smii7y & friends x reader

Cheesy: Zuckles

The Australian prick was at it again. Always up your ass about making him breakfast, or something dumb. There was never any purpose to it, or anything he had to say. Except... Maybe they way he said it. He had a tendency to act like an absolute idiot around his friends, and, well, everyone. It got to be annoying sometimes, until you got to be alone with him.

Sometimes he would come over and stay with you and your parents, who would always make him sleep on the couch, or you could go over to his house, and pretend like his walls weren't as thin as paper. Sometimes, if it was during the weekend, he'd let you come over and play Counter Strike with some of his mates. Most often, though, he would take you on a dorky date.

Whether it be in a public park or a fancy restaurant, he was always cheesy, cracking jokes when he was nervous or felt awkward, but it was always better to just be around him.
This week, the person behind the internet personality "Zuckles" was slumped on his couch, sick as a dog. There would be no cuddling or kissing this time, and he kept making fun of you, saying you should go and buy your Hazmat suit before his disease killed you.

"Oh, don't be so over-dramatic," you'd remark, to get something snarky in return, like, "Then stop acting like I'll combust any minute, I'm fine!", to then hear him cough and sneeze.

"Sure, you're fine. Drink your tea," you said, shoving a mug of ginger tea at him. "This isn't something that's going to be easy for your body to tough out, so drink your damned tea."

He tried to argue, over and over, but you would just break into giggles whenever his nasally voice broke or cracked, to which he'd respond, "Aww, come off it, cu—... Nevermind."

He treated you better than most of his friends, but you were still one of his best friends, even if you had been dating on and off for two years. This month had been an "on" month, and things were going smoothly.

The sickly seventeen year old boy was hunched over the coffee table. "You know I don't like tea, right?"

"Yeah, so what?"

"I don't wanna drink this?"

"You're going to have to, or I'll get a funnel and pour it down your throat."

"Like the way they do at frat parties?"

"Yeah, but with hot tea instead of cold alcohol."

"That sounds awful, why in the bloody hell would anyone want that?"

"I dunno, but if you don't drink your tea, that'll happen with you."

He reluctantly took a tea, and looked you up and down over the rim of his mug. "You look lovely today, (name). I'm sure you'd look lovelier without clo—"

"It's not gonna happen. I have my Hazmat suit, remember?"

"Jesus, it was just a joke, man, calm down...," he muttered, although his facial expression portrayed slight disappointment.

"Yeah, sure it bloody was."

"Haven't you got exams to study for? Why are you so busy taking care of me? I'm not doing too bad anyway," he managed through a coughing fit.

"Right, 'not too bad'. I think I'll pass on the studying, and take care of the one person who would do the same for me if I were sick."

"Well... I mean..." You watched and waited quietly as he struggled with a comeback. "Listen, cunt, your tests are more important than me, I'll be alright." He used his superpower(cursing informally) as a comeback, as you expected.

"It's a good thing I brought my study materials with me, then, isn't it? You can learn with me!"

The acne-stricken teenager on the couch groaned. "I don't wanna learn! That's why I got sick, obviously."

You chuckled and pulled out a math textbook as he continued complaining and whining like a child. "So, students—"

"I'm the only one here," he stated in a thick, nasally voice.

You glared at him and he stopped complaining for a bit. "So, students. What's the square root of sixteen?"

"Four," he replied almost on impulse, but slightly annoyed at the simple question.

"Wow," you mumbled, and glanced at the paper. "Hmm... Zuc, what's the square root of 169?"

"Thirteen," he said, again on impulse.

You wrote some logarithmic equations down on a page and handed it to him. "No calculator, solve these."

When he handed the sheet back to you, ten minutes later, you were truly surprised. As you checked through each question, you looked back at him and made sure he wasn't mocking you. He was lying on the couch, covered in blankets with tissues sitting idly by on the floor and the table behind his head.

"Well, teacher, what's my score?"

"You got two of the four completely correct, you just didn't finish one of the parts for the other two."

He looked crestfallen.

"But those two were difficult on purpose, love, don't worry about it."

He smiled a bit. "What'd you call me?"

"L-love...?" You repeated, confused. "Why?"

"Because I thought it was sweet, love," he said, mocking you slightly. When he noticed how upset you seemed, he sat up and kissed your forehead though.

"Thank you for teaching me that I'm an idiot, (name)."

"Of course, love."

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This note is kind of important, please read this, if you read this story as it's being published.
When I make new chapters, I have lots planned, so that I can space them out by three days. Sometimes I want to post more than one, though; for example, I have three parts of a story done that I'd like to publish all at once, but then, what's the point of cliffhangers?
Thank you for sticking with me, 100 people is a lot of people to me, and I truly appreciate you reading these trainwrecks. <3

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