I have a request for jack, can you write a fic about y/n taking care of jack when hes sick please. Like hes going through the wars (coughing, sneezing, headache, throwing up etc) and shes just there to comfort him and hold him at moment despite he trying to fit it
THANK YOU!!!
This is a sick Jack request! I made it a little blurb, so I hope you enjoy it even if it's not super long, and I hope it lives up to what you were expecting! Please enjoy!
Word Count: 1212
Warnings: Use of (Y/N), AFAB! Reader, illness (not serious), fluff
Summary: Jack comes down with a brutal flu and stubbornly insists he's fine. Y/N spends the day taking care of him, forcing him to rest and comforting him whenever he tries to brush off how awful he feels. As the day goes on, Jack's stubbornness fades, and he finally lets himself lean on her for support.
_____________
Jack never got sick.
At least, that was what he liked to tell people.
Every sniffle was "allergies."
Every cough was "nothing."
Every fever was "I'm literally fine."
Which was why you weren't surprised when you walked into the apartment one morning and found him sitting on the couch looking like death itself had personally kicked down the front door and moved in.
His curls were flattened on one side from sleep, dark circles sat beneath his eyes, and he was wrapped in three blankets despite the apartment being warm.
The second he saw you, he straightened. A mistake. The movement triggered a coughing fit so violent he practically folded in half.
You winced, a cringe on your face. "Oh my God."
"I'm fine." Jack's voice sounded like gravel.
You stared. He stared back.
A beat passed. Then he sneezed so hard the entire blanket flipped.
"Jack."
"I'm fine." Another sneeze, then another.
You blinked. "You're literally dying."
"I'm not dying."
"You look like a victorian with tuberculosis."
He pointed at you. "That's rude."
The motion made him groan and press a hand against his forehead.
You dropped your bag on the floor. "Okay. Temperature."
"No."
"Jack."
"No."
"You have a fever."
"I don't."
You walked over and pressed your palm against his forehead. It was burning hot.
You stared at him. Jack stared back.
"...It's a little warm."
"A little warm?" You asked with raised brows.
"Maybe medium warm."
"Jack."
"Okay, maybe hot."
You sighed. This was going to be a long day.
Twenty minutes later Jack was grumbling from beneath a pile of blankets while you sat beside him holding a thermometer.
"No."
"Open your mouth."
"No."
"Jack."
"No."
You narrowed your eyes. He narrowed his. You were both stubborn. Unfortunately for him, you were the stubborn one that wasn't currently suffering from what appeared to be the plague.
You grabbed his jaw.
His eyes widened. "Y/N."
"Open."
"No."
"Open."
"No."
You pinched his nose and his mouth opened. You shoved the thermometer inside.
Jack gasped dramatically. "You cheated."
"You act like you're six."
He folded his arms. The thermometer beeped. You looked down, then up at him, and then looked down at the thermometer again.
"Jack."
"What?"
"You have a fever of 102."
"...Oh."
"OH?"
"I thought it'd be higher."
You smacked his arm.
He yelped. Then regretted yelping because it triggered another coughing fit.
You rubbed his back while he wheezed.
The second he recovered he tried to wave you off. "I'm okay."
"You're not okay."
"I am."
"You're sweating."
"It's called being athleticism."
You stared at him blankly. "It's called influenza, and that wasn’t even close to english you moron."
By noon he'd lost the battle. Mostly because standing up had resulted in him nearly falling over.
You had caught him before he slammed headfirst into the glass coffee table.
Jack had looked genuinely offended. "I was fine."
"You almost kissed the floor."
"I had it."
"You absolutely did not."
Now he was tucked into bed against his will, the blankets pulled up to his chin, the humidifier running, water bottle nearby, medication on the nightstand, and somehow he still looked annoyed.
You sat beside him quietly reading your book.
Jack watched you. Five minutes passed, then ten.
"Y/N."
"Hm?"
"My head hurts."
You looked up.
His voice sounded smaller. The tough guy act was finally cracking.
You set your book down. "Come here."
Without argument Jack shifted toward your opened arms, and the second he was close enough he practically collapsed into them.
Your heart melted because sick Jack was always so different. Normally he was loud, annoying, over confident, always talking and moving, but now he just looked exhausted.
You gently brushed your fingers through his curls.
His eyes fluttered closed. "Feels bad."
"I know."
"My brain hurts."
"I know."
"My throat hurts."
"I know."
"My whole body hurts."
"I know, baby."
A small whine escaped him.
You continued running your fingers through his hair. Eventually his breathing slowed, and you thought he'd fallen asleep.
Then– "Don't tell Luke."
You snorted. "What?"
"I'll never hear the end of it."
Around three in the afternoon came the vomiting.
The moment Jack lurched upright you knew.
"Oh no."
He covered his mouth. His eyes widened.
You were already moving.
The bathroom was only a few feet away. You barely got him there in time.
The sound broke your heart.
Jack looked absolutely miserable with one hand gripping the toilet, and the other clutching his stomach.
Afterward he just sat on the floor pale, sweaty, and exhausted.
You grabbed a washcloth and knelt beside him.
Jack leaned against the wall too tired to argue anymore.
You gently wiped his face.
The cool cloth made him sigh. "Sorry."
You blinked. "For what?"
"Being gross."
Your chest hurt. "Jack."
He looked away.
"You don't have to apologize."
"I threw up."
"And?"
He frowned.
You moved closer. "You're sick."
"I know."
"You're allowed to need help."
His eyes softened. For a moment he looked younger. Not an NHL player. Not a celebrity. Not the guy everyone expected to have everything together.
Just Jack, your Jack, tired, sick and feeling awful.
You reached over and tucked a curl behind his ear. "I've got you."
His eyes immediately became glassy. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Be nice."
You laughed softly. "Why?"
"Because I'm gross."
You burst out laughing.
Jack groaned. "Its not funny."
That night was the worst part. The fever spiked again. Jack couldn't get comfortable, he couldn't sleep, he couldn't stop coughing.
Every time he drifted off another coughing fit woke him.
Around two in the morning you woke up to movement beside you. Jack was sitting upright with head in his hands breathing heavily.
You sat up. "Jack?"
He looked miserable. "I didn't mean to wake you."
"You didn't." A lie, but he didn't need to know that. You scooted closer. "What's wrong?"
His voice came out rough. "Everything hurts." The words were quiet, and defeated.
The kind of honesty that only came at two in the morning when someone felt terrible.
You opened your arms, and without hesitation Jack leaned into you. His forehead pressed against your shoulder and your hand moved to the back of his neck slowly rubbing circles.
"It's okay."
"No it's not."
"It is."
"I feel awful."
"I know."
He buried his face deeper into your shoulder.
You felt another cough shake through him. Poor thing.
You tightened your arms around him. "You can stop pretending now."
"What?"
"You don't have to keep telling me you're fine."
Jack was quiet. "I'm not fine."
Your heart broke. "Yeah."
"I feel terrible."
"I know."
His arms wrapped around your waist holding tighter like he needed the reassurance that you were there, and you weren't going anywhere.
You kissed the top of his head. "I've got you."
Jack let out a shaky breath. Then relaxed completely against you for the first time all day, just letting you take care of him, and somewhere between your fingers running through his curls and your quiet reassurances, Jack finally drifted asleep in your arms.
the entire men’s USA team is disgusting! These men don’t have a good bone in their body. I’m so sick of seeing them everywhere.
I just know Hilary Knight is sick of being put next to that trumpie loser.
i mean this respectfully.
YOU DONT KNOW THESE PEOPLE!! Assumption and statements like this are PARASOCIAL!!!!
i agree with you. i never speak on this because i’m in the sharks fan space and would probably get annihilated if i did but the amount of sharks fans who have “dni if you’re a hughes brother or olympics team usa supporter” really makes me roll my eyes. not because i’m a super fan or because i support some things they’ve said, but the vast majority of american nhlers unfortunately would’ve been chopping it up with kash patel and trump if they were on the olympic team. i really like will smith but i can guarantee he would’ve been at the white house visit too and ik sharks fans know that deep down so not really sure why so many of them are so out to get the hughes brothers in particular. there is a difference between a likely hypothetical scenario vs things that were actually said/done but still
