#sick character x reader

[emotionalsupportgoblin420]

Sick Chongyun x reader

Style: One-shot.

Summary: You head over to Chongyun's house and find him with a fever.

You had woken up bright and early that morning, excited to see Chongyun. You had agreed to help him check out a suspicious spirit sighting that day, and you couldn't wait. As you went out the door, the sun shined beautiful with not a cloud in sight. A good sign.

You ran over to Chongyun's house and knocked on the door. "Chongyun! You ready to check out this spirit?" No response. Odd. He usually was an early bird. You knocked once more. "Chongyun? You awake?" Still, nothing.

You pulled out your spare key that Chongyun had given you and opened the door. "Hope you don't mind if I come in!" You shout just in case. Not a sound. You walk over to his room and knock. "Yun. You awake?" You call. Still no response. "I'm coming in." You say as you turn the knob. You advert your eyes just in case as you slowly open the door. Once you figure you're in the clear, you look around and find Chongyun still in bed sound asleep, back facing you. You find this odd. This isn't usually like him.

You walk over to him and give him a couple of gentle shakes. "Yun. It's time to wake up." You say in a gentle tone. He groans and rolls over to face you, still asleep. He looks flushed, so you check his forhead. He's hot to the touch. "Yun! You're burning up!" You exclaim, just loud enough to wake him up. "Hmm? Y/N? What are you doing here?" He asked. "We were gonna check a spirit sighting, remember?" You reminded him. "That's right!" He bolted right up. "I've gotta get ready!" Before he could get out of bed, you gently pushed him back down. "You aren't going anywhere." You said sternly. "You have a fever." "But, the spirit-" "Can wait." You cut him off. "Your health comes first. Now you lay here while I grab some ice water and a towel to cool you off. Being this hot can't be good for your constitution."

You walked off the kitchen where you found just what you need. Only took a few minutes to fill up a small bucket with water and ice. You grabbed a towel from a draw and headed back. Just as you were a couple of steps from his door, you heard a loud thud.

You quickly set the bucket down and ran in to see if Chongyun was okay only to find him lying on the floor, passed out. This wasn't like him at all. Chongyun could certainly be a tad bit excitable on the subject of spirits, but he was usually able to keep his composure. Looks like you were right. His fever was getting to him. You pick him up and lay him back in bed. You grab the bucket from the hallway and bring it to his bedside, swiftly wringing out the towel and placing it on his forehead.

You just sat by his bedside for a few minutes, watching him sleep. He was kinda cute. So peaceful and relaxed. It was nice to just enjoy the moment. But that moment couldn't last forever. You needed to get him some medicine. You were a bit worried leaving him alone, but it couldn't be helped. He needed medicine. So you prayed for the best and got up to head to the nearest pharmacy.

☆ ☆ ☆

It was almost noon by the time you had gotten back from the pharmacy with a small bag in hand. You entered Chongyun's house and went straight to his room. The sight that was before your eyes you opened the door to his room was exactly what you had feared.

Talismans were everywhere, random stuff was scattered all over the floor, and there was a collapsed Chongyun in the center of it all. He even managed to kick over the bucket of ice water. You just sighed, setting the bag down on a nearby dresser, picking him up, and putting him to bed again.

You checked his temperature. He was a little hotter than before. Step one was to get some medicine working in his system. You efficiently went to the kitchen and grabbed him a glass of cold water and came back as fast as possible before he could get into any more trouble. You took the medicine out of the bag and set both items on his bedside table.

You gently nudged him awake. "Yun. You got you some medicine." You said in a gentle voice. As he opened his eyes, it was clear to you that he was delirious. "I gotta vanquish the evil spirits..." He said, sitting himself up. He was super wobbly and barely able to hold himself up. "Easy Yun." You said, gently propping him against the wall that was behind his pillows. You took a pill of medicine and put it in his mouth. Then, you grabbed the glass of water and held it to his lips. "Drink some of this." You said, gently tipping to glass until he had had enough water.

You helped lay him back down as he murmured about evil spirits and vanquishing evil. Clearly, his shenanigans while you were away had tired him out. He fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit his pillow. Seeing as how he was completely exhausted, you didn't have to worry about him getting up to any more fever-induced mischief, leaving you time to remake a bucket of ice water and clean up the mess he had made.

It took a good 15ish minutes to do all of that, and once you were done, you were about ready for a nap. You sat down beside Chongyun's bed and checked the towel on his forehead. It wasn't cold anymore, so you dipped it into the ice water, wrung it out, and placed it back on his forehead. You laid your head down on the side of his bed and watched him sleep as your eyelids grew heavy, and you drifted off to sleep.

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Drabble: Lonely

Yandere Villain x GN reader

Thinking of a Yandere superhero gone villain. He was created in a lab by your father to be the perfect hero but he ended up going insane when the public thought his powers were too unstable. So the hero turned into a villain and he set his sights on you to get back at your father… by taking you.

TW: Yandere and dark themes, unhealthy relationship dynamic that should not be romanticized, Stockholm syndrome, kidnapping, murder (mentioned), and purely fictional work

@urbigsockssmell

Yandere Villain who kidnapped you from your home and kept you tucked away from the world. Don’t worry your pretty little head! No one will ever find out so you can scream all you want! It’s just you and him… until your father revealed himself. He needed to complete his revenge on the man that had ripped his humanity from him.

Yandere Villain who is curious to why you weep so much around him. He hasn’t harmed you, so why do you cry? You’re not battered or bruised so he believed your tears were completely unnecessary. He didn’t keep you in some hole in the ground either. Nope. You were in a cozy room with plenty of blankets and AC. He just didn’t understand you…

Yandere Villain who brings you various snacks in hopes he’d eventually figure out which one you enjoyed most so you wouldn’t starve. His golden eyes scanned your shivering form in interest. Were you cold? He could steal more blankets for you.

Yandere Villain who’s shocked to hear your voice for the first time. It’s so soft… just like you! You looked so soft and meek. No wonder why your father was so protective of you. He would probably lock you up to protect you too!

Yandere Villain who is shocked by how skittish and shy you are. The way you bat your eyelashes at him excited him… and when you gently touch him for the first time, he is in absolute awe. He’s never been touched so gently before… he’s only ever seen lovers do this in movies. Were you wanting to be his lover?! If so, he was more than willing to oblige. He was always too busy saving the city to ever have his very own damsel in distress.

Yandere Villain who seeks out your touch everyday since you touched him. He’s so touch starved that he whimpers if your skin doesn’t contact his. Touch him! Compliment him! Love him!

Yandere Villain who began to grow so accustomed to your company that he refuses to return you to your father. Nope! It doesn’t matter if your father wants to sacrifice himself to save you, you’re his now! This villain was never going to let you go, even after the revenge was enacted. You were far too precious to release.

It isn’t long before the Stockholm syndrome began to set in either… you’re going to stay with him forever.

[yokoluvv]

THINKING ABOUT...

the cute lil stalker who you met a few weeks ago, who seemed to take his part and leave after what happened last time, who you thought wouldn't be after your tail anymore.

you didn't think much of it, didn't really care, a one time thing. what you didn't expect was seeing him talking to your boss, with a uniform that was too much like yours. what a pesky bug.

it could be bearable, you thought; he was a feast for the eyes and didn't talk much, just doing his part of the work, occasionally slipping glances at you. over time he became a bit more... bolder, if you could call it that.

he started standing closer to you, sitting closer to you. wearing clothes that were not designed for the work enviroment, dropping an abnormal amount of pens; but you doubted your boss (or frankly anyone) minded it much. you didn't.

he was maddening, and he knew that, but if you cave in and gave him what he wanted, another confrontment, he would win. and you could work with a bit of challenge. so you ignored his thight tops, mini shorts that barely covered anything; ignored his bumpings and pretty big eyes.

and the pretty thing noticed that too. because how could he not when he got cornered everytime he went to the bathroom, when everybody except you were touching and groping him? he didn't want their filthy hands on him, they were ruining his outfits that he wore just for you. he was saving himself for you and these mindless idiots who only thought with their dicks thought he was for them to savour? it made his blood boil.

he went through hell to get this job and you weren't even looking at him! (hell being batting his lashes and standing a bit too close the the boss)

thus, he decided to take the matters into his own hands, because he had eyes and he could see the tent in your jeans. that he caused.

he waited and waited the whole day, asking others around to do his work for him because he's just so weak, and he could save his energy for you insted.

and it was the end of work. finally, you thought. if only your boss didn't make you work over time on a friday. and your very cute colleague too for some reason. this was the perfect oppurtunity for him, he waited the whole day for this! endured the others' touchings for you! surely you'd reward him?

you found it harder and harder to just get your work done and go home. your pants were too thight for comfort and he was sitting there like he didn't know the effect he had on you. and the one sided challenge you had going on was getting less and less appealing. you just wanted to fuck him stupid.

time didn't seem to pass at all whatsoever. and you got pent up real fast. the challenge? oh, who cares, you weren't thinking with your brain right now, anyway.

the next thing you know you have the pretty lil stalker straddling your lap, rubbing against you like a bitch in heat, mewling in your ear. your hands on his hips as he tries to get the most friction he can, finally you're going to reward him for his hard work. he fumbles with his shorts, trying to get them off while his other hand unbuckles your belt.

he's already so wet for you, you don't even need to do anything. and you don't. he can do the work for you, right? he slips on your cock with a high pitched whine, hair sticking to his forehead as he starts to move. up and down, bouncing like a bunny. his moans get cut off everytime he falls back on your dick.

his hands on your chest for support as he does his best to please you, instinctively clenching around you as he throws his head back, a groan leaving his parted lips. he lets out an embarrassingly loud whine when you pull at his hair, his eyes rolling back. praise him, please, tell him he's doing such a good job and watch him cum so fast.

he's so warm and so sweet and you can feel the tension building up in you, your hold on his hips thightening as you thrust into him. he pants and shivers, his legs trembling when he feels the warmth in him, that alone making him cum again.

let's say the next day your co-worker might have to clean up his chair.

guess who got so horny he had to write it<3 this sucks but I was real pent up. inspired by that one person who asked me to do this if I ever made a part two ty for the idea

update: I hope it's okay to tag you sjjdiskdk @waddaloser

[mitsua]

warnings: love obsession, hints of kidnapping

reader's g/n

➻ Yandere cute gardener! who first sees you arriving with lots of boxes to this almost abandoned part of the town.

➻ Yandere cute gardener! who walks up to you to help you and gets to know you're from the city's heart but decided to move to start a new life.

➻ Yandere cute gardener! who quickly got mesmerized by your voice and wanted to hear you talk more.

➻ Yandere cute gardener! who amazes you with a tour around his work.

➻ Yandere cute gardener! who would hire you to help him water the flowers to spend more time together and know exactly what is he feeling, since he has never experienced the so called love.

➻ Yandere cute gardener! who would cut the most exquisite flowers only for you.

➻ Yandere cute gardener! who you'd invite over your house some day to help you decorate with the flowers he's given you.

➻ Yandere cute gardener! who's at loss of words when he notices every flower he's given you for the past months are perfectly taken care of.

➻ Yandere cute gardener! who'd confirm his feelings for you in that instance.

➻ Yandere cute gardener! who's paranoia kicks him one time you said you were going to visit your family on the city.

➹ "No, you ain't going anywhere now that I got ya'".

[fallenbratfiction]

stay put ~ Joel Miller x f! reader

This fic is part of the In sickness and in health series! Where a lot of different favorite characters take turns to take care of you. 🧻🌡️🩹

A/N: KJNDFEWJKFENWFWEJKNEDJKDN I'm not even sick and not trying to manifest it either *knock on wood* but I had a hard time getting up from bed today and that was enough to make me think what would Joel do in that case

minors dni. i am not responsible for what you choose to read.

do not copy, translate or claim any of my work as your own.

Your alarm went off at 6 but there was no energy in your body to get up, not even to snooze it.

The sound was annoyingly loud and your best idea was throwing it to the ground. At least it stopped.

“Shit.”

You groaned and pulled the sheets up over your head.

Only five minutes, you assured yourself. You weren’t going to call in sick, although you felt it growing inside you. You couldn’t miss a day. Couldn’t lose progress.

“Five more,��� you whispered quietly.

You pulled yourself up to sit on the bed, but there was no point in trying to stand.

You groan, head sinking back against the pillow. You reach over, patting around on the nightstand for your phone without even lifting your head. Nothing.

Where the hell— It’s always there.

You sit up slower this time. Rub your eyes, blink through the dizziness. Your limbs feel heavy, like your body’s been filled with wet sand, but you still manage to throw off the covers and stand on shaking legs.

Sweatpants. Hoodie. No bra. Whatever. You make it out of the room, leaning against the wall as you fumble for your shoes in the hallway.

You crouch, trying to tug one on, and that’s when it happens. Your balance tips. The world tilts—

You hit the floor with a soft thud and a louder groan.

You stay there for a second. Just breathing. Head against the wall, heart thudding in your ears.

You manage to push yourself up and make your way toward the kitchen, sockless and defeated, still stubborn as hell.

And there he is. Joel Miller, standing by the stove in a worn-out tee and those grey sweatpants you love, stirring a pot with one hand and holding your phone in the other like it’s a weapon.

He turns just in time to see you swaying in the doorway.

Brows draw tight.

“What the hell are you doin’ dressed for work?” he says, already setting the spoon down. “Get back in bed.”

“I need to go to work,” you say hoarsely. You try to sound firm. It comes out wrecked. “Have you seen my phone?”

Joel lifts it slowly, like it’s a trap he set and you just stepped into it.

“Already told them you’re not comin’ in today.”

You stare at him, too sick to even argue properly. “Joel—”

“Bed,” he says firmly, but not unkind. “Come on.”

“That’s my job. You can’t just—"

“You fell in the damn hallway. I heard it.”

“I’m fine—”

“You’re not.” His tone softens but stays solid, like the heat under a simmering pot. “You’re not, baby. Come on.”

You start to tear up, mostly from exhaustion. Or maybe frustration. Your knees wobble, and Joel’s already crossing the room.

“I have to go—”

“You don’t even got your second shoe on.”

“I need to—”

Joel gently takes the boot out of your hand. “Alright. Come on.”

“I can walk.”

He snorts. “Sure. Right into a wall.”

You bat at him weakly, half-hearted and floppy like a grumpy cat being scooped off a windowsill.

One arm slips around your waist, the other tucks under your legs, and suddenly you're off the ground. You let out a soft noise of protest as your arms flail and your boot drops to the floor with a thud.

“You’re—”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m bossy. I’m controlling. I’m carryin’ you to bed because I love you. Get over it.”

You sit on the edge reluctantly. He crouches down in front of you, hands slipping under the hem of your hoodie to help you peel it off, then eases you back into bed like you’re made of glass. You don’t have the energy to stop him, and maybe—just maybe—you don’t want to.

“I’m just tired,” you murmur. “Doesn’t mean I’m dying.”

“I know,” he says. He tucks the blanket up around your chest, smoothing it over your shoulder. “But you don’t gotta wait till you are to let someone take care of you.”

Your eyes sting again. You blink, a little too fast, and Joel presses a kiss to your forehead, then your temple, thumb brushing under your eye like he can catch the tears before they fall.

“Try and rest, alright?” he murmurs. “Soup’s coolin’. Gonna bring it in with crackers in a bit. Maybe that dumb show you like.”

You give a sleepy snort. “It’s not dumb.”

Joel smiles, brushing his knuckles along your jaw. “Didn’t say I didn’t like it too.”

You let your eyes close. Joel stays beside you a minute longer. Just watching. Just being there.

You don’t know how long you were out. Just that when you open your eyes, the light’s a little softer and Joel’s back, moving carefully like he doesn’t want to wake you.

But you’re already stirring, head fuzzy, lips dry.

“You’re back,” you croak.

“Yeah, baby,” he says, setting the tray down carefully on the bed next to you. “Didn’t go far.”

You glance down at it, a bowl of soup—chicken, of course—cut up tiny like you’re a damn child, and some crackers on the side. There’s even a folded napkin.

Joel helps you sit up, one hand steady on your back, the other fluffing up a pillow behind you with more tenderness than you thought he was capable of.

“You made all this?”

“S’just soup,” he mutters. “Didn’t make it from scratch or nothin’. Got that good one you like.”

You look at him with wide, hazy eyes. “Still made it,” you say, a little too sincere.

Joel just watches you for a second, like he doesn’t know what to do with how soft you sound. Then he leans in and tucks your hair behind your ear with rough fingers, like you’re something breakable, and presses a kiss to your warm cheek. Lingers there for a second.

“Still hot,” he murmurs against your skin. “You feelin’ any better?”

“Dunno. I feel… floaty.”

“Mm. Meds must be hittin’.”

You pick up the spoon clumsily, fingers not quite working right, and Joel just takes it gently out of your hand and says, “I got it,” before feeding you the first little bite himself. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You manage a couple spoonfuls before you’re curling back down, head tipped lazily to the side. Your eyes fall on the TV remote on the tray.

“You put it on?”

“Course I did.”

It’s already playing—the show you love, the one he secretly watches without you but swears he doesn’t. You smile softly, cheek still pressed to the pillow, and mumble—

“You’re my husband.”

Joel freezes.

You don’t even seem to notice. “You are,” you continue dreamily. “In my dream, you were. We had a dog and you made me tea. You always made me tea.”

He huffs a laugh, trying to play it off, but his ears are pink and you’re too out of it to register how that affects him. You reach out and tap his chest with two weak fingers like you’re proving a point.

“You smell good. Like wood and soup.”

Joel chokes on a laugh. “Wood and soup? That’s my cologne now?”

“Mhm.”

“You’re high as hell, baby.”

“And you liked it when I was bossy,” you add, barely whispering.

That gets him to smile again. Barely. “Is that so?”

You give the tiniest nod and go limp again in the blankets, thoroughly pleased with yourself.

“See? I win.”

And that’s the part that kills him. That smug little doped-up smirk. You’re delirious, running a 101 fever, half out of your mind on cold meds and NyQuil and somehow still acting like you beat him at something.

Joel exhales slowly, like you’ve knocked the wind out of him.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, brushing your hair back from your forehead again, his voice all gravel and honey. “You win, baby.”

You wake up late. Sun’s higher, room warmer. Your throat’s dry and your limbs ache less, but your brain is just starting to reboot. The blanket is still tucked under your chin, and Joel’s sweatshirt is still hanging off your frame, sleeves bunched at the wrists.

He’s not in the room, but his hoodie still smells like him. Wood and laundry soap and something warm. You pull the blanket higher, then sniff the air. Coffee. He’s up.

You drag yourself into the kitchen, wrapped in a blanket like some kind of feral Victorian ghost, and Joel just turns around from the stove like he was expecting it.

“You shouldn’t be up yet,” he says, but there’s no heat in it.

You rub your eyes. “Fever’s down.”

“Still. You look like you got hit by a truck.”

“Thanks, babe.”

He snorts. “C’mon, sit. Made tea.”

You blink. “Tea?”

“Figured you’d want it.” He sets a mug down in front of you, perfectly steeped, the exact kind you always make when you’re sick.

You squint at him. “You… don’t even drink tea.”

“Don’t gotta drink it to know how you like it.”

That makes you pause.

Something about the way he says it. The look in his eyes. Something… lingering.

“…Did I say something weird last night?”

Joel doesn’t answer immediately. His mouth twitches, almost like he’s trying to smother a smile.

You narrow your eyes. “Joel.”

“You said a lot of things.”

“Okay but—bad things? Embarrassing things?”

He shrugs. “Not bad.”

You stare at him for a moment longer. He’s being way too calm.

“What did I say?”

“Nothin’ you gotta worry about.”

“No—what did I say.”

He takes a sip of his coffee, looks over the rim of the mug like he’s just so pleased with himself.

“You don’t remember?”

“Joel—”

He leans in just a little, voice low and far too casual.

“You called me your husband.”

You freeze. Stare at him. Eyes wide. Brain short-circuiting.

“I what—”

Joel shrugs, smug. “Real soft, too. All dreamy. Said we had a dog. I made you tea. Said I liked it when you were bossy.”

You bite back a smile. “…Was it the fat beagle?”

“Damn right it was the fat beagle.”

You bury your face in your hands, immediately ready to melt through the floor.

“Noooo. No I didn’t.”

“Sure did. Was adorable.”

You groan louder. “Please tell me you’re lying.”

“I wouldn’t do that to my wife.”

You squeak.

He grins.

I wish he was real you guys.

I hope you enjoyed this fic, feedback is always welcome!

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[grimmbunniee]

A little bit of me dies everytime I see y’all hc Hobie as this mean toxic punk rockstar boyfriend. Like tell me where in the fucking flim was he rude once. He literally helped Miles despite barely know him, he’s friends with Pavitr they even have a handshake, he let Gwen crash in his universe because she was homeless. Also to the people who say he is stinky and wouldn’t take care of his hair. Y’all are so fucking annoying and clearly don’t know how black hair works, especially wicks or any form of locs. Like hobie is the most kind and caring person around. He definitely wouldn’t abuse you, lay hands on you or cheat on you. Also his whole “I don’t believe in labels or I don’t believe in consistency” was a quip, a fucking joke all spider variants make stupid quip’s underneath the mask😭. Stop making that his whole fucking personality and stop using that to undermine his punk values. It’s like with Pavitr’s “chai tea” joke y’all made it that kids whole personality trait 😭.

Maybe I’m reaching with this but a lot y’all’s hc are starting to be Anti-black

To the next person who hcs him as toxic mean person I’m in your walls and I’m stealing your favorite things.

[starlit-writer]

omega!reader leaving alpha!simon's quarters after throwing a protein bar wrapper into a corner and freaking out

[calebs-cutie]

I'm gonna hold yalls hand when I say this again

if you're gonna name the reader that isn't Y/N or (your name), or the character saying their name without those two I mentioned if it bothers you

tag it properly as oc x canon. not x reader. that is NOT my name.

(and yes, I will be blocking, but it's still gonna pop up everywhere so I need at least SOMEONE to try and get me.)

[somber-sapphic]

I’ve been laid up in bed all weekend with some chest thing. I think my body is trying to get bronchitis. I just want Maya and Carina to take care of me. Any chance you could write a Marina taking care of reader for me?

Waiting For Morning

〖Summary: Carina and Maya watch over you while you sleep.〗

〖Word Count: 795〗

〖Pairing: Marina x sick R〗

〖Notes: Hi anon! I'm sorry you're not feeling well :(. Drink lots of fluids, rest and please go to the doctor if you need to. I hope this helps you feel a little better <3〗

“Maybe we should take them in,” Maya whispered, trying very hard not to disturb you from your fitful slumber. You had finally managed to fall asleep, but it wasn’t restful in the slightest. You were still coughing even in your sleep, it was a wheezy rattling sound that took so much energy out of you. 

She had told you to keep an eye on that cold, Carina had done the same. When they had first started to fuss over you it felt so unnecessary. The common cold was something you could brush off. Until it wasn't. Something about this cold had been different, you hadn’t thought much about the clinging cough but when the fever struck you knew something was wrong. 

“No, not yet. They need to rest. We’ll keep an eye on their breathing and temperature, if it gets worse we can take them.” Carina replied, shifting ever so slightly to help you get more comfortable. She had surrendered herself as a living body pillow hours ago, abandoning the nice dinner that she had been attempting to cook. 

Maya didn’t seem convinced; her face had been pinched into a concerned expression since you had started to deteriorate and she refused to leave your side. While you clung to Carina she clung to you, worried that something would go wrong the second she took her eyes off you. 

“They’ve been getting worse!” Maya hissed, tucking strands of hair behind your ear, periodically brushing a thumb against your cheek. 

It was something she’d started to do after you’d had a nightmare and she picked up the habit after noticing how well it calmed you down. Now, whenever you were stressed, had a bad dream, or were sick she’d stroke your cheekbone and brush your hair behind your ear. The combination always worked. 

You stirred, waking to a coughing fit that just couldn’t be ignored. You curled yourself into a ball and coughed into Carina’s side, not fully aware of her surroundings. The brunette didn’t protest, she and Maya just rubbed your back and waited for the fit to pass. 

When you finally pealed your eyes open with a small sniffle you looked up into the face of the doctor who smiled back at you. For a moment you considered apologizing but you were too tired. You knew she didn’t care anyway so apologizing wouldn’t matter. 

“Hello, my love. How are you feeling?” You grunted in response and shrugged, rolling to your other side to face Maya. The blonde kissed your forehead and the tip of your nose, doing her best to make you smile. It worked, it always worked. Even when she was stressed Maya could always make you smile. 

“Time’sit?” You croaked, pulling yourself up onto your elbows. The small movement made you dizzy, and you regretted whatever urge decided that you needed to move in the first place. Your whole body hurt, your lungs aching alongside the rest of your muscles. 

“A little past two in the morning. Can you tell us how you’re feeling?” Maya asked moving closer, to help prop you up. You leaned against her and shrugged again, already letting your eyes shut for another moment.

“Not great. Why’re you guys still up?” You reached blindly for Carina, hitting her lightly until you found her hand to hold. Her hands were soft and warm in contrast to Maya’s calloused palms. The two were polar opposites, sometimes it surprised you that they managed not to kill each other at the beginning of your relationship. 

“It’s hard to sleep when someone you love is sick,” Carina said, cringing at her words. “God that was corny, wasn’t it?” Maya laughed and your lips quirked up in a smile. It was corny, but you loved it. 

“It was pretty bad.” You admitted, lowering yourself back against the pillows. This time you dragged Maya with you so that you were sandwiched more comfortably between your girlfriends. You sniffled tiredly and shivered, your discomfort reemerging. 

Carina brought the blanket up over your shoulders and Maya kissed your shoulder, both of them doing the best they could to help you feel better. 

“If you aren’t breathing better in the morning we’re going to Grey Sloan.” The brunette decided, her anxiety winning over what she knew was likely something that could clear up on its own. She was okay with being overprotective when it came to you. Maya nodded her agreement, but you had already started to fall asleep again, not noticing her reaction. 

“Get some rest for now. We’ll see how you’re doing in the morning.” The firefighter wrapped an arm around your waist, spooning you against Carina. The three of you lay like that in a warm cocoon, your girlfriends joining you in sleep only moments later. 

[fenrins]

im gonna be a hater tonight but idc! its a lomg one but i rlly wanted to rant 😔😔

im just gonna go right in and say it: some house of the dragon characters are unoriginal and lazy, and it pisses me tf off. im sick and tired of seeing the same oc regurgitated in this fandom bc istg half of these hotd ocs are literally just daenerys targaryen thrown back in time under a different name.

i usually dont care abt fanfic because its fanfic. nothing i can do, its probably some child having fun, but like i said im just TIRED of looking through hotd fanfics and seeing daenerys pop up as a faceclaim, and then going on to see that half (or all) of dany’s entire character is put into an oc with little to no actual originality if this makes sense.

before i get into this, what the fuck happened to the originality in original character? like genuinely? this is mainly abt one oc i legit just saw like an hour ago off of tiktok bc but still this applies to the daenerys knockoffs i (regularly) see and cry abt like my grown ass should not care but i do!!!!

starting off, the oc’s name is daenera. cool! fine! she’s not a daughter of rhaenyra which is a slay, but is a daughter of alicent and viserys which eh, good enough. we go on to find out that for some reason vizzy t and ali hate her, and at age 16 they decide to ship her off to pentos so she can marry a dothraki warlord. im not even joking. aside from that, she’s in pentos for a year, and comes back with an army of 550k and three dragons. okay hello daenerys! anyways she apparently fights for rhaenyra, but also bangs aemond, daemon, and cregan in the two year timeframe that the dance takes place in.

no one is gonna read this but my ass is mad and idgaf! i need to complain!! but anyways, i am sick and tired of the ocs that are just cheap copies of daenerys because at what point is this an original character? if youre using a faceclaim of daenerys for your character and essentially adding her entire plotline onto your oc, is it even an oc anymore? like i get being inspired to base a character off of her because dany is literally the blueprint, but copy and pasting her entire character and then going off and ignoring grrm’s established lore (yes, its a fanfic, but ive seen too many oc’s claim both cannibal AND vermithor at the same time and i am TIRED) is just lazy and boring.

i wish people did more with their hotd ocs honestly. like theres hundreds of houses and shit and actual ORIGINAL ideas one could use instead of just taking dany’s whole character and just making it their own. i dont even want to start an argument with this but i NEED to see more original characters. like im writing my own two on wattpad rn (one’s a dragonseed whos like schizophrenic idk and the other’s a mormont who slays the day away) but even then i just need more than aemond x his sister or niece or smth idk yk??

im just reiterating points ive made but man its just ughhhh

[5mary5]

Mc who not only is stubborn but also has a pretty strong immune system/ doesn't get a cold easily, so when they come down with a devildom flu (or flu/sickeness in general) they aren't convinced they are sick even if they are couching and trembling from the sheer cold they feel!

Mc: I'm fine- *COUGHS* I'm telling you! *says in a rapsy voice*

*Whoever obey me character is with them at the moment or taking care of them looking at them sternly as he takes the thermometer to count their temperature while forcing them to lay down* oh for the love of diavolo just stay still and listen to me!

Mc: but I'm fin- *gets cut of from the sudden urge to throw up* ...yeah actually-

Character: that's what I thought, now lay down to rest, let me take your temperature and make you some warm tea/ camomile with honey, or milk whatever you like!

[fallenbratfiction]

rain and regret ~ loki x f! reader

This fic is part of the In sickness and in health series! Where a lot of different favorite characters take turns to take care of you. 🧻🌡️🩹

masterlist faq

A/N; He's so fucking dramatic AAAAAAAAAA he's acting like you got the damn plague or something awful of the sort.

minors dni. i am not responsible for what you consume.

do not copy, translate or claim any of my stories as your own.

The rain starts suddenly, tapping gently on the floor-to-ceiling windows of the lounge. You glance up from your coffee. Thor notices the gleam in your eyes before Loki even lifts his head.

“No,” Loki says immediately.

“Yes,” you say, already standing.

Thor beams. “A storm! I shall join you!”

Loki groans, setting down his book. “You’re not children.”

You spin toward him at the door, dripping anticipation and glee. “Says you, the literal God of Mischief.”

Thor lets out a booming laugh. “She has you there, brother!”

Loki’s eye twitches.

“I wreak controlled mischief,” he mutters, folding his arms tighter. “Not puddle-soaked madness.”

You don’t even reply—you just sprint into the rooftop garden barefoot, arms open, hoodie bouncing, socks already soggy, Thor thundering after you.

The sleek stone paths are quickly covered in puddles, the air smells like ozone, and your laughter echoes through the Tower.

Thor crashes out behind you, shouting war cries as you chase him in circles through the wet grass and stone. You slip once—catch yourself and cackle like an absolute menace.

From the doors, Loki watches.

Arms crossed. Jaw tight. His silhouette sharp in the dim interior light.

“Absolutely unhinged,” he mutters. “Someone electrocuted her brain as a child.”

Eventually, soaked to the bone and breathless from laughter, you came stumbling back inside, trailing muddy footprints and giggling like you’d just outrun death.

Loki was waiting.

He didn’t say anything. Just walked forward, placed a towel on your head like a parent too tired to scold, and started patting your arms dry with another one.

“Happy?” he asked flatly.

“Ecstatic,” you beamed.

“Moron,” he replied gently.

Thor just let out a deep, satisfied sigh and said, “That was magnificent.”

“I swear to the Nine, if you fall ill—”

“I won’t,” you say, too fast.

He narrows his eyes. “You will.”

Later...

The room is dark and quiet. The rain still whispers against the windows.

You’re curled up in bed, shivering under layers of blankets, a tissue clutched in one hand and a cup of barely-sipped tea on the nightstand.

“I told you not to go out in the rain,” Loki says, arms folded, his voice sharp—defensive. But underneath it: worry.

“I was out there for five minutes,” you rasp.

You try to laugh. It comes out as a cough. Loki’s eyes flash with alarm.

Without another word, he kneels by the bed, his tone shifting from annoyed to concerned beyond comprehension.

“You mortals are so… fragile.” He brushes a strand of damp hair from your forehead, frowning. “Is this… normal? To look like you’ve been cursed by a frost giant and then claim you’re ‘fine’?”

You manage a weak smirk. “It’s just the flu, Your Highness.”

He glares at you, then stands and swishes his hand—suddenly the tea is steaming hot again, the pillows fluffier, the blanket heavier.

“Better,” he declares, smoothing the blanket over your chest. “You will rest. You will drink. You will not die of this absurd condition, or I swear I will enchant your immune system myself.”

“Is that a thing?”

“For you? I’ll make it a thing.”

Later, when you drift into a fitful sleep, Loki doesn’t leave.

He sits beside you, conjuring small spells of cooling mist for your forehead, whispering in Old Norse to soothe your dreams. When you stir, eyes hazy, he leans down and murmurs, barely audible:

“You must recover. I am not yet done loving you.”

The hallway is quiet.

Dimly lit by warm sconces and the faintest shimmer of magic, it feels like a dream as you step out, the blanket draped around your shoulders trailing behind you like a cape. You’re barefoot. Sniffling. Half-asleep. But your body noticed his absence, and that was enough to rouse you.

“Loki?” your voice is hoarse—barely above a whisper, soft like cracked porcelain. You sound like a Victorian ghost haunting the corridors of her lover’s estate.

You catch him off guard.

He’s seated on the floor, leaning against the wall, knees drawn up, a hand over his mouth. But not fast enough.

You see it. The shine in his eyes. The way he quickly wipes his cheeks with the heel of his palm, trying to make it look effortless. Like he wasn’t crying in the hallway over you.

“What are you doing out of bed?” he asks, standing swiftly, voice low and tight. “You shouldn’t be up.”

You shuffle toward him, blanket still wrapped around your shoulders. “What are you doing crying in the hallway?”

He falters.

“I’m just…” he swallows, hands twitching at his sides. “Worried. That’s all, my love.”

You blink at him, voice raspy as you deadpan, “Dude. It’s the flu. I’m not dying.”

He exhales a breathy, incredulous laugh—but there’s no mockery in it. Just relief. Just you. Standing there like a sleepy little gremlin, dragging your blanket like a train.

“I know that,” he says softly. “But it’s never... just the flu when it’s you.”

You step into him. He immediately wraps his arms around your shoulders, blanket and all. You melt into his chest like he’s gravity.

“I’ve seen gods fall,” he murmurs, lips brushing the top of your head. “But nothing ever felt as terrifying as watching you burn up and not being able to stop it.”

You tilt your head up, brow bumping his chin.

“You big softie.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” he mumbles into your hair. “It’ll ruin my brand.”

You smile.

“I’ll take it to the grave,” you whisper, before pulling him back toward the room. “Now come on, I need you to warm my feet before I freeze to death.”

You shuffle back to bed wrapped in your blanket like a burrito, sniffling but victorious for having made it down the hall and emotionally checked on your God of Meltdowns.

Loki helps you ease under the covers without a word, conjures a mug of tea with a flick of his fingers, and gently places it in your hands.

“Small sips,” he murmurs, crouching at the edge of the bed like a healer at your feet.

You raise a brow at him over the rim of your cup. “What, no lecture this time?”

His eyes flick to yours. “I think you’ve suffered enough.”

He says it lightly, but there’s something heavy in his voice.

You just drink your tea—warm, minty, a little sweet. He vanishes beneath the blankets to press his fingers around your feet. With a quiet spell, heat radiates gently through them.

You hum in response.

He gives a quiet snort, and then he’s moving again—slipping into bed on the other side of you, pulling you back against his chest in one slow, protective motion. His arms curl around your middle, locking you in like you’re the last thing holding him together. You don’t resist.

His forehead presses into the curve of your shoulder.

You breathe. He breathes with you.

His magic flickers again—faint, warm, steady. A soft buzz at your sternum, like he’s trying to anchor himself to the rhythm of your heartbeat.

You wake up in the middle of the night, groggy and flushed. You’re not burning up, but you’re hot enough to feel gross, and the congestion has hit full force.

You let out a few rough coughs—not violent, but deep enough that your chest aches a little.

Loki stirs immediately beside you. He sits up halfway, one hand braced on the bed, the other gently touching your back.

“You’re alright?” he murmurs, sleep-rough and tense.

You nod weakly, coughing into the crook of your arm. “Just… stuffy. Gross.”

He watches you like he’s trying to read your pulse with his eyes alone. Then he exhales, brushing your hair from your forehead.

“Please don’t do that again,” he whispers. “Don’t go out in the rain like that. Don’t—don’t scare me like this.”

You blink at him. “Loki, I’m okay. It’s just a cold.”

“I know,” he says. But he doesn’t sound convinced. “I know.”

And then he lies back down and pulls you to him anyway, like he still needs proof that you’re alive and warm and real.

He presses his forehead to yours, eyes closed, like he’s trying to draw breath from you. As if your existence is what’s holding him together.

You fall asleep like that, wrapped in his arms, his magic pulsing faintly against your back.

I hope you enjoyed this as much as I've enjoyed writing it! If you need more comfort fics, check out the series linked at the top!

Would you like to join the taglist for this series? Comment below and you shall be magically added!

Shares, Reblogs, Likes and Comments help stories grow! I'm thankful for each one of them✨✨🩷

[x-junwrites-x]

OH OH UHMMMMM WHATCHA THINK ABOUT A LITTLE DRABBLE OF TORD TAKING CARE OF SICK READER?? I’m sick and I’m in HORRIBLE misery :(

NO RUUUSHHH!! <333

Sorry this took a while to get to anon, I hope you felt better not long after you sent this ask! Enjoy the sick fic fluff:)

-Jun

Sick Fic(Tord x Reader Fluff)

tw: none

Tord looked down at his watch, noticing the way it showed just past 10 in the morning. He had let you sleep in, knowing you had a late night yesterday, despite your shared texts of you promising you’d be ready for him to be over no later than 9am, before you had gone to sleep. Now he was at your door, having knocked once and not hearing a peep. He squinted at the door like it was going to open for him. 

“Where…” He muttered, deciding to take matters into his own hands and seek you out from your bedroom window. Wasn’t the first time he did this. He had gotten an earful from you the last time he did it though. He smirked, you were cute when you were flustered. Especially if he was the one to make you flustered. 

But before he could step from the porch, the door opened. His mouth parted to greet you in that playfully annoying way he always did before the words were dying in his throat at the sight of you.

Your shirt was rucked up slightly, showing a peek of the soft skin of your stomach, pajama pants barely covering mismatched socks. His gray eyes snapped back to your face, hearing the way you sniffled and instantly noticed the pink of your nose and the fatigue apparent in your features. It looked like you hadn’t slept a wink despite your sleep-rumpled appearance.

“So you’re sick." He stated more than asked, earning an eye roll from you.

“Yeah, sorry, I meant to message you earlier that you shouldn’t come over, but I fell back asleep before I could.” You murmured, voice sounding scratchy as hell. Near a croak. He frowned. Stepping forward easily, he laid the back of his hand against your forehead, clicking his tongue in disapproval at the temperature he was met with.

“Can’t you do anything right.” He scoffed quietly, moving through your doorway before you could respond. “I’m staying here with you. You clearly can't take care of yourself in this state.” 

“I-” You began, feeling like you should defend yourself.

“No, you’re getting back into bed while I make you something to eat and get you medicine.” He turned back to you, noticing the way you hadn't moved from the door. “You haven’t eaten yet have you?” You shrunk back sheepishly. He tisked. 

“Klovn, get back to bed.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he heard you scuffle in place. He opened his eyes, seeing the way you held yourself when you were self conscious. His gaze softened slightly.

You blinked as he approached you in that calm way of his, eyes searching your tired ones. You felt awful honestly. You woke up to a dry scratchy throat, an irritated stuffy nose, and your skin felt as though it was too tight for your bones. Awful. And he could see it in the way you watched him blearily. His hand reached up to cup your cheek, thumb drawing soothing circles over your heated skin.

“My søt, you need to rest in order to feel better.” He leaned in softly, lips meeting your forehead. He pulled back with a frown, not liking the fever that wracked your body. “Let me take care of you.” He murmured, looking at the way you blinked slowly. It looked like you were about to cry. He tucked you into his arms, pressing your head lightly into his shoulder as you sank into his embrace with a sniffle. It was a few moments of the two of you standing there before he was humming at your little nod and ‘thank you’ you laid against his neck. “Go. Bed.” He ordered, pushing you away lightly. 

You sniffled, this time from your stuffy nose. 

“Okay.” You said weakly, turning back to head down the hallway to your bedroom. “Don’t burn the kitchen down.” You heard the way he grumbled loudly at your retreating back as you grinned to yourself.

 *

You blinked awake at the light prodding to your arm over the covers, turning with a grumble as you saw Tord looking down at you the way a cat greets you in the mornings. 

“I need you to try eating something before you sleep more, kjære.” He said softly, voice tender in a way you hadn’t heard from him in a while. The first time was when he uttered the three words that made you melt after your first real fight. His gaze was as honest as he’d ever been, the look made you feel something you had carefully tucked into your ribs for later. 

You pouted, tucking your chin into the blanket as you tugged it up with a hand. He huffed, amused. 

“Come on.” He coaxed you with a kiss to your forehead, helping you sit up as you stared at the bowl with a small bit of soup. Your eyebrows raised, looking back up at him as he sat next to you. You knew you didn’t have any canned chicken soups lying around, having run out of them last week from a couple weeks of late nights at work.

“What?” Tord squinted at you as if offended. “You know I can cook sometimes.” Making you smile at his tone. He pushed the bowl into your hands, arms crossing over his chest in wait as you brought the spoon to your lips. Though you barely could smell it through your stuffy nose, you favored the warmth the porcelain seeped into your fingers. He watched in patient silence as you nearly finished the small portion before you were handing the bowl back to him. Only a small bit of the soup left. “Thank you.” You whispered, closing your eyes as the warmth of the soup eased your throat some.

“No sleeping yet, nydelig.” He murmured, shifting to turn to the table at your bedside, picking up the medicine you had stashed away behind your bathroom sink cabinet. “This should help you feel better too. Disgusting, but you have to take it.” He saw the way you grimaced as he handed you the bottle, taking the cap off for you and the dose cup it came with. You blinked as you watched him pour the medicine for you, the amber liquid looking unappealing.

“Down the hatch.” He said, raising his brows at your hesitance. “You were practically shoving this down my throat when I was sick, don’t make me do that to you.” He huffed, earning a whine. 

“Fine.” You grumbled, tipping your head back to swallow the medicine quickly. You gagged at the taste, shaking your head as he chuckled. You knocked his arm with yours, handing the bottle and cap to him.

“There we go.” He said, kissing the back of your hand before he got up to take the bowl and medicine back to the kitchen and bathroom respectively. You watched him go, head still feeling muddy with tiredness as you laid back down. You turned, laying on your side now as you fiddled with the loose thread of the pillow case. His footsteps padded down the hallway to your room again, door closing slightly behind him until there was only a crack of light between the sunlight of the hallway and the dimness of your room. The Norwegian moved to the other side of the bed, mattress big enough for the two of you to sleep comfortably together. You looked at him in surprise again. 

“You’ll get sick.” You whispered, watching the way he shrugged noncommittally. He took his phone out before moving under the blanket with you. 

“I’ll be fine, go back to sleep. You’ll feel better.” He said, squinting down at the screen before scrolling up. You sighed, tucking a cough into the blanket around your fist. He looked at you then, eyes roving over your face. He turned to face you, fingers tucking hair away from your face.

“Sleep.” He whispered, caressing your cheek as your eyes fluttered shut. 

“Thank you.” You whispered again, tucking your chin back under the sheets.

“Klovn.” Tord muttered, 

“Don’t thank me for this.” Was all you heard before you drifted to sleep. 

Fin.

[gyuville]

no bc i really don't trust people who genuinely think saiki hates his friends. like i get it, saiki does wanna be alone most times. but did they miss the eps where saiki kept an eye on his friends even when they weren't together and helped them?? i mean i could name numerous cases where he puts his friends above all else. i thought we all knew saiki is an unreliable narrator?? 😭 plus his mother did Not raise him like that

[assmaster-8000]

no because what if gojo satoru had found another special grade child. a child whom the jujutsu higher-ups wanted satoru to mentor because they'd be a useful trump card to the jujutsu society so naturally they'd want this child's talent to be honed till they potentially surpass satoru and be used. but satoru had seen too much of what this world had done to the person he'd love the most and he wouldn't ever be the one to subject another person to it like a tool. like a weapon. like a machine. so of course he takes them under his wing and gives them the guidance he never had, suguru never had. a 20 year old prodigy fresh with wounds of loss and grief taking in a child with greatness sitting on their head like a heavy crown cutting into their skin underneath his cape of power and blood stains. satoru is an enigma and even he himself doesn't know if it's because he wants to mold more strong jujutsu sorcerers who will change this world (because what greater irony than the child you wanted to utilize like a cold knife being the one to bring reform right to your door?), or if he wants to give them everything everyone else didn't have (please, he can't have someone follow in suguru's footsteps.), or if being number 1 was too tiring for him (but he doesn't know if it's selfish bringing them up to this blinding spotlight.)

years pass and he vehemently denies the higher ups control over his protégé, his student, his brat. he'll give them control and the means to break out of the shackles of this damned hierarchy. and even if satoru cannot outwardly say it, they're his child. as though he was there at their birth and has been ever since. his child and his best friend and he's their father and their best friend. it's either he sees too much of himself in them or too much of suguru because they're rising to the top fast and he's proud of them and so full of dangerous hope their wings aren't made of wax. (but he'll be there to catch them if they'll ever fall, of course!) they're so strong now. if he was blessed by the heavens and the earth then perhaps they were born of it because look at them go! giving the great gojo satoru a run for his money! not everyone can do that, you know? they're such a great student and person! isn't he such a great mentor?!

so he decides to have faith in them. bring them along with him to shibuya to deal with those reports of special grade curses he was being told about. this is how your teacher deals with these curses! better watch closely because you'll probably have to do it too! he has them positioned on the sidelines to ensure the civilians aren't hurt and if anything, to aid him because they're gonna be the strongest some day too so they can't be lazing a round on their ass all the time.

and they're doing so well until kenjaku comes along. satoru's breath stops and his heart rattles against the prison bars of his ribcage but it isn't the stupor of seeing his lost love that doomed him to the box. his special grade student lurches to -- what, attack kenjaku? pull satoru away? run? it didn't matter what. it was all a blur -- wards him and his body moves on an instinct that's even stronger that the compass needle pointing to suguru's body.

no, no.. that isn't suguru. it's his body and that's not him. somethings not right. but his student is right infront of him and that's them and he can't let anything bad happen to them now. flexing infront of his student can be saved for another day. but it's this mistake that ends up setting him right into kenjaku's trap and the box. the moment his gaze snaps to them and his body is torn between suguru infront of him and them kenjaku sees an opportunity and snaps it up like it's golden.

satoru doesn't even get the mere moment of chained freedom before he's fully trapped in the box. with the special grade student there, kenjaku needs to make it quick. make it count. he does. satoru is pulled into the box and satoru can't even say anything to his student. and he worries in his infinitesimal prison. satoru never usually worries unless if it's his leftovers have gone bad in the fridge.

they'll be alright.

they'll be alright.

they'll be alright, won't they?

they're strong.

they're capable.

they're smart.

he's raised them well they'll be okay they've got friends.

they'll do the right thing.

...

and when satoru finally exits the box he's sees faces changed. they tell him a lot about what they've been through, about what has changed since he's been gone, what changed about them.

he sees yuuji has been weathered with pain and a unique sense of hope.

he sees megumi has been puppeted with the strings of despair by sukuna.

he sees maki has faced the fiery trials and tribulations of this cruel world and bears it like her trophy.

he sees...

he sees nothing of his student. his special student. where are they? injured? somewhere off in the game? will they be back soon? time's a-running out, you know.

he sees the looks his students exchange and his heart drops. he knows. he knows. he knows what must've happened.

they're dead, aren't they?

and he's brought back to the time he carried riko's dead body in his arms and he was met with the disappearing suguru in the crowd and suguru slumped against the wall.

it's happened again.

they tell him they were a hero. that in satoru's absence, they did the heavy lifting and protected shibuya from the full-on destruction it would've suffered if not for them. that if not for them, the jujutsu world would've been left in even deeper disrepair. they saved some of their fellow sorcerers from certain death and suffering! they were the one to grapple with sukuna when he let all havoc ravage the city.

they paid with their life.

all because they were too worried about getting these normal civilians back home safe. about keeping their friends and mentors safe. and satoru wonders if there was someone else worrying about keeping them safe.

... atleast he didn't have to worry about them following in suguru's footsteps and the hatred of regular civilians. they were good of heart and soul. they were strong.

they did the right thing.

and satoru has a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that the person he's raised for, what, 10 years? is dead. gone. deceased. that's just preposterous! he was there when they were a snobby little kid and he was there when they were going through that awkward phase and he was there when they were learning more and more as a teenager and where are they now?

sukuna asks him that. "where's that miniature personification of yours? hah, don't tell me they died the last i saw them. have the special grades of this era started to slack off?"

satoru has all the more reason to kill sukuna now. he has to show his students who are watching that he can do it.

even if they will no longer watch him do anything.

[ilycove]

Cove’s hands traveled across your body, an almost motherly expression on his face. "I feel like your fever's gotten worse."

You turn over in his tight hold, your eyes clashing with the ocean. "Maybe it's because you keep cuddling me."

Cove doesn’t reply. He doesn’t have to, really. A hand of his stays at your waist while one travels up to your chest. He places it on your heart and feels his heartbeat beat at the same time as yours. It’s gentle, but so prominent.

You place your head over his chest. He notices you’re warm, really warm.  He goes to offer some water, or maybe soup, but you tell him you’re fine. 

At that moment, it’s only you and him who exist. Everybody else in your neighborhood doesn’t matter, it’s only your home that has life in it. His fingers draw circles against your skin, and if your fever wasn’t making it hard enough to keep your eyes open, he was definitely elevating that battle. He notices this, just like every other little thing about you, and you can’t stop him from offering this time. “I really don’t mind making you soup.”

“I do.” You lift your head and try to keep your eyes open to meet his again, and almost immediately drop it.

“Oh.” You watch as his eyes follow to the ground, but the corner of his lips tug into a small smile.

You lazily wrap an arm around his waist, pulling him even closer than your bodies would allow. You match his breathing with his, and suddenly everything sucks a lot less. You stay like that for a moment before deciding you needed his voice again. “Do you think we would’ve found each other in another life?”

He doesn’t miss a beat before replying with; “Of course.”

“...Same. I think that if you were an otter, I’d never let go of you so we never drifted apart,” You paused. You met his eyes again, smiling softly. “If you were a prince in a foreign land, and you were forced to marry someone else, I’d help you run away. I’d send you love letters every night and pray you’d read them.”  You closed your eyes and hum, comfortably. You barely even notice that his eyes lingered on your figure. He takes a deep breath, and you feel his voice.

"...I think that, if you were a star, I'd become an astronaut. And I'd study you for years to come."

You hum, closing your eyes once again and letting yourself sink into his presence. "And what if I exploded? Like a supernova?"

"Then I'd take the little pieces of your stardust and compact you back together."

"And if I slip through your fingers?"

He pressed a kiss in between your eyes. You can feel him smile against your skin. "Then I would know that it's for the better. I'd make sure every scientist and astrologer alike knew your name. And you'd still be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he pauses to take a breath, bittersweetly smiling. “I think I’d always miss you in my bones. Grief and growing wouldn’t be enough to forget about you. About us.”

You don’t reply at first. You’re thinking about what to say when his hands come up to your scalp to play with your hair, his fingernails scratch against your scalp and you can’t keep your eyes open anymore. 

Once Cove notices you on the brink of unconsciousness, he laughs and you can feel it vibrate through your bodies. He kisses the crown of your head. He says something, but you didn’t quite hear his voice. You only heard his heartbeat.

“I’ll love you when our hair turns gray. We’ll live in an old cottage, maybe not too far away from here so our kids could still have an experience like ours. Maybe not. I’m not too sure yet,” his fingers curl around some wisps of hair and pull you further into a sleepy trance. “...We could have a cardboard box full of photos throughout our life. I’m sure your moms have some baby pictures of us together. I think our kids would be envious of us.” He seals off his speech with a chuckle.

You don’t know which hand it was, but one of his hands starts holding one of yours. He presses a kiss to your cheekbone and whispers against your ear. “I love you.”

You knew that already. You squeeze his hand three times. You love him too.