Stranger Things x Reader Oneshots

•Sick Day• Jonathan Byers

Requested? Nah...
Warnings: I swore in the A/N but only cute fluff in the actual chapter
Word Count: 900+
A/N: This is pretty short and it took me fucking forever.

You slowly open your eyes. They're still heavy with sleep and it's an immediate sign something is up. You groan and roll over to your side, covering your face to block the bright sun. You wince as you feel an awful headache begin to form in your temples.

     You notice your clammy hands and freezing body, and feel like you've been hit by a truck. Your mother's knocks on your door making you whine, despite how they weren't very loud.

     "Y/N! Breakfast is ready, come on," she says from outside. You sigh and throw a pillow at the door halfheartedly. "Y/N? I'm coming in."

     She enters your room, a worried expression on her face, but you can't see it. She puts the back of her hand to your forehead, gasping quietly when she feels how hot it is.

     "Feels like you have a fever, and you don't look too good." You finally will your eyes to open, and blink up at her.

     "I have to go to work, mom. Nancy can't deal with everyone by herself," you say with a stuffy sounding voice and sit up. You close your eyes in another wince and rub your head.

     "Look, you can't work today. I have to go, but you are going to call out and then take a nap. Ok?" She asks, putting her hands on her hips. "Ok?" She asks again, raising her brows when you don't answer quick enough.

     "Yeah, yeah, alright." You sigh and stand slowly. You sniffle and cover your dry and painful cough. She nods and kisses your forehead.

     "I'll see you at four," she says with a smile and leaves your bedroom. You walk over to the wall phone and pick it up, dialing your work number.

     "Hawkins Post, Jonathan speaking," the familiar voice says from the other line. You furrow your brows a little.

     "Jonathan?" You ask, sniffling again.

     "Y/N? Did you need something?" He asks with concern. "You sound sick, are you ok?"

     "That's why I called, I can't make it today. Why'd you answer?" You lean against the wall, your legs getting tired from holding your weight.

     "Tom went out to run an errand. Now, how're you feeling? Fever, chills, cough?" You smile and lightly laugh at his worry, but it turns into a cough.

     "I'm alright, Jonathan. It's probably just a cold." You hear him sigh a little. "Tell Tom I'm not coming in, and enjoy work. Ok?"

     "I'm coming over, you're alone there, right? Your mom is working today," he says with some shuffling in the background that resembles putting on a coat.

     "Yes, I'm alone, but—"

     "No buts, I'm coming. I'll grab some canned soup, too," he cuts you off. "I'll be there in a little while, love you."

     "I love you too, Byers." He laughs a little before hanging up. You push off the wall and stumble back into your room, throwing yourself on your cozy, unmade bed.

After about twenty minutes of dozing on and off, Jonathan knocks on the front door. You groggily shuffle to the front door, opening it to be met with a worried face.

     "Are you ok? You look awful," Jonathan says, putting a hand to your forehead to check for a fever. You sniffle and swat with hand away.

     "Gee, thanks." He smiles sheepishly and steps inside your quaint home, shutting the door behind him.

"I'll make you some soup, go lay down." He pecks you on the forehead and you smile before complying.

You lay down on your bed in the same sluggish manner as before, except now you had someone to take care of you. Your eyes shut before you can realize you're sleepy, but what felt like seconds later, you were shook awake.

"Mummh..." you grumble and try to move out of their grasp.

"I know you're sleepy, but you have to keep your fluids up. After you eat a little, we can take a nap, sound good?" Jonathan says, a cute smile on. You blink up at him, nodding slowly and sitting up.

He situates the bowl of warm soup on your lap and sits next to you. You grimace at the taste of the soup. You can't tell if Jonathan undercooked it, or if your tastebuds were failing you in your ill state.

"You're gonna get sick... you keep snuggling me," you say and take a spoonful of soup. He shrugs a little.

"Then you'll have to take care of me." You smile, your cheeks flush from your slight fever.

After a couple more minutes of talking between bites of tasteless soup, you're done. Jonathan cleans up the mess— after you told him not to worry and you'd clean up later— and grabs blankets from your closet.

He piles them onto you. You're fever worsened and now your burning to the touch and shivering from the cold sweat.

"You don't have to stay, I bet I look gross," you say with a frown. He shakes his head and climbs under the blankets with you.

"You're gorgeous, as always." Jonathan wraps an arm around you and tangles your legs together. You aren't sure where his legs end and your's begin.

"I love you, Jonathan Byers." Sleep claws at your eyes but you beg yourself to stay awake.

"I love you too, Y/N L/N." He kisses the back of your head, and you finally let yourself fall into the comfortable darkness.