"lovesick" (Scale)
A good old-fashioned sick fic with our favorite assassin.
Scale blush blush x reader
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You jolt hard at the sound of something falling to the floor of your living room with a loud thud. Cautiously, you peek into the room from the kitchen, only to find your boyfriend groaning on the floor. Your window was open, and your favorite assassin was face down in front of it, his foot caught on the windowsill and his cloak falling over his head.
"...Hi Scale. You good?"
He says something into the carpet, his voice muffled beyond recognition. It sounded like he said "I'm fine.", but it also could have been "I'm dying." It's hard to tell.
A frown can't help but reach your lips as you watch him pull himself together. Scale's slow, labored movements are completely uncharacteristic- especially since being nimble and agile was something he took pride in. The idea that something is wrong has completely solidified by the time you see his face.
Scale's nose and cheeks are red. For a second, you think it might just be because he hit his face on the floor, but his eyes are hazy and he seemingly has to squint to focus. The buttons of his shirt are misaligned and he keeps getting tangled in his cloak. You theorize that his fall was caused by one of his boots being untied.
"Scale, are you feeling okay...?"
"What? Of course I am."
He says it as if the idea that he was anything other than the picture of perfect health was laughable. His words are hard to believe, however, especially since you were watching him struggle to realign his cloak after it spun to his front, the hood partially obscuring his face and the clasp sitting against the back of his neck.
"Okay, no you aren't. You're sick."
"I am not!" He protests. Scale finally gets his cloak off and tosses it to the ground in frustration. "I am an assassin. Assassins don't get sick- Achoo!"
He sneezes, sniffles, then looks up to meet your eyes sheepishly.
"...Okay, that was bad timing, but I stand by my initial statement."
You can't help but roll your eyes. You loved him to death, but Scale was the most dramatic and stubborn person you knew.
"Woah- hey!"
Grabbing both his arms, you spin Scale around and push him down so that he's sitting on your couch. The fact that you're able to do it at all without any real resistance from his end is telling.
"W-What are you doing?"
By the time he's able to get his sentence out, you've unclasped the front of his shirt and opened it along with his pants. You're pulling one of his boots off by the time he starts to protest.
"You- I'm not a baby! Cut that out!"
"Let me take care of you, love."
You hit him with a dreaded triple threat- a kiss to his forehead, your hands splayed across his chest, the sweet pet name. Breath gets caught within Scale's throat and he sighs, slow and shaky. He can't deny your care when you treat him so sweetly.
"...Fine. Just know that I find this demeaning and beneath me."
You roll your eyes at his drama but he doesn't fight back when you help him change into a random set of baggy sweatpants and a big t-shirt. Luckily you've got some stuff laying around that fits him comfortably.
You're practically a magician but for sickness. Scale has no idea how you're able to swaddle him so quickly, but he finds himself overwhelmingly surrounded by all things you. He's laying on your couch, in your clothes, wrapped in one of your blankets. Being treated this way would probably be humiliating if he wasn't more focused on how much his head and sinuses hurt.
"Okay, stay here. I'm going to run to the store and-"
The assassin's quick skills haven't depleted completely, not yet anyway. Before you can move away, he catches your wrist gently. He swallows, too nervous to say what's really on his mind. It seems that he doesn't have to, and he can't tell if it's a blessing or a curse that you can read him so well.
"...Actually, I think it's better if I stay here for a while."
You settle down instead, maneuvering so that his head was in your lap. With gentle hands in his hair, Scale feels himself slowly relaxing.
"I..." Scale hesitates. The words he wants to say never quite align with with he actually feels, and this time is no exception. The second that sappy words of love and appreciation rise to his mind, they're overtaken by the urge to bury them deep in his heart and never let them out. Maybe his judgement is impaired from his illness, but he pushes through, just this once.
"I don't understand you at all sometimes. You're so... soft, and kind..."
"I know." You answer breezily, a joking smile gracing your face. "I'm kind of the best."
"Modest, too..." He scoffs, and it makes you chuckle. He can't help but lean his head over to rest on your stomach, feeling the rise and fall of your breathing.
"I-uhm. I love you. Even though it makes me sound like a dork when I say it out loud..."
"You are a dork."
"Wow. Thanks."
"I'm just teasing." You smile. "I love you too, Scale."
Based on the way he feels his stomach flutter and his heart beat rapidly in his chest, Scale has a sneaking suspicion that he's sick in more ways than one.
