Hey, could you please write something where Jace falls sick (stomach flu or a bad cold, maybe?) and Clary has to take care of him while he acts stubbornly? Thank you!
“You’re sick,” Clary wrinkled her nose, eyeing Jace from head to toe. He was clad in his usual black-on-black with his leather jacket, but his nose was red, his golden eyes were puffy, and his shoulders hunched with a kind of exhaustion.
“Am not,” He puffs his chest up, side stepping her to enter her bedroom at the institute. “I just came to–” he cuts off, a fit of dry sounding coughs over taking him.
“Jace,” Clary frowned, stretching up on her toes to press a hand to his forehead. “You’re burning up. You’ve got a fever.”
Jace caught her wrist in his slender fingers, gently tugging her hand away. “Don’t worry about me,” He insists, “I’m fine.”
Clary knew just how stubborn Jace could be when he wanted to be. She crossed her arms over her chest. “You should lay down for a bit. Are you hungry?”
“Not hungry,” Jace hummed, drawing her close. “At least not for food..”
Clary blushed a bit as she always did when Jace looked at her with that gaze, but once again, his coughs ruined the mood.
“I’m not kissing you,” She wrinkled her nose delicately. “You can lay down in my bed, and I’ll make you a tea and read to you while you get some rest.”
Jace narrowed his eyes at her, but when he sneezed three times in a row, he threw his hands up in the air in defeat. “Fine,” he muttered. “Leave it to me to date the most stubborn person on the planet, besides myself.”
She threw him a warm smile on her way out, and returned minutes later with a steaming hot cup of herbal tea, infused with something Magnus promised would ease Jace’s symptoms and help him get the rest he needed.
It wasn’t common for shadowhunters to catch colds, but it could happen, and Jace had been working himself extra hard lately, training late into the night.
“Jace,” Clary murmured, walking back in. When Jace didn’t immediately answer, she tip-toed towards her bed, smiling softly when she saw only a mop of blond hair emerging from her duvet. Jace always liked napping in her bed for the same reason she liked napping in his–her bed smelled like her, and Jace’s bed smelled like Jace. It was comforting. “Are you awake?”
He didn’t reply, except for a soft snore. She sat down on the edge of the bed, careful as to not disturb him, and raked her fingers through his blonde curls.
“Sleep,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his hair. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
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