Request: Hello! Could you write something where Seventeen Hoshi gets sick and the reader comes over to cook for him, etc.? (I don’t know what the differences are between fics and scenarios, etc. so just do whatever you think) Thank you! -🌺
Pairing: Seventeen’s Hoshi x Reader
“Why does he get to miss practice?” Vernon complained, teetering on the edge of Soonyoung’s bed.
“Because he just vomited in Seokmin’s loafers,” you muttered, shouldering your way past Chan leaning in the doorway.
Chan glanced over his shoulder at the now wide-eyed DK, strolling down the hallway. “He what?”
Chuckling to yourself, you pressed the cold compress on Soonyoung’s head, watching from the corner of your eye as Seokmin stumbled quickly toward the living area.
“Did I really hit his loafers?” Soonyoung croaked.
“I may have been exaggerating slightly,” you hummed, smiling softly down at the sick boy. He managed a small smirk in return before it turned into a grimace.
“Is he going to vomit again?” Vernon whispered. “And if he does, can he puke on me? Is that a significant enough reason to miss practice?”
Chan lifted his brows before shaking his head. “Your shamelessness knows no bounds.”
“I’m not shameless,” Vernon whined. “I just want a day to not do anything.”
“Do you really think-” Soonyoung wheezed, leaning up from the bed, and letting the compress fall. You kept a hand on his lower back to help steady him as he leveled his two group mates with a glare. “I want to be feeling like this?”
“To be fair, you’re pretty strong willed,” Chan grinned. “If you didn’t want to be sick-”
“Please exit the immediate area,” Soonyoung groaned, slamming his head back against the pillow. “Cease and desist. Moonwalk away.”
“Well, only because you asked so nicely,” Vernon muttered, crossing his arms as he headed toward the door.
“C’mon,” Chan sighed. “Practice won’t be so bad. At least Hosh won’t be there to yell about your form in the new choreo.”
“I let Coups know where you were lacking,” Soonyoung grumbled. “Don’t worry.”
“Of course you did,” Vernon groaned, shuffling down the hallway. “Why wouldn’t you? What a Hosh thing to do.”
“YAH! You know what a Hosh thing to do is!” Soonyoung shouted, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Standing with uncertainty, the quickness of the entire motion caused him to sit back down once again.
“Get dizzy and possibly be sick?” you hummed, trying not to let out an audible laugh. You rubbed your hand on his back and sighed.
“I was going to say, put a foot up his -” he groaned, hiccuping in what could possibly be a burp or vomit. “Ugh, what’s the point. Put me back to bed.”
“You’re already in bed,” you chuckled. “Just lean back.”
Soonyoung nodded shortly, a full pout on his face. Pushing his body backwards, he let out a small whimper as he snuggled into his pillow again. “I hate this. I’m never sick.”
Admittedly, seeing Soonyoung so heavily ill was a bit of a shock for you. The man you had adopted as the “happy virus” in your life usually managed to push through anything, but unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time you had seen him down for the count since the two of you had started dating.
“Incorrect,” you hummed, tucking the blanket around him. “All of you are varying degrees of sick all of the time. The Seventeen dorm is essentially a petri dish, and none of you wash your hands. That’s also negating the fact that you also don’t get enough rest.”
“Rest?” he grinned, his eyes still locked tightly. “We don’t know her.”
“I’m well aware of what you don’t know,” you sighed. “You’re burnt out, Hosh.”
“You’re burnt,” he murmured. “Your edges are all crispy.”
“I’m not sure if it’s you or the fever talking,” you muttered, shaking your head.
“Having a fever isn’t like having multiple personalities,” he smiled, squinting up at you. “You get pure Hosh, all the time.”
“How fortunate of me,” you hummed, patting him lightly on his sweat drenched forehead. “Are you hungry?”
“Hungry for love and affection,” he hummed, reaching up to wrap his arms around your waist.
Still greasy, even when he wasn’t feeling his best. How could you expect anything less?
“While adorable, I’m unsure if that will keep you hydrated,” you smiled. running your fingers through his damp hair.
“We can try it and see,” he chuckled, wiggling his brows before snuggling his face into your side.
“And up my chances of potentially contracting the plague?” you laughed. “How thoughtful of you!”
“You know, a simple “I’ll make you some soup” would have sufficed,” he grumbled, rolling away. “Sassy pants.”
“Don’t like it so much when the tables are turned, do you?” you smiled.
“I have no earthly idea what you’re talking about, I am a joy,” he croaked. “Now go on and cook. My throat hurts from all of this conversation.”
“Your throat, your feelings,” you hummed, standing up. “They’re nearly interchangeable, really.”
“I have big, strong, man feelings,” he whispered into his pillow. “I don’t get hurt.”
“Get some rest with your big, strong, man feelings,” you chuckled. “I’ll make you some rice porridge.”
“Pears with honey too?” he chirped.
“Pears with honey too,” you confirmed, stepping into the hallway. “You big, ole baby.”
“What are you making?” a familiar, yet unexpected voice echoed across the kitchen.
Your shoulders tensed, nearly causing you to drop the knife in your hand.
“What are you doing here?” you gasped, clutching your chest with your free hand as you spun.
“I asked you first,” Wonwoo smirked.
“Rice porridge,” you nodded. “And pears with honey. Your turn.”
“I’m sick,” he said simply, pulling himself to sit on the bar beside you.
“Being sick of your members doesn’t count,” you chuckled with a few chops.
Wonwoo rolled his eyes before grabbing a piece of pear from the cutting board. “I tested positive for the flu.”
“Flu being short for...?” you hummed. “Fluffy? Full of fluid?”
“Influenza,” he grumbled. “Type B.”
“I haven’t heard a single cough or sneeze,” you said, lifting your brows as you began to cut a pear up for him as well. Just wonderful. If Wonwoo had tested positive, you were almost certain that what Soonyoung was suffering from had to be the flu as well.
Before long, the entirety of the dorm would be full of vomit and snot.
The possibility of you being included in that situation grew by the moment.
“I don’t make the rules,” he shrugged. “But that rice porridge does smell really good. Did you add ginseng?”
Placing the second chopped pear in a bowl and dousing the pieces with honey, you glanced up at the boy and shook your head. You pushed a fork into his palm before handing him the full bowl and smiled. “Feel better.”
“Hosh, Did you know-” you began, stumbling into the boy’s room with a full tray of food. Halting in your tracks, your stance immediately softened as you looked to the man you were taking care of.
He was similar to a statue, barely flinching at your loud entrance. His head was tilted backwards, and his eyelids were locked shut. It was a contrast to the slight parting of his lips, breaths heaving in and out at a rapid pace. His cheeks were dewy with the sweat of his fever and his dark hair splayed across his forehead like a fan.
You smiled softly to yourself as you placed the food on the bed opposite of his, before easing yourself to sit on the floor. Leaning against the side of the mattress, you placed your head in your hands to gaze at him. Even when he was sick, he was charming.
“Why are you looking at me?” his whispered, the words mangled by his blocked nasal passages. “Creep.”
“Why are you faking being asleep?” you laughed, jumping a bit at being caught. “Turd.”
“I wasn’t faking anything, I was resting my eyes,” he sighed, finally opening them. “Plus, who could sleep when you enter a room screaming?”
“I was not screaming!” you gasped. “I was just conversing.”
“At an elevated tone,” he grinned. Easing up onto his elbow, he put his palm beneath his cheek. “It’s cute though.”
“You know what’s cuter?” you hummed, spinning around and grabbing the tray you had brought previously. “A boo who can cook.”
“You know what’s cute in general?” he whispered, angling his body into an upright position. “You. Whether you can cook or not. Thank you for taking care of me.”
“If you’re trying to get me to feed you, it’s not happening,” you smiled, placing the food before him.
“But my wrists are so weak and I’m so tired,” he muttered, shooting you with what would normally be a flirty side gaze. With how puffy his eyes had grown, it just made him look a bit cross eyed.
You rolled your own eyes before plopping onto the bed opposite him. “Too bad your mouth isn’t.”
