Prompt: “Sorry, I have a clingy and feverish child on my lap.” In which a sick Tae can’t take care of himself.
Genre: FLUFF
Member: Kim Taehyung
Warnings: none
Word Count: 1,741
~
Aching fingers scurry swiftly across your keyboard, your hands having fallen into an annoyingly efficient system after the past 3 hours of toil. Keeping your eyes trained on the notepad full of brainstorming webs, diagrams, lists of facts, and pieces of your rough draft, you craft the ideas together in your head, editing out the taxing application of your thesis paper. This wasn’t even one of those assignments that you had procrastinated too long and are now paying the price for, this was simply your most difficult class of the semester kicking your butt with a shoe branded ‘workload’. The paper is due in two days, and after the past two weeks of research, stress, and late nights, you finally can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Just a few more hours…
“Jagiyaaaa,” a nasal whine suddenly echoes throughout the dorm as your lanky and tousled Taehyung, back from a long day of rehearsal, stumbles tiredly through the door.
You don’t take your eyes off of your work, barely aware of the greeting you toss over your shoulder. You risk the double-take that’s necessary when you see he’s alone, kicking off his shoes into the amassed pile of footwear already collected by the entrance. “Where’s everyone else?” you venture, your hands continuing to fly along the keys with soft taps, the only other noise filling the wide living room.
Instead of coherent response, you hear Tae elicit a childish groan that rumbles deep still with his low voice. You listen as his large steps shuffle along the hardwood of the floor, growing closer to where you’ve perched yourself on the couch, papers, charging chords, and a stale coffee littered around your person.
The thump of his feet halt just behind you. “They went out for food,” he finally replies, his voice soft, almost verging on hoarse. This tone pulls another minuscule thread of your attention away from your work, your head cocking in his direction slightly though your eyes remain steadily on the computer screen.
“Oh? You didn’t go with them?” you press, trying your best to seem interested without getting distracted. You hope Taehyung will retreat for a shower or something soon so you can get the last of your thoughts out while they’re rolling.
Taehyung apparently has different plans in mind as his long and warm arms fall into your vision, coiling around your shoulders firmly. The newly dyed blond strands of his hair tickle the side of your face as his head leans down to rest next to yours, smooth lips finding a home just under your ear. The gentle pressure Tae applies to your skin, soft breath fanning out along the curve of your neck, paints a trail of goose flesh in its wake. Your fingers begrudgingly stall on the keyboard. The prickling sensation now coursing through your limbs that Taehyung’s enveloping presence causes almost is impossible to ignore.
You moan inwardly, rolling your eyes in playful annoyance as you reluctantly pull away from Tae’s grasp. He whines in protest as your body evades his reach. “Tae,” you groan, setting your computer to the side of you for a moment so you can face him. He has his chin resting on his folded arms on the back of the couch, a cute pout pulling his pink lips down. “I’m trying to finish my thesis.”
At your words, Taehyung’s pout pulls further down, his eyes squinting closed. “Jagiyaaaa,” he repeats once more, his quiet whine breaking at the end. You eyes widen as he slides himself around the couch, stumbling over the arm and right into your lap. He snuggles his face into the smooth fabric of his black hoodie that you have kidnapped for the day, the material bunched comfortably around your stomach. You raise your hands up, confused by his actions, and stare down at him. From this close, you finally notice the flushed nature of his face, the normally flawless skin tainted with a sheen of sweat and dark circles blanketing his under-eye. His cheeks are too red, and as you gingerly sweep away his locks to connect the back of your palm with his forehead, you realize he’s not just warm, he’s hot.
“Taehyung-ie, you’re burning up,” you note, cradling his too-warm cheek in your palm. He hums, leaning into your touch, his eyes still closed.
“I think I have a cold,” he moans, the fold of his eyebrows scrunching together.
“What’s wrong?” You begin to comb your hands through his golden tendrils, the sedated hiss that passes through his teeth confirming his appreciation.
“My stomach hurts,” he starts, placing a wide palm to the plane of his abdomen. “My body aches. And I’m too cold.” At this, he turns on his side, pressing his nose against your own stomach and wrapping a loose arm around the curve of your lower back.
“Do you want me to go get some medicine for you?” you question, beginning to move Tae away to do just that when a firm squeeze around your mid-section halts your movements. You feel him shake his head ‘no’ into your sweatshirt.
“Do you want some water?” Again, no. “Do you want to go lie down?”
“Just let me lay here with you,” he groans, lifting a hand to your shoulder to adjust his position so he’s sitting in pocket of your legs, his head nocked into the crook of your neck. You giggle at the tickling feeling of his exhales wafting over your collarbone.
“Tae, I have to finish this assignment,” you sigh, smiling lazily down at his weary figure, laughing inwardly at the sight of his giant stature cocooned into you.
He relieves a whine from the back of his hoarse throat, the husky tone covering you with chills. “Finish it tomorrow,” he requests childishly, frowning.
“It’s due in two days, babe,” you laugh, absentmindedly running your fingers up and down his long spine as he hums in contentment.
“Then you can finish it tomorrow,” he decides for you, opening his eyes long enough to glance up at your raised eyebrow. “Please?” This softening touch mixed with the literal baby-like hope glossing his features doesn’t just tug your heartstrings, it cuts them.
Rolling your eyes and groaning in defeat, you reach over and close your laptop, setting it on the coffee table along with all of your other materials. You do have to admit that it feels nice to have an excuse not be looking at a computer screen for a little while. You much prefer the view in front of you now.
After a few minutes of doting over a sleepy and weak Taehyung, he appears to have slipped off enough for you to take a break from playing with his hair, your fingers still aching from the hours of prior use. You reach over and click on the TV, the dull noise of some sitcom rerun soothing the stale quiet you’ve been enveloped in all day. It doesn’t take long, however, for Taehyung to begin fidgeting in your lap once more, the prods of his limbs protesting at the loss of your touch.
“Y/N, it huuuurts,” he complains, rolling over and throwing his arms around your neck.
“I offered to get you medicine,” you say in a sing-song voice, rolling your eyes upwards as you allow Tae to shift.
“I don’t need medicine, I just need your cuddles…and maybe some cake.”
You scoff in laughter at his odd request. He turns to limp, needy mush when he gets sick, forcing you to take your parental persona out of the storage closet. “If you won’t take medicine, you can’t have cake.”
“I’m dying. Let me eat cake.”
“You’re not dying, Tae,” you groan.
“Let me eat cake anyway.”
You giggle sweetly, amused by Taehyung’s easy and random banter, fondly shaking your head as he settles himself in a new position in your lap. After another few comfortable minutes of white noise, courtesy of the TV, you feel a gentle vibration against your leg and reach down to pluck your phone out from where it had gotten stuffed earlier.
“Hello?” you speak into the receiver, adopting a humored grin as the child in your lap moans at the sudden words, disturbed from his precious dozing.
“Y/N!” Namjoon greets brightly from the other end, the muffled voices in the background of his call indicating he’s in a crowded place. “How’s our Taehyung?”
“Useless,” you laugh, patting the boy below you on the leg but running your nails along the limb afterwards lest he complain about the aches.
“Sounds about right,” Namjoon agrees amusedly through the phone. “I was just calling to see if either of you wanted us to bring food home?”
Your stomach rumbles angrily at the mention of food, suddenly aware that it hasn’t been filled in hours. You’re about to reply when the weight on top of you moves again, mewling with need as Taehyung hangs himself limply over your torso, a too-heavy-and-hot blanket that has you oof-ing under the sudden pressure. “Jagiyaaaa,” he whines for the 3rd time since arriving, the endearing pet-name beginning to elicit a slight annoyance as you huff stray hairs out of your face.
“Sorry, I have a clingy and feverish child on my lap. I’ll text you what we want when I convince him that a cold doesn’t mean he’s dying.”
You end the call once Namjoon is done laughing on the other side, glaring with a newfound determination at the hopeless youth clinging to you now that food is on the line. “Alright Tae, here’s the deal,” you say sternly, placing a hand to the crown of his silky hair. He lifts his tired and beautiful face from your shoulder, raking his puffy eyes over your features with lazy affection. “If you eat whatever Namjoon brings home for you–all of it–then I’ll spend the rest of the night playing with every single hair on your stupid head. Deal?”
He eyes you warily for a moment, unsure if he wants to risk detaching himself from you at all, but eventually resolve seeps into his face. “Deal.” Sliding himself lethargically off of your lap, the relief of blood flowing freely through your legs once more, you quickly pick up your phone and begin typing out the order to Namjoon. Just before you hit send, Taehyung leans over to inspect the text, shyly adding, “Tell him to bring cake.”