Avengers Sick-fics

Taking Care of You - Reader/Pietro

Set after: Age of Ultron (but Pietro survived. Obviously)
For: rainbow_bookworm13, immabaebiegirl and LPSGirl109

I kind of merged your requests because this is just what I felt like writing today. Sorry for the extended break and the lowquality Wanda fic but I should be back to my (irregular) posting now x

By the way, this fic is a little different to the ones I usually write, but I really felt like it today so I hope you don't mind!

———

Pietro woke to... nothing. Why was he awake?

He swallowed and suddenly figured it out: his throat was absolutely killing him. He tensed in preparation to cough in an attempt to itch the pain when something shifted behind him.

"Pietro?" A soft and somewhat husky voice asked. Of course, (Y/N). Pietro was tired enough that rather than responding, or even asking for something to help his throat, he merely shifted closer to the female body. Had he really forgotten he was sleeping with you?

As he finally snuggled close enough to properly warm up against you, he felt you shift and a whine escaped him. He cracked his eyes open just wide enough to see you walking out of the room. Of course, you were busy. You were always busy, that's what happened when you're Pepper Potts assistant.

He curled into himself a little, wishing he had the energy to get up and find a hoody to keep warm and was almost asleep when he heard soft footfalls nearby. He forced himself to ignore the sound and go to sleep but not a minute later, something heavy dropped onto him.

This time, he cracked his eyes open and made to get up. "Pietro, you ought to know better. Rest a while, will you?" you responded, a hand on his chest preventing him from getting up.

Pietro was on the verge of making a joke about how nothing ever took him a while but his brain simply didn't seem capable of creating the words to make the wisecrack wise, so he simply let himself fall further into the pillows and back into his dreams.

———

Pietro woke again, hours later, or maybe minutes and found that his throat was still as sore as ever and now his head hurt and his limbs felt much too heavy and achey to move. He groaned and made to sit up and go in search of any sort of medication to alleviate this terrible illness when a curt tone prevented him.

"Didn't I saw you ought to rest? Honestly Pietro, I'm not strong enough to carry you back when you inevitably collapse."

"Uh," was all the silver-haired man could manage as he forced his eyes open and through the blurred sight, saw you, sitting in a very heavy but comfortable looking sitting chair by his bed, a computer resting on your lap. "You're pretty," he said instead, and you were. Illuminated by the dull orange of your computer in nightshift, you appeared to be glowing within the darkened room.

A slight blush appeared on your cheeks. "Why were you getting up anyway?"

"Aspirin," Pietro managed, his blurred eyesight still very much focused on you.

"Ah, one of the world's mightiest heros, brought down by a headache and a sore throat. Any other symptoms?" you ask, reaching for the bottle of Cold and Flu tablets you'd already retrieved, ignoring his medicine of preference.

"Sore. Tired. I don't know," Pietro grumbled, his voice cracking halfway through the word "don't." He couldn't find the energy to ask how you knew about his sore throat but a dim and far away part of his brain suggested it was probably to do with his voice.