you're sick !
characters: yami sukehiro , nozel silva , fuegoleon vermillion , and william vangeance
tags: fluff , multi characters x gn! reader
a/n: i had this idea bc i'm currently sick rn
🔮 YAMI SUKEHIRO
Yami knew two things for certain.
First–he was terrible at this.
Second–no one else was doing it.
You were supposed to be resting. That was an order. He’d said it clearly, in the same tone he used when assigning missions. And yet every time someone from the squad so much as hovered near the door with an offer to help, Yami shut it down without hesitation.
“I’ve got it.”
No explanation. No room for argument.
Truth was, he didn’t know what he was doing. He stood there longer than necessary, arms crossed, watching your chest rise and fall like he was waiting for instructions that never came. Caretaking wasn’t like fighting–there was no clear enemy, no instinct to lean on. Just stillness. Fragility.
It irritated him.
You looked smaller like this. Quieter. Not pushing yourself, not snapping back with that stubborn spark he was used to. The sight of it sat wrong in his chest.
He adjusted the blanket anyway, tugging it up with less force than he meant to use. The room was too quiet. He cracked the window just enough for fresh air, then closed it again when he decided it was too much. He set a glass of water within reach. Moved it closer. Then closer still.
You stirred.
“Oi.” he said immediately. “Don’t get up.”
“I wasn’t…” you muttered.
“Tch. Looked like it.”
He checked your temperature within the back of his hand, scowling when it was still too warm, like that was something you’d done on purpose.
“This is stupid.” he grumbled. “You’re not supposed to be this hot.”
You gave a weak huff. “Wow. Incredible medical insight, Captain.”
“Shut up and rest.”
A knock at the door. Someone offered to help.
Yami didn’t turn. “Get lost.”
When the footsteps left, the room went quiet again. He took the chair by your bed and sat heavily, arms crossed, pretending this was nothing. Just waiting it out. Definitely not watching every breath you took.
He sighed, already knowing how this would end. He leaned forward just enough for you to reach him.
“Don’t get used to this.”
You didn’t answer. You were already drifting off.
Yami stayed anyway–irritated, out of his depth, and not letting anyone else take over.
🔮 NOZEL SILVA
Nozel knew exactly what to do in situations like this.
Assess the condition.
Ensure proper treatment.
Minimize further risk.
What he did not know how to do was… whatever this was supposed to be.
You were resting, as instructed. He had personally ensured it–dismissed healers only after they confirmed you were stable, arranged the room to be quiet, dim, and undisturbed. Everything was in order.
And yet, standing beside your bed, Nozel felt uncharacteristically unsure of where to place his hands.
You shifted slightly, brows knitting, breath uneven. Instinctively, he reached out–then stopped himself halfway. Too abrupt would startle you. Too light might be improper. He hesitated long enough to be annoyed with himself before finally adjusting the blanket with careful, measured movements.
There. Adequate.
You stirred again. “Nozel…?”
His spine straightened at once. “You’re awake.”
“Unfortunately.” you murmured. “My head feels… very loud.”
He frowned, immediately scanning for signs of worsening symptoms. “Does the pain persist?”
“Yes. But don’t look at me like that–it’s not dire.” “I am not looking at you in any particular way.”
You glanced at him. “You kind of are…”
Nozel cleared his throat and looked away.
He reached for the glass of water he’d already prepared, holding it out–then realizing belatedly that you’d have to sit up to take it. He paused.
“May I?” he asked stiffly.
You blinked once, then nodded. “Sure.”
He supported you with far more care than he’d ever use in battle, movements slow and deliberate, as though afraid any miscalculation would cause harm. When you leaned back again, he released you immediately, hands retreating like he’d crossed an invisible line.
You took a sip of water. “You’re being very… careful.”
“That is the point,” he replied.
You smiled faintly. “You look like you’re handling a fragile artifact.”
“You are unwell.” he said, which was apparently his best defense.
Silence settled between you to–comfortable, if unfamiliar. Nozel remained standing, uncertain whether sitting was appropriate. Leaving was out of the question.
After a moment, you spoke again. “You can sit, you know.”
He hesitated, then took the chair beside the bed, posture still rigid. His presence was steady, attentive, but restrained–like he was afraid of doing too much, or too little.
“If there is something you acquire,” he said quietly. “You will inform me.”
You looked at him for a long second. “You’re doing fine.”
He didn’t respond. Compliments were difficult to process at the best of times.
Still, when your eyes finally closed again and your breathing evened out, he stayed right where he was–watchful, composed, and learning, slowly, how to be gentle without a rulebook.
🔮 FUEGOLEON VERMILLION
The palace was quiet here, far enough from the commotion that only the distant sounds of voices and hurried footsteps reached you. Fuegoleon had led you away himself, insisting you rest, and now it was just the two of you. He settled beside you carefully, making sure the blanket around your shoulders was snug without feeling heavy.
“You’ve pushed yourself too hard.” he said quietly, not accusatory, only firm. You tried to protest, but he shook his head slightly. “Not now. Just rest.”
His hands hovered for a moment, then he placed it lightly on your arm–not gripping, not pressing, just steady. Warm. Calm. You could feel the faint heat of his magic, controlled and gentle, brushing away the chill that had crept over you. It wasn’t strong, not overwhelming–just enough to make your muscles relax, to calm your pulse.
“Better?” he naked softly.
You nodded, and he allowed a small, satisfied breath to escape him. Fuegoleon stayed close, sitting just far enough not to crowd you, but close enough that you could feel his presence. His shoulder brushed yours lightly now and then as he shifted, always careful, always deliberate.
“You don’t need to worry about anything.” he said, voice low. “I’ll take care of everything here. You only need to focus on getting better.”
Your lips curved into a small, tired smile. “You always seem so calm. It’s… nice.”
Fuegoleon glanced at you, expression softening just a little. “It’s because someone needs to be,” he murmured. “If I lose my calm, then you’ll feel worse. So I stay calm. For you.”
You leaned back against the blankets, letting your head rest lightly on the pillow. He adjusted it slightly for comfort, then brushed a stray strand of hair from your forehead with the tip of his fingers. Even the smallest movements were careful, deliberate, as if he feared any sudden motion might disturb you.
“You’re very warm.” you said, the words quiet, almost hesitant.
"I know." he replied, tone steady, but the faintest hint of a smile played on his lips. “It’s better than cold.”
He stayed with you as the minutes passed, neither speaking unnecessarily nor leaving your side. His magic pulsed softly now, a gentle, warming rhythm that seemed to settle around you like a protective cloak. You could feel the steady heat in his hand, the warmth in the air, and the quiet reassurance in his posture.
When your eyes fluttered shut, he leaned back slightly, still close enough that you could feel him, still radiating that quiet, unshakable calm. No words. No fuss. Just him and the warmth, and the feeling that for this moment, nothing could reach you as long as he was there.
And in that silence, you realized–you could rest. Truly rest–for the first time in days–and he would stay. Always steady. Always careful. Always Fuegoleon.
🔮 WILLIAM VANGEANCE
The moment he realized you were unwell, William moved with quiet, purposeful care.
He didn’t rush, didn’t hover. There was no panic, no loud fussing–only deliberate, gentle movements, each one designed to make you more comfortable. He adjusted the blanket around your shoulders, straightened the pillows, and ensured the room was calm, quiet, and warm. Every action was precise, considered, deliberate, and somehow soothing in its rhythm.
In the kitchen, he prepared a simple meal. Tea first, carefully steeped so the flavor was gentle but comforting. Then food, soft, easy to eat, nourishing without being overwhelming. He arranged it neatly on a tray, checking that the cup wouldn’t spill and that the bowls were balanced just right. Even the napkin was folded with care.
Returning to your room, he moved slowly, carrying the tray like it was the most important thing in the world–because, to him, it was. He placed it within your reach and sat beside you, close enough to offer support without crowding.
“I prepared this for you.” he said softly, voice calm and warm. “It should be gentle… easy to manage.”
You blinked up at him, comforted by the serene attentiveness in his expression. “Thank you.” you whispered.
He gave a small, soft smile, careful not to draw attention to himself. “You need only focus on resting.” he murmured.
He guided your hands to the cup, steadying them lightly. “Careful.” he reminded, his voice just above a whisper. “It is still warm.”
When you sipped, he watched closely, eyes full of quiet concern, yet calm enough that his presence felt like a protective cloak rather than pressure. Every little adjustment–the tray, the blanket, the angle of the pillow–was executed with precision, as if he feared a single mistake might inconvenience you.
Between sips and bites, he stayed near, sometimes reaching out to brush a stray hair from your forehead, other times simply resting his hand nearby, letting you feel the warmth and steadiness of his presence. He did not speak unnecessarily, yet every small action conveyed care and attentiveness.
At one point, you leaned back, letting out a quiet sigh, and he adjusted his blanket again, tucking it around you with gentle insistence. “There.” he said softly. “Much better.”
You looked at him and offered a tired, grateful smile. “You’re very attentive.”
William’s expression softened, though still calm and composed. “I simply wish to ensure you are comfortable. Nothing more is required than that you rest and recover.”
And so he stayed. Quiet, steady, warm. The world outside could wait. The chaos of the battlefield , the demands of the day, the worries of others–all of it melted away in the safety of his presence.
When your eyes fluttered closed, he remained, adjusting the blanket one last time, making sure your head rested just right. His hand lingered nearby, a subtle reassurance.
In that moment, the soft glow of the room and the calm of William Vangeance’s care wrapped around you completely, making it impossible not to feel safe, protected, and–without needing to speak–deeply cared for.
