Okay so this isn’t fluffy but to that anon I promise I’ll write another, fluffier one for you!
AN: Alex and the reader have been dating for a long time and he wants to admit that he loves her, but will he get up the nerve before it’s too late?
Characters: Charles Xavier, Hank McCoy,
Pairings: Alex X reader
Prompt: “can you do a super fluffy Alex X reader where he where hes too nervous to tell the reader that he loves her but then he does?” And “can you write Alex summers looking after the reader when she’s sick because he just loves her so much and he’s terrified that she’s gonna die.”
“Alex,” you moaned, still half asleep, as you felt your bed sink with an added weight, “it’s too early.”
Alex Summers chuckled, pressing his lips to your forehead and marveling again at how lucky he was to have up you by his side.
“It’s 8:30 Y/N, I think it’s late enough.” He countered, resting his hand on your back and rubbing comforting circles there. He knew you were still fighting against the pain of your illness, so you shouldn’t be going to class, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t spend some time with you.
Your head shot up, “It’s 8:30 already? Why didn’t you tell me! I was supposed to be in History 30 minutes ago!”
Alex shook his head, “Y/N, you’re sick, you need to be in bed, resting. Give the classes a miss for today, focus on recovering.”
You rolled your eyes, forced yourself up and blinked hard through your nausea and the rush of dizziness that flooded your senses. Your boyfriend, Alex reached to you, his eyes pinched tight with worry as you leaned into him, letting the hard lines of his body support your smaller frame.
You blinked away tears of frustration at your own weakness, your quivering voice punishing your ears as you told him, “It’s not that simple Al, I’m a senior, I can’t just miss lessons.”
“You’re not just missing lessons Y/N,” Alex replied, a note of pleading creeping into his voice as he realized again just how ill you were, “you’re sick. Really, really sick, and I do understand how tricky senior year is, it hasn’t been that long since I was in high school.”
You grunted in reluctant agreement, but Alex knew he’d won when you rested your head in his lap, letting his fingers run through your hair and massage your scalp.
“You’re annoying, you know that right?” You asked.
Alex laughed, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Shut up and let me look after you Princess.”
You poked his cheek, “Big, strong man gonna look after little sicky Y/N? Don’t you have work?”
“Yeeees,” Alex smiled, “but not until 11, so until then I’m all yours.”
You smiled, thankful for Alex’s presence, even if you were a little resentful about looking weak and you cast your gaze to the bag he’d brought.
“So Mr Healing, what’s first?”
Alex left you, sleeping, two hours later, with hot soup in a flask and a note telling you where he would be and reminding you to take it easy until he could get off work. His heart pounded in his ribcage as he looked down at you, the strength of his feelings threatening to knock him off his feet every second that he lingered.
With the strength he had left, Alex forced himself to close your bedroom door behind him, instantly collapsed against the cold wood and slid to the floor, tears pooling in his deep blue eyes.
You were sick, so sick that he was contemplating calling the ambulance. Screw anonymity, screw protecting the school’s location. All that mattered was you.
When he’d first said that, in an argument with professor Xavier a week before, the realization had terrified him. Never before had Alex Summers cared about anything more than ‘the cause’, more than protecting the school or protecting Charles and Erik from the government, but somehow he’d found himself hopelessly devoted to you. He had realized, in that moment, that if you asked, he would give up everything for you. Havok, the X-men, the school, hell, he would sacrifice the entire world if it meant keeping you safe. Of course you would never have asked him to, you were far too noble for that, but even so, once he knew, he couldn’t get the idea out of his head. All week, all he’d been able to think about was settling down with you, buying a house, a dog, maybe having a few kids someday.
Alex Summers pressed his fingers to his temple, trying to force the images out of his mind, because with those images came others. You, pale and lifeless, dead of some unknown disease that doctors couldn’t cure; you, shocked and disgusted by his selfish wishes; you, pitying and embarrassed, explaining that he was a great guy, but you just didn’t think you wanted something that serious, not with him anyway.
“Woah,” the voice of Hank McCoy called awkwardly, “Um, is everything alright Alex?”
Alex sighed, “I’m in love with her Hank. I’m so fucking in love with Y/N.”
Hank shifted from foot to foot, unsure as to what a person was supposed to say when faced with their friend, slumped on the floor, with his girlfriend’s bedroom door pressed to his back and his face collapsing in on itself like a house of cards.
“Isn’t that..” Hank cleared his throat, crouching before the man, “isn’t that a good thing?”
Alex shook his head, “I’m in love with her, and I can’t help her, at least not without breaking the professor’s stupid rules.”
Hank frowned, “Help her with what?”
“She’s sick. Like really sick. She’s fainting and she’s nauseas, she’s coughing all the time, and her fever is absolutely through the roof. The professor said no ambulances, no hospitals and no doctors, but I’m sure that if he just saw her then he’d change his mind.”
“Well that seems like an easy fix then, just show her to the professor.” Hank countered.
Alex sighed, “That’s the thing, she’s too proud. She thinks that if he sees her like this, he won’t let her join the X-men when she graduates next year and that’s like, her dream.”
Hank nodded, “Oh.”
“She thinks that, if she doesn’t become an X-man, she’s letting me down, like I won’t want to be with her if she’s not out there, kicking ass and taking names with me.” Alex explained, talking more to himself than to Hank at this point, “I wish she could just see that she’s enough for me. Just her. Just us, that’s all that I want, all that I need really.”
“Have you told her that?”
Alex’s head shot up, his eyes wide and scared and looking, in that moment, like a helpless boy, the same helpless and passionate boy that Hank had met four years ago, with the short temper and flare for the dramatic. That boy was in love, Hank thought to himself, he was in love with a girl as fierce and proud as he was, and it was a combination of that very same pride and his deep love that was tearing him apart. Alex knew he wanted to help Y/N, but he couldn’t bring himself to betray her trust for fear of losing her forever.
Hank sighed, resigning himself to what now needed to happen.
“No, I haven’t.” Alex answered.
“You’ve got a class to teach Alex, go. Maybe things will be clearer afterwards.” Hank suggested, clapping his friend on the shoulder and helping him up.
Alex nodded absentmindedly, giving Hank a grateful smile as he made his way towards the outside field in which he taught PE. Hank sighed again, watching his friend’s back disappear and went about setting his plan into action.
You awoke to the sound of your door opening, and the familiar sound of Hank McCoy muttering under his breath.
“Oh my God.” he said, his eyes flittering between your sickly complexion and your pale, almost blue lips. Slowly, his eyes travelled back to yours and you flinched when you saw fear there, maybe Alex was right, maybe you should’ve seen the professor, “Wait here.”
You raised your eyebrows at the older man, “I can’t exactly go anywhere, can I?” You joked feebly.
As Hank left, you felt the icy tendrils of dread clutch at your stomach and you longed for Alex. He was everything you hadn’t known that you needed, everything that made you feel whole and accepted. All you wanted was for him to be proud of you, to look at you and see a woman he would be glad to spend his life with, not some weak, half trained mutant who needed constant looking after.
You still remembered meeting him. He’d been a junior at the time. You were in the grade below and, if someone had told you then that Alex Summers would be the person you trusted most in the world, that he would be waiting for you to graduate so that you could go to university together and that he would be the person whose kiss would one day obliterate you entirely, well, you would’ve laughed at them. It had taken him more than a year to ask you out, finally getting up the nerve one week before senior prom. The subsequent six months had been the best of your life, so it hadn’t come as a surprise to you when, one morning, as Alex arrived at your door with breakfast in hand and his biggest smile plastered on his handsome face, you had realized that you loved him. Really, truly, honestly loved him. Not that he knew that yet.
It was solely for his benefit that you let the professor check your temperature, solely for him that you let Hank carry you to the ambulance and it was solely for Alex Summers that you let the doctors inject you with sedatives. Because even after all your fuss, you knew that all Alex wanted was for you to get better, and you would subject yourself to anything for him. Absolutely anything.
Alex practically ran back to your room after his four back-to-back classes ended, anxious to see your face, anxious to tell you that he loved you, anxious assure you that you were already perfect in his eyes. You had nothing to prove.
“Y/N I need to talk you you, I-“ he called as he opened the door, panic flooding his veins when he was faced with an empty bed and a shame faced Hank McCoy in your place. Scenarios flashed in his mind again; you, pale and motionless, you calling out for him and finding him gone, you coughing up blood into an empty room, you, giving in to your illness and him, not being there when you needed him to be.
Seeing his friends panic, Hank stood quickly, “She’s fine!” He assured, “Calm down, she’s just at the hospital.”
Alex felt the terror in his chest loosen and his body sagged with relief, “What-how?”
Hank shrugged modestly, “I figured, if someone besides you brought the professor, maybe she’d actually let him help her. Luckily, I was right.”
“Can I see her?” Alex asked, figuring there would be more than enough time to thank Hank later.
“Of course,” Hank assured, “that’s actually why I’m here. I figured you shouldn’t drive in this state.”
Alex shot Hank another grateful look, his heart already pounding in his chest like a bird trying to escape a paper cage. He didn’t want to wait, not for a single second longer. You needed him, and he fully intended to be there for you.
You looked beautiful. That was Alex’s first thought when he saw you, asleep in your hospital bed. You looked beautiful, and more at peace than you had in weeks, whatever the doctors had given you, it was working. Your eyes fluttered open, and Alex felt himself smile as he leant forward in his chair to clutch at your hand.
“There’s my best girl,” he whispered comfortingly, “how’re you feeling Princess?”
The confusion on your face melted away into a tired smile when you heard your boyfriend’s voice and you gave his hand a gentle squeeze.
“Better than I have in a while. The doctors want me to stay for a few days though, apparently I’m not out of the woods just yet.”
Alex swallowed hard, trying hard not to let his fear show and failing miserably. You frowned and reached out to stroke his cheek, your fingers cool and dry against his warm skin.
“Shh, it’s okay, I’m going to get better, they just want to keep me in a relatively safe place while I heal. That’s all.” You assured Alex.
He nodded, leaning in to your hand and trying to send you his strength.
“And the best news is, professor X says that this won’t affect me becoming and X-man next year! Isn’t that great? You and I can still work together.” You gushed.
Alex swallowed again, scooching his chair closer to your bed, the memory of his confessions bubbling up in his mind like lava.
“I wanted to talk to you about that,” he started, forcing himself not to stammer and stutter, “Y/N, you’re my everything. I want you to be happy, and if the X-men will make you happy then I completely support you joining, but I don’t want you to think that, by being an X-man you’re somehow proving yourself to me. These last six months have been…indescribably wonderful, but-but you’ve had my heart for a lot longer than that, maybe even since the day we met, and I want you to know that I think you’re perfect. I don’t need this, all the fighting and saving the world and whatnot, all I need is you because-well, because I love you, and I think I always have.” He finished, exhaling as a weight was lifted from his broad shoulders.
Your eyes, wide and filling with tears, never left Alex’s face as a watery laugh bubbled up through your throat.
“I love you too Alex,” you confessed, “so much, so, so much.”
If there was a word for how you had just made him feel, Alex didn’t know it, all he knew was that, soon you were wrapped up in his arms and he was pressing fierce kisses to your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, anywhere he could reach and you were laughing in his ear and pulling him closer and he thought, damn, I could get used to this
I keep seeing this in the chronic illness tag so I finally took the time to watch it. And I really like what he had to say. I especially agree with the part where people want to blame something.
I have often said that people face their own mortality because they are forced to eventually. But people don’t always have to face their own fragility. And when confronted with the idea that people just get sick for no reason, they find it is too terrifying. They’d rather live in denial and blame the sick person than admit that crappy things can happen to anyone.
So for anyone who is blaming themselves for their illness right now, or anyone being told that they deserve this or did this to themselves or they can somehow control their illness, I want to remind you that it is not your fault. It’s crappy and scary and wrong, but please be angry and upset with your illness, not with yourselves.
33921) I hate feeling sick all the time. Whether it’s from eating and feeling disgusted in myself or from not eating and then being constantly tired, suffering from headaches, stomach pains, body cramps and dizziness. It takes every inch of my fibre to wake up and keep going, yet from the moment I wake up to the morning until the moment I finally fall asleep, I’m just so sick. And I’m terrified that I will just feel this way for the rest of my life.
Macbeth offers spectators no hierarchy or root causes of fear in the drama; it refuses to locate fear’s specific mode of generation or prioritize its possible sources. Fear is everywhere, and ubiquitously nowhere, in a play about being perpetually afraid but not knowing just what is so terrifying.
Allison Hobgood, “Fear-sickness in Macbeth,” Passionate Playgoing in Early Modern England