NFL Imagines

|-| Matthew Stafford |-|

Title: Sick Stafford
Warnings: Matthew is sick

—————————

The bowl in your hands was scalding hot —even through the oven mitts you were wearing— and you were swearing profusely under your breath as you scurried down the hallway into your bedroom. Trying not to drop or spill the hot bowl was a difficult task for you at the moment.

You entered your bedroom and placed the bowl down on the nearest surface. "Matt, I made that soup you asked for—" you stopped when you saw the messy bed. It was Matthew-less.

Of course I disappear for five minutes and he gets up. That's exactly what I told him not to do. You thought. Maybe he was in the bathroom throwing up or using the restroom. If he wasn't...the man was in deep trouble.

You stepped farther into the room and peered into the bathroom. "Matt?" You called, bare feet padding lightly on the cold tile floor. "Baby, you in here?" You got no response and your suspicion grew.

You walked back into your room and noticed that the closet door was open. You had closed it before you left to make him soup. You narrowed your eyes and snuck over to the door. If he was inside, you were going to kill him.

Upon reaching the door, you were met with a sight you did not want to see. Matthew was struggling to get dressed; his shirt was on backwards and he had one leg in a pair of athletic shorts. He was currently trying to get his other leg in, but he was failing miserably.

"Matt!" You shouted, scaring the poor man and nearly causing him to fall. He stared at you like a deer caught in the headlights, but a lot more sickly, which deer usually didn't appear like.

You began to shake your head as you walked over to him. "No sir. Absolutely not." You said, taking him by the arm and beginning to pull him back towards your bedroom.

"But (Y/n)—" You shut him up. "You should be in bed."

"It's an important meeting." He weakly argued, sounding far too out of it to even be thinking about the meeting.

You led him to the bed and let go of him to pull back the covers for him to slip under. "Matt, you can hardly walk right now. You can't even keep a crumb of food down for thirty minutes. You're crazy for thinking that I'll let you leave this house in your condition." You stepped back and pointed to the bed, silently demanding him to get back under the covers. You left no arguments; your eyes said 'or else'.

Though you expressed that you didn't want him to argue with you, he didn't exactly listen. Instead, he kept going, trying to come up with what he thought were believable excuses, but you knew weren't true.

"I haven't thrown up in an hour and I'm walking just fine now!" He told you, not making a move to get back in bed. He could be so damn stubborn sometimes. Football players, am I right?

You hummed, holding back a smile of amusement as you reached up and fondly brushed his messy hair from his forehead. "You still look like the dead. And you still have a high fever." You pressed the back of your hand to his head. "Your forehead and face blew your chances of me letting you leave."

"Okay, let's strike a deal."

"Get back in bed."

With a heavy sigh, he finally listened and crawled back under the covers. Once he was settled, you sat down on the edge —careful to avoid sitting on him— and looked down at him. "What do you think Sean and all of your teammates would think if they saw their strong and fearless leader like this?"

He blew out a laugh and softly shook his head, his eyes trained on the white ceiling. "They would laugh because you're babying me."

Now it was your turn to huff out a laugh. "No. They would want you resting. Sean would scold you for even getting out of the bed. They wouldn't want you pushing yourself past your limits and making the pain and suffering worse for you." You placed your hand where his thigh would be under the covers and squeezed. "I don't want you doing any of that. I want you to rest."

His eyes went to your face and he frowned. "I hate being sick."

"I know, baby. I know." You replied, knowing damn well how much being sick sucked. You had been pregnant twice. Morning sickness was no laughing matter. "But it'll be over soon. Your fever isn't as high as it was yesterday and you're throwing up less today. You'll be back to your normal self soon." You leaned over him and pressed a sweet kiss to his forehead.

He smiled as you pulled away. "You make being sick a lot less worse. I know I have complained and whined and all, but I really appreciate you." His honestly made your heart swell and you felt a smile curling at your lips. It only widened with his next words. "And you're much better company than my mom when it comes to being sick. Thank you."

You laughed a little. "You don't have to thank me. As your significant other, this is what I agreed to do at the alter. Plus I already knew what I was getting myself into before I even married you. You've been like this ever since we met: a pain in the ass."

"Rude." He scoffed, making you laugh again.

"I love you too." You giggled, leaning over to kiss his forehead. As you moved to pull away, he caught your wrist. You tilted your head, confused.

"Will you lay down with me?" He hopefully asked. Well, it sounded more like he was begging you to.

A sarcastic and sweet smile tugged at your lips as you began to pull away. "I love you a lot, but I don't want whatever you have. Plus, I don't want to get our children sick."

His expression turned offended. "You've been in close proximity with me for days now!" Then he pulled his brows together in confusion. "And our kids are at your mom's house!"

You shook your head and began to back away from the bed. "Sorry, no can do." You stopped in the doorway and pointed over your shoulder. "I'll be on the couch if you need me."

As you stepped out of the room, he shouted. "What a significant other you are!" You laughed and started making your way down the stairs.

Before you could reach the bottom, you heard him shout again.

"Hey, what about my soup?"

You paused and looked to the ceiling. You took a deep breath. "John Matthew Stafford, I swear." You murmured to yourself before going back up to give him his soup.

He smiled widely at you as he took the bowl, his eyes filled with appreciation and love. "Thank you. Love you."

You rolled your eyes and waved him off. "Sure whatever." You groaned, but you were smiling, so he knew you were only joking. God, he loved you.

————————

Quick little Stafford one!

I hope you enjoyed it and thank you so much for reading! 🖤

-MIlLiE