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sunflowersandsapphires · 6 months

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Self-Indulgent HCs

pairing(s): Frank Castle x fem!Reader, Matt Murdock x fem!Reader, Michael Kinsella x fem!Reader

summary: How each of the boys would care for you when you were sick, headcanons bc i am tired

warnings: non-graphic, general descriptions of sickness (just cold/fever, not covid)

a/n: this month was already rough on my allergies but i came down with quite possibly the worst cold I’ve ever had. (It’s literally so bad i had to use PTO instead of WFH days? I am literally dying.) I wrote this when I was feverish and couldn’t sleep to make myself feel better. I hope someone out there likes it 😭

Frank

I think Frank would worry a lot when his partner was sick.

He’s lost so many people and he doesn’t have a huge circle so i think it takes him by surprise a little.

But he’d do his best to hide his worries by going about his day and comforting you.

He’d get fresh produce from the store and make you delicious soup, pick up tissues and medicine for you, threaten anyone who tried to make you go into work

“Your boss still pullin’ that shit? Gimme the phone, let me talk to ‘em”

He loves being your big spoon anyways but he would not let you go if you looked or sounded ill. You’d be nestled carefully against his chest while he stroked your back until you fell asleep.

He’d keep you entertained by reading to you or watching whatever TV your fever-ridden mind is craving.

Above all, he wouldn’t leave your side until you were feeling better.

The smile on his face the next time you take him out would be brilliant. He’s just so happy that you’re here with him and feeling better.

Matt

Personally, i hate the idea of getting people sick more than actually being sick sometimes but i think this would especially be the case with Matt

His senses are so delicate, I wouldn’t want to fuck with him by being gross and loud or by getting him sick.

But there is no way this man isn’t the biggest self-sacrificing-mother-hen when someone he loves is sick.

He’d sense your illness before you would, and encourage you to take it easy and sleep a bit extra that week (above all, he’s a hypocrite.)

Of course, he’s a bit embarrassed of everything he can do, or maybe you don’t know the extent of what he is capable of, so he plays it off as “you’ve been working so hard lately, sweetheart, you need to take it easy.”

A day or two before the bug hits you like a truck, he’d come over with a bag from the pharmacy that’s just chock-full of DayQuil and Tea and cough drops and like a single bandaid

He poorly plays it off as “uh, your first aid kit was low, remember?”

Once you’re well and truly sick, he’d be stubborn as a mule if you tried to keep him away. You lock him out of your apartment? You wake up from a nap wrapped in a Devil-shaped blanket to find that someone picked your window lock.

At that point, you just cave and let him stay because you are so cold and he’s so so warm.

Mikey

Not afraid of using his puppy dog eyes to get you to stay home or in bed.

Also not afraid of crying wolf and pretending that he’s not feeling well to make you take a break

“Sorry, pet, my head is hammerin’. Think we could lay down fer a bit?”

Combined WITH the puppy eyes? You don’t stand a chance.

Though you usually take care of the housework while he’s dealing with his family’s business, he wouldn’t let you lift a finger until your temperature was normal and your voice came back.

It’s as if you’re the only person that exists to him, he’s running around trying to anticipate your every need.

It’s been a while since he’s dealt with the real world so he might ask Birdy for advice on how to care for a sick person.

Lots of home remedies (idk just vibes.)

He would have you lean against him in a scalding shower to clear your sinuses or draw you a nice bath.

Keep cool water and a cloth by the bed to bring your fever down.

Hand you cup after cup of tea until you have to threaten to tie him to the bed.

“Just lay with me, please”

“Of course, pet. Anything fer ya.”

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farfromstrange · 11 months

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Pain Relief | Michael Kinsella x F!Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x F!Reader

Summary: You're on your period and you tend to get bad periods, but today is a particularly rough day. You call in sick from work, and when Mikey comes home to find you still in bed, he gets worried. When he finds out why you're writhing in pain, he doesn't hesitate to help you out.

Warnings: Description of period symptoms, use of pain killers, mentions of menstrual blood, fluff, fluff, FLUFF.

Word Count: 2.9k

A/n: So I just got my period and I could barely move for the past three hours. I wrote this while I was literally bawling from the pain, but I thought some of you might need this as well. There is a serious lack of period comfort with Mikey.

It’s half past three in the afternoon, and the sun is up over Dublin, a welcome change in the usually so dull weather. You should be sitting in the backyard with a book and a cup of tea and enjoy the nature behind your house. Instead, you are bound to the bed.

Every muscle in your body aches. The stabbing pain in the left side of your lower abdomen spreads into your legs, making it impossible to move without feeling like you might pass out. The pain comes and goes in heavy waves. Your muscles contract and you can only whimper as the cramps ripple through your stomach. You’ve tried all kinds of positions, but either your back starts hurting or the pressure you can feel on your lower half gets worse, so you find yourself flipping around every five minutes, and it’s starting to get exhausting.

It’s not unusual that you wake up long after Michael has gone out, especially not when you have a late shift, though today when you woke up and the bed was empty, you found yourself crying at the loss of warmth. And when you went to the bathroom and realized just why you’ve been feeling like utter shit the past week, you knew that you had to call in sick. Working in the state you're in is not something you can do or should do.

It’s worse this time around. You’re not sure why. Maybe you have been working a little too much lately and the stress is finally getting to you, but it seems almost rude of your uterus to treat you like a criminal during your period. You’ve taken as much Ibuprofen as you could find in the medical cabinet, and it still wasn’t enough. It got to the point where you cried yourself into a restless nap. But the pain only continues to roll you over like a bulldozer.

Now you’re alone at home, the afternoon sun streaming in through the curtains, and you still feel like shit. Another sharp cramp hits you, and you roll onto your side, pulling your knees up to your chest. It elevates the pressure only for a moment before the pain returns tenfold and you try to lie on the other side, curling around your boyfriend’s pillow and hoping that maybe that will help.

It doesn’t.

You’re not strong enough to get up and grab a hot water bottle or take a shower. You’re stuck here. For a moment, the thought of calling Michael and asking him to come home crosses your mind, but it instantly makes you feel bad. He has more important things to do than to take care of you through something that you’ve been having for years, and before him, you managed perfectly fine on your own. You’re not sure how because you are immobile at this point, but it’s not his responsibility, you think.

After another miserable hour of agony, the key rattles in the lock. You listen to his distinctive movements as he drops the bag with his prescription on the dining table, takes off his jacket, and grabs himself a glass of water before going on a search for you.

Michael is more than surprised to find your car in the driveway. He figures you might have come home from work earlier, and that makes him smile, but then he notices that the house is unusually quiet and he grows worried.

He makes his way up the stairs toward your shared bedroom. He knocks. When you don’t answer, he pushes it open just enough to step inside. The curtains are still in the same position he left them, and you’re still in bed. Under any other circumstances, he would have figured you decided to take a nap after work, but you’re still wearing his shirt that you went to bed with, there is a pack of Ibuprofen on the nightstand and an empty water bottle lying next to your frame on the mattress.

You’re not okay, and he doesn’t have to ask you to know that.

“Love?” he says softly. You must be sensitive to light today or the curtains wouldn’t be closed. “I’m back.”

You have your back turned to him. At the sound of his voice, tears well up in your eyes. You missed him a little too much, but now that he’s back, you realize how miserable you look and how ghastly you must smell after hours spent in bed without properly moving. You wouldn’t be surprised if you bled onto the sheets.

The mattress dips as he sits down. “What’s wrong?”

You sniffle and answer, “I’m fine.”

“Yer not fine.”

With a grunt, you manage to roll over. When he sees the sunken bags under your eyes and how pale you are, his eyes soften even more. Michael reaches out to touch your face. “What happened?” he asks. “Are you hurt?”

“I called in sick,” you admit, “because I got my period this morning.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry, it’s nothing serious, I promise.” As if to demonstrate, you try to sit up, but your arms lose balance and your face contorts as another cramp tears through your uterus. “Fuck me!” This time, you can’t stop the tears from falling, and you grab a pillow to bury your face in it. The sounds you let out are utterly broken, the exhaustion palpable.

His hand moves from your face to your arm. “That doesn’t sound like nothin’, love. Ya look like yer in quite a lot of pain.”

“It’s okay, don’t worry about me.”

“I do.”

“I can handle it.”

“Ya should have called me,” he says. He inches a little closer. “I could have helped ya, maybe got ya something stronger for the pain.”

Another tear slides down your cheek and you look up at him. “I didn’t want to be a burden,” you choke out.

His heart breaks when he realizes that you didn’t tell him because you felt guilty, maybe even a little disgusted. “But yer not–”

“This is not something you should have to concern yourself with.”

“I love ya, of course, your wellbeing concerns me.”

“It’s just a period.”

Michael offers you a soft smile. “Exactly. Nothing I can’t handle.” He strokes your arm. “Is it always that bad?”

You shrug.

He reaches out to wipe your tears. “So it is?”

“It just…” your eyes look helpless as they stare into his. “It hurts so much and nothing helps.”

He grunts in the back of his throat. That’s why the Ibuprofen is still lying next to you. Michael hates a lot of things, but seeing you cry is definitely the worst because it hurts him just the same. “Oh, my love–” he cradles your cheek, and your eyes flutter shut at the impact, fresh tears pearling off your lashes. “Ya should have called,” he says again. His voice is soft, it doesn’t hurt your head more than it already does, but the guilt has nestled its way into your brain.

You don’t want to be weak. It’s bad enough you have to use a sick day every month around the first or second day of your period. Now that Michael is in your life, this is new territory for both of you. You’ve never had someone around on bad days, and he’s not used to seeing the effect a bad period has on you because you’ve only just moved in together and before that, you isolated yourself for a day to get better and then swallowed the rest of the pain after. This is bad though, and you hate that you still have found no way to manage it. No doctor or scientist has found a cure for the kind of pain you and many other women experience for many months, and your hormones are so all over the place that even taking the pill will only make it worse.

You hate yourself and you hate being a woman, especially right now, maybe only right now, but the world just sucks and you want nothing more than to crawl under a rock and die.

He leans down, his lips brushing your temple. “Shh,” he coos. “I’m here now. Let me help ya."

“How?” you ask. You don’t have the strength to argue as another cramp seemingly knocks the air out of your lungs, and you want nothing more than for it to stop or at least ease up one way or another.

Michael offers a helping hand and you would be stupid to deny it. You can’t. Your body is too weak to withstand it on its own. You don’t want to be alone. The whirlwind of emotions inside of you feels like such a mess and it’s stupid; you feel like an idiot, but you’re also sad and angry and frustrated and in pain, and it has to stop. You need it to stop.

He starts rubbing your arm more firmly now. “First, let’s get ya in the shower. I’ll take care of the rest,” he says.

“I can’t stand–”

“Okay, pet, c’mere.”

With what little strength you have left, you climb into his arms. He lifts you up with ease, your legs wrapping around his waist, and he carries you to the bathroom. He even holds you as he turns on the shower and makes sure the water is warm enough for you, making sure you don’t fall over. When it comes to taking your clothes off though, you blush.

“What?” He stops at the hem of your shirt.

You cross your arms. “I don’t want you to see, you know, the blood,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s disgusting.”

He gives you a stare of confusion before it turns blank and then the bastard even has the audacity to laugh at you.

Your eyes widen and you stare at him. “It’s not funny!” The tears in your eyes stem from anger now.

He catches onto them, and his laughter dies into a small chuckle, his arms wrapping around you. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry, I– I’m just– yer scared I’ll get disgusted… by the sight of blood. Me.”

“Yes, and that’s not funny!” You try not to sob, but you fail miserably.

Michael takes you back into his arms, his broad shoulders caging you in. He has you fully engulfed now, his lips pressed to the crown of your head. “I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean it in a bad way, I just… I don’t mind the blood, okay? I don’t mind any blood. Ya know that.”

“I know.” You cling to him.

Still, it feels like such a huge step in your relationship, one that isn’t fresh but it’s also not years in the making either, and you simply don’t want him to see you like that. But you also know that standing straight with the pain that is tearing your lower abdomen to shreds is a task that’s going to exert you to the point you might as well fall unconscious.

“I’ll turn around if that’s what you want, I just want to help,” he says. His puppy-dog eyes meet yours. “Will ya let me do that?”

You take a deep breath. “It’s gonna be a crime scene.”

“Lucky me that I didn’t cause that one, eh?”

Your brain takes a moment to process the words, and they sound so nonchalant coming out of his mouth. His smile is bright and a little mischievous and you can’t help but laugh a little. He can be such a dork if he wants to be.

“Shut up,” you mutter as you begin taking your shirt off.

Michael rushes to your rescue. “Made you laugh,” he says.

“Astute observation, Mister Kinsella.”

“Shut up,” he mimics you, and you can’t help but chuckle again.

“I’m in pain, I get to say what I want.”

“Fair point.”

He helps you out of the rest of your clothing before turning around as he promised. You step under the warm water, holding onto the wall for leverage. You feel dizzy. All the lying around and the lack of sustenance have caused your blood sugar to plummet, and it’s gradually going down.

He is by your side in seconds, his promise to stay behind long forgotten. He holds you up, washes your hair, and the sweat off your skin. You protest at first, but he shoots it down with a gentle kiss to your lips, and then you’re on fire again and you can’t deny it feels good to be taken care of. It’s relaxing, almost.

The pain continues to wash over you, but at least you have someone to hold onto now. If you had been fully lucid, you would have cursed him and thrown him out, but you have to admit that you need help. You need his help. He understands you in ways no one else can, and he is the first man to prioritize your well-being when it comes to your period. He’s not disgusted, he’s merely worried and he loves you. That’s something you have to get used to; it might take some time, but Michael does it in a way that makes you feel safe. He has never made you feel anything short of safe. He’s your home. You need him, that’s no longer a secret, and you allow yourself to let loose a little.

It’s easier to breathe now. He washes you carefully, gets you one of his oversized shirts (his sweaters are too warm, you tell him), and even helps you brush your teeth for the first time today.

Soon enough, you’re tucked back into bed, once again put on bed rest, while he rummages around downstairs in the kitchen. There is a knock on the front door. You can hear Michael’s voice and is that… Jimmy? It doesn’t last long though, and you hear the stairs creak as he makes his way back to you.

You’re curled into a ball on your side. Michael smiles when he sees you, obviously a lot more relaxed than before, and closes the door behind him again. He’s carrying a tray with a plate of different variations of fruits, a cup of tea, water, a Coke, and two different kinds of pills. The latter makes you frown.

“Made you some food before ya pass out,” he says.

You make some space for him to sit next to you. “Thanks,” you say, then point to the pills. “What’s that?”

“I asked Jimmy if they had something against nausea and maybe some painkillers that might be stronger than the ones ya have here. He just brought them over.”

“Mikey…” You tear up again, but this time not because of the pain. He is so considerate, it makes your heart swell. And maybe it’s a little because of the pain.

He hands you the water bottle. “Here, take ‘em.”

“You didn’t have to do all this.”

“Nonsense, I– well, I guess I just want to be a good man for ya, and if that means taking care of you while yer on your period, I take my job very seriously.”

“It’s not your responsibility.”

He shakes his head. “You are, my love. I love ya, which means I’m here, always, and I want ya to tell me when yer not feeling well.” Guiding the bottle and the pills to your lips, he smiles. “Now take your pills. Don’t want ta have to tell ya twice.”

You swallow them without hesitation. At some point during your relationship, you gave up on asking what kind of medication his brother and his wife keep around and just hope they haven’t given you any hard drugs. But Michael wouldn’t let that happen, anyway.

He senses your struggle for a comfortable position and moves the tray aside so you can sit between his thighs. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. Your legs pull up instantly, wanting to get rid of the annoying pain in your front, but his next action confuses you. He forces them back down and on either side of his thighs before he slips his large hand under your shirt and places it over your stomach.

You gasp, feeling a little exposed, but then his fingers start kneading your skin and you crumble completely. Your head drops back against his shoulder. It feels like magic. He’s massaging the sore muscles of your lower stomach while at the same time numbing all other oncoming cramps. He pushes a button inside of you that instantly makes you slack in his arms, and he holds you tighter around your shoulders with the free one.

“How’s that?” he asks.

“Don’t stop,” is all you know how to answer.

“So… what?”

“It’s good.”

“Okay, grand.”

“Yeah. Now shut up.”

He chuckles, burying his nose in your hair that now smells like his shampoo, and he continues digging his fingers right where you need them.

Your body grows limp after a while, and when he looks down to check on you, your eyes are closed. You’ve fallen asleep in his arms, and there are no more creases of worry on your face.

Michael presses another kiss to your temple. “Good girl,” he says.

Then, he retreats his hand and gently lays you next to him. He tucks you in the same way he did before. You’re quick to move around in your sleep until you’ve found him again, and your head subconsciously moves to his chest.

He doesn’t waste time wrapping his arms around you and holding you close, just like every night. And you know that when you wake up, he will be right by your side, not leaving until he’s certain that you’re feeling better.

Mikey Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @lina-mar @itwasthereaminuteago @mattkinsella @norestfortheshelbywicked (if any more of you want to be added, let me know)

But also tagging @bellaxgiornata bc I know you're on a Mikey trip and I think you might want to read this, darling <3

#michael kinsella #michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella x female reader #no y/n #kin amc #michael kinsella fluff #michael kinsella fic #period comfort #hurt/comfort #reader insert #charlie cox #if you want to be tagged for mikey just lmk

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