make the soup, I mean.”

Sniffling and then proceeding to cough again, Hyungwon shook his head. “No. I want you here.”

You bit your lip, debating what to do. Hyungwon always preferred it if you stayed in the room with him when he was sick, even if he was sleeping. Seriously, one time, after he had fallen asleep, you attempted to leave the room and he was suddenly up and pulling you back towards the chair next to his bed.

“I’ll go see if the guys can make it,” you decided. “I’d ask Hoseok, but he’s probably not the best person to be cooking you food right now. I’ll be right back.”

“Just yell for them,” Hyungwon said quietly, his voice gruff. He did not want you to leave him, not even for a second. “They’ll come.”

“That’s rude, Hyungwon,” you told him, earning a look from him. “Let me at least open the door.”

He agreed and allowed you to open the door so you could holler for Kihyun to come and then asked him to cook Hyungwon soup. Surprised to find out that Hyungwon was sick again – he must have not heard Hoseok’s screams of protest as Hyungwon kicked him out of their room – Kihyun agreed to help you out, especially after Hyungwon started to cough again.

“Won, do you realize that all of your pillows are on the floor?” you asked him after you closed the door and began to gather the pillows that he must have thrown away from his bed as he kept trashing in it. “You should try to sleep. Here, let me put these—”

“I’m not—” he started to say but then started to cough again. “—not tired.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you replied, lifting his head to put the pillows on his bed, so he would be more comfortable. “Here. Lie down. Close your eyes. Calm your breathing. Concentrate on my voice.”

“You have a nice voice.”

“Thank you,” you said, already used to these random compliments he gave you whenever you took care of him. This was his way of thanking you for helping him get better. “Try not to speak much, okay? Your throat needs to rest. I’ll make you tea later. With honey and lemon.”

“I don’t like honey.”

“Honey is good for you.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Won, please don’t—”

“I like it when you call me Wonnie.”

You sighed, shaking your head as a small smile crept on your face. “Okay, Wonnie. If I call you that, will you drink the tea with honey?”

“I’ll consider it,” he said, smiling, too. Somehow, even though he couldn’t see your smile because he had his eyes closed, he still knew you were smiling and had to reciprocate it.

“Okay, I’ll take it,” you replied. “Rest now. I’ll tell you when Kihyun finishes the soup.”

Hyungwon frowned lightly. “I don’t want Kihyun’s soup.”

“You have no choice,” you told him. “And I’m sure Kihyun’s soup tastes great. He’s a decent cook.”

“I’d like it better if you had made it.”

“You didn’t let me leave the room,” you reminded him.

Hyungwon smiled again. “That’s because I like you here.”

“I know,” you said. “Also, you have to be a bit more considerate to Hyunwoo and Hoseok. You can’t—”

“Did they make you talk to me about this?” he asked. “You know I don’t want them to get sick.”

“I know. But you can be nicer about it,” you replied. “And if you get sick again anytime soon, I’m taking you to the doctor.”

His eyes shot open immediately. “No.”

“Yes,” you disagreed. “You’ve had the flu more times this year than I’ve had it my whole life.”

Hyungwon shook his head vigorously, triggering his lungs and starting to cough again. As you sighed, you heard a knock on the door. It must have been Kihyun with the soup.

“Perfect timing,” you mumbled, standing up to open the door to reveal Kihyun, hissing in pain because he did not think about how hot the bowl of soup was going to be as he picked it up to bring it to you. “Oh, come on now, give it to me. Your hands must be burning.”

Quickly, you transferred the hot bowl of soup onto a nightstand by Hyungwon’s bed as Kihyun, breathing heavily, waved his hands around, attempting to cool them off.

“After you’re done taking care of Hyungwon, could you give my hands a look?” Kihyun asked. “I think I have second-degree burns.”

“Get out!” Hyungwon yelled – coughing again right after – at him. “She’s my best friend. Get your own!”

“Sharing is caring!” Kihyun yelled back as you rolled your eyes.

“I don’t know how you guys are adults,” you told them, smiling slightly as Kihyun laughed at this. “Thank you for the soup. Put your hands in cold water, that should help.”

“Will do. Thanks. Take good care of him,” Kihyun nodded, allowing you to close the door before Hyungwon started to yell at him again.

You sat down on the edge of Hyungwon’s bed, leaning towards the bedside table and, after gently blowing at the spoonful of soup, tried the broth that Kihyun had just made. It was still somewhat hot but it did not burn your throat.

“Taste this,” you told Hyungwon, bringing a spoonful of soup towards his mouth. He slowly opened it, sipping the soup and swallowing it.

“It’s hot,” he said after a moment. “But it feels nice. Soothing. Can I have some more?”

“Of course,” you replied, no longer protesting against feeding him since you were too afraid he’d end up burning himself if he tried to eat on his own.

Thanking you almost after every spoonful, Hyungwon finished half of the soup before he refused to eat any more. His fever must have reduced his appetite.

“Does your throat feel any better?” you asked him after, sitting down on the chair next to his bed, so you could see him better.

“Maybe a little,” Hyungwon replied. “I still don’t want that honey tea, though.”

You snickered at this. He needed you to take care of him, yet he did everything he could to make that task difficult.

“You’re a real baby when you’re sick, you know that?” you asked him.

“Yeah,” he smiled. “But I’m your baby.”

“Yeah. Unfortunately,” you confirmed, smiling teasingly.

“Do you like me more than the rest of them?” Hyungwon asked suddenly, his sick and tired, droopy eyes watching you.

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I always call you when I have a problem but I know others do, too,” Hyungwon said, pausing when he had to cough. “Would you say I’m your best best friend or do you have others?”

“Why does it matter?” you asked, almost laughing.

“I want to be your best best friend,” he said in a dead serious voice.

“Okay, Wonnie,” you said, physically unable to find his childishness anything other than absolutely adorable. “You’re my best best friend.”

“Good,” he said, a content smile on his face. “Tell that to Hyunwoo and Kihyun, okay? They’re trying to get too close to you.”

“No, they’re not,” you said. “They know we’re friends, so they’re being friendly.”

“Well, they don’t have to be,” Hyungwon stated, attempting to wink but just blinking tiredly instead. “You already have me.”

“I have you? It’s more like you have me, you baby,” you replied, standing up so you could fix his blanket around him. “Lie down, now. You need to sleep.”

“I love you, Y/n,” he said quietly, closing his eyes and finally giving in to exhaustion. “Thank you.”

“Love you, too,” you said, making sure he was tightly wrapped in a blanket and then kissing his forehead before sitting down next to him.

He opened his eyes to check where you’ve gone.

“Sleep,” you told him, giving him a reassuring smile. “I’ll be right here.”

masterlist / ask (requests are closed)

[daeilmi]

HEADCANONS: PART I

prompts are taken from these, as published by niskrp.

001. what’s the favourite country you have ever visited? Why? / @nssungjoo & @nsyongjin

santorini, greece. he can’t really pinpoint why. there’s just something about the ambiance, the atmosphere, something about the history and the landscape and the architecture and the people. it’s beautiful, in a haunting sort of way. he wouldn’t mind living there, assuming he ever gets to retirement age.

002. how do you dress outside work? what’s your preferred attire? / @nsjisoo

streetwear, mostly. ripped jeans, oversized muscle tees and t-shirts, kimono jackets; bold, solid colors paired with neutrals, with blacks and whites and varying shades of gray. usually doesn’t style his hair when not dressing for work, just lets it fall however it wants. if he’s really trying to flex he’ll pair his outfit with some tinted shades but he doesn’t really wear accessories apart from the ones he usually does, like his citizen eco-drive or his cartier bracelet. wears mostly the same jewelry in his ears as he does to work, apart from the lobes; just simple gold barbells and studs.

003. what’s your greatest fear? / @nsjisoo

as unbothered and nonchalant as he can come across, he tends to hold himself personally accountable for the safety of the people around him, for the safety of the people he works with, especially following the tragic loss of agent kang jiwoo in 2018. over the months, that sense of duty has swelled into an almost… obsession, of sorts?

he can’t have another man’s blood on his hands. he can’t. he won’t.

004. how often do you get sick? how do you feel about doctors? / @nssungjoo

at this point in time, fairly often. after recent events he’s grown even more obsessed with his work; he treats his body like shit, he’s always working, rarely sleeps, barely eats. throbbing headaches and high fevers are common, he never bothers seeing a doctor for it, considers it a waste of time. chooses to self-medicate with tylenol or advil or aspirin instead.

005. what’s the hardest part about being a nis agent? / @nsjisoo & @nssungjoo

looking into a mirror and not recognizing the man staring back at you.

006. do you have any scars? how did you get them? / @nsjisoo & @nssungjoo

horizontal scar down the side of his neck, barely visible now; a souvenir from his time in rehab. Still has two holes, also barely visible, just beneath his bottom lip from the spider bite piercing he got when he was 19.

007. what are your sleeping habits? how many hours of sleep do you get in a day? / @nssungjoo

two hours, three if he’s lucky, and then he’ll maybe take brief 20-minute naps throughout the day. the nightmares won’t let him sleep. his bed of choice is either the chair he sits in inside his self-proclaimed ‘office’ (explained further down this list), or one of the many rooms that make up the nis dormitories. he rarely goes home these days, other than to grab a change of clothes and say hi to his dog, always has a duffel bag full of the essentials tossed in some random corner of his workspace. unhealthy? you bet. is he gonna stop? probably not.

008. what is your favourite place at the hq? where do you spend your time off work? / @nsjisoo

the conference rooms; specifically, the conference room he hogs throughout the year. at this point, whenever someone says ‘daeil’s office’, everyone who’s been around for more than three months realizes that they don’t mean daeil’s actual assigned office, they mean conference room 02, the black hole 40% of hq’s stationary is sucked into. the place itself looks like the aftermath of a hurricane; article clippings taped to the wall, surveillance photos thumb tacked to the fucking ceiling—(i’m not even exaggerating; he has a habit of laying back in his chair with his feet propped up on the conference table when he’s thinking. daeil vc ‘might as well eh’). red string everywhere, connecting everything. documents lying haphazard on the floor, whiteboards scrawled across in blue and black and green, blueprints and maps strewn across the table, points of interest circled in red. his suit jacket’s probably draped across the couch somewhere at the back of the room. the trash bin is overflowing with shredded paper and there’s empty coffee cups littering every visible surface. there’s probably an empty coffee cup on the fucking floor too.

when he’s not working in this active war zone, he’s sleeping in it. laying back in his chair, feet kicked up on the table, arms crossed in front of him, an open book covering his face.

009. how do you spend your free time? do you have any hobbies? / @nsjisoo

he’s been an avid rock-climbing enthusiast ever since he was young, back when he was living with his grandparents in jeju. there’s not much rock climbing to do in urban seoul, but he does have a premium membership at an obscure little mom and pop gym—conveniently located halfway between his workplace and home—where he goes bouldering. other than that, he likes to take the bus down to gimpo fishing park on the 2.5 days out the work year that he’s (forced) to take off. as a kid, he hated fishing, complained throughout every trip with his grandfather. he hasn’t minded it as much, ever since his his grandfather’s death; maybe even enjoys it, to a certain degree. it makes him feel a certain sense of… peace. like he’s closer to his gramps again.

010. are you comfortable with talking about your past? / @nsjisoo

to a certain extent; depends on the topic in question, really. he speaks fondly and proudly of his childhood, of the people who raised him, especially when it comes to his grandfather and the kind of man he was. ‘he’s his grandfather’s boy through and through’, his grandmother would say, and anyone who ever knew nam seokwoo would probably agree.

he has his grandfather’s eyes, after all. carries himself just like his grandfather did, too.

things get more complicated in regards to his parents. he doesn’t hate them in any capacity, and he’s certainly not bitter about the fact that were largely absent throughout the course of his life. he just kind of… accepts it for what it is. that said, he’s probably not going to talk shit about his parents to passing strangers, for filial piety sake if nothing else. he’s just not gonna air out his family’s dirty laundry in public.

last of all, daeil refuses to discuss or delve into the subject of the failed 2018 mission that resulted in the death of undercover agent kang jiwoo. oversight and strategy development for the mission was assigned to him at the time. he was assigned regular mandatory counselling sessions with dr. jung minjae following the tragedy. According to dr. jung’s reports, no progress has been made.

[swhurtcomfort]

Hey, can I request an Obi-Wan with a bad fever getting taken care of by Anakin who is too stubborn to admit hes also sick?

Obi-Wan blinked at the thermometer, trying to make his bleary eyes focus enough to read the numbers on the display. It was no use. His head was pounding. He decided that whatever the temperature was, it was too damn high, and shuffled from the ‘fresher back to bed.

The datafile he and Anakin had received before the mission said that 90% of humans were naturally immune to the Jaboori flu virus. Since returning home two days ago, it had become apparent that Obi-Wan was among the unlucky few.

The healer had sent him home with medicine for his symptoms, but he was supposed to mix it with tea and at present, the kitchen unit felt impossibly far away. Obi-Wan was content to crawl back into his covers and try to sleep through the aches and chills for now.

…

A click of the door startled him back into wakefulness.

“Hey Master, quick question,” said Anakin, voice sharp with sarcasm. “Is your fever up to a hundred and three?”

He was holding out the thermometer that Obi-Wan had abandoned on the sink counter. Obi-Wan made a non-committal sound without sitting up.

“If it’s still this bad even with the medicine, you need to go back to the healer,” Anakin continued.

For a heartbeat, Obi-Wan wished that Anakin had agreed to stay with another knight for the duration of Obi-Wan’s illness, as was standard practice when masters came down with anything more contagious than the average cold. The exception had only been granted based on the fact that Anakin was nearing his 17th birthday—hardly a vulnerable child, and because there was a very good chance that he was not susceptible to Jaboori flu anyway.

He quickly dismissed that thought; conceding that it was good to have his padawan was nearby. Even if Anakin did keep waking him up and talking far too loudly. Obi-Wan’s reply came out as a grumble.

“One more time?”

“I said I slept through the last dose of medicine.”

“Oh,” Anakin’s posture relaxed somewhat. “You should really set an alarm or something.”

Obi-Wan didn’t feel like pointing out that he’d done that, but he’d woken up too miserable and useless to do anything. Anakin huffed and vanished through the doorway with a swish of long robes.

Obi-Wan’s pajamas and even the sheets were soaked with sweat. He summoned the energy to pull his shirt off over his head and grab a fresh one from the bureau. The sheets he would just have to deal with another time.

He tucked his preferred pillow under his arm and selected the least disgusting blanket from the tangle at the foot of the bed, then shuffled to the couch. His back and legs ached abominably, weak and sore from the fever, his throat was raw and his stomach in knots.

He could hear Anakin fussing with something in the kitchen area, but he couldn’t find the strength to wonder what. He simply lied down and tried to block everything out. After a few minutes, Anakin emerged with a mug in each hand.

“Hey, you can sleep once you’ve got some medicine in you,” he scolded.

“Wasn’t sleeping,” Obi-Wan protested, opening his bleary eyes.

Anakin set the tea down on the coffee table, then opened one of the paper sachets from the healers’ and tipped the powdered medicine into Obi-Wan’s. He stirred it carefully before sliding the steaming mug across the table.

Obi-Wan restrained himself from scoffing. He wasn’t so incapacitated that Anakin had to stir his tea for him. But on the other hand, he didn’t want Anakin to be discouraged. Odd, how he could be so tactless and self-absorbed in some things, but simultaneously so careful and eager to take care of someone else. He was growing into a very kind and compassionate young man, and so may Jedi failed to see that.

So instead of teasing, Obi-Wan said, “Thank you, Padawan.”

The taste of the powder ruined the tea, if he was being honest, but it was warm and soothing and it soon made Obi-Wan sleepy again. He wasn’t really well enough to hold a conversation, and Anakin didn’t try to make him.

He was just on the edge of sleep, nebulously aware of drifting into unconsciousness, when he suddenly felt Anakin’s hand lift the mug from his fingers. Anakin glanced at the few centimeters of liquid left in the bottom, and muttered to himself, “Close enough,”

…

A loud crash jerked Obi-Wan from his feverish sleep.

Through a groggy haze, Obi-Wan saw Anakin crouching down, scooping up the pieces of a broken plate. He placed a handful of shards on the table, then sat back on his calves and pressed his palm to his forehead with a little frown, as if checking his own temperature.

Oh no, Obi-Wan thought to himself. Suddenly he noticed that Anakin looked pale. Had he been so pale before?

Anakin glanced towards Obi-Wan, who quickly pretended to be asleep. Obi-Wan felt a clammy hand rest against his own forehead, then a sympathetic hum. The hand retreated, and Obi-Wan was alone.

…

Obi-Wan sat up on the couch and rubbed his eyes with the heavy, scummy feeling of having slept too long and neglected to brush one’s teeth.

It was somehow midmorning. He wondered if he’d slept the whole afternoon and night, or if he’d woken up and was just unable to remember it. Either way, he noted with some satisfaction that only one side of his head was throbbing, and his balance had improved somewhat.

He needed to get cleaned up but the ‘fresher was occupied, steam from a hot shower pouring out of the crack beneath the door. That was a bit odd; Anakin usually preferred sonic over water.

Obi-Wan turned instead into his room and saw that the sweaty sheets had been stripped off his bed, and fresh ones were unfolded in a heap on the mattress. It looked as though Anakin had begun the task, then gotten distracted. Regardless, Obi-Wan smiled at the effort.

He heard Anakin step out of the refresher and went back into the hallway. He almost walked past the padawan with only a friendly nod, but something caught his eye. A flush of color high on Anakin’s cheeks. He took his padawan by the elbow to stop him, and look him in the face.

Suddenly all the pieces came together. “Oh, dear,”

“I-I think my ears just still haven’t popped from hyperspace,” said Anakin quickly. “That’s all. They were really starting to hurt, and I thought the steam would help.”

Obi-Wan heaved a mournful sigh. “That’s how it started for me. Pressure, like an ear infection. Anakin, you have the flu.”

Anakin rolled his eyes. “I’m immune.”

“You don’t know that. You should get to the healers’, try to take care of it before your fever spikes like mine did.”

Anakin pushed past him into his room and shut the door. Obi-Wan shook his head as he watched him go.

Obi-Wan hadn’t found the will to make the bed, in the end, but he’d taken his medicine and returned to the sofa. He groaned as this eased the pressure on his sore muscles. The fever was ever present, lower now but still sapping his energy.

Anakin was sick. That would only become more obvious, Obi-Wan was sure. Still he was a grown padawan, he needed space. That was a good excuse to stay horizontal for another few hours.

…

The medicine was working at its peak when Obi-Wan awoke next. He felt okay enough to haul himself up to check on Anakin. With a flick of his fingers, he slid open Anakin’s door and saw that party sprawled awkwardly across the bed, legs entangled in his sheets.

“Padawan,” Obi-Wan prompted. Anakin groaned.

“Let me be,” he mumbled and wrinkled up his nose in a melodramatic pout.

“Don’t make that face, you don’t have to move.” Obi-Wan sat down on the bed beside him. “You just need to let me take your temperature.”

“I’m immune to Jaboori flu,” Anakin protested with a hoarse voice that was not helping his argument.

“It certainly seems otherwise,” said Obi-Wan softly. Anakin allowed him to place the thermometer under his tongue. “Did you comm the Halls like I asked?”

Anakin shook his head.

Obi-Wan sighed. “Then just this once, I will do it. You’re really too old for your master to be making your healer’s appointments, you know.” He removed the thermometer. “A hundred and two.”

Anakin whined. “Fuck, Obi-Wan, you gave me Jaboori flu!”

“If it’s any consolation, this is not a picnic for me either.”

Anakin glared like that was the least helpful statement in the world. He huffed and moved his head into Obi-Wan’s lap.

Obi-Wan entertained him by stroking his hair for a while. Anakin never did quite outgrow the habit of seeking physical reassurance whenever he was unwell or in pain. Normally Obi-Wan indulged him, but he sensed that the time was short before he himself would return to being as miserable and useless as his ragdoll of a padawan.

“I suppose I could return the favor from earlier, and make you some tea with the fever reducer,” he suggested. Anakin nodded without opening his eyes.

While Obi-Wan was waiting for the kettle, Anakin emerged, wrapped in multiple blankets like some tall, lanky bat.

“Can I have the couch?” he croaked.

“Your bed’s made, mine’s not,” Obi-Wan pointed out as he poured the water into two clean mugs. The last two he could find, incidentally, seeing as no one has washed dishes in several days.

Anakin hmmphed and lied down on the couch anyway. Obi-Wan turned his gaze to the opposite corner of the room as if the cabinets were going to sympathize with him.

Obi-Wan set the mugs down on the table and folded his arms.

“Share,” he demanded.

“How exactly do you think we’re both gonna fit?” Anakin whined.

“Sit up, and I’ll show you.”

Reluctantly Anakin obeyed, and Obi-Wan snatched his pillow out from Anakin’s pile of bedding. He sat down against the arm of the couch and placed the pillow on his lap. “Now lie back down.”

Anakin curled back up on his side, hesitantly resting his head on the pillow in Obi-Wan’s lap.

“Can you sleep like that, though?” asked Anakin, suddenly changing his attitude.

Despite feeling tired, Obi-Wan’s eyes felt funny from sleeping too much and he actually was happy to sit back and watch some mindless holo for a while.

Anakin sat up a quarter of the way, pulling his face out of the blanket cocoon to peer questioningly at him.

“It’s going to be a long eight-to-twelve days, Padawan mine. We might as well be miserable together.”

[mypoorfaves]

Sleeping Beauty

Yuuri shouldn't be wearing his glasses while he sleeps, but Victor doesn’t want to wake him. So naturally, the only option is for Victor to remove them without disturbing the sleeping skater.

Fluff without plot, based on this prompt by @allergenius

1200~ words

～～～

The fact that Yuuri is so adorable when sleeping really shouldn’t come as such a surprise to Victor. And yet it still does. He supposes it makes sense; if Yuuri is adorable every waking moment of every day, it would only make sense that he is adorable during non-waking hours too.

Right now, Yuuri is sleeping against Victor, his knees brought up to his chest and tucked securely under the big warm sweater Yuuri is wearing. It’s how Victor had first found him upon entering the livingroom. He had been curled up into a ball, leaning against the side of the couch looking ready to fall asleep if not for the subtle chills wracking his body. Without a word, Victor had taken a spot next to Yuuri and guided the younger man to lean against him instead. It had not taken long for Yuuri to drift off, especially with one of Victor’s arms wrapped snugly around his back, his hand running through Yuuri’s hair.

The rhythmic sound of Yuuri’s deep breathing is soothing, peaceful like a lullaby that almost makes Victor contemplate taking a nap of his own. Instead, he contents himself with taking in every detail of Yuuri’s face.

His mouth is open in a petit little o shape as he sleeps, unable to breathe through his nose thanks to the congestion courtesy of this steadily oncoming cold. His lips are chapped in the way that they always are when Yuuri gets ill, and Victor smiles at the thought of having to applying more lip balm for Yuuri once he wakes up.

Next Victor admires Yuuri’s nose. It’s so tiny and so cute, absolutely perfect for whenever Victor wants to drop kisses to it. He resists the urge now as it looks red and irritated, rubbed raw from all of the times Yuuri has blown his nose. Yuuri's cheeks are red too, dusted with a soft blush that Victor can only assume is from his fever.

The poor thing. Yuuri has been coming down with a cold for the past couple of days, but it really only hit this morning. He's been miserably congested, complaining about a headache, and is currently trembling with chills as he leans against Victor.

Soothingly, Victor continues to run his hand through Yuuri’s hair. The strands are thick yet so soft and smooth between his fingers, and Victor has no doubts it’s because of the products he’s gotten Yuuri to use. He recognizes the scent, the smell so much better coming off of Yuuri.

Victor has always loved Yuuri’s hair. He loves tending to it, styling it for competitions, working through tangles before they sleep as a nightly ritual. He’s even had the honour of giving it a trim when the strands get too long. Yuuri’s hair certainly is long now, though he has made no comment about wanting to get it cut. Victor has no real preference either way; he would love Yuuri with long hair or short hair or even none at all. At the length it is now, his bangs just barely dip into his eyes, curtaining them in an almost mysterious way that can be very sexy at times. On the other hand, Victor could never be opposed to having a better view of those gorgeous brown eyes.

He sadly doesn’t have that view now, as Yuuri’s eyes remained closed. Though that leaves Victor to admire Yuuri’s eyelashes, the fine hairs so long and dark. Victor could spend all day staring at them, counting each individual lash, simply worshipping the beautyーthe craftsmanshipーof the body that Victor is lucky enough to have as his own.

In the midst of Victor’s revenant observations, one thing he can’t help but notice is that Yuuri is still wearing his glasses. They sit high on the bridge of that perfect little nose, the arms securely in place behind Yuuri’s ears. Victor knows from past experiences of Yuuri telling him that falling asleep while wearing glasses is uncomfortable. It also poses the risk of bending the frames, a problem that Yuuri swears is worse than no other.

Yuuri shouldn't be wearing his glasses while he sleeps, but Victor doesn’t want to wake him. So naturally, the only option is for Victor to remove them without disturbing the sleeping skater.

Since one of Victor’s arms is wedged between Yuuri's back and the couch, he decides that the logical course of action would be to use his free hand. The hand in Yuuri’s hair continues its gentle ministrations, the steady rise and fall of Yuuri’s chest unchanging.  As subtle as Victor can without shifting positions, he keeps his eyes trained on Yuuri’s serene expression and brings his hand in front of Yuuri’s face.

Victor didn't give much thought to how difficult this otherwise simple task would be with only one hand; he can't just pull from the bridge of Yuuri's glasses, because the arms which are hooked on the back of his ear will prevent the frames from coming off. And if Victor pulls too hard, he’ll wake Yuuri, which is the opposite of what he wants.

Carefully, he takes one of the the arms of Yuuri’s glasses and lifts it, pulling it forward just a bit so it’s no longer hooked over Yuuri’s ear. The next arm is harder, as it rests between his and Yuuri’s body, but luckily Victor still manages to repeat the process with Yuuri remaining asleep. Now, the glasses rest on the very tip of Yuuri’s nose, no longer hooked over Yuuri’s ears. Slowly, carefully, Victor takes the bridge of Yuuri's blue frames between his thumb and pointer finger and pulls.

Yuuri’s eyebrows furrow slightly, his closed eyelids twitching.

Victor freezes and holds his breath, not daring to move or even breathe. His eyes remain fixed on Yuuri’s expression, waiting for the moment when those brown eyes blink open.

The moment doesn’t come, and after a solid count to thirty, Victor moves again. He drags the glasses off of Yuuri’s face, painfully slow, bit by bit, until finally they are dangling from his hand.

Victor grins to himself as he treasures his trophy, triumphantly holding it up. He fumbles one handedly to fold the frames, then sets them down on the arm of the couch, safe and away from any possibility of being bent.

When he casts a look down where Yuuri’s head rests, Victor is pleased to find him still sleeping soundly. A part of him deflates with relief, proud he was able to successfully pull off such a difficult maneuver. And now he gets to take pleasure in his reward for such a trying task.

As Victor returns to his earlier position, Yuuri mumbles incoherently and nuzzles into Victor’s chest. He gives a relaxed sigh, and Victor can’t help but smile fondly; it’s as if Yuuri knows he can comfortably smush his face against Victor now that he’s no longer wearing his glasses.

“I love you, Yuuri,” Victor murmurs softly so as not to wake him. Yuuri doesn't verbally say anything back, but the way his breathing becomes just a bit louderーas if he has slipped even deeper into sleepーis a good enough response for Victor. His heart flutters as it’s filled with overflowing adoration, and he happily contents himself to spending the next couple of hours on the livingroom couch, supporting a sick and sleeping Yuuri in his arms.

～～～

I have ko-fi!

[jump-off-a-clifford-universe]

Avengers preferences: When you’re sick

Steve Rogers (Captain America):

He becomes mama Steve and takes care of you meticulously. He gives you everything you need. Cuddles, movies, anything. He hates seeing you sick as he knew how uncomfortable it is to be sick since he was sick almost all the time before he was injected the serum, so he’ll do anything to make you feel better.

Tony Stark (Iron Man):

He stops all his works and tries to take care of you, though he doesn’t quite know how. He ends up just playing music on his hi-fis with you and him cuddling on the couch. However, whenever someone asks, he’ll never admit to being worried. He’ll just say he has everything under control and he knows what and how to do everything. You usually just laughs sweetly at his subtle blush as he tried to sound nonchalant.

Bruce Banner (the Hulk): 

He doesn’t know what to do, yet he tries to act like he knows just so you wouldn’t worry and rest. He makes lame excuses, like having to use the washroom, and google what to do. Then he’ll rush off to the pharmacy and supermarket, and return with a thousand medicines and ingredients to make you soup. You’ll giggle at his thoughtfulness, and fall deeper in love with this adorable dork. Although, because he follows the recipes to no fault, it’ll usually take him at least 2 hours to make the soup because he measure everything so accurately.

Bucky Barnes (the Winter Soldier):

Having part of his memories coming back to him, he remembers what to do whenever Steve was sick back in the 40s. He is a natural when it comes to taking care of people no matter how much he doesn’t believe it. Because of his past experience, he has the right amount of “fussing around” and “letting you use him as pillow”. You favourite thing is whenever you have a fever, you’ll use his metal arm to cool off. That way, you two cuddle while taking care of your fever. 

Natasha Romanoff (the Black Widow): 

You’ll complain to her how red your nose is from blowing your nose all the time, or how your voice sounded funny, or basically how you look like a mess. She’ll hold your face in her hands gently and kiss the tip of your nose, reassuring you that you still look adorable and gorgeous, but maybe looking slightly like Rudolph. You’ll laugh together with her and hug her closer, and spend the whole day with lame jokes and kisses. (She doesn’t let you tell anyone she has a soft side, though) 

Loki Laufeyson:

You would jokingly say some exaggerated expressions, like “I’m gonna die from this cough.”, and Loki would be the worst person to say this to. He takes it literally, and you immediately look as if he is ready to bolt out the door and find you a “Magic Cure” to save you from your horrible disease. Almost 10/10 times you’ll have to pull him back into the house and reassure him that you’re fine, and that it was just an expression. Then the rest of the day would be spent with you desperately trying to explain exaggerate human expressions to him. But he is still fun to have around when you are sick, because his clueless expression is just so adorable that it brings you the happiness that you needed. 

Thor Odinson: 

Now that he has been around Earth for a while, he has learnt several things to do when you’re sick from the TV or from magazines. He knew the essentials, like chicken soup, good movies, blankets and pillows. But sometimes, you kind of wished he didn’t know them. One time, he tried to make you chicken soup and ended up attempting to start a fire with sticks and stones on your stove. Then another time, he bought so many blankets and pillows that you had no place to sleep on the bed. But you admire his effort and you love how much he cares for you. His clumsiness and funny incidents makes you laugh as well.

Wanda Maximoff (Scarlet Witch):

Normally, you two have a ‘no mind spying’ rule, but if you ever have a sore throat, Wanda forbids you to talk. She’ll take care of your every need and want, needless for you to say them. Tissue, aspirin, water, you think of it and she’ll appear with it within a minute. She’ll still respect your privacy and not over-spy, though, and that’s what you love about her. She’ll make you some of her secret recipes to make you feel better too. 

Clint Barton (Hawkeye):

Clint is great with taking care of you when you’re sick. He is very detailed and careful, making sure that you’re comfortable and well-taken care of. If unfortunately, you fall sick and he’s away, he’ll call almost every hour to check on you. He is the sweetest boyfriend. 

Peter Parker (Spiderman): 

He has never taken care of any sick person. He panics a little and calls Ned to ask him what to do. He’ll then realise that Ned is just as clueless as he is and he calls Aunt May for instructions. Although he is new at it, he is surprisingly quite good at taking care of people. He also tried to think of some fun activities that requires minimal movement so that you wouldn’t be so bored.