#i just got the second vaccine and i did this while feverish & half awake | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

poodlejoonas · 3 years

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Olli - Honey Tea

For @bcfanweek Day 5: Olli Matela

Words: 1,350

Description: You come down with a summer cold and Olli comes to your rescue.

Notes: Olli Matela/Reader (gender unspecified)

Whatever that feeling was, it was uncomfortable as hell. You were bracing yourself for a long day at home because right now, you could barely be bothered to get out of bed. You felt feverish and achy, and the back of your throat felt like sandpaper. You felt this sensation creeping up on you over the last few days, but you brushed it off as nothing more than your body responding to stress.

Now you were paying for it in full force. It didn’t feel like COVID, and you were vaccinated recently, but it was unpleasant. You needed to do so many things that could make you feel better - make some tea, grab some tissues, take some medicine. But nothing you could do would give you the energy to get up long enough to do any of that.

Half asleep and achy, you rolled over to your phone and scrolled through your contacts until you found “Olli 💌”. If anyone could help put you back together, it was your boyfriend Olli Matela. You’ve been together for almost a year now but you have yet to make the jump towards moving in with him. He’s been so busy lately that the thought of a stressful life transition was too much to deal with. But you understood loud and clear - his career was on its way up, and you couldn’t have been prouder of him.

But now, all you could hope for was that he’d pick up your call. The phone rang for a few seconds until his raspy voice broke through on the other end. “Kulta?” he started, sounding half-asleep himself.

You wanted to say something, but a cough pushed its way out first. “Olli, are you busy today?” You were taken aback at how rough your voice sounded.

“No, why? What’s wrong?”

“I think I’m sick and I can barely get myself out of bed.” A sentence that long had hurt to get out. “Can you come over? I’ll pay you back later.”

You could hear the sheets on his other end rubbing together as he sat himself up. “You don’t have to do that, I’d take care of you for free. Give me half an hour, I’ll be there.”

You smiled. “Thank you, my love. See you soon.” As soon as you ended the call, you began a coughing fit that put a cramp in your side. You couldn’t wait for Olli to arrive so you didn’t feel like you were suffering alone.

Olli already had a key to your house, which he used to get in today. He called out your name, but there was no response. He journeyed further into your room to find that you had already fallen back asleep, the exhaustion from barely being able to rest the night before putting you out again. Olli’s heart hurt at the sight of you looking so miserable, your face pale and covered in red patches from the pain in your sinuses, but you looked like you found some peace in your sleep.

He walked over to your bed, sitting down on the edge and rubbing your hair out of your face. It was clinging to your forehead with sweat, and he took a quick guess of your temperature. “Hey,” he whispered, leaning down to wake you up gently. “Do you have a thermometer?”

You opened your eyes slowly and smiled when you saw his angelic face hovering above you. “Yeah,” you answered. “It’s in the kitchen, top drawer by the sink.”

“Okay,” he answered with a smile, giving you a soft forehead kiss. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Olli?” you asked before he left the room. He stopped to turn around and greet you. “Can you make me some tea while you’re in there?” You then gave him instructions on how to make what you called your “sick tea”: steeped chamomile, warmed orange juice, honey, and cinnamon on top. He nodded with understanding and left the room.

You put your head back down to rest more as you could hear the sounds of him rambling around in the kitchen. It was a relief to know that he could come over on such a short notice to help you feel better. Olli was the perfect boyfriend, and dare you even say that he would make a great husband? But that thought was far off, and you would revisit the idea again in a couple years.

Olli returned a few minutes later, mug in one hand and thermometer in the other. He placed them down on the nightstand and helped you pull yourself up. “Temperature first, then you can have your tea,” he guided, pulling off the cap and bringing it to your mouth. He held your cheek as the numbers on the thermometer continued to climb and then finally come to a stop at 37.6 degrees Celsius. “Wait right here,” he requested as he walked towards your bathroom.

The water ran for a few seconds and then he returned, wet wash rag in his hand with water dripping down his arm. He sat back down beside you, holding the mug so you could take a sip before he dabbed away some of the sweat on your forehead with the rag. It was cool, but on your skin it felt like ice. You hissed with the change in temperature and Olli pulled back quickly.

“Too much?” he asked sympathetically.

You shook your head. “It’s fine, keep going.”

He continued to dab the cloth on your skin, looking lovingly into your eyes while he did it. A small smile crossed his lips, just enough to show his teeth and the gap that you adore. He pulled back once more so you could have a sip of tea before it got too cold. “Want more?” he asked, holding up the cloth again.

You shook your head no. “Later… tea?” He obliged to your request and held up the mug for as long as you wanted to sip. Olli was a patient man, but seeing him here now, doing everything he could to make you more comfortable, reminded you of why you fell for him in the first place. You wanted to cry, but it was also because your eyes felt like they were on fire.

“Lay back down,” he begged, helping you slide into a more comfortable position. “You look tired.”

You nodded. “Exhausted. I couldn’t breathe without being in pain last night and I only slept three hours. I was awake for no good reason.”

Olli slid onto the bed beside you, fingers still running through your hair. The motion and feeling on your scalp almost put you back to sleep on the spot. “I’m sorry, kulta,” he muttered quietly. “Do you have anything to help you sleep?”

You nodded. “Some NyQuil. But for now, can I have more tea?” The tea was almost cold, but you finished the last of it soon. It tasted better than if you had made it yourself, but maybe it was because Olli made it with love.

He put the mug away and slid up to you, wrapping his arms around you and holding you tightly. The nerves under your skin made your entire body ache, but being in Olli’s arms brought the pain to a temporary halt.

“Do you want to fall asleep soon?” he asked, his breath flowing through your hair.

“But I don’t want you to be bored when I made you come all the way over here.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I brought my laptop with me. Besides, you’ll need me when you’re not asleep, but you need to rest.”

Reluctantly, like an irritated toddler, you finally closed your eyes and laid your head beside his chest. His heartbeat was firm, calm, and music to your ears. Soon, you drifted into a comfortable sleep, all but your mind finally finding rest. You felt Olli leave your side but you were too tired to protest.

He leaned down once more and gave you a kiss on your cheek. “I’ll be in the living room, call me if you need me.”

Endnotes:

Literally based on a true story from last month.

I learned the “sick tea” recipe from when I was working in a coffee shop, so feel free to steal it next time you get sick because it works wonders. (If you don’t like chamomile or have any on hand, spicy chai works just as well.)

#bcfanweek #blind channel #olli matela #blurbs #everyone needs a gentle olli matela to nurse them back to health

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solarcelest · 5 years

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Show Time

How Tim was somehow the one that drew the short straw when there was so many other damn people that could have taken the brat, he didn’t know. But somehow, karma for something he must have done, he had the responsibility of bringing the demon to the doctors. Apparently, no one cared that Tim was currently without a spleen.

That’s how he found himself, sitting in a pediatric waiting room, hissing at a sick ten year old to shut up and behave. Leslie’s clinic would have been the first option, but this was an illness Damian had caught from his germ infested elementary school, and they had been forced to keep up appearances.

The meeting with the doctor was short and quick, thank god, and after a quick swab to the back of the nose, it was confirmed Damian had the flu. The strain had been going around for a while and because no one had brought the kid to get his vaccination (Alfred would be furious), he had contracted a rather nasty case.

After setting an order for the antibiotics and popping a few of his own for his spleen, Tim had to literally carry the kid from the office. Not that he would ever admit it, but the action made him nervous, whether the doctor said it was normal for little kids to lose the ability to walk during the flu or not. It scared him even more that according to the pediatrician, Damian still fit under the ‘little kid’ category.

It was late at night, nearly eight on a Thursday (because that’s when the brat deemed it a convenient time to start dying), when they started towards the car. The other bats would be patrolling soon, if they weren’t already, while Alfred manned the coms and Tim got stuck trying to wrangle a kid into a car seat so they could go to the twenty four hour CVS around the corner. It took him longer than he would have liked to admit to finish, but Tim could only be grateful Damian was asleep. If the kid hadn’t been, and was a little more coherent, Tim would not be coming away unscathed.

He shut the back door and moved around the car to driver’s seat, palming his keys in his hand. There was a sudden crunch.

It sounded like feet on gravel, or drying dirt, coming from somewhere beyond the tall bundle of spring flowers that lay, now suspiciously, in front of the car. Tim pauses, ears and eyes alert, body in a ready stance as he listened.

One minute, two, there was nothing. No sound, no movement, no indication that there was anyone other than a zonked our ten year old for company in the abandoned parking lot.

Still cautious, he proceeds to open the door to the driver’s seat and climbs in. The whole process is surprisingly rather anti-climactic. As is the drive to the pharmacy, and the little old lady in the drive through prescription pick up window. The entire ordeal goes without a hitch until they’re on cruise down the interstate home.

A cop car, the only car for a while at this time on night during the week, comes seemingly out of no where, light flashing and siren blaring. The car looks like the typical GCPD car and Tim sighs. There are two options here, either it Jim Gordon, or someone is being really rude about his two day expired inspection sticker.

He pulls over after a quick check in the review mirror. The sirens are loud and Damian’s a light sleeper, he’s beginning to stir and wriggle uncomfortably in his seat. Tim’s growing more annoyed as the night grows on.

The cop slows to a stop behind them, two cops (so not Gordan, then) exit the car and come to the driver’s window.

“ Look guys, I get inspections are important but I’ve got a sick kid in the back-“ Tim starts as soon as he thinks the cops are near enough to hear him. He’s blabbering, he knows, but he’s had enough of sick kids and their bullshit and really just wants to go back to the case he was working on earlier. A fresh cup of some hot coffee sounds terry good too.

The cops are oddly silent, standing so close to the cars open window that Tims view of their heads is cut off. One of them appears male, arms crossed over his chest ass he stands closer to the back door. The other, a women by her build, standing directly infant of Tim window, hand resting near her waist.

it takes longer than he should Tim was being naive and had been giving the cops of the benefit of the doubt, but warning bells begin to blare in the back of his head. The cops are two silent, their GCPD badged look to be made out of plastic instead of metal and the male is too close to Damian for Tim’s comfort.

He feels stupid that he didn’t realize the threat earlier, and his hand immidialaty goes to the panic button on his belt as he hurries to slam his foot back into the gas. the movements are a moment too soon, they are rushed and sloppy. his foots lips over the gas pedal before the car has even moved an inch, he thinks he hit the right button on his belt, but he doesn’t have much time to think about it all before the cop lady reaches for her taser and everything goes black.

***

Waking up in warehouses shouldn’t come as shock anymore. It doesn’t really, if Tim’s being honest with himself its become more of an annoyance. But there’s something almost admirabely creative about pretending to be cops in order to bag a couple rich kids. Tim appreciates the irony, even if only a little bit.

What he does not appreciate, is the literal bag over his head, and the duck tape closed over his mouth thats both itchy making it hard to breathe.

Tim’s body aches, sore from the electricity of the taser. It’s because of this, and his lack of coffee, that it takes Tim a moment to shake the bag off his head. As soon as the musty fabric is finally thrown to the floor, he’s reminded of something very important.

About ten feet away, facing Tim, sits Damian. His wrists and ankles are tied to the chair. The kid doesn’t have bag on his head, or, if he did, he was a lot faster than Tim at removing it. Damian’s eyes are half lidded and his skin is frightfully pale. He’s got sweet dripping from his mussed hair but he’s shivering with fever.

Tim is seething.

Its one thing to kidnap Tim, its even more ballsy to kidnap Damian as well, but to take them while the kid is dying of flu? Thats asking to be pummeled by: Every. Single. Bat. For once, Tim is glad there’s an endless supply of them.

“ Damian.” He attempts to hiss through the duck tape, trying, and somewhat succeeding, in scooting his chair closer to the younger boy.

Damian looks up, and whether it at the mumble of his name or the scraping of the chair on the concrete floors, Tim isn’t sure. What little of the boys eyes he can see are blood red and teary, it makes Tim wince. “How you holding up?” He asks.

Damian opens his mouth to respond, but instead gives a painful, chest rattling cough. The heavy steel door opens at the same moment.

“ Ah, I see you boys are awake.” Its the women again, except this time she’s dressed in all black and doesn’t have any weapons visible. Still, Tim had learned that means exactly jack shit, especially when the way she says ‘boys’ sends an unwanted chill down his spine. Tim screams through the tape, and she smiles as she approaches.

“ Now, now. We’ll have none of that. If you want to speak, you’ll do so as gentleman.” Her nails are long like black talons, and sharp as she reaches to rip the tape from Tims mouth.

“ Let. Us. Go.” Tim growls, licking his chapped lips.

“ Hmm, I thought you were supposed to be a smart boy.” The clicking her heels made on the concrete floor made Tim want to chop her feet off. “Kidnappings don’t work that way, sweetie.”

“ What do you want then?” Tim snips. “Money? Press? What is it?”

“ Well, originally, yes. But now, I’m more interested in watching your family dissolve.”

“ What?”

“ Well you see, after we broadcast some live feed to your father, he’ll offer a ransom. We won’t accept it, there will be no address, no clues, no saving. I’d rather watch those wretched Waynes suffer through the endless footage.” Her logic was sadistic, no doubt psychotic.

“ You expect them to watch us for days and not do anything about it?” Tim said. He gave them thirty seconds before they began tracking the footage. “Not one Wayne kidnapping has ever been successful.”

“ Do you really think the little one has days left in him?” The kidnapper laugh, waving a hand at Damians slumped form. “Doubtful. And don’t think I didn’t look into statistics. I did, and thoroughly at that.”

“ Then you know you won’t succeed.” Tim was shaking, anger boiling like fire in his veins.

“ Thats the thing, Timothy.” The name rolled of her tongue in a sick, and twisted way. “All of those failed kidnappings had one thing in common. They wanted a reward, I want death.” Her heals clicked towards the shutting industrial door, and a tiny camera in the corner of the room lit green.

***

As soon as the door shut Tim began working on his bindings, camera be damned. The ropes were easy to escape, done by an amateur and the fact gave Tim a little more hope for their rescue.

As soon as he was freed he flung himself over to his brothers chair, slipping the boy easily out of the ropes and cradling his small, feverish body.

“ D-drake.” Damian said, voice dry from lack of water and disuse. His eyes were still only half open, and his lips moved sluggishly as he attempted to speak. Tim feared how long they had been unconscious.

“ I’m here Dames, you hanging on for me?” The question almost gets stuck in his throat as Tim realizes what exactly he’s doing. He’s holding Damian. The Demon child of all people, is cradled in his arms. The feeling is foreign, a touch unknown to Tims skin. Who would have thought the kid would be so light and downright tiny?

For Damian, the question takes a moment to process, and another moment to respond to. His throat is thick with soreness and mucus and his lungs on fire with every breath. He vaguely remembers going to the doctors and being thrown into the trunk of a cop car.

“ L-let g-go.” He struggles to say, feeling and weakly pushing at Drake arms. The idiot is insane, holding Damian when he’s this ill. When Drake doesn’t even have a spleen.

“ Dames, stop.” Tim’s confused, and concerned. The response wasn’t even close to an answer to his question and the kid was shoving at him like he didn’t know who was holding him. Damian’s fever wasn’t that high he hoped.

“ S-spleen.” He hears through a wet cough.

They both stop moving. Damian too tired and Tim in a bout of shock. In all honesty, hadn’t thought Damian would care. Actually, he hadn’t even been aware Damian knew about that. Tim had only mentioned it maybe once or twice around the kid, but never directly to him.

“ I took medicine, kiddo, we don’t need to worry about me.” We need to worry about you, hung in the air like a rancid smell. They were both well aware of it’s presence, but neither wanted to mention it. Saying it would make it that much more real.

“ Father will come to us.” Damian rasps. Tim’s heart doesn’t know whether to fill or clench at the childish belief in their dad. Tim wants to believe it too, wants to believe Bruce and the others have already secured their location through the tape they are no doubt receiving through the camera on the ceiling. But theres the other part of him as well. The adult part of him that knows how the world likes to be an unfair place, and Bruce might not even be watching the footage, might already be out on patrol, that Damian might die before they have a real chance at rescue.

Instead, he swallows those thoughts. “ He sure will, Dames.”

The next few hours are excruciating for all parties involved. The live stream came in through the living room Tv, perfectly timed as Alfred was just coming through from the kitchen, a plate of post patrol sandwiched and tea in his arms. The pixels displayed his two youngest grandchildren, crumpled on the ground in a heap of tangled limbs, ripped clothes and untied ropes. The sound of low whispering grabbed the butlers attention, he turned forwards the sound, half expecting a fight..... the silver tray clattered to the ground as he soaked in the projected image.

“ Alfie? Are you okay?” Dick called, footsteps pounding down the grand staircase in response to the loud sound. His focus was on Alfred but seeing as the man was fixating on the large screen, he adjusting his gaze. “ Oh my god.” He said, already turning and running down the hall, a shout of “BRUCE!” falling hastily from his lips.

Not a moment later there were two pairs of large feet thundering down the hall of the manor.

“ Dick, what is it?” Bruce asked, slightly worried at his sons quickened pace. A quick hand gesture at the tv confirmed any suspicions he previously had.

“ Is this live?” He asked, straight to the point. Tim was on the screen, sitting in a concrete room, his nose was bleeding and his hair was wild. He was rocking Damian, who in contrast was sickly pale instead of his usual tan and sweating profusely.

“ Yes, Master Bruce.” Alfred replied, shattered dishes completely forgotten on the floor.

“ Damian’s sick.” Bruce muttered, hand already running through his hair.

“ Tim was bringing him to the doctor.” Dick whispered, his hands were clenched in shaking fists, his teeth grinding.

Almost like the boy had heard his name, Tim looked up into the camera, blue eyes wide and alert.

“ Disguised as cops on interstate 95.” He says. His voice is clear and his words are carefully chosen. He doesn’t whisper, it’s like he doesn’t care if he’s overheard or not. Bruce wonders who his captors are, then wonders whether he really wants to know. “ He’s really sick, Bruce.” The name sent a shiver down Bruce’s

spine. Tim Drake and Damian Wayne, not Red Robin and Robin. Not vigilantes, kids. And one of them was really sick.

“ Hang on boys, I’m coming.” He doubted they could here him.

***

Tracking down his boys proved to be more challenging than Bruce had initially thought. The litter of ropes he has seen around the kids had hinted to him that this was an amateur hostage situation.

He was wrong.

They weren’t in a warehouse, or near the docks in fact, Bruce was starting to lose hope that they were still in Gotham at all. There was no trace, no sigma from the feed continuously sent to his living room, nothing but Tim’s forgotten car on the side of the interstate.

Even with both him and Dick on the case, they were still coming to dead ends with every new lead. A time was running out. It had been nearly twenty four hours. Nearly a day of not sleeping and constantly hunting for his boys while Damian got more and more sick. Any longer and he could lose his youngest son, his baby. Any longer and Tim would need another dose of his antibiotic or he would pick up Damian’s flu.

Dick was the one that made the call for help.

Jason showed in no time, not wasting another moment that could mean his younger brothers safety. Now, the three of them sat around the computer in the cave, pouring themselves into different locations known to host criminal bases.

“ There’s no signal from the stream?” Jason asked, red helmet sitting in his lap.

“ No. It’s different, Tim said the kidnappers don’t want us to find them.” Bruce said, sighing and rubbing his hand through his hair… again…

“ They just want to make us suffer.” Dick growled.

“ Those bastards.” Jason cursed.

“ There’s nothing, not in the city or near the docks. Not even in the surrounding areas.” Bruce said, throwing his head into his hands. Not a lot got to see him do this, it kind of scared Dick and Jason.

They sat there in silence for a few moments, sitting and thinking about the consequences if they kept coming up with nothing.

“ Wait, did you check underground?” Jason suddenly asked.

“ What do you mean, Jay?”

“ Underground, like how the killer crock moves around.” Jason explained. “ Maybe there in a facility beneath the city, where they would be a lot harder to track. I mean, there weren’t any windows in the room, right?” He finished up, looking at Batman expectantly. Bruce stared back dumbfounded.

“ Jay your a genius!” Dick exclaimed.

“ Old man needs to step up his game if we wants to remain the worlds greatest detective.”

“ We should call Clark.” Dick sighed.

“ What? Why would we do that?” Brice asked.

“ He has supervision. Bruce, I know you hate asking for help, especially from him but… this is for Tim and Damian. Where running out of time.” Jason and Dick looked at their father figure, they all knew the decision had been made.

“ Let’s call Clark.”

Thirty minutes later, they were bursting through a manhole just outside of Gothams business center. Stealth and preservation of the city be damned, Bruce was done. So DONE, with having to watch his kids suffer, with not being able to find them no matter what he did.

He had Clark with him- or superman, in this case- he had Jim on his way, ready to arrest the kidnappers. They had Red Hood as back up and Nightwing collecting the ‘hostages’. But most important of all, the had Bruce Wayne waiting to see his kids.

He tugged on the cuffs of his wrinkled sleeves, ran a hand through his greasy and mussed hair. He tapped his foot as he listened to the fight below and the sirens coming closer as the police neared.

He listened to his kids reunite, he listened to the painful coughing and grunts coming through the broken concrete. He listened to the sound of superman’s cape fluttering as he flew back to the surface, and to the retracting grapple lines of his kids following.

He listened until he didn’t have to. Until he could feel. Until he could feel Damian’s pained sobs and Tim’s rushed air. Until he could feel superman’s cape fluttering as his friend laid a comforting had on his shoulder. Until he could finally feel his world stop crumbling.

#Tim Drake #timdrake #Damian Wayne #damianwayne #batbros #batman #bruce wayne #dick grayson #Jason Todd

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