{ VIRTUAL DELUSIONS | PHIGHTING & BLOCKTALES X READER | ONE SHOTS. }

"A CURE FOR EXHAUSTION." -- MEDKIT X READER X BANHAMMER FLUFF !!

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(reader is a cafe worker btw specifically iron cafe but i didnt include it at the title cus its not that important)
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You're exhausted. Not the "I need a nap" kind. The deep, aching kind of tired that settles in your bones after a full day on your feet pouring cappuccinos, wrestling with a broken espresso machine, and getting aggressively flirted with by some old man who tips in loose mints.

You love your café. You do. But right now? You want nothing more than to dissolve into a puddle of comfort and warmth.

So naturally, you arrive home to the sound of a pot boiling over and Ban Hammer yelling "I CAN FIX THIS WITH FORCE!" while Medkit shouts, "NO YOU CAN'T—THAT'S NOT A MEDICALLY SOUND SOLUTION!"

Home sweet home.

You blink into the chaos, cheeks puffing out in a tired sigh as you drop your bag. "What in the crispy burnt hell are you two doing?"

Ban Hammer turns like a man caught mid-heist, a wooden spoon in one hand and tomato sauce on his cheek. "Dinner. For you."

Medkit, standing like a war-weary chef near the stove, grits his teeth. "I told him to stir, not smite."

"Same thing!" Ban Hammer argues.

You lean against the wall, staring at them fondly. "So... am I dying tonight or just getting mild food poisoning?"

"Neither," Medkit mutters, grabbing a rag to clean the counter. "You're going to sit your cute ass down and let us take care of you for once."

You blink.

Ban Hammer pauses mid-pour.

"...Did you just say my ass was cute?" you ask, smirking.

"I said what I said," Medkit replies smoothly, not even glancing up. "Sit. You look like you're about to keel over. Have you eaten today?"

You hum. "Does a cake pop count?"

Both of them give you that look.

"Okay, okay, I'm sitting." You plop into a chair and immediately feel your muscles go slack. Your body sighs in relief like it knows it's finally safe to let go.

Ban Hammer sets down a bowl of chopped herbs next to you, proud grin on his face. "I did this. I didn't even smash them."

"You gently tore them with your bare hands," Medkit deadpans. "But yes. Good job."

You laugh softly, watching them move around the kitchen in a rhythm only the three of you have developed. Medkit is all precision and control, tasting with the tip of a spoon and adjusting flavors with the focus of someone recalibrating a nuclear device. Ban Hammer is... more of a blunt object, but he means well. Every dish he touches somehow ends up three times spicier than intended and seasoned with chaos, but tonight he's trying. You can tell.

Dinner takes longer than expected—mainly because Ban Hammer insists on making garlic bread from scratch ("You deserve the real good stuff!") and Medkit refuses to serve anything that hasn't passed a hundred internal quality checks.

But when it's finally done—when they set the table and wave you over with proud little grins—you can't stop the way your heart swells in your chest.

"Dig in," Ban says, handing you a plate.

You do. And it's actually... really good.

The pasta is creamy and herby and way better than anything you expected two half-chaotic deities to whip up. The garlic bread is slightly burned on the edges but soaked in butter and love. The salad has edible flowers in it.