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monserelates · 2 months ago

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You’re Warm ; James Potter

⇨pairing: f!reader x james potter

⇨summary: Y/N is stubborn, reckless, and totally not sick—no matter what her fever, cracked voice, and hallucinations suggest. James Potter would love to believe her, but unfortunately for her, he knows her better than anyone.

⇨cw: reader is a quidditch player but it’s not that revelant to the plot, mutual pining, crack, idk what else

⇨a/n: lowkey repeating tropes because I just love a good stubborn reader but yeah, hope u enjoy

The portrait hole slammed open with a bang so loud that three second-years nearly jumped out of their skin.

“—BLOODY HELL,” Sirius Black yelled from his perch by the fire. “Is that a banshee? Oh—never mind. It’s just you.”

You marched into the common room, dripping wet from head to toe, hair plastered to your forehead, Quidditch uniform clinging to you like a second skin. Mud was streaked up the backs of your calves, and your broom—dangling in one hand—was trailing leaf bits like a soggy war prize.

“I told you she’d go out flying in that storm,” Lily said, not even looking up from her Transfiguration essay.

“I was hoping she wouldn’t be that dumb,” Marlene added, flipping a page in her notebook. “Clearly I was wrong.”

James looked up from the chess match he was losing to Remus. His eyes flicked over you—sopping uniform, red nose, triumphant grin like you’d just single-handedly won the Quidditch Cup—and then he blinked. “What the hell, Y/N?”

“I was bored,” you said breezily, squelching your way across the rug and dropping your broom with a thud. “And it wasn’t even raining that hard when I started.”

“You look like you swam home.”

“I was training. You wouldn’t understand.” You tossed a look over your shoulder and winked. “Not all of us can be benchwarmers, Potter.”

James’s jaw dropped in fake offense. “Excuse me. I’ve scored more goals than—”

“Than Sirius’s body count?” Marlene quipped.

Sirius, sprawled dramatically across the couch, raised his arms in victory. “Thank you for noticing.”

“I was gonna say than Remus has corrected my essays, but that works too.” James shook his head at you, smiling in that maddeningly fond, exasperated way. “You’re mental.”

“Quidditch players are built different,” you said, peeling off your jersey, that read “L/N” and the number 7 and tossing it onto a nearby armchair with a wet slap.

Peter made a face. “That thing’s alive.”

“I feel alive,” you said, flopping down into the nearest seat and kicking your feet up on the table. “That was the best flying I’ve done all term. Wind’s wicked up there—good practice for winter matches.”

“You’re gonna die of pneumonia,” Remus said calmly, not looking up from his notes. “And then I’ll be stuck tutoring your ghost.”

“I won’t die,” you sniffed, rubbing at your nose. “I’ve got the immune system of a Hippogriff.”

“Really?” Lily drawled. “Because your nose is already turning red.”

You scowled. “It’s from the wind.”

James leaned forward a bit, elbows on his knees. “You sure you’re alright?” His voice was softer now, teasing gone. “You’re sort of…shivering. And you look like you sneezed on a live wire.”

“I’m completely fine, Potter.” You crossed your arms. “Actually, I feel amazing. Invigorated. Glowing, even.”

Sirius snorted. “You’re literally steaming.”

True enough, there was a slight haze rising from your clothes as they began to dry unevenly by the fire. You were very pointedly not looking at James, because he was still watching you too closely and it made your stomach do a weird flipping thing.

“I’d rather drop dead than admit James Potter was right,” you muttered.

“What was that?” he asked, grinning.

“Nothing.”

Lily raised a brow. “Weren’t you supposed to meet with Slughorn for your potion redo?”

You blinked. “Oh…crap.” You glanced at the clock. “I’m already ten minutes late.”

“Go like that,” Marlene smirked. “Maybe he’ll pity you and give you full marks.”

“Yeah,” Sirius added, “tell him you survived a hurricane on a broomstick and your cauldron imploded from bravery.”

“You’re all terrible,” you mumbled, but you were smiling as you dragged yourself upright and trudged toward the dorms, squelching with every step. You paused by the stairs, turned back to face the common room—and met James’s eyes.

They were soft again, the way they sometimes got when he thought you weren’t looking. Like he knew exactly what he wanted to say, but didn’t dare yet.

“I’m fine,” you said again, to no one in particular.

James tilted his head. “Right. Completely fine.”

You gave him your most dramatic eyeroll and disappeared upstairs—ignoring the tiny tickle in your throat that had definitely not been there earlier.

You were not sick.

You were…slightly tired. A little flushed, maybe. But that was just from Slughorn’s dungeon being way too warm. Obviously.

“Here,” Lily said, shoving a steaming mug into your hands as you curled into the corner of the couch. “Chamomile with honey. Don’t argue, I already hexed Sirius for mocking your sneeze.”

“I wasn’t mocking,” Sirius said from the other armchair, where he was poking the fire with his wand. “I was imitating. For science.”

“Your science is garbage,” Marlene muttered, tossing a cushion at his head.

“Also,” Dorcas added, “if you sneeze again like that, I will record it. For future blackmail.”

“I’m not sick,” you croaked. Unfortunately, it came out slightly cracked and hoarse—like your voice had been run through a cheese grater.

James, who’d been pretending to read from the seat beside you, slowly lowered his book and looked over. “You sure about that?”

You narrowed your eyes at him over the rim of the mug. “Yes, Potter. I am.”

He held up both hands, mock-innocent. “Alright, alright. Just checking. You look…radiant. Like a freshly boiled tomato.”

“That’s from the blanket,” you sniffed, pulling it tighter around your shoulders. “Marlene made me sit on my hair so I’d stop dripping on the floor.”

“She was leaving a trail,” Marlene said. “Like an overachieving slug.”

“She got mud on the stairs,” Dorcas added. “Lily threatened to charm her socks to scream if she did it again.”

“Okay, rude,” you grumbled, tucking your knees under the blanket. “No one here appreciates a good training session.”

“Rain-soaked death wish,” Remus corrected. “That’s what it was.”

“I’m sorry,” Sirius cut in, “but I have to ask—why in the name of Merlin’s soggy pants did you go flying in that weather?”

“Character building,” you said stubbornly.

“It built character into your lungs,” James muttered.

You ignored him, because acknowledging he might be right was not on the agenda. Instead, you turned to Marlene and nudged her with your sock-covered foot. “Tell them I’m fine.”

Marlene blinked at you. “Babe, your nose is redder than Gryffindor’s house colors.”

“I’m fine.” You dramatically took a sip of your tea. It burned your tongue. You tried not to flinch.

Lily, from her perch at the study table, didn’t even look up. “If you fall asleep in the common room tonight again, I swear to Godric I’m levitating you straight into the Hospital Wing myself.”

“I’m not—” You paused. Cough. Cough-cough. Double cough.

James slowly raised an eyebrow. Sirius made the world’s most annoying ah-ah-aaah? sound like a game show buzzer.

“Don’t,” you warned, pointing at him.

He raised his hands. “Just saying. You sound like a howler on its last breath.”

“Stop bullying her,” James said—but he was smirking. “She’s fragile.”

“I’m going to punch all of you,” you muttered, curling further into the blanket. “Except Lily. Lily made tea.”

“And I’d do it again,” Lily said, walking over to plop another cushion under your feet. She fluffed your hair like you were a pet owl. “Because I care. Even if you’re being a stubborn idiot.”

There was a pause.

“I also care,” James said a little too quickly.

All five girls turned to look at him.

Peter snorted. “Subtle.”

James flushed and shoved his face back into his book. “I care in a general Gryffindor-bravery-friends unity way. Shut up, all of you.”

Remus gave him a knowing look. Sirius made kissy noises. James threw a quill at both of them.

You were too tired to react to the chaos this time. The blanket was warm, your tea was working, and the ache in your limbs was…maybe a tiny bit worse than before. But you weren’t going to admit that. Yet.

You leaned your head against the back of the couch and sighed, half-content, half-defeated.

Dorcas grinned at you. “When you wake up dead tomorrow, can I have your broom?”

You stuck your tongue out at her. “Joke’s on you. I’m immortal.”

Your voice cracked again. Everyone laughed.

And somewhere behind the noise, James was still watching you—quietly, from behind his book—his lips twitching into a soft smile every time you tried to pretend you weren’t falling apart.

You could not stay in the common room.

The fireplace was too hot, the sofa was too scratchy, and James was too there. Watching you like you were a time bomb in a hoodie.

You waited until everyone had finally drifted to their dorms, until even Sirius had run out of dumb things to say (and that took a while), and then you slipped out.

Slippers, blanket, mug in hand.

Because, yes, maybe your fever had climbed past “mildly dramatic” into “concerning,” but it wasn’t that bad. And you’d be damned if you let everyone keep mothering you like you were three seconds from spontaneous combustion.

You needed air. Space. Solitude. Possibly a quick death.

What you didn’t need was James Potter’s voice echoing after you the moment you opened the portrait hole:

“Oi—where the hell are you going?!”

You jumped, almost sloshed tea onto your foot. “Nowhere!”

James appeared in the archway in his pajama pants and a Gryffindor hoodie, squinting like a sleepy golden retriever who had absolutely not been waiting up.

“You’re sneaking out while sick?” he asked. “Are you…deranged?”

“I’m not sick,” you snapped, immediately following it with a coughing fit so violent it made the Fat Lady flinch in her frame.

James crossed his arms. “Right. Healthy as a Flobberworm.”

“I just need some air!” you said. “The common room was suffocating me.”

“Because you’ve got a fever. That’s what fevers do.”

You turned and started walking. Or…stumbling. Same thing.

James let out a long-suffering groan and followed, muttering to himself the whole way down the stairs: “Unbelievable. Absolutely unhinged. Should’ve just dragged her to Pomfrey. Should’ve let Lily tie her to the bed with a Sticking Charm—”

“I can hear you.”

“Good.”

You reached an empty classroom tucked off the Astronomy corridor, one the prefects usually used for late-night patrol breaks. Moonlight streamed through the high windows, casting a soft blue glow over the desks and your very dramatic blanket situation.

You flopped into the nearest chair. The motion made your head spin.

James hovered by the door, arms crossed again. “You’re going to pass out.”

“Then I’ll do it in peace.”

He sighed. Loudly. “You’re like a sick Victorian poet. What next, tuberculosis and a sad piano solo?”

You glared. “I am fine.”

“You are dying.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Sneezed violently into your blanket.

James sat down across from you, leaned forward on his elbows. “Just take the damn potion, Y/N.”

“I don’t need it.”

“You’re literally sweating in a room that’s colder than Sirius’s commitment issues.”

You sniffed. “I run hot.”

“You run dumb.”

That earned a middle finger. He grinned.

But when he leaned forward again, there was something gentler about it. Quieter. You were already looking away, staring out at the window like maybe the moonlight would save you from your own pride.

James softened. “Hey. Seriously.”

You blinked at him, eyelids heavy.

He hesitated, then said it low, like a secret: “Why won’t you just let me help?”

And that—that was the real problem.

Because if you let James Potter take care of you, it meant you weren’t invincible.

And if you weren’t invincible, you might…slip up. You might say something you couldn’t unsay.

Like how your heart sprinted every time he looked at you for longer than a second.

Like how you were afraid he only cared because he was nice, and not because he liked you back.

You pulled the blanket tighter. “Because I don’t need help.”

James looked at you for a long moment.

Then—“Okay.”

You blinked. “…Okay?”

He stood. Crossed the room. Sat on the floor next to you. His head leaned against your chair, close enough to feel the heat radiating off your legs.

“I won’t give you the potion,” he said lightly. “But if you faint, I’m stealing your broom.”

You laughed, hoarse and unexpected. “Over my dead body.”

“That’s what I’m banking on.”

There was a pause. Just soft moonlight, soft breathing, the stupid sound of your heart in your ears.

You leaned your head on the windowsill. “You’re annoying.”

“You’re insufferable.”

You smiled.

There was a shift in the atmosphere the moment you walked into the Great Hall.

You weren’t walking so much as…gliding. Floating? Stumbling slightly to the left. Wrapped in your robe like your life depended on it.

And yet—you looked pleased. Triumphant. As if this was a normal, healthy morning, and you weren’t absolutely radiating fever energy like a human furnace on the verge of combustion.

Sirius saw you first. He choked on his pumpkin juice and immediately slapped James on the shoulder.

“Mate,” he hissed, eyes wide. “Your disaster is here.”

James turned—and promptly dropped his toast.

You were standing there, blinking blearily at them like you’d emerged from a swamp, cheeks flushed and eyes slightly wild.

“Morning,” you rasped, attempting to sit down but completely missing the bench and half-sitting on Sirius’s lap instead.

He let out a squeak. “I didn’t consent to this.”

“Didn’t consent to your face either, but here we are,” you muttered.

James shot out of his seat and helped you off Sirius like you were a toddler learning how chairs worked. “What are you doing here?”

“Eating breakfast,” you said innocently, trying to stab a piece of toast. With a fork.

Marlene, across the table, whispered to Lily, “She’s hallucinating. She thinks she’s at brunch.”

Lily narrowed her eyes. “She looks like she got hexed by a fever demon.”

“Guys,” Dorcas said, halfway between laughing and horrified. “She’s glowing.”

“I run warm,” you snapped, face flushed like a tomato in a sauna. You were, in fact, steaming slightly. Like the toast you were now buttering with what appeared to be…jam.

James sat down next to you slowly, like you were a magical creature that might explode.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed,” he said carefully. “Or out of Hogwarts. Or alive.”

You waved him off. “I’m fine. Just needed fresh air.”

“You climbed out a window,” Sirius pointed out. “We saw you.”

“Is that why there’s a Lily-shaped shoe print on the ledge outside the girls’ dorm?” Marlene asked.

Lily turned to her. “That’s how I got her back inside last night. She tried to duel the moon, Marlene.”

You scowled. “I wasn’t dueling it. I was politely threatening it.”

James dragged a hand down his face. “Okay. Nope. We’re done.”

He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a small vial—the potion. He’d clearly been carrying it around all night, just waiting for you to break.

“Here,” he said. “Drink this.”

You glared at it like it had insulted your mother. “I’m not taking your sketchy illegal moonshine.”

“It’s a Pepperup Potion,” he deadpanned. “Remus brewed it. You’ll stop hallucinating about seasonal pastries.”

“I’m not hallucinating.” You pointed a dramatic, trembling finger across the table. “Peter is literally talking to a pear.”

Everyone turned.

Peter paused mid-bite. “It’s a poached apple, actually.”

Sirius: “Why is it talking back?”

Peter: “Because I’m charming.”

“Enough,” James said, fully losing patience now. “Y/N. Drink the potion. Or I swear to Merlin’s soggy underpants, I will pin you to this bench and make Sirius do it for you.”

Sirius looked delighted. “Oh please let me.”

“Touch me and die,” you snapped, then turned back to James with narrowed eyes. “If I take it, do you shut up?”

James held up three fingers. “Scouts’ honor.”

You stared at him. He stared back.

And then, finally, you snatched the vial, downed it in one furious gulp, and immediately started steaming like a kettle.

Everyone stared.

You blinked. “…That was kind of hot.”

“Do not pass out on me now—” James started, catching you just as you swayed dramatically sideways.

Your head thunked softly onto his shoulder. Your breath evened.

“…She’s asleep,” Peter whispered.

“Do you think she’s faking it?” Marlene asked.

“Nope,” James said, adjusting his arm to keep you from sliding. His voice was much softer now. “She just ran out of stubborn.”

Lily smiled knowingly. “Don’t worry. She’ll wake up and deny all of this.”

“Already planning the narrative,” Dorcas said proudly.

James looked down at you—flushed, asleep, mouth slightly open. He shook his head fondly and muttered,

“You’re impossible.”

Sirius leaned in. “But, like…in a hot way, right?”

James threw a muffin at him.

You were back to your normal self.

Healthy, glowing (in a non-feverish way), and finally able to walk across the common room without someone offering you tea like a dying Victorian aunt.

Life was good.

Which is why you were smirking like a menace when James Potter flopped onto the couch beside you—hood up, nose red, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands like a grumpy toddler.

He sniffled loudly.

“You,” he croaked, “are a biohazard.”

You patted his knee, all sweetness. “Oh, poor baby. Feeling a bit warm?”

James turned his face into the couch cushion. “You infected me. You cursed me.”

“I told you I run hot.”

He groaned. “This is how I die. Not in battle. Not in glory. But in the common room. Surrounded by germs. Betrayed by the girl I—” He stopped. Sniffled. “Betrayed by you.”

You tried not to smile too hard. Failed miserably. “Sirius said you were still in denial this morning. About being sick.”

“I wasn’t sick this morning.” He sneezed violently. “I was in mourning.”

You snorted. “For what?”

“For my immune system. My dignity. My sense of smell.” He sniffled again and slumped into your side. “Also my will to live.”

You hesitated. Then, with a quiet sigh, you pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over both of you.

James blinked. “…Is this an act of mercy?”

“No,” you said, settling in next to him. “Just wanted to remind you what death feels like. Fair is fair.”

He gave a weak laugh, eyes closing as he leaned into your shoulder. “You’re gonna pay for this.”

“You’re literally breathing on me again.”

“Revenge,” he murmured. “Sweet, contagious revenge.”

You rolled your eyes—but you didn’t move away.

Madam Pomfrey looked one second away from smacking James Potter with a bedpan.

“Mr. Potter,” she said through gritted teeth, “you are not dying. You have a mild fever and a sore throat.”

James lay dramatically across the infirmary bed like a Victorian child with consumption.

Blankets piled high. Pillow fluffed just right. His arm was flung over his eyes like he was auditioning for a wizard soap opera.

“Tell my mum I fought bravely,” he whispered.

Y/N, sitting at the end of his bed, burst out laughing. “You fought a cold, you absolute goblin.”

James peeked out from beneath his arm. “Don’t mock the weak.”

“You’re not weak,” Lily said flatly from a nearby chair. “You’re annoying.”

“He cried because the potion tasted spicy,” Marlene added.

“It was spicy,” James snapped. “It burned my soul.”

Across the room, the other Marauders were thriving.

Remus was reading calmly, pretending not to laugh.

Peter was drawing tally marks in his journal for every time James coughed dramatically.

Sirius had pulled up a chair like it was theatre night, grinning wide.

“This,” Sirius said, “is the most beautiful reversal of fate I’ve ever seen.”

Dorcas walked in carrying a bowl of soup from the kitchens. She took one look at James and turned right around. “Nope.”

“Dorcas!” James croaked. “Please! Feed me! I’m too weak to hold a spoon—”

“Use your wand, you baby.”

“I can’t!” he wailed. “The magic’s leaving my body—”

“You’re impossible,” Y/N said, nearly in tears from laughter. “I survived two near-death experiences, a fever-fueled moon duel, and a Peter-shaped hallucination. I earned my sick days.”

James opened one eye dramatically. “And I’m suffering in silence.”

“You’ve literally summoned me with the Marauder whistle four times today,” Remus said. “To pass you tissues.”

James sniffled. “Well I can’t be expected to get up, Remus. What if I fall and die?”

Sirius leaned forward. “Be honest, mate. Are you playing this up so Y/N will tuck you in like you did for her?”

James went still.

Everyone turned to Y/N.

Y/N raised one brow. “You wish.”

James flushed and pulled the blanket over his face. “…You’re all monsters.”

“No,” Lily said. “We’re just finally free of your fake moral superiority.”

Y/N smiled sweetly, tucking the blanket around his shoulders. “Rest up, hero. Let me know if you start hallucinating pears.”

“Don’t leave,” James mumbled pitifully. “You make the pain bearable.”

Sirius gagged so hard he fell off his chair.

Marlene started clapping.

Remus didn’t even look up. “Two galleons say he tries to kiss her in the next twenty-four hours.”

Peter nodded. “I’ll double it if she punches him first.”

And as the chaos spiraled and James Potter sank deeper into his blanket nest of shame and melodrama, you stayed.

Grinning. Because now you were the one at his bedside.

And he?

He’d never been more whipped in his life.

#sick!reader #james potter x reader #fluff #marauders fluff #james potter fluff #james potter one shot #marauders crack #the marauders #james potter #marauders #all the young dudes #remus lupin #james fleamont potter #fanfics #james potter fanfiction #moony wormtail padfoot and prongs #mutual pining

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vinyls-xreaders · 4 months ago

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sorry chat I just can’t stop thinking about simon dealing with a sick kiddo - my heart can’t take it 😭

simon was supposed to be at a meeting over an hour ago. instead, he’s at home, laying on the couch with his daughter curled up on top of him.

her flushed cheek is smooshed against his chest, and drool marches in a line down her chin to pool on his shirt. her breaths come in little puffs through her mouth because her nose is too stuffed to draw any air in through.

it’ll make her sore throat a dozen times worse when she wakes up, but there isn’t anything that can be done.

she must’ve picked something up from school or something- you’d told him something was going around.

it isn’t anything serious, just a cold, but he couldn’t leave her like this, especially not with how she wobbled out of her bedroom in her pajamas despite it being nearly two in the afternoon, calling with for her dad with a barely-there voice. mussed hair sticking to her sweaty forehead, she plopped herself onto his chest and fell back asleep in seconds.

he didn’t think twice about digging his phone out of his pocket, shooting Price a text that he wouldn’t be there, and turning his phone off entirely.

he’s still there nearly an hour later.

watching over her intently, he murmurs soft words of comfort as she sleeps and rubs circles into her back. he tosses or tugs on the blankets pooled around them accordingly as she alternates between shuddering and sweating, and every so often, he presses the back of his palm against her forehead to check her temperature.

a door opens somewhere in the house, and padding footsteps approach the living room.

you wobble into the room, face just as flushed as your daughter’s; like it usually goes, your daughter picked up the bug from school, and you got it from her.

sniffling, you slowly sink to the floor next to them and settle on your knees. you prop your too-heavy head up on one arm and reach out with the other to brush your fingers through your daughter’s hair.

“she feeling any better?” you rasp, but speaking makes your throat tickle and throws you into a coughing fit that has your eyes watering.

“you’re s’posed to be in bed, lovey,” he reminds, eyes soft and concerned as he takes in the sight of you. he reaches out to press the back of his palm to your forehead, too, wincing at how warm it is.

“can’t sleep, not when my baby’s sick,” you grumble in response. “how is she?”

sighing, he indulges you. “about the same.”

you hum and drop your head onto the arm rest, watching the pair of them. sometimes, seeing him like this makes you wonder how anyone could ever be scared of him. he’s so gentle and doting and good. but, you suppose, you’ve never seen him in action before, and he won’t ever let you see him in the mask.

your eyelids grow heavier as you sit in the quiet safety of your home, your baby and your husband within reach.

you’re just about to slip away where you’re at, slumped against the couch, when simon taps your cheek and calls, “sweet’eart.”

“hmm?”

“join me?”

“hmm.”

maneuvering slowly and carefully, he shifts, so you can squish onto the couch next to him. he tucks an arm beneath your waist to pull you into his side, and you drop your head onto his chest near your daughter’s.

you brush your hand through your daughter’s hair as simon runs a hand up and down her back.

your daughter starts to shiver, and simon shifts to tug the blanket over the three of you.

“mmhh- mhh,” you grunt, much too hot, and barely manage to worm your way out of the blanket without falling off the couch. “too hot.”

simon hums. he presses a kiss to your forehead and then to your daughter’s.

he’ll spend the rest of the afternoon switching between pulling the blanket off and on you and your daughter, always opposite of each other, but he isn’t complaining in the slightest.

and when he’s sick two days later, because of the two of you, he’ll gladly take the time off to spend with you two and rest.

your daughter will play doctor as he lays on the couch, sniffing and coughing, and you’ll bring him all sorts of teas and soups and assorted medicines. but what helps the most is when the pair of you settle on the couch with him, a shitty movie on the tv, and the three of you fall asleep on the couch once more.

pulled an all nighter yesterday to do an essay I’ve been procrastinating for a month and fried my brain 💀 hope this is coherent

thanks for reading and for all the support 😭 love you guys 🫶

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x you #gn!reader #sick!reader #dad!simon #parent!reader #sick kiddo #sick!ghost #soft and sweet

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msfantasy-comics · 10 months ago

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The Sick

Damian Wayne x Reader

Summary: a requested short story on Damian reacting to a sick Y/n.

“Damian, get off your phone and pay attention.” Bruce reprimands Damian who still hasn’t spared a single glance at their glowering father, while the rest of the bat kids stare on in dumbfounded shock. No ‘yes father’ no ‘apologies father’. No, instead Damian continues to frown down at his phone as he furiously taps away at the screen.

“Gordon, I need you to hack Y/n’s video feed on her phone to see what she is doing.” Damian demands, ignoring his now dumb-founded father.

Bruce has never seen his son ignore him so brazenly.

“Uh, Dami, firstly, I’m not breaking your girlfriend’s privacy. Secondly, the magic word-“ but before Barbara can even finish her sentence, Barbara is shoved away from the Bat-computer. “Hey!”

Damian sporadically slaps at the keys until a video feed of you pops up, the soft sounds of your congested breathing stifles Damian. A chesty cough causing his brows to knit together in worry.

Why hadn’t you told him?

He sends you yet another text message, making you weakly glance at your phone propped up on the nightstand. Only for your eyes to flutter close; drifting off into a sleepy trance.

God, you look so weak. Had he not hacked your cameras, he never would’ve known how sick you were.

“Damian, I thought we already discussed this. Appropriating the bat cave to monitor your girlfriend is not an appropriate use of the technology.” Bruce sounds off but Damian waves his father off.

“She wasn’t answering her phone so I got worried she was abducted or subjected to torture or what if some creep took a special interest in my-“ But Dick butts in, refusing to hear the end of Damian’s sentence.

“It’s tempting to use this technology to check on our loved ones. But it’s a huge breach in their trust and privacy. If you aren’t hearing from them, there’s probably a reasonable explanation for it.” Damian looks completely indifferent so Dick ups the ante. “If you aren’t going to respect your partners boundaries. We are going to have no choice, but to tell her about your unapproved monitoring again.”

Now Damian looks terrified.

“TT, I’m going to be in great trouble again.” All concerned trains of thought comes to a screeching halt when your choked coughing fit blares through the speakers. “Father, I have to attend my beloved.” And without waiting for his father’s approval, Damian rushes off to the nearest car in the bat cave.

“How are you going to let him act like that Bruce?!”Jason berates with a disapproving shake of the head. “Typical.” He mutters accusingly under his breath as Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose.

You groan at the frantic knocking at your door. Rolling out of bed you shuffle out of your bedroom only for the front door to fly open with a loud bang and a frazzled looking Damian standing in the entry way with a lock pick wedged between his clutched fingers.

Without a second to spare he rushes and pulls you into a gentle embrace. Instantly curbing your annoyances. “Why are you out of bed? Why didn’t you tell me you were sick? Your favourite soup is on its way made by Pennyworth himself. What medication have you taken so far? I’ll tell Pennyworth to pick up some anti-inflammatories on his way. Have you checked your temperature?” Your mind swirls at the barrage of questions.

“Why? How? Damian- were you spying on me again?” You asked irritated only for Damian’s palms to press on on the base of your neck.

“I was worried-“

“Damian!”

“TT, I apologise for my indiscretions.” He answers, looking anything but sorry. But your sick swirly brain is exhausting your temperament.

“You’re going to be in big trouble when I’m feeling better.” Your normally stoic lover grins victoriously at your resignation.

“I am aware of my inevitable predicament. Come.” He mutters almost anxiously before resorting back to his stoic expression. Stumbling back to your bed, Damian lifts your blanket up, allowing you to crawl back under the crispy clean sheets, followed by Damian, moulding around your form. “Sleep, I’ll keep you warm.”

#dc imagine #batboys x reader #dc x reader #batboys imagine #batboys fluff #dc fluff #Damian Wayne x reader #damian wayne imagine #Damian x reader #Damian Wayne x sick!reader #batboys x sick!reader #x sick!reader #sick!reader #cw comfort #tw comfort #Damian Wayne fluff #robin imagine #Robin x reader #hero x reader

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vanteguccir · 11 months ago

Note

hey ❤️ can you make chris x reader where she start to feel really sick in the middle of the video and he take her out of the car and take care of her??

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤLOW BLOOD PRESSURE * CHRIS STURNIOLO * BLURB

SUMMARY　::　where Y/N's low blood pressure and weak stomach decide to make a show during a car video

FEATURING　Chris Sturniolo x reader

WARNINGS　::　nausea

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error

It was night when the group of four found themselves inside Matt's car. Chris had taken his usual place in the passenger seat, his laughter already bubbling up as Matt fiddled with the camera settings from the driver’s seat, while Nick occupied the back seat beside Y/N.

They had just eaten a pile of fast food, the wrappers still littering the floor of the car. Y/N had smiled through every bite, eager to join in the recording, even though greasy burgers and fries weren’t her usual fare.

As the camera rolled, Nick cracked a joke - as usual -, and Chris doubled over, laughter making his eyes crinkle at the corners. He was animated, his hands gesturing wildly as he recounted a particularly funny incident involving Matt.

Y/N giggled along, trying to keep her smile steady, but she could feel a heavy unease settling in her stomach, an unwelcome discomfort that she couldn’t shake. She shifted in her seat, attempting to find a more comfortable position, but it only made the nauseous sensation swirl more violently.

Her face, usually so vibrant with laughter, began to pale as she pressed a hand to her stomach, willing herself to keep it together. The boys were too engrossed in their banter to notice at first, but Chris, ever so attuned to Y/N, felt a strange pull at the back of his mind, like a sixth sense.

Chris’s attention drifted, mid-laugh, his head turning slightly as if he could sense something was off. He caught a glimpse of Y/N in the rearview mirror, her face now slightly contorted in discomfort, her eyes no longer sparkling with the joy they usually held. His smile faded instantly, concern etching across his features.

"Hey, you good back there?" He asked, his voice cutting through the playful chaos. Matt and Nick paused, their heads turning to look at Y/N, who was now biting her lower lip, her hands clutching the edge of the seat.

Y/N tried to muster a reassuring smile, but it came out more as a grimace.

"Yeah, I’m fine." She said weakly, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her. She felt a wave of dizziness sweep over her, and her stomach churned, making her feel queasy.

Chris wasn’t buying it. His brows furrowed as he twisted in his seat to get a better look at her. Her skin had lost its usual glow, replaced with a clammy sheen. Instinctively, he unbuckled his seatbelt and turned around, leaning into the back seat with genuine concern written all over his face.

"Babe, you don’t look fine." Chris said softly, his voice laced with worry. He reached out to touch her forehead, his hand cool against her skin. She leaned into his touch slightly, eyes closing as she tried to steady her breathing. "You’re really pale. What’s going on? Is it your blood pressure?" He pressed gently, his thumb brushing lightly against her cheek.

Y/N nodded, swallowing hard as she leaned her head back against the seat.

"I think it’s the food." She admitted quietly. "I’m not used to eating so much junk food at once. I’m really starting to feel sick, and i feel my blood pressure falling again." Her voice was barely a whisper, and she looked at him with eyes that silently begged for comfort.

Chris’s heart clenched at the sight of her discomfort. He hated seeing her like this, knowing she was in pain. The playful atmosphere from a moment ago was completely gone, replaced by a quiet tension as Nick and Matt exchanged worried glances.

Without missing a beat, Chris was already moving.

"Okay, let’s get you out of here." He said decisively, his tone firm yet soothing. He pushed open his door and quickly got out of the car, opening the back door to help Y/N out. Nick shifted to the side to give her space as Chris reached in, his arms slipping around Y/N’s shoulders and waist. "Come on, easy." He murmured, guiding her out of the car.

Y/N leaned heavily against him, grateful for his support. The cool evening air hit her as soon as she stepped out, a welcome relief against her flushed skin. Chris kept a steady arm around her, his other hand holding hers as he led her a few steps away from the car.

Once they were a safe distance from the car, Chris turned Y/N to face him, his hands gently cupping her cheeks.

"Look at me, baby." He said softly, his voice a balm against her unease. She opened her eyes to meet his, and he offered her a small, comforting smile. "Just breathe, okay? Nice and slow. I’ve got you." He rubbed his thumbs gently along her jawline, his touch feather-light.

Y/N nodded, taking a shaky breath in through her nose, then exhaling slowly. Chris’s presence was a steady anchor, his hands warm against her skin. The nausea was still there, lurking, but his calm, steady gaze helped to ground her.

Behind them, Matt and Nick watched from the car, their expressions a mix of concern and relief, knowing Chris had everything under control. Matt leaned forward, his eyes scanning Y/N’s face.

"Do you want some water? We have a bottle in the car." He offered, ready to jump into action. Nick nodded in agreement, his usual playful demeanor replaced by a serious look.

Y/N managed a small smile, touched by their concern.

"Water would be great." She said, her voice still a bit weak. Matt immediately turned to grab a bottle from the front, tossing it to Chris, who caught it effortlessly. He uncapped it and held it to Y/N’s lips, watching as she took a few small sips. "Thanks." Y/N murmured after a few gulps, feeling slightly better.

Chris nodded, still holding the bottle as he pulled her into a gentle embrace, his chin resting atop her head. He could feel the tension in her body slowly start to melt away, her breathing evening out as he held her close.

"You’re okay." Chris whispered, his voice low and soothing. "I’m right here. You’re going to be okay." He continued to rub her back in slow circles, his touch gentle yet reassuring.

Y/N buried her face in his chest, inhaling his familiar scent, feeling the warmth of his body seep into hers. The nausea was still there, but Chris’s presence made it bearable.

After a few moments, Y/N pulled back slightly to look up at Chris, her eyes still a little glassy.

"I’m sorry for ruining the video." She said softly, her voice tinged with guilt. Chris immediately shook his head, his expression softening.

"Don’t say that." He said gently. "You’re more important than any video. We can always film another time. I just want you to feel better." He brushed a strand of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear.

#⋆౨ৎ˚ 𝒍𝒆𝒍𝒆 𝒂𝒔𝒌𝒔 #chris sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo #x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader fluff #chris sturniolo x fem reader #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x yn #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturiolo fanfic #chris sturniolo blurb #chris sturniolo fluff #fluff #angst #sick!reader

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orellazalonia · 3 months ago

Text

Exactly As You Are

Summary: You slowly form a tender, deeply emotional relationship with Bucky Barnes supports you through the bad days and gently breaks down the walls you’ve built from past abandonment. Despite fears of being a burden, Bucky stays, proving with quiet strength and unwavering presence that love doesn’t need to be perfect to be real. (Bucky Barnes x reader)

Disclaimer: Reader is chronically ill. Mentions/Depictions of symptoms of said illness. Angst. Hurt/comfort.

Word Count: 2.3k+

A/N: This is sort self-indulgent but still an enjoyable read regardless. I left the type of illness ambiguous. You are responsible for the media you consume. Happy reading!

Main Masterlist

The first time Bucky saw you, he thought you were just tired.

You were sitting on a bench outside a small, independent bookstore in Brooklyn, a reusable water bottle half-empty beside you, a paperback open in your lap. It was cold out, the kind of sharp October chill that cuts through jackets and settles in bones. But you sat completely still with your shoulders slumped, hands trembling slightly, and breath shallow.

He might not have noticed if not for the way your fingers struggled to hold the book steady.

He didn’t stop. Not at first. He just glanced, like a thousand other people passing by, and kept walking. But two blocks later, something tugged at him soft and persistent, like a memory he couldn’t place. He turned around.

You hadn’t moved from your spot.

By the time he walked back and crouched in front of you, your lips were pale, and your skin had that waxy undertone he recognized from war hospitals and med units. His instincts kicked in, but not the soldier kind, rather the man who’d learned how to read distress in the quietest forms.

“You okay?” He asked, voice low but steady.

You blinked up at him slowly, as if hearing him from underwater. Then you offered a weak, breathless smile and said, “Yeah, just… my body does this sometimes.”

“Does what?”

“Stops.”

He didn’t fully understand what that meant then. But it wasn’t pity that made him sit beside you, not fear or heroism either. It was something else. Familiarity. A kind of haunted recognition.

“Can I call someone for you?” He asked. “Friend? Partner? Family?”

You shook your head. “No one close by. It’ll pass. I just need a minute.”

But your hand was still shaking as you reached for the water. He watched silently, then gently reached over and held the bottle steady so you could drink.

“Thanks,” You murmured.

He nodded. He didn’t press. He simply sat there, beside a stranger who looked like their body was betraying them one breath at a time.

After a long stretch of silence, you spoke again. “You don’t have to wait.”

“Don’t want you to pass out on a sidewalk.”

You huffed a dry laugh. “Romantic.”

He smirked. “I’ve heard worse.”

You turned to look at him then, and something in your expression shifted.

“You’ve had bad days too,” You said.

His breath caught. You weren’t asking. You knew.

He gave a slow nod. “Yeah.”

Your eyes softened. Not out of pity, but out of understanding. “Then you get it.”

He didn't reply out loud, but the way his hand hovered hesitant, then steady, offered the only answer you needed.

Eventually, you regained enough energy to stand. He offered his arm, and you took it without flinching at the metal. That surprised him. Most people still tensed.

Inside the bookstore, he bought a copy of the same book you'd been reading before slipping you his number. You noticed, and raised a brow.

“Trying to impress me?”

He shrugged. “Trying to have an excuse to see you again.”

You laughed then. Still tired, still aching, but real. “Well. It worked.”

You didn’t start dating right away. There were slow texts. A few coffee shop visits where he learned which chairs were softest for you to sit in for long periods, which days your hands couldn’t hold a cup, and how sometimes you’d go quiet mid-sentence but not from disinterest, just exhaustion.

But Bucky never minded. He’d lived too many years rushing through the world. With you, everything slowed down. And for once, that felt like healing.

On your first date, he had planned it carefully.

Not because he thought you needed to be impressed but because he wanted to show you he was paying attention. That he’d been listening, clocking every tiny detail you never made a big deal about.

So when he asked, “Dinner with me?” and you hesitated, not because you didn’t want to, but because your body was in one of its quiet warning phases, he didn’t try to convince you. He simply offered an alternative.

“I know a rooftop,” He said. “It’s a quiet and private place with a good view. I’ll bring the food.”

You smiled, that same tired-but-warm curve of the lips he was learning to read better each time. “What kind of food?”

“Soft stuff,” He smiled before teasing. “Things that won’t piss off your stomach.”

You laughed, which he counted as a win.

The night of the date, he showed up at your door with a reusable picnic bag over one shoulder and that awkward, lopsided grin of his. You were in your softest clothes, sweatpants and a knit sweater two sizes too big, and your hair wasn’t doing what you wanted it to.

But he looked at you like you were wearing a red carpet gown.

“I like this,” He said simply, and gestured to your entire self. “It’s very you.”

“Exhausted?”

“Real.”

The trip to the rooftop was just a short elevator ride and half a flight of stairs, but halfway up, your legs started to tremble.

You tried to play it off, pausing to “check the sky,” you said. But Bucky had already seen the shift in your breathing, the tremor in your hand as you gripped the railing.

Without a word, he stepped behind you and wrapped an arm gently around your waist, the cool metal of his left hand bracing your spine.

“You okay with help?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded once. He didn’t rush you. Just matched your pace, supporting you the whole way to the roof.

By the time you sat down on the old couch someone had dragged up there years ago, your body was already crashing. You tried to hide it like you always did. But your hands were limp in your lap, your eyes glassy, and your shoulders had that slight slump Bucky was learning to hate.

He knelt beside you.

“Tell me what you need,” He said gently. “No pressure. Just… tell me.”

You wanted to smile. To tell him he didn’t have to stay, or fuss, or worry. But the words stuck somewhere behind your ribs.

“…I don’t want to ruin this.”

His eyes softened. “You’re not.”

“It’s not fair. You finally ask me out and I’m… this.”

“You were always this,” He countered. “And I asked you anyway.”

That made you blink.

He took the blanket from the bag, yes he’d brought one, and wrapped it around your shoulders. Then he pulled out a thermos of broth and a soft rice dish you’d once mentioned in passing. No wine. Just herbal tea. No candles. Just the city lights. No pressure to be anything but what you were.

You looked at him and he didn’t flinch from the fog in your eyes or the weakness in your voice. He didn’t reach for the version of you from the good days. He reached for you.

“I don’t need the perfect night,” He told you gently, watching you carefully. “I just need you.”

You let out a slow, aching breath. “What if I never get better?”

He brushed a knuckle down your cheek. “Then I’ll learn every version of ‘bad’ until I can walk you through it with my eyes closed.”

You felt something in your chest unravel.

And when he curled up beside you, careful not to jostle your fragile form and content to just sit in silence; you knew, with absolute certainty, that this wasn’t the beginning of something fragile.

It was the beginning of something real.

There were days that weren’t as pleasant. Yet time and time again, Bucky insisted on staying. Comforting and reassuring you every step of the way.

One afternoon, the apartment was quiet but not the peaceful kind. The kind of silence that pressed against the walls, thick and tense. The kind that settled in your chest and made it hard to breathe.

You sat on the couch with your knees pulled up, a blanket draped around your shoulders even though it was midafternoon. You should’ve taken your meds earlier, should’ve eaten something by now, should’ve answered the texts piling up on your phone. But your joints ached like they were full of broken glass, your head pounded from hours of tension, and every sound, every thought, felt like it might shatter you.

You didn’t hear Bucky come in. Not at first.

He always moved quietly, even when he wasn’t trying to. It was a habit that never left him. A ghost of another life. He didn’t say anything right away, just took in the picture in front of him. The faraway look in your eyes. The way your hand gripped the edge of the blanket like it was the only thing tethering you to the room. The way your body curled in, like it was trying to disappear.

He crossed the room slowly and knelt in front of you, not touching you yet, but remaining close.

“Hey,” He greeted gently. “Rough day?”

You nodded, barely. Your throat felt too tight to speak.

Bucky waited. He was good at that, waiting. Letting you come to him on your own time with no pressure or pity. Just quiet, patient presence.

But then the words came tumbling out before you could stop them.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice cracked. “I’m sorry you have to deal with this all the time. With me.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed, not in confusion, but in a kind of slow heartbreak. Like he’d heard this before because he had, and every time it hurt more.

He reached slowly, brushing your hand with his gloved fingers before gently taking it in his.

“Don’t say that,” He spoke quietly.

You looked down, unable to meet his eyes. “But it’s true. You didn’t sign up for this. For all the canceled plans, and the bad days, and the… God, the way I feel like a burden.”

He exhaled, long and steady, and then stood, just enough to sit beside you. His arm curled around your shoulders, pulling you in with a kind of care that felt deliberate. Solid and unshakeable.

“I know what it feels like to think you’re too much,” He began slowly. “To think you’re broken, that people will get tired, or that you’ll wear them down until they leave.”

You swallowed hard.

“I spent years feeling like that,” He continued. “Even when Steve stayed. Even when Sam stuck by me. It never went away easy. But then I met you.”

His hand found yours again. Held it tighter.

“You taught me that people aren’t burdens. That pain doesn’t make someone less worthy of love. That needing help isn’t weakness.”

You shook your head, voice hoarse. “That’s different. You went through hell. You didn’t choose it.”

“And neither did you.” His voice was low but firm now. “You didn’t ask for this. You fight through more pain in a day than most people even imagine. And you still smile. You still care. You still show up.”

“But this isn’t fair,” Your voice was shaky. “You shouldn’t have to see me like this. You could… you could have anyone.”

Bucky went very still.

You turned your head away. “I don’t want you to stay because you feel obligated. I don’t want to trap you in something broken.”

His voice was low, firm as he asked. “You think I stay out of pity?”

“No. I think you’re kind. And maybe you don’t realize yet how permanent this is. How much this takes. I can’t go on missions with you, I can’t run, I can’t even cook without getting dizzy. Some days I can’t even-“

You broke off. Voice cracking.

“I can’t give you a normal life, Bucky. I’m tired all the time. And someday you’re going to wake up and realize I’m more burden than person and I can’t survive that again-“

Your breath caught. You hadn’t meant to say again. But it was out there now.

He didn’t try to shush you. He didn’t give you empty words or say you’re not broken, or you’re still beautiful, or it’s not that bad. Instead, he leaned forward and rested his forehead gently against yours. His voice was raw and honest.

“You think I want a normal life?”

You blinked at him.

“I spent years being turned into someone else’s weapon,” He whispered. “I wake up some nights not knowing what year it is. I have blood on my hands I can’t wash off, and a mind that doesn’t always feel like mine. You think I came here for normal?”

He exhaled shakily. “No, sweetheart. I came here for you. Just you.”

Your chest caved with a soft, helpless sob.

“I don’t want perfect,” He said. “I don’t want easy. I want real. And you… this pain, this fight, all of it; it’s real. You’re still here. You keep going. And if you think for one second I’m walking away because your body’s at war with you…”

His hand slid into yours, careful and steady.

“…then you don’t know me yet. I choose to be here,” He said. “Not out of obligation. Not because I feel sorry for you. But because I love you. All of you. Even on the bad days. Especially on the bad days.”

Tears welled up before you could stop them. You hated crying in front of people but with Bucky, it never felt like weakness. It just felt honest, safe.

He pulled you closer, tucking your head beneath his chin, wrapping both arms around you like a fortress. “You are not a burden,” He murmured. “You are my home.”

And in the stillness, something inside you began to loosen. Not the pain, no, that stayed. But the guilt, the weight of it all began to lift just a little as you let yourself be held.

For once, it felt okay to just exist. To be loved, even when you didn’t feel lovable.

And Bucky held you like he’d never let you forget it again.

Because he didn’t try to fix you.

He just loved you.

Exactly as you are.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #marvel fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky x you #marvel x reader #chronic illness #sick!reader

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neteyawne · 1 year ago

Text

neteyam sully imagine <3

summary; neteyam helps his favorite girl out after she gets sick.

word count! 2.4k

SICKENINGLY SWEET.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

You never missed breakfast.

It was your favorite meal of the day - the time where you and Neteyam would finally see each other after the night had kept you apart from your yawne. Beloved.

During breakfasts, he’d pick the freshest fruits from his bowl and place them into yours - piling and piling the delicious treats on your plate and insisting you deserved to eat only the best. Of course you would share with him - the two of you feeding each other while Lo’ak would gag dramatically at the romantic gesture.

Neteyam had been waiting patiently for you, sitting with his empty bowl in front of him and an already assembled plate - which was overflowing with delicious fruits - placed next to him and meant for you.

The first few minutes of your initial absence were nothing concerning - you were usually always a little late. Your tardiness always gave him a laugh. He’d watch you stumble in between na’vi’s who were already seated - flustered and apologizing every time for passing through with an embarrassed smile on your face as you made your way to him.

When the clan began eating, he told himself you were just running a little more late than usual. Neytiri nudged him, asking him why he was not eating. He only smiled, fingers running over the bracelet on his wrist which you’d gifted him as he explained he wouldn’t eat until you arrived.

Jake gave his eldest son a toothy grin at his words - while Lo’ak groaned

“Seriously? You refuse to eat? She’s not gonna die if you take a bite, you know.” Lo’ak insisted, inspecting the tower of food on your plate with clear jealousy as Neteyam carefully moved it away from his brother - already anticipating Lo’ak wouldn’t even hesitate to snatch a fruit from your plate.

“Yes, I know. But I’ll eat when she comes. Jealous she has more food than you, baby bro?” Neteyam teased as Lo’ak rolled his eyes

“You know she’d share them all with me if I just asked her.” Lo’ak threw back as Neteyam grinned

“Yes. I know that.” He said, a smile on his face as Lo’ak resumed his meal, ranting on about how he’d never hold off his meal for anyone.

But Neteyam’s worriedness only grew as he didn’t hear the usual ruckus of your late arrival - his eyes searched the rows of peacefully eating na’vi and he didn’t see you at all. He also quickly realized your mother had also not come.

“Mother, I am going to check on Y/n. She and her mother are not here - may I eat with her, wherever she may be?” Neteyam quickly asked as Neytiri nodded her head with a frown

“I hope she is all right - make sure you take enough food for all of you to eat!” Neytiri called out after Neteyam as he quickly picked up your plate - bidding his family goodbye as his feet found the familiar path towards your home.

His brows were furrowed as he stood outside your sleeping area, seeing your mother and his Grandmother talking quietly

“Poor girl.” He heard your mother whisper as he slowly approached the pair with furrowed brows

“Auntie - Grandmother, Oel ngati kameie.” He spoke, his eyes worried as your mother sent the boy a sad smile

“Oel ngati kameie Neteyam. She is sick, my boy.” Your mother whispered, her quiet voice clearly indicating you were resting inside as Neteyam’s ears fell

“Sick? Y/n is sick?” He quickly asked as his Grandmother hushed him, handing Neteyam a small bottle as she turned to him with a strict gaze

“She won’t take the medicine - I have no idea why. That girl is stubborn, one of her only flaws. Do you think you can make her take it?” His Grandmother asked with urgency present in her voice as your mother gently took your fruit plate from Neteyam, giving his cheek a quick kiss before taking it inside. He smiled at her before turning back to his Grandmother with a nod

“Yes of course. She will take it.” He answered dutifully, knowing just how stubborn you could be at times. He loved everything about you - to him, you had no flaws. He did not see it as stubbornness, but determination.

“Good. Make sure she drinks the entire thing, every drop. It is necessary for her recovery. You care about her, right?” His grandmother asked as Neteyam immediately nodded his head

“Good. Now, go on.” She said, opening the flap and letting Neteyam go inside while she left, no doubt following your mother wherever she went.

You laid in your hammock, tracing the designs on the fabric mindlessly with your back towards him. He approached you slowly, his gentle hands moving forward to rest on your back

You turned at the touch of his hands - eyes confused and sleepy until you recognized the familiar boy - your yawne.

“Oh Neteyam! I missed you dearly.” You breathed out, your voice hoarse as Neteyam reached to cradle your face in his hands. He saw how tired you were and frowned

“My sweet girl, how did you get so sick? Y/n, you were fine last night.” Neteyam insisted, his voice concerned as he helped you sit up after seeing you try and fail with how tired you were.

“I am fine - just a little tired. And my throat.” You groaned, laying back down almost immediately after he helped you sit up with your arms outstretched above your head. Neteyam moved forward to feel your forehead before he let out a long sigh

“Your forehead is burning, tiyawn. Did you sleep well last night?” He questioned with a soft voice as he knelt beside your hammock, your medicine placed on the ground and out of your view as you let out a huff of breath.

“Yes! I was perfectly fine until this morning! I woke up with my head hurting and my feet aching.” You cried out as he pressed a soft kiss on your forehead, hands immediately moving to massage your feet after the words left your mouth

“My poor girl.” He said, his tone was teasing - you could easily hear the playful undertone. But you still curled towards him, relaxing as his hands released the pent up tension in your feet.

“Mmm. You know you’re the best, right?” You said as you closed your eyes. You felt his hands falter at your statement, and you peeked an eye open to look at him. He continued massaging, but he was frowning now.

“You won’t like me much in a little bit.” He said with a weak chuckle as you tilted your head in confusion

“Y/n, I know you won’t take the medicine. My Grandmother asked me to -”

“No!”

Your voice was hoarse as you yelled out, and Neteyam quickly put his hands up in surrender

“Easy, easy yawne. Lay back down.” He said gently as you crossed your arms over your chest firmly

“Neteyam, please. I do not want to take it.” You murmured as you rubbed your eyes. He clicked his tongue - showing his disappointment in your words as you turned to him with a knowing look.

“You wanna tell me why you’re so set on never taking this?” He questioned with a raised brow while holding the small bottle in the air, swishing it around as the green liquid moved inside

“I…I can’t tell you.” You stated, your voice quiet now as Neteyam clasped your hand comfortingly

“You know you can tell me anything, Y/n.” He spoke. His tone so calm after your outburst - so sincere that you felt yourself caving in from his sweet tactics

“Ok, ok. I am…afraid?” You said hesitantly, your words sounding more like a question than the intended statement as Neteyam’s eyes quickly widened

“No no, I know that look! You want to laugh!” You accused, pointing at him as he shook his head with a smile

“Why would I laugh at such a genuine fear?” He said whilst laughing. You felt your cheeks heat up as you huffed, crossing your arms and slumping in your hammock

“I’m sorry, so sorry alright? Now, tell me why you’re afraid.” He apologized, moving closer to you as his laughter subsided

After rolling your eyes, you decided there’s no need to hide why at all

“It smells funky.” You confess as his smile only widened

“Funky?”

“Yes. Disturbingly.”

The way you said it was so serious - like the medicine should genuinely be investigated, and it had him laughing all over again

“Oh I am so glad my sickness is so funny to you Neteyam!” You exclaimed as he quickly shook his head, struggling to wipe the smile off his face

“Y/n, listen. My Grandmother adores you, you think she didn’t pick the strongest and most effective cure for your sickness?” He asked as he searched your eyes, seeing your once positive demeanor fall as you realized the Tsahìk would never give you a bad medicine.

Your initial thoughts was that it had rotted when you’d first smelt the absolutely horrible thing, but you realized how silly that even sounded. The Tsahìk probably made it fresh just for you.

You thought for a bit, sitting in silence before you let out a sigh that had Neteyam’s ears perking up.

“Fine, I will drink it.” You said, looking at the medicine with hesitation as Neteyam placed a kiss on your cheek

“There’s my girl. Open up.” He said while you carefully opened your mouth for him. He untwisted the cap on the bottle, carefully tipping it into your mouth as you swallowed the distasteful thing with a strangled gasp

After drinking the entire thing - every drop - he gave you the leaf holding water beside your hammock to wash down the after taste

You were still coughing, and he gently patted your back to help you - his encouraging words never stopping as he told you how good you were

“So brave, that medicine had me shaking too, you know?” He said laughing as you joined in with him, unable to hold in your giggles as his tail swayed at the sound

“Now, push over.” He said with a playful gleam in his eyes

After talking for what seemed hours and the two of you eating all the fruits he’d brought - sleep eventually took over.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

You’d slept the whole day - and when you awoke, eclipse was nearing.

Your eyes widened as you realized the entire day had gone by while you were resting, and a sigh of disappointment left your lips as you realized you’d be unable to spend the rest of your day with Neteyam - as the two of you only separated at night to go to your respective sleeping quarters with your own families.

He must have left after you fell asleep to give you any more space you might’ve needed - and as much as you loved his generous heart, you wished he’d been selfish and stayed.

The medicine must have made you so tired, because it was only minutes later before you were asleep again.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

He awoke with his head burning and feet aching.

He groaned as he sat up, the light outside indicating it was midday by now.

He felt a soft hand on his chest lightly push him to lay back down, and he felt his heart leap at the sight of you

“Y/n?” He breathed out as you smiled sadly

“I got you sick - if you hate me, I can leave.” You whispered, and he sighed with pure relief as he realized you were better - your once tired eyes had regained their lively shine and the fact made him relax. He’d gone to sleep the night before tossing and turning - not knowing if your condition was better or if it had worsened - only contributing more to his lack of sleep and worsening his sickness

“Hate you? Never.” He said weakly with a breathless laugh that had you rolling your eyes and your arms reaching out to envelop him in a hug

“I am so sorry, Neteyam. It is my fault entirely. But I know just how to make you feel better!” You exclaimed, quickling looking into the pouch that Mo’at had given you as a pleased gasp left your lips

“Ta-da!” You singsonged as you held up the oh too familiar bottle

He let out a groan at the sight that had you laughing

“Can’t believe I’m the one taking it now.” He grumbled. Though his voice was entirely grumpy, there was a smile on his face as you opened the bottle

“There’s my boy. Open up.” You teased, throwing his words back to him as his lips parted in an instant for you.

You tipped the medicine into his mouth as he drank it all, a dribble of it trickling it down his chin as you wiped it away with a laugh

He was coughing moments later from the after taste - and like a good partner, you had water prepared and ready for him - and he drank it gratefully

Neytiri approached Neteyam’s hammock with the intention of simply checking in on him - but her steps slowed once she saw you kneeling beside him as the two of you spoke quietly

She watched with a secretive smile - the way you cradled Neteyam’s face as you peppered kisses all over him was simply adorable. She knew you’d have a heart attack if you knew she saw you kissing her son - so she began to leave, a smile on her face as she left the two of you alone.

After a lot of convincing, Neteyam let you lay with him in his hammock. You’d told him how the medicine the Tsahìk had given you would make sure you didn’t get sick again for the next few weeks - and he hesitantly placed his arms around you with a sigh - worried he’d get you sick.

“You’re so warm.” You mumbled against his skin as he merely chuckled, nuzzling his face into your scalp as he sighed

“Pretty sure that is because I’m sick.” He replied and you pretended to be grossed out

“Yuck!” You said laughing as you placed a kiss on his nose - one that had him blushing and hiding his face in the crook of your neck

It didn’t take even an hour more until the two of you were snoring away - your arms wrapped around each other as you slept safe and sound in one anothers embrace.

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itsalliny0urhead · 4 months ago

Text

Faster Than Fevers (Barry Allen x Reader)

You’re sick. Feverish. Miserable. Barry Allen is the most attentive boyfriend in existence.

barry allen x reader

You knew you were sick when Barry stopped teasing you.

No smug remarks. No playful eyebrows. Just soft eyes and the gentlest hands imaginable tucking you into bed like you might dissolve if he moved too fast.

Which was ironic, really.

Because Barry Allen always moved fast.

But not with you.

Not when you were like this—pale, weak, sweating through your pajamas and shivering under three blankets. Not when you could barely lift your head without groaning.

Not when he was scared.

He didn’t say it, of course.

He never did. Not the way most people would.

But you’d been together long enough to know what fear looked like on Barry Allen.

It wasn’t panic. It was quiet.

It was the way he slowed his steps when he walked into your bedroom. The way he held your tea like it was something fragile. The way he’d pressed a hand to your forehead and murmured, “You’re burning up,” and then didn’t let go for five whole minutes.

The way he never left your side without promising, “I’ll be right back.”

Like you’d slip away while he wasn’t looking.

You’re half-asleep when he comes back this time—arms full, hair windblown, still dressed in sweats and a hoodie that definitely wasn’t his when you fell asleep (Cisco’s? Maybe? You’re too feverish to care).

He sets a tray down on your nightstand, all soft clinks and quiet care. You blink up at him, dazed.

“Soup,” he says gently. “Tea. Ginger chews. Two kinds of cough drops. And—” he leans closer, grinning, “a new thermometer. Because I know the old one lies to me.”

You huff a tired laugh. “You bought a new thermometer?”

He shrugs, clearly unrepentant. “I may have stolen it from STAR Labs.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m in love,” he replies, kneeling beside the bed. “It’s a terminal condition.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart squeezes.

Barry reaches up, brushing his knuckles along your cheek. You lean into his touch instinctively.

“How’s the fever?”

“Still awful.”

He hums, reading your face. “Headache?”

You nod.

“Sore throat?”

You nod again.

He kisses your forehead softly, then mumbles, “Don’t move.”

Before you can ask why, he’s gone.

Gone-gone. Speedster blur gone.

You blink. He’s back three seconds later holding—

“A cool rag,” he says proudly, tucking it behind your neck like he’s just performed a miracle. “Dampened to exactly 74°F.”

You squint at him.

“I used my watch,” he explains.

You sigh. “You’re gonna set the bar so high for other men it’s gonna mess with the timeline.”

He smirks. “Good. Let them fear me.”

You open your mouth to tease him again but dissolve into a coughing fit. It racks through your chest, makes your eyes water. Barry’s there instantly, hand rubbing slow, soothing circles between your shoulder blades, whispering the whole time:

“I’ve got you. Breathe. I’ve got you.”

And when you finally go still, exhausted and slumped against him, he whispers something even softer.

“I hate seeing you like this.”

You rest your cheek against his collarbone. “I hate feeling like this.”

“I know.”

His arms stay wrapped around you as you drift again, body warm but safe, heart fluttering slow under the press of his.

Barry sits behind you in bed, legs on either side of yours, your blanket-swaddled body resting against his chest like a human marshmallow. You’re tired, overheated, and grumpy, but he’s determined to get you to eat something before you pass out again.

So now? He’s got a spoon in one hand and your hair tucked behind your ear with the other.

“C’mon,” he coaxes gently, bringing the spoon to your lips. “Just one more bite.”

You groan. “No more. I’m a sick little sack of soup now. I’m done.”

“You’ve had, like, six spoonfuls.”

“Which is, like, five more than I wanted.”

He chuckles softly, pressing his nose into your hair. “You’re dramatic.”

“Says the man who sped across town for three brands of cough drops.”

He shrugs. “Your suffering makes me reckless.”

You laugh—quietly. It hurts your throat. But it’s real.

Once he’s finally convinced you to sip some tea, he sets everything aside and settles in again. His arms wrap around you automatically, blanket and all, his hands rubbing lazy circles over your ribs through the fabric.

“Feel a little better?” he asks.

You nod against his shoulder. “Warm. Full. Safe.”

He presses a kiss to the side of your head.

“That’s kinda my whole brand.”

You don’t mean to fall asleep.

You just sort of drift.

Your head tucked under his chin. His hands never leaving you. The sound of his heartbeat steady in your ear, rhythmic and grounding.

And in that hazy, half-conscious space between dreaming and waking, you murmur:

“I think I wanna marry you.”

It’s soft. So soft you almost don’t hear it yourself.

But Barry goes still.

You’re too far gone to notice—eyes closed, breath even, fever making the world heavy and slow.

But he hears it.

He feels it.

And god, he’s never been so in love with anything in his life.

He holds you a little tighter. Presses a kiss to your temple. And whispers, almost inaudibly:

“Yeah, babe. I think I wanna marry you too.”

#barry allen x reader #grant gustin x reader #the flash fanfic #sick!reader #comfort fluff #domestic fluff #reader insert #established relationship #barry allen fluff #sick fic #bed sharing #cuddles #soft speedster #sleepy love confession #emotional support boyfriend #tumblr fic rec

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comatosebunny09 · 2 years ago

Text

fever dream | astarion a.

genre(s): fluff, angst

warning(s): language, self-indulgent, sick!reader, astarion’s a little ooc

now playing: the night does not belong to god - sleep token

notes: very self-indulgent because i’m sick and needed some comfort and @nanaoise08squad inspired me to finish this. thank you for reading, lovelies! ❤️❤️❤️

Somehow, the sun shines brighter today. Glaringly so.

You hold a hand to your temple to shield your eyes from its brilliance. Your armor feels heavier, too. Like boulders stacked on your shoulders and chest, making it harder to breathe. You force out a groan that’s gritty like ash. Trudge down the steps leading outside the inn to join your companions, your limbs weighted and achy.

“I hate to point out the obvious, darling.” Astarion grimaces with his hands curled to his chest in revulsion. He ducks away from the sight of you. Winces as you take a labored step forward, your balance thrown to the hells.

“But you look like utter shit.”

You scoff, phlegm making itself known in your throat.

What a way to be greeted by the love of your life.

“You sure are a flatterer, aren’t you, Astarion?”

You’re sure to drag out the vowels of his name—or perhaps your words are a little slurred due to whatever ailment took hold of you today. Nevertheless, you jab a finger between his ribs, your face twisting into something haughty.

You wonder if it was worth the exertion as your vision and body sway along with the trees, and your head pounds something menacing whilst a wave of vertigo hurtles into you.

“Shit!”

Astarion catches you when you pitch forward, your legs unable to grasp the rhythm of walking. And there are suddenly two of him. Two little ‘starions calling your name, fretting over you, shaking you to keep you amongst the conscious.

You feel like lead. Feel yourself sinking below the surface, unable to return.

Your lids shutter as if weighed down by sandbags. The muddled shouts of your friends trickle in, each tinged with varying degrees of concern. You register hands all over you, patting and pulling. Register a strained voice yelling stop, and the frantic touching ceases.

Before you fully succumb to the darkness, there is the sensation of you being lifted up, followed by the earthy scent of bergamot flooding your senses, and it furls around your heart.

Then, there is nothing.

Something savory draws you from the inkiness of your sleep. It curls around your mind, luring you into consciousness.

You caution a sound, your throat rubbed raw from disuse. You slowly open your eyes, and the bleariness gradually morphs into discernible shapes and colors. Somehow, this place feels familiar.

You’re back in your rented room. Nestled in the plushness of a mattress with too many pillows and sheets soft as linen. You will yourself onto your elbows, wincing at the stiffness of your neck. The pain is manageable. Better than it was before, you note, leisurely ingesting your surroundings.

A lone candle flickers on the nightstand, swathing the room in its bronze glow. Moonlight seeps through the curtains lining the window across. The faint symphony of crickets accompanies the murmur of the inn’s other patrons and the groans of the floorboards beyond your doorway.

Bloody hell.

How long have you been out?

On cue, the doorknob rattles, and a slither of light leaks in. The swell of noise outside commands your attention. You stiffen, fingers instinctively twitching for a weapon. But your bones settle as a thatch of white creeps into your vision from the threshold.

“Well, hello there, Sleeping Beauty,” Astarion breathes. He toes the door shut, a steaming bowl of deliciousness cupped in his palms. Takes a few steps forward, rounded eyes flashing amber beneath the candlelight.

You recognize that aroma. The hearty scent which roused you from your sleep. Your stomach gnarls with life as Astarion nears the bed, donning that smug little mask.

“Hungry, are we?”

You nod enthusiastically, garnering a chuckle from the room’s other occupant. Suddenly self-conscious of how eager you are whilst he hands you the bowl, his fingers slinking away from yours as if he’s touched simmering coals.

“Courtesy of Gale,” Astarion supplies. “I can’t guarantee how good it tastes considering—well, you know. Undead and all that.”

His smile is tight-lipped. Guarded as he settles himself on a stool beside you, his spine straight and his ankles crossed. He helps you sit up against the headboard despite the unease permeating the air. Quickly retracts his hands to press them against the wood of his seat between his thighs, surveying your room.

You take some time to study him. Note that his eyebags seem more prominent than usual. Darker. Hair’s a little tussled, skin a bit paler. His shirt sits rumpled around his shoulders, the fastenings of it done all wrong. Worst of all, he has not looked at you for longer than a few beats. Like you’re made of glass and will shatter if he stares for too long.

A pang shoots through you, searing hot like lightning.

He was worried.

Worst of all, he was worried about you.

You’re no longer hungry, your stomach twisting as you gaze down at the stew bleeding warmth into your palms. You set it on the nightstand with a decisive clunk, quietly receding into yourself. Silently relenting to the smog of self-loathing draping itself across your shoulders.

“You scared me half to death, you know,” says Astarion, parting the tangled sea of your thoughts. As if he senses you berating yourself. It’s a soft drawl. An attempt at scolding you, but there’s weariness nestled in the undercurrents of it. “That’s saying a lot, considering I’ve already one foot in the grave.”

You peer up at him like a meager child. He watches you from his peripheral with crossed arms, his nose turned up, feigning disappointment. You see through the cracks of his façade, and your lips twitch with the threat of a smile.

He can be incredibly adorable when trying to shroud his feelings.

“I’m sorry,” you offer, your tone barely above a whisper.

Astarion releases a resigned sigh. And the weight of the world seems to pour from his shoulders as he angles himself towards you, reaching for one of your hands.

His expression softens, and he squeezes, his palm frigid yet reassuring. For the first time since he entered, he truly looks at you. Gaze swims through your features as if to commit every detail, every imperfection, to memory. As if he could lose you at any second.

“No need to apologize, my love. I was just…concerned, is all. I suppose we all were when you went down.”

The recollection makes your face blossom with heat. Poor little darling, taken out by a nasty cold. Causing hysteria among your friends, deterring your journey.

Astarion thumbs your cheek, smiling something genuine at the pout on your lips.

Your tongue burns with the ache of a question, and you shrink, not wholly prepared for the answer.

“How long was I out for?”

“Nearly two days.”

You blanch, evoking another guttural laugh from Astarion.

“Shadowheart did her best to heal you. There was only so much her magic could mend. So, we’ve been playing the waiting game while you caught up on your beauty sleep. Not like you need much more of it.”

You snort at Astarion’s cheekiness.

Leave it to your little star to find every opportunity to flatter you.

He examines your joined hands thoughtfully, thumb smoothing over your knuckles.

“It’s been centuries since I’ve dealt with mortal illnesses. Honestly, I couldn’t begin to fathom how to comfort you. Other than gracing you with my presence, of course.”

It’s refreshing to see his humor is still intact despite his beloved pulling a Snow White.

For a while, you sit like this. Basking in the moment’s serenity, holding hands. Grinning and laughing like two enamored fools when your gazes interlock. You can tell that Astarion’s lightyears away, however. At war with himself, lost in the maelstrom of his thoughts, reprimanding himself for not being your proverbial knight in shining armor.

Absently, you scoot over. Relinquish your love’s hand—much to his chagrin—to pat the space beside you. You affix him with a look that’s all too serious as you say, “For starters, you could try holding me.”

Astarion stares at you with rounded eyes. Mouth opens and closes like a gaping fish, forming around words that he can’t quite conjure.

“Oh. A-Alright,” he finally musters. Dumbfounded, Astarion stands, maneuvering to sit beside you on the bed. He doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands. Never does, unused to being so vulgar, so unabashed with his feelings.

Though, for you, you know he would rearrange the stars in the sky if he could.

So you help him, tugging him closer and falling into the circle of his arms. You nestle against his chest with a pleased hum vibrating your throat. Tangle your legs together, ignoring the surprised sound that leaves him.

He’s a lovely contrast to your still-enflamed skin. Fits like a puzzle piece against you, soft and lithe. He relaxes gradually, tucking you ever closer against him as if you’ll disappear in a plume of smoke if he lets go. He pets through your hair before anchoring his chin to the crown of your head, surrendering a satisfied sigh.

“Well, I supposed this isn’t so bad, now is it?” Astarion husks, stroking soothing circles into the notches of your spine.

You nod offhandedly, your lids lowering, and your body feeling at ease.

Suddenly, your ailment seems more bearable as you sink below the depths of slumber, an unguarded smile cresting over your lips.

The shadows of your conjoined bodies dance along the walls as the candlelight dwindles, and you both surrender to the tranquility of the night.

masterlist

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #bg3 x reader #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fluff #tw: language #tw: angst #tw: self loathing #tw: sickness #sick!tav #sick!reader #astarion comfort #bg3 #bg3 astarion

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invincibledc · 10 months ago

Text

Imagine! al ghul-Wayne Twins

(Sick!reader)

You had to come home sick, dismissed early from a class you didn’t have with Damian. Leaving Damian confused back at Gotham academy, confused on where his other half is at. He’s looking at the clock, every knock on the door makes him perk his head up quick. Determined to see if it’s you, but it’s not. He growls under his breath until a teacher had told him that you are certainly home sick.

That’s when hell broke loose, to him of course. The 10 year old Al ghul-Wayne should’ve known you weren’t feeling well! He’s one of the children’s of the world’s greatest detective. He’s beating himself up mentally, he’s imagining you on a death bed. Coughing, whining, and crying in pain.

Meanwhile, Alfred is taking good care of you. Making you chicken noodle soup. Having you take over the counter medicine. You are enjoying just staying home and lying down. You soon go to a different room other than the room you share with Damian. Alfred suggested you separate from the shared room so you don’t get Damian sick as well.

Damian comes in with a worried expression other than a usual stoic one. “Pennyworth! I demand my sibling to have the best herbal tea as I go to them!” He says as he rushes up the stairs, going to the “shared” room you two have. Imagine the expression he had, seeing you not there. He turns around, about to scream where you are. His heart racing, but Alfred puts a hand on the young boy’s shoulder.

Putting a finger to his lip, and accompanying that by pointing to a room. Damian immediately understood, ready to rush in there. But Alfred quickly puts a doctor mask over the boy’s face. Damian huffs, his eyes narrowed. He swats the butler’s hands away and immediately goes to the room you are in. As he enters in, his eyes soften seeing you sleeping peacefully. Though your snores are a little raggedy from the stuffed up nose. He pulled a chair over and sat down on it.

Watching you, making sure you are perfectly fine.

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nymphaea-blue · 5 months ago

Text

Oneshot - Rafayel taking care of you.

Info : 1800+ word count, fluff, reader and Rafayel in a relationship, mentions sickness (fever, dry/scratchy throat, loss of appetite, weakness) + wounds, maybe hurt/comfort, small spoiler to Rafayels lore.

Notes : This is for everyone that is sick right now, like me.. ^^, I am planning to write something for his birthday, but we will see if I will feel good enough. Good luck with your pulls if you are going for his birthday memory as well! <3

It was a horrible day for you, to say the least.

You woke up with a dry throat, you took a sip of water in hopes that it would soothe the scratchiness but it didn’t work - and that was how you knew you were sick. Despite your sickness, you still came to work, you couldn’t just call out an hour before you were supposed to start your mission.

The entire day, you felt miserable, your throat was all dry and scratchy which soon also resulted in coughing and your head started to hurt, because of course a fever was also something you needed. Some of your teammates quickly understood that you were sick and tried to get you to go back home but you refused each time, even your mission partner, Xavier, couldn’t get it through to you that you needed rest. In your eyes, if you already made the effort to get up from bed, you might as well stick around long enough to finish it.

Because of your sickness, missions weren’t as easy to manage as usual and you ended up with a few small wounds, but because of your sickness you felt more weak and sensitive so they still hurt you quite a lot. But even despite the pain, at the end of your work day you showed up to the base to handle all file documents from the missions you did that day to Jenna, even though she saw how terrible you looked and asked you to stay at home until you felt better.

After all your work was done, you went back home and quickly plopped onto your bed, not even bothering to eat something or change clothes, you didn’t have an appetite in the moment anyways. Sure enough, after a few moments you fell asleep, all the stress of the day finally getting to you. It felt nice to relax even for a moment, your body needed that so you allowed yourself to take a quick nap.

That “quick nap” of yours wasn’t quick at all, in fact, by the time you woke up, it was the next morning already. Still sleepy and very weak from your sickness, which wasn’t getting better, you could hear some sort of sound somewhere in your apartment, but you guessed that it was just something going on in the corridor so you went back to sleep. Despite all those hours, you still felt quite tired and you honestly didn’t have energy for anything else but sleeping.

“Cutie.. cutie!”

“Hey, wake up!”

You could feel someone shaking your shoulder, which slowly awakened you from your slumber. As you opened your eyes a little, the sun was shining a bit too much for your liking at that moment, you saw… Rafayel?

“Finally! I thought you would never wake up, you know! Don’t scare me like that again.” He said dramatically before he sighed, relieved to see you awake and alive.

“Rafayel..? What are you doing here? What time is it?” You questioned as you rubbed your eyes a little to try and get more awake but it was almost futile. You felt so confused, perhaps sleeping for such a long time wasn’t a great idea but you needed it, and honestly, a few more hours would be even better.

“I decided to check on you after you didn’t even read my messages from yesterday and didn’t pick up my calls, I was getting worried. And it’s 4pm by the way, which makes me wonder why you are still in bed.” Rafayel responded in a slightly worried and perhaps a bit scolding tone, and you couldn’t help but feel a little bad, you made him worry so much.

“I’m so sorry Rafayel…I just felt horrible lately, I didn’t even hear your calls.” You responded with an apologetic tone, before you tried to search for your phone to see how many messages you missed.

You quickly realised it wasn’t on the bed with you and it wasn’t on the bedside table, so you probably left it in your work bag which was in the living room. Now the strange noise you heard a few hours ago made sense and you almost facepalmed yourself at how stupid you were, but that quickly erupted into a cough.

“Oh yeahh that doesn’t sound too good… are you okay? How do you feel? Should I take you to the hospital?”

“N-no, no need for that.. It’s just a cold probably Rafayel, I’ll be fine-”

You were about to say more but your words got cut off as Rafayel suddenly place his hand on your forehead and his face was close to yours, you could see the worry and perhaps even fear in those pinkish blue eyes of his. The way his eyebrows furrowed, his lips were slightly downturned and there was a slight gloss in his eyes as he looked over your face, to see how you were.

“You are not fine. I don’t think your forehead should be this hot, and all those wounds on your body… Why didn’t you call me? I would be here to help however I can.” He asked as he took his hand away from your forehead but placed it on your cheek instead, you could feel the love and worry in his touch as he touched you so gently as if you would break yet also firm enough as if he feared that if he would let go - you wouldn’t be there anymore.

“I felt very tired, I didn’t think straight… I went to work yesterday, I thought I would be able to handle it but I couldn’t and at the end of the day I practically passed out in bed. Besides, I thought you would be busy, so I didn’t want to worry you.” You said as you leaned further into his hand a little, you felt shame in not calling him, you knew he would come if you only even thought of asking him for help.

“Oh cutie, you don’t need to worry about bothering me. Nothing is more important than you, you know that.” He responded, now with a soft smile as he suddenly took you into his arms in a princess carry.

“Huh? Where are we going? I’m still in my work clothes!”

“Back to my place, you didn’t think I would just let you suffer alone, did you? And don’t worry about your clothes, I have some of yours in my closet from the last time you came over.”

After a short ride in his sports car, you arrived at his home. Rafayel, being the gentleman he is, carried you upstairs to his bedroom as soon as he unlocked the door and placed you down on it gently before he tucked you in.

“There, all nice and comfy. Now, what do you need?”

“Hmm.. some water would be nice, or hot tea, for my throat.”

“You got it!”

It only took a few minutes before Rafayel eventually arrived with some of your favourite tea, all properly prepared and even cooled down a bit so you would be able to drink it without burning yourself.

“Ah, that feels much better, thank you!” You said after you took a sip of the tea, your throat finally got some much needed relief from the dryness, even if only temporary.

“I’m just glad I could help. What else do you need? Maybe I should call a doctor, just in case, you still look very weak.”

“No no, don’t worry about it. I’m okay for now.”

“Are you sure? Did you eat something?”

“...”

“I knew that. Wait here for a moment, Chef Rafayel will make something great for you!”

Soon enough, he returned again, with a few dishes. The meal consisted of seafood, some kind of spicy pasta, sandwiches and a variety of chocolates and other sweets alongside a soda. It looked like he put together a bunch of ingredients from his fridge together, which was adorable in a way, but also you couldn’t have most of them currently. In the end you only picked the sandwich.

“What’s wrong? Are you not hungry? You need to eat to get better from what I heard.” Rafayel questioned as he saw that you didn’t eat much, rather you stuck to the sandwiches and took a few bites of the sweets he got for you.

“It’s not that, it’s just… I can’t have most of these, it won’t be good for my stomach right now.”

“Huh? Really?”

You felt slightly confused by his demeanor, did he not know that? He seemed quite surprised at the news, he thought that he just got you your favourite food and you would be okay.

“Yeah, spicy food can worsen my issues and upset my stomach since I haven't eaten anything in a while. Chocolate is okay but I shouldn’t drink soda since it can be bad for my stomach and seafood is, well, cold, which wouldn’t be good for my throat.” You explained patiently to him.

“Ohh.. it makes sense. I’m sorry, I guess we will stick you to plain food for now huh?”

“Mhm, that would be best. You didn’t know about this?” You asked him finally, you weren’t trying to be mean but you were just curious.

“No, not really. You see, Lemurians rarely get sick,and if we do, then we have ways to get rid of it but I guessed that it would be different than it is for humans.”

And that was when it hit you - his fearful and worried demeanor, the confusion and weird insistence of getting medical help for a cold and the odd food he gave you, it was all because he was Lemurian and was never sick before but he still tried to care for you anyways.

“That’s okay, thanks for helping me anyways. I’ll guide you on what you should do, how about that?” You proposed with a smile, it felt nice that you had such a caring boyfriend who was willing to help you even if he had no idea what to do.

For the next few days, you guided Rafayel and he did a splendid job of taking care of you after a few instructions. Those days, though still slightly uncomfortable because of your sickness, were very wholesome and relaxing, as they were spent with the person who loved you so much he learned about human medicine just for you. He took his role as your personal nurse very seriously and in the end, you slowly got better, thanks to his help. Ever since then, you promised both yourself and him, that you would always let him know if you ever get sick again.

#lads rafayel #love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #lads #rafayel #fluff #lads fluff #comfort #lads comfort #sickness #sick!reader

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creamecafe · 5 months ago

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May you do yandere platonic gi Huns team s2? The reader is 20-22 she’s very sick can barley stand and walk by herself she needs to eat 2x then others and feels ashamed so she doesn’t ask for extra food. She sometimes coughs off blood but doesn’t want others to worry. She tries to act happy and calm so the others don’t worry about her but she’s very scared of dying and she joined to game to pay for her medicine but after the first game and she saw people dying she wants to go home back to her family (dae go and her is dating he’s romantic yandere and they met before the games and she’s protective of her because he already knew about her)

Yandere/Platonic!Gi Hun's Season 2 Team with Reader who's Kang Dae-Ho's girlfriend and sick HCs

Pairing(s): Platonic!Gi-Hun's Team x Fem!Reader, Kang Dae Ho x GF!Fem!Reader

Warnings: sickness, mentions of death, coughing up blood, death almost, angst

Author's Note: Thank you so much for requesting this I hope you enjoy! I'm sorry for the long wait 😭

The last place to be in your condition would be the squid games obviously

Your boyfriend Kang Dae-Ho convinced that it would help cover your bills and your medication, not realizing what's in store

During the first game of Red Light, Green Light, he constantly tells you to stay behind him and not to move an inch. He won't let anything happen to you, he swears his life on it

After the game ends, you're shaking and you're coughing a lot, which blood comes out which makes you even more nervous

When the first voting round came on, you desperately wanted out, knowing that you won't survive any longer than your boyfriend could. You pressed X and so did your boyfriend.

Unfortunately, a lot of people chose O, so you had to stay. Kang Dae Ho comforts you and as you softly cry into his arms while sleeping, kissing you saying that both of you will make it out alive

He will give you half of his food to make sure that you're eating fine

Young-il notices this as well and gives you his milk every time you guys are given food

The team constantly asks how you are and you try to shrug it off saying you're fine

Mingle game was a huge stressful thing for you both as he made sure to keep you by his side

Durinh the night where everyone turns against each other, Dae Ho is sleeping by you, holding you ready to pull you under the bunk beds to hide

While you guys are hiding, you have the strong urge to cough which Dae Ho ripped a piece of fabric from the blanket to cover your sounds to avoid getting caught

Dae Ho hugs and kisses you as he goes to help Gi-Hun in stopping the guards

When he comes back after his panic attack, he holds you tight and is ready to give his own life to project yours

More will come out when season 3 is released!

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monserelates · 2 months ago

Text

Rainy Days and Warm hands; James Potter

James Potter x F!Reader - Fluff - Oblivious Best Friends In love

summary: when reader is attacked by period cramps and the marauders comfort her—especially James.

a/n: So I’m writing this as a heating pad lays on my stomach and I try not to off-myself because of these cramps. This fic was heavily inspired by how I’m feeling right now and I hope it can bring you guys some comfort! Enjoy!! <3

cw: no use of y/n, no lily (sorry:( ), dynamics between the marauders and reader, “hurt”!reader, protective!james , fluff, period cramps, I don’t know if i’m missing anything but if I am let me know in the commenta! This is my first fic and english is not my first language, sorry

word count: 1.2k

it was raining.

not the thunderstorm kind—just the soft, sleepy drizzle that tapped at the windows of the gryffindor common room like it was asking to be let in. the fire was low, crackling gently. the tower was nearly empty, and everything, portraits, curtains, the hush of air, felt slower, softer.

you were curled up tight on the red velvet couch with your red and gold blanket that read “Gryffindor”.

arms wrapped hard around your stomach.

you hadn’t said anything all day, just that you were tired. but james had noticed. the way your face twitched every so often. how your breaths came short, like each one had to tiptoe past the pain. how you held your stomach as if you were afraid you were going fall apart.

he walked in from the boys’ dorm, hair damp from the showers, and spotted you instantly.

“hey—” he started, but his voice was softer than usual. “you’re curled up like a cat.”

you didn’t answer.

just a small, miserable shake of your head.

he was at your side in seconds. kneeling on the rug. brushing the hair out of your face like it was instinct.

“is it bad?”

you gave the smallest nod.

“cramps?” he whispered.

another nod.

james frowned—and stood up fast.

“don’t move,” he said.

as if you could.

—

sirius stumbled in next, hair wet and wild, dripping onto the rug.

“you look like you just got hexed.”

you lifted your gaze from the crackling fire place to his eyes.

“gee, thanks.”

“Prongs! what happened to her?”

“cramps,” james called from upstairs. “the bad kind.”

“there is no good kind.” marlene exclaimed before giving sirius a peck on his cheek.

“oh,” sirius said, and crouched down next to you. “stupid uterus.”

you made a small noise—almost a laugh.

“i could hex it?” he offered. “i’ll be gentle.”

you shook your head, a tired smile twitching at your mouth.

“how are you feeling, love?” marlene asked, sitting on the armchair next to the couch you were laying in.

you sat up but winced, so went back to your resting position.

“i’ve been better”.

“well,” sirius said, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders, “when my stomach hurt this bad, it was because i ate ten cauldron cakes in a row. i do not recommend. but this? this is worse.”

he sat next to marlene, rubbing circles on your back. humming something off-key under his breath.

—

remus came in quietly. hair damp. book under one arm. tea in the other.

he spotted you right away.

“oh, love.”

he didn’t touch you—just set the mug on the table and placed a slim book on the armrest.

“All The Young Dudes, your favorite” he murmured. “thought it might make you feel better”

then he sat by the fire and began to read aloud, slow and soft. his voice was like the rain—gentle, rhythmic.

the words flowed like magic, and everything in the room seemed to breathe with him.

—

peter appeared next, eyes wide with concern.

“do you want a biscuit?”

you didn’t answer.

so he disappeared and came back two minutes later with a napkin full of biscuits.

“i brought four,” he said, awkwardly. “and nibbled the weird one. just in case.”

you let out a shaky little laugh.

the kind that cracked the ache for a second.

“thanks, pete.”

peter lit up like he’d cured you entirely. “you’re welcome,” he said, with a proud thumbs-up.

—

james came back.

his hair was even messier now, and he was holding his wand in one hand and a steaming hot water bottle in the other.

“alright,” he said. “move over.”

“mate,” sirius warned, “she’s literally dying.”

“i’ll be gentle.”

he sat beside you and pulled you carefully into his lap.

your head found his chest like it had done it a hundred times before.

his arms wrapped around you, warm and protective, and he pressed the bottle gently against your belly.

you let out a shaky breath. your fingers curled in his jumper.

he held you like he’d been waiting to. like if he just kept you warm enough, steady enough, it wouldn’t hurt anymore.

“you always take care of us,” he whispered against your hair. “let us take care of you, yeah?”

you didn’t speak. you didn’t need to.

—

you heard remus reading. felt sirius humming. saw peter offering another biscuit with wide eyes. and james…

james held you like a secret.

—

the rain tapped softly on the windows. the fire cracked.

your eyes fluttered shut. it still hurt—of course it did.

but the ache wasn’t alone anymore.

now it lived inside this circle of warmth and love and stupid boys who knew exactly what to do when you didn’t have the words.

and somewhere, between rain and breath and james potter’s steady heartbeat,

you started to feel just a little bit better.

just enough.

—————

you were asleep.

for real this time—slow breathing, limp arms, lashes fluttering against the curve of your cheek.

james didn’t dare move.

you were still curled in his lap, face tucked into his chest like you belonged there, like you’d always been his. the hot water bottle had gone lukewarm, but you didn’t seem to notice. one of your hands had found the hem of his sweater and curled around it in your sleep, like even unconscious, you needed him close.

sirius had migrated to the floor by the fire, flipping through remus’s poetry book and adding questionable commentary every few lines.

“‘in the stillness of pain, love makes itself known,’” sirius read dramatically. “he should’ve added, ‘through cramps, chocolate, and holding her like a stuffed animal.’”

“he isn’t a stuffed animal,” remus muttered, not looking up from his parchment.

“tell that to her,” sirius said, jerking his chin toward james.

james gave him the finger.

he hadn’t stopped watching you.

you looked so small, for once. so quiet. like a soft, exhausted version of the girl who always made faces in class and stole the last treacle tart from his plate.

his hand was resting against your back, thumb brushing slow circles. he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

“you’re staring again,” peter said helpfully, popping half a biscuit in his mouth.

“i am not,” james whispered.

“mate,” sirius said, “you’ve been staring like she’s the bloody moon for ten minutes.”

“more like fifteen,” remus added. “i was timing it.”

james opened his mouth to argue—then froze.

click.

the portrait swung open.

“mr. potter.”

everyone froze.

mcgonagall stood at the entrance, umbrella in hand, her expression unreadable.

she took in the scene:

you, fast asleep in james’s lap.

james, frozen in place like a deer caught in the wandlight.

sirius with one biscuit stuffed in each cheek like a squirrel.

marlene standing up so fast she had to grab onto a chair for support.

remus mouthing abort mission.

peter waving, for some reason.

“please do try,” mcgonagall said, dry as toast, “not to drool on her head.”

sirius howled.

james flushed red. “i wasn’t—i—she’s sleeping!”

“and you seem quite pleased about it,” she said, arching a brow.

“i’m just—helping!”

“of course you are,” mcgonagall said, already turning back toward the door. “five points to gryffindor for emotional support.”

and she was gone.

the room burst into laughter.

you shifted slightly in his arms, nestling closer.

james looked down at you and sighed, the corners of his mouth softening.

“you’re so doomed,” sirius whispered gleefully.

james smiled.

maybe he was.

but holding you like this—warm and safe, even just for a while?

he wouldn’t change a thing.

#the marauders #james potter #marauders #james fleamont potter #james potter fanfiction #james potter x reader #f!reader #fanfics #oneshot #period cramps #comfort #james potter fluff #x you fluff #all the young dudes #james potter oneshot #james potter x you #james potter x fem!reader #sick!reader

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