spiderman-imagines:

(Requested)

“Y/n, you need to go and rest,” Tom ordered, looking down at your slumped over form.  You had been struck down with a cold and hay fever at the same time, which resulted in you sneezing, coughing up phlegm, sniffling, rubbing your itchy eyes and nose all at the same time. The problem was that your agent had sent you a couple of movie scripts and offers to read over, and since you were extremely stubborn, you had rolled up your sleeves and insisted that you were ‘perfectly fine’, while snot dripped down from your nose.

“Go away, Tommy, I’m fine,” you said, waving away your boyfriend’s attempts to get you off your desk. “I’ve just got to read over this last script-”

“Y/n, you have been reading that same script for the past fifteen minutes,” Tom leaned over your shoulder, squinting at the papers that sat, spread out wildly, in front of you. “And that’s not even a script, that’s Tess’ dog papers.”

You peered down at the paper you had been hap-haphazardly skimming over for the past quarter of an hour, before smacking your head against the desk. “Oh my god… are you kidding me? I’ve been memorising your dog’s details for the last fifteen minutes? ‘Tess Holland is a grey, female, short-haired Staffordshire Bull Terrier’,” you recited miserably.

“I hope you’re not going to do all those stupid cliché things couple are meant to do when one of them are sick,” you said, your voice slightly muffled from your blocked nose. “Like tuck me into bed and cook me chicken noodle soup and watch me as I slowly fall asleep.“

“I’m not so sure about the last one, love,” Tom replied, wondering if you were starting to go a little delusional. Perhaps now was a good time to tuck you into bed, in case you started saying weird shit.

“’I’m not so sure about the last one, love,’” you repeated, copying Tom’s British accent. “You’re so posh. Posh little boy. Like… like Thomas Brodie-Sangster. Are you a maze runner?”

“Okay, let’s get you to your bed,” Tom asserted, shaking your shoulders. “You’re obviously tired, and going slightly crazy.”

“Go to sleep, Jimmy,” you murmured, face lying flat against the surface of your desk. Tom frowned, confused for a moment, before shrugging it off as you being weird.

“You’re the one who needs to sleep,” he said firmly.

You sneezed into your elbow, grumbling. “No.”

“If you go to sleep, I’ll let you babysit Paddy next week.”

You perked up. You loved Tom’s little brother, and his adorable, freckled face. “Seriously? Oh, hell yeah. I’ll go change into my Iron Man pyjamas right now.”

“Your what now?” Tom asked, raising an eyebrow.

“My… nothing,” you muttered,before outstretching your arms towards you boyfriend. “Carry me?”

“Ew, no way, you’re all gross and sweaty,” Tom laughed, watching as you rolled out of your chair.

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