princess fever
pairings ᯓ✦∘˙ bf!jj maybank x fem!routledge!reader
summary ᯓ✦∘˙ you catch john b’s cold and lose your mind. your boyfriend has to survive your princess-level stubbornness, flying water bottles, and chaos just to get you to take your medicine.
word count ᯓ✦∘˙ 3.3k~
you never got sick.
it was almost unfair, honestly. growing up at the chateau, surrounded by saltwater, questionable food choices, and boys who never washed their hands, you should’ve had the immune system of a victorian child, but somehow, you never even got a sniffle. not once. not when the pogues passed around colds like party favors. not when john b got wiped out by whatever beach plague he’d picked up.
and john b never got sick either.
which was why, three days ago, when he started coughing and sneezing and dramatically announcing that he was “literally on death’s door,” you’d known the universe was playing some kind of long, cruel joke.
by day four, he was fine.
you woke up that morning already annoyed.
the ceiling fan spun lazily above you, and for a split second, everything felt normal...until you swallowed.
pain shot down your throat.
you groaned, eyes squeezing shut as your head started pounding, the dull ache spreading behind your eyes like it was claiming territory. your body felt heavy, sore in a way that made even rolling onto your side feel like too much effort.
no. nope. absolutely not.
you lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, and then it hit you.
john b.
your older brother. patient zero. the man who had coughed openly in shared spaces, stolen sips from your drinks, and had the audacity to say, “relax, it’s just a cold.”
“oh, i’m going to kill him,” you muttered.
you dragged yourself out of bed, hair a mess, wearing one of jj’s hoodies because—yes—you liked being comfortable, and yes, you expected everyone around you to accommodate that.
your princess treatment wasn’t something you asked for; it was something people naturally gave you. john b cooked when you were tired. jj carried things for you without being asked. pope handed you the better chair. it wasn’t your fault you had standards.
you stormed down the hall and into john b’s room, where he was sprawled out, dead asleep, looking infuriatingly peaceful for someone who had ruined your immune system.
without hesitation, you grabbed the half-full plastic water bottle from his nightstand and hurled it at his head.
it bounced off his shoulder.
“OW—what the hell?” john b groaned, rolling onto his stomach.
“you got your dirty and NASTY germs on me,” you snapped. “and now i’m sick.”
john b didn’t even turn around.
he buried his face into his pillow, already regretting every life choice that had led to this moment. please don’t let her be actually sick, he thought. please let this just be a dramatic episode of nonsense.
“john b,” you said sharply. “i’m serious.”
“what do you want me to do?” he groaned, voice muffled.
your nose burned. your throat tightened. you sniffled and then, right on cue, your eyes filled with tears. crying on command was a skill you’d mastered years ago. Some people thought it was unhinged. you beg to differ...
the sound of your sniffles made John B sigh in defeat.
“ugh,” he muttered, pushing himself upright.
he finally looked at you.
and immediately knew he was screwed.
your eyes were glossy. your cheeks were flushed. you looked small in jj’s hoodie, arms crossed like you were holding yourself together. not dramatic. not fake.
sctually sick.
“yikes,” he said quietly. “okay… yeah. you look rough.”
“yeah,” you said, voice wobbling just enough to twist the knife. “and I don’t have medicine.”
john b rubbed his face. deep breaths. stay calm. don’t escalate.
“just go back to sleep,” he said carefully. “it’ll blow over in like three days. today’s my fourth day and i feel a hundred percent better.”
“i’m hurting right now,” you shot back. “and you’re supposed to take care of me.”
that was it.
john b groaned, already reaching for his phone. “ugh. i’m calling jj.”
“no.”
“yes.”
“no, absolutely not.”
“god, this is literally your fault,” you snapped, already turning away. “you should be the one taking care of me—what is wrong with you?”
you slammed your bedroom door shut just as you heard his muffled, resigned, “jj,” through the wall.
you screamed into your pillow.
and then, exhausted and aching, you passed out.
the front door of the chateau creaked open an hour later.
jj maybank stepped inside with a plastic grocery bag swinging from his hand, the paper rustling with every step. he smelled like saltwater and sunscreen, hair still damp, boots landing softly against the floor. he’d stolen most of the contents from the convenience store— crackers, tissues, orange juice, cold medicine he didn’t recognize but hoped worked.
he paused just inside the doorway, scanning the quiet house.
“…she asleep?” he asked.
john b appeared from the kitchen, arms crossed, already bracing himself. “yeah. for now.”
jj nodded, jaw tightening a little. okay. easy. you got this.
john b glanced down the hall toward your room. “just—uh. proceed with caution.”
jj frowned. “the fuck does that mean?”
“it means,” john b said slowly, “you know how she is.”
jj huffed a quiet laugh. “yeah. princess treatment, attitude for days, dramatic when she’s mildly inconvenienced.”
john b winced. “yeah, but....she’s actually sick this time.”
that wiped the smile off jj’s face.
“oh...,” he said. "like… sick-sick?”
john b nodded. “throat, headache, body aches. and she’s in one of those moods.”
jj exhaled, shifting the bag in his hand. great. cool. fantastic. he’d faced cops, drug dealers, and actual life-threatening situations, but a sick, stubborn you? that scared him a little more.
he knocked once on your door.
nothing.
jj hesitated, hand hovering over the doorknob. okay. be gentle. be helpful. don’t piss her off. he twisted the knob and pushed the door open slowly.
your room was dim, curtains pulled tight, the afternoon light barely sneaking through the edges. you were curled up in bed, tangled in blankets, hair spread messily across the pillow. jj’s hoodie swallowed you whole.
his chest softened instantly.
“hey,” he said quietly, stepping inside. “baby?”
you didn’t move.
jj set the bag down on the floor and leaned over, resting his hand on your shoulder. “c’mon, princess. i brought you stuff.”
you stirred just enough to shove him hard in the chest.
“don’t touch me.”
jj stumbled back, barely catching himself. “whoa—okay, damn.”
he laughed under his breath, rubbing his side. “you still got your fight in ya. that’s good, right?”
“no,” you muttered, turning away from him. “go away.”
jj crouched beside the bed, undeterred. “i brought snacks. and juice. and—”
“no.”
“and medicine.”
absolutely not.
you shot upright just long enough to glare at him. “i am not taking that.”
“you haven’t even seen it yet.”
“i don’t need to,” you snapped. “it tastes gross and pills get stuck in my throat and I’m not doing it.”
jj sighed, already reaching into the bag. “okay, but if it helps you feel better—”
you grabbed the bottle out of his hand and flung it across the room. It hit the doorframe and slid out into the hallway.
jj blinked.
then grinned, impressed despite himself. “damn, baby. got some nice aim right there.”
“i said no,” you insisted, sinking back under the blankets. “i’m fine.”
“you’re literally burning up.”
“you could've just called me hot.”
jj shook his head, trying not to smile. she’s impossible. god, i love her.
he sat on the edge of the bed, lowering his voice. “just let me help, okay? i hate seeing you like this.”
“i don’t need help,” you said stubbornly. “i need everyone to stop bothering me.”
jj looked at you for a long moment, softening. “yeah,” he murmured. “sure you do.”
he disappeared for a moment and came back with a cold water bottle, condensation already forming on the plastic.
“okay,” he said gently, twisting the cap. “no medicine. just water.”
you cracked one eye open. “i’m not dehydrated.”
“you’ve been asleep for hours, and you just woke up not feeling good,” he said. “humor me.”
you sighed dramatically but pushed yourself upright anyway— way faster than jj expected and snatched the bottle from his hand.
before he could say anything, you tilted your head back and chugged nearly half of it, water spilling down your chin and onto JJ’s hoodie.
he blinked. “jesus— slow down.”
you lowered the bottle, finally breathing, and that’s when you saw him.
john b, standing in the kitchen. watching.
your eyes narrowed.
without a second thought, you hurled the bottle across your room and right at him.
“HEY—” john b yelped, ducking just in time as it smacked against the cabinet behind him.
jj swore under his breath, grabbing your shoulders. “okay, okay— easy, tiger.”
“i told you this was his fault,” you muttered, already wilting as the adrenaline faded.
jj guided you back down onto the pillows, tucking the blankets around you like he’d done it a hundred times before. he brushed your hair back gently, pressing his palm to your forehead.
“you’re gonna pass out again if you keep doing that,” he murmured. “save the violence for later.”
you huffed, eyes fluttering shut. “it's worth it.”
jj smiled to himself, sitting back on the edge of the bed, one hand still resting on your arm— just in case... john b reappeared in the doorway two seconds later, eyes wild.
“you are actually insane,” he shouted. “you could’ve killed me!”
you shot upright again. “YOU GAVE ME THE PLAGUE.”
“I HAD A COLD.”
“AND I HAVE A HEADACHE AND A SORE THROAT AND IT’S YOUR FAULT—”
“YOU DIDN'T TELL ME I COULDN'T HAVE A SIP—”
“YOU’RE MY BROTHER—”
“THAT DOESN’T MEAN IMMUNITY—”
“IT LITERALLY DOES—”
the words started overlapping, volume climbing, neither of you stopping long enough to breathe.
jj stood there for exactly three seconds, watching it spiral.
“oh my god,” he muttered.
john b pointed accusingly at you. “she just assaulted me with a water bottle.”
“you DESERVED IT.”
“she’s crazy, JJ!”
“you got me sick!”
“I WAS SICK FIRST—”
“WHICH IS THE PROBLEM—”
“OKAY,” JJ snapped.
he stepped forward, placed both hands on John B’s chest, and physically pushed him back out of the room.
“nope. get out. go.”
“JJ—”
"out.”
he shut the door in john b’s face before he could finish the sentence.
the room went quiet except for your heavy breathing.
jj turned back to you, hands on his hips, then softened immediately when he saw your expression: flushed, glassy-eyed, exhausted, but still fired up.
he walked over and gently pressed you back down onto the mattress.
“alright,” he said firmly but sweetly, tugging the blankets back up around you. “that’s enough fighting for one day.”
“it is his fault,” you muttered.
“i know,” JJ said without hesitation.
that earned him a weak huff of satisfaction.
he brushed your hair back from your face, thumb tracing your temple lightly. “just take a nap, princess. i promise i’ll handle it.”
your eyes fluttered. “don’t let him near me.”
“wouldn’t dream of it.”
he waited until your breathing evened out, until the tension drained from your shoulders, and then slipped quietly out of the room, closing the door behind him.
john B was pacing in the living room, still fuming.
“she’s unbelievable,” he started.
jj turned on him instantly. “dude, what the hell?”
“i almost got taken out by a flying aquafina.”
“you got her sick,” JJ shot back. “and then you poked the bear.”
“she’s being dramatic.”
“she’s sick,” JJ corrected. “and stubborn. and you know how she is.”
john b sighed, rubbing his face. “okay, yeah. maybe i messed up.”
jj crossed his arms, thinking. then his expression shifted— something mischievous clicking into place.
“…i might have an idea.”
john b looked up. "yeah?”
jj nodded slowly. “but it’s gonna take all of us.”
john b followed his gaze toward the living room.
“oh,” he said. “that kind of idea.”
they shared a look.
and then jj said, “alright. let’s do this.”
pope showed up ten minutes later, breathless.
he pushed through the front door of the chateau like he’d sprinted the whole way, hands braced on his knees as he bent forward, chest heaving.
“i got here as fast as i could,” he panted. “what happened to y/n?”
silence.
jj stood near the couch, arms crossed. john b hovered by the kitchen counter, avoiding eye contact.
pope straightened slowly. “well?”
nothing.
“…guys?” he pressed. “is she okay?”
still nothing.
pope’s expression tightened. “i’m gonna go check on her.”
he took three steps down the hall and reached for your bedroom door.
“NO!”
both jj and john b shouted at the exact same time.
pope froze, hand hovering inches from the knob.
“what the hell?” he demanded, turning around. “why are you yelling at me like she’s radioactive?”
jj ran a hand through his hair. john b exhaled hard, shoulders slumping.
“…she’s sick,” john b finally said.
pope stared at them for a long moment, processing. then his face shifted.
“oh. hell no.”
he grabbed his bag from the floor. “i am not getting involved in whatever this is.”
“pope—wait,” john b said quickly, stepping in front of him.
“she’s sick, man,” pope shot back. “i like being alive.”
jj held up his hands. “okay, yeah, that’s fair. but we need help.”
pope sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “why do i need to help?”
“because,” john b said desperately, “she won’t listen to me, and she won’t take medicine, and jj’s the only reason she hasn’t murdered me yet.”
jj shrugged. “i’m the buffer.”
pope looked down the hallway, then back at them. “so what’s the plan?”
the three of them fell quiet.
jj glanced toward the kitchen.
the pizza boxes sat on the counter, steam curling faintly from beneath the lids, the smell filling the room—warm cheese, grease, comfort.
a slow grin tugged at jj’s mouth.
pope followed his gaze.
“…no,” he said immediately.
john b leaned forward. “just hear us out.”
pope crossed his arms. “i don’t like where this is going.”
jj tilted his head. “you want her to feel better, right?”
pope hesitated.
“…yes.”
jj nodded. “good. then trust us.”
pope exhaled sharply. “i hate this already.”
john b smiled for the first time in hours. “so you’re in?”
pope closed his eyes, muttering, “i’m gonna regret this.”
jj’s grin widened. “perfect.”
they leaned in closer.
and the plan was set.
the chateau went quiet on purpose.
jj clicked off the lamp in the living room, leaving only the late afternoon sun bleeding in through the windows. the pizza boxes were placed carefully on the coffee table, lids cracked just enough for the smell to escape—melted cheese, grease, comfort.
john b cleared his throat loudly. “pizzas out here,” he announced, projecting toward the door. “we’re heading out.”
kie and pope exaggerated their footsteps, moving toward the front door, shoes scuffing, keys jangling. the porch door opened, then shut with a solid thunk.
silence.
they all froze.
jj pressed his back against the wall near the hallway, heart beating a little too fast. please work. please don’t make me tackle my girlfriend.
a minute passed.
then another.
john b shifted his weight. “she’s not coming.”
jj tilted his head. “wait.”
a soft creak.
all three of them snapped to attention.
your bedroom door opened just a crack.
you stepped out slowly, hood pulled up over your head, jj’s oversized hoodie swallowing your frame. the sleeves covered your hands, the hood shadowing your vision so you could barely see anything but the floor in front of you.
you sniffed.
paused.
the smell hit you.
your stomach betrayed you immediately.
jj mouthed, now.
you took another step into the living room.
and then—
hands grabbed your shoulders.
another pair scooped up your legs.
"what—HEY—NO—”
“GOT HER!” john b shouted.
“WAIT—WAIT—GUYS—”
you were lifted clean off the ground, hoodie twisting around you as you kicked weakly.
“PUT ME DOWN,” you yelled. “I SWEAR TO GOD—”
“easy, easy,” JJ said quickly, panic and laughter mixing as he tried to keep you from flailing too hard. “nobody panic.”
“WATCH ME PANICK,” you shrieked.
they hauled you toward the couch, your hood slipping further over your eyes until you could barely see anything but dark fabric and flashes of movement.
the second you realized who it was, all hell broke loose.
“JOHN B,” you screamed. “I KNEW IT—THIS IS YOUR FAULT—”
“STOP MOVING,” pope said, struggling to keep hold of your legs. “i don’t want to drop you!”
“I’M GOING TO KILL YOU,” you shouted, squirming harder.
jj appeared in front of you, breathless, holding the medicine bottle up like a peace offering. “okay, okay—just one dose, alright? one! then pizza, I swear.”
your eyes locked onto the bottle.
“no.”
“just drink it—”
“no.”
“baby—”
“I SAID NO—”
You swung blindly, your fist connecting with Pope’s cheek.
“ow—okay, nope,” Pope yelped, instantly letting go and stumbling back. “i'm out.”
the second his grip loosened, you twisted, grabbing a fistful of john b’s hair.
“AH—HEY—HEY—”
he yelped and immediately released you.
jj took a deep breath, hands lifting slowly as if he were negotiating with a storm. “alright… enough. that’s enough.”
you spun, hood slipping further, eyes blazing. “I’M NOT DONE!”
jj crouched slightly to meet you at eye level, voice soft but firm. “hey. look at me.”
you blinked, the oversized hood limiting your vision to dark fabric and shifting shapes.
“i’ve got this,” jj said gently, holding up a small cup of liquid medicine, the kind you always hated. “just trust me. one sip, that’s it. i’ll hold it. you just drink. okay?”
your stubbornness flared for half a second, your body trembling from shivering and fever, but the calm in his tone and the patience in his eyes made you hesitate.
slowly, shakily, you tipped your head back. jj guided the cup to your lips, steady and careful. you swallowed quietly, the medicine sliding down your throat.
jj smiled softly. “good job, princess.”
he crouched lower, looping one arm under your knees and another behind your back. “now… let’s get you back to your room.”
you melted against his chest as he lifted you, hoodie sliding over your eyes. jj’s chest was warm and steady beneath you. the hallway seemed impossibly long, but his grip was solid, reassuring. you felt your muscles relax against him for the first time in hours.
“careful, please,” you whispered.
“i’ve got you,” he said, voice low, protective. “you don’t need to worry about a thing.”
he carried you past the living room, past the abandoned pizza boxes, past the kitchen where john b and pope were watching with mixed awe and relief. jj didn’t look at them; he only focused on you.
when he finally laid you down on the bed and tucked the blankets snugly around you, you let out a long, shaky sigh. your body finally began to melt into the warmth of the covers.
“see?” jj murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “not so bad.”
you huffed softly, half-smiling despite yourself. “only because you’re doing it.”
“always, baby,” he whispered back, leaning close enough that your cheeks brushed. he let you rest your head against his shoulder, his hand gently tracing your arm as your breathing evened out.
for the first time all day, the chaos felt distant, almost like a bad dream. outside, the chateau was quiet except for the soft hum of the evening settling in. inside, it was just you and jj, wrapped up in blankets, in the calm after the storm.
authors note: this was inspired by me getting sick and wanting to fight my sibling because of it. like how are you about to disrespect me by getting ME sick? like hello? does anyone else hate getting sick this much because this fic was an understatement of how i was...
let me know if you guys think i should do a part 2 with you taking care of jj after you got him sick hehe <3
