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lady-lostmind · 2 months

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I had the absolute pleasure of getting to write a fic based on this amazing art by @ahhrenata for @strangerthingsreversebigbang! Link to art post Thank you @oh-stars for betaing this! Read the fic on ao3 or under the cut!

Eddie rolls over with a groan. He feels awful. He can’t breath out of his nose, there’s so much pressure in his head he feels like it might explode and his throat feels like he swallowed a cup of razors. He lets out a truly pathetic whimper, the sound catching in his throat as it turns into a cough. He stretches his arm out, feeling around for Steve and is met with cold, empty sheets. He whines again and finally pries his eyes open.

“Stevie?”

He hears Steve pad down the hall and then he’s opening the door to their room, a soft smile on his face as he peers down at Eddie on the bed. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

Eddie sniffles loudly. “I don’t feel good.”

Steve sighs and leans against the door frame. “I told you not to go out in the cold with Dustin the other night. You didn’t even have a coat.”

Eddie groans again and flops over, reaching his hand out to Steve. “Come cuddle with me.”

Steve huffs out a laugh. “You’re whiny when you’re sick.”

But he pushes off the doorframe and crawls onto the bed, dropping down next to Eddie and letting him wrap his limbs around his body and press his face against Steve’s chest.

Eddie snuggles in and hums, ready to fall back asleep for forever, or until he can actually breathe again. Whichever comes first.

Steve’s hand lands on his forehead, pushing his bangs out of the way. “Baby, you’re hot.”

Eddie lets out a little chuckle, his voice low and raspy from the pain in his throat. “I’m flattered, sweetheart. But I don’t think I’m really up for anything sexy right now, Stevie.”

Steve swats his arm. “I wasn’t coming onto you, asshole. You have a fever.”

Steve pulls away, like he’s going to get back up and Eddie holds on tighter to him, another whine slipping out of his lips.

Steve rolls his eyes and presses a kiss to Eddie’s forehead. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to go get you some stuff.”

Eddie’s hand flops onto the bed as Steve gets up and disappears from the room. Eddie rolls back over, pulling the blankets up and burrowing under them to fall back asleep.

–

Eddie wakes up to Steve nudging him gently, holding out a little cup of red liquid. Eddie’s face scrunches up in disgust and he shakes his head with a groan, trying to hide under the covers again. “I hate that shit.”

Steve rolls his eyes and tugs the blanket back. “Eds, you gotta take this. It’ll bring your fever down. Come on.”

Eddie groans again, but pulls himself up to sit and takes the little shot of medicine with a grimace.

Steve chuckles beside him. “I’ve seen you drink jager straight from the bottle and you’re making that face over cherry cough medicine?”

Eddie shoots him a cocky grin. “Jager is good though. That shit tastes like pennies.”

Steve shakes his head, pulling the covers back up around Eddie’s chin. “There’s tissues and water next to you on the table. You want me to drag the TV in here?”

Eddie shakes his head, already settling back into the pillows and drifting off. He reaches out a hand to tug at Steve’s wrist.

Steve sighs, climbing under the blankets with him and pulling him close. “You’re gonna get me sick.”

Eddie grins and plants a wet kiss to the back of Steve’s hand before he falls asleep again.

–

The next time Eddie resurfaces it’s to Steve’s fingers trailing softly through his hair. He sniffs, whining when it makes the pressure in his head spike.

“Made you some soup, baby. You hungry?”

Eddie nods and forces himself to sit up, smiling at Steve when he hands him a bowl of chicken noodle. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Steve leans over and presses a kiss to Eddie’s temple. “You sure you don’t want the TV in here? We could watch some movies.”

Eddie shrugs. “I’ll probably just fall asleep five minutes in. But you can bring it in if you’re bored.”

Steve shakes his head and grabs a book off his side table, wiggling it in the air. “I’m good.”

Eddie’s eyes lock on the book and his jaw drops open. “Are you finally reading The Lord of the Rings?”

Steve flashes him a big grin and nods. “They’re confusing though. How do you keep track of all these crazy names?”

Eddie chuckles. “You get used to it after a while.” He sets his empty bowl aside and lays back down, peering up at Steve with big, pleading eyes. “Will you read to me?”

Steve’s face scrunches up. “I’m not very good.”

Eddie scoots in closer, plopping his head onto Steve’s lap. “I just want to hear your voice.”

Steve’s hand finds its way back into Eddie’s curls again. “Do you want me to start over?”

Eddie shakes his head. “I’ve read them like ten times. You can start where you left off.”

Steve nods and opens the book, clearing his throat. “‘I wish it need not have happened in my time,’ said Frodo.”

Eddie lets the familiar words wash over him. Steve’s voice making him feel safe and warm, the fingers in his hair soothing him to sleep.

–

Eddie wakes up again, his throat burning and raw. He’s alone in the bed again and it’s dark. The blankets tucked in tight around him, making him over heated, his hair plastered to his forehead. He sits up, reaching for a tissue as a harsh cough racks his body. He groans, wincing as he wipes his mouth.

Eddie hates being sick. And yeah. He knows nobody likes being sick. Obviously. But he can’t stand it. It makes him feel trapped in his own body. Trapped in his bed. He doesn’t like to sit still for so long. To feel like he can’t do anything.

The door creaks open, a sliver of light peeking through before it disappears again, Steve’s body blocking it out as he leans in, a sad little smile on his face. “You okay, baby? Heard you coughing.”

Eddie lets out a pathetic whine, falling against the pillows again, somehow still exhausted even though he slept through most of the day already. “No.”

Steve pushes the door open the rest of the way, comes up to him and puts his hand on his forehead before making a little tsk noise, and brushing his hair out of his face. “I’m going to get you another dose of medicine.”

Eddie groans, grabbing Steve’s wrist and shaking his head.

Steve chuckles, bending down to press a kiss to Eddie’s temple. “What if I bring you a popsicle to chase it with? Make your throat feel a little better.”

Eddie’s eyes flick up to Steve’s, his eyebrows shooting up. “Not sure your popsicle is going to help my throat much but–”

Steve rolls his eyes with a smile, tugging his arm back and shaking his head. “Would you stop? You’re awful.” He heads back to the door, turning back with his hands on his hips. “Orange or cherry?”

Eddie whines. “No grape?”

Steve chuckles. “You and Dustin ate all the grape, baby.”

Eddie huffs out a breath. “Orange then.”

Eddie grins as Steve leaves the room. He really hates being sick. But he doesn’t mind this whole Steve-taking-care-of-him thing. That part’s pretty nice. He can’t really remember the last time someone did this for him. Thinks it must have been his mom, when he was still little. Remembers curling up with her on the couch, her humming softly as he fell asleep.

He doesn’t have a lot of good memories with her. Mostly screaming matches with his dad, and her disappearing for weeks at a time. But there were a few times when things were good. When he felt loved. When he really felt like he understood what it was like to be wanted. And then he’d gone to live with Wayne. And he did his best. And Eddie knows he loves him. Knows he would do anything for him. But he’s a grumpy old man who never thought he’d be raising a kid. His version of taking care of Eddie when he was sick was buying some soup and leaving it on the counter for Eddie to make while he was at work. And that was fine. Eddie is grateful for everything Wayne has done for him. It just wasn’t exactly a lovey household. Not that it wasn’t full of love. They just…didn’t really show it. But he feels the love in everything Steve does. Sees it in the way Steve’s eyes light up when they look at him. In the way his hands always linger. No matter where they touch. Like he never wants to be more than a breath away from him. Like he wants nothing more than to bring him a stupid orange popsicle when his throat hurts to make him feel better.

Eddie smirks as Steve comes back into the room, cough medicine in one hand, popsicle in the other.

–

Eddie feels a little better when he wakes up the next morning. Late morning. The room bright with the sun peeking in through the blinds. He’s still sick. Still can’t really breathe normally. His throat is still protesting every time he tries to swallow. But he feels a little less dead. And he didn’t wake up drenched in sweat this time so, hopefully that means his fever is gone. Thanks to Steve’s stupid medicine. Not that he’d ever admit that to him.

Steve comes in with a plate piled high with toast, and a mug of tea that Eddie is sure has way too much honey in it, for his throat.

Eddie takes the offered breakfast with a sleepy smile. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Steve presses a kiss to Eddie’s forehead. “You’re welcome, baby. You feeling better?”

Eddie shrugs, stuffing half a piece of toast in his mouth. Steve climbs onto the bed with him, grabbing Eddie’s book from the table on his side of the bed, settling back against the pillows.

Eddie perks up, shifting so he can watch the way Steve’s mouth wraps around the words Eddie knows by heart. They’re some of his favorite configurations of words in the world, and Steve somehow makes him love them even more. He loves the slight hesitancy he has as he stumbles over the names, the pauses he adds in strange spots when he’s clearly trying to piece parts of the story together. He can tell he’s really trying to get it. Trying to understand why Eddie loves this so much. Trying to understand Eddie more. Which he’s pretty sure no one else has done before.

Everyone else just takes him at face value. The loud, over the top, obnoxious behavior, his weird obsessions and interests. People either look at him and want nothing to do with him, or they look at him in awe, like he’s something shiny, something to distract them from whatever bullshit is going on in their own lives. But he’s never had someone look at him like he’s something to be treasured. To dive into and see all the sides of. Until Steve.

Steve, who he knows hates half of the stuff Eddie is into but still asks questions. Who knows Eddie’s favorite songs and books and movies. Who knows he prefers grape popsicles. Who looks at him in that awestruck way even when he’s quiet. When he’s just existing in their space, not putting on a front or a show. Steve still sees him, even then.

Eddie leans forward and presses his lips to Steve’s, cutting him off mid sentence.

Steve huffs out a laugh against Eddie’s lips before pushing him back. “Is my reading that bad?”

Eddie shakes his head and takes another bite of toast, getting crumbs all over the bed as he scooches closer to Steve who lifts his arm to tuck Eddie into his side.

–

By day four Eddie is still feeling pretty bad, and worn out, but also bored. He still doesn’t have the energy to leave their bed much but he also can’t stand just laying around anymore.

He shuffles his way out to the living room, ignoring Steve’s squawk of protest as he spots him from where he’s doing dishes in the kitchen. Eddie makes it halfway to the coffee table before Steve is there, a hand towel slung over his shoulder as he tries to push Eddie back down the hall.

“What are you doing? Go back to bed.”

Eddie groans and gestures to his stack of notebooks on the table. “I’m bored, Steve. I want to work on my campaign.”

Steve nudges him back again, a crease forming between his brows. “I’ll bring them to you. Go lay down.”

Eddie lets out an annoyed whine but turns and heads back down the hall, collapsing on the bed where he immediately lets out a sigh of relief, the pressure that was building in his head from being vertical backs off as soon as he hits the pillows. Because Steve was right, of course. He should have just asked him to grab his stuff for him.

Steve comes in a few minutes later with all of Eddie’s notebooks and campaign books piled high in his arms. He dumps them on the bed and disappears again, coming back with a stack of Eddie’s tapes and his walkman, adding them to the mess on the bed and perching on the edge.

Eddie grins at him. “You’re the best, you know that?”

Steve shrugs, a little blush flashing on his cheeks. He reaches out and squeezes Eddie’s knee. “Just know you like to listen to music while you work. I’ll bring you some dinner in a little bit, okay?”

Eddie watches as he gets up to go, smirk firmly in place as he pulls his notebooks closer to him and flips the top one open, trying to jump back into the story he was forming.

–

Eddie stares down at his notebook, sniffing loudly and tossing a crumpled up tissue onto the floor next to the bed. He taps his pen on the page, trying to will the scene to write itself. A cough works its way up the back of his throat and sticks there, making him hack over and over until he’s pulling in a wheezing breath and falling back against the pillows.

“Fuck me.” He groans out, shoving his notebook away with a huff. He hates being sick. Can’t even manage to focus on his campaign for more than fifteen minutes before he’s coughing and exhausted and–

Steve pushes the door open with his hip, a steaming bowl of soup in his hands and a bright smile that reaches his eyes on his face.

Eddie sighs, pulling himself up to sit against the headboard and lets Steve fuss over pillow placements as he hands over the soup. He stares up at Steve, his chest full of adoration for this wonderful man who works himself into a tizzy because Eddie didn’t make sure he was properly supported by his pillows. Because how is his gorgeous man even real? How did Eddie get so lucky?

Eddie sets his soup on the side table as Steve leans over him, trying to manhandle Eddie into a position he deems acceptable and Eddie grabs his face, pulling him into a soft kiss, smiling against Steve’s mouth when he feels him melt a little into the touch.

Steve pulls back with a chuckle, pushing against Eddie’s shoulder. “It’s like you’re trying to get me sick, Eds.” Eddie lets out a laugh and sniffs, trying not to be an oozing, gross mess with Steve so up close and personal. “Sorry. I just can’t help myself when you’re being so sweet.”

Steve’s face blooms red and he ducks his head with a little shake before standing and grabbing Eddie’s soup off the table again, pushing it back into Eddie’s hands. “Eat your soup, baby.”

Eddie gives him a little two finger salute and nods, dimple popping on his check. “Yes, sir.”

Steve rolls his eyes as Eddie takes a big spoonful, making an obnoxiously loud slurp just to see the way Steve’s face scrunches in disgust.

–

Eddie wakes up in the middle of the night, coughing and wheezing, trying to catch his breath and be quiet so he doesn’t wake up–

Steve’s hand lands on his back, rubbing gently.

Eddie groans, looking guiltily over at Steve. “Sorry I woke–” His voice catches on another cough, sending him into another fit.

Steve sits up, hand still on Eddie’s back, the other coming up to sweep the hair away from his face. “It’s okay, baby. Just breathe.”

Eddie nods, sucking in a deep breath and trying to ignore the tickle in the back of his throat threatening another cough. Steve gets up and heads out of the room, coming back with a glass of water that he hands to Eddie before sliding back into bed, his hand finding its way back to its spot on Eddie’s back. Eddie takes a couple of small sips before setting the glass aside and laying back down, Steve scooches in close, pressing their foreheads together, one hand still on Eddie’s back, the other working its way to tangle in his hair.

Eddie hums reaching up to cup Steve’s face, feeling content as his eyes slip closed.

–

The next morning Eddie wakes up feeling much better. He’s still a little stuffy, but his throat doesn’t hurt anymore and his head feels a little clearer. Like the sick haze is starting to dissipate. He stretches, letting out a satisfied groan and slips up to jump in the shower.

The hot water does wonders for him and by the time he steps out of the bathroom, rubbing his drenched hair with a towel, he feels almost human again.

He glances over at Steve, still fast asleep in the bed. Eddie’s brow scrunches together and he looks at the clock. 11:15am.

Huh. Steve never sleeps in this late. He gets up obnoxiously early to work out before he gets moving for the day. Eddie climbs back into the bed and presses soft kisses along Steve’s jaw, smiling when his sleepy eyes peek open at him.

“You slept in.” Eddie traces his fingers along Steve’s arm.

Steve lets out a little whimper, pressing his face into the pillows.

Eddie pushes some hair out of Steve’s face, his fingers grazing his forehead which is blazing.

Eddie curses under his breath, planting his hand more firmly on Steve’s skin. “Oh no, sweetheart.”

Steve peers up at him with big, sad puppy eyes, his voice strained and nasally. “I’m sick, Eds.”

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie fanfic #stranger things reverse big bang #strbb #steddie fluff #ahhrenata #lady lostmind

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d3add0vedonoteat · 4 months

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Chicken Soup for Carmy

⚠️ Content Warning ⚠️ harsh language, sexism and violence in one scene (not from Carmy). Hurt/comfort, fluff.

A/N: I’m literally feral for this man. I’m sick atm and I started thinking about taking care of Carmy while I was making chicken soup. Bonus combo with Carmy protecting you from an asshole customer. Not proofread bc my brain is rotting. Plz be nice this is my first time posting a fic 🥺

It was cold. You braced yourself against the harsh Chicago wind as you made your way briskly down the street. After a late night phone call from your brother sent you into a spiral, you couldn’t sleep. You’d been tossing and turning all night until finally, at 4am, you flung off the covers and got dressed. It wasn’t a surprise that you’d come here. This place consumed all your mind and your heart since you started working here a few months ago. You used your key to unlock the door in the alley, sighing with relief as the warmth of The Beef welcomed you inside. It was quiet, the lights were down, it was peaceful. You slipped off your sneakers trading in your kitchen clogs and tucked your things safely away in your locker. You tied your handkerchief on your head as you moved. It was so comforting, the routine of The Beef’s prep work. You felt so at home, moving from the prep area to the walk in, diligently beginning the tasks that didn’t need to be started for a few more hours. He would understand. You thought to yourself as you began to prepare fresh stock for the day. He was a man after your own heart, your boss, Carmen Berzatto.

Avoidant, chaotically emotional, one wrong thing away from a complete meltdown, that you both disguised as workaholic tendencies. As you finely chopped onions, your mind quieted. Everything was shut out except for the task at hand. Your brother’s angry voice on the phone accusing you: “you never come home! You don’t even care about us! You can’t take come take care of your own mother?!” was drowned out by the rhythmic pound of your knife on the cutting board. You were in the zone.

Until a voice startled you out of your bubble. “Chef?” You jolted, looking up at the man before you. Carmy’s hair was messier than usual, the bags under his eyes were deeper and more purple. His lips were parted with each soft breath he took. He gave you a quizzical look. “What are you doing here?”

“I uh-” your mouth felt dry and you tripped over your words, as usual when he set those intense blue eyes on you. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Carmy nodded, not pushing you any further. All he said before moving toward the office was a simple: “Heard, Chef.”

You watched him go, noticing the slump of his shoulders and the labor of his normally spry step. There was no mistaking it, Carmen was sick. You stared at the office door for a long moment before you made up your mind.

You set a heavy bottomed pot on the stove with some olive oil. Your hands moved with well practiced efficiency as you chopped garlic and onions, celery and carrots. The garlic and onions went in first. Then the celery. A sprig of thyme and a dash of white wine. While that simmered you quickly seared some chicken breast and chopped it into perfectly bite sized pieces. All into the pot with chicken stock and water, tightly covered to develop the flavors. Next came the pasta. You cracked eggs into the well of flour, mixing and kneading until it became a smooth golden dough. You carefully, tenderly rolled the dough and cut it into thick, short noodles. A bath in hot water to cook, then they too joined the pot. In no time at all, you were ladling a generous portion into a bowl. You set a toasted piece of chibatta on the side, grabbed a spoon, and took a deep breath in an attempt to settle your nerves. Softly, you knocked on the office door.

“Yeah?” His voice responded.

“Chef?” You entered, nervous. Words failing you as they so often did in his presence, you set the bowl before him. Carmy’s eyes widened. The aroma made his mouth water. He looked to you, gaze softening. “You made me chicken soup?”

Your cheeks grew warm. “Y-yeah, I mean chicken soup always makes me feel better when I’m sick.”

Carmy couldn’t believe you. You noticed? He smiled at you. You were so beautiful. You were always so confident and sure on the line, delegating with efficiency, respect, and authority. He had hired you the second you stepped into The Beef. Your resume was impressive but there was something in the way you carried yourself that truly earned the golden reputation you had in the culinary industry. But you were different with him, in the occasional moments like this where it was just you and him. Shy, almost bashful, gentle, and soft. He loved it. He wanted more of it. He lifted the spoon, bringing a bite to his lips.

“Gotta get a little of everything.” You muttered, eagerly awaiting his response.

Carmy shot you a sideways smile. It was good. No, it was better than good. The warm broth slid down his throat and each bite exploded with a depth of flavor he couldn’t believe. It was pure comfort. It reminded him of being a little kid staying home sick from school. Curled up on the couch while Jerry Springer played, eating crackers and ginger ale until his mom would bring a bowl of chicken noodle soup. But this soup, your soup, was more than that. People always talk about cooking with love but he swore he could taste it. Each ingredient had been so carefully handled. Perfectly chopped vegetables, moist and flavorful chicken. The warm feeling in his chest grew as he inspected the bowl.

“Did uh, did you make this pasta fresh?” He asked, eyeing you.

“Yeah, it’s better that way.” You blushed.

“Thank you, chef.” He said. “It’s really, really good.” Carmy looked down, suddenly feeling heavy. The fear of closeness set into him and all he could think about was how he’d fuck this up. “You-you didn’t have to make this for me.”

“Oh, it’s okay!” You insisted. “It was no big deal.” You began to leave, giving him one last truthful smile. “I like taking care of you.”

“I like taking care of you.” Your words rattled through Carmy’s mind all day. Throughout all of lunch, prep, and dinner he couldn’t stop thinking about what you’d said. The soup you had made was the first thing he’d eaten in too long. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had cooked for him and you’d just done it because you noticed he wasn’t feeling well. No motive, no games, just tender love and concern.

Love.

Carmy shook his head to try and shake the thought from his mind. No, no, no there was no way you actually cared about him. Not like that. You were just being nice.

That’s just who you are; nice. You were always so kind. The way you’d help Marcus workshop pastries, the way you’d make Tina laugh and listen to her talk about whatever trouble Louis had gotten in, how you’d encourage Sydney and remind her that she can do this. Even the way you’d throw snark right back at Richie or how’d you’d always set aside a portion of Family for Fak and Sugar, even Pete. You were always thinking of others. Carmy wasn’t special.

Yeah. Not special.

Carmy insisted the thought as he scrubbed the grill. Not special. Not special. Not special.

“Carmy?” There you were. You were always there. You had a thick denim jacket on, bag on your shoulder, knit beanie pulled down over your hair. Your brow furrowed at the sight of him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Carmy shook his head. “I’m fine… you uh- you heading out?”

You shrugged, hoisting your bag a little higher on your shoulder and eyeing him skeptically. “Yeah. Are you?”

“Yeah, in a bit.”

You chuckled, more exasperated than humorous. “No.”

“What?” Carmy asked, confused.

“No, you’re leaving too.” You insisted. You were feeling bold. Months of long looks and his hand on your lower back every time he passed you had culminated tonight.

You had taken over the front for Richie while he ducked out to take a call from his daughter. You’d insisted. It was slammed for dinner but everything was going fairly smooth until an irate customer approached you.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” He’d asked, slamming his plate onto the counter.

“Excuse me?”

“I mean are you retarded or something?” He continued. You were stunned into silence. You had never had anyone speak to you like that. “How hard is it to make a fucking sandwich? I know your tits are bigger than your brain but Jesus fucking Christ it’s not hard!”

“I-I…” you were shaking. “I’m sorry that you’re not satisfied, sir. If you like, we can-”

“Not satisfied?!” He screamed. “How can I be satisfied with this piece of shit!”

He hurled the sandwich at you. It hit you in the chest, toppings and sauce splattering everywhere. Before you even knew what was happening, a blur of messy curls shot past you. Carmy launched over the counter, tackling the man. His fist collided with the man’s face over and over while Richie and Fak rushed after him. There was a cacophony of yells as Richie pulled Carmy back. “Get your girl!” Richie yelled. “Cousin! Go get your girl!”

Fak and Richie dragged the man out and threw him into the street. Carmy’s hands grasped your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, are you okay?” He wiped the sauce splatters from your brow. “Look at me.”

Carmy burned with anger as he watched you shake. Your white shirt and blue apron were covered in the sandwich. He imagined what you would do for him if he was in your position. How you’d care for him, how you’d tend to him… so he tried to do what you would. Gently he guided you to your feet and wrapped his arm around your waist. He practically carried you to his office where he sat you on the couch and quickly went to grab a clean shirt from his own locker. You were in the same place he left you when he returned. Carmy knelt before you, taking your face in his hands once more.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay.” Tears welled in your eyes and you collapsed into his arms. He smoothed his hand over you back, repeating “it’s okay” over and over again. He felt like he was on fire. The feeling of you clinging to him, nuzzling your face into his neck, the smell of you, how you fit in his arms… it was too much. He wanted to run away and never speak to you again. He wanted to wake up next to you every morning for the rest of his life. He wanted to scream. He wanted to feel your lips against his. He wanted to find the piece of shit that yelled at you and rip him to pieces. He wanted your chicken soup every time he was sick.

All those feelings were closing in on Carmy once again as he stared at you across the kitchen. You still had his t shirt on. You were looking at him expectantly.

“Sorry, uh… what did you say?” Carmy’s voice was softer than he expected.

“I said I’ll walk home with you.”

“Oh, no that’s okay. Ive got to-“

“Carmy,” you stepped closer. Your voice was firm but so tender. “You need to get some rest. Come on, I won’t take no for an answer.”

He couldn’t help but smile back at you. “Alright…” he conceded.

The two of you braced yourselves against the cold and hurried down the sidewalk side by side. You argued about who would walk who home. Carmy insisted on walking you to your apartment but you protested on the grounds that he’d just go back to the restaurant once he dropped you off.

“Fine,” you gave in. “But you have to call me when you get to your place so I know you made it home!”

Carmy looked at the ground, smiling. The warmth in his chest from your soup was steadily turning into a molten pool of lava.

“Heard.” He grinned. You wanted to know he’d made it home. You wanted to make sure he rested. I like taking care of you.

“Well, I’m just up here.” Your voice stopped his thoughts from spiraling before it could even start. Carmy’s brow furrowed. “What?” You asked, puzzled by his sudden change in demeanor.

“You live over there?”

“Yeah? Like a block down?”

There was a beat of silence before Carmy let out a breathy laugh. “I live right there.” He pointed to the building on the other side of the street.

“No shit!” You laughed in earnest. Your hand came to rest on his arm. “Guess I’m gonna be walking you home more often.”

Carmy’s entire body was on fire. He could imagine the tingle of your soft hand on his skin through all the layers of clothing. He wanted to hold you close again like in his office, but this time you wouldn’t be crying. A deep pit opened in his stomach. How long before he made you cry? How long before he fucked it all up? Until you hated him and quit the restaurant and everything fell apart because he-

“Hey,” your voice. Always your voice that brought him back. When he looked over at you it was like everything but your face faded into a blurry background. You were all Carmy could see. “Do you want to come to mine? I haven’t eaten and I KNOW you haven’t either.”

Carmy’s heart fluttered. “O-okay.” He started, his confidence rising when he noticed your hand was still in his arm. “Only if you let me cook you something.”

“Ooh,” you smiled. “I’d never turn that down!”

Carmy chuckled, feeling lighter for the first time in years as he walked so close beside you that your shoulders brushed. “It won’t be as good as your chicken soup.”

#the bear #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy the bear #carmy x reader #carmy x you #carmy x fem!reader #hurt/comfort #sickfic #carmen berzatto fluff

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lev1hei1chou · 2 months

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Sick Day

Gojo x reader Genre: Fluff Words: 364 Synopsis: Gojo is an absolute pain in the ass when he's sick Masterlist

You could hear the groans and sighs from the living room as you walked into the living room. Gojo Satoru, the normally energetic specimen, was currently draped across the couch, looking like a wounded puppy.

"I'm dying," he moaned dramatically as you entered the room, clutching a tissue box to his chest. "I never get sick. This is it. Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer, brought down by a common cold."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his dramatic self. "You're not dying, love. It's just a cold. Happens to the best of us."

He shot you a weak glare. "This is not just a cold, Y/N. This is the end of an era. The world will mourn the loss of its most powerful sorcerer."

Rolling your eyes, you approached him with a bowl of hot soup and raised the spoon to his mouth. "Here, eat this. It'll make you feel better."

Gojo stared at the soup suspiciously. "Is this cursed? Did you curse my soup? I knew it! You're trying to finish me off."

You sighed, trying to hide your smile. "It's just chicken noodle soup, baby. No curses, I promise."

He pouted but accepted the soup nonetheless. As he sipped on it, he made exaggerated "mmmm" sounds. "Okay, maybe this won't be so bad if you keep feeding me like this."

You shook your head. "You're such a drama queen when you're sick."

He grinned, a mischievous look in his eyes. "Well, if I'm going to be a sick drama queen, I might as well enjoy the perks. How about a foot massage?"

You raised an eyebrow. "You're pushing it, sick man."

But despite his whining and theatrics, you couldn't help but find it endearing. Taking care of him became a task filled with both frustration and amusement. As the days passed, Gojo's cold started to subside, and with it, his dramatic tendencies.

One evening, as he finally started to feel better, he pulled you into a tight hug. "Thanks for taking care of me, Y/N. I promise, I'll be less of a pain next time I get sick."

You chuckled, ruffling his hair. "I'll believe it when I see it, darling."

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raspberriesoda · 2 months

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w.c 1.0k | fluff

[ 4:29pm ] soft music plays from the old radio on the counter, and you quietly hum along as the wooden spoon in your hand flows smoothly through the pot on the stovetop in front of you. the noodles begin to soften and collectively swirl around in the boiling liquid in a whirlpool of broth and vegetables. the hearty aroma of the brewing soup drifts through the air, and there’s no doubt in your mind he’ll smell it from his room down the hall.

without missing a beat, the creaking of the floor boards and the shuffling of his fuzzy socks interrupts the steady flow of mindless music as he creeps closer towards the kitchen. you tip a shaker of seasoning over the pot, not turning to greet the sick boy because he should be in bed.

haechan muffles a sloppy sneeze before entering, stumbling up behind you.

“lee donghyuck,” you sternly address him, twisting the knob on the stove down to the lowest notch before turning around to face your ill partner. you cross your arms over your chest, and haechan sticks his lower lip out in a pout; he knows what you’re going to say.

“go back to bed.”

haechan crinkles his nose up in a sniffle, rubbing his face with the blanket he cloaked himself in. his hair is a nest of knots, sticking up every which way. his bangs stick to his forehead and kiss the tops of his flushed cheeks. his nose is red and irritated- as he’s been blowing it all day- and his eyes are droopy, like he could fall asleep standing upright. although he’s wrapped in a fluffy blanket, you see that all he’s wearing is a t-shirt, boxers, and socks he hadn’t bothered to match. he shakes his head from side to side, tufts of hair flopping. he crosses his arms under his blanket, mimicking you.

you roll your eyes, turning to continue tending to your cooking. “you really shouldn’t be out of bed, donghyuck. you can’t even talk,” you assert, dipping a ladle into the pot of soup. haechan suddenly swings his arms around you from behind, cocooning you in his blanket along with him, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“i can talk,” he retorts in a raspy and borderline inaudible voice; he’d just proved your point. you raise an eyebrow at him, but he buries his face into your neck as if he knows the look on your face reads ‘i told you so.’ haechan groans into your shoulder, blowing hot air onto your skin through the thin fabric of your shirt. his bedhead tickles the spot on your neck just under your ear. you wiggle your arm free to push the tangled mess of his hair away from your neck, but it just flops back into place. you huff, and haechan chuckles.

“babe, you’re gonna get me sick.” he only tightens his grip on you.

“go back to bed, hyuck.”

“no,” he groans, muffled by your clothing.

“alright, kid. no soup for you, then.” you scoop up the ladle so it’s full, wafting the steam toward you to inhale it, deeply and loudly, teasing him. he’s not watching, but he knows what you’re doing.

“more for me!” you sing, bringing it up to your lips. just as you’re about to sip it, haechan sinks his teeth into your collarbone. you yelp, and the ladle slips from your grasp, causing broth to splash up from the pot. when you lift your hands to wipe the bit of soup that met your face, haechan lifts the ladle and slurps soup obnoxiously loudly, smirking at you. you glare at him as he beams, rubbing his stomach happily.

“mmmmm,” he hums sarcastically. you drop your jaw in faux animosity.

“that’s it, back to bed with you!” you link his arm with yours after plucking the ladle from his hand, and tug him out of the kitchen. he leans his head on your shoulder as you lead him to his bedroom, filling the narrow hallway with the sound of his sly snickering from the craftiness of his own joke.

you pull him into the bedroom, met with a collection of used tissues and cold medicine and a video game tune softly playing from the tv. you unhook your arm from haechan, moving the game controller to the floor and tossing all of his trash into the bin, tidying up the area to make it feel a little more inviting to your stubborn boyfriend. haechan glances down at the disarray of pillows and blankets and releases a more-than-whiny sigh.

“come on, babe,” you encourage him, pulling back his duvet for him. “you need your beauty sleep if you wanna stay that pretty,” you ruffle his jungle of hair. haechan huffs, slumping down into the bed reluctantly, laying on his back. you pull the duvet back up, laying it on top of him and his head sinks heavily onto his pillow. as you turn to leave the room, you feel a tug on your pajama pants. looking down at him, he blinks up at you a few times with big, sleepy, brown puppy dog eyes.

“i’m coming right back with your soup, baby,” you promise him sweetly, attempting to pry his hand from your pants. he only whines again, twisting his fingers in the soft fabric.

you shake your head, crookedly grinning at the sleepy boy’s desperation, and lean down to press a light kiss to the tip of haechan’s nose. he smiles proudly, as if he’s just saved the world, and snuggles up into his blankets.

the trip back to the kitchen takes no more than five minutes, but even so, haechan is fast asleep when you return. you step in quietly, careful not to disturb him, and set the bowl of soup on his desk along with the extra cold medicine you picked up from the bathroom. haechan snores a bit, most likely due to his stuffy nose, and he shifts to lay on his side. he draws in a long congested breath, letting it out in a big sigh.

you lower yourself onto the bed, picking up the game controller. taking precaution to not wake him, you mute the game’s volume before unpausing and continuing where he left off. as you lay back, haechan drapes his duvet over the both of you, resting his chin on top of your head and wrapping his arms around your waist.

“if i get sick, you’re taking care of me.”

he hums happily. “deal.”

#haechan #lee donghyuck #haechan fluff #haechan drabble #donghyuck fluff #donghyuck drabble #nct dream #nct dream fluff #nct dream drabble #judah.doc

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purplestars222 · 2 months

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Period comfort with hazbin characters

ft alastor, lucifer, fallen!adam and husk

gn afab reader! no y/n used, and you arent in a relationship with alastor, just besties <3 all the other boys have a crush on you.

there will be more parts, may not be period comfort tho, just more hazbin/helluva characters comforting the reader while theyre sick

cw: mentions of period sex, adam is chubby, slight ooc

mdni please<3

Alastor

The smell of blood draws alastor to your room, hes a little worried that you're hurt, but its nothing he cant fix. As he enters your room, and sees you curled up in the fetal position he goes and sits next to you

"Darling, whats the matter? It's a wonderful day and you're spending it in bed! I believe Charlie is baking cookies! You-"

"go away alastor. i'm on my period."

"Well why didnt you say so!"

Alastor disappears into his shadow, and returns a few minutes later with a hot water bottle, a bottle of cold water, some pain meds and dark chocolate. He throws the items on your bed and smiles at you expectingly. You shoot him back a smile of appreciation. Even tho alastor and you had your moments, he's still a good friend when he needs to be.

Lucifer

Lucifer has a crush on you, and its no secret either. Every day he sits next to you during breakfast, he always makes sure you eat enough. He always does Charlie's silly little trust exercises with you, just being in your vicinity makes him happy. When you dont come down for breakfast, he gets worried, he made your favourite for you- pancakes! He decides to take some to your room. When he enters, and sees you curled up on the bed, he sits the tray of pancakes on your bedside table and sits next to you

"Hey, you didnt come down for breakfast, are you okay??"

you shake your head no, and he seems really concerned. He hates seeing you in pain, its horrible. Suddenly he remembers something- lillith acted like this when she first came to hell, periods. In the garden of eden, lilliths periods didnt hurt her, but as soon as she came to hell, it felt like her uterus was stabbing her, luckily luci fixed it

"Can i help?"

You stare up at him, eyes slightly watering from the pain and nod your head, anything to get rid of this. Luci carefully peels back your blanket and rests his hands on your groin, you shiver at the feeling of his warm hands, its nice. Theres a bright glow of golden light, and suddenly, the pains gone, the period pain at least, you still have a headache, and you're still pretty exhausted. You pull luci into a hug, he hugs back, giving you a kiss on the head

"Want me to run you a bath, sweetheart?"

"Yes please"

Lucifer hops up and heads into your ensuite, he starts a bath, making sure to get some really nice smelling soap and bath salts. He puts some rose petals in the tub to make it look pretty, and a couple of rubber duckies. Lucifer cares so much, hes so sweet.

Adam

Adam doesn't really understand the whole 'periods thing'. They didn't have them in heaven, so he doesn't really know what to do when you wake up grabbing your stomach. He pulls out his phone and decides to have a look online to see if there's anything he can get that will help, theres products from the vee's, but he doesnt trust those fuckers. He scrolls across an article that says orgasms can help with period cramps. When adam first shoots the idea at you, you're hesitant, period sex isnt something you've done before, and it seems a little scary, but you let him. He puts a towel under the both of you, and he makes sure that you 100% wanna do this before he gets started. When you guys have done, your pains are pretty much gone. he pulls you on top of him and you just lay there for awhile, enjoying the warmth from adams soft belly <3

Husk

Husk isn't too educated with this stuff either, but he knows how to take care of someone when they're sick. He doesn't realise you have your period at first, he just thinks it's a stomach bug. He gets you some chicken noodle soup and a few painkillers, when you explain to him that you have no appetite because of how bad the pain is, it suddenly clicks in his brain what's happening. He gives you a small kiss on the forehead, then walks out. He goes to charlie asking for help, she gathers together a basket full of snacks, pads, tampons, a menstrual cup, period underwear, hot water bottle with a cute cat cover and some noise cancelling headphones, in case things get overwhelming. Husk brings it back to you and lets you snuggle into him, something he doesn't allow very often. You spend the next few days cuddled up in bed, playing with husks ears watching movies. He helps you when you need to shower, and also keeps your hot water bottle hot. he just really enjoys taking care of you, not that he'd admit that

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spinchip · 2 months

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Zane is a good cook bc he's extremely good at differentiating flavor profiles and has a good enough memory bank of what food works best together that he can make dinner from scratch, no recipie Involved, and have it be 5-star gourmet. When he tastes his own cooking, he can easily identify what it needs to take it to the next level.

Jay CAN cook bc Ma Walker is definitely the type of lady that would stick Jay in the kitchen to help, but he's not super confident. He has like 5 recipies on LOCK (spaghetti, tacos, chicken Alfredo, chicken noodle soup, and meatloaf) but is completely unsure about anything new. He makes mash potatos from the instant add-hot-water packages and didn't even know you could do it another way

Kai is good at cooking in a nostalgic, weird childhood foods type of way. Spaghetti with hot dogs chopped up in it, noodles and tomato sauce, tuna casserole- that realm of weird but cheap. He can typically look in the cabinets and come up with something without buying any extra ingredients, and it's usually not half bad. He tends not to like his own food even if everyone else enjoys it tho, strangely enough

Nya can't cook lol. She's a master at frozen meals tho. She can pop some chicken nuggets or a pizza in the oven with the best of them I'm sure

Lloyd is an okay cook, but he always adds a sweet component to his foods that are hit or miss for the others. He just likes his meals on the sweet side, no savory or salty for him. There's a salt shaker filled with sugar for him on the table

Cole is a bad cook but it's really not his fault. His dad is an AWFUL AWFUL cook and Cole grew up eating his food- and now that's what he likes. Over cooked, dry chicken? Mushy mac and cheese? Burnt vegetables? That's just coles' normal. The first time he had well cooked, juicy chicken it grossed him out bc it felt like he was eating it raw

#ninjago #spinchip posts

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daisynik7 · 6 months

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You shuffle into the kitchen, wrapped in your favorite throw blanket, hoodie covering your head, sniffling. Nanami leans over a steaming pot on the stove, giving you a small grin as you approach him. “Hi,” you mutter, congested from your nose down to your chest.

With a sympathetic pout, he replies, “Hi honey.” He checks you for a fever and when he senses none, he bows slightly to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Soup is almost ready.”

His homemade chicken noodle soup always hits the spot, especially when you’re sick like this. It’s hearty, full of fresh vegetables and shredded chicken, always filling you up with comfort that temporarily eases the aches in your body. You sit at the dining table, cuddling yourself tighter within the blanket, feeling pitiful in this sorry state you’re in.

He ladles the soup into a big bowl, setting it in front of you with a small piece of a baguette next to it. You sniff it, letting the soothing aroma fill your nostrils, warming your entire body. He scoots a chair next to you, grabbing hold of the spoon to scoop a generous bite, blowing on it delicately to feed you. While you enjoy being pampered during your moment of weakness, you can’t help reaching for his hand, saying, “You really don’t have to do this, Kento.”

He ignores your protests, giving you another cooled-down spoonful. “I know I don’t. But I want to.”

You shake your head, arguing more. “But you’ve already done so much – ”

He cuts you off, shoving a piece of bread into your mouth to shut you up, affectionately of course. “Let me do this for you, sweetie. Let me take care of you just like you do for me.”

You chew slowly, relenting to his stubbornness, just as he would do to you if the roles were reversed. Still, part of you doesn’t feel like you deserve this, deserve him. You let the thought escape you, asking out loud, “Why do you do so much for me?”

He smiles at you, eyes crinkling with kindness. “Because I love you and I want to take care of you. Is that so hard to believe?”

You nod, wiping your nose with a tissue from your pocket. “You’re too good for me.”

He chuckles, patting the corners of your lips with a napkin. “Now I know you’re really sick if you’re saying ridiculous things like this.”

“I’m serious! You’re the perfect man, and I’m just…me.”

Nanami removes the hood from your head, cupping your cheek lovingly. “But that’s why I love you so much. Because you’re you. And that’s what makes you perfect.”

You melt into his touch, already feeling the nourishing effects of the soup throughout your weakened body. He helps you finish the rest of the bowl, topping the meal off with a hot mug of tea with honey and a squeeze of lemon. Then, he leads you to the couch, massaging your temples until you fall asleep on his lap. Leave it to your husband to know exactly the remedy to make you feel better.

#divider credit to @/saradika #self-indulgent because I am currently SICK #nanami fluff #nanami kento #kento nanami #nanami x reader #nanami x you #kento nanami fluff #nanami kento fluff #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami x you #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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batterygarden · 4 months

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yuuta's precious little baby gets sick (yuuta x fem! reader, no body description)

When you finally wrestle your way through the sticky deadbolt, you all but collapse in your entryway, ultimately sitting yourself on the ground by your shoe rack. You were having such a tough time with your keys you almost fainted.

It’s then that you finally accept the fact you’ve been avoiding: you’ve caught the flu.

You assume Yuuta’s off working or something—he doesn’t usually use the deadbolt when he’s home alone, so you jump in your place on the floor when he rounds the corner, calling a greeting. He frowns when he sees your position.

“Hi, baby. Just… taking off my shoes.” You mumble with a slow tug of a lace.

You don’t want to alarm him, Yuuta’s insanely busy with work as of late—your poor health would just be another stressor. He’ll probably be able to tell something’s up, but you intend to downplay your symptoms if you can help it.

He certainly doesn’t need to know you almost passed out with the effort of turning a key just now.

“Oh yeah?” He chuckles a little, standing above you. “Why from down there?”

“‘T’s easier this way.” You hum, managing to free one foot, trying not to act winded by the action.

Yuuta’s crouched in front of you then, a cold hand placed over your forehead. He frowns, helping you remove the other shoe and then gently tugging you up.

“Sweet girl. You’re sick.”

His tone is gently reprimanding. Like you’ve done something bad, though he isn’t angry. That something’s likely your failure to mention this sooner, going so far as to drive yourself all the way home from your work trip thirty minutes away. You hadn’t wanted to worry him.

You can tell you were unsuccessful in that regard as you’re tugged softly but urgently to your room, half your weight held up by strong arms. You’re sure he’s itching to just carry you, but chose to avoid causing a fuss—a wise move. You dislike feeling weak on principle, plus you’re semi-delirious with fever. You’d have gotten mad.

Once inside, Yuuta’s guiding you to sit on the bed, holding you up when your posture takes the consistency of a limp noodle.

“Let’s get you out of your uniform, pretty.” His tone is soothing, though you aren’t thrilled by his intentions.

With a groan and nod, you hold your arms up when he lifts them over your head how he wants, pulling off your shirt.

You’re immediately shivering, whining ‘T’s cold Yuu! as your hot skin’s exposed to air.

“Sorry, sorry—”

Yuuta turns a bit frantic when he finds the drawer he expected to find a sweatshirt in empty, deciding to just yank his own old emo band hoodie over his head and shove it over yours. You’re still shivering then, but he grits his teeth and yanks off your jeans, too.

You start crawling under the covers before he can even get you new pants, curling in a ball to conserve heat. Suddenly you feel like you’re made of ice.

Yuuta looks pained, his brows stitched together.

“Baby… you should’ve called me,” he tucks you in while he talks, throwing an additional quilt on top of your comforter. “I would have come to get you.”

“I was doing fine! It’s not too bad.”

You let out a cough, unable to hold it in. It’s raspy and Yuuta practically glares at the sound.

“I’ll be right back, okay?”

He disappears briefly then, reappearing with some water and medicine, as well as a cool, damp washcloth.

He sits on the bed by your pillow, lifting you carefully so you barely have to try when you sit up to swallow the drugs, laying you back down just as gently.

His touch is tender when he dots a kiss to your forehead before smoothing the towel over it, his hand lingering by your face to caress your cheek over and over.

You grip his wrist while he does, holding his touch in place even after the stroking stops. There’s a silent bit while you let your eyes close, leaning your head against his palm. You really are starting to feel awful, but definitely cared for.

“I should make you soup or something.”

You honestly don’t have an appetite, though you likely should at this hour.

“Rather you lay with me.” You murmur, peeking eyelids open with immense effort.

Yuuta hums, his thumb resuming its stroking.

Eventually, presumably after deciding whether soup was more important, you get a little okay, and his hand is pulled away so he can get under the covers next to you.

Yuuta pulls you to his chest then, and you realize once again the gravity of your illness; you hadn’t even noticed that he’d been shirtless when he stripped off his hoodie. Normally you would have ogled at least a little.

His skin feels cool to touch but you burrow yourself in his wide chest anyways, nuzzling your cheek over his heart while he readjusts your falling washcloth. You feel his lips on the top of your head. You feel his palms sliding soothingly over your back. You feel his all-consuming love nursing you better than any medicine could.

#yuuta x reader #jjk x reader #yuuta okkotsu x reader #yuuta fluff #yuta x reader #yuuta fic #caught the flu with yuu #< was a strong contender for a title here #🐞 writes

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