The flu - Frederik Andersen
A/N: Some Freddie fluff for y’all.
Word count: 1183
Warnings: maybe a couple of bad words and some fluff.
“Hej, min kære. (Hello, my dear)” Freddie says, walking in your shared apartment and closing up the door behind him. He is only being gone for five days, but you’ve missed him. “How are you?”
You are beyond miserable, lying on the couch, wrapped on a fluffy blanket and surrounded by used tissues and bowls of chicken noodle soup. You have caught the flu at the office three days ago; at first it started as an itchy throat, but now you have a fever, your nose is stuffed and your throat is sore from coughing so much. And you haven’t told Freddie about it because you didn’t want him to worry.
“Hey.” You say. Your voice is raspy and congested, and Freddie frowns when he sees you wrapped like a burrito, with your eyes watering and your nose as red as a tomato.
“You didn’t tell me that you are sick.” He is not accusing you of anything, but you can clearly tell that he is slightly upset by it. You take care of him every time he is injured or sick and he wants to do the same with you.
“Didn’t want to worry you.” You say in between coughs. Your throat feels like sand paper every time to talk, swallow or cough.
Freddie’s frown deepens as he leans over the back of the couch and kisses your forehead to feel your temperature. You are burning up.
“I’m going to head to the store to get you some medicine, Gatorade and more tissues. Do you need anything else?” He asks, walking to your bedroom and changing his clothes quickly.
“More soup and a new body.” You reply, grabbing a tissue from the box and blowing your nose. It doesn’t matter how much you do it, you can’t breathe.
“I’ll be back soon.” He promises. He walks towards you, looking for a kiss, but you are quick to pull him away. He looks slightly hurt by it, but you aren’t risking getting him sick too.
“The Leafs Nation would murder me if I get you sick.” You say and he rolls his eyes. Freddie is really touchy and cuddly, and you know he is going to have a hard time staying away from you.
Freddie is not gone for long, but when he gets back from the store you have fallen asleep. He doesn’t want to bother you, so he puts the stuff he’s bought away and walks to the bedroom to unpack and watch some TV until you wake up. When he hears you stir up on the couch, like you always do in bed right before waking up, so he decides to get the soup going for you.
“Freddie?” You ask, slightly disorientated. You don’t remember falling asleep, but you definitely feel a tiny bit better.
“Here, baby.” He says, walking out of the kitchen with a bottle of light blue Gatorade and a couple pills the pharmacologist have told him that are great for the flu. “Take this. I’ll bring you food in a little bit.”
You do feel terrible, but you are enjoying having Freddie taking care of you. He has made you soup, put on your favorite TV show and watch it with you sitting on the other side of the couch and giving your cold feet a nice massage and made hot chocolate to drink with your before bed pills.
“Let’s get you in bed, babe.” He says, but you shake your head.
“I think I’m gonna stay here. You need to get some sleep for tomorrow’s practice and game and I don’t stop moving and coughing.” You say, fluffing up the pillow you’ve been using all day and lying back down.
“You can’t be serious…” He starts, but you cut him off.
“Freddie, go to bed. I’ll be fine here.” You don’t want to sound mean, but you know that he won’t go to bed alone if you don’t stand you ground.
He huffs something in Danish, turning around and walking in the bedroom, the door slamming the door behind him. There is nothing you want more than to climb in bed with him and sleep snuggled to his side, but tomorrow’s game is important and you don’t want your boyfriend being sick if you can avoid it. He can hate you until you get better.
When you wake up the next morning it is almost noon and Freddie is gone. It took you a while to fall asleep last night, but you are feeling much much better today. Your throat doesn’t feel as raspy, your nose is not as stuffed and you are actually hungry for something that isn’t broth and noodles. You make yourself a smoothie and scrambled eggs, eat and take your pills having no trouble swallowing. You have stepped out of the shower when you hear the front door opening.
“(y/n)?” Freddie asks.
“In the bathroom.” You scream back, towel drying your hair and rubbing some oil into the ends of it as you always do.
“You look much better.” He says with a smirk, looking up and down at your body, only covered by a fluffy towel.
“I feel much better.” You confirm, putting moisturizing on your skin.
He looks at you as you do your skincare, bodycare and haircare routines before walking passed him towards your wardrobe, where you get dress in a pair of leggings, sports bra and one of Freddie’s long sleeves Maple Leafs tshirt that looks ridiculously big on you.
“Does that mean that I get to touch you now?” He hopefully asks.
“No way. I’m not completely recovered and you are so not getting the flu because of me.” You say, trying to walk around him on your way back to the living room where you have set your little illness camp.
“Fuck the flu.” You hear him say and then you feel his strong arms wrapping around your waist and lifting you off the floor.
Freddie carries you to the bed, carefully setting you down before pushing you until you are lying on your back and he hovering over you, his arms caging you and his hips pinning you down so you can’t move.
“Give me a kiss.” He says and you giggle, shaking your head. “(y/n), we are not moving until you give me a kiss.”
“Ne-ver.” You tease him, trying to escape from him even though you are enjoying his proximity.
“I just want a kiss.” He pouts, caressing your nose with his.
You bite your lower lip as your hand caresses the side of his face. You finally give in and bush your lips against his in a chaste kiss.
“That’s a start.” He says triumphantly. “Now kiss me like you mean it.”
“Can you sign a contract that says that if you get sick it isn’t my fault?” You joke and he rolls his eyes once again.
“Kiss me and shut up.” He says and you happily oblige, crashing your lips with his. You haven’t feel so well in the last few days, and it has nothing to do with the flu.