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delimeful · 9 months

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in sickness and in health (7)

warnings: arguing, fear/panic, lying, injury mention, gratuitous sarcasm, lmk if i missed any!

Virgil exchanged one quick, panicked glance with his attacker-turned-rescuer, and knew he was screwed.

Regardless of their sudden, deeply suspicious change of heart, there was no way this guy was going to stick around to get caught on behalf of a Monoxide borrower, former member or not.

And if they stayed, they would be caught. Virgil was already as good as in Roman’s hand, his escape interrupted at the worst possible moment. Perched at the top of the pitcher without a hook to grapple down with, he was essentially stranded above a bone-breaking drop.

The moment the other borrower bolted, Roman would be spurred into action, and Virgil would be right back in the pitcher where he’d started.

Maybe with a fellow captive, depending on how quick the borrower was.

… The concussed borrower. Right, so they were both screwed.

Heart racing, Virgil let the rope fall from his grip, keeping a steadying hand on the thin lip of the pitcher as he turned to wait for the human’s approach.

The human, who was still standing there, gesticulating wildly. Had he been talking at them this entire time?

“--realized they were suspiciously well-timed firecrackers, and you know what they always say about timing in my Theater 102 course–,” he continued, before abruptly cutting himself off. “Hey! Excuse you, I’m trying to have a conversation here!”

Virgil turned to see that the other borrower had simply started walking away. They glanced over at him briefly, their carefully faux-casual gait not even stuttering.

“Oh, no, do go on,” they drawled with an eye roll, like they were bickering with an annoying stranger in a colony instead of sassing a human. “I was so deeply entertained by your self-congratulatory monologue.”

Virgil held his breath, feeling slightly faint as he waited for violence to ensue.

Roman squinted at them for a long moment, and then smiled beatifically. “Why, thank you! It’s good to know someone around here appreciates my theatrical flair. Not everyone can pull off the flair required for such a thrilling aha moment, you know.”

“Mhmm,” the stranger agreed, sounding entirely insincere and yet somehow managing to prompt Roman into an entirely new tangent about dramatic reveals and cliffhangers. They met Virgil’s wide-eyed incredulous stare with an extremely smug look.

They weren’t actually walking away, he realized belatedly, but towards the bag Virgil had abandoned on the counter when they’d had their first unfortunate encounter.

His bag held all his recent borrowings, and more importantly, his hook, which was basically the only thing that could feasibly get him down from his current conundrum without endangering the other borrower further.

They weren’t leaving him. Like an insane person, they were actually trying to salvage the situation, and somehow, it was working.

“--believe that they cast me as an understudy for that chronic overactor, it’s practically criminal!” Roman continued.

“That’s not the only thing that’s criminal,” the stranger muttered, looking as though they’d heard this particular speech one too many times before.

“What was that?” Roman asked, and then seemed to process that they’d traversed a good chunk of countertop. “Wait, where are you going?”

He stepped forward slightly, craning his neck to see around the warped glass of the pitcher, and Virgil felt his grip on the glass grow tangibly sweaty. The stranger, crouched next to Virgil’s bag, paused mid-rummage.

“I’m merely trying to multitask,” they replied, blinking innocently. “I’d just love to sit here and listen to you go on and on all night, but I have my own pressing responsibilities to fulfill. Ones that you– or rather, mostly your twin, of course– have already complicated.”

“Responsibilities?” This earned them a dubious up-and-down glance. “Like… catching dewdrops in flower petals, or...?”

Virgil wondered if the human was nearsighted, to miss that vexed eyebrow twitch.

“Contrary to your entirely flattering assumptions,” they grit out, “I am actually here on much more pressing business. The life-or-death kind.”

“No way.” Intrigued, Roman shuffled closer, entirely drawn in by the mystery of it all. “I mean, we knew it was serious, with Patton ending up in the hospital and all, but it really wasn’t just an accident? We thought it had to be ghosts for sure, but if there’s fairy criminals– Are there fairy assassins?!”

Virgil felt his blood run cold, as though he’d just plunged through a sheet of too-thin ice and dropped into freezing waters. And yet even through the shock, the symbol branded on his arm had never felt more searing.

The stranger met his terrified gaze through their own burn scars. The two of them had been marked by the same hands, and both of them knew exactly how spot-on Roman’s guess really was.

The moment they told him what Virgil was, the moment they revealed the bloodstained legacy he’d been born into, it was over. Patton had fallen deathly ill, and a human-murdering cult member had been sneaking around in his walls. No matter how oblivious Roman could be, he was more than smart enough to connect the dots.

They might not be his humans, but Virgil had seen enough of the twins to know exactly how vicious they could be in defense of their friends.

He was as good as dead.

The stranger’s expression flattened out, and they looked away with a sharp jerk of their head.

“I wouldn’t know anything about that. I don’t specialize in assassins,” they lied, voice airy.

While Virgil attempted to remember how to breathe, Roman had uncapped a pen and was frantically scribbling shorthand notes on his arm, apparently vividly inspired by the implication that there were fairy assassins out there.

As casual as anything, the stranger tucked the metal curve of Virgil’s hook into the loop of his belt. His gaze was unreadable as it flitted over Virgil, but this time, it didn’t linger.

“Oh, oh, I’ve got it!” Roman announced. “You two are partners! The grizzled veteran and the bright-eyed rookie, a classic crime-solving set up!”

Virgil didn’t even want to know who had been assigned what role. The stranger seemed to be thinking along the same lines, spreading their hands disarmingly as they responded.

“Oh, so close!” they said, a hint of mockery in their smile. “Actually, the criminal that I’m bringing to justice… is your unwitting trespasser up there.”

With a suitably shocked gasp, Roman turned to stare at Virgil. The stranger also turned to stare at Virgil, but at a considerably slower pace, wearing the sort of malicious glee that one typically saw in a cartoon cat that had successfully caught the canary.

Oh, you lying snake.

The scornful words tangled up in his throat the moment the human’s heavy gaze landed on him, years of deeply-ingrained instincts keeping him entirely mute.

So instead, he lifted up his free hand and flipped them off with as much vitriol as he could feasibly work into a single gesture.

“See how the miscreant wounds me even now,” the stranger said, pressing the back of their hand against their head as though they might enter a swooning faint from the offense. “Clearly, a human as quick-witted as you can understand how important it is that I complete my task and make them pay for their crimes.”

Roman nodded emphatically, completely taken in. “That’s why you were helping them out of the pitcher! Not to help them escape, but to prevent them from escaping the firm hand of justice!”

“I knew you’d understand,” the stranger agreed pleasantly, taking a few steps towards Virgil and his makeshift glass prison. “In that case, if you’ll just stand aside while I retrieve the culprit in question…”

“Oh, of course!” Roman replied, and then cast a considering look at where Virgil was dangling. “Actually, since it’s our fault— really, more Remus’s— that you have to go to the trouble in the first place, let me just—,”

“There’s no need for that, truly,” the stranger tried to cut in, clearly having caught on faster than Virgil. Their words were rushed, but still not fast enough to prevent Roman from reaching out and plucking Virgil off the edge of the pitcher, easy as anything.

Easy for Roman, anyways. Personally, being abruptly lifted into the air by a hand bigger than him was causing some difficulties for Virgil.

Mostly the fact that if this kept up, the heart palpitations were going to take him out before the humans or murderous victim of his former cult could.

“There we are,” Roman announced grandly, holding Virgil slightly aloft in front of the stranger in offering, like he’d grabbed them a tissue instead of an entire living person.

Virgil made eye contact with the other borrower, who looked mildly chagrined, and then gave in to the feral raccoon that lived in the back of his mind and twisted around to bite the human.

“Jiminy fucking Christmas,” Roman swore, immediately dropping Virgil as though burnt. “You bit me!”

Virgil made a sound like a deflating air mattress as he hit the ground backfirst, the impact knocking the wind out of him.

“Did you see that? They bit me!”

He ignored the sting of rapidly-forming bruises to roll to his hands and knees, his breathing coming in wheezing stops and starts as he tried to refill his lungs. There were borrower-sized steps approaching, and Virgil snapped his head up to glare furiously at the stranger. “Don’t.”

They stopped short, holding their hands up in a mockery of nonaggression.

“I can’t believe you bit me, and not Remus!” Roman had never sounded more offended.

Right. That was a cue to leave if Virgil had ever heard one.

He got to his feet, attention already locked onto the nearest wall entrance, and staggered the first few steps forward before a hand latched onto his wrist.

“Stop right there,” the stranger said, the words demanding but the tone of voice closer to a warning. “You’re not going anywhere like that.”

Virgil was tempted to take a swing at the guy, since apparently the first concussion hadn’t knocked enough common sense back into their head. He yanked his arm away with a scowl, but then froze mid-motion at a flicker of movement overhead.

“Don’t try me.” Roman had overcome his affronted shock long enough to move a hand to hover ominously over Virgil, clearly prepared to intercede if he tried to make a run for it. “Remus has brought over seventeen feral rats into our home, I am extremely well-trained in grabbing without getting bitten.”

“How convenient for me,” the stranger said, their gaze fixed squarely on Virgil. “If you would turn around? I obviously can’t take you back until you’re properly secured, and it’ll make things easier on all of us if you just play along.”

Virgil glared back in silence for a long moment.

It wasn’t that he didn’t understand their scheme. It was an insanely risky ploy that required extensive knowledge of the human in question, but the end goal was clearly to get the both of them back into the walls and safely out of human hands.

It was just that the last time he’d turned his back on this particular borrower, they’d literally attempted to run him through. Virgil found he wasn’t too keen on putting his undefended back to a guy who had tried to test out the structural integrity of his internal organs less than thirty minutes ago.

Unfortunately, the alternative was testing the structural integrity of his internal organs against a human who had dropped him less than thirty seconds ago.

Virgil turned around, his entire body drawn taut with tension, and let the stranger wrap some twine around his wrists in an ineffective parody of handcuffs.

“Perfect,” the stranger said, nudging at Virgil’s heels until he got the hint and started their trek towards the wall. “And now, thanks to your gracious interference, our villain can be tried for their crimes in front of a judge with the appropriate legal representation. The system is unimpeachable, the punishment will fit the crime, good triumphs over evil once more, et cetera.”

“‘Et cetera’?” Virgil muttered incredulously.

“You shut up,” the stranger whispered back.

“You know, when I heard about fairy courts, I was kind of envisioning something entirely different,” Roman mused, before visibly refocusing. “Wait wait wait, you can’t just leave! You haven’t even revealed the dastardly crime, or how they almost got away with it, or how you figured them out!”

“Oh, I really can’t delay. Fairy court is just so very time-sensitive, I’m afraid,” the stranger lied without hesitation, continuing to march Virgil forward as smoothly as possible. “I’ll have to return to tell you all about it later– of course, you’ll have to keep this little encounter to yourself. We aren’t typically supposed to disclose such sensitive information to anyone, let alone humans, but I’ve found myself irresistibly charmed by your moxie.”

“Aw, you’re just saying that!” Roman flapped a hand in faux-modesty, and then gasped. “Was I the bright-eyed rookie all along?”

Before the stranger could answer, Remus slid into the kitchen on socked feet, with so much momentum that he slammed against the counter. The painful thud of torso meeting marble did absolutely nothing to deter the grin on his face.

“Okay, bad news, I totally biffed my half of the divide-and-conquer plan. Good news, the other little guy is cool as hell and I’m calling dibs on hanging out with that one in advance,” he announced, and then visibly focused on the two borrowers in front of him. “Woah, what did I just walk in on?”

“You can’t call dibs in advance,” Roman instantly retorted, and then smacked Remus’s shoulder. “Stop being gross, the handcuffs are because they’re being taken away to fairy jail. After facing a trial required by fairy due process, I guess.”

The stranger’s grip on Virgil’s arm tightened, and they sped up their pace for the first time since Roman had entered the room. Virgil would feel more reassured if they weren’t still moving at a very ‘definitely-concussed’ sort of rate.

“I leave for five minutes, and you hand our puny poltergeist over to the cops?” Remus demanded, stretching his arm forward to block their way. “Ro-bro, it’s like you want me to disown you.”

“I would so disown you first, and you know it,” Roman hissed back. “Besides, they’re not a cop, they’re like, the fairy version of a hardboiled detective!”

“I don’t care how gay the detective is, that still counts as a cop!”

Unable to progress past Remus’s flesh barricade, Virgil glanced back at the stranger; they were pinching the bridge of their nose with visible irritation.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

“Like what?” they snapped back, voice equally quiet. “Anything I would say to fool Roman, Remus will rebuff! Anything I would say to convince Remus, Roman will reject! There’s no winning with these two!”

“Oh, great, so we really are screwed,” Virgil bit out.

“Not necessarily,” the stranger replied, unconvincingly. “They’re still distractible by nature. If we contribute to the argument, rile them up–,”

“‘Rile them up’?!” Virgil twisted around further so they could get the full effect of his disbelieving expression. “That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard. That’s insane. You’re insane. We’re going to die.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I suppose you preferred being stuck in the pitcher?” they retorted sharply. “Far be it from me to inconvenience the cultist who fractured my skull!”

“I’m not– You tried to stab me first!”

Whatever they said next was entirely drowned out by the twins, who had escalated their own fight into near-shouting territory. Virgil was only catching every other word, but it sounded like they were yelling about a completely unrelated topic.

Every time Remus responded, his arm lifted slightly further off the counter, like he was only barely resisting the urge to put his brother in a headlock. Virgil locked onto the movement, a spike of anticipation filling him.

“Shut up, shut up,” he interrupted the stranger, ignoring their irritated scowl. “Look!”

The moment they noticed the potential escape route, their displeasure instantly fell away in favor of smugness. “See? I told you they were distractible. My plans always work out perfectly.”

The kitchen light flicked on and off a few times, startling the twins into silence and drawing every eye to the figure standing in the doorway.

“Hey, kiddos,” Patton said, rubbing a hand sleepily over his face. “It’s called a sleepover, not a shoutover. What’s going on?”

Stranded out in the open with three humans looming over them, the stranger endured Virgil’s scathing look with a pained grimace.

“Alright, fine. We’re screwed.”

#sanders sides fic #sanders sides g/t #ts janus #ts virgil #ts roman #ts remus #ts patton #isaih #in sickness and in health #my writing #writing #g/t

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finnpeach · 2 months

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bro how the fuuuuuck do you guys write sexy sneeze fics bc I just want to write like full chapter fanfic with a fight or drama and build it up and then centre it around the cold but like no one wants to read it and tbh I don't even want to read it or write it bc it takes too long and I just want my horny out but I also have a lust for tension and plot and all that shit

#I JUST WANT R/OWAN TO SNEEZE ON A GODDAMN MOUNTAIN! WHY AM I WRITING A FIGHT SCENE!#I think its bc I want to write for very obscure fandoms like patrochi//les and t/og where I haven't seen like any fics written so im like o #I gotta do some world building some tension some plot #but really I just want him #to sneeze in a tent and have a cold #anyway #I think I will trim the fight scene and post as a like. side part bc there's no sneezing and its long #in my fic aelin fights rowan for like training purposes and she lands a fuckin HIT on him bc he's slow and sick and he gets moody about it #and then goes into the tent and thus commences the sneezing. but we don't need that

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nguyenfinity · 11 months

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[frisbees this at you] gay people

bonus:

#enstars #niki shiina #rinne amagi #rinniki #shoutout to bean for saying 'niki with flowers woven into his hair' which immediately gave me brainrot #niki's flowers are honeysuckle and rinne's are primrose from her hanahaki fics (which you should read. y'know. because.)#niki also has laurel 'cause niki with goddess nike imagery does a one hit ko on me #they're holding hands #niki is so pretty actually.#drawing soft looks makes me sick 'cause like. who is making you smile like that. heart eyes lookin ass [is the one putting in heart eyes]#but yeah i think i did the expressions good #'sana draw a character's face shape consistently' challenge (i'm t r y i n g)#also can you tell i've been experimenting with gray paper #i like it #i get the hype now #EDIT JUST REALIZED I FORGOT THEIR WATCHES AND BRACELETS eh whatever.

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echosong971 · 2 years

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Random thought of the day because I will never stop hyperfixating on Exos:

Exos can get sick, but it’s very rare and most of the “sicknesses” operates much like a computer virus at a functional level. Many symptoms of these viruses can mirror those of more organic sicknesses, I.e. upset stomach, headache, fever, body aches. Though there are a few Exo specific symptoms that can occur, I.e. glitching voice box, staticky optics, sudden shut downs, malfunctioning limbs, etc.

There are shops that sell “kill codes” that act as the Exo equivalent of antibiotics and antivirals, though they have timed effects and often leave the Exo feeling weak and tired after it kills the virus, since now their systems have to clean up the mess the viruses made and work on restoring potentially lost data—this takes a lot of energy.

Maybe these viruses originated from the Golden Age as a way to hack into Exos and shut them down, because some people didn’t agree with what BrayTech was doing with Exos. Those computer viruses, which were potentially programmed to be “self-learning” so it could adapt to the protective measures installed in Exos, ended up “mutating” and becoming more dangerous and “infectious” (i.e. now they can spread through contact via jumping across from one body to the other via static electricity or something idk) and so people have developed safeguards against them—like firewalls that act as their “vaccines” that are installed into their bodies and hardware so the virus can’t do anything.

I dunno, I’m just musing. Feel free to add on y’all’s thoughts haha

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devilscastle69 · 2 months

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egg on my face (t//diapt, m/aou)

summary: m/aou is sick in this one. a/lciel and l/ucifer are there too.

minors, do not interact. also this is a sneeze fetish story

Nothing heightened the misery of having a cold quite like being caught in the rain. It was bad enough getting sent home an hour early when his manager had determined he was too sick to finish his shift, but now Maou had to make his way back through this downpour. He’d tried valiantly to power through his shift, he’d even put on a mask, but towards the end of his shift it’d become visibly soaked through and when his manager insisted that he leave early , he’d tossed it in the garbage on his way out.

Though it hadn’t been a cold day, the wind added an additional layer of discomfort to his plight. By the time he had mounted his trusty steed Dullahan bike, he was certain that there wasn't a single dry patch of fabric on his clothes. He gave his nose a final blow into a tissue that was just as wet as the rest of him before trekking home.

He’d made it a block before he had to pull over. “Hyhh’SCHHuh! hh-haHDTSHhh’ieww!” He crumpled forward as the sneezes wracked through him. Now that he was outside he didn’t have to worry about covering. Ashiya was going to have a conniption, but even witnessing that would be preferable to his current plight; this cold seemed to have taken root in his nose and no amount of sneezing brought more than a few moments of reprieve.

“hahh…hedtzSHhue! Hhh…hahH…” Even worse than the interruption of sneezing was the struggle of being stuck between sneezing and not sneezing. Desperate for any amount of release, he barbarically scrubbed at the tender underside nose with his fist. A moan escaped him as the tickle withdrew and he was able to ride on at least a few more blocks before his cold retaliated.

“ehIYSHChh’u! ihh…h’iESHhhhu! Ugh…” He broke into a coughing fit and dismounted, figuring it’d be not only faster to simply walk Dullahan back, but safer for himself and others around him. Sometimes he could keep himself from sneezing, but there was no stopping his eyes from watering or his chest from spasming with the ambush of a coughing fit. At least Emi wasn’t around to rub his misery in his face—evidently she hadn’t stalked him enough today to factor in his leaving early. Chiho wasn’t on tonight’s shift either, but he reasoned that was for the best; he didn’t need to burden her any further.

“How the hell do people live like this?” he muttered under his breath as thunder boomed in the distance. Human bodies suck. He’d been shivering for hours, but the rain was only making it worse to the point where it was necessary to clench his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. The sneezing and sniffling and shivering was annoying, but it was far from the worst of his struggles; the tag team tormenting him the most consisted of the headache—which had turned from persistent and dull to throbbing and obnoxious—and the pulsing ache in his legs. Together they not only left him weak, but created a sadistic symphony with each step.

By the time he made it home, his shoes were flooded, every limb was aching and for the first time since the winter, he wished he and Ashiya had splurged on futons. As soon as he opened the door he let out a sigh and with his defenses down, a coughing fit overtook him and had him bending at the waist. Water dripped onto the floor as Ashiya grasped his shoulders and steadied him.

“You’re home earl—Hey! You told me that you’d gotten a new umbrella, sire!” he bemoaned, gesturing wildly at his sodden state.

“Idt’s ndot like idt would’ve mbade mbuhh…waidt, waihht…” Maou’s face crumpled as he tried to focus on urging along the sneeze. Finally the slow inhale he’d initiated caught and it was enough to give him the release he needed from the buzzing in his nose. He managed to direct the onslaught into the direction of his shoulder at the last minute. “ahh…hgKtSHhyyuh!”

Urushihara chimed in from the closet. “You really should cover your nose and mouth.”

“Ignore him!” Ashiya yelled, slightly tightening his grip on Maou’s shoulders.

“I could’dt really move my arms.” Before Maou could get another word out, his chest burned and he twisted away to cough. There was no hope of finishing his sentence now, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

“My apologies.” Ashiya released his grip and looked on in concern. “You are all wet. Please change to dry clothes before you catch your death. Dinner will be ready soon.” He gestured to the pot on the stove before storming over to the closet and yanked Usushihara out by the collar of his shirt and dropped him on the floor.

“What the hell?” Urushihara whined upon impact. He rubbed his elbow. “What if the computer fell too, dude?”

“Silence!” Ashiya pulled a towel from the closet. “Can’t you see that his majesty isn’t well?

“You could just say excuse me!”

“And just where did that bag of chips come from?” Ashiya screamed, pointing at the top shelf.

“Wha—? It—”

“HehdtSHhhu!” Maou sneezed and looked around for a tissue. Before he grabbed a handful of tissues along with the towel, Ashiya glared threateningly and pointed at Urushihara. In response, Urushihara subtly moved a spare towel over his snacks.

“ehdTShhhu! hehh…ah…TzZShhu!” He scrubbed at his nose with the tissue as a buffer. “HRSShhu!”

“Dude you should’ve just called out,” Urushihara said as he dusted himself off and climbed back to his favorite shelf. “You look terrible. And, y’know sound terrible.”

“Maybe he wouldn’t have to work so often if you weren’t constantly draining our funds!”

“huh’eDtSHhhu!” Maou interjected again with a final sneeze. He let out a groan and sniffled from behind the tissues. “Guys, please. Mby head is poud’igg.”

Ashiya sighed and pressed his palm to Maou’s forehead. “You have a fever, sire. You must rest or you’ll end up in the hospital again.”

“That timbe didn’dt coundt,” Maou complained before blowing his nose again.

“Please lie down. I’ll have dinner ready shortly.”

Maou laid on his side, back cracking as he curled into himself. The shivering was far too familiar, and then he vaguely realized Ashiya had draped something cool and wet over his forehead.

“Didja crack a’dd egg?”

“It’s a wet cloth, why would I—” Ashiya cut himself off with a sigh. Why would that be your first guess? He managed to refrain from asking the question.

“You ki’dda just chucked it at me so. Plus it’s super wet.”

“We can’t afford to be throwing our eggs around!” Ashiya shook his head. “My liege, that’s a makeshift compress for your fever. Does it feel better?”

“A little, I thi’gk.”

“He made me google cold remedies all day long, dude,” Urushihara said, opening the closet door a crack. A smirk ghosted his face as he added, “Then he started crying because there was no cure.”

“It’s astounding you’ve been allowed to live this long,” Ashiya hissed.

“Yeah, must be doing something right, huh?”

Ashiya grabbed his shoe and threw it at Urushihara and he smiled at the slight thud of the impact once the shoe hit its target. Maou kept his eyes open long enough to catch a glance of his two roommates. “It’s no egg, but it will have to suffice.” He walked over to the kitchen.

“Dude, seriously?” Urushihara complained. “That almost hit the screen.” He tossed the shoe back and went back to his laptop.

Maou slept as Ashiya prepared his bowl, and as Ashiya looked over at him snoring and let him rest, and as he put his food in the fridge, and covered him with blankets, lying near his side for the remainder of the night.

#snz #my fic #my writing #t/diapt #idk #sick fic #m/aou #im fixated on this series

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rattycattyfanfic · 3 months

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hi!!! so i just wanted to lyk how i really enjoy ur work (legit downloaded tumblr bc ao3 wasn't enough loll) i was wondering if you could do a lynnmanda sick fic? im currently sick as shitt and reading sick fics is how im coping :p but it would be really cool if u wrote something along those lines!! much love & stay safe <3

hi!! i'm well aware it's been at least a week since u sent this, so i hope you're feeling better now! sorry to take so long but may i offer you. sick fic chapter two :3

sick day (2/2)

Pairing: Amanda Young/Lynn Denlon Rated: T Words: 2,964

Amanda has never been particularly good with vomit. Funny, really, for someone who's overdosed and seen friends overdose so many times, seen John vomit over himself occasionally towards the end. She wrinkles her nose, tries to resist the urge to gag herself, and holds Lynn’s soaked hair back gently, watching it drip onto the floor. “Hey, get it all out, ok?” she whispers, and tries to sound stronger than she feels.

Read on AO3

#lynnmanda #shotgunshipping #amanda young #lynn denlon #rated t #sick fic #romance #comfort #hurt/comfort #2024 #asks #answered #prompt #reversedvalentinez

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aidanchaser · 7 months

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When You Let A [Kitty Cat] Cure Your Bellyache

part of the @mlsquaredance 2023 Buffet Remixes

Remixed from When You Let A Ladybug Cure Your Bellyache by wyomingparmesan (@wyomingparmesan)

beta'd by @rosekasa

Read on Ao3 or below

Adrien was having a miserable day, but he knew what would make it better. It was practically second nature by now to set his phone to play a recording of his practice sessions, drop it on the music desk of his piano, and slip out the window all in the single breath of, “Plagg, claws out!”

It wasn’t just becoming Chat Noir that made his day better. It was a specific rooftop on a specific balcony that was home to a specific friend.

Time with Marinette always cheered him up. It was so easy to become lost in whatever project she was working on, or even just to indulge in the warm comfort of her parents’ baking. Her smile was infectious, her stress was overwhelming, and her food was perfection. It was the best escape he could think of.

But when he arrived on the roof of Tom and Sabine’s Boulangerie and Patisserie, the balcony was empty. There was no sign of Marinette with school work spread around her, or sketches of her latest project, or freshly made snacks.

He supposed it wasn’t fair of him to assume that she would be home on a Sunday. She had friends, friends that she was allowed to see and hang out with. But, unable to help himself, he peeked through her window. In the gap between the flimsy pink curtains, he could see her lying on her bed, fully dressed, on top of her covers.

He used his baton to double-check the time. Ten in the morning seemed a bit early for a nap.

He put his hand on the window pane, merely to steady himself, but it fell open beneath his touch. He tumbled inside, and his quick reflexes turned a disastrous fall into a neat tuck and roll. He popped up at Marinette’s bedside and merely stared down at her, unsure how to introduce himself after that entrance.

She wasn’t napping. She looked right up at him, eyes furrowed confusion, with one hand pressed against her stomach and the other half-way to a box of bonbons.

Chat Noir’s first instinct was to apologize for entering unannounced and uninvited, but the chaotic urge for quips was always so much more pressing than his lifetime of lessons on good manners. “You’ll get sick if you eat too many of those,” he said.

Marinette pouted up at him and popped another bonbon in her mouth. “When did you become a doctor?”

“Last week,” he said. “Left my labcoat at home, though. Let’s see… I think the diagnosis is… lazy Sunday morning?”

She rolled her eyes. She looked uncannily like Ladybug when she made that face, which only made him grin. His day of distraction was already going excellently.

“I’m not having a lazy Sunday,” she grumbled, “I’m…” but she didn’t finish. “It’s… just a stomachache,” she finally said, and reached for another chocolate.

Chat Noir opened his mouth tell her that maybe soup would be a better choice than chocolates if she had a stomachache—medical doctor or not, he at least knew that much—when it occurred to him that maybe she had exactly the sort of stomachache chocolate would help with.

So instead of another attempt at wit, he collapsed right onto her stomach, stretching the wrong way across her bed.

“Oomph—Chat!” She groaned and tried to shove him off, but he only settled in.

“Consider me your purr-sonal heating pad,” he grinned.

“You dork,” she grunted and shoved him again. But she didn’t protest any further. Instead, she rested her hands on his back. One of her fingers fidgeted aimlessly with his belt.

“Is it working?” he asked.

She was silent for a long moment before finally admitting, “Yes.”

He grinned and closed his eyes as her hand drifted from the small of his back, up his neck, and into his hair. A low rumble started in his chest and curled around the back of his throat—a quiet, contented purr. His purrs were rare things, only finding their way out of his chest when he was perfectly content, and that didn’t happen very often.

“How’d you know this would help?” she murmured as her fingers played lazily with his ears, mimicking the twirling her other hand was still doing around his belt.

He folded his hands under his chin and tipped his head up, into her touch. “My mom used to get really bad stomach pains,” he said. “My dad would buy her chocolates and wine and flowers.” He bit down on his tongue, afraid he might say too much and give himself away.

It wasn’t just his father that would comfort his mother through her aches. Adrien used to curl up in his mother’s lap and watch her movies with her. He’d spend an entire day curled up against her, warm and content in her embrace. When he was younger, he’d felt guilty for liking when his mother would get ill, but she had explained to him that it wasn’t really an illness. It was a chronic condition, related to her inability to have children, and she’d told him that he was her miraculous angel. She’d often called him an angel, but that was the first time he had almost believed her.

Marinette’s hands stilled in his hair and on the small of his back. “You’ve never talked about your family before.”

“Well—secret identity and all.” And it occurred to him that he had stopped purring.

She shifted beneath him in an attempt to sit up. He rolled over ever so slightly, still pinning her legs down, still providing warmth and pressure as she curled over him.

“It sounds like your dad really loves your mom,” she finally said.

“Yeah, he did. I mean—he does.”

Marinette tipped her head and furrowed her brow as she looked down at him, but before she could ask him any more questions, he shifted his weight and dug an elbow into her thigh. She flinched and reflexively jerked her knees up into his gut, throwing him off of her.

He tumbled to the floor and gave her an upside down grin. Her concentrated expression, though, was unfooled.

But she didn’t ask anymore questions. Instead, she scooted over before laying back down, careful to make enough room for him on the bed next to her.

Chat Noir accepted her invitation.

As he laid down beside her, he pressed one hand into her stomach and tucked the other one behind his head, creating his own makeshift pillow and ignoring the dozens Marinette had clustered at the head of her bed. He ran the pads of his fingers along the curve of her stomach, softly but firmly.

Her eyes remained fixed on the ceiling, but she dropped one hand over his shoulder so she could continue playing with his ears. The other found its way to his hand on her stomach, where it trailed absently along the lines of his tight, leather-like gloves that cloaked his hands.

He couldn’t help but wonder, as he so often had with Ladybug, what it would be like to feel her skin against his properly.

In a voice hardly above a whisper, she said, “Thank you, Chat.”

“Any time,” he murmured against her cheek.

“You know if…” She gnawed on her lower lip and Chat Noir had to stifle a smile. He always loved watching Marinette work through a difficult problem. She didn’t have the finesse that his lady did, but there was a stubborn streak shared between them.

“If you really are a stray kitty,” she said, “then you could, I don’t know, stay here if you liked.”

He laughed and the bell at his throat jingled as he moved. “I believe that I am well-collared.”

Her lips twitched with a poorly suppressed grin. “Do you have a tag somewhere with your home address?”

“Tucked somewhere in this tight suit is a card that says, ‘If lost, return to Ladybug.’”

She laughed, finally, and it felt good to hear her laugh. His purr crawled its way back into his throat.

She turned to look at him and their noses brushed. “I was resigned to having a miserable day,” she said, and her breath was warm against his lips, “but I’m glad you turned up.”

He wanted to quip something about leaving her window open, something about cat burglars, something witty and charming rolled into one, but he found words hard to form as his nose was overwhelmed by the strawberry of her lip balm and the chocolate on her breath.

She tipped her head, ever so slightly. He didn’t know if it was an invitation but he leaned in anyway, offering an invitation of his own, and she accepted. Their lips met and his tongue flooded with all the bittersweet scents in her mouth. His hand stopped pressing into her stomach and instead shifted to her hip, gripping her like he was afraid she might slip away. Her hand, similarly, wound through his hair and pulled him against her.

It was the least chaste kiss Chat Noir had ever had, and he wondered if it was because he was Chat Noir or if it was something in Marinette. If it was her, it was a side of her he didn’t know, but he was glad to get a glimpse of it.

She pulled away, and her blue eyes seemed to burn with the heat of stars, hot and white and glistening.

“Do kisses on your face help your tummy?” he asked.

For an answer, she leaned into another kiss.

The initial fire of the kiss dimmed into simmering coals. Her grip in his hair loosened, but her hands still pressed against his skull and held him close. He let his hand on her stomach go back to firm circles near her pelvis. They kissed until the taste of chocolate waned and he could no longer tell the difference between her taste and his own.

The only thing that forced them apart was the sound of heavy footsteps on the ladder below Marinette’s room.

“Marinette!” her father called. “Your mother and I just finished some chocolate croissants!”

And as the hinges of the trapdoor creaked, Chat Noir choked on his own lazy purr. He slipped out the window he had come in as fluidly as water passing through the neck of the bottle. He perched on her roof and listened to her, with a rather flustered voice, thank her father for the sweets, and assure him she hadn’t been doing anything—“Just texting Alya!” she said in a voice pitched several registers above her natural tone.

Chat Noir glanced back in the direction of his home, wondering if his father had uncovered his own deceit yet.

He’d never shared so much of himself with anyone, not as Chat Noir, and rarely as Adrien. But, whatever Marinette took away from his brief story, he wasn’t a stray. He had his own home; he had Ladybug; and if he ever needed it, he knew that he would be more than welcome here.

#miraculous square dance 2023 #ml fanfic #ml fic #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fic #marichat #sick fic #rated T for menstruation mention #im so excited about this event #prepare for a new one shot every weekend from now til december

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softsnzstuff · 2 years

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Choose Your Own Ending Fic 2

Coming in hot with some sick!Eddie and snzknk!Steve.

Eddie has a cold when Steve arrives for their date. Does Eddie (A) Go through with the date despite being sick? Or (B) Have a fluffy night in with his boyfriend? You get to decide!!! Collab with @bewitchedfeathers

*******************************************************

Eddie stood in the kitchen, hovering tentatively by the phone.

Wayne had noticed the boy lingering and decided to bite the bullet and ask, “Everything okay kid?”

“Huh?” Eddie had forgotten Wayne was there. “Oh yeah umm I’m just not sure if I should call Steve?”

Eddie was really looking forward to tonight’s date with Steve to the movies, but he’d been losing the fight against a cold for a few days now.

“HNG’tchew! Tsschiew! HEH’TSCHIEW!” Eddie buckled at the waist, just barely catching his sneezes in his elbow.

“Well if you keep doing that…” Wayne began.

Just then there was a knock at the door. Damn Steve and his tendency to arrive slightly early for everything.

Eddie sniffled heavily and went to answer the door. Steve was in a nice polo and jeans. The perfect counterpart to Eddie’s ripped jeans with tee shirt and flannel.

“Hey Eds! You ready to hit the movies?” He asked cheerfully.

“Yeah, just gimme one minute - igtsschiew! Tsschiew!” Eddie turned away from the door.

“Feeling alright babe?”

#s/tranger t/hings #e/ddie m/unson #s/teve h/arrington #steddie #collab fic #choose your own ending #sick!eddie #snzknk!steve #snzblr

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ourflagmeansdeath-kinkmeme · 3 months

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Izzy + any crew member(s), background Ed/Izzy — Diabetic!Izzy, care-taking

I saw this post [Posted Deleted] and immediately thought of Izzy (the Ed/Izzy can be unrequited/unconsummated or not).

Fill: None

[Admin note: The original post was deleted. A screen shot found via Wayback Machine has been proved below.]

#C: Israel “Izzy” Hands #C: Revenge Crew #P: General | No Pairing #P: Edward Teach | Blackbeard x Israel “Izzy” Hands #T: Caretaking #T: Sick Fic #T: Unrequited Love #Fill: None

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stilesdemonbaby · 6 months

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for a soft place to fall by noxum

Summary:

Stiles, sick and attempting to avoid a demanding alpha/best friend, seeks out the one person he knows he'll be safe with.

Tags: Sick Stiles Stilinski, Bad Friend Scott McCall, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship

Published: 2023-01-19

Words: 3,377

Chapters: 1/1

Rating: T

#complete #words <5k #2023 #for a soft place to fall #rating t #sick stiles #bad friend scott mccall #steter #fic rec

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delimeful · 1 year

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in sickness and in health (6)

warnings: remus-typical gore/nsfw mentions, injury mention, captivity, panic, logan mad scientist moments: mini edition, cliffhanger

The situation had spiraled out of control faster than Virgil’s self esteem mid-mental breakdown.

His mind kept replaying the last few moments, trying to find the choice that would have saved him. There were a hundred obvious answers, and ones that had been obvious even before he’d landed himself in his own worst case scenario.

He should have realized something was wrong with the stranger’s act before they’d gotten to the point of trying to stab each other. He should have been less harsh with the tackle, going by the wince-worthy crack of skull against marble. Most of all, he should have just cut his losses and ran the moment he’d realized the other borrower wasn’t even listening, but—

“You don’t get to take anything else from me,” he’d said, squinting against the light, each movement more stumble than step.

The guy was trying to protect Patton and his friends. He’d clearly had a run in with the Monoxide group before, had lost people to them before, and he’d still decided to confront Virgil.

Murder attempt or not, he couldn’t just leave the stranger there to get caught.

Now that he was squarely in the palm of a hand big enough to crush him in one motion, he was admittedly having some regrets.

“Woah there, Goth Thumbelina, no need to panic,” said Remus, hurriedly moving his other hand close to form a wall as Virgil attempted to duck away from the fingers curling over him. “A guy as small as you does not want to fall from this height, trust me. We’d turn the kitchen into a total splatter zone.”

And here Virgil had thought his heart couldn’t beat any faster. Life was always surprising him in the worst ways possible.

“Hello? Can you hear me, little guy?” Remus asked, lifting his hands to face level in a motion quick enough to shake what little balance Virgil had left. “You’re not dying of shock, are you? If I accidentally murder a fairy in Patty’s house, I’m pretty sure I’ll legally have to commit some kind of elaborate ritual suicide to atone.”

Well. His parents would probably be happy to know that he’d taken one last human down with him, at least.

Virgil drew all his limbs in until he felt more pillbug than person, his mind too full of mindless panicked shrieking for anything resembling a plan to form.

He couldn’t get away. He couldn’t fight the human off. He couldn’t even say anything, not unless he wanted to make this even worse for every other borrower in the world.

In the end, for all their malice and arrogance, a borrower from the Monoxide group was the same as any other borrower. There still wasn’t a single technique that would save them when they were in the clutches of a human.

All he could do was wait and see what the human decided to do with him.

… At the moment, Remus mostly seemed to be intent on poking him, over and over.

“Hey, c’mon, don’t kill us both in the world’s bizarrest murder-suicide! I haven’t even gotten to third base with a ghost yet!” The finger prodded lightly at the curve of his back again. “If we both die here, we’ll have to haunt this house together. Is that what you want? Because I will inevitably make it weird.”

Do not bite the human, Virgil reminded himself. Do not bite the human. That is a one-way ticket to getting thrown against a wall. Do not bite the human—

“Wow, you are way more polite than most of the small creatures I’ve held,” Remus noted enthusiastically. “On a completely unrelated note, are you venomous?”

Maybe one bite would be fine.

“Remus, if you’re cavorting with rodents in Pat’s kitchen, I swear—,” an annoyed grumble came from the entryway.

“Au contraire, less fair brother of mine,” Remus replied as he spun around to face his twin, “Any true rodent would have given me rabies twice over by now.”

Roman, who had a blanket cape draped over his shoulders and a cranky expression draped over his face, didn’t even glance down at Remus’s cupped hands. “Well, unless you’ve found a mouse-sized poltergeist, my beauty sleep—,”

“Huh.” Remus tilted his head, as though considering Virgil from a new angle. “Actually… maybe this is Patty’s mystery polterguest! Come look!”

He beckoned his twin over with a jerk of the head, and Roman’s suspicion deepened immediately. “Remus. If you are about to throw a cockroach at me, the repercussions will be severe and without mercy.”

“Heh,” Remus looked as if he was indulging in a fond memory. “Nah, I don’t want to ruin my intact-window streak by making you scream like an opera singer in a saw trap.”

Roman edged closer, eyes narrowed. “I still don’t see what kind of ghost would be that small—,”

“Tsk, tsk! Don’t judge a home invader by their size, RoBro!”

Virgil barely bit back a yelp as the human promptly stuck his cupped hands out, nearly knocking his kneeling form right back over. He ducked his head slightly, as though he could somehow prevent them from seeing what he was when he was literally being displayed at that very moment.

Roman’s eyes went wide as quarters as he peered down at him. “Holy Heracles. Is that a fairy?! Patton really is a Disney Princess!”

“That’s what I thought, too, but check it,” Remus nudged Virgil onto his side, revealing his back more clearly. “No wings, or even wing stumps. Plus, they live in the walls.”

Great, he’d noticed that. Still halfway to a panic attack, Virgil spared a pitying thought for all of borrowerkind.

“I feel like there was a Barbie movie that addressed the validity of wingless fairies,” Roman mused, before pausing to frown. “What do you mean, the walls? Tell me you didn’t try eating drywall again. This is not our house.”

“Nobody ever wants to try my fun sleepover activities,” Remus pouted, before rolling his eyes at Roman’s glare. “Don’t get your crown-patterned boxers in a twist, I caught them pre-wall entry.”

“‘Caught them’?” Roman echoed, glancing back down at Virgil, whose body had decided to start trembling hard enough to hopefully vibrate him right out of existence. “Oh my god, you traumatized the fairy. We are so gonna get cursed.”

“Awesome!” cheered Remus. “I hope it’s something with boils.”

“I am not re-enacting the Princess and the Frog as the more amphibious role!” Roman snapped, and lunged forward as though planning to snatch Virgil right out of Remus’s grasp.

Virgil had managed to keep his screaming internal thus far, but the strangled noise of terror that escaped him at the motion was entirely involuntary. Luckily, it was also probably high-pitched enough to bypass human hearing entirely.

“Woah!” Remus recoiled sharply, his hands cupping together to completely surround Virgil, like a child holding a firefly. “Do you even know how breakable itty-bitty creatures are? If I wanted to play tug of war with someone’s guts, I’d kidnap a politician!”

“If I shouldn’t be trusted with delicate creatures, you definitely shouldn’t be,” Roman shot back, though going by the distance of his muffled voice, he’d aborted his grabbing attempts. “Just put them down, they can’t even fly!”

The two of them exchanged some petulant, mostly-indistinct muttering, and then Remus shuffled to the side before placing his clasped hands down on something solid and slowly shifting them out from underneath Virgil.

Rather than fight the motion, Virgil pulled himself upright and let tension coil in every muscle, prepared to take off the instant he felt stable countertop under his feet again.

Sure, running hadn’t worked out for him the first time, but the first time, he’d been dragging the majority of a concussed stranger’s weight along with him. Seeing as Remus had barely caught him even with that handicap, he was more than willing to give fleeing for his life another shot.

His weight dropped onto a surface that was distinctly smoother and slicker than a kitchen counter, and his heart dropped along with it.

Sure enough, when Remus’s hands pulled back, he found himself standing at the bottom of a glass lemonade pitcher, no closer to escape than he’d been when a human hand had been the only thing between him and a fatal fall.

The twins were looming close enough to make his heart stutter, but they were also currently too preoccupied bickering with each other to pay their captive too much attention. Virgil backed up until his shoulders met glass, and slowly slid down into a sitting position, tucking his knees up against his chest.

He was never getting out of this.

–

“Janus,” Logan started, from where he was peering out the wallpaper doorway. “Haven’t we always agreed that we wouldn’t wish our humans on our worst enemy?”

“I don’t recall agreeing to that,” Janus countered halfheartedly, squinting past his near-blinding headache to follow Logan’s gaze. “Really, if you think about it, our worst enemies deserve to be faced with our least merciful weapons.”

In the kitchen, Remus cheerfully put his brother in a vicious headlock.

Also in the kitchen, the borrower Janus had totally and utterly screwed over flinched and flattened themself further against their glass prison.

Logan hummed in a way that did not make Janus feel like he was winning the argument. “And is this solitary borrower our worst enemy?”

“They could be,” Janus replied, indulging in as much of a sulk as his dignity would allow. “They have the mark, they knew what I was talking about. This could all be part of a long con.”

“A long con,” Logan echoed, “to get captured by humans.”

Humans that could have easily caught Janus instead, he pointedly didn’t say.

Janus felt the phantom pressure of a pair of hands shoving him to safety at the last moment, and nausea bubbled up in his throat. He felt fairly certain that it was only partially because of the alleged concussion Logan insisted he absolutely did have. “Anything’s possible.”

Logan turned from the nightmare scene in the kitchen to give Janus the look that comment deserved. “There were no passages to window box gardens or stores of harvested poisons in their home. All of the equipment I found was intended for borrowing, not assassination. There’s only signs of a single borrower residing here, when Monoxide members favor traveling in pairs or trios.”

Janus hissed under his breath. “We can’t just dismiss the possibility that they’re an outlier. A really strange, ineffective, idiotic outlier.”

“Perhaps, but looking at the current evidence offers us a far more plausible conclusion,” Logan said, and then paused, taking in Janus’s grim, hunched-over posture. “... Of course, we can’t truly confirm any theories without investigating our suspect further.”

“Our humans seem entirely too willing to interrogate them for us,” Janus replied bitterly.

Logan turned away from the doorway, dragging his oversized pack in front of him and rummaging through one of the side pockets. “In my experience, our humans have also been very susceptible to distraction.”

Janus perked up, recognizing something familiar in Logan’s tone. That was the tone that preceded a scheme risky enough to make typical borrowers faint just thinking about it.

“Of course,” Logan continued, pulling what looked like miniature explosive prototypes out of his bag, “a distraction loud and flashy enough to divert the twins would only worsen your concussion. I, however, am not concussed.” He paused to give one of the prototypes a dubious glance. “Yet.”

Janus leaned forward to try and inspect one of the devices, and received an armful of coiled thread and a meaningful look from Logan instead.

“Oh, sure,” he complained. “Leave the guy with the head injury with the job of convincing the stranger he tried to stab to participate in the rescue attempt, that makes perfect sense.”

“I have utmost faith in your persuasive abilities,” Logan said in that deadpan way that always made Janus doubt his claim to not understand sarcasm. “Be ready to move as soon as the twins are lured away; I haven't tested the new formula and I’m not sure how long they’ll burn.”

With that extremely concerning statement, the borrower tucked a pair of matches under his armpit, turned, and vanished around the nearest corner.

Janus pulled the thick loop of thread over one shoulder, crouched by the kitchen entrance, and waited.

To Logan’s credit, he worked fast. A series of crackling pops went off, distant but distinct, and their humans only exchanged the briefest of glances before haring off in an unspoken competition to get to the mysterious noises first. Truly, they were predictable in the most amusing ways.

Running had proven to be highly disorienting, so Janus speed walked across the counter to where the borrower’s prison sat. Undignified, but effective.

It hardly mattered; the stranger had crossed the width of the pitcher to peer after the twins and thus was facing the entirely wrong direction to notice Janus’s approach.

They did notice the weighted end of the thread clunk onto the glass behind them, going by how high they jumped and their vehement, half-wheezed swear. They glanced between him and the rope several times in bewilderment.

Janus waggled his fingers in an obnoxious little wave, just because he could. “Any day now. Unless you prefer your current accommodations, I suppose.”

“You’re… helping me?” they asked, with far more dubiousness than Janus felt was warranted. He hadn’t even managed to actually stab them.

“Do you really have the luxury of suspicion right now?” he asked back, shaking the rope for emphasis.

That seemed to snap them out of it. In the next moment, they were wrapping the end of the rope around their wrist and planting their feet on the glass wall, hauling themself up with impressive speed.

Janus leaned back, planting himself as a firmer counterbalance, and then paused.

He could still hear the muted bangs of borrower-sized chemical warfare going on in the other room, but that was it. For a space inhabited by both twins at the same time, there was a suspicious lack of shouting.

Unless…

A chill ran up his spine, and he resisted the urge to yank pointlessly on his end of the rope. “Hurry.”

“I’m trying,” the stranger bit back, grunting as they got a grip on the edge of the pitcher and pulled themself up. They lifted their head and froze in place, all the blood draining from their face.

Janus knew what he'd see before he even turned his head.

“I knew it,” Roman crowed from where he stood in the kitchen doorway, “you do talk!”

#sanders sides fic #sanders sides g/t #ts virgil #ts remus #ts roman #ts janus #ts logan #in sickness and in health #isaih #my writing #writing

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