little bit of an update rq uh, im not doing the best so this is completely self indulgent and very much so just me being sick
also i might do multiple versions of this but at the moment i think diluc is the most front and center in my brain rn so he's first
---
Reader is not feeling good, and diluc comforts them <3
cw:: fluff, pet names, gn reader, cuddling, kisses, he cuddles you and uses his vision to help comfort you. Uhh. Not proof read.
As you awoke you had a bad feeling about today, something was not right. You felt fine, well, for the most part at least. The trauma of waking up has still left its lasting effects on your body, you look around the room wondering if your lover, Diluc has already started his day.
You wrap the blanket tightly around your body, the air was chilly but you figured it was because you just woke up. Faint goosebumps left a trail from your feet to your head, you crawl out of your warm bed, your feet hitting the cold wooden floor causing you to cringe.
You glance at the clock, realizing how early it actually was in the day. You reach over your bed to the clean clothes you've yet to put away and grab a pair of pajama pants, probably Diluc's. You pull them over your shorts tying a neat knot and keeping them snug on your hips. You feel a dull ache in your head, pulling the curtains shut almost debating going back to bed.
It hurt to move your eyes, it was really sudden of a headache too. There was no reason to push through the pain to start today, you had nothing planned. You admitted defeat and just decided to lay down again. You laid your head down onto the soft pillow and you close your eyes and eventually sleep takes you once again.
You awake to a sound in the other room, boots on the wooden floor of the kitchen and a low humming melody accompanying it. The pain you felt earlier is back, but rather than a dull ache it's pounding. You slam your eyes closed, putting your hands on your ears to drown out the noise. You wince in pain as heavy footsteps come closer to the bedroom you're in. With gentle knock, a soft voice calls for you.
"My love? Are you awake?" Diluc stands in the doorway, walking inside of the room and closing the door gently.
"mm." You groan, the migraine much worse.
"what's wrong?" He whispers, placing his hand on yours, pulling you to him. "I'm right here," he hushes your whines of pain, stroking your back gently.
You don't respond with words just gentle whines and groans. Your stomach started to hurt at the same time and it was becoming way too much. Diluc almost freezed as he saw how much pain you were in, picking you up and holding you against his chest, unsure what to do or where to go. He calls for one of your maids, a concerned expression on his face, you fall back asleep to the melody of his racing heart. Too weak to stay awake.
Next time you awoke you were back in bed, a glass of herbal tea and medicine next to it. Diluc was in a chair next to the bed, a novel was next to his sleeping head. You reach over and give him gentle scratches on his scalp. Running your hands through his crimson hair. You felt sicker than you did before, a flash of pain going through your body and you whine curling in on yourself.
Diluc hears your whines, stirring in his sleep before waking up to press his hand on your tummy since you were holding there. He turns your head to bury in the crook of his neck, hushing your whines. His large hand nearly covers your entire stomach, he uses little of his vision power to warm the cramps up, lessening the tension on your muscles.
"I got you, Darling." He coos in your ear, rubbing your tummy and massaging gentle circles onto your back.
Your painful expression dying down a bit once he starts massaging your stomach with his warm hands. You shift back into your spot on the bed, making room for him to join you. he sits up from the chair, pulling the covers over you and holding you against his chest, your face in his neck and his hand on your stomach. Your sleepy eyes struggled to stay open, you wanted to cry but you felt warm and fuzzy. One hand was holding you secured close to him, the other pressed firmly against your tummy.
You snuggled closer to him, turning your head to be hidden underneath him, where the light couldn't make your eyes ache and your head pound. He hums softly, pulling the blanket over you both. He kisses your temple softly, rubbing your back.
"I love you," he whispers.
" 'm love you too, 'Luc.." you mumble sleepily. He smiles, keeping you close.
Eventually you both fall back asleep, the warmth of washing over you both.
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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Dead Boy Detectives (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland
Characters: Charles Rowland (DCU), Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne, Crystal Palace (DCU), Niko Sasaki, Night Nurse (DCU)
Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Sickfic, Case Fic, charles rowland whump, Feelings Realization, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Curses
Summary:
While on a case, Charles falls victim to a cursed necklace that causes everyone who touches it to sicken and die. While his friends frantically search for a way to break the curse, a weakening Charles has plenty of time to think about his feelings for his best mate.
part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8
Damage? Fuck. Shit. Fucking shit. “Will I be able to drive again?” Lando’s voice raises and wobbles, tears he can’t even feel dribbling down his cheeks. He doesn’t want to imagine a life without racing. He’s only just gotten his first win a few months back, he can’t lose it all now.
warnings: major illness, cancer, sickness, brain damage
Lando’s body feels fuzzy- if that’s possible.
Where is he?
He should be in the car, he knows he hasn’t finished the race yet. He still has a chance- he’s doing so well, he’s guaranteed at least 6 points.
So why can’t he move an inch? Why can’t he feel the familiar rumble of the car underneath him? Why can he just see chipping white paint above him for as far as he can see?
“He just- he doesn’t know when to say when, and-and it scares me,” There’s a stammering and choked voice cutting through the painful silence of the room. It’s one he knows just as well as he knows his own.
But right now, everything feels unfamiliar. His hearing feels like an old recorded tape, his teeth feel like they’ve been awkwardly shoved into his mouth, and his body- just isn’t his.
Bile shoots up his throat, and he feels immobilised. He can’t turn his head to cough or vomit it out- it’s like he’s frozen in place. He’s in a hospital, he can figure out that much. There’s an IV in his hand and a drip attached, slow trickles of water making their way into his system.
“Like- he fucking knows he’s unwell- he’s on the brink of death, but he’s too proud to ever accept it,” Who ever it is is clearly on the phone, passionately ranting about someone who Lando can only assume is himself.
Lando should’ve expected that. He let down a whole lot of people in Singapore. Himself- first off, the whole McLaren team- especially Zac and Andrea, all the McLaren fans who’d paid good money to see him race tonight and he’d just bombed it.
Most of all- he knows he has disappointed Oscar.
Maybe that’s who’s talking. “And I- I worry about him, all the fucking time. He never lets himself fully recover from anything. Las Vegas last year- he insisted on going out clubbing like two days later. In Amsterdam when he got that fucking cut on his nose and didn’t let anyone clean him up so now he’s got a permanent scar on his nose.”
Oscar’s still in the car. It must be Jon.
“He just- he won’t let anyone take care of him- even me. I just, I just wish he knew how willing I would be. I would drop anything to make sure he’s alright. Like-” Whoever it is is struggling to speak clearly, their voice stuffy and thick with tears. Lando feels awful, not just his body, but because he knows that this is his own doing.
The voice goes silent for a while, the noise of someone on the other end of the line quietly speaking sounds nothing more than a mumble to Lando. It almost feels like his ears have been stuffed with cotton.
“I’m just worried about him, Logan,” Logan? Why on earth would Logan be out of the car and on the phone. Better yet, why is Jon calling Logan Sargeant?
“Oscar?” Lando’s voice seems foreign, not attached to himself.
“Holy sh- Logan, he’s awake, I’ve gotta go,” Oscar hangs up the phone, rushing to Lando’s side to cling onto the edge of his hospital bed. “Lans,” He whispers, wiping his hand over the brit’s forehead. “How are you feeling?”
Lando spaces out, Oscar’s face becoming a blurry sight. “Why am I not in the car?”
Oscar looks away, chewing at his bottom lip. He’s being avoidant, trying to think of a way to let Lando down slowly- whatever the reason is.
“You crashed into Fernando.”
“Alonso?”
“No, Gasly.” He replies stone faced, “Of course Alonso,” Oscar’s face softens, a small smile appearing.
Lando grins for a moment, rolling his eyes. It falters when it sinks in what Oscar just said. You crashed into Fernando, not Fernando crashed into you. It was Lando’s fault.
“Why’d I crash? Was it wet out?” Memories of Sochi fill his head, fucking rain ruining his races. “Was there something wrong with the car?” He wants to be logical, and he’s trying to do that the best he can, but it all feels unexplainable. He can’t have crashed, there’s just no way.
“They think that-” Oscar shuts his eyes for a moment, and Lando can properly see his features again. Pale cheeks dusted an angry red, stained with tear drops. Brown eyes, watery and sore. A mess of hair on top of his head, much like how it normally sits after a race. “They think you had a seizure,”
What. The. Fuck.
“A what?” Lando knew what Oscar had said, but it was easier to play dumb, to pretend he didn’t have a clue as to what the younger boy was talking about. It was easier to play pretend.
Lando had never had a seizure before, nor did he have a history of seizures in his family. It just wasn’t possible.
“A seizure,” Fucking thanks Oscar, I did hear you the first time. “They’ve done a few tests on your head so..” Oscar’s tongue prods at the inside of his cheek, like he’s trying to avoid saying something. “They’re just seeing if there was any damage.
Damage? Fuck. Shit. Fucking shit. “Will I be able to drive again?” Lando’s voice raises and wobbles, tears he can’t even feel dribbling down his cheeks. He doesn’t want to imagine a life without racing. He’s only just gotten his first win a few months back, he can’t lose it all now.
Oscar sucks on his bottom lip, his teeth poking out on top of it slightly, “Don’t worry Lando,” He reaches over, hugging Lando to his chest tightly, “The doctors are taking good care of you, I’ll take care of you, I promise you will race again,”
Lando has never known Oscar to lie. If Oscar is promising that Lando will race again, Lando will race again.
A bubble forms in Lando’s throat, choking him, “I’m so sorry, Osc,” Oscar’s eyes immediately go wide with panic, unsure as to why Lando’s apologising. “I sh-should’ve listened to you, I’m such a fucking idiot,”
It’s because it’s clicking now- Oscar was complaining to Logan about how he never listens to him. He’s right, Lando is an awful boyfriend who doesn’t know how to fucking take care of himself. They’re supposed to be a couple, yet it’s more like Oscar’s his caretaker, and Lando hates himself for being Oscar in that position.
“Oh, Lans,” His voice is breathy as he drags his fingers along Lando’s cheek, soft and faint. “It’s okay, you’ll be okay, I’m not mad,” He kisses Lando’s forehead, his eyes studying each twitch Lando’s face makes.
Oscar’s not mad, but he’s definitely disappointed.
You stupid fuck, Lando Norris.
“Okay,” His voice halters, a forced response. They both go silent after that, Oscar holding Lando’s right hand in his own, kissing the back of the Brit's hand every so often.
Lando stares up at the ceiling. It’s better than looking at Oscar who just looks so broken and concerned. Lando will only hate himself more and more if he looks at Oscar, looks at who he let down.
“Mr Piastri, Mr Norris,” A doctor announces her presence in the room with a barely there knock on the door. It’s been a few hours of Lando laying and staring at the ceiling, he can only assume based on how it’s beginning to become bright outside. Lando tilts his head up, only then noticing that the pain in his head is almost fully gone.
Being doped up is a good feeling.
“Yes?” Oscar looks towards her, keeping Lando’s hand in his. He licks his lips, holding his breath in anticipation. He knows he needs to stay calm, he needs to stay strong for Lando no matter what the doctor says.
The doctor sucks in a deep breath. She looks no older than 25, which realistically she must be, but she looks only just older than the two boys. She looks like an experienced kid- just as Lando is, just like what he pretends he isn’t. "Mr. Norris, I have some upsetting news,”
Oscar looks at Lando, and Lando doesn;t meet his eyes. He knows that ‘upsetting’ doesn’t even begin to describe whatever he’s about to hear. He’s heard horror stories from acquaintances, he’s watched movies and shows. He knows they’re sugar coating whatever it is.
“So, we were correct- you suffered a tonic-clonic seizure during the race, just as you made contact with..” She trails off, unsure of the name of the driver Lando crashed into. He feels mortified, fucking crashing into the two time world champion of Fernando Alonso. Having a seizure and crashing into Alonso.
“And with the results of your recent MRI- they have detected a mass in the frontal lobe of your brain,” Lando’s eyebrows tighten and Oscar squeezes his hand, grounds him.” And it appears to be malignant,”
Lando doesn’t consider himself a particularly smart guy, and usually, it’s to his disadvantage. Yet, for once, his lack of knowledge for what malignant is means that he gets to stay in that sheltered bubble of nothing is wrong for just a bit longer.
He can pretend nothing is wrong, just for a few moments.
“We have several treatment options, including surgery and chemotherapy, which we can discuss in further detail if you have any questions about them.” Lando feels a tug in his hand, Oscar lurching forward in a sob. It’s bad, malignant must mean it’s bad.
He’s not going to let himself feel it. “Chemo?” Oscar’s voice cracks.
“We fear it has already developed to stage 1 brain cancer,”
Norris's lead is up to 4.5s now with 11 laps to go. Could his 110th grand prix be the occasion of his first victory?
“We are here to support you through every step of this process.”
Norris has finished second eight times and has 15 podiums to his name without winning. Could this finally be the day his luck turns? They're counting down the laps nervously at McLaren.
The door clicks shut and Oscar buries his face into Lando’s chest, “Oh my god Lando, Lans, I’m so sorry,”
Norris's lead ticks past the six seconds mark. Four laps to go and McLaren are practising their best poker faces on the pit wall. Not an inkling of a smile just yet on the face of Zak Brown.
“I love you Lando, I love you and I’m gonna- we’re gonna do this together, you’re gonna get better,”
Three laps to go for Norris. He's under no pressure from behind.
“You’re gonna race again, I promise you,”
Two to go now before F1 has a new race winner.
“You’re gonna win again, we're gonna be on the podium again together,”
Norris is onto his final lap. He can almost push it home from here.
“You’re gonna be a champion, Lans, a world champion,”
Across the line comes Lando Norris to win the 2024 F1 Miami Grand Prix! It's the first grand prix win of his career, and the first for McLaren since Monza 2021, when Daniel Ricciardo hit the top step.
Oscar’s a fucking liar and an idealist. Lando’s not gonna race again, if the brain cancer doesn’t kill him, it’s gonna leave him a shell of the man he once was.
He’s already not the Lando Norris, he’s hardly even Lando.
This is for @creativity-queens-92 birthday! based on the prompt "Character B is just recovering from the vomiting bug and is so weak so Character A spoon feeds them food and helps them drink water" I hope you like it!
•••••••••
"I-I think I'm done." Peter said as he reached up to flush the toilet from where he was sitting beside it after vomiting again. He had lost count how many times he had leaned over the toilet and chocked out his guts.
Tony reached over and flushed the toilet with his left hand before helping Peter prop himself up against the bathtub. "Just sit here for a minute. We don't wanna move you before we are absolutely sure you're done."
Peter nodded, and closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing when he felt someone pat his cheek gently. He opened his eyes and saw Tony holding a small paper cup in his hands. "Don't want it."
"I don't want you to get dehydrated, Peter. Just a little bit." The older of the two insisted, gently pressing the rim against Peter's lips, but when the teenager shook his head, he continued to speak. "Open your mouth and tilt your head back, then."
The teen did what he was told, and let his mentor tilt some water into his mouth, swallowing it as it cooled his stinging throat.
"Better?" His mentor asked as he put the paper cup on the edge of the bathtub, and pulled Peter closer, deciding to wait about five minutes before helping the kid walk to his room so he could keep a eye on him.
"Yeah."
"Good." Tony smiled, gently squeezing his shoulder and trying to ignore the ache in his bones as he sat against the tub. He was getting too old for this, but he wouldn't trade anything for the calm and quiet he currently has with his teenager.
•••••••••••
It was two hours later, and luckily, Peter was able to keep down water, even if his hands were so shaky that Tony had to hold the cup. The teen was now sleeping on Pepper's side of the bed while Tony absent mindedly scrolled through some blue prints for future projects.
But he knew that he had to get something other then water into Peter's stomach, so he slowly got out of the bed in order to insure he was still sleeping, and went downstairs to make some soup, Luckily, after Pepper got pregnant with Morgan, his wife insisted on making sure he was able to cook decently for when she wasn't home.
He took his prosthetic right arm off as he grabbed some salt, carrots, celery, and chicken, preparing them while heating up a pot with some chicken base and noodles Pepper made last night for dinner.
In the midst of his cooking, however, Tony heard one of his least favorite sounds. Peter was crying. It was only then that the genius, playboy, billionaire and philanthropist remembered Peter was prone to nightmares when he was sick.
So, he turned off the burner on the stove before sprinting up the stairs to his room, turning on the light and sitting on the edge of the bed before gently shaking Peter's shoulder with his left hand. "Petey, wake up. Just a dream."
"We won, Mr. Stark..." Peter cried, thrashing in his blankets. "Y-you did it...you did it."
"Peter." Tony tried again, trying to block out the fact that he was reliving the battle that nearly cost him his life. "Peter, wake up."
Peter shot straight up, gasping and coughing, looking around the room till his eyes met Tony's. "Y-you're okay?"
"Yeah, I'm alright. Are you?" Tony asked, running his fingers through Peter's curly hair before gently propping up a few pillows and helping Peter lay back down. He heard the kid take a few deep breaths, but when he glanced at Tony's right arm, his breathing sped up again, to which Tony started combing his left through his hair again. "Kiddo, I'm okay. I just took the prosthetic off for a bit while I was making your soup."
"P-promise?"
"I promise." He smiled, kissing the teen's forehead, and grabbing the water on the nightstand, helping him take a few sips before handing him his cell phone. "Call your aunt. Even though she's on her honeymoon, she's gonna want to hear from you. I'll be right back with your soup." Tony insisted, going back downstairs, putting back on his prosthetic arm before spooning the soup into a bowl and popping it into the microwave, making a mental note to put the rest up later.
When the soup was done, Tony grabbed a spoon and a small stack of napkins and went back to his room as Peter was finishing the phone call, setting the things he brought up on the nightstand, making himself comfortable on the bed.
"I'll see you then. Bye, May." Peter finished, clicking the 'end call' button and setting the phone down, relaxing on the pillows.
"How's your aunt?"
"I think I interrupted her and Happy." Peter fake shuddered, even though he was really happy for May and Happy, he didn't want to think about their sex life.
"They have plenty of time to get it on for another five days in Hawaii." Tony joked, leading Peter to fake gag, scaring Tony enough to shove the bucket under his chin.
"I'm messing with you."
"You're a little shit, you know that, right?" The inventor questioned, putting the bucket on the ground before asking. "Are your hands still shaky?" The response he got was Peter lifting his hands off the blanket and watching them twitch, so the older of the two sighed and picked up the spoon, putting it in the bowl. "Hear comes the airplane, or whatever that bullshit is."
Peter opened his mouth and allowed himself to be spoon fed, feeling his hands shake and his eyes close as he swallowed the warm soup. "Thanks..."
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