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hailthegodsong · 2 months ago

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One-shot ~ Jake Kiszka x reader

Word Count: 5.6k +

Summary: When you come down with a sickness at work, Jake picks you up and (mother hens) takes care of you at home. Sick fic comfort!!

A/N: this one shot was requested and I loved writing it so so much! I did also do the temperature reading in fahrenheit because I know most of my readers don't use celcius so theres that. Hopefully this makes you feel better anon!

Content Warnings: illness, cough, fever, sweat, restlessness, nausea, caretaking, so so much fluff it’s rotting my teeth

You’d woken up with a dry mouth and a slight tickle in your throat— nothing serious. Nothing that screamed cancel everything, you’re coming down with something. Just a mild scratchiness that had made you pause while brushing your teeth and frown at your reflection.

Jake noticed. “You okay?” he asked, half through a yawn, sleep still dragging at his voice as he leaned on the bathroom doorway, hair messy and shirt wrinkled from tossing in the night.

You shrugged and spit your toothpaste out before speaking, “Yeah. Just… throat’s kinda weird this morning.”

He tilted his head, arms folding across his chest. “Weird like how?”

You rinsed out your mouth and then smiled at him in the mirror. “Like I shouldn't've let you talk me into sitting with you on the balcony for two hours last night.”

Jake grinned, then stepped behind you to wrap his arms around your waist. He kissed your temple, lips warm and soft. “Worth it, though.”

You leaned into him for a second longer than you meant to, a quiet hum catching in your throat. That dull fatigue from last night was still hanging on. Not quite tired, not quite awake. You figured you just needed caffeine.

“Yeah, worth it. ,” you smiled at his sleepy reflection in the mirror.

“Let me know if your throat gets worse though, okay?”

You nodded, pulling your hair into a ponytail. “Promise.”

—

It got worse.

By noon, your head felt too heavy for your neck. You’d stared at your screen for twenty minutes before realizing you hadn’t processed a word of the email open in front of you. Your body ached. Cold one second, flushed the next. And despite the hoodie you’d thrown on during your break, you couldn’t stop shivering.

You tried to tough it out. You really did. If you left work early, Jake would fuss, and you’d feel dramatic, and there was a meeting at two that were supposed to take notes for.

But by your lunch break, you began to feel dizzy. And nauseous.

You stood too fast from your chair and the room tilted sideways. You had to grip the edge of the desk to stay upright, teeth clenched together as you tried to breath through the rolling of your stomach. Everything felt just slightly wrong, like your body was a half-second behind your brain. An ache had crawled into your joints and you could feel heat rising under your skin and up your neck. You didn’t want to acknowledge it for what it was— but it was unmistakably a fever.

You didn’t even remember sitting down on the break room couch. You only realised you were curled up there when your phone buzzed in your hand, Jake’s contact photo lighting up your screen.

You squinted against the brightness as another unexpected wave of nausea washed over you.

Attached to your text chain was a blurry photo of a tiny frog sitting on the edge of a sidewalk, back legs stretched out like he was sunbathing. You smiled faintly, chest squeezing at the way Jake always shared the smallest, most random things with you just to feel close during the day.

Before you could respond, another text came through.

Jake: How are you feeling? That throat thing any better?

Your smile faded.

You typed slowly, thumbs heavy.

You: Actually I’m not feeling great. Thinking I might head home from work early

It took all of five seconds for his typing dots to appear.

Jake: Oh no. What’s wrong

You sniffled, trying to sit up straighter on the break room couch. It didn’t help. Your back throbbed and the world still tilted slightly when you moved, like your body wasn’t sure which direction was up anymore.

You began to type your response.

You: Dizzy achy nauseous cold. Might be coming down with something

The phone started ringing before you could even finished reading your own message let alone send it.

You exhaled and slid your thumb across the screen. “Hi.”

Jake’s voice was deep and laced with panic. “You still at work? I’m coming to pick you up.”

“No, no, it’s fine—” You tried to sit forward again and stopped when your ribs twinged, a deep cough scraping up from your chest. You couldn’t hold it in and it broke through you with a force that made your head throb. It left you breathless and slumped, blinking at nothing.

He didn’t say anything for a second. You could practically hear the way his brow raised as if to say ‘you sure about that?’

“I’m coming to get you,” he said again, firmer now. “You can’t drive if you’re dizzy. And you sound like death. I’ll get Sam to drop me off and I’ll drive your car home.”

You let your eyes close. The fight went out of you in one slow breath. “Okay.”

“Text me when you’re in the lobby, alright? I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“Okay,” you murmured, voice cracking. You stood slowly, and your limbs felt like they belonged to someone else, heavy and lagging behind your thoughts

Thankfully, your boss didn’t ask too many questions when you approached her desk, voice scratchy and eyes a little glassy. Maybe you looked as awful as you felt, because the moment you murmured that you weren’t feeling well and might need to head home early, she nodded and said, “Get some rest. Feel better soon.”

You packed up slowly, hands trembling as you zipped your bag. The room tilted ever so slightly when you stood, like the ground didn’t quite want to stay put beneath you. You pulled your coat tighter around your aching frame, wincing as the zipper caught for a second, then began the sluggish walk to the elevator.

The lobby was quiet this time of day. Just the soft hum of the air conditioning vents and the click of your shoes against the floor. You sank into the small couch near the windows, tucking your arms tightly around your middle as a shiver worked its way up your spine. Your head tipped back against the cushion, eyelids heavy, stomach hollow and churning. The light from outside blurred in your vision, soft and unfocused, as you tried to breathe through the dizzy haze.

Now all you had to do was wait.

God, your skin hurt. That strange, restless ache was everywhere— your knees, your spine, even the muscles in your jaw. Your head was pounding from the inside out, temple throbbing every time you moved your eyes. Your face was hot, but the chill running through your limbs had you tucked into yourself like it was the middle of winter. You kept trying to get warm but couldn’t.

You felt embarrassed for being picked up like this. Too sick to function. Too weak to get yourself home. You hated asking for help.

But you weren’t the one who called— Jake had known. Had sensed that you needed him before you even said the words.

A minute passed. Maybe five.

Then you heard the automatic doors slide open, and through your half-lidded eyes, you saw him.

Jake stepped in with a determined eye, already scanning the lobby. His brows lifted when he spotted you, and the look on his face was something between heartbreak and relief.

“Oh, baby,” he breathed, crouching in front of you.

You blinked at him, dazed. “Hi.”

He reached up and brushed the back of his fingers along your cheek, frowning at how warm you were.

“Shit, honey, you’re really not well,” he muttered.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, which might’ve had more weight if you didn’t sound like you’d been swallowing gravel.

Jake gave you the softest smile. “Sure you are.”

He helped you to your feet slowly, one hand bracing your lower back, the other slipping under your arm. When you wobbled, he pulled you in against him and held you there for a moment.

“Alright,” he murmured, lips brushing your hairline. “Let’s get you home.”

Jake didn’t let you walk more than a few steps on your own.

He guided you out of the building with one arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders, the other hand covering yours where it clutched your coat closed. You leaned into him without thinking . Your legs felt unsteady, and your body was too heavy, your skin prickling with cold despite the fever baking beneath it.

When the wind hit your face outside, you shivered so hard it knocked the breath out of you. Jake stopped instantly.

He looked down at you with that furrowed brow, the one he got when something was wrong and he couldn’t fix it fast enough. Without a word, he shrugged out of his black corduroy jacket— the one he pretended not to know that you often stole off the back of his chair— and wrapped it around your shoulders like a blanket. His hands smoothed it over your arms gently, tucking it in, like you were something fragile.

“Better?” he murmured.

You nodded weakly. “Smells like you.”

He smiled and kissed your forehead. “Lucky for you, I smell amazing.”

Apparently you were too sick to appreciate the joke, as you merely hummed and continued sluggishly walking towards the car parked a few feet away. He helped you into the passenger seat, closing the door carefully once you were in. By the time he got in on the driver’s side, you were already curled up as tightly as the seat belt would allow, trying not to make your shivering too obvious.

Jake didn’t waste a second before the engine started and the heater was blasting within moments.

You leaned toward the vent, clutching his jacket tighter around you like it was the only thing keeping you upright. The warmth stung at first as your skin was so sensitive, but you sighed with relief as it finally started to thaw the chill in your bones.

Jake drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting palm-up between you on the console, waiting in case you reached for it. You did.

The heat rose until it was thick and heavy, making your eyelids droop, and Jake pushed the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, visibly sweating but still not turning it down.

“I’m good,” he said quickly, noticing the way you peeked at him. “Don’t worry about me.”

You must’ve drifted off, because when the car stopped, Jake was already leaning over you to unbuckle your seatbelt. You blinked at him, disoriented, your head pounding behind your eyes.

“We’re home,” he said gently. “I’m gonna carry your stuff in. Can you walk if I hold you?”

“Mmhm.”

He helped you inside with slow, steady steps, and you clung to him without shame now. Your body just didn’t have the strength to do anything else.

Once you were inside, he guided you to the edge of the bed and crouched in front of you.

“Okay, don’t move,” he said softly, brushing your knee with his hand. “Let me get your pajamas.”

You watched through heavy eyes as he opened your dresser drawers with an easy familiarity, pulling out your favorite sleep shirt— the worn, oversized one you always wore when you needed comforting. He even found the fuzzy socks with the tiny suns on them that you always kept in the back of your drawer.

He turned down the blankets, fluffed the pillows, and added the heating pad to your side of the bed without a word. The care in every motion made your chest ache.

“Alright,” he said, coming back to you. “Arms up, sweet girl.”

You managed it, and he helped you out of your work clothes with gentle, efficient hands, always keeping you covered, never letting you feel exposed to him or the cold air. He tugged the pajama shirt down over your head and knelt to help you into your socks, smoothing them over your feet like you were the most delicate thing in the world.

Once you were finally bundled under the covers, he sat down on the edge of the bed and ran the backs of his fingers down your flushed cheek. His eyes moved slowly over your face, frowning softly at how pale you looked beneath the flush of your fever.

You leaned into the touch without meaning to.

“You’re still too warm,” he whispered, thumb trailing lightly along your temple. “Way too warm.”

He reached over to the nightstand and picked up the thermometer he’d grabbed earlier— waited for you to open your mouth before slipping it under your tongue. When it beeped, he didn’t hide his reaction.

“102.8,” he said under his breath, and then met your eyes again. “No wonder you feel like hell.”

He reached into the drawer where he knew you kept a small stash of meds— the way he navigated your space made it so clear how often he was here, how well he knew the rhythm of your home. He popped the cap on the bottle of tylenol and shook out two pills, then grabbed the glass of water that had been sitting on the nightstand from this morning.

“Here,” he murmured, sitting you up gently with one arm behind your back. “Take these, sweetheart. We’ve gotta get that fever down.”

You swallowed them obediently, the water barely touching your dry throat.

He eased you back down again, smoothing the blankets around you and tucking them in tight under your arms. You were already drifting, eyes glassy and heavy-lidded, but you watched as he looked around the room searching for something.

A second later, he let out a quiet sigh and bent down beside the bed, fishing around beneath it.

When he came back up, he was holding your tiny, raggedy teddy bear you always slept with tucked under your arm. The one Jake always rolled his eyes at. The one he used to grumble about stealing his spot in the crook of your neck.

He tucked it carefully under your arm, smoothing your hand around it like it was the most precious thing in the world— not some beat-up childhood toy. You were barely conscious, but the gesture registered somewhere through the fog.

When he looked back at you, his eyes were soft. Completely gone for you. He leaned over again, kissed your forehead, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth.

“You’re okay,” he whispered. “Just need some rest.”

His hand lingered, brushing back the damp edges of your hair, feeling along your forehead again, then down the slope of your jaw, over your collarbone, like he couldn’t stop reassuring himself that you were still there, still breathing. Still burning up, but safe.

Finally, he pulled away slowly, like it hurt to leave you even for a second.

“I’m gonna make you something warm, baby,” he said. “Soup or broth or something. You just rest. I’ll come check on you in a few.”

He turned down the light, making the room soft and quiet, and padded barefoot into the hallway, the sound of cabinets opening faintly drifting back as he moved through your kitchen like it belonged to him too.

You didn’t hear the soft clatter of the knife on the cutting board, or the bubbling that began on the stove as Jake stirred together a pot of broth, vegetables, herbs, and a few cloves of garlic he crushed with the flat of his hand. You didn’t notice the way he leaned over the pot, tasting, adding a pinch of turmeric, squeezing half a lemon in like his mom always did when someone had a fever. He kept the burner low and the lid slightly askew, letting the steam fill the kitchen with something rich and healing.

He checked on you every five minutes. Barely got through peeling a carrot without standing at the doorframe to your room, arms crossed, watching the way your chest rose and fell beneath the blankets. You were curled in a loose ball, one leg half-tangled in the sheets, hugging that teddy bear like it was his stand-in.

After a while, he let the soup simmer, set out a bowl, and set it on the counter to cool just enough not to burn your tongue.

You stirred in bed with a faint rustle, a slow groan that carried into the hallway. Jake was already there before your eyes were fully open. He came to your side, crouched down, fingers brushing your forehead again. Still hot, still too hot.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said gently. “You waking up?”

You nodded, but your face scrunched up almost instantly, like the act of opening your eyes had split your skull in two. You groaned again, pressing the heel of your hand to your temple.

“Hurts,” you whispered, barely audible.

Jake leaned in closer, smoothing your hair back. “I know, baby. I know. That fever’s a real nasty one.”

You winced, eyes barely open. “Feels like I got hit by a train. Or… a bus,” you grumbled. “Or both,” you added, groaning dramatically.

You blinked at him, eyelids heavy, throat dry and tight. You didn’t even feel thirsty, but your mouth was like paper, your lips tacky. Still, when Jake brought the glass to your lips, one hand steady at the back of your head, you drank slowly, just to please him.

“There you go,” he murmured, voice low and warm. “That’s it, sweetheart.”

His fingers brushed a bit of hair from your cheek, lingering there like he couldn’t help himself. You swore his thumb had memorized the shape of your face by now— always tracing, always checking. Temperature, texture, tension.

“Think you can eat a little?” he asked, nodding to the bowl on the nightstand. Steam still curled lazily from the broth, fragrant and comforting.

You nodded faintly. “Yeah… I think so.”

Jake slipped an arm around your back, gently lifting you upright and propping pillows behind you until you were supported.

“Here.” He settled beside you, balancing the bowl and spoon. “Let’s go slow.”

Your voice was a rough whisper when you looked at the soup and managed, “Thank you.”

Jake’s eyes softened. “You don’t have to thank me. What else can I do, my love? I hate seeing you like this.”

You frowned, scooping up a spoonful. The warmth was good, heaty and comforting.

“Just need you to hold me,” you murmured between sips. Your voice was terrible— hoarse and cracked in the middle. Jake visibly winced at the sound of it, heart twisting.

Something in his face crumpled sweetly, his shoulders dropping as if your words cracked his chest open.

“Oh, my love…” he whispered, already shifting behind you on the bed. “C’mere.”

He shifted carefully, and gathered you into his arms cautiously as not to spill your bowl of soup, letting your weight melt back against his chest as you leaned into him. “Better?” he whispered into your hair.

“Mm,” you hummed sleepily, nodding as you lifted another spoonful.

His hands began to rub slow, soothing circles against your spine as you ate slowly, making your way through the broth.

When you were down to the last bit, Jake reached around, gently took the bowl and spoon from your hands, and set them aside. His arms came back around you at once, pulling you in close.

You sighed, shaky and pained, and leaned back against him, letting your aching body melt into the soft, bare skin of his chest. Your legs curled in beneath the blankets, your forehead resting against his shoulder.

He held you like that, whispering nothing words, just soft sounds and kisses to your temple. He rubbed your arm with the pads of his fingers, soothing your shivers away with the warmth of his body.

And finally, cocooned in his arms, you slipped under again, your last thought the feel of his lips against your burning skin.

You slept almost the entire afternoon. Jake never left the apartment.

He moved quietly through your space, cleaning up dishes from earlier, folding a bit of laundry that had been forgotten in the dryer, and wiping down the counters like he couldn’t sit still. Every few minutes, he checked in on you— just peeking through the door, watching your chest rise and fall beneath the covers, or feeling your forehead to make sure your fever hadn’t climbed any higher.

At one point, he pressed a fresh glass of water onto your nightstand and adjusted the curtains to let in a little golden light, just soft enough to keep the rom warm without hurting your aching eyes when you did wake.

When his stomach started growling, he made himself a quick dinner and sat quietly at the kitchen table, poking at the food like his heart was still in the bedroom beside you.

The apartment was quiet. Just the sound of a clock ticking above the sink, the hum of the refrigerator, and you, sniffling lightly in your sleep from down the hall.

Jake barely touched his plate.

Later, after the soup on the stove was cooled and packed into containers, Jake slipped into the dark of your room again, quiet as ever.

You were still curled in the same spot— tangled around that ridiculous teddy bear, your hair a little damp at the edges from the fever.

Jake sighed. He knelt beside the bed again, reaching out to press the back of his hand to your cheek, then your forehead, then your neck. You were still too warm— not dangerous, not worse, but hot enough to make him frown in the dark.

With a soft breath, he stripped off his shirt and slid in behind you.

You didn’t stir much, but your body instinctively turned into his, seeking the comfort. His arms wrapped around you immediately, hand splaying over your belly as he tucked your head beneath his chin.

He held you close, letting his cooler skin draw some of the heat from yours, wishing he could take more of it from you, just to make you rest easier.

Eventually, his eyes closed. His breathing slowed, matching the rhythm of yours. He drifted off like that, one hand gently tracing shapes against your side.

It was hours later when he woke again.

You were shifting in his arms, restlessly tossing, pulling at the blankets, breathing unevenly. Jake opened his eyes to find you awake, face creased with discomfort, your body radiating heat again like a furnace.

“Hey,” he whispered, instantly more alert. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

You groaned softly, curling tighter. “Everything hurts. Can’t sleep.”

Jake rubbed your back slowly, his other hand finding yours beneath the blanket. “Where?”

“My head. My back. My legs. I can’t get comfortable,” you whispered, voice wrecked. “Feel nauseous again too.”

“Oh, sweetheart…”

Jake sat up and leaned over you, brushing the sweaty hair from your face. He pressed his hand gently to your forehead again, then down along the side of your throat, as if he could ease the ache away with his fingertips alone.

“You’re burning up again,” he said softly. “Hang on.”

He got out of bed, disappearing into the dark for only a moment. You heard the sound of water running, cabinets opening. He returned with a cool, damp cloth in one hand and a pot of pills in the other.

You barely resisted as he dabbed your face and neck with the cool cloth, whispering soft things. They weren’t even words half the time, just the sound of his voice, steady and low. You wondered if he was just that tired that he wasn't making sense, or if his voice intended no more than to be a lullaby meant to soothe.

Jake helped you sit up slowly, tucking pillows around your back, guiding the pills to your lips with a glass of cool water. You grimaced as you swallowed. Your throat was raw, but he praised you like you’d run a marathon.

“There you go, baby,” he whispered, brushing his thumb along your jaw. “Good job. Try to get some more sleep now. I’m right here.”

Jake climbed back into bed beside you, immediately reaching for you, easing you back against his chest tenderly. His palm settled between your shoulder blades, warm and grounding, then began its slow path down your spine. He pressed long, steady strokes, just the right pressure over the muscles you’d told him ached the most.

His touch never left you. Up and down, slow circles at the base of your neck, gentle thumbs pressed beneath your shoulder blades, the kind of love you didn’t have to earn, but was just given, because you needed it, and he wanted to give it to you.

He adjusted the pillows behind you carefully, then tucked your head beneath his chin, pressing the softest kiss to your temple.

You shifted faintly, body heavy, but your fingers curled against his arm like you were trying to stay awake.

Jake caught it. He dipped his head a little, brushing his nose against your hair.

“Sleep, baby,” he whispered. “I’m right here. Not going anywhere.”

You made a tiny sound in reply, but your grip loosened. And just like that, you let go.

You fell asleep in his arms, breath softening against his collarbone, but Jake didn’t stop. Even with your body slack and still, he kept rubbing slow, rhythmic circles along your back, his hand gliding over your spine like a balm, like a promise. He massaged your shoulder where you always carried tension, pressed gently against the sore spots down your sides, careful not to wake you.

He didn't leave, not even for a second. Because if you were hurting, then Jake was staying. Just like he said he would.

–

Jake eventually passed out, hands still pressed against your back as sleep claimed him. Morning came quickly, and you found yourself stirring in an empty bed.

And you felt... like absolute shit.

But maybe a different kind of shit.

The kind where your head still throbbed and your throat still felt like gravel and your whole body was sore— but you weren’t on fire anymore. Your brain felt foggy but no longer boiling in your skull.

You stirred under the covers and winced immediately at your aching body.

From the doorway of the room, you heard footsteps. Jake was beside you in seconds.

“Goodmorning beautiful,” he whispered, crouching at the side of the bed. “How’re you feeling? You need anything? How's your head?” He was already reaching for your face, pressing his hands against your cheeks to feel your temperature.

You blinked at him blearily. “Jake, I’m fine—”

“You’re not fine, you’re sick,” he corrected. “Fever’s down a little though. You’re not sweating anymore.”

“I feel gross,” you mumbled, voice cracking like dry leaves. “But less… death-y.”

Jake’s eyes softened. “I’ll take that.”

He smoothed your hair back again and tucked the blanket around your shoulders even though you were already half-buried in it.

“Don’t get up. I’ll bring you tea and toast. Then I’ll run a bath if you feel up for it. And I washed all your towels, by the way. The soft one’s on top.”

You blinked again. “You washed my towels?”

“Baby, I washed everything,” he said, giving you a look. “Been housewifing it up in here. I even wiped down your light switches.”

You let out the tiniest laugh and buried your face in the pillow.

“I could look after you sick for the rest of our lives and I’d still think you’re perfect.” Jake leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your hair. “But please don’t. I like you better healthy,” he added.

You gave him a sleepy, crooked smile. “Weirdest love confession I’ve ever received.”

He grinned, but only for a moment— his brows pulled together again as he cupped your cheek, just feeling the temperature under your skin.

“Still too warm,” he said under his breath. “I’ll get the tea. And maybe some fruit. You need some food in your system. Don’t move.”

“It’s not like I’m inclined to run away right now.”

He narrowed his eyes at you playfully, like you might rebel at any second, then stood and kissed your temple, again, before leaving the room. You could hear him in the kitchen within moments— opening drawers, pouring water into the kettle, pacing like you were on the verge of collapse and he had to be ready.

You smiled faintly into the pillow. Your body still ached, and your sinuses were stuffed, and you couldn’t imagine doing anything but staying in bed for another twelve hours.

But you had Jake.

And even if he hovered like a worried grandmother, and whispered about your too-high-fever under his breath like it was haunting him, he was yours.

And he was there.

Jake returned to the bedroom with a fresh mug of tea and a cautious expression. His hair was pulled back messily, like he’d been running his hands through it too many times while pacing the hallway, and he had that boyish furrow in his brow he got when he was trying not to concentrate.

He handed you the mug gently, watching you sip like it might shatter in your hands. “Alright. Be honest with me, how are we feeling?”

You gave a tired shrug. “Still shitty. But less of the delirious kind.”

“That’s not exactly a raving review,” he muttered, eyes scanning your face.

You were about to say something cheeky, but he cut in, already crouching beside the bed, one hand brushing hair from your forehead with exaggerated care.

“I was thinking maybe a bath,” he offered softly. “Something warm, not too hot. Steam might help your sinuses, and your muscles are probably screaming. I put the magnesium salts in already.”

You blinked. “You ran the bath?”

“Well, yeah. I knew if I waited to ask, you’d tell me not to bother,” he said, trying for a light tone, but his eyes were serious. “I’ll come sit with you. Just in case you feel dizzy again.”

“I’ll be fine,” you murmured, not wanting to make a big deal of it. “It’s not like I’m gonna faint in the tub.”

Jake’s lips pressed into a line.

“Let me come with you. I’ll keep you upright and feed you grapes if necessary.”

You smiled faintly, sinking back into the pillows. “Only if you join me.”

That made him pause. “Join you? In the bath?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, eyes fluttering closed again. “I just… I want you close.”

There was a beat of silence, then the soft sound of Jake exhaling through his nose.

“Alright,” he said, already smoothing the blanket down. “But only ‘cause you asked. And also ‘cause I was planning to anyway.”

He helped you up with extreme care, hands steady at your waist, arm around your back, and moving like you were made of glass. You leaned against him as he led you into the bathroom, warm air curling around your legs as you stepped inside.

The tub was full, the water tinted slightly from the salts he must have added, and the lights were just a soft glow, dimmed to a warm hum.

He helped you out of your clothes, whispering little reassurances the whole time, before lowering you slowly into the bath. The moment your body hit the warmth, a full body sigh slipped from your mouth.

“Oh my god,” you breathed. “That’s perfect.”

Jake smiled, then stripped down beside you and climbed in behind you, his chest to your back, thighs bracketing yours beneath the water. The moment he got settled, his hands found your shoulders, thumbs pressing slow, gentle circles into the muscles there, working downward..

You melted into him, your head lolling slightly to the side.

He didn’t say anything for a while, just kissed your damp hair and kept massaging, letting the water do half the work, and his touch do the rest. Every now and then he whispered little murmurs like "You're okay, I've got you," though his hands never stilled.

Finally, through the haze of steam and comfort and warmth, you whispered, “I love you.”

Jake’s hands paused. Then moved again, slower, steadier.

You turned your head just enough to glance up at him, eyes heavy but sincere. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

Jake’s heart clenched like a fist in his chest. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your cheekbone, then your temple, then your shoulder, his palms smoothing up and down the skin on your arms.

“I’ll always take care of you,” he murmured, voice low. “Every time. Whether you want me to or not.”

You smiled weakly and let your head fall back against his shoulder again. He held you tighter, your back to his chest, arms around your waist, the two of you surrounded by a world slowed down.

You stayed like that until the water began to cool, and even then, Jake didn’t move until you whispered you were ready. He dried you off carefully, like you were something precious, dressed you in your softest pajamas, then helped you back into bed.

He even tucked the infamous teddy bear under your arm again, muttering some dramatic annoyance at the small, ragged thing, before kissing your forehead and climbing into bed behind you.

Wrapped in Jake’s arms, the worst of the aches still lingering but your body finally starting to relax, you let your eyes fall shut. His warmth at your back, the quiet sound of him breathing behind you, made everything begin to feel a little less heavy.

You were still sick, still wiped out, but you didn’t have to do anything else right now.

Jake adjusted the blanket over your legs, then rested his chin lightly against your shoulder.

After a long pause, he whispered, “I love you.”

You hummed faintly, barely a sound, your eyes already closing.

His hand smoothed over your arm once, slow and careful. “Get some sleep.”

And you did. Tag List: @frogkiszka @hailtheaeon @allof--mylove @scarabsinthestardust @musicislove3389 @lightsofthe-living-gvf

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