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#even when your aching all over from the flu... its not even close to what its like
sabersandsnipers · 6 months
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Drabbles: Reader is Sick or in Pain
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Gortash
Enver Gortash considers himself a very busy man, but still finds himself wanting to spend every free moment he has at your side. And he feels anger. Anger at the fact that he can’t cure you instantly. Sure, there are spells to heal wounds and cure disease, but nothing for a simple cold. 
He’s in and out of your shared chambers throughout the day to check on you. He walks in after a particularly time consuming event only to find you buried under the covers, a cough bursting from you every minute or so. Your congested breathing causes his heart to ache. He wishes he could take the pain for you. 
He pulls back the covers a bit to take in your beautiful features. Your eyelashes flutter at the sudden brightness. He places his hand on your forehead. The warmth of them feels good against your skin, and you lean into his touch. 
He can’t help himself, he leans down and presses his lips to yours. Your hands find their way to his chest. He waits for the feel of your palms sliding over his skin, but instead you give him a slight push away. 
“No, you’ll get sick,” you say, eyes staring up at him. 
“I think I’ll live,” he responds, grinning. Then he climbs right into bed with you, robes and all. 
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Astarion 
Astarion had all but forgotten what it was like to get ill. In all his two hundred years of living as a vampire, he had never gotten sick. It was perhaps the only perk of becoming such a creature. 
So when you fall ill, he delves into every book he can find on helping with fevers, flus, and everything inbetween. He also visited Shadowheart and Halsin, hoping they could help provide some remedies for you. 
The stomach flu is currently what has you in its clutches. Every hour, your stomach rolls and empties what little content is left. Astarion is right there by your side every time. He holds your hair back and uses his cold fingers to trace along your neck. 
Every time you get sick, your body flushes with heat. Sweat gathers on your forehead and your body shakes with fever. Astarion notices your struggle, and will pull you into his cool chest for relief. 
The feel of his cold skin against yours brings a sigh of relief from your lips. His chest is firm yet smooth, and grounds you against the pain you feel. And he’s more than happy to help you. He prays to whatever gods you believe in that you will recover soon. 
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Halsin 
Your cycle is here earlier than its supposed to be, and it’s here in full force as well. The pain in your lower abdomen is blinding, radiating to your lower back and digging in its claws wherever it can. Curling up into a ball and applying heat when it’s available is the only relief you can find. 
Halsin paces in your shared tent, gathering whatever remedies he can to help you. Something you didn’t realize about Halsin until you shared a tent by the way, was that when in private, he’s always naked. Usually watching his massive frame do such gentle work has you craving his touch. But today, the pain takes over. 
“My heart, what has helped you the most with your pain?” he asks, leaning down to lightly brush a strand of hair out of your face. 
“Heat,” you respond, leaning into the warmth of his touch. 
He smiles. “I think I can help with that.” 
He scooches in behind you, pulling you back so you’re flush with his chest. One of his magnificently large hands snakes over your lower abdomen, pressing down so waves of warmth radiate towards the spasms and cramps that won’t leave you be. He’s not done yet either. He nudges a large, muscled thigh between your legs, right up against your core. The heat from him soothes the soreness you feel there. 
“Oh gods,” you sigh, moving your hips back to get as close to him as you can. 
Halsin groans. “Careful, little one. I need you to rest, and it’s hard to let that happen when you move like that.” He twitches against your bottom. 
You grin. Even in this condition, he still can’t help but find you irresistible. 
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icedcoffeedisaster · 3 months
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Ask from @shortstrawberry that I accidentally deleted because tumblr hates me. So sorry!
I feel especially bad because that was the first ask I received 😔
Either way, I hope you enjoy! And feel free to sneak back into my askbox if you want
Just A Cold
Donna x MC (Reader)
Summary: You caught the flu and haven't been to the shop in two days. Donna is concerned and comes to check on you
It was quiet. Too quiet. The shop had been almost empty for the past two days with just Donna to tend to the duties. Luckily, not many people had swung by apart from Cassandra, making her record appearance of three times in one day for three girls she was desperate to avoid the wrath of.
Golden rays of light cast through the pristine windows of the shop as the silence of the day persisted, her phone laying quietly on the side with no messages since the one two days ago informing her you weren't feeling great. Donna was set on coming to care for you, but you had insisted it was just a cold and that you'd be fine for work the following day.
She stared at her unanswered messages, the 'delivered' status haunting her thoughts even when she was trying to continue her work earlier. It wasn't like you to get this sick, what if something had happened to you? What if you weren't OK?
She was going to come see you, and make sure you were OK. You were her everything, so why should you recover alone?
Her movements determined, Donna set about closing up the shop and the mess from earlier. In her distracted state, she had dropped a plant pot full of soil, successfully coating her smock and gloves in dirt. It also ended up with a streak on her face when she wiped her brow unknowingly.
With the lock turned and the closed sign up, Donna got in her car and drove above the speed limit to reach you.
/ / / / / /
You felt like death. Probably looked like it too.
You felt the cold sweat coating your skin and forcing your clothes and hair to stick to your body. It was uncomfortable in all the worst kinds of ways, and you were desperately trying to warm up under the copious amounts of blankets and comforters that you had wrapped yourself in. Your body was aching. Every movement felt like you were being chained down, and yet there was no position that granted you respite. Breathing itself was a struggle, an effort to get a decent amount of air in. The mountain of blankets probably didn't help here, but you were too tired to care
It was hell. And the one angel of your life was out of reach as your phone had become lost in the sea of blankets that you dare not search in. Long since dead, the charger had been stolen by none other than Angie on the night you two and Dani had gone drinking. Those fireball shots would be the death of you.
A gentle knock interuppted your train of thought as you cast a weary glance towards the door, sceptical. It knocked again, slightly louder.
"Dolcezza, may I come in?"
A smile etched its way onto your features, yet all you could muster was a cough when you attempted an answer. To your luck, the door opened, and light was cast into the dark cave of your room. Donna shut the door behind her before rushing to your bedside, the back of her hand immediately against your forehead as she frowns, eyes meeting yours.
"This isn't just a cold, mia cara. Come, let me help you."
Her voice was gentle, yet firm. Something told you she wasn't going to accept no as an answer.
Strong arms wrapped themselves around you and pulled you up, dragging you close to her as she helped you stand. Shivers wracked your body as you held onto her, burying your face in her neck with a whine in an attempt to get closer. A gentle squeeze and whispered encouragements warmed your heart and soul as Donna moved you to the living room, dragging a spare blanket behind her, which she draped over you once you were settled on the couch.
With a regretful smile, Donna detached herself from you, her hand coming up to cup your face as she kissed your forehead before moving away.
The smell of something cooking drifted over from the kitchen shortly after, where a pot of something sat on the oven with Donna stood by it, lips pursed in concentration. Her smock lay folded on another counter with her gloves on top, leaving her in her work shirt with the cuffs folded to just above the elbow. You turned to get a better view, content to just watch as she worked in content silence.
You were pulled from your thoughts by Donna moving towards you, two bowls of soup in hand as she sat beside you. Her own bowl she placed on the table in favour of helping you eat yours, her smile growing wider as she saw how much you enjoyed it.
Nothing could beat Donna's cooking.
It took a while, but the pair of you were finished, bowls neatly stacked on the table. Whether or not they'll make it to the kitchen is another question.
Warm, slender fingers traced patterns on your back as you leant against her, snuggling as close as possible in your confined space. You lay curled against her, her arms around your middle and legs intertwined under the blankets. A comfortable silence lay over the pair of you until she spoke.
"Why didn't you tell me, love? You worried me." Donna's eyes met yours, a furrow in her brow.
You hesitated before answering, voice scratchy from the illness.
"I didn't want you to worry, I just didn't think it would be this bad. I would have come in today, but i didn't want you to get sick either"
"I know. But don't leave me in the dark next time. I will always be here for you, dolcezza, you know this. You're mine, and I won't have you facing this alone"
A smile broke out on your face as you pulled her closer, relaxing against her as you felt the tension melt out of your body. You stay like that for a while, with Donna rubbing your back and eventually moving her hand to the back of your head, where she ran her fingers through your hair before she spoke again.
"Rest love, I've got you"
And for the first time in two days, you drift off to a peaceful sleep.
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undercoverpena · 5 months
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its the sniffles
Frankie Morales x Reader
He wants nothing more than to come home and take care of you.
an: I’m sick with the flu, and I’m self-indulging so, thought I’d share. No warnings: just fluff, maybe my spelling as I am very ill.
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Frankie would know, even if you keep pretending down the phone it isn’t as bad as it seems. “Its the sniffles”, the lie rolling free, dripping from your tongue as you fight that tickle in the back of your throat. Trying to bury it. Smother it. Only for a sneeze to rip out and echo around your home.
He doesn’t blame you for lying—he’d been looking forward to this job for weeks. What he doesn’t like is that he knows you’re suffering, that it’s likely the days are beginning to blur into one.
The last time you were this bad, it took you weeks to admit to him that you became so delirious you forgot he was working away and went looking for him.
It’s because he knows it’s bad if you’re lying, as to why he comes home early.
Knows you’re fighting dizzy spells, exhaustions, as well as scratches in your throat, because he did notice that you kept trying to mute the phone when you went to cough or sneeze—only to mute it when you were talking instead.
It fuelled him, the need to be there for you. Each image of you he concocted of you on the sofa or crawling out of bed tugging on him, wrapping fingers around threads inside of him, and yanking. So much so, he drives back through the night—stepping through the front door as the sun begins to rise, spotting how the coffee table (that had once been wood, magazines and candles) is now tissues, mugs and medicine.
Removing his boots, dropping his duffel and hanging his hat, all in that order, Frankie moves in pursuit to find you. He passes the bathroom bin in the doorway of the living room, used tissues spilling out over it. Finds the blanket, usually folded over the sofa, now thrown across one of the dining room chairs and the sea of mugs, so many of them, bottles and tablets (all cold and flu), cluttering across the usually tidy kitchen counter. All of it making his heart hurt, ache.
He’s only pleased when he finds you in the centre of your two’s bed. One of his old t-shirts on, eyes closed, breathing heavy—there’s a balled up tissues in your palm and the sheets pulled up to your chin. And without touching you, he knows you’re warm, clammy—riddled with an illness he wished he’d been here to help you fight.
Sitting beside you, he brushes his fingers against your cheeks. Hearing the way you breathing changes, your nose blocked, congested, before you slowly flutter your lashes open, finding him, basking him in warmth and happiness that he’s there. But still you blink—quite a few times—likely ensuring you’re aware and not dreaming. Before your cough smothers the room, words lost, buried in a sea of spluttering as you sit up, and his hand finds your back. Just distinctly, between each hacking and a sneeze, he just makes out you mumbling ‘you’re here?’
It’s then he spots his jumper, the thick one—the one with flecks of gold and white embedded in blues and greens, hanging on the door of the wardrobe. Your voice down the phone coming to him, “can I wear your jumper?” “You missing me?” Your feeble yes falling as his something tightened in his chest when you thanked him for saying yes. He wants to pull it over your head now, pull you close, something he suggests, before beginning to offer to make you food, bring the duvet to the sofa and have a movie day, weekend—
“You should stay away. I don’t want—you could get really sick.”
Hands still rubbing circles on your back as he hands you the glass of water from the table. “Don’t care, baby. I wanted to come home and take care of you,” he whispers, kissing your forehead, pulling you close. “Wish I’d been here sooner, honestly.”
Because you’re worse than he thought. Far worse. And all he can do is wear a smile, guilt swelling in his chest—because he should have been here, should have come home sooner.
You must read him, the same way he does you. Your head tilting to look up at him, eyes weary, full of tears from your coughing, as your hand slides over his. “You’re here now.”
“I am,” he whispers, kissing the top of your head, feeling your body curl into his. His eyes closing, feeling content.
And then you sneeze.
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sprout-fics · 1 year
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It is finals week and I’m dying from the flu rn, would you perchance consider a sick fic with Ghost?
Feel better soon anon! You got this!
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You can't breathe.
It hurts. Everything hurts. There's a noxious film of ozone muddled across your senses, brackish and putrid as it blots out anything other than the ache that's settled deep into your bones. Nose clogged, chest heavy with phlegm, and headache pounding against your temples, you try to remember a time before this, when you weren't sick with whatever it was that was running rampant through the barracks. 
Skin too cold, clammy and flushed, you wiggle further under your covers in your room, trying to retain what little warmth you have as the fever runs its course. You can hear the blood rushing in your temples, obscuring the sound of footsteps padding gently outside your cracked doorway.
"Sick as a dog, you are."
The cockney accent makes you lift your head from where it lays against your pillow, bleary eyes taking in the sight of your lieutenant leaning against the doorframe. The drawn blinds of the barracks cast a dimness across his figure as it engulfs the entire entrance, one massive arm braced above his head. He's free of his jacket, and you trace the dark ink decorated across a single, massive forearm. Ghost does likewise, eyes raking over your prone form from under the white shell of his mask. His eyes glint. Keen, curious, focused.
You sniffle, trying to summon a sliver of a smile towards Ghost but refusing to move even an inch beyond that lest it summon back the horrible nausea you've worked so hard to suppress.
"I think I've seen healthier dogs than me." You manage, voice cracking as a result of your stifled, clogged throat.
"I've seen corpses look healthier than you, love." Ghost returns evenly, and you can't contain the fatigued smile that inches up towards your eyes at the low rumble of concern in his voice, like the gentle undertow of the ocean against your bare legs.
You merely grunt at that, too exhausted to summon a response to his teasing. Instead, you curl back into your blanket, shivering and trying to chase the sleep that's been haunting you for the past hour. Yet then you hear the sound of Ghost's heavy boots across the floor, echoing like thunder as he takes several wide steps to close the distance between the door and your bedside.
A mercifully cool hand rests across your brow, absent of his usual gloves. You bite back a whimper at the sensation, but can't contain the little wince that flashes across your face.
"You're burnin' up." Ghost speaks, and his voice is softer now, gentler so as to not worsen the headache carving into your skull. "How long has it been like this?"
You swallow, but when you do all you taste is bile at the back of your throat.
"Since this morning." You offer, and when Ghost's hand vanishes from you it takes all your willpower not to haul it back, let it soothe the fever from your skin.
"You been to the infirmary?"
You shake your head, unable to contain a groan at the sudden wave of nausea that threatens your stomach.
"No." You reply after it's settled. "I...could barely make it down the hallway."
You had tried earlier, legs wobbly like a newborn fawn and vision swimming as the world tilted around you. You'd made it only a few steps past your door before you'd fallen- grateful the barracks were mostly empty for morning drills. It had taken all your strength just to limp back to bed, praying someone would eventually find you and take pity on your stricken state.
Of course, it had to be Ghost.
Ghost, the man who haunted the back of your thoughts more than anyone else, who’s grating voice and dark eyes smeared like charcoal under your fingertips. Ghost, your lieutenant, the man you couldn’t have, the man you wanted anyways.
“Christ, love.” Ghost hisses at your confession, and the sudden sharpness in his tone has you grimacing from under the blanket, a little ashamed of the state he’s found you in. “You’ve been here this whole time?”
It takes a moment, but you nod, now feeling a different warmth creep up your face at the sound of his voice- frustrated, disbelieving, worried.
There’s silence for a few moments, and when it lingers you think Ghost will leave without another word, haul the first medic he can find back to your room by the scruff of their necks. You wish he wouldn’t- if not for the simple excuse of wanting him here, to not leave, to stroke your face once more with the calloused, wide breadth of his bare hand.
When he sighs the sound is distant, muffled by the cloud of sickly miasma that obscures your thoughts. The floor creaks under his mass as he shifts backwards, and you think he truly will leave you like this, let you ride it out and bark at one of the nurses from the other side of the base to come check on you during their rounds.
That is, until you feel his hands scoot under your curled form, raising you off your messy, sweaty sheets and into his firm, unwavering hold. You don’t even have the strength to yelp as Ghost scoops you into his arms, your body still tangled in your blanket as he lifts you from your bed. Before you can process, before you can even try to object, Ghost is already striding to the doorway, steps heavy and purposeful.
“LT- You try, head curled up on his shoulder as the world spins around you deliriously. “G-Ghost-“
“Hush.” Is all he tells you, and the order is clear despite the fact that it’s quiet, concerned with its intent.
So, you do, too tired to object to this, to Ghost carrying you down the stairs of the building where the cadets are beginning to filter inside to escape the blistering afternoon sun. You hide your face in Ghost’s chest as you pass, trying to not let them see, but even then they eye the pair of your curiously, trying to understand the sight of your form huddled in Ghost’s arms as he marches stubbornly onwards.  
“Three more laps!” He barks at them when they murmur and whisper, and you yourself flinch at the tone there- commanding, unquestioning, furious. There’s a collective series of groans and shuffling boots that you barely hear over the sudden drum of your sharpening migraine, heightened by the sudden boom of Ghost’s gravelly, thick accented voice right in your ear.
He notices, sees the way your face briefly contorts and your body goes tense in his hold. When he speaks at you the voice is softer, soothed by gentleness.
“Easy.” He tries, and you’d be surprised by the tenderness there if you weren’t so absorbed by the ringing in your ears, the way your bare feet dangle underneath the blanket you’re wrapped in.
The nausea in your stomach has settled now. You rock within Ghost’s hold as he moves, each huge, striding step like the inertia of a swinging hammock, with you carefully cradled in his massive arms. You can’t find it in you to object anymore, not with the warmth of him around you and the steady, uninterrupted motion of his massive bulk keeping you steady in his embrace.
You relax into him, limbs going limp and pliant even with one of his massive hands splayed against the meat of your thigh, the other grazing across your ribs. Eyes fluttering shut, you try to discern the scent of him past your clogged senses- of gun oil and sweat and the vague scent of wood smoke that curls up and into your thoughts.
“Almost there.” He tells you, and all you can do is nod with a sleep little murmur, let him handle you as best he can. The world around you dims, washes into blissful ambiguity as the drowning haze of sleep pulls at your mind. This is…nice. Better than nice. Ghost’s voice, unusually gentle and reassuring, feels like a lullaby to your poor, afflicted state, lulling you into the realm of sleep.
You hear the infirmary before you see it- the insistent beep of the intercom and the muffled sounds of nurses and medics attending patients in the waiting area. Ghost turns as he uses one hulking shoulder to nudge the doors open, and in doing so makes the entire lobby hush at the sight of the deadly super-soldier with your limp, bundled form in his arms.
“A bed.” Is all he gives them, voice even and unflinching. The nurse he speaks to splutters for a moment and then gestures him to follow down a hallway. Ghost’s steps never falter, his grip solid and steadfast until his knees knock against the edge of the cot. Even then, when he shifts you, draws you carefully from his arms until your back rests on the mattress his touch is gentle, as if he’s handling glass.
It takes no time for the nurse to take your vitals and set you up with an IV. When you shift your head your gaze finds Ghost, arms crossed and leaning against the door. His eyes never blink, tracing over the nurse as she tries not to flinch under his unwavering stare.
It’s only once she’s gone that the room is quiet once more, and you feel Ghost’s presence pause to make sure she’s gone before he approaches your bedside once more. You tilt your head, trying to crane your neck to see the entirety of him from where you lay, as he towers over you like a massive, unconquerable shadow.
“Thank you.” You manage before he can say anything, reaching out a hand to gently grasp at the fabric of his pants. Ghost freezes at the contact, stiffens. Instantly you let your hand drop, afraid you’ve overstepped.
Except Ghost sighs, the sound like an evening breeze across your thoughts. A hand settles on your brow, and this time you let your eyes flutter shut as sleep drags at you once more.
“Sleep.” Is all he tells you, and his thumb soothes across your skin as you let loose a sigh, fall into a gracious, forgiving slumber.
---
Later, when you wake in the middle of the night, you find the outline of him in the darkness, still perched by your bedside like a gentle, steadfast vigil.
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honoviadakai · 3 months
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How team Urameshi takes care of a sick person! 🤒
(I’ve been pulling my brains out all day and running a high fever. Instead of you know…seeking medical help outside of a corner store pharmacy…imma let my creative juices flow!)
Cw: mentions of vomiting, flu symptoms, lack of common sense(it’ll make sense when you reach it)
Yusuke:
First off
Why was this the first guy you went to for medical care???
Like he’s not the worst but…
There are better options!
Also, depending on who you are, he might make it worse by accident
Ok so if your a friend, like one of the guys or just someone he’s chill with, just go find an actual doctor
He’s gonna do the bare minimum
But not entirely because he’s lazy
It’s mostly cuz…how the fuck is he supposed to help Jin’s fever when there’s a mini hurricane happening in the room???
Like he can barely take care of a human
How’s he supposed to take care of his demon friends when they’re all different species!?
The best thing he’s gonna do is refer them to Genkai or Kurama
That being said, he does makes an amazing chicken noodle soup!
Everyone gets one big bowl of the stuff when he finds out someone’s sick
Seriously that shit should be labeled as a miracle cure or something
Now if you’re family/a s/o there is a drastic difference
He’s gonna be attentive
But he’s still not gonna know what to do beyond getting antibiotics and soup
So he’s gonna get Kurama, Genkai AND a doctor at the same time
He has faith his friends won’t die from a cold
His family and lover though???
Yeeeeah
He’s gonna internally panic and do what he can to help you recover
It’s a funny dichotomy tbh xD
Kuwabara:
It does not matter who you are to him
You could be a friend, a lover, a family member, a classmate, a coworker, a complete fucking stranger even! Mans ain’t leaving you hanging. Period.
He’s getting all the medicine he can from the pharmacy
He’s making you nice warm soup
If you need to go to the doctor, he’s making the appointment, taking you to the appointment and even attending the appointment with you!
The ONLY difference in who gets what from him is his lover & occasionally his sister get sleepy sick cuddles
His lover is also getting forehead kisses if they ask for it
Yeah, there’s a possibility that he’s gonna get sick later
But he doesn’t care!
You need his help! Repercussions be damned! 😤
Kurama:
This has the funniest dichotomy between friends and lovers 😂
If you’re a friend, he gonna do one of two things
If its just a mild cold, he’ll prescribe some herbal tea he made
You’ll be 100% by tomorrow 👍
If it’s bad like a high fever, he’ll come to your house and be the best doctor you’ve ever had
Like he’s literally a home doctor without the paycheck
Pure professionalism
He comes in, assesses the issues and quickly does everything he can to cure the illness as fast as possible
You’ll be 100% by tomorrow 👍
Now let’s say your family or a lover
He’s at your beck and call 📞 🔔
You want tea? It’s already steeping
You want back rubs? He’s got a rose scented lotion to help ease your aching muscles
You want sleepy cuddles while the meds kick in? Scoot over, he’s cuddling you for the rest of the evening!
He’s low key spoiling you
To be fair…you feel icky, you deserve it!
So just let it happen
You’ll be 100% by tomorrow 👍
…but juuuuust in case…stay in bed till you’re 1000% better 😌
Hiei:
Was no one else available???
Is the doctor’s office closed or something???
What chain of events led you to go to Hiei of all people for medical help???????
Like even if you’re his lover…why did you come to him for help on curing the flu????
He doesn’t know what that is!!
Like…if I had to summarize what he’s like when you’re sick….
It’s this
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This is the closest to “helpful” he’s gonna be
Especially if you’re his friend/ally
He’s just…not gonna do much…
He’ll maybe go grab Kurama…maybe…
He might just honestly tell him in passing you’re sick and that’s it…
If you’re family or a lover, he’s at least more nice to you
Like he’s actually gonna check up on you
He doesn’t know the first thing about tending to the ill so he’s definitely gonna grab Kurama and basically demand he heals you
He’s not gonna let you out of his sight till he knows you’re 1000% better
He might not be in the same room as you the whole time though
Honestly he might be watching you from a tree a good 5 miles from your house…but he’s still making sure you’re ok
He honestly feels useless so him essentially protecting you is his way of feeling like he’s actually being helpful
Not sure what he’s protecting you from exactly when the virus is already in your body but just let him have it, it’s how he shows he cares
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warmblanketwhump · 2 years
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hi!! could i request a whumpee who is overly sensitive to the cold? you can throw in the good ol 'coming down with something' too if you'd like....;)
ooh, this is a favorite of mine!! sorry it took so long - I just wanted it to be perfect haha 🤩
not at all inspired by the time I didn’t dress properly for a hockey game and shivered for three hours afterwards
The outdoor ice rink was cold enough A could see their breath, and they huddled deeper in their thick winter jacket, crossing their arms to conserve warmth. They’ve even got a blanket tucked over their knees, but the cold metal seat underneath still saps the body heat right out from them. Compared to B, who’s dressed in just a sweatshirt with a jacket thrown over it, they look like a marshmallow.
Truth be told, they hadn’t felt very well all day, and the idea of being outside in damp, cold weather for hours wasn’t exactly their first choice of an enjoyable evening. But B had been so excited to go to the hockey game that A couldn’t bear the idea of letting them down. So they’d bundled up in layers, pulled a hat down over their ears, and vowed to bear it for B. Besides, B didn’t need to now how badly they handled cold temperatures. Not yet, anyways. 
At the very least, the game is exciting. B tries to explain the rules, and it’s adorable to see them leap out of their chair whenever a goal is scored. It’s a close game, too, and A finds themselves catching on to bits and pieces of how it’s played. And at first, they really are having a good time.
But even with all their layers, the damp cold eventually gains back its ground, sinking its teeth into A and slowly freezing them from the outside in. By the final period, A’s chilled to the bone, their limbs stiff and achy, teeth chattering as they shiver from head to toe. It’s what they’d expected, but it doesn’t make it feel any less miserable. Making matters worse, a brisk wind picks up, cutting through all their layers like a knife down to their core. When the final buzzer blares, they could nearly cry with relief knowing that it’s finally over.
B’s so caught up in talking about the last few minutes of the game as they leave the rink that they barely notice the way A’s hardly saying anything at all - just hunching deeper into their coat and clutching the blanket around their trembling shoulders with icy fingers as they walk home.
But when they stop at a crosswalk to let traffic by and A answers B’s fifth question with a mumble, B starts to notice something’s off. “...You feeling alright? You’re pretty quiet.” 
A shudders, wrapping their blanket tighter around themselves and leaning against B. “Fine. Just can’t wait to get to your place and get warm.” 
B wraps a comforting arm around A’s shoulders and rubs them. “We’ll be there soon. Just a few more blocks.” 
When they get to B’s place, A immediately slips away to shed their layers and thaw out in the longest, hottest shower of their life. They step into the steady stream, wincing as the scalding water hits their cold skin. But 20 minutes in, it’s still not enough, and they continue to shiver even as the steam wraps around them.
When the hot water finally runs out, they step out of the shower, goosebumps prickling on their arms, and they tightly wrap a fluffy towel tightly around themselves. Instead of being blissfully warm, they feel flu-ish and shivery all over - skin overheated from the shower, with chills running up and down their spine, a burning ache in their legs. It’s the same feverish feeling they get when they’re on the verge of getting sick (a thought they hastily shove to the back of their mind). A rubs the goosebumps away as they hurriedly dress in the overnight clothes they’d brought: an oatmeal-colored thermal, some soft flannel pajama pants, and a thick pair of socks.
Stepping out of the steam-warmed bathroom isn’t any better - it’s at least 10 degrees cooler in the rest of the place. As they pass by B’s room, they spot their favorite oversized sweatshirt of B’s on their bed and slip that on, too. When they get back to the living room, B’s flicking through channels, eventually settling in a movie they’d been wanting to see.
“Though you’d fallen in. Looks like you were just stealing my stuff,” B teases gently, scooting over to make room for A on the couch. “Still saved you a spot, though.” 
If they’re honest, A was planning to bid B a quick goodnight, crawl under the covers of a warm bed with a heating pad, and call it a day. But B looks so earnest, so they slide in next to them and curl into their side, at least grateful for their shared warmth. 
As A presses closer, B can’t help but notice the way A’s tightly hugging themselves, even bundled in B’s thick sweatshirt. Suddenly, A shudders and weakly rubs their arms.
“You sure you’re warm enough?” B frowns in concern - even after ages in the shower, A’s still pale and drawn, hands tucked into the sleeves of their sweatshirt, knees pulled to their chest so they’re a little curled-up ball.
A shakes their head, closing their eyes wearily. “Do you have a blanket? That damp chill got in my bones.”
“Of course. Why didn’t you say so?” B grabs a throw from the arm of the couch, wrapping it around A. They rub A’s arms lightly, pulling them into a hug so they’re lying against B’s chest. “You sure you’re okay, A?.” 
“Just need to warm up. That’s all.” A tucks themselves closer to B and wriggles closer so they can steal a little extra body heat, wincing as they shift their achy joints. It’s a bit of an understatement - they’re bone-chilled, the heat of the room unable to warm their core, and the shivery feeling and tickle in their throat that’s plagued them all day is only worsening. 
They watch TV for a bit longer, A clinging to B, B gently rubbing their back and arms and hugging them tighter. They feel plenty warm to B, but A just buries their face in B’s neck and inches closer. After nearly an hour of listening to A’s chattering teeth, B knows something’s wrong. “A, be honest with me. How do you feel?”
A buries their face in B’s shoulder and shrugs. “I just can’t get warm,” they whisper, voice small and shaky. They sound as desperate as they feel - the cold’s so, so deep within their bones, and they can’t stop shivering. “I’ve got chills all over.”
B frowns, flicking off the TV. “We can watch this later. You need to be tucked in bed so you can warm up.” They expect protests, but A just nods, resigned.
B scoops A off the couch and bridal carries them to their bedroom, sliding them under the covers and tucking them in up to their chin. A immediately cinches the layers tighter, chafing their arms under the covers. “Sorry about this,” they croak through chattering teeth. 
B sucks in a sharp breath.“Don’t be sorry. I’m the idiot who made you freeze at a hockey rink for three hours.”
“It wasn’t bad. Promise. I wanted to go.” And it’s true. Though they’d nearly frozen solid, it had been well worth it to spend time with B. 
Still, B drapes an extra blanket over them, and A murmurs their thanks. For a moment, they both sit in silence, neither quite sure what to do next. Despite the blankets, A’s bones still feel like ice, and they know it’ll take hours to feel warm again.
B speaks first. “Is there anything else that usually helps?”
A averts their eyes. “I don’t want to be annoying.”
“A, I’ll do anything. What’s gonna help you feel better?”
A sighs. “Sometimes tea helps. Or maybe…a hot water bottle? Or a heating pad? Just something I can curl up with that’s warm.” They shudder again, curling up even smaller. “I just can’t get any heat in my bones.”
B nods, and dutifully returns a few minutes later with a hot water bottle wrapped in a towel and a mug of tea in the other hand.
“Here. Nice and warm.”
They slip it under the covers, and A grabs it and hugs it close, sighing with relief. B reaches out to stroke their hair gently - and they’re surprised to feel a damp sheen of sweat on A’s forehead. Something in B’s mind shifts as they look at A a little longer, and they slip into their adjoining bathroom and return with a small thermometer.
“Open up.”
A side-eyes B. “Why? I know I’m freezing.”
“Just gotta make sure your temp is going the right direction.”
A shoots B a look, but does as they’re told. A few minutes later, the truth is out.
“Fever of 100.6.” B clicks their tongue. “Well, that’s definitely the wrong direction.”
A tries to sigh exasperatedly, but they’re wracked with a violent shudder that rattles their teeth. “I’m so sorry - I ruined it-“
“What?”
“I ruined it. I ruined the night. It’s my fault - I should’ve known I was sick - I should’ve-“
“Hey, shhhh….none of that now. Take a breath.” A obeys, taking a short, shaky inhale. “You’re alright. We’ll hunker down in bed for a few days, see a doctor if you need it. But you have nothing to be sorry for.” A just sniffles miserably, but they nod, and B leans closer to rub their arms and shoulders.
After a few minutes, A sniffles again. “Can you come closer? Like when we were out on the couch? It felt good when you were holding me.”
B obliges, sliding across to the opposite side of the bed and propping themselves up. A just burrows into their side, so deep under the covers that only a few tufts of hair were poking out, and B angles themselves so A can rest their head on B’s chest. This close, B can feel the ripple of constant shivers in their body, and they’re so small and vulnerable that it makes their heart ache.
“There you go. You curl up and get warm. I’m not going anywhere.” B cradles A’s head closer, stroking their feverish forehead, massaging soft circles on A’s achy shoulders.
And while A knows true warmth is a long time coming, something in B’s quiet tone is the anchor they need to finally relax into rest.
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svt-yexi · 1 year
Text
Flying Home... Sick (2019)
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Yexi woke up from nap on the plane, her throat still hurt and her head was pounding. She groaned and it took all the energy she had to open her eyes, "Oppa?" she called out but her voice couldn't push past a whisper and caused her to whimper in pain.
"Yexi-ya?" Jihoon's face came into view, his brow furrowed.
Yexi whimpered in response as her body began to shiver all over. She'd woken up with a scratchy throat and a mild headache but now it felt like everything had multiplied by ten. She sucked in a breath when she felt something cold touch her arm, "Noona you're burning up." Vernon leaned towards her and put his hand to her forehead. It was when she felt another cold hand touch her cheek that she decided to say something.
"Cold." she said but whimpered at the pain in her throat while her teeth continued to chatter.
Jihoon unbuckled his seat belt and walked a few rows up to tap on Seungcheol's shoulder, "Yexi is getting worse. She can barely talk and she's running really hot right now." Seunghceol immediately unbuckled his seatbelt as well and walked with Jihoon back to their seats and saw Yexi leaning her head on Vernon's shoulder with a blanket tucked around her body. He sat down in Jihoon's seat and leaned forward and put his hand on her forehead causing her to whimper at the temperature difference.
He ran his hand over her head in a comforting gesture, "Can you tell me whats bothering you?"
"Hyung, she told me its really painful for her to talk. Do you think they have some paper she can just write on instead?" Vernon continued to rub his hands up and down her arms trying to help her warm up.
"Yeah, let me see what I can do." Seungcheol stood up and started walking toward the area that separated first class from the rest of the plane. He peaked through the curtain and saw someone fixing someone a drink at the counter, "Miss?" the lady turned around to look, "Do you have a piece of paper and something to write with? We have someone that has a sore throat and it hurts for them to talk."
"Of course." The lady reached into a cabinet and pulled out a notebook and ripped out a few pages and handed it to him along with a pen.
"Thank you. I'll be sure to return the pen."
Meanwhile Jihoon is doing his best to try and get Yexi to drink some cold water one of the members provided in hopes it would help with her throat, "Yexi-ya just try to drink some." she shook her head, she didn't want to risk her throat being in even more pain and was being stubborn about the whole thing.
Seungcheol tapped on Jihoon's shoulder and he stood letting Seungcheol sit beside her, "I tried to get her to drink some cold water in hopes it would help her throat but she refuses to even try it."
"Why don't you take my seat for now, I know we're close enough for them to start getting ready to land soon." Seungcheol gave him a nod of encouragement after seeing him hesitate with a look towards Yexi. After Jihoon had stepped away he turned to look at Yexi who looked miserable and exhausted. "Can you write out your symptoms for me?" he unlatched the tray in front of her and set the paper and pen on top.
Yexi groaned when Vernon helped her sit up so she could reach the tray. She started writing the list like Seungcheol asked:
Sore throat
No voice
Headache
Fever
Chills
Body Aches
Ear pain
Tired
Loopy kinda
Seeing her list Seungcheol frowned noticing that her list was long but he could tell just from the symptoms that Yexi most likely had the flu which now meant that himself, Jihoon, and Vernon were all directly exposed. Using the plane wifi he sent off a quick kakao message telling everyone to put their masks on and he would explain when they landed. It caused an immediate shuffle around them while he grabbed Yexi's from the pocket of the seat in front of her and helped her put it on.
"You should put yours on Vernon, she most likely has the flu." he pointed at the symptom list before turning his attention back to Yexi, "On a scale from 1-10 how bad are you feeling right now?"
Yexi wrote down the number 9 and looked at him, he could tell she was trying her best to stay awake. He put his hand against her forehead again and she pulled away from his cold fingers, "I wonder if they have a thermometer on board." he mumbled to himself. Deciding to ask he stood up and walked back to the woman he had spoke with before.
"Hi, can help you?" She asked.
"Do you happen to have a thermometer on board?" he bit his bottom lip hoping they did.
"I think there might be one in the first aid kit, let me see." He watched as she pulled the bag down and rummaged around inside. When she stood back up straight he could see her clutching something in her hand, "Why don't you show me to their seat and i'll help."
"We think she might have the flu so you may want a mask." He said.
The woman grabbed a mask from the first aid bag and slipped it on, she offered him one and he took it before leading her back to Yexi's seat. "Whats her name?" the lady asked while sitting in the available seat.
"Yexi." Vernon answered.
"Hi Yexi-ssi, can I take your temperature?" Yexi nodded and Vernon helped her sit up straight again and the lady ran the thermometer across her forehead. When it beeped Yexi noticed Seungcheol's eyes fill with worry, "Well it looks like you're running a pretty high fever at 103.4"
"What we can do is have it where all of you exit first before the rest of the passengers. Yexi-ssi do you think you'll be able to walk okay or would you prefer to have a wheelchair?"
Seungcheol already knew what her answer would be and wasn't the least bit surprised when she barely shook her head, "Yexi-ya I think you should take the wheelchair. You look like you can barely hold you head up." but despite his comment she looked at him and barely shook her head again causing him to sigh, "Fine. Always so stubborn."
As soon as he said that the announcement from the pilot was made letting passengers know that they would be getting ready to touch down in Korea. The lady left with a quick apology to go start helping people get ready for landing. Seungcheol took his seat beside Yexi before helping her buckle the seat belt. When he was back in his seat Yexi leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder. He brought his hand up to caress her head and a whispered order to rest.
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The next time Yexi opened her eyes she was being lightly jostled awake by Vernon, "They're ready for us to leave the plane." her helped her make sure all of her stuff had been packed away before shouldering her bag along with his own.
Seungcheol turned to face the two of them, "Vernon if you can help her out of the plane I can go talk with the security the company provided."
"Sure hyung, go ahead." Vernon said while wrapping his arm around Yexi's waist to help steady her. The other members filed out before them and each one that passed gave Yexi a sympathetic look. After they were all off the plane Vernon helped Yexi keep her balance while the exited the plane. "Are you sure you don't want the wheelchair?" he asked and Yexi nodded in reply.
"A lot of fans showed up so we need everyone to stay close and if anything happens keep hold of the person in front of you." said the body guard that was standing in front of everyone.
Jihoon walked over to Vernon, "Why don't you let me walk with her and you just handle her bag." Vernon nodded and eased Yexi into Jihoon's hold.
Seungkwan walked up beside Yexi and dropped his bag before unzipping his jacked and silently helping her put it on. He zipped up the front and grabbed the hat off Jihoon's head and placed it on Yexi's. Jihoon started to scold him but saw him place the hat on her head. "Vernon said you were cold and the hat will help keep any flashes or pictures you don't want being taken." Seungkwan said while helping her situate the jacket before they left the hallway.
The members and the staff started moving towards the door that would lead to the exit, through the lobby, and out the doors to the vans. Seungkwan walked beside them in case Yexi or Jihoon started struggling. Yexi tried to keep up the best she could but it felt like her body was in the middle of a marathon. Once the group was past the terminals and heading towards the lobby the fans started rushing. Jihoon made sure he had a secure hold on Yexi. The fans were trying to push against the security guards that were surrounding them. Every time the two were jostled Yexi would whimper, "I know Yex, just a bit further." Jihoon tried his best to calm her while the crowd began to press in ever further. Yexi stumbled straight into Seungkwan's side and he helped Jihoon steady her the best they could while rushing forward with the crowd.
The three could hear Seungcheol in the front yelling loudly to stop pushing and give them space. "Oh, hyungs mad." Seungkwan whistled lowly. It was the bottle neck at the outside doors where everything went to hell. The three were shoved towards the doors and Yexi stumbled almost landing on the concrete if  ot for the boys keeping a tight hold of her arms.
"Jesus Christ, can they not?!" Jihoon growled.
It was the security behind them that kept them from being trampled. Seungkwan and Jihoon sighed in relief once they saw the van was finally in reach. Seungkwan slid in first and helped Yexi in and helping her sit while the security that had been behind them all but shoved Jihoon inside. He didn't think he would ever get used to the crowds when they'd come back home.
The three members let themselves relax once the vans pulled away from the airport. By the time they reached the dorms Yexi had already fallen back asleep against Seungkwan. The van door opened before Jihoon had even had a chance to touch the handle and Seungcheol and one of their managers stood there. "You two can go ahead and head up to the dorms and the two of us will be taking Yexi to the hospital to get her checked out."
Jihoon grabbed his bag and Seungkwan since they were both dropped into a pile in the middle of the floor, "Coups you may wanna grab either Jun or Shua
You know how she gets with languages sometimes."
"The hospital has translators available so don't worry. We're trying to mitigate any possible spread of what she has. You have schedules in 2 days and we can't have anyone else dropping out, but that's for us to worry about. You two go ahead." the manager jerked his head towards the building.
Jihoon climbed out and turned to wait for Seungkwan but he wasn't moving, "You coming?"
He shook his head, "No. I'm gonna go with them. She's fallen back asleep and I don't want to wake her up yet just for her to be miserable longer." he rubbed his hand over her shoulder to comfort her.
"Fine. Let's just go ahead and head out. The longer it takes her to get seen the more miserable she'll become." Seungcheol climbed in and buckled himself in. "I also grabbed her bag from Vernon since that will have all the stuff the Hospital should need."
Once the door was shut and everyone was buckled the van headed towards the Hospital, "let's get our princess feeling better." Seungcheol leaned over and ran his hand over her hair his brown furrowed with worry. "You're in duty for keeping everyone updated, that okay?" Seungkwan nodded in agreement. He was fine with any role he was given, as long as it helped his other two members.
Taglist: @multiplums @giverosespls @sunflower-0180 @smoooore
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sunsetsnz · 1 year
Text
reassurance
summary: seph is having a hard time with the flu, and jonathan is there to console him through a particularly rough moment.
notes: sfw, some swearing. there isn’t actually much snz in this (technically two?) but there is plenty of illness/whump/comfort if you’re into that <3
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Seph reaches for his water bottle in its usual place on the nightstand to attempt a sip. He winces. The cool water is momentarily soothing, but with his inflamed throat and swollen lymph nodes, swallowing is torture.
He's curled up in a miserable ball of infection in his own bed, head pounding with dull congestion, stuffed up to hell and back, shivers and aches running through him like tremors before an earthquake. He hasn't had the flu in quite a few years, and it's hitting him like a fucking train.
The arm nestled around his shoulders belongs to one Jonathan Dempsey, who’s watching this with quiet concern and trying his best to be subtle about it. His slightly bushy brows furrow when Seph swallows and whimpers, visibly in pain. His free hand reaches up to tuck a stray braid behind Seph's ear.
“I'm sorry, I know it hurts…”
Seph’s heart sinks in his chest. He feels so utterly pathetic right now he could cry, but he doesn’t want to look ridiculous in front of Jonathan.
“It’s dot your fault,” he croaks. Fuck, talking really hurts too.
They've been trying to watch a shared comfort movie in bed with the lights dimmed, at Seph's request, because anything bright physically hurts. Except it's not helping much tonight…nothing seems to be. His head is swimming too much to concentrate, he's shivering and sweating and nothing feels comfortable no matter what position he's in. He just feels…absolutely wretched and useless.
“I know,” Jonathan murmurs. “I just wish I could do more for you.”
With a weak sigh, Seph buries his aching face in his boyfriend’s fisherman sweater. It’s about the only thing bringing him any kind of comfort right now. Jonathan hugs him to his chest, rubbing his nose on the fuzzy sections of hair where each twist braid begins.
Seph loves having such a human pillow for a boyfriend, always wearing soft clothes and down to cuddle…but being touched and held in this state is reminding him just how gross and repulsive he looks and feels. It’s not the first time Jonathan has seen Seph ill, but he’s never been this bad in front of him before.
The irony of all this is not lost on Seph, either. He’s fully aware of how stupid these feelings are, considering his own kink, and how into Jonathan’s sneezes, allergies and colds he always is. It’s certainly never put him off. But he still can’t help the way he feels about himself, and it makes him feel even more pathetic.
The truth is that he honestly doesn't really want anyone to see or perceive him like this…even Jonathan. Especially Jonathan.
Yet here he is, lying in his partner's arms, snotting and breathing his contagiousness all over him. Shame and disgust begin to bubble up inside him as he thinks about how disgusted by him Jonathan probably is right now.
He starts to pull away from the embrace, and is met with a perplexed look.
“What's wrong?”
“I—” Seph's voice catches dangerously. Wearily he closes his eyes, knowing he has no strength to keep his emotions at bay right now but still trying to fight it anyway. “I just—”
Sitting up further, Jonathan nods for him to go on.
“I feel disgustig,” he eventually chokes out, hot tears pricking his eyes.
Jonathan looks confused again for a fraction of a second. When he realises that Seph means it literally, his face falls. “Wait, what?” He reaches out, touching Seph's knee. “You’re not! Oh, Seph, of course you're not.”
Humiliated by his own vulnerability, Seph turns away from him. “I'b sorry. You shouldd't even be anywhere near be right now...”
“Please don’t say that.”
“Sittig here, breathig all over you…it's gross. I'll make you sick, too.”
Shaking his head, Jonathan frowns. “You know I don't care about that.”
Back still turned, Seph's shoulders slump, voice cracking as the first of a stream of tears spills over and escapes down his cheek. “Well I do.”
Jonathan's entire being softens. Taking a second to pause the movie, he turns his full attention back to him with gentle determination. “Babe, look at me.”
For a moment, the only response he gets is a sniffle.
“Please…”
Wiping his eyes, Seph reluctantly half-turns his body to face him again. His warm brown skin tone is almost ashen, nose running helplessly, teardrops clinging to his eyelashes. He looks so miserable, it's breaking Jonathan's heart.
“You are not disgusting, Seph. Not at all,” Jonathan urges softly, cupping his damp cheek in his palm and brushing away a stray tear with his thumb. “I don't think that, and I'm not letting you believe that either, not for one second. If you don't want me to touch you, that's completely okay, but if it's because you think I'm grossed out, then you're astronomically wrong.”
Seph briefly meets his eyes, a shaky breath escaping his parted lips. “You're dot just sayig that?”
“I'm not.” Leaning in, Jonathan presses their foreheads together, their noses, their lips. “I love you, no matter what condition you're in.”
This seems to be exactly what Seph needed to hear, because his eyes flutter closed with an exhausted sigh. Wordlessly his fingers wrap around Jonathan's wrist, another tear streaking down his cheek.
Jonathan smiles gently, closing his eyes with him. “It's okay to be sick, y'know. It's okay to feel shitty. You're not superhuman, and nobody expects you to be. Least of all me.” He presses a kiss to Seph's burning forehead, murmuring against his skin. “You helped me feel less embarrassed and gross about the things that are out of my control — I'm gonna do the same for you.”
Seph simply nods, letting Jonathan hold him while he calms down, which is answer enough for Jonathan.
As emotions begin to wind down, he reaches for the handkerchief that lives in his pocket and dutifully dabs at his lover's tear-stained face and leaking nostrils. The motion seems to stir up Seph’s oversensitive nose, though, because his breath starts to hitch.
���Heh—heh—!”
Quickly Jonathan clamps the handkerchief over the twitching nose before him, right as Seph explodes into a messy double sneeze.
“—yyISSHUHH! T’ISSCHH-uhhh…”
Jonathan cringes as Seph clutches at his throat in pain once more, shuddering and sighing. Gently he mops his nose for him a second time. “There you go.”
Finally, after allowing himself back into Jonathan's arms and having pressed play on the movie once again, Seph finds his words.
“Sorry for beig such a mess,” he muffles, curling against his chest. Breaking down like that was embarrassing…but he can work on being more okay with that, after he recovers from this nasty flu. Despite the humiliation, it did feel good to let it out to Jonathan and to feel so safe and comforted in return. If it had to happen in front of anyone, he's really glad it was him.
A soft hum comes from atop his head, where Jonathan's chin rests gently. “No more apologising, okay?”
For the first time tonight, Seph's mouth quirks up into the tiniest of smiles. “Okay.”
“Good.” He can't see Jonathan's expression, but he can hear the smile in his voice too. “And no more talking for a while. I can hear how much it hurts to talk, so…rest your throat, love.”
Nodding against his chest, Seph murmurs sleepily in agreement.
“One last thig,” he whispers, reaching up to grasp Jonathan's hand in his own.
“Mm?”
There are many words floating around Seph’s tired mind, all of the sentiments he wishes he could adequately express sitting on the tip of his tongue: Thank you. I'm sorry. I don't deserve you. But he settles on the most important one, the only one that truly encompasses everything he wants to tell him.
“…I really love you.”
He feels Jonathan pull back just a little, and looks up to see that half-grin of his that feels like a patch of warm sunshine all on its own. It's not going to cure him tonight, but it sure isn't hurting.
“I love you too. And I'm not going anywhere.”
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Text
Terry X Reader
Context: Terry is sick and his girlfriend takes care of him 🥺
Your at home when you get a phone call from John. "Hello Y/N, are you busy right now?" "Hi John, nope I'm just doing some cleaning right now, what's up?" "Well I think Terry needs to go home, he's hear at the dojo and he really isn't well. He's pale and sweating, and he's thrown up twice already" you cant believe what your hearing! Terry, sick?! "Oh God! That's awful, I'll get in the car now and pick him up, thank you for telling me John, I'll see you in 10 minutes" you drive to the dojo, walk in a see Terry slumped over on a chair with John by his side. "Terry? Babe? I'm hear to take you home ok?" Terry raises his head to look at you, and John was right, he's as white as a ghost and when you put your hand to his forehead, he's running a temperature. "No sweetheart I cant go home, i have work that needs doing" you give him a stern look. "Terrance Silver you are coming home and that's final" he doesn't argue back, to be honest he looks to tired to argue, even if he wanted to. You help him up and take him to the car. You sit him in, and turn to face John before you go. "Thank you for telling me John, I'll take care of him" "no problem Y/N, I'll hold down the fort hear" you say your good buys and drive Terry back home. He even falls asleep on the way there. Once your home, you take him by the arm and gently lead him inside. However, he looks like he's going to be sick again, so you take him to the bathroom and get him to the toilet just in time. Once he's finished, he just sits on the bathroom floor, looking drained. "Oh.... what's wrong with me.... I hate this feeling baby" you sit on the floor with him and gently stroke his back. "I know you do Terry, the stomach flu gets to all of us eventually, even fit and healthy karate teachers like you" Terry really isn't used to feeling unwell, the flu is a horrible thing to get. And it seems to be getting to him a lot more, even a little tear runs down his cheek. "Aww Terry, come here" you give him a comforting hug, and he hugs you back, more tightly. "I tell you what. I'll run you a luke warm shower to help bring your temperature down, I will get you some pain killers for the aches and make you some plain toast, so you can have something in your belly" he manages to muster a smile "thank you sweetheart" you give him a kiss in the forehead. "No problem babe" you help him up and run him his shower. You leave him too it, setting a set of comfortable clothes out on the bed, grab some pain killers and start making some toast. When he's finished and changed you bring the painkillers, toast, a bucket (just in case) and a glass of water to the bedroom and set it on the table. "How was your shower Terry?" "It was good, I think its helped" you walk over to him, and check his foreheads temperature. "I think your right, that's good that your temperature is coming down" you take his hand and sit him on the bed with you. "Now, do you feel like having just a little something to eat? You dont have to if your not feeling it yet, but I do have a glass of water too. We need to keep you hydrated. Little sips remember" " thank you, I'll give the toast a try" he only manages about 1/2 a slice, but that's still progress. "That's really good babe, I know that eating isn't something anyone wants to do when their like this. But I'm proud of you" he looks at you and smiles "I love you Y/N" "and I love you too terry" you give him a sweet kiss on the forehead. "Y/N, could I ask a favour of you please?" "Of course Terry, anything" "could you hold me for a while?" This makes you feel so happy hearing him say that. You lie down on the bed and take him in your arms. Resting his head on your chest and he wraps his arms around you, snuggling up close. "Thank you for everything sweetheart, I dont know what I'd do with out you" " your welcome Terry, anything you need, I will always be there" you stroke his hair as you both slowly drift off to sleep.🥺
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eddysocs · 2 years
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Cooling Touch (Nandor The Relentless x OC)
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Summary: Buffy is laid up with the flu and Nandor stops by to check on her when she doesn’t show for their date.
Word Count: 1,010
Warnings: Human/Vampire Relationship, Flu Symptoms
A/N: Not my art, but I can’t remember where I found it. I did however change the woman's hair color.
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On Wednesday morning, Buffy could not get out of bed. She could hardly bring herself to move, and it was hell when she had to. She crawled right back into bed the moment she was able. Buffy's whole body ached, she fluctuated between being too hot and too cold and no amount of rest ever felt like enough. She knew she had a fever, and living alone, she just had to wait until the worst of it had passed.
She was so out of it, she’d lost track of the days. She was meant to meet Nandor on Friday night and she had completely forgotten about it. It was the furthest thing from her mind, when she was even conscious enough to remember her own name, that is. It was day three of the flu that had so incapacitated her, though she wouldn’t have been able to say that with confidence if asked how long it had been.
By nightfall, she was awake, having slept the day away. She felt a little less terrible than she had been, but her body still retained its dull, all over ache, and her low fever no doubt persisted as well. She felt stiflingly warm and cast off her piles of blankets. Moments later, she heard a knocking sound come from outside her bedroom window and when she forced her head to turn that way, she spotted Nandor standing out on her fire escape, giving her a cheesy grin accompanied by a small wave. After a moment of confusion at his unprompted appearance, her furrowed eyebrows relaxed as she realized why he’d shown up. It must have been Friday.
Buffy forced herself up out of bed and over the short distance to the window, using all of her strength to lift it and allow Nandor entrance to her apartment. "You did not show up as you promised," he stated. While his voice betrayed nothing but confusion at her failure to meet him that night, Buffy knew he was concerned over her. The unspoken words of 'I was worried' felt implied, though she knew he had trouble saying them sometimes.
"I’m sick, Nandor," she informed curtly, not wanting to elaborate. Nandor turned to close the window behind him as Buffy moved her way back into bed. She took a big gulp of water before laying back down. It had been a very long time since Nandor had to deal with sickness, but he hadn’t forgotten how awful it could be. He’d even seen some of his thirty seven former wives fall victim to it, occasionally going as far as to claim their lives.
Nandor put the back of his hand to Buffy's forehead. She felt hot, though he did not possess his former human warmth as he had used to, so perhaps this was meant to be her normal temperature and it just felt overly warm to him. Buffy sighed in contentment. "Your hand feels nice, cool. I’m too warm," she complained, confirming his suspicions. Buffy hunkered down into the fetal position, just wishing her fever would finally break and she could get back to her everyday life. Even the night air of Staten Island hadn’t served to cool her any.
Nandor stood motionless for a moment, unsure of what to do with the information she’d just given him. If she was warm, and he was cool, certainly he could assist in bringing her temperature down at least temporarily, could he not? But the luxe, velvety fabric of his clothing did not possess this same cooling quality as that of his skin, so he’d simply have to take it off. Nandor stripped down to his underwear, opting to leave them on, in case Buffy was rather averse to him being naked beside her when she was feeling so poorly.
"Nandor," Buffy broached tentatively, not knowing of what he’d just done whilst standing behind her.
"I am coming, my love," he assured, and she couldn’t help but crack a smile, albeit an overly tired one. She may have even laughed if she possessed the strength.
"What do you— oh!" Nandor had gotten into bed beside her, fitting his chest against her back and causing her to briefly shiver at the sudden coolness of having him flush against her. He gently wrapped his arm around her, trying to cover as much of her body with his without crushing her in the process. It actually felt rather nice and Buffy relaxed into his hold in no time.
Nandor's comfortable coolness actually did serve to make her feel less hot, and now that she wasn’t uncomfortably sweaty, she was able to drift off to sleep quite easily. Nandor let her get her rest, unbothered by the quiet between them as he held her close. Buffy woke again only a couple of hours later, Nandor still lying beside her, arm draped around her waist. "How are you feeling," he asked when he felt her shift against him as she stirred.
"Better, I think. You've done me a world of good by being here."
Nandor nuzzled his face into her neck, his well groomed beard lightly tickling both her neck and shoulder, but Buffy didn’t mind. Eventually, she turned herself over so she could finally face him, give him the proper attention he’d definitely earned tonight. Nandor's bright smile brought a warmth to his face that he typically reserved just for her. No one could make him smile like she could. Buffy smiled back, tangling their legs together as she did.
She finally felt rested. Maybe Nandor had been the key to breaking her fever, or maybe it was just coincidence. She didn’t altogether care, really. She was just content to be in his arms and see him smile. "Will you stay with me until morning?"
"I will stay as long as I can," Nandor promised. Buffy realized he’d have to leave before daybreak, but just knowing he was going to be there with her for several more hours felt like enough. And she’d repay him once she was fully recovered.
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Buffy Slater: @borg-queer, @chickensarentcheap, @sicktember
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Hi Liv! How is your day going so far?
What do you think Law would do if his kid was ill and chances of their survival were nearly none exitance or there was no chance at all? How would he feel if he failed in saving this child? Did he spend time with them in their final days? Feel free to ignore this if you don't feel comfortable writing about it.
P.S Would you rather be a Bombina bombina or a Bombina maxima?
Hi! Just letting you know, I've been calling you orange anon for ages! Ummm probably Bombina maxima.
~~
I think Law would find this whole situation not only stressful but shameful. At first he's not all that concerned. Kids get sick- everybody gets sick once-in-a-while. Then when his kiddo doesn't look any better after a week or so, Law starts digging deeper into their illness. It's no longer just the common cold or the flu. Whatever illnesses may be plaguing his child has to be more serious.
Hunched over his desk, his eye straining from hours of effort, Law pours through every book in his limited library. Part of him-the part of Law that is a doctor, a scientist, is elated. He's done it, he's discovered the illness is patient is suffering from. For a moment, a shameful moment, Law is relieved that his goal has been completed. He can take a moment to drink some coffee and rest his eyes. Then the part of him that's a father over takes over.
Grief and fear lace around his throat like a noose. He weeps. Hunched over his desk, Law weeps. It's an ugly, snotty, cry. It may have sounded like the cry of young child, if anyone was awake to hear it.
Law covers his mouth with his hand to stifle the wail that threatens to spill over. His reddening eyes glare down at the pages. Through his tears, Law rereads the diagnoses over and over, willing the words on the page to change.
Then a little cough sounds from down the hall. At the noise, Law's tears cease. There is no time from crying. There is only time for doing. Law frowns. Marks the page he was reading and returns the book to its spot on the shelf. He wipes his eyes and sniffles, trying to pull himself together.
Law walked down the hall, quiet as a mouse, as to not wake anyone. He peaked his head into his child's room, when he reached their door. Law watched as the child coughed again, their entire form trembling from the effort. Law's frown deepens and he sits at the edge of the bed, careful not to wake up the sleeping child.
He gentle strokes their cheek. Their skin his hot to the touch, and little beads of sweat collect on his finger tips. Law hums a song that Corazon use to hum to him when he wasn't feeling well. His child stirs for a moment, but falls into an easier slumber rather quickly.
In the darkness, Law leans his head against the headboard and closes his eyes. It's a welcome relief to his aching eyes but his mind refuses to let him rest.
While he hums a soft tune, he doesn't know the words for, Law goes through what he would need to do to provide comfort to his child. Anything they could ever ask for would be granted, even things Law normally wouldn't allow.
Law would do everything in his power to keep his kiddo happy and comfortable and do everything he could to cure them even though Law was certain it wouldn't be enough.
Coming to the realization that no matter what he did cure his child was a heavy moment for Law. There in the darkness he was swallowed up by shame. He was a doctor, one of the best, and he couldn't save his own kid. He couldn't save anyone he loved. Perhaps loving him was a curse in on itself.
Law hums and sits the darkness and knows that when the sun rises he will have to face the truth. Though perhaps he could hide in the darkness a little longer.
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comfort-questing · 2 years
Note
Hey! Could your write something on whumpee-turned-caretaker? Like whumpee has the flu and gives it to caretaker while their still a bit sick. How does caretaker react to being cuddles and comforted? Thank you girly!
...She had finally gotten them settled on the sofa in the living room, with the only spare blanket in the house tucked around their still-shivering body. The ticking hum of the space heater winding down on its cycle gave way to stillness, as she leaned against the wall in the hallway, blinking up at the posters they'd placed to cover the scratched paint.
From the sound of their breathing now, they'd fallen asleep at last. She hoped it would stay that way, for their sake and for hers.
She stifled a cough in the crook of her elbow, and then another, at last letting the itch in her lungs and throat have relief.
Crud.
If she got sick she didn't know what would happen. So she couldn't get sick. That determination had kept her going through these last few days of late nights and early mornings, switching cold washcloths and rubbing alcohol for a blanket and back again, coaxing juice and crackers into her half-conscious friend, keeping half an eye on the record of the thermometer she'd written on the fridge. Doctors were expensive, and the drive down the mountain into town was no delight either in this weather.
So her headache and rough throat had morphed into muscle aches and chills that didn't abate with a second sweater, and now a worrying tightness in her chest as she coughed, sliding down the wall to huddle into herself on the floor.
Get up. Get up get up get up...
Everything hurt. So she'd just rest for a moment, and then try again. Time to open another can of soup for lunch, and check the bread for mold.
It felt so good to let her forehead rest on her updrawn knees, her eyelids closing, the ripple of muscle pain through her back and hips easing ever so slightly. She could sleep here, and if they called for her she'd wake up...
Sleep came to her as a dark welcoming tide.
***
She wasn't on the floor when she awoke. That was the first surprise. The second was the fit of coughing that gripped her as she tried to speak, wracking her sore body and making the headache explode behind her eyes.
The familiar dust-musty smell of the sofa pillows came into her awareness next, and she pulled her eyes open at that because what was she doing on the sofa?
"What - "
Her friend perched on the sofa arm next to her, looking down, their shadowed eyes crinkling up with a concerned smile. Their hand caught her hair and smoothed it back from her forehead.
"You've got a fever," they said.
Hearing it said like that, so matter-of-factly, almost broke her. "I - can't," she managed to get out. "I can't be sick, I have to - "
"Oh, come on. I should have known I'd pass it on to you." They coughed into their shoulder, then slid down onto the sofa cushion next to her. "I'm all right now, I'm on the mend. You can rest now, understand?"
They'd given her the blanket, too, and slung a jacket over her knees for extra insulation. She blinked away tears from her tired eyes, curling into herself as another shiver wracked her.
"I didn't even get the - the soup warmed up." She hated the whimper in her weak voice. "Why didn't you wake me - "
They brushed a thumb over her mouth, hushing her. "Well, good thing I'm steady enough to walk to the kitchen today."
She wanted to say more. But their hand brushing through her hair calm and steady was almost enough to soothe the pressure of the headache behind her eyes, and every part of her body was heavy as lead, sinking into the sofa inexorably. She coughed again, and they moved their hand to her back, rubbing gently.
"I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. Just - worry about yourself, or about nobody, for a change." Their voice was soft above her, still a little husky from illness. "That would be a change for you, wouldn't it?"
The heater purred back into its cycle, a faint smell of toasted dust catching in her sensitive nose and throat, and when the next fit of coughing stilled she realized her eyes were closed again. She fought weakly to open them.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"Oh, sheesh," they said, chiding and fond at once. "Go back to sleep."
And so she did.
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writteninkat · 3 years
Text
Switched | Itadori Yuji x reader x Sukuna
summary: fucking yuji means a passionate night until sukuna decides to be an asshole and switches with your boyfriend half way through sex.
F!reader
word count: 2.6k
warnings: 18+, name calling
author's note: i've been thinking of this since i last closed the app and i knew i just had to write it
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You've been horny all night.
Your boyfriend, Itadori Yuji, is wearing a simple plain white dress shirt which he folded up right below his elbows. He has two buttons undone and the shirt is tucked in black dress pants, his long legs causing for his ankles to show right above the black boat shoes he has on his feet.
He finished the look with a white silver watch on his left wrsit. Honestly? You could feel your cunt already dripping just by the way your boyfriend looked while the two of you were still at the apartment.
As the group; Nobara, Gojo, Nanami and Yuji sang happy birthday for Megumi, you're busy rubbing your thighs together, proving for the action to be a bit more difficult than it actually is when you're seated.
Megumi blows his candles and everyone cheers, clapping their hands as they begin to dig into the food. You try distracting yourself, scooping in a few scoops of food on your plate but it is all for naught when Yuji leans over, giving you a chance to get a whiff of his cologne.
A strong strawberry scent with a little bit of sweet vanilla and a hint of bold wood. The scent doesn't smell like it goes everywhere at all- it all smells so good together. Yuji uses his chopsticks to place some strips of beef on your food, your gaze immediately on his forearm- veins feintly protruding from under his light skin. The silver around his wrist doesn't help at all and it makes you feel as if you are this horny teenager again.
"Eat up." Yuji smiles, his eyes smiling with him. You force your lips to stretch, sending him a big smile back before eating your food, deciding to forget all about your thoughts by stuffing food in your mouth.
It works.
Well, more or less. You haven't had a single dirty thought about your boyfriend ever since uou began eating, and now Nobara is currently singing her heart off as Gojo and the birthday boy himself are dozing side by side on the end of the couch. Nanami is busying himself by sipping on his drink, a smile feint on his lips as he watches and listens to Nobara sing, looking like how a proud father would.
Your boyfriend, on the other hand, doesn't look too good.
"You okay, babe?" You ask, leaning in to squeeze his forearm softly. He snaps out what seems to be in a caging gaze he was in, looking at you. Yuji smiles, hand fluing on yours to give it a good, reassuring squeeze. "I'm good, baby. Just a little tired, I guess."
You furrow your brows, definitely not buying his lies. "Just tell me. The faster you tell me the faster we can solve the problem." You say, crossing your arms over your chest.
Yuji's eyes slowly and uncontrollably begin traveling down your chest, gaze glossing over your evident cleavage, moving again even much lower, his eyes taking note of how the black dress you're wearing is hugging every curve on your body perfectly.
Yuji leans in, his strong cologne scent causing the butterflies in your stomsch to go insane. "That dress has been driving me crazy the whole night." Your boyfriend's hot breath fans over the shell of your ear, casuing goosebumps to rise all over your body. "Take it off for me, please?"
You breath in a deep and shaky breath, closing your eyes to try and convince yourself not to strip naked in front of your friends and teachers right here on the spot. You stand up abruptly, catching Nanami's attention.
"We gotta go, Yuji has a really bad stomach ache." The corners of your mouth pull down into a fake frown which Nanami buys, nodding his head and waving the both of you off. You take Yuji's hand and pull him out of the Kareoke room, your heels loud as you stomp your way out of the building and to the parking lot.
As you find your car, you pull the front seat's door open only for it to be closed shut again by your boufriend. Yuji pulls you closer by your waist, making you can feel how hard he is inside his pants.
"We're not doing it here."
"My car's windows are tinted." He bites on your ear.
You keep telling yourself not to do it, to just wait until the both of you gets home but Itadori jr. seems to be having other plans for tonight. You sigh, walking over to the back door and pulling it open. As soon as you bend over to get in, Yuji pushes you and slams the door behind him.
The cold winter nights of Japan has the interior of the car all cool and comfortable. Yuji spins you around by your waist, running both of his hands on either sides of your waist. He breathes out deeply, eyes scanning hungrily over your form. His hands begin to make their way down your thighs, he leans in to give you a soft peck on the lips. Yuji looks into your eyes at first before leaning back in to envelope you into a deep kiss, his tongue skillfully brushing and sliding against yours as he sucks on it softly. His breathing his ragged as he feels your body all over, your legs instinctively opening and moving up his hips. Yuji presses his hard member against your clothed cunt, grinding on it for some kind of friction before pulling away when he feels just how soaked you are down there.
He reaches a hand under your dress, pressing two fingers on your wet cunt making you mewl. You've been holding it in for too long and now you're just very sensitive. The corner of his mouth twitches up, "Have you been wet for me the entire night, baby?"
You don't trust your voice, you can't. You know it'll sound needier than you actually are, you know it'll set Yuji off to start teasing you, so you nod your head, your face contorting as you feel him slip a finger between your folds.
He leans forward, hot breath fanning over the sensitive skin on the side of your neck. Yuji's warm tongue runs up the skin once, twice- he's adding another digit into your wet hole and you almost cum at the spot when he nibbles on your soft skin.
"I'll take very good care of you tonight." He presses his soft lips on the nibbled part of the skin, slowly trailing kisses up to your cheek and finally back onto your lips.
You couldn't think straight- your head was full of the boy. You absolutely loved about him; his strawberry pink hair, when he smiles with his eyes, how he can never go through a day without cuddling you at least once, how he does his best to give you anything you want, how he's one of your biggest inspirations in life. This boy- no, this man is someone you can imagine waiting for you at the end of the isle, hot tears streaming down his face as he waits for you at the end of the path, looking at you as if you were the most beautiful woman he's ever laid eyes on- yes, even more beautiful than Jennifer Laurence.
Aoi would be right beside him, rubbing a hand on his back as he tries to soothe his best friend's sobs.
You snap out of your daze when you notice your boyfriend looking deeply into your eyes, a soft blush caressing his cheeks as he studies your face ever so lovingly. "I love you." You tell him.
His blush darkens as he leans into you, pressing his lips once again on yours. "I love you too." You feel the head of his cock press against your entrance for a bit before entering you completely.
You let out a soft whine, arching your back as your lips are trapped between your teeth. Your eyes roll back at the feeling of your boyfriend slowly pushing his entire length inside you, getting you feeling so full of him. "Yuji..." Your voice sounds so lewd, so needy and whiny for him that the sound of it makes you blush. You feel him stop moving once he's inside you fully, and at first you think he's letting you adjust to his size. That is, until he pulls his head back and your gaze falls onto the black lines all over his face. The soft look that once inherited your boyfriend's face is now replaced by a smug, cocky one. He has a smirk on that tells you to push him off and quickly get out of the car- but why don't you?
Instead, you feel yourself clenching around him even more. The look on his face has you dripping wet, your nipples hardening underneath your dress and the butterflied in your stomach going crazy as ever.
"Can't believe that little boy would keep you all to himself." His voice isn't Yuji's- no. It's much deeper, darker, more dangerous. He looks down at your apalled expression, his smirk growing even bigger. He leans over, pushing your legs up to your chest and forcing you down into a mating press. "What's my name, princess?"
You can feel your heart beating rapidly against your chest, your breathing shaky and your head clouded. Without even thinking about it, your mouth moves on their own and out comes your whimpering voice.
"Sukuna."
The curse pulls away with a wide grin, pulling his hips out before thrusting his cock inside you again, the tip of his cock hitting the same spot as it did before. Sukuna's hips are relentlessly thrusting inside you, abusing your needy hole as you moan loudly for more.
His hand finds its way to your boob and you feel something hot and wet lap itself over your hardened nipple. You look down to see the mouth on his hand grinning cockily like him. It wraps itself around your nipple, sucking on the bud and biting on it softly making your eyes rolls back to your head.
You feel something coil up inside your stomach, your mouth opening as you feel yourself slowly reach your high. "I-I'm so, fucking, clo-" Sukuna thrusts his hips hardly once, causing your toes to curl and your body to shake as you move your hips to ride out your orgasm. Heavy breaths fill the car as your legs grow limp on either side of his body and your eyelids become heavier.
"The fuck do you think you're doing?" Sukuna squeezes your cheeks, making your eyelids lift open. He hooks his arm around your back, pulling you along with him as he sits up.
Your eyes widen and back arches when you feel electricity run up your spine. Sukuna lifts a brow, his hands on either side of your hips, preventing you from lifting them. "Too full!" You whimper out, tears forming on the corners of your eyes as you swallow a large lump down your throat.
"Hah?" He tilts his head to the side, "But I haven't even came yet." You feel him roll his hips once, but it was all it took to have you digging your nails on his shoulders. "I'll pull out when I cum. But for now," He lowers his head to take your nipple by his mouth, his fingers pinching and playing with the other one. ",focus on making me feel good, princess."
Your eyes clench shut asbyou focus on the feeling of his hard member inside your dripping cunt. You move your hips once, you feel goosebumps all over your body. You move your hips a second time and you're wanting to feel that same friction again. You move your hips a third and you're letting your desires take over.
You hump on Sukuna's cock sloppily and roughly, the car is shaking. Sukuna let's out soft groans and moans, the constant "love feeling your cunt around my cock like this" whispered and growled into your ear. His eyes travel down to your chest, eyes gleaming when he sees your boobs bouncing in sync with everytime you hump on him.
When he looks back at you, all his other sense go numb. The sight of you with your tongue out your mouth, you drool dripping down your tongue, your face flushed and your eyes crossed together at the feeling of it being so good has him gripping on your hips tightly. "You're a fucking slut, aren't ya?" He begins thrusting himself inside you and you moan loudly, your toes curling at the feeling of his sac slapping against your skin. "Aren't ya?!" He yells and all you could do is whimper as you nod your head. He's fucking you so dumb you couldn't form coherent words.
He rolls his hips as he thrusts them, making sure you feel every single inch of him inside you. Your moans are in sync with his thrusts, feeling your breath being knocked out of your system with every thrust the curse does.
Your hand flies up your mouth, trying to surpress the loud moans that keep slipping out of your lips but Sukuna wraps his hand around your wrist, pulling your hand away.
"Scream for me, come on princess. Let him know who's fucking you so good right now." His voice is low and deep, it drives you to the edge, almost pushing you off. "Wh-who? Who's him?" You ask, forcing your eyes to open as you look down at Sukuna- your eyebrows raise in surprise at the sight of the black lines on your boyfriend's face gone.
Yuji looks up at you with eyes holding such lust. He has a straight expression on as he looks into your eyes, kind of hypnotising you as he thrusts into you, leading the both of you to your highs.
"Wh-what happened to Sukuna-"
"Why are you looking for him." Yuji's voice is covered in coldness. He combs his fingers on the back of your head and throughyour hair, curling them into a fist as he pulls on your hair. "He's not the one fucking you right now, I am." His thrusts start becoming more aggressive, hinting at you that he's already close.
"You'll cum around my cock a second time and you'll be moaning my name out as loud as you can. Got it?" Yuji growls onto your neck. His other hand grabs onto your hip and begins thrusting into you faster than before. You feel something snap inside you, your orgasm causing your toes to curl and your fingernails to be dug onto your boyfriend's skin. "Y-Yuji!" Your hips shake as you begin rolling them around, riding out your orgasm.
"That's not my name right now, princess." You look back down only to feel your heart drop at the sight of the black lines all over his face. "S-S-Sukuna! Sukuna!" You moan out, your chest rising and falling exceptionally. You hear him chuckle before feeling him pull out, shooting his hot seed all over your naked cunt.
You look back up, checking to see who's who right now. You smile when you see it's your boyfriend. You press your forehead on his shoulder as you try to calm yourself down. You feel his arms wrap themselves around you as the two of you bask in each other's presence.
"You gotta stop doing that, it fucks up with my brain." You mumble onto his chest which only leaves you with a lighthearted chuckle. "But Sukuna says he doesn't want to be left out."
"Whatever, Sukuna can go fuck off." You mumble sleepily.
"Why don't you fuck me yourself, princess?" A deeper and much darker voice speaks up and you curse yourself mentally.
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holy-guacamoly · 2 years
Text
Dad!Levi x Reader Fluff
I should work on a concept for a video I am producing, but here I am procrastinating.
Levi is of course traumatized by his mothers' death caused by an unknown disease. So in my opinion he won’t handle his child having any sort of illness well. A common cold would be enough to give him flashbacks.
This story will be about you handling your mess of a boyfriend and providing him the comfort he needs.
The shadows underneath your eyes grew darker, your eyelids heavier. Isabel had been screaming at the top of her lungs for 40 minutes now. It was around 3 a.m. and boy, you needed some sleep. Of course, you couldn’t be mad at her. The poor thing was going through enough, struggling with her aching head, runny nose, and fever.
“I know, Sweetie. This sucks.” You tried to soothe your toddler, cradling her in your arms and bouncing her on your lap. Your three-year-old daughter didn’t seem to hear you, since her crying just increased. You sighed, voicing your frustration but kept on talking sweet things to your child. After another hour Isabel finally fell asleep, probably because she got herself way too exhausted with all the fuss she was making. You put her back into her tiny bed and slowly left her room, quietly closing the door behind you. When you walked back to your shared bedroom you were surprised by its emptiness. Where was Levi? A deep line appeared on your forehead as your face fell into a frown. You left your chamber to search for your lover. It didn’t take you long to find him. He was sitting in his favorite, emerald green armchair fixating his eyes on the lit fireplace. You felt anger bubbling up in your core. Levi was enjoying himself, while you were left to handle a raging toddler.
“I hope you are comfortable.” you scoffed. “Care for a tea? Need a massage maybe?” Sarcasm was dripping from your tongue. As he seemed to pay no attention to your snarky comment you finally lost it. “Damn it, Levi! In case you haven’t noticed, your daughter is in pain, I am fucking tired and you could at least check on her once! I have been handling her this week all by myself!” It was the first time Isabel caught something major like the flu, so as a new mom you were overwhelmed. She was so clingy, not letting you rest for one second, always on the verge of tears.
Levi still didn’t respond. With a furious snarl, you rushed over to face him but stopped in your tracks as you saw his fear-painted face and his glistening eyes. “Levi…” you whispered his name in shock. His whole body trembled from crying, loud sobs finally escaped his mouth. You expected everything but this. As you kneeled, you took his hand in yours. “Babe, what’s wrong?” you asked, your expression turning soft again. Your lover just shook his head, signaling you that he wasn’t able to form a coherent sentence.
You nodded. “Take your time.”
After a few deep breaths and you caressing his cheek, he finally spoke. “Is…it bad?” His voice cracked. At first, you were kind of confused, not knowing what he meant but you soon got a grip on what he was talking about.
“Oh, Levi. It’s just the common flu. Isabel is grumpy and exhausted, that’s all.” you assured him. His gaze met yours. Your eyes were filled with love and honesty as you said those words.
“I am just…so scared,” he admitted.
You rose from the ground just to sit on his lap. Pulling his face into your chest, caressing his hair as you said, “It’s because of your mother.” This wasn’t a question. You just knew him too well. He simply nodded into your chest. “I am so sorry for yelling at you. I should have known better,” you apologized, kissing the top of his head. “No. You’re right. I didn’t take a look at my own daughter, since she became sick. It’s pathetic,“ Levi mumbled into your shirt.
A small chuckle escaped your lips. “Babe, you went through immense trauma. I can’t even imagine. It’s okay to let your anxiety wash over you from time to time. Even if you are humanity’s strongest soldier, you are still just a person.” Your boyfriend looked up to meet your smiling expression. Your warmth gave him a silent assurance to talk about his feelings.
“Whenever I see you or Izzy falling ill, I just feel so helpless. Like I am this half-starved child from the underground again, watching its mother die slowly.” Hearing this made you beyond sad. It hurt to know that the love of your life had to endure such pain during his life.
Your digits trailed his back as you spoke. “Thanks for being so honest with me. I know you have a hard time vocalizing your feelings.” Levi shrugged his shoulders as it weren’t a big deal. “A part of you may be this child from the underground, but you are also a loving partner, an amazing father, and humanity’s hope. And those parts are much stronger within you.”
Gently you cupped his face and brought it up to yours. Your lips caressed his, like rose petals. “Thank you so much, Y/N. I love you.” he breathed against your skin.
As you two were about to deepen the kiss a helpless cry tore the heavy air again. “Our daughter is calling.” you sighed.
As you got up to look for Isabel Levi grabbed you by the wrist. “Can I…come too?” he asked shyly.
You smiled. “Of course.”
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Only For You - h.s.
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Summary: H is usually pretty in tune with his body, but he’s apparently not very good at picking up when he’s getting sick. 
Word Count: 5k
Warnings: mentions of covid, plus me taking a guess at how covid testing in the US and at events works so sorry for any potential inaccuracies, I mostly used my knowledge of Aus but honestly its described all very generally
A/N: this took longer than I thought it was going to because I started and then got sick a couple days in :/ I’m still sick but she is done! If you have any requests pls send them my way!
Masterlist  ///  Send me an ask!
Harry is never sick.
He was so strict in his fitness and health, his immune system was better than almost anyone’s you knew. You were pretty sure someone could cough directly into his mouth and it would somehow boost his immune system by giving it a chance to exercise. There had to be fifty times over the course of your relationship so far you were sure you were going to pass on whatever illness you had acquired at the time. You always waited patiently for the other shoe to drop, for him to exhibit your exact symptoms and to be awash with guilt at his sickly state, but it never did.
It is such a rare occurrence, in fact, that he can tell you exactly the last time he came down with something. It was August 2019, he was in LA, and he had ended up missing two Fine Line album release related meetings. He remembered it because you had been in New York, tied up in projects of your own. You had pushed your flight up as a surprise to get home and take care of him, but by the time you touched down he had already been on the mend, and was sat in a rescheduled meeting when you opened the door to your shared home.
He could not recall, however, the earliest warning signs of a flu coming on, having experienced them so infrequently.
He dismissed the heavy tired feeling that had settled upon him, certain it was simply the aftereffects of intensive Grammy rehearsals. True to his perfectionist tendencies, he had been tireless in his efforts to make this one of his best performances and had been spending hours practicing a song you were pretty sure he could nail in his sleep. You said nothing of the fact that you thought he perhaps was spending more time than strictly necessary on this, of course, never wanting to undermine his process or invalidate his feelings of being under intense pressure. You just assured him you thought he was amazing and provided opinions and input whenever he asked it of you. He was overworking himself, but he was not deterred until the lights went down after his extremely successful (and extremely sexy, if you did say so yourself) performance.
Two days later, he was sure his hangover had extended over into a second day as he become aware of a dull ache in his head while awaking from his slumber. He groaned, rubbing his face as he rolled towards you, pulling you against his chest. He breathed deeply, cursing himself for drinking so much and sleeping so little only momentarily before thinking, hey, how many times do you win a Grammy? You stirred at his movement, eyes fluttering open only slightly before you shut them again and snuggled deeper into his chest. You sighed in contentment, loving nothing more than the comfortable feeling you can only get waking up in the morning, still on the edge of sleep. It had always been one of your favourite things, and it was only ever made better by waking up in Harry’s arms.
“I hate getting old,” he mutters into your hair, pressing a kiss where his lips had tickled your forehead.
“What?” You laughed at his unsolicited statement.
“Two-day hangovers are supposed to be reserved for after you hit thirty. But clearly, I’m older than I think I am because they have come for me and I am not enjoying it.”
You wriggled up in his embrace, so that you were face to face, giggling at him as you did say. “Oh god, do you think we should start thinking about retiring?”
“You’re supposed to tell me I’m not old!” He tightened his grip on you as he exclaimed in indignation.
“I mean what can I possibly say, H? Two-day hangover? You’ve basically got a foot in the grave,” you jested, but leaned in to peck his cheek at his faux sour expression.
In response, he released his grip on you and rolled away until he was at the very opposite edge of the bed in a big huff. You only laughed harder at his antics. You followed him to his side of the bed, wrapping your arms around him from behind and placing gentle kisses to the side of his neck.
“Darling, have you considered, maybe, just maybe, this two day hangover has nothing to do with the fact that you are getting older and more to do with the fact that you were working yourself to the bone for a month and then partied like the world was ending?” You pressed another lingering kiss to his neck. “Or perhaps like someone who had just won a Grammy?” A smile broke over your face at the memory, a fresh wave of pride washing through you, somehow still managing to leave you buzzing.
“Nope, I refuse to hear that. My youthful body is supposed to be stronger than any party, even an I-just-won-a-Grammy party.” You snorted in his ear, completely unsurprised by his steadfast stubbornness.
“Alright then old man,” you rolled away from him and hopped out of bed.
“Hey,” he called out, both at the jab and your exit from bed.
“Since my big shot Grammy winning, senior citizen boyfriend is still feeling a bit dusty I suppose I’ll bring him a coffee in bed,” you sing out over your shoulder as you make your way to the kitchen, craving the caffeine yourself.
He knew you were making fun of him to highlight how melodramatic you thought he was being. Each comment about him being old was really made to tell him just how young he was and how little you thought he had to worry about.
He sighed, wanting nothing more than to remain motionless in the warm comfy bed but having no choice to get up and make his way to the bathroom before he could enjoy his coffee in bed. (And maybe some lazy morning sex, he was sure that would help relieve some symptoms). His whole body felt heavy as he rolled out of bed, his limbs and shoulders feeling almost as though they were made of lead.
His brow scrunched as he slowly made his way to the toilet to relieve himself. This really was some day two hangover, he thought. I don’t care what y/n thinks, I’m pretty sure this is one of those moments where you realise your prime is coming to an end.
He flinched as the sunlight pouring in through the frosted glass of the bathroom window hit his face, instantly doubling the force of his headache. He grumbled and scrunched his eyes until they were nearly shut, attempting to minimise the light infiltrating his vision. He did his business as quickly as his protesting body would allow.
By the time he had returned to bed and bundled himself back under the covers the kettle had boiled and you were on your way back to your room. You shuffled along slowly, pausing every two steps to stop your nearly full mugs from spilling over the edge. Harry loved to point out the coffee drips that you left along the floor in your shared home so frequently. They were spread far and wide, and in fairness to you, most of the time you didn’t realise you had done it, else you would have wiped it up immediately.
“H?” you called softly, as you looked up from the mugs to see only a Harry sized lump under the doona as evidence that he was even there.
When you received only an, “Mmm?” in response you continued your slow spillage-avoiding pace up to his bed side table, placing the cup down gently.
“Are you feeling okay baby?” you kneeled down beside him, stroking his hair back from his face.
“Jus’ tired,” he muttered, not opening his eyes.
This shocked you somewhat. He’s always been a morning person, and never tended to sleep in two days in a row. The two of you had spent the morning in bed yesterday, having only crawled in in the (not even that) early hours of the morning and spent the rest of the day lazing about the apartment, nursing respective hangovers. Even with complaints of his hangover extending over into a second day, you had expected him to be itching to throw himself back into his routine, not curled up in bed still feeling shitty.
“You can back to sleep,” you assured, even though he seemed to already be halfway there. “Your coffee’s there if you want some.”
You pressed a kiss to his forehead before leaving him to it, closing the door softly on your way out.
Two hours later, Harry stirs once more from his sleep. His throat is dry as a bone, and his once dull headache is now pounding. He lifts his heavy head off the pillow and his eyes fall to his now cold coffee. He reaches over and takes a gulp, hoping to ease the feeling in his throat. Is not uncommon for him to awaken with a dryness to his throat, he often finds a hot coffee is enough to solve the problem, but alas, he is desperate enough to settle for the cold one before him for now. Instead of the relief he is craving, a burst of pain shoots through his throat each time he swallows a mouthful. He coughs as he places the mug back down, unwilling to have another sip.
And oh Jesus, it finally hits him. He’s sick.
All the signs he had shrugged off now became blaringly obvious to him in retrospect. And oh fuck.
Alarm bells go off in his brain as he registers the risk of what exactly this could be. He scrambles for his phone on his bedside table.
Harry: Don’t come upstairs.
You glance down at your phone as you feel the buzz of the notification. You had spent the morning pottering around the house, catching up on little chores the two of you had neglected over the past few days in the Grammy busy-ness and subsequent hangover. Happy with your efforts, you had settled back into having a lazy morning and were watching television on the couch quietly.
“Harry?” you call out in confusion as you read his text, already pausing the TV and standing up, intending to do the exact opposite of following his advice.
You can’t have made it three steps before he’s calling you. The wave of confusion is soon followed by one of extreme worry as you pick up the phone.
“What the fuck is going on?”
“Don’t come up I’m sick,” he spoke hoarsely.
“What do you mean?”
“Darling, it could be covid you can’t come up here,” he was cursing himself on the other end of the line. He should have been paying more attention to what his body was trying to tell him. Shouldn’t have been risking you like this. If he had it, he was sure he had already infected you too and guilt gnawed away at him.
This stops you in your tracks. You hesitate, you do. But ultimately, you know if he has covid, you’re probably already infected. If he does have it, which you are praying he doesn’t because young as he is, healthy as he is, there is always a risk. The worst running through your mind. If the worst were to happen, you would curse yourself until the day you died for not going to him right now.
“It’s not covid,” you tell him firmly.
“Baby-“
“Your tests from before the Grammy’s were negative, and we should be getting more test results back any minute that will be clean too,” you’re on the move again, absolute in your resolution. The both of you, along with all the other attendees of the ceremony, had been tested both before and after. They were meant to text each of you with your results any minute (or call, if they were positive, but that was a possibility you were trying to put aside).
“Even so, we can’t risk it until we get the results.” At the sound of your footsteps on the stairs he spoke your name sternly, halting your steps again.
“Harry,” you countered, matching his tone.
“Please don’t fight me on this. If you’re so sure that the result is going to be negative, and that they’re going to come in any second,” he pauses to cough, lungs and throat protesting with each word he speaks, “then a little while in bed by myself won’t kill me.”
“But-“
“Darling, please. If it is covid, I’ll never forgive myself for not doing everything in my power to try and keep you from getting it too,” the quiet desperation in his voice is the only thing that could break your resolve.
With a long exhale, you turned back down the stairs but kept the phone to your ear.
“Fine,” you huffed, “but only because I was always taught to respect my elders.”
“See that’s the good news,” he half laughed, half coughed at the exhalation of breath, “I’m not an old man with a two-day hangover, just a young man with an unspecified illness.”
“Do you still have your smell and taste?” you asked worriedly.
“I could definitely taste the cold ass coffee I just drank,” he rasped. He paused for a beat, hearing only the rustling of sheets. “And our bed still smells like you,” you heard the smile behind the comment, appreciating his sweet reference to the love he often professes he has for the way you smell.
“Sometimes I feel like it’s nothing you’re putting on, and sometimes I think it’s everything you’re putting on plus just, you. There’s no other smell like it and I wish I could just bottle it up and have it forever. Bloody aphrodisiac,” he had once told you.
“And you’re not running a fever?” You chewed the inside of your lip as you fired questions at him, a bad habit that reared its head when you were worried, stressed or concentrating hard.
On his end of the line, he felt his forehead for warmth. “Umm,” he considered it, “I’m not sure. Probably not.” He was actually pretty sure he had the beginning of one, but he could tell you were freaking out and he didn’t want to worry you any further until he heard for sure.
“I’m going to grab you a thermometer and some cold and flu tablets,” Harry immediately started to protest but you didn’t let him start. “I’ll put a mask on and just leave them outside the door. I’ll grab you some water and something to eat too. I’m not just leaving you sick up there with nothing.”
He sighed into the phone. “I’m not going to win this argument, am I?”
You scoffed. “Of course not, I let you win the last one not more than five minutes ago.”
He sighed once more, and you rolled your eyes at your overdramatic boyfriend. “Fine, but you have to be in and out.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you leaned the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you grabbed what you needed for him.
“I’m not joking, y/n. You have to be quick.”
You bit your tongue, refraining from snapping back. Did he seriously think you were stupid? You knew he didn’t, he was just sick and stressed about the situation, but that didn’t stop the flare of annoyance that burst through your chest. You shook it off, knowing it was misplaced.
“Okay I’m going to put the phone down so I can pop a mask on and run up,” luckily, you had a million masks around the house ready to go.
“Kay,” he muttered, eyes feeling droopy all over again.
You pull your mask on, and with arms full of supplies dashed up the stairs. Once you arrived at the door, you placed down the cold medication, water and thermometer as well as the banana you had snatched off the kitchen counter before turning and running back down the stairs.
As soon as you’re back down the stairs, you’re pulling your mask off and putting the phone back to your ear. You faintly hear the close of your bedroom door, deducing Harry had grabbed everything.
“I’m back,” you acknowledged your presence on the phone.
“Thank you for that, my love.”
Your phone dinged in your ear, indicating a new text message. You pulled it away from your ear to examine the contents of the text.
You breathed a small sigh of relief.
“They just texted me my covid test results, they’re negative.” Everyone had been tested upon their exit of the Grammy afterparty.
There was a pause on the other end of the line. You silently prayed that pause wasn’t caused by him examining another incoming call, suggesting his results were positive and required an actual conversation.
“Mine are negative too,” he exhaled, you could hear the relief in his voice.
“Oh, thank god,” you said, already turning to go back up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
“I thought you were confident I didn’t have it,” he teased.
“Sorry somebody had to put on a brave face for Mr Worry Wart,” you teased right back. You hung up the phone as you reached the top step. Turning to the left and opening the door to your room.
You stride over to the bed wordlessly and climb in on your side, instantly wrapping both arms around him. He relished the embrace. You loved to poke fun at him, but sometimes the humour was just a way for you to mask how you were really feeling about things and deflect. Harry usually doesn’t point it out but he’s always aware of it.
“I love you,” he whispered, voice still croaky.
“I love you, too,” you pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek.
You stayed like that for a moment longer before you swung into action, full nurturing mother bear mode activated.
“Now, have you taken your temperature? Taken some of the cold and flu tablets?”
At the shake of his head you frowned at him. “Come on then. You do that while I go make you a nice hot tea to soothe your throat. And a box of tissues,” you added at the sight of him sneezing practically hard enough to shake the room.
So back down to the kitchen you went for the third time that day, grabbing him both the tea, the tissues and a nice hearty bowl of porridge, figuring it would be gentle on his throat. “Temperature?” you asked as soon as you crossed the threshold of your doorway.
“No fever,” he punctuated with a cough.
You frowned as you watched it happen, his eyes were rimmed red, his nose beginning to run. He sat up in bed as you handed him the bowl of porridge. You placed the tea down so you could also hand him the box of tissues that had been tucked up under your arm.
“Thank you so much for all this, angel. But you don’t have to wait on me hand and foot, I’ve got a cold, I’m not bed bound,” he grabbed my hand and traced the outside of my hand as he spoke.
“I know I don’t have to do it, but I want to do it. My baby’s feeling crappy I just want to do whatever I can to make him feel less so.” Even after all this time of being together, your cheeks flushed slightly at your sappy words. You meant them, of course, but intimacy was still not one of your strong suits. The way you were raised lacked those kinds of affirmations and endearments, and was never modelled practically in your parent’s relationship. It left you both craving it, and feeling uncomfortable when it actually occurred. With both experience and Harry’s help you had gotten better at it, but you still weren’t 100% there yet. He knew one day you would be, though, and he was so proud to see how much progress you had made. Even if you couldn’t always see it.
Hearing those words from you, was just one more indication at how far you’ve come, and it warmed not only his heart, but his whole chest. With his grip on your hand, he gave you a slight tug, encouraging you to lean forward. Just as you had five minutes earlier, he presses a kiss to your cheek, craving your lips but knowing he can’t have them right now.
“You’re too good to me,” he praised as you pulled away reluctantly, giving him space to enjoy his breakfast while it was still warm.
He expected a joking, I know, in response but instead he receives a serious, “There is no such thing as good too to you. You deserve the world.” You don’t break eye contact with him, even as he is too shocked at your response to form one of his own. “But all I got you was this bowl of porridge sorry babe,” you broke the tension, pulling your hand from his.
“Where are you going now?” He pouts at you as you grab the half empty coffee mug and make your way out of the room.
“I’ll be right back, I promise,” you assure him, already planning how else you are going to fuss over him. He has to be well to go to London to start filming his new movie soon, you reason with yourself. But really, you know he could have nothing coming up and you could be the busiest you’ve ever been, and you would still play nurse for him.
By ‘right back’ he assumed you meant in half an hour, because his mug and bowl are both empty by the time you return, and he is nearly drifting back off to sleep. He is still somewhat upright, but slumped back into his pillow, head lolling to the side slightly, directed towards the door almost as though is watching and waiting for you. While still conscious, his blinks are becoming slower and slower, reminiscent of a baby. You coo at his adorable sleepy state, the moment tugs at your chest so strongly it is almost physically painful. Sometimes, the magnitude of your love for him nearly sweeps you off your feet. You just feel so damn lucky to have these wonderfully domestic moments with him. To see him like this, to be his person that gets to take care of him. While he is a rockstar and you get to do all sorts of crazy things with him that most people dream of (like for instance, watching him perform at and accept a Grammy), you love doing everyday life with him.
“It’s not quite sleep time yet, baby,” you spoke gently, hoping not to startle him too much.
He peeled his eyes open and pouted at you once more. “Why not?”
“Because it’s nice, long, hot, steaming shower time,” his frown deepened, clearly not wanting to move. “I promise you, you’ll feel so much better afterwards.”
“You promise?” He refused to wipe the pout from his face, really stepping into being babied.
“I promise, now up you get,” you offered him both hands to help him up.
“Fine,” he groaned as he took your hands, and you pulled him up.
As soon as he was upright, he wrapped both arms around you and held you tight. He allowed himself a few short seconds before pulling away, not wanting to get you sick too. Even if it wasn’t covid, he still wanted his love well.
You shepherded him into the bathroom, where he winced once more at the brighter lighting. His eyes were always more sensitive to light when he had the flu. You turned the shower on for him while he got undressed, before turning to pull the blinds closed without him breathing a single word of complaint. His heart swelled with love for you for the hundredth time that day. To be loved by you was to be seen. He didn’t need to use his voice to be understood (though that communication obviously had its place).
“Take your time baby, let the steam help get all the bad stuff out,” you gave him a little smile before leaving, closing the door behind you to allow the steam to build up within the space.
Harry let out a sigh as he stepped into the stream of hot steaming water. You were right as ever, the steam helped clear him out somewhat, and even just feeling clean helped him to feel better already. He relished the heat and the soothing feeling of the water, massaging his scalp with shampoo as he began to wash up from head to toe.
He had no idea how much time had passed by the time he reluctantly turned the shower off and stepped into a big fluffy towel. He was much quicker in drying himself than he had been in the rest of his shower routine, eager to rug up in a jumper and some sweats (and some of those thick soft socks you bought him for winter).
He swung the en suite door open, contemplating where he left his comfy winter clothes last when he stops at the sight before him.
You’re putting the last pillowcase on, having changed the sheets completely. His breakfast dishes are cleared, replaced with a hot steaming bowl of vegetable soup and his bottle of water. You’ve dug the humidifier out of the cupboard as well and you’ve got it all set up and running for him. The book he was currently reading was picked up from its previous place on the living room coffee table and waiting for him on your pillow. The exact clothes he was about to grab were sitting at the edge of the bed, laid out ready for him.
“You’re an actual angel, ya know that?” He shakes his head in disbelief. He has no idea what he did in a past life to get so lucky. The success of the music, he can go to bed each night feeling like he has done a lot to earn. He’s worked hard for a long time, and while he accredited a good portion of it all to luck, he knew he wasn’t talentless or undeserving. With you, however, he had simply won the lottery. You weren’t a perfect person, but you were his perfect person. He would spend the rest of his life doing everything in his power to feel deserving of you.
“Only for you,” you say softly.
He strides over to you, holding his towel to keep it from falling as he went. He presses a kiss to your forehead and mutters an, “I love you so much.”
“I love you more,” you peer up at him. “Now get those on,” you gesture towards his clothes, “before your soup gets cold.”
“Where did the soup come from?” He asks as starts to shrug his towel off and pull his clothes on.
“Where did you think I went earlier?” you referenced your half hour long disappearance, having been downstairs chopping up and preparing vegetables to go into the homemade soup.
“Oh, angel,” he breathed, “you really are the best.”
“Oh stop. Don’t act like all of this is not exactly what you do every time I’m sick. Which is far more often than you are, I might add.” You weren’t wrong, he did baby you just as much if not more.
“You’re still the best,” he refused to relent.
“Yeah, yeah,” you end the conversation, not being able to handle too many compliments.
He lets it slide, knowing he could compliment you further and ask you to really hear what he was saying, because he meant it with his entire being. But you were doing so much for him, and he really was tired so he didn’t bombard you with more praise than you desired.
Once he was dressed, he hopped back under the covers and sat up with his soup. He didn’t have the appetite to finish it, but he knew as much of it as he could handle would do him some good.
You jumped into the shower yourself, wanting to feel as clean as the sheets did when you got into bed with him. By the time you were out of the shower and into your own pair of fresh comfy clothes, Harry had finished most of the bowl of soup and had set the remainder aside.
“Thank you so much, angel,” your cheeks tinted pink at the purposeful repetition of that particular pet name.
“Don’t mention it,” you crawled under the covers with him, picking up his book from your pillow. “Now, where were you up to?”
“Hmm?” he questioned.
“In your book, where were you up to?”
“Why?”
“So, I can read it to you, obviously.”
“Is that obvious?”
“Yes.”
“And why do you think I’m suddenly incapable of reading it myself?” He questioned, even though he was practically preening internally at the thought of your sweet voice reading his novel aloud to him. It was a beautiful novel, filled with rich descriptions and he just knew it would sound lovely rolling off your tongue, but you had already done so much for him today it was hardly for of him to let you offer this without giving you an out.
“I don’t think you’re incapable, I just know your eyes hurt when you’re sick and I can imagine it makes it hard to focus on the words. Plus, I always fancied a career in audiobooks,” you actually really wanted to do this for him, not viewing it as an inconvenience at all. In fact, you would probably find yourself disappointed if he told you he would rather read it himself.
“Are you sure? You really don’t have to,” he looked you in the eyes, gauging your expression.
“I want to,” you promised.
“About page 150, you might have to read the first sentence to check.”
So, you began reading, until his eyes grew heavier and his eyes drooped. Slowly but surely, he drifted off into the realm of peaceful deep sleep.
Not before, of course, he muttered, more than half asleep, “I can’t wait to marry the shit out of you.”
517 notes · View notes
seriouslysnape · 3 years
Text
Under the Weather
Harry Potter x Fem! Reader
Warnings: Fluff. Sickness. 
Word Count: 1,518
“I just hate that you’re feeling bad.”
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Harry felt bad. Correction: Harry felt terrible. He watched as you crawled into your bed with sunken eyes and a nasty sounding cough. He wouldn’t ever say this out loud, but you didn’t look so good at all. It was all his fault that you were sick, and he wouldn’t let himself forget it anytime soon.
He had just recovered from possibly the worst case of the flu that he had ever fallen ill with. It had knocked him on his ass for a week due to the fatigue, coughing, fever, and body aches. Pomfrey had done all she could to try to make him comfortable enough, but the strain was just a bit more than her remedies could fix this time around. He was stuck in bed with nothing to do but roll around in his sickness and complain about how bad he felt. 
In the end, Harry was able to recover swiftly and without any real problems. Before too long, he was as good as new thanks to your help. You had taken extra good care of him by keeping him cool from the fever but warm from the chills. You made sure he was eating, even if it was just chicken and soup everyday. You made sure he was hydrated and getting plenty of rest to ensure his recovery...which also included lots of snuggles and kisses.
It turned out that those snuggles and kisses were rather sickly ones, and about the time that Harry was fully feeling better, you had begun to feel crummy. Harry actually noticed it before you did. It was extremely rare for you to sleep later than him. You almost always were up and going before him, but on particular Friday morning, you were still knocked out when he woke up. Not only that, you were unusually warm and ill looking. He had pressed the back of his hand to your head, feeling a pit of guilt when he realized that you definitely were running a fever.
He had woken you up, feeling even worse when you began to cough. He had practically jumped out of your bed, wrapping you up and doing whatever he could to make you comfortable. You had all the same symptoms that he did, and you were guaranteed to be in for a long week. He had insisted that he take another week off from classes to watch over you, but he was already a week behind, and there was no chance that you were letting him fall back more on your account.
He went through all of his classes in a haze of worry. He knew that he had undoubtedly gotten you sick. There was no way that you could’ve gotten it from anyone else. He didn’t even stop in the common room after his classes, going straight back to your dorm where he had left you. When he did walk into your room, you were standing at your trunk, looking weak and drained. You would’ve thought that you had tried to mouth off to Professor Snape by the way Harry reacted.
“What are you doing?!” He shrieked, closing your door and rushing to you.
You threw your hands up in defense, sniffling more drainage out of your nasal passageway.
“What? I’m getting changed. I was in the same pajamas from last night and I felt gross,” You explained with a congested tone, not seeing the big deal, “I’m fine, Harry.”
He ruffled your hair when he noticed it was damp. His face fell into even more horror.
“Did you shower?” He asked as if it were a crime.
“Uh, yes?” You replied nonchalantly.
“But you’re sick! You could’ve...I don’t know! You could’ve fainted or sneezed so hard that you fell or-”
“Harry, I’m not dying. It’s just the flu.” You argued, giggling at his dramatic act.
That sealed the deal. He was dedicating his entire weekend to make sure you were at least on the road to recovery by Monday if you weren’t going to “take care” of yourself.
“Get in bed, you mad woman! What are you doing up?!” He shrilled again, ushering you to your bed again.
That was when you returned to bed to put HIM at ease, looking and sounding just plain awful. That was also when he REALLY started to feel guilty for your current state. He rushed around the room, setting things up the way you had in his when he had been sick. He layered blankets onto your bed, turned on some soft music, made sure the windows were closed to make sure you didn’t catch a cold draft. The only difference was that you had spoken to him in sweet, calm tones. Harry was running around like a chicken with its head cut off.
“Are you warm enough, my love?” Harry asked, adding yet another blanket on top of you, rushing to your desk on the other side of the room.
“Yes, Harry. I told you that I’m fin-”
“Do you want a book? Or maybe I can sneak into the kitchen and bring you a snack?” Harry rattled off, barely letting you get a word in.
“No, angel. I don’t want-”
“I promise I don’t mind! The castle is pretty quiet this time of night and Filch is easy to sneak around and-”
“Harry!” You finally croaked out through your already hoarse voice, “I don’t need anything. I’m fine.” 
Harry’s demeanor softened. His shoulders relaxed and his breathing slowed. He was getting himself worked up over nothing, and panicking wasn’t going to solve anything at all.
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry,” He said, sitting on the edge of your bed, “I just hate that you’re feeling bad.”
You shrugged under the pile of covers, giving him a feeble grin. 
“I’m okay. I don’t feel that bad. Just a little under the weather I guess.” You brushed it off.
Harry smiled softly with an even gentler laugh. You certainly didn’t look “a little under the weather”. He had been much more difficult when he was sick. He kicked the sheets off of his body and complained that it was too hot, and then hissed that it was too cold each time he got a new chill. He whined when he had to keep changing clothes because the sweating from his fever dampened his pajamas. You, on the other hand, were perfectly content, even in your ill state. 
“If you say so. Can I squeeze in with you, darling?” He queried, wanting to hold you close in your bed.
“I don’t want you to get sick again. You’re already behind.” You shook your head.
“I don’t care about that. I just want to be with you, my pretty girl.” Harry bantered.
He knew you hated missing school, and you were sure to miss at least a week. The thought of you having to spend the next several days cooped up in your dorm made him feel awful. Worst of all, you weren’t your normal, healthy self and it was all because of him. He wanted you to be happy and at your best at all times, because seeing you happy made him happy. 
“[Y/N], baby, I’m sorry I got you sick. I shouldn’t have let you get so close to me and love up on me. If I had known it was so contagious I would’ve taken care of myself.” Harry apologized, his eyes lowering, finding your hand under all the sheets and giving it a caring caress. 
“It’s not your fault. I wanted to take care of you. I always want to...love up on you,” You remarked, laughing at his previous choice of wording, “I couldn’t let you be sick and not do anything. I care about you.”
Harry’s eyes found yours again, his lips upturning into a wide smile as he looked at your lovingly.
“You really love me that much, huh?” He questioned, bringing your clammy palm to his lips for a ginger kiss.
“That much and more,” You returned with a smirk, “Now shut up and get in bed with me. I need cuddles.”
Harry leapt up from the side of the bed, rushing to the empty, opposite side.
“Yes ma’am.” He joked, crawling in and pulling you flush to his chest.
He winced at how warm you still were, but he was sure that the fever would subside with time. Harry’s paranoia had subsided almost completely, but he still kept a hand on your back to make sure you were breathing...just in case. He’d cater to your every need to make sure you’d be better soon. You’d be back to normal in no time with Harry Potter as your caretaker.
“Thanks for taking care of me, Harry. I really appreciate it.” You sniffed, beginning to feel drowsy as your body fought off the horrid sickness.
Harry pressed a kiss to your forehead, keeping you safe and comfortable in his arms. It was something he would do until forever ran out...with or without a bad case of the flu.
“I’ll always take care of you. No matter what.”
******
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