But then he remembers.
Buck was supposed to be at work today.
Did he take off? No, Chimney would've told him in his text.
Or--would Chimney say that? Was that against HR rules or whatever? Sharing another person's schedule? Was that--fuck.
Eddie clears his throat.
One thing at a time, Diaz.
For starters: Buck is in his living room.
I'm pausing our regular scheduled fics until I feel better. Schedule will be wonky, I've been sick for a week and still working (masked) so this my contribution to writing SickFics. Also made a Sickfic/Hurt&Comfort MasterList if anyone else has a summer flu like me and wants to binge. I also super recommend my buddy's @anyshowwitharainbow sickfic Cooties. It's always my comfort read when I feel like this.
A stuttering breath escapes through Eret's clenched teeth, sounding more like the wheezing hiss of a dying Terror than anything that should be coming from a man. Especially a man of Eret's incredible stature and awe-inspiring strength. It made Eret feel pathetic, quite frankly.
He didn't get much time to wallow in the feeling of self-pity before Snotlout returned, arms laden with soft furs. The younger man drops the furs on the foot of Eret's cot and walks to the head to press his lips against the feverish skin of Eret's forehead. Eret feels himself flush almost violently at the feeling. He had thought himself prepared for anything the younger man could throw at him, but it had thrown him for a loop when Snotlout had burst into Eret's hut to demand why Eret had missed their training session-- if you could call wrestling in the misty woods until one or both of them were too hurt or tired to continue 'training'-- and immediately pressed a kiss to Eret's forehead upon seeing Eret wheezing on the floor.
Of course, Snotlout denied that it was a kiss. It was to check for fever, Snotlout had claimed. Eret isn't so certain of that, but he would never complain about Snotlout's lips on his skin.
Now here Eret lays, awkwardly submitting to the frantic care of a ridiculous viking. Snotlout adjusts the furs and places a soaked, cold rag onto Eret's forehead. The sensation of cold rain water dripping over his skin and soaking into his loose hair startles a sharp yelp from Eret's throat.
"You're being dramatic," Snotlout says as he strokes a hand over Eret's feverish jaw. "It's just a little water to bring your fever down."
"I'm choosing to ignore the irony in you calling me dramatic," Eret croaks. His aching throat burns every time he breathes, let alone speaks.
Snotlout rolls his eyes. "I'm choosing to ignore you being rude to the only guy on this island who decided to come take care of your sorry ass."
Eret pauses and swallows thickly. His saliva feels like hundreds of small, shrunken Nadder needles going down his throat. "About that," he says slowly.
He shrinks under Snotlout's sudden attention. Those big blue eyes are always far too intense for Eret to handle, especially when the full weight of that gaze is centered exclusively on him.
"Why are you taking care of me?" Eret finally asks. Snotlout's gaze is, somehow, even sharper now. It makes Eret squirm under his covers, face burning with a feeling he can't quite identify. Shame? Embarrassment? Whatever it is, Eret despises it. "I just mean that you are... a very busy man. I wouldn't want to keep you from your important duties," he says in hopes that stroking Snotlout's ego will work to distract Snotlout from staring at Eret like Eret had just kicked a freshly hatched baby Nightmare right in front of him.
And-- for a brief, beautiful moment-- it had worked! Snotlout puffs his pretty chest at the praise and grins like an adorable idiot. Just as soon as that wonderful expression came it was gone. Snotlout returns to glaring at Eret with that pretty pink-lipped pout.
"Uh, I'm taking care of you because I care, idiot." The younger viking readjusts Eret's covers and pats Eret's sternum. "You better get used to it."
heyyy!! recently i had to have a small surgery that has been kicking my butt lol. i was wondering if you could write fluff/comfort with spencer where he takes care of reader who had just gone through a minor surgery and reader is like kinda embarrassed that they have to someone else take care of them. thank you so much, love ya!!
A/N: I hope you're well and fully healed by now Anon! Sorry this took so long! Crossing my fingers that it was worth the wait.
White Knight
Spencer Agnew x reader
Hurt/Comfort
Spencer chases away all your doubts when you're stuck with a broken ankle and your difficult thoughts.
TW: Hyperindependent girlie forced to rest (projecting a little tbh), bickering as a love language, reader should probably go to therapy, self deprecating and depressing thoughts, resisting care, downplaying problems, deep conversations
You hated being bedridden with a passion. You were very independent and self-sufficient, thank you very much. No need for care, you were just fine. But your boyfriend Spencer clearly did not feel the same, standing in front of you with his arms crossed stubbornly to keep you on the couch and blocking your escape attempts.
“You just got pins put in your ankle. There is no way you’re doing anything. Not on my watch.”
“I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“Lay down and put your foot up.” You frowned, but visibly winced as he shifted your foot on top of the pillow. He put a bag of frozen peas on it for good measure, then covered you with a blanket. “Now is not the time to be stubborn. Now is the time to rest.”
“What if I don’t want to rest?” You challenged him with a glare.
“Where are you gonna go? You’re pretty out of commission for the next week.”
“I have crutches.” You protested, “I could cook dinner or do the dishes or something.”
“No way, not happening. The last thing we need is for you to slip and fall and catch yourself on the hot stove. And the doctor said to rest.”
“Ugh.” You turned your head away from him. “Boo.”
He passed you the TV remote and fluffed a pillow before sliding it under your back. You lifted yourself reluctantly to make it easier for him, but you couldn’t deny that it made your back feel a lot better. Spencer sat on the edge of the couch next to you, tucking you in as much as he could.
You flushed with embarrassment. “You know, you don’t have to do all this. I’ll be just fine on my own.”
He brushed your cheek with his thumb and you leaned into his touch before you could stop yourself. “I want to do this. You deserve it.”
“Sap.”
“Plus I have to keep you from making a run for it somehow. Knowing you, you’d probably break the other ankle.”
“I still won.”
“You broke your ankle during the three-legged race and Trevor had to carry you across the finish line. Technically he won for both of you.”
“Tomato tomato.” You grinned as you watched his brow furrow in frustration.
“You are so lucky you’re cute. Otherwise you might actually be the death of me.”
“I wouldn’t count it out yet.” He smoothed out the blanket, accidentally brushing your ankle. Tears welled in your eyes involuntarily. You wiped them away before he could see, not wanting to make him feel bad. “Could I have some water please?”
“Of course.”
As he walked away, you readjusted, trying to regain some of your composure, but you knocked the ice off in the process. It only made the throbbing in your ankle intensify, and you took a shaky breath to stop the sob building in your chest.
When he came back, he noticed immediately. Of course he did, you had been dating for two years after all. He noticed the way you bit your lip, how your breath was uneven and your eyes were shiny. All signs that you wanted to cry but wouldn’t let yourself.
He set the water down on the table next to you before gently perching himself back where he was before. “Hey, it’s okay to cry, you know. You’re in a lot of pain.”
“It’s just my stupid ankle, it’s nothing.” Your voice came out tight and snippy, a shell of your usual self.
He brushed a rogue piece of hair behind your ear. “It’s not nothing.”
Your lip trembled weakly at his comforting gaze. “I know.”
“You broke your ankle darling. Please let me take care of you.”
The pet name was said so sweetly that it broke down whatever defenses you had left, sending you careening into his arms. You burrowed yourself into the warmth of his hoodie and his arms and let yourself break down.
After a few minutes, you mumbled into his shoulder. “I just feel useless.”
“You aren’t useless, you literally can’t walk.”
“But this happens every time!” Your hand clenched the fabric of his sleeve tightly, your knuckles turning white. “Every single time!”
He pried your fingers away from the cotton, intertwining them with his. “Whoa, hey. What happens every time?”
“You taking care of me! And me being dumb, and stupid, and a fucking burden.”
He squeezed you as tight as he could without disturbing your ankle. “We aren’t doing that. We aren’t being mean to my girlfriend over something she can’t control. And you absolutely are not a burden. It is a privilege and an honor to take care of you.”
“But I feel like you’re always taking care of me. It’s selfish.”
“Selfish for who?”
“For me!”
“Okay, hear me out. I’m going to throw some scenarios out, and you tell me if I was selfish or not.”
You frowned, wondering where he was going with this. “Fine.”
“Okay, so remember when I was sick a few weeks ago with the flu?”
“Yeah.”
“You brought me soup and stayed up with me in the night when I was feverish. Selfish or not selfish?”
“Not. You literally couldn’t feed yourself.”
He nodded and hummed. “And what about when I forgot my lunch last week and you brought it to me at work?”
“Not selfish at all! You need to eat in order to fuel that big brain of yours and I had the day off.”
“How about how you always make dinner because I constantly work late?”
“Well, that’s different, you just can’t cook.”
He rolled his eyes. “Humor me please.”
“Not selfish. I like cooking for you.”
“What if I, hypothetically, had a broken ankle from a three-legged race at Amanda’s kid’s birthday party and needed help doing everyday chores?”
You rolled your eyes. “Real subtle.”
“I never said I was good with analogies, just that I was trying to make one. Is it selfish or not?”
Sighing, you conceded. “Not… I’d want you to rest.”
“So what makes this,” he gestured to the cast on your foot, “Different from the other situations?”
“Nothing…….”
“Exactly. Nothing.”
Tilting your head back, you let your lips brush the stubble on his chin in a small kiss. “I hate when you’re rational.”
“Well, I hate when you’re sad more.” He nuzzled your cheek, which made you let out a small giggle. “There’s that smile I love.”
“You always know how to make me feel better.”
He broke out in a cheesy grin. “It’s my favorite thing to see you happy.”
You leaned into him again, settling yourself comfortably between his legs. “You’re up there for me, probably behind strawberries though.”
“Strawberries are good too.”
You hugged him tightly. “Thank you, by the way.”
“For what?”
“Everything. But especially for chasing my bad thoughts away.”
You felt him kiss the top of your head gently. “I’ll fight them every day if I have to, you deserve it.”
A/N 2: Had this request half written and @bludy-ivy's Spencer fic 'Sweet Creature' inspired me to finish it! Give their fic some love too!
Hiccup was entirely unsurprised by it, as the other riders just shrugged and said yeah, it’s that time of the year – good luck.
Snotlout was miserable, but he found his boyfriend’s bafflement kind of funny.
“A yearly sickness?” Eret asked him, bringing him some broth, as Snotlout coughed into his blankets, as he laid curled up in bed.
“Mm… No. I just get sick a lot around this time of year.” Snotlout wheezed, “You didn’t have to come over. Gobber usually checks up on me.”
Well, that explained Gobber’s sigh when Eret mentioned Snotlout was sick, before Eret asked what he should do when he went over to check on his boyfriend.
“Yes, well, you’re my boyfriend, so I want to help.” Eret replied, and he hated – hated – that Snotlout got that small, confused expression on his face, whenever Eret reminded him that he was with exactly who he wanted to be with – Snotlout.
“Thank you.” He whispered, once Eret had helped him sit up, and gave him the broth.
“Of course, Love.”
Snotlout’s ears turned red, as his face got a faint tint of pink over how pale and clammy he looked – just as they always did when Eret called him an endearing pet name.
What the fuck did Snotlout go through growing up, that he was so confused and embarrassed by these things?
“You could get sick.”
“I never get sick.” Eret said, tone full of that arrogant confidence that Snotlout had eventually fallen for.
Snotlout’s expression said it all.
You’re full of shit.
“Sure, Honey.” Snotlout said.
“It’s true! Maybe twice, as a small child, but I’ve never been truly sick – not since I was five years old!”
“Okay. I believe you.” Snotlout said calmly.
He so did not believe him.
That little asshole.
=0=0=0=
That little asshole was right.
What the entire fuck.
“It’s not so bad.” Hiccup said, grinning in amusement as he brought his cousin and his cousin’s boyfriend some broth. “Now you have to take a break.”
The glare he got from Eret made the chief and his cousin both laugh, before Snotlout’s laughter turned into harsh coughing.
Carter has always been bendy. It's just been known as one of his quirks -- his party trick, if you will. He stands weird, sits weird, crosses his legs weird, and don't even get him started on his hands. Those long, thin fingers can bend almost all the way back. He can touch his thumb nearly flat to his wrist. Can practically fold his hand in ways that no one else can. At County, it's an endless source of amusement for Jerry and Doug but everyone else -- even Mark -- is grossed out by it.
He's bendy. And he's sleepy.
He can handle it. Being a med-student at a busy, inner-city ER then an intern at the same hospital means he gets less rest than he's used to, but Carter is used to the fatigue. He doesn't like it but he's used to it. Walking up in a bathroom stall? Not even the most bizarre place he's fallen asleep in the last month.
He's bendy. And he's sleepy. And he's achy.
Naproxen is his best friend. The aches and pains that shoot through his body are never the same and never stay in one place. Sometimes, his whole body hurts. Sometimes it's just his joints on the left side. No matter what, he pushes through the pain and gets his work done and never lets on, ever, that he feels much older than he actually is.
He's bendy. And he's sleepy. And he's achy. And he's got gastro issues. And urinary issues.
Jerry has started joking that the reason the toilet is nicknamed "The John" is because Carter spends so much time on it. If he's not puking up everything he ate, he's sitting on it with the cold sweats and a cramping abdomen that would bring a hundred patients into the ER if they weren't used to this like he is. It's certainly better than the days he has trouble peeing. The greatest skill he's learned was how to cath himself.
He's bendy. And he's sleepy. And he's achy. And he's got gastro issues. And urinary issues. And he can't regulate his temperature at all.
This one should probably be the joke instead of Jerry constantly bringing up and focusing on his bathrooming issues. It's not. And he is partly grateful because the women of County have taken pity on poor skin-and-bones Carter who is always freezing in the winter. He's been wrapped up in Haleh's extra sweaters, Chuny's car blanket, and has had both Carol and Susan shoving warmed saline bags under his scrubs on more than one occasion. More than a dozen occasions... At least twice a week per winter. In the summer, he gets overheated. Even when the AC is working at its best and everyone else is comfortable, he's sweating and lightheaded and needing to sit down before he passes out. On a memorable day that the AC stopped working mid-shift, Carter went from freezing to overheated to freezing again when it kicked back on. He's learned to dress in layers.
So, he's bendy. And he's sleepy. And he's achy. And he's got gastro issues. And urinary issues. And he can't regulate his temperature at all. It's just John Carter and it's normal for him.
Until he takes another spill one Spring morning that hurts like a bitch and Kerry insists on an X-ray and oof, that's a lot of remodeling. They're concerned, and rightly so, but he explains that sometimes it just happens. He falls the right way and something dislocates or breaks, but he's lucky in that usually his bizarre bendiness seems to save him. Being able to move your body in ways others can't does have it's upsides, even if it's also contributed to more injuries than the average person. He's clumsy. That's just how it goes.
At Kerry's confused look, he demonstrates: Turning to face away from her, Carter brings both of his hands behind his back and presses his palms together like he's praying. "See?" he says. "I shoulda been a contortionist!" One of his favorite party tricks is interrupted by the crutch from his fractured tibia he's leaning on falling and clattering to the ground. Carter hops for a second, trying to regain his balance, and falls over, landing on his butt. When no pain other than his ego is noticed, both arms fly into the air into a victory V. "And he sticks the landing!"
Which is funny. It is! So why does Kerry look so concerned?
Hours later, Dr. Benton pulls him into the staff lounge, his face half in a diagnostic textbook and his mouth running through a (frankly) ridiculous amount of questions. He comes to the same conclusions Carter has: He's bendy. And he's sleepy. And he's achy. And he's got gastro issues. And urinary issues. And he can't regulate his temperature at all.
And then...
Dr. Benton is telling him all about these tests he wants to run and Carter is listening, he is, but why the fuss? He's been like this his entire life. Both of his parents didn't seem too concerned -- but they really never seem too concerned with anything regarding their youngest child unless it will somehow reflect back on them in a negative light.
Okay. Fine. He'll do it if it means Dr. Benton will shut up and he and Kerry will stop looking at Carter like he's fragile or whatever.
Which is how, several days later, Carter gets a god's honest, truly real, actual diagnosis.
He's bendy. And he's sleepy. And he's achy. And he's got gastro issues. And urinary issues. And he can't regulate his temperature at all. And he has Hypermobile Ehlers Danlos Syndrome.
“Gemeeerrllll…” The squirrel collapses at the reborn gizoid’s feet, whining pathetically. “Gemerl I'm siiick.”
“Affirmative. You have been diagnosed with a common head cold. With proper hydration and rest, it will subside with time.” The robot explains.
“But I want it gone noooowww…” She whines dramatically, fluctuating her tone of voice more than necessary.
Gemerl rolls his eye and hoists her up to her feet by her shoulder. “Reiteration: It will subside with time. The more you do not rest, the longer it will take for your body to recover.”
“But I can't sleeeep…” Ceffy flops her weight against his hold and begins to slide down his chassis. He releases his grasp and watches as she slumps to the floor comically.
“It seems you cannot stop whining either…” Gemerl teases gently and finds himself amused as she pouts at him from the floor. “I am aware your ailing state heightens your requirements for attention, however there are better ways of achieving this than your current attempts.”
“Hmph!” She pouts at him harder and Gemerl logs the expression as adorable.
“Request: let me help you back to bed.” He holds out his hand down to her level. “It is in your organic body’s best interest that you retire to your bed for the rest of the day.”
Heaving a heavier sigh than is needed, she grumpily agrees. “Okaayyy…” She accepts his help and hoists herself up to her feet, coughing in the process.
His hands steady her shoulders, then guides her towards her bedroom. “Query: while I am here is there anything else you need?” She mumbles something under her breath that Gemerl’s audio processors could not make out. “Apologies. Could you please repeat your request?”
“Cuddles…” She grunts out incredulously and furrows her brow in embarrassment.
“What about ‘cuddles’?” He echoes, a hint of amusement in the tone of his voice box as he searches the blush across her face.
“I want cuddles…” She relaxes a bit as she says this.
“Understood. This unit will propose the request to Amy or Vanilla to determine if they are available-”
“You.” Ceffy interrupts him and curls her body inwards into him. “I want…cuddles from you…please…”
After a beat of motionlessness, he returns her gesture by wrapping his arms around her back. “Granted. As soon as you are settled and comfortable, I will join you.”
Wiping her runny nose against her sleeve, she sniffles and nods against his metallic chest. Thank you…”
“Of course. You did say ‘please’ for once.” He jests lightly as he opens the door to her bedroom.
“Shush…” She quiets him with a raspy chuckle and climbs up into his arms.
