I'm So Miserable - Tumblr Posts

it's weird that you don't call out to jun when he comes into your apartment. jun knows that you know he was coming over at some point to spend time with you, and usually you greet him in some way when you hear the apartment door unlock. he's a little earlier than he planned, but you told him to 'come over whenever' and now he's a little worried that you didn't mean it. he quietly slips into the pair of slippers that stays here at your place, and makes his way further into your apartment to set down the bag of groceries he brought on your kitchen counter. your bedroom door is open, but the tiny room you use as a home office is open just a sliver.

he makes his way over, leaning in to listen for a moment... only to hear your voice. there's a little strain to it as you struggle through a sentence, and it clicks all at once: you're speaking chinese. albeit not very well (it's clear to jun that this is one-hundred percent new to you), but you're still trying. your pronunciation is a bit clumsy, but he can hear the way you try to use the right tone with what you're saying...

when did you start learning this much? jun had taught you little things in the past--the absolute basics, really, plus a few other little phrases that veer into his own cheesy need to hear you say sweet things--but this...? he steps back from the door. why hadn't you told him? you could have told him and he'd happily help you learn. but he trusts you: you must have your reasons to keep this a secret, so he won't push. he steps away, deciding to busy himself with getting ingredients put away--or set up for the two of you to cook together, in case you're hungry now.

then he knocks a cup into the sink, and immediately he hears you coming out of your office. relief crosses your face when you see it's just jun, and you lean against the open doorway.

"i didn't know you were here." you pause, and then he sees you get hit with realization. "... how long were you here?"

"i just got here," he says. it's technically the truth, isn't it? he's only been here for a few minutes. "were you working?"

you nod. "yeah. just had to answer a phone call," you lie to him, but he just nods and acts like he doesn't know that. you come up to his side, wrapping an arm around him. "is this for lunch?"

he leans over to you and presses a kiss against your cheek. "are you hungry?"

"mhm," you just snuggle in for a moment, enjoying his presence. "you should teach me more recipes you learned from your mom sometime."

jun finds himself smiling already. was that what this all was...? an attempt for you to understand him better? to show that you care for him so much that you want to know his culture, too? "i'd love to," he says softly, and wraps an arm around you to tug you closer to his side. "only if you teach me things you learned from your family, too."

then he'll make more efforts to understand you and your background, too. just to show you that he loves you as much as you love him.

. ˚ maybe... a little bit sick?

requested by anon: "Hii can i Pls request taking care of Junhui when he’s sick (like maybe he has the stomach flu or smthn) and calls you to come over and be there with him"

pairing: junhui x gn!reader

genre: fluff, established relationship, sick fic, junhui is an adorable baby

word count: 1607

warnings: pet names (baby, love), junhui exaggerates his cold by saying he's "dying", mentions of burning up (not literally tho)

notes: this is really cute actually. i think i love writing for silly soft jun a lot <3

Junhui is not a person that falls ill. 

It's just not something he does. He's proud to admit that he's probably fallen ill a maximum of ten times in his entire life, and his immune system is so good that it could probably enter a competition against other immune systems and come out on top. The immune system olympics, if you will. 

But the main point is, Junhui doesn't get sick. He doesn't get hay fever, doesn't catch colds all that easily, could probably go out in the winter without a coat and still be fine the next day (albeit with a mild loss of feeling in his nose). 

Right now, though, as Junhui rubs his nose and tries to stop his eyes from constantly watering, he thinks that perhaps, perhaps, he could be coming down with something. 

It's a horrible thought. Unthinkable, in fact. Besides, it's the middle of summer! Who falls ill in July? 

"Y/N?" Junhui croaks, and then blinks, startled by the sound of his own voice. "Y/N?"

He has to stop, then, because his throat feels like sandpaper. Plus, one of his nostrils is running, and the other feels so blocked up that it's like it was replaced with an impenetrable brick or something. 

He's not sick, though. Junhui doesn't get sick. 

The sun is filtering brightly through the curtains, and he guesses that it's late morning by now. He hasn't been able to get out of bed since he woke up some hours ago, his head throbbing and protesting with every move he makes. He hasn't even been able to check his phone. 

Junhui coughs, then, a wet, uncomfortable cough that makes his body shudder and his brain rattle around uncomfortably in his skull. He sniffs, a little pathetically, and squeezes his eyes shut. Everything hurts. 

But he's definitely not sick. 

"Y/N…" he mutters, his hair feeling sticky on his forehead, his tongue cumbersome and rubbery in his mouth. Vaguely, he remembers that you're going out with friends this morning, and won't be back for a while. The very thought makes him whine internally, upset. 

Okay. 

Maybe he is a little sick. 

Centuries pass as he lies there in bed, admitting defeat, admitting that he really is sick for once and that being sick is horrible and all he wants is for you to come help him. Why are you taking so long to have brunch with your friends, damnit? 

He's drifting off into a hazy sleep once again, his entire body feeling like it's on fire when the front door finally, finally clicks open and he hears your voice. 

"Junhui?" you call, taking off your shoes. "Junhui, baby, are you up yet?"

It's around one in the afternoon when you've finally managed to come back home after meeting up with your friends, and normally your boyfriend would be bounding towards you and engulfing you in a hug, eager to hear how your outing had been. But the apartment is, oddly, silent, and there's no sign of a hyperactive Junhui anywhere. 

"Junhui?" you call again. 

And that's when you hear his voice, coming from his closed bedroom door. 

"Y/N… in here…"

He sounds weak, like he's on the verge of dying, and you gasp when you open the door and look at him. 

"Oh, darling!" You walk over to his bedside to place a hand on his forehead, sighing when he whimpers softly at the cool sensation on his burning skin. "Look at you, you have such a horrible fever. Wait here, I'll go get a cold towel," you say, and then hurriedly leave the room again. 

Junhui coughs pathetically again. "I can't really go anywhere… but okay."

You come back in a few seconds later, equipped with a cold compress, medicine and a glass of water. The kettle whistles in the distance. 

"How did this happen?" you scold lightly, sitting on the edge of the bed, placing a hand worriedly over his forehead again. "How did you manage to get yourself so ill?"

Junhui opens his mouth to speak, but you shake your head. 

"Wait, don't answer that. You probably have a really bad headache right? Talking will make it worse." 

He closes his mouth again. 

"Poor Junhui," you murmur, wiping down his face and his sweat with a damp cloth. "It must really hurt, right?"

Junhui nods sadly, eyes half closed, as you put the cold towel over his forehead. "Hurts so much. I feel like I'm dying."

You laugh softly. "I can imagine. Can you sit up for me, baby? You need to take some medicine."

"No." He turns his head away when you offer him the pills and the glass of water, accidentally dislodging the towel from his head. "Don't wanna."

"Junhui, come on, it'll help," you wheedle softly, trying to encourage him. "You don't want it to hurt, do you? This'll help make it better, I promise."

"I can't," he whines, looking at you, and now there are tears pooling in his eyes. He coughs, then, so hard that the tears well up faster and end up spilling over slightly. Then he groans, head thumping, while you lean over to gently wipe his tears. "Everything hurts. I don't like it."

"Junhui, please?"

"No."

"Junhui, baby, it'll make everything feel a lot better."

"No."

"Junhui…"

Junhui, when he falls ill, becomes a little like a toddler. He doesn't get sick often, so when he does he always suffers terribly. He ends up throwing mini tantrums, pouting and resisting taking the medicine that will make him better purely because he doesn't want to. 

You may not have had to deal with a sick Junhui often, but really, it's about the same as dealing with a small child, so it's not that difficult. 

Several more minutes of wheedling later, you manage to get Junhui to sit up and drink the water along with his medicine. He ends up spilling half the glass all over himself and whines, looking at you with glassy eyes as if wanting you to tell him what to do. 

"Don't worry, it's just water," you tell him, stroking back his hair and adjusting the towel on his forehead to make sure it's in place. "Wanna have something nice to drink?"

In the kitchen, the kettle is beeping, signalling that it's finished boiling water. Junhui rapidly shakes his head, though, before wincing at the movement. 

"No. Don't wanna drink anything."

"Are you sure?" You tuck a damp curl of hair out of his face, noting that he's still sweating. He's really ill, the poor thing. "Have you eaten today?"

"Don't wanna eat anything."

"You've lost your appetite?" you ask worriedly. "What if I ask Minghao to come over and help make you some wonton soup? Would you like that?"

Junhui squeezes his eyes, once, and then coughs again. "No."

"I'll call him anyway," you say, getting up. "And I already boiled the water, so I'll make you some tea for your throat as well, okay? I bet you have a sore throat too."

He blinks, eyes a little glassy and confused. "Wait… how did you know?"

You chuckle softly, leaning over to pinch his cheek lightly. "Magic. Rest now, alright? You should try to sleep, let your body recover."

You back out of the room, watching his weak frame as he lies in his dim room, the curtains still drawn, eyes watery and half-open and a wet towel over his forehead. He looks so sad and forlorn, like a dejected kitten, and it would make you coo if a bigger part of you wasn't worried at just how ill he looked. 

You're just closing the door when he croaks out your name again, thin and warbly.

"Y/N?"

Pausing for a moment, you open the door again, poking your head in. "Yes, baby?"

He looks at you for a long moment, squinting out of puffy eyes, before giving you a small smile and lifting his arms. "Hug?"

Obviously, you really oughtn't. He's sick, after all, horribly so, and it would be much better for both of you if you stayed away. But his hair is all messed up and his cheeks are all flushed from his fever and he just looks so small swathed in all his blankets and really, how were you meant to refuse? 

He's warm, as he always is, and maybe he's a little warmer than usual but you let him hug you tightly, his head tucked under your chin, fingers gripping your shoulders while you bend over him and thread a hand through his hair. Junhui hums, pleased, when you lightly knead your fingers into his scalp, making little rumbly noises of contentment when your hand slips down his back, rubbing firm circles into his shirt. 

"Love you," he mumbles, his words a little drowsy but still soft and warm. 

You smile, kissing the top of his head. "I love you too."

There's silence for a moment as he continues to cling to you while you kneel awkwardly on the bed, one knee on the mattress while your other foot supports your weight from the floor. And then Junhui speaks up again. 

"Y/N?"

"Yes, Junhui?"

"Instead of wonton soup, could you make me hotpot? A really spicy one?"

That makes you smile a little, endeared, and kiss his head again. His forehead is unnaturally warm still, and you disentangle him from your arms to rest him down on his pillow again, feeling vaguely like a prince lowering his princess to sleep. 

You brush gentle fingers over his cheek, fond. "Of course. Anything to make my kitten feel better."

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @bunnyiix @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @thedensworld @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @evasaysstuff @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride

AHAGHEHWHEHW MAPPA WHY???? THIS WAS GONNA BE SO GOOD

REMEMBER WHEN THESE DROPPED 😭😭😭

michael fnafton angst