#illness kink

[undercover-horn-blog]

"You feel a bit warm."

or

"You're a bit warm."

Said by the healthy person to the sick one after a quick, accidental touch or a mildly concerned forehead feel.

Drives me up the wall every time.

#sickfic #fever kink #whump #whump writing #sicknarios #sicknario #fevers #illness kink

[dampsleeves]

"i'm so fucking sick of you-"

SICK????!!!??>#! *STARTS JAKING OFF*

#snzblr #snz #snz kink #sneezeblr #sneeze kink #snzfucker #snz thoughts #snz fet #illness kink #sneezefucker #snez kink #snezblr #snez #sneezing kink #snz blog #snz things #snzkink #i have made this joke before and ill do it again #also yes its misspelled on purpose lmfao

[chestcongestion]

Demon-to-Demon Ch.1/5 : Ha//zbin Ho/tel

Warnings: Contagion, some mess

Word count: 3,763

I have no self control and wanted to smack a bunch of my favorite characters with the sick stick at once, so here's chapter 1 of my self-indulgent large-scale contagion fic, enjoy!

@onetrickponi Since I promised I'd tag when it was finished ^^

Alastor knew good and well that the day’s meeting would be trouble when he heard the audible strain in Ms. Carmine’s voice when she pointedly cleared her throat to get the other overlords’ attention. 

There was a grating, almost painful-sounding quality to it that made Alastor’s ears twitch, it reminded him of the hoarse undertones one would normally hear from a seasoned smoker.

The group of chattering overlords fell silent, turning their gaze toward Carmilla and awaiting the start of the meeting. 

“I just-” Carmilla paused, shutting her eyes and clearing her throat a second time, “-just wanted to apologize in advance for my voice. I’ve been fighting a sore throat since yesterday.”  

“You’re losing,” Velvette laughed from the opposite end of the table, rotating in her office chair and scrolling through her phone, her smug smile showing off her pearly white fangs, fangs made brighter when contrasted against her shimmering black lipstick. 

“I am aware, but thank you for that keen, mature observation, Velvette,” Carmilla spat back, swallowing and trying not to wince before blowing a tendril of her hair out of her face. 

“You’re very welcome,” Velvette replied, twirling a strand of her hair around her index finger. 

Alastor flashed Rosie a knowing look with lowered eyelids,  before redirecting his attention to Carmilla. 

“We are meeting today to discuss the recent ‘smog’ problem, there appears to be a red mist lingering in the air in the Doomsday district, and it is approaching the district borders,” Carmilla announced, “Zillia?” 

“Uhm… nobody seems bothered by it, to be honest, but I can’t figure out where the hell it came from, it just appeared, and it isn’t goin’ away either,” Zillia explained, “Nobody’s complained about having trouble breathin’... or seein’ really, it’s just kinda weird.”  

“So there’s just a blanket of red mist hangin’ in the air, but it isn’t causing any trouble?” Rosie inquired, raising an eyebrow, “Nothin’ at all?” 

“Nope! It even smells nice,” Zillia replied, resting her head in her palm. 

“It does, I was visiting the district the other day and its fragrance is oddly pleasant…like freshly-picked flowers,” Carmilla said with a wistful sigh, wincing through another dry swallow only to smile when Odette handed her a glass of water, which she eagerly finished in three gulps. 

“So we’re here to talk about a non-problem?” Velvette asked, not even bothering to look up from her phone. 

“ ‘Twould be a wise decision for thou to refrain from such idle chatter whilst the adults are speaking,” Zestial hissed from his seat, staring at Velvette with unblinking eyes.  

Velvette complied, returning Zestial’s jab with a raised middle finger and a well-researched bite to the thumb. 

Zestial held back a gasp, “Insolent girl,” he grumbled under his breath.

“Dusty fuckhead,” 

“Senseless wretch…” 

“Spindly geezer,” 

“Overgrown infant!” 

“Senile shitstain!” 

Zestial and Velvette’s escalating squabble quickly died down, both turning to glance at Carmilla, who had two of her large fingers pinching the theoretical bridge of her nose, an area that had quickly flushed an irritated pink. She sniffled twice, before holding both hands over her mouth in a futile attempt to silence a hoarse, rough-sounding cough. 

A minute passed, and Carmilla fought every bone in her body to keep from flushing with embarrassment.  

“Carmilla?” Zestial inquired, only to receive an anxious glance in return.  

Velvette snickered, sliding a travel-sized package of tissues across the table and leaning back in her chair, “Have at it, old bird, sounds like you need one.” 

“Th-thank you,” Carmilla replied, her consonants sounding noticeably muffled as she picked a tissue from the package and held it up to her face, noisily blowing her “nose” until she had to pause to take a deep breath, “Excuse me…” 

Alastor’s ear twitched, and he nervously drummed his fingertips against the table, shooting Rosie another knowing look, practically blinking at her in morse code. 

“What’s eatin’ you?” Rosie whispered, “Quit battin’ your eyelashes at me and spill.” 

“We should leave,” Alastor whispered back through clenched teeth. 

“Why?” Rosie inquired, only to be interrupted by Carmilla loudly blowing her nose a second time, soaking another tissue and closing with a loud honk, which made Rosie giggle. 

“Unless you want that to be you, I suggest we make our exit,” Alastor whispered, his eyes looking desperate and frightful in spite of his wide grin. 

“Oh hush, don’t be so dramatic,” Rosie argued, playfully tugging at one of Alastor’s ears. 

“Uch… Clara, what else were we supposed to discuss? I’ve lost my train of thought,” Carmilla asked, the center of her face and the underside of her eyes looking pinkish-red and puffy from the irritation. 

“There’s nothing else on the agenda, Mom,” Clara said in a hushed voice, showing her mother the empty clipboard. 

“Oh for the love of-” Carmilla groaned, massaging her temples with her large fingers, “This is…ih… i-ih…” 

Alastor’s stomach dropped, he knew that sound, that sound may as well be the click of a pin being yanked from a grenade, the beeping of a volatile time bomb, the- 

“Ih’ktshhhiew! Ih’tshhew! Ih’ktschiew! IH’KSHHHUH!” 

A dense cloud of infectious droplets sprayed into the open air through a wide gap in Carmilla’s fingers, stretching across the entire table, if not the room. 

Alastor’s mind flashed with images of ailing neighbors and frazzled doctors, of boarded-up storefronts and oxygen-starved soldiers lying on tarps in the grass. It was a rough two years… a rough three, frankly. 

“Alastor, snap out of it,” Rosie whispered, gently tapping on the back of Alastor’s head. 

“Yes, thank you,” he replied, trying and failing to tune out Carmilla’s sniffling in the background as he thought about scrubbing himself down with lye and dunking himself in a tub of boiling water.

“Ih’tschhhiew! Hnk’tchew!... My apologies, I just- Ih’ktschhiew!- I didn’t think this would happen,” Carmilla said, her voice hoarse and exhausted as she wiped the watery underside of her eyes with her thumb. 

“Gesundheit! Don’t sweat it, sweetie, but I think you should get some rest,” Rosie said, managing a knowing smile at Carmilla, who weakly smiled back. 

“I think so too… meeting adjourned- Hi-iih…HIH’TSCHHIEW!- ‘Scuse me…” Carmilla announced, loudly blowing her nose as she turned to exit the room with her daughters. 

Alastor hurriedly gestured at the door, begging Rosie to follow him, not wanting to breathe in the poisoned air of the meeting room for a second longer. 

“Alright, I’m coming, I’m coming, calm down,” Rosie chuckled, grabbing hold of her umbrella and following Alastor outside, “Goodness, a few sneezes and you turn into a maniac!” 

“Apologies, when you spend a year working as a volunteer ambulance driver in 1919, you learn not to be quite so relaxed when there’s germ-riddled moisture all over your face,” Alastor rambled, feeling a chill run up his spine at the damp fur on his ears, “E u ch!” 

Rosie rolled her eyes, “Go home and wash your ears, silly, I’m sure you’ll be fine,” she said with a nonchalant grin, twirling her umbrella in her hand as she headed back to Cannibal Town. 

Alastor sighed, vanishing into his shadow and resigning himself to heading back home. He needed to take a bath in some turpentine and light his clothes on fire, knock back a few bottles of rubbing alcohol, anything to keep whatever Carmilla sprayed across the meeting room out of his body. 

Hours later, Husk jumped out of his skin when his “keeper” appeared out of his own shadowy mist in front of the bar, grumbling to himself with an iron grip on his microphone. 

“You’re just too fuckin’ good to walk anywhere, huh? Poofin’ out of the shadows is just too easy… whadda you want?” Husk asked, cleaning a beer mug while he awaited Alastor’s response. 

“I need a shot of whatever you use to clean off the counter,” 

Husk blinked. 

“I’m sorry… what? Not that you can’t handle your liquor… but I don’t think I’d trust you with anything’ harder than a couple whiskey neats,” 

“Hand me the bottle,” Alastor muttered through clenched teeth, twisting the safety nozzle of the spray bottle of disinfectant that Husk kept behind the bar. He spritzed both of his eyes before liberally spraying the back of his throat, knocking back the residue with a harsh swallow before sliding the spray bottle back in Husk’s direction. 

“... The hell is wrong with you?” Husk asked. 

“Absolutely nothing, nothing I’d concern myself with telling you, anyways,” Alastor replied with narrowed eyelids. 

“Well then… suppose I’ll have to keep lemon disinfectant around for the next time you’re feelin’ adventurous,” 

Husk’s little comment and the laughter that followed irritated Alastor, and the radio demon considered beaning the cat in the back of the head with his microphone, only to be wrenched out of his thoughts by a sudden itch in his sinuses, forcing him to raise the back of his hand under his nose. 

‘Come on Alastor, you’re better than this, fight it, fight it, fight it-’ 

“Hnk! Hnk’tshh! Hhk’tshh!” 

Husk’s ear twitched, and his face stretched into a knowing smile as he zeroed his focus on Alastor’s nose, “You know-” 

“Shush,” 

“I don’t think I’ve ever-” 

“Quiet.” 

“Ever-” 

“Husk,” Alastor hissed, preparing his arm to reach for Husk’s throat, only to be stopped in his tracks by his itchy nose, “H-hihh…Huhh…h-huh..” 

“Heard you sneeze,” Husk whispered, knowing that he’d caught Alastor off guard, “Until now, anyways.” 

“Hu’hktschoo! Huh’ptshhhoo! Hnk’TSCHOO!... Huh….HUH’PTSchhiEWWW!” 

Husk grinned as he watched Alastor blearily pat around on his person for a pristine red handkerchief that was tucked into his front pocket, pulling it out and pinching it around his nostrils before letting out a dense, gurgling blow. 

“I take it that is what the disinfectant was supposed to prevent,” Husk laughed, “Whatever it is you managed to catch, it sounds nasty…shit.” 

“I could kill you with my bare hands,” Alastor hissed, pantomiming the act of strangling Husk, only to be caught unawares by another itch, “HNK’TSsschHIEWW! Hnk’Tschhiiew!” 

“I’m aware, but maybe put it off a few days, I’d rather not have snot on my corpse’s face,” Husk teased. 

“You are a mbiserable drunkard, and I hate you- Snff!- I really do,” Alastor replied, blowing his nose a second time and struggling not to scowl at how damp his handkerchief was beginning to feel underneath his fingers. “Right back atcha,” Husk said, poking Alastor’s nose with a sly grin, watching his boss’s nose twitch helplessly. “Nghh…Gh-hhuh…H-Huhh- HNK’TSCHOO! H-uh’tzZZShhOO! Huh’ktSCHEW! H-huh’TSCHOO! Hnk’TschhhiEW!” Alastor sneezed, only able to hold his hands loosely in front of his face, paralyzed by the fit. 

Husk winced, wiping off his face and wiping down the bar counter, “Fuckin’ hell, remind me to drink the rest of that disinfectant when I’m done cleanin’ this up, might be too late for you but I like breathin’ through my nose,” he grumbled. 

“Snff-snff! Uch… I don’t think I’ve ever felt this… slimy or disorganized in mby entire life- Snfff!” Alastor said, blowing his nose again and trying not to think about how loose and wet it sounded, “I have no idea where all of it is even coming from.”  

“Well, make yourself scarce, I’m not trying to find out,” Husk replied, pausing and turning to the front door of the hotel upon hearing it swing open, “Welcome back, Princess.” 

“Hii, I’m so excited for some quality bonding time now that Cherri is staying with us! I haven’t been able to just relax and watch a movie in years,” Charlie said with a smile as Vaggie snuck behind her to head upstairs, “Is Angel back yet?” 

“Nah, he’s still at work, but he said he’d try and make it here in time,” Husk stated, checking his phone to see if Angel had texted him anything new, “How’d the recruitment effort go?” 

“Uhm, better! Some people seemed interested and actually kept the pamphlets I gave them, but a lot of people said they didn’t wanna touch my hand or get too close because they weren’t feeling well… which was surprisingly considerate for a huge group of sinners,” Charlie explained, rambling as she leaned against the back of the sofa in the parlor, “Half the people I spoke to either mentioned they thought they were sick or they looked sick… I don’t think I’ve ever seen that many sick people in one day.” 

“Really?” Husk asked with a knowing smirk, “Somethin’ must be going around…” 

“I guess so, yeah,” Charlie replied, “Alastor! How was the overlord meeting?”  

“Oh it was alright- snff- a bit shorter than expected. Don’t think I came away with anything of note,” Alastor responded, holding his damp handkerchief behind his back and wrestling with the urge to rub his nose. It was so itchy. 

“I can think of something… ” Husk muttered playfully, seemingly unbothered when Alastor whipped his head around to stare daggers at him. 

“Has everyone thought about what movie they’re gonna suggest for movie night tonight?” Charlie asked, grinning and bouncing on her heels, “Because I have, and I’m so excited!” 

“Ooo! I did! I did! I’m so excited, I haven’t been able to see it since I was alive!” Nifty exclaimed, dropping from the ceiling onto Alastor’s shoulders, clutching a feather duster. She was so preoccupied with thinking about which movie she’d picked, she didn’t notice her feather duster brushing against Alastor’s nose. 

“HUH’PTSHOO! Huh’ptschiew! Hhn’ktshew! HHN’KTSHIIEW! Huh’PTSHHIEW!.... Oh mby goodness…snf-snf!...Ndiffty…” Alastor groaned, wetly blowing his nose and trying to avoid Charlie’s concerned gaze, “Don’t look at mbe like that.”  

“Sorry- not looking, not looking,” Charlie replied sheepishly, averting her gaze from Alastor by staring at the carpet, “That just sounded… uhm… a teeny tiny bit-” 

“Gross!” Vaggie called from upstairs, “The word she’s looking for is ‘gross’!” 

Husk flopped onto his back behind the bar, struggling to contain his laughter. 

“I was going to say ‘wet’... but I guess that works too,” Charlie said, shooting Alastor a nervous glance, “You feeling okay?” 

Alastor narrows his eyelids, his grin still stretched across his face in spite of his angry eyebrows and puffy, miserable-looking eyelids to match his irritated and streaming nose, “Would you believe mbe if I said yes?” he asked knowingly. 

“Not really, no, you sound awful,” Charlie admitted, quietly gesturing for Alastor to lean down, reaching out a hand and pressing her palm to the Radio Demon’s forehead when he reluctantly complied, “You feel warm, too. You probably just caught whatever’s going around, don’t worry!” 

“I’ll try mby best not to,” Alastor replied, blowing his nose again and wincing at how wet the fabric was getting, “Snff-snff! Pardon me…” 

Charlie looked at the sniffling overlord with concern, before getting back her typical kind smile, “You should take a hot shower and change into something more comfortable if you’re sick! By the time all of us get ready, Angel and Cherri will probably be back, and we can pick the movie for tonight!” 

Alastor considered arguing, considered vanishing into a puff of shadowy smoke and reappearing in Cannibal Town to crash with Rosie, considered sprinting out the door and going into hiding… but he’d been found out, and all of the sneezing he’d been doing was definitely catching up to him, he was exhausted.  

“Alright, I’ll be back down,” Alastor said with a nod, vanishing upstairs, but not before catching a sharp “Hnk-Tchoo!” with his handkerchief.  

“I’m gonna go get ready, too,” Charlie said, turning to Husk, “You coming?” 

“Nah, Angel just texted me on his break, I’m gonna ask him how the shoot’s going for a little while, I’ll catch up,” Husk replied, leaning against the bar counter and tapping slowly at his phone, shooting Angel a message and waiting patiently for a reply. 

[Don’t forget about tonight… almost done filming?] 

On the opposite side of Pentagram City, Angel stared at his phone, attempting to think of a response, only to peek over at his boss from the other side of the cameras. 

Valentino was working through a plot hole that Travis left in the script- while lecturing Travis about it- and it was taking longer than expected. While they spoke, Valentino was also busy moisturizing and straightening Velvette’s hair to get her ready for an auction she was heading to that night. 

Velvette typically had her assistants help with her hair, but she wandered downstairs to the porn studio because she had a headache and the vibrant lighting in her studio was making things worse. 

Angel stared at the pair of overlords in silence while he tugged his underwear back on and tidied up his fluff with a hairbrush. 

“Y’know what? Fuck it, nobody’s gonna notice the inconsistency anyways, if they’re watching porn for the plot, they’re doing it wrong,” Valentino conceded, rolling his eyes at Travis and taking a deep drag from his cigarette, smiling at the hit of nicotine before blowing out a large heart-shaped plume of smoke, his smile fading when he heard Velvette start to cough from her position in front of his legs, “Oh shit, sorry pequeñita, I forgot you hate the smell of these.” 

Valentino took a second puff, blowing his next plume of smoke at the ceiling, only to stop upon hearing Velvette’s cough again: a persistent, hacking cough that forced Velvette to draw deep breaths in between bursts. Ashing his cigarette, Valentino used one of his hands to pat Velvette on the back. 

“Fuck, Vel, you good?” Valentino asked, his attempts to help dislodge what he assumed was just something stuck in his colleague’s windpipe getting more intense. 

“S-stop it,” Velvette wheezed, tucking her head into her knees and letting out a heavy barking cough that made her entire body vibrate, but seemed to alleviate the ticklish feeling in her throat, “Fuck…” 

“That was a rough ass cough,” Valentino said, running his fingers through Velvette’s freshly-straightened locks and wincing at the searing heat he felt upon touching the side of her head, “-Shit, Vel, why didn’t you tell me I burned you?” 

“You-” Velvette clenched her teeth to smother another coughing fit, “- you didn’t burn me…” she replied. 

“You sure? It feels so hot right here, I just thought…wait a second…” Valentino paused, pulling off one of his gloves and pressing his bare palm against Velvette’s forehead, “Yeah… tienes fiebre, I think the auction is gonna have to wait for another time… how do you feel?” 

“My head hurts, my throat hurts, I’m tired, and every time I breathe I feel like I need to cough,” Velvette complained, leaning back against Valentino’s legs, “This is horseshit…Hh’tshh! Hhn’tshh! Hnk’tshh!” 

Valentino frowned, running his fingers through Velvette’s hair, “Okay people, that’s a wrap for tonight, see you tomorrow!” he announced, clapping to dismiss the film staff and the actors before gathering Velvette in his arms and turning on his heel to leave the studio, “Let’s get you something hot to drink and some comfy clothes, hm?” 

“Put mbe down… Hnk’tshh!... I’b a grown woman,” Velvette hissed, pushing away from Valentino’s chest, only to lean against his shoulder after only a few seconds of protest, “Actually, nevermind…snff!... I’b too tired to walk. Fuck it.”  

“Mmmhm, that’s why I picked you up,” Valentino teased as he walked, eventually vanishing down the hall and leaving Angel in the studio alone. 

“Hell yes,” Angel cheered, hurrying to put on the rest of  his clothes and texting Husk that he’d be home earlier than expected. 

A couple of hours later, the group was gathered together on the sofa in the parlor, all cozied up in their pajamas. 

Charlie and Vaggie reclined against one another, Angel stretched out across Husk’s lap, Niffty was seated in front of the sofa on the carpet, Cherri was sat in the armchair on the right side of the sofa, and Alastor was reclined in the armchair on the left. 

“So, who gets to pick tonight’s movie?” Angel asked, petting Husk between his ears, listening to his partner’s satisfied purring. 

“We drew straws, and Niffty won, so we’re watching…” Charlie began, turning to Niffty to wait for her selection. 

“Singin’ in the Rain!” Niffty cheered, clapping her hands quietly, “It’s one of the last films I saw before I died!”

Charlie nodded, pressing play on the chunky CRT television in the parlor, and leaning against Vaggie as the film began to play. 

Alastor blew his nose into his handkerchief, glaring at the wet fabric and conjuring himself a dry one out of thin air, moving to put it away before feeling a familiar building itch. 

“Hnk’TSHH-iew! HNK’TShhiew! HNK’Tshh-iew! HNK’Zzzt!” 

Charlie peeked over from her spot on the sofa, mouthing ‘Bless you’ at Alastor before returning her attention to the movie. 

Alastor returned the gesture with a quiet nod, straining to avoid rolling his eyes at the idea of letting himself be so… vulnerable around these people. The Radio Demon silently thanked his lucky stars that Lucifer was on a brief whirlwind tour through the rest of Hell to get back in touch with the other sins, meaning that he wouldn’t be around to bear witness to Alastor’s embarrassing misery. 

“HNK’Tshh! Hh’kzzhht! Hh’Kshoo!” 

Alastor shivered, leaning back in his armchair and attempting to focus on the movie to take his mind off of the throbbing sensation in the back of his throat, or the incessant tickle in his sinuses. He couldn’t wrap his mind around why he suddenly felt so cold. 

Lost in his thoughts, Alastor barely noticed it when something warm and soft was draped over his shoulders, and a bundle of warmth gathered in his lap. Upon regaining focus, Alastor noticed that someone had draped a blanket over him, leaving his arms free, and that KeeKee was curled up in his lap, purring softly. 

Resigned to his fate, Alastor simply began stroking KeeKee’s back, the soft static in the background of the film and the cat’s blissful purring beginning to make him drowsy. 

“Ooo! This is my favorite part! Alastor, look, this is the actor I said you looked like when we met!” Niffty whispered, eagerly tugging on Alastor’s pant leg to get his attention, only to be met with silence, “Alastor?”  

Niffty looked up only to see Alastor relaxed and fast asleep, his back pressed against the armchair and his usual grin reduced to a soft, toothless smile. Congestion rumbled in his sinuses as he snored, his nose twitching every so often to fight the constant tickle threatening to disturb his slumber by making him sneeze. 

“I’ll show him later,” Niffty whispered, hugging Alastor’s ankles and going back to watching the movie, “Maybe he’ll feel better tomorrow…” 

#snz #snz fic #snz kink #illness kink #ha/zb/in ho/tel #gingey.rtf

[shion-yu]

Usually looking at staged pics really irks me but this one gave me whumperflies. Maybe it's the way his brow is sweaty. He's wearing long sleeves in bed. Holding the pillow for comfort. Looks uncomfortable even resting. And the subtle tissue, thermometer and tea on the bedside table? *chefs kiss*

#whump #sickfic #sicknario #fever #fever kink #fever whump #illness kink #sick whump

[iwritesickfic]

Surprise

part 1! - partially in response to a few prompts, partially its own thing. enjoy!

Seamus is almost vibrating with excitement. He hasn’t seen Theo in a month, and tonight is finally going to be the night. He’s been touring, and though Seamus would love to travel with him, he has all his own shit to do in Ireland. Lots of shit. Unfortunately.

But he finally had the time to fly the 7 and a half hours to New York to see Theo perform this week. And Theo has no idea. He's taken every precaution to make sure of that.

The show is just about over, and Seamus is standing in one of the cinderblock and concrete access hallways below the stadium, fidgeting like he’s waiting for his prom date.

Then Theo’s there, swarmed by crew members and production people, gorgeous as ever. He’s still a ways away down the hall, and it doesn’t seem like he’s seen Seamus yet. He gives it a few moments before calling out.

“Theo!” A few heads turn, and Theo looks around, totally confused, so Seamus calls again. “Theo!” His voice echoes in the cavernous space, and finally Theo’s eyes find his. Then he’s sprinting down the hallway toward him, nearly knocking Seamus over as they embrace.

The first thing Seamus notices above all else is how hard he’s trembling. It’s more like shaking. Seamus holds him tight, pulling him flush against him, and feels Theo start to cry, his face buried in Seamus’s neck. He's sobbing, gasping for breath. He’s slick with sweat, his hair stuck to his temples and forehead.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Seamus says gently, and kisses his cheek. “Are you happy to see me?” He asks teasingly, and Theo pulls back, looking half overjoyed and half exhausted. He presses a kiss to Seamus’s lips, then rests his forehead on his, eyes closed. He's out of breath - from the crying or the sprint or the kiss Seamus isn't sure.

“You have no fucking idea,” Theo whispers. His voice sounds totally shot, and he’s still shaking. He’s flushed and warm too, but that can probably be chalked up to the fact he just did a two hour set under stage lights. “Please tell me you’re staying the night. Please, fuck.”

His arms are looped around Seamus's neck.

“As long as you want,” Seamus says, and presses another kiss to his cheek. God, he’s warm. He runs his hand through Theo’s sweat damp hair, pushing some off his face and forehead. “You wanna sit down?” Theo nods, and Seamus guides him to a folding chair. He stumbles, and Seamus catches him by the elbow.

He’s getting more and more concerned with each passing moment. He’s seen Theo after shows before, and it’s never this bad. He almost seems drunk.

Theo practically collapses into the chair, then folds forward, elbows on knees, head in his hands. His greasy strands of auburn hair hang down around his face. Seamus lays a hand on his back and squats down.

"Are you ok?" he asks, hushed, and Theo nods, but doesn't say anything. "Are you sure?" He swallows thickly and looks up.

"I'm so happy you're here Shay, I'm just having a terrible fucking day and I-" he stops abruptly as he sees something over Seamus's shoulder and forces a smile.

"Amazing show tonight!" a female voice says, and Seamus looks back to see Emma, the tour manager. Immediately Seamus feels his shoulders tense. He and Emma always seem to be getting into screaming matches. He never intends it to be that way, but that's how it always ends up.

"Thanks," Theo says, voice still hoarse. She keeps walking, and as soon as she's gone, his smile drops again. He lowers his voice and looks back to Seamus. "Can we just go? Please, can we go home?" He sounds on the verge of tears, like he's unsure of what the response will be. Seamus tucks some of his hair behind his ear.

"Teddy, of course." He's beyond worried now. Theo stands, and Seamus is about to make a joke when Theo's eyes roll back. Then he's falling. Seamus is frozen for a second before he makes a desperate grab for his arm. It doesn't help. He's limp, and though Seamus manages to break his fall somewhat, he's on the ground. "Theo!"

A crowd starts to gather almost immediately, and Seamus's heart feels like it's going to burst out of his throat.

Theo's eyes are already fluttering open again, but in contrast to how flushed he was a minute ago, he's gray-pale now. A soft noise escapes his chapped lips.

There's a medic kneeling beside them now, and Seamus lays his hand on Theo's chest. Theo's hand clumsily finds his, fingers still trembling. Seamus's hand is shaking too.

"You with us, Theodore?" the medic asks, and Theo nods, starting to push himself up. Both Seamus and the medic simultaneously ease him back down. "Whoa, take it slow. Just relax for a minute. I'm gonna take your blood pressure, alright?"

Theo nods again, his eyes falling closed.

The crowd is murmuring, and another medic arrives. They exchange a few words before he goes to work too. Taking his temperature, his blood oxygen, his pulse. The whole time, Seamus is sick to his stomach. He just tries to focus on the feeling of Theo's chest rising and falling beneath his palm.

Finally, they sit him up and he opens his eyes and the first thing he does is lean his forehead down onto Seamus's shoulder. He's still holding his hand, and Seamus squeezes it tight. He's also still extremely warm, and Seamus really wants to ask the medic what his temperature was.

"Dehydrated?" he asks instead, and the medic tilts his head as if to say "sort of." He stands and starts to talk to Emma, who looks more stressed out than concerned. Seamus tries to make out what they're saying, but he can't quite. He knows it's more than dehydration. Something is wrong, and Emma knows. The medic knows. Everyone knows but him. And it's making his blood boil.

"Shay, please, I wanna go home," Theo whispers, his lips hot and dry against Seamus's throat. His face is tucked in the crook of Seamus’s neck. His pleading, soft voice brings Seamus back down, and he's able to shift his focus.

"I know," he whispers back. He rubs his back, and Theo hums. "When did you start feeling sick?"

"I'm fine. Please just get me the fuck out of here." He's obviously not fine, but now isn't the time to argue the obvious. The second medic returns with a bottle of Pedialyte and a straw, which Seamus hands to Theo.

"What's - Do you know…?" he asks, and he doesn't miss the way the medic's eyes dart over to Emma before he answers. It relights the fire in his stomach.

"Low blood pressure from dehydration. Once he drinks that he should be good to go," he says, and leaves before Seamus can ask anything else.

"Maybe we could get you an IV?" Seamus asks, and Theo shakes his head.

"Seamus, please just get me home. Please."

"Ok."

He texts the driver to pull around and a flags down a PA to grab them a golf cart. He has to practically hold Theo up as they get into the cart, and as soon as they sit down, he presses his too warm body against Seamus's.

It's the same story for the car, and as soon as the door shuts and they're on their way, Theo lets out a heavy sigh.

"What's going on?" Seamus finally asks, and Theo tucks his head back against his shoulder.

“Tough show,” he mumbles, and when Seamus's silence indicates he isn't satisfied with that explanation, he sighs "I feel like shit.”

"I can tell." He presses his lips to Theo's temple, and is sure beyond a shadow of a doubt he has a fever. "How long?"

"Long time," Theo says. Seamus has so many questions he can't even get one out.

"You've been sick?" He finally asks. Theo nods. "How… What is it?"

"My throat,” he murmurs, and Seamus brings his hand to Theo’s throat, feeling under his jaw. Sure enough, his glands are swollen, and when he brushes his fingertips over them Theo stiffens.

“Baby,” Seamus breathes out, and Theo shakes his head weakly.

“It's not that bad.” Again, Seamus doesn't need to say anything for Theo to get the message. “Ok, well it's better. It's getting better.”

Finally, Seamus asks the question that's been bothering him the most.

“Why didn't you say anything?”

Theo takes a breath like he's about to speak, but the sound of his phone ringing cuts him off. Seamus is about to tell him to leave it, but Theo is already pulling it up to his ear.

“Hey,” his weak voice says, and though Seamus can hear someone speaking on the other end, he can't make out who. Eventually, he just hands the phone over to Seamus.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Seamus. You guys are headed back to Brooklyn?” It's Zeke, Theo's manager.

“Yeah, we’re on the bridge.” He pauses, staring out the window.

“Ok, that's fine, we were all just wondering where you guys went. Especially since he passed out, we wouldn't - well… It's just good you're getting him home.”

“Tell me what's been going on,” Seamus says, and Theo makes a small sound of protest beside him.

“Seamus,” he whispers, as if pleading with him to drop it.

“Realistically, we can’t cancel every time-” Zeke starts.

“Zeke!” Seamus snaps, incredulous.

“I care about him just as much as you, but what has to be done has to be done.” Even he doesn’t sound fully convinced.

“Spare me,” Seamus spits back.

“Shay, please,” Theo murmurs, and Seamus takes a deep breath.

“Just tell me everything.”

–

He didn’t have to carry Theo in from the car, but he certainly had to carry him upstairs. He’s exhausted, not even to mention the fever he's running. Someone in perfect health would be exhausted after the tour schedule Theo has.

He’s had some kind of throat infection for at least the last month, and he's been doped up on painkillers and antibiotics nonstop for the last two weeks. In the interest of keeping him on stage they've had a doctor shooting him up with Prednisone before each show. If it wasn't for the steroid shots he likely wouldn't be able to talk, let alone sing.

Seamus always knew deep down the label would do anything to keep their tour rolling. But he never imagined it would come to this. Performing with a throat injury is playing with fire, it’ll be a miracle if his voice doesn’t need serious rehab. For now though, Seamus is just focused on trying to make the best of the situation at hand.

Theo is sitting on the edge of their bed, flushed and shivering, while Seamus slowly helps him out of his sweat damp clothes. As he goes, he presses kisses to Theo’s overheated skin, slowly and reverently. Theo melts under him, pushing himself as close as he can get.

The way he’s pressing closer, the sounds he’s making - it all says he wants things to go further, but Seamus knows that would be ill advised at best, disastrous at worst, so when Theo’s fully undressed he pulls away.

Still, he leaves one hand on Theo’s head, the other on his shoulder.

“I’m gonna go make some tea, alright?” Seamus says, and Theo gives him such a miserable look Seamus almost wants to forget it and just lie down with him right now. He runs his thumb over Theo’s temple. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

He kisses his forehead before heading back downstairs to the kitchen. He can’t decide whether he’s more livid or worried out of his mind.

A month. He’s been sick for a month, and he didn’t tell Seamus. Seamus imagines him in fancy hotel rooms trying to sleep with a soaring fever. All by himself. Shivering, aching after a two and a half hour show. It’s enough to make Seamus want to punch a hole in the wall.

While he’s making the tea, he schedules an appointment with Theo’s doctor and his ENT for tomorrow morning. He’ll need to dig through Theo’s bag to find his antibiotics, not that they seem to be doing any good.

The last call he makes is to Emma. While the line rings, his jaw is clenched so hard it hurts.

“Hey there, Seamus,” she says when she picks up.

“Hey there, Emma,” he says, barely holding himself back. “I was just calling to let you know we’ll need to be rescheduling the next week of shows. So that’s…” He squints at his notebook. “The next two nights in Edison, then Boston, Philly, and Pittsburgh.”

There’s a long silence. So long he almost thinks she hung up.

“Ok, Seamus. I understand you’re concerned for him. We’re all concerned for him. We all want what’s best for his health.”

“Emma,” he starts, just barely contained.

“We’ve discussed this in the past, and I’ve explained to you time and time again that he is an adult. He does not need you coming to his rescue, especially when you don’t have the full story. He’s perfectly capable of telling us himself if he’s too unwell to perform. Frankly, I think your behavior -”

“That is such fucking bullshit, and you know it.”

“Please,” she sounds bored more than anything, and that’s only making him angrier. “Can I explain?”

“How he lost 15 pounds in a month? Why he can’t stand up without blacking out? Why I wasn’t told about any of this?”

“You’re his boyfriend. Not his mother, not his husband - his boyfriend. And maybe the question you should be asking is why he didn’t tell you.”

Seamus’s fists are clenched so hard he feels his fingernails digging into his palms. He forces himself to relax. He takes a deep breath before continuing, fighting to keep his voice even.

“The bottom line is he’s not showing up for the next week. So do whatever you need to do, this isn’t a discussion.”

“Maybe you should discuss this with Theo before you break his contracts for him,” she says, her tone more grave. Of course now that her money is on the line it’s suddenly very serious.

“Goodbye, Emma.”

He wants to throw his phone. But the tea is done and Theo is upstairs waiting for him, so he takes another deep breath and heads back up.

When he walks in the doorway to their bedroom his heart nearly breaks in half. Theo's curled under the comforter shivering, breathing like he's trying not to cry.

Seamus doesn't hesitate in getting closer - they've been apart too long. He pulls Theo into his lap and strokes his hair, trying to not let how overheated he feels overwhelm him.

He's on fire with a fever, and it doesn't help that what little Pedialyte he drank has probably burned off already.

“Seamus,” he murmurs, like it's the only word he knows.

“I made you some tea,” Seamus says softly, and Theo makes a soft sound. “I'm gonna grab the thermometer and some ibuprofen and I'll be right back, ok?” He feels Theo nod, so he maneuvers his way out from under him and into their ensuite.

In addition to the thermometer and medication, he soaks a washcloth in some lukewarm water. When he gets back, Theo's half sitting up, taking hesitant sips of the tea, eyebrows furrowed.

Seamus climbs onto the bed next to him and presses the damp cloth to Theo’s forehead.

“I love you so much,” Theo whispers, and his voice sounds even worse than it did an hour ago. Seamus just kisses his cheek. He brings the thermometer up, and doesn't need to say a word for Theo to open his mouth obediently.

They sit there in silence as they wait for the reading, Seamus combing his sweaty hair out with his fingers. He’s terrified to see what his temperature actually is, and tries not to panic when he reads “102.8”

“Why didn't you tell me?” He finally asks.

Theo presses his chapped lips into a line and sighs. Seamus draws the damp washcloth down the side of his throat, then down his sternum.

“You know I would've dropped everything. I would've been on the first flight,” Seamus says, and Theo’s trembling fingers wrap around his wrist. They're so unnaturally warm.

“That's exactly why I didn't tell you, Shay.”

#my writing #sickfic #whump #illness kink #oc theo #oc seamus #fever #i promise this series will get finished lol #i already have part two written #series is definitely a little plot heavy lol

[heyitsmemel]

hi hello gals and gays. Here is a rare wav from me struggling with the flu. The virus has mainly been in my chest but my entire body is so wrecked I was able to induce super easily. No talking bc I’m literally unable to 😭 Do not listen if you can't stand harsh coughing because it gets a bit rough. If it sounds a bit weird the first half of the recording is from yesterday and the second half is from today, bc the coughing is so much worse in the second half lmao. Ok that's it thankkk you for feeding me so good lately tumblr love u all <3

also personal rant about ableism and intentional contagion in the comments :///

#ok like I haven't been this sick in literal years and cuz im disabled i'm super mindful of spreading germs to others. #and i've had some family staying with me so I was like great leave me here to rot in my cave guys #my partner has been rlly attentive and is like i don't care about germs tehe so yesterday he comes into my room #and gives me a bunch of kisses on my head then swoops in and kisses me ON THE MOUTH #like im sorry i've been lying in a pool of feverish sweat for days and can hardly breathe what part of that makes someone go ooo gimme? #like ya hes just trying to love me but i put so much effort into being clean and now i will feel really guilty when he gets sick #sorry not sorry intentional contagion is not cute or sexy at all its just irresponsible #like i would love to live the life where my body works so well that I don't give a second thought to KISSING someone with the flu #i just feel like able bodied people never think about what its like living with a disability or a chronic illness #or have the slightest inclination of how privileged they are #my partner isn't even a fetishit he is just a dumbass #but ya i just wish he and the general population would think more :/ #snzblr #snz #illness kink #snzfucker #snz wav #snzzzzz #snz blog #anyway thats all do what u want with my horn post

[ethereousdelirious]

its three am and im hit w/ this idea : one of those old mid 2010s blush / crying fan art where a character is shown experiencing increasing levels of embarrassment or sadness. but instead of emotions, its body temperature. starting out from the normal range 98.6 and steadily rising to 101.5 to a 102.9 to 103 until we get to 104, and our poor character could not hide their sickness anymore.

YES OH MY GOD YES YES I NEED EVERY FANARTIST TO GET ON THIS IMMEDIATELY

Sit tight I'll make a template idc give me a second

#fever kink #whump #i&i #illness & injury #snez #tagging this with every damn thing i can think of #ANON YOUR MIND #illness fixation #illness kink #ethereous answers

[wetsnifflesneeze]

I feel as though being sick is almost like an out of body or meditative experience at times. Like when you’re lying there in your bed and pretty much everything feels different and you’re falling in and out of sleep all day/night so you kind of lose the concept of time and your sleeping pattern and eating habits become totally distorted.. and you become disconnected from work or your responsibilities because you’re just too weak to leave your bed.. which is also somehow freeing because none of that stuff is relevant anymore. You just have to stay there and rest until you feel normal again.

#illness kink #snz #snez #snzfucker #whump #whumpee #don’t know if I’ve used the right words to describe this but I’m sure you guys will know what I mean!! lol

[emetoandotherthings]

Sailing Soc

A/N: @its-a-goddamn-heartbreak you wanted Cain... here's Cain! ❤️

______________________________________________________________

         “Sailing?” Cain put his mug down on the counter and stared at Damian as though he’d grown an extra head. “Are you serious?”

         “Yeah,” Damian said; Cain searched his face as though he was waiting for him to say ‘only joking’.

         When he didn’t, Cain repeated: “Sailing?”

         “Well, yeah,” Damian was nodding. “I saw some sign up sheets for trials with the sailing soc, I thought – why not?” At the table beside them, Jesse snorted so hard he nearly choked on his cereal.

         “Sailing soc?” Jesse spluttered, wiping his mouth. “Oh my god, it’s finally happened.”

         “What?” Damian looked non-plussed as Cain and Jesse exchanging a glance.

         “All those toffs rubbing off on you,” Cain chuckled, then put on a posh accent. “Oh yah, we’re going on the yacht for a jaunt!”

         “Oh shut up!” Damian shoved Cain’s shoulder playfully. “No, I just thought it’d be something different, something outside! God knows you’ve had your head stuck in a book these past few weeks.”

         “You’re one to talk!” It was Cain’s turn to snort this time.

         “Come on,” Damian implored, staring pointedly at Cain. “It’s one afternoon, one taster session – some fresh air, the water, it’ll be fun!”

         “Oh alright,” Cain conceded. “Seeing as you’ve already signed me up!” Damian grinned.

         Cain still didn’t quite know why he agreed to this as he stood on the boardwalk with Damian and 5 others. He was doing it for Damian, who looked buoyantly excited. One of the guys, Isaac, from the sailing soc was handing them each a lifejacket as the other two guys and one girl from sailing soc had already clambered aboard the boat and were preparing it to sail.

         “Sailing is just – it’s everything!” Isaac was proclaiming enthusiastically; much to Damian’s chagrin Isaac did have exactly the posh English accent and attitude that Cain had imitated. “Hopefully this afternoon’ll let you see how joyous it is!”

         Joyous was not the word Cain would have used – he’d tried to hide the fact that his knees were shaking as he climbed aboard the boat, especially as Damian was grinning like an overly excited Labrador.

         “If you all sit there,” Isaac pointed to two indented benches on either side of the front of the boat, “we’re going to do all the work and you can get an idea of what it’s like to sail – we might even let you have a go when we’re properly out on the loch.”

         Cain wedged himself in between Damian and the edge of the white bench, almost immediately he felt wobbly and was glad for the metal railing which lined the edge of it. The boat had backed out of its berth in the marina and was beginning to slowly motor its way out towards the entrance of the loch.

         “Yah, I’ve already done my competent crew qualification,” the girl on the other side of Damian was telling him. “Daddy insisted I did it when I turned 16.”

         “Really?” Damian didn’t sound surprised. “This is my first time on a sail boat – me and Cain, thought we’d try something different.”

         “It’s not as hard as it looks,” she carried on, her voice loud against the wind that was whipping past them. “Not once you get the hang of it!”

         Cain refixed his grip on the railing and tried to take some deep breaths; it was only now that they’d pulled away that he realised how much he absolutely hated this. The boat rocked slightly from side to side, bobbing up and down as the waves and wind moved along. He hadn’t realised quite how aware of his own stomach he was until it seemed to move along with each movement of the boat. He pressed his jaw together, so hard that his back teeth hurt – this was just a taster session, surely it couldn’t last all that long.

         “It’s so fresh, isn’t it?” Damian’s head swivelled round towards Cain.

         “Yeah,” Cain heard himself say, and to his surprise his voice was steady. Damian’s curls were being whipped around by the wind, his cheeks turning pink from the cool air. “It’s lovely.”

         As soon as they were clear of the marina, the girl on Damian’s other side bounded up from the bench to help the society members tack the sail out so they could catch the wind. With more people moving around, the boat rocked and bobbed in the water, and Cain gripped on so tightly on the railing that his knuckles went white.

         “You can come up and see what we’re doing if you like,” Isaac offered; he was standing behind the large wheel looking totally at ease.

         “Cain?” Damian asked, standing up.

         “You go,” Cain said, “I’m still finding my sea legs.” Damian raised his eyebrows, but seemed to accept this at face value. He wobbled a bit as he picked his way over to where Isaac and the girl were having an animated conversation about where they had sailed previously. Cain tried to take deep breaths in through his nose, and inwardly repeated to himself that it wasn’t all bad; ignoring the way his stomach was roiling inside him, sloshing up and down with every wave of the water. He fixed his eyes on the hills in the distance and told himself that he wasn’t moving that much.

         “Isaac says it’s a perfect day for sailing,” Damian dropped back down on the bench next to him.

         “Really?” Cain tried to sound interested.

         “Yeah, just enough wind to catch the sails, and the water being pretty calm,” he was watching the white sail which was affixed out and the wind was pushing against it, giving the boat traction.

         If this was calm, Cain thought, he would hate to see it when it was choppy. With every passing second he was feeling worse, he could feel sweat pooling at the nape of his neck and he found himself swallowing much more frequently.

         “It’s a beautiful part of the country,” Damian seemed lost in the moment, “so peaceful.” Cain remembered that Damian had signed them both up to give them a break from their studies.

         “Mmhmm,” Cain assented, momentarily releasing his grip from the railing before grasping hold of it again – letting go made him feel even more wobbly. They sat in silence for a few long moments, Damian’s eyes were unfocused as he stared out across the water and Cain could hear his long, slow breathing. For some reason, that made Cain feel even worse; he felt his stomach lurching up inside him and he gritted his teeth together again.

         “So,” Damian muttered, “I think this might be something I want to do more…”

         “That’s good,” Cain forced, simultaneously thinking ‘as long as you don’t make me come too’. Damian turned his head to Cain and saw him take a visible double take.

         “Cain?” His hand found Cain’s knee and squeezed. “Are you okay?” There was a split second where Cain was about to lie, but he found himself shaking his head, which he stopped quickly as that movement made him feel worse.

         “Nope,” he forced the word out. “I’m nauseous as hell.” Letting the words out seemed to break the tightness he was holding himself together with.

         “Oh…” Damian breathed. “You look grey…”

         “Yup,” Cain wrapped his arm not gripping on the railing round his stomach. “Feel it…”

         “Do you want some water?” Damian fumbled in his bag to find a bottle. “Try looking at the horizon.”

         “Been doing that,” Cain answered, sucking in air through his teeth.

         “Here,” Damian unscrewed the water bottle and held it out for Cain, “take a few sips.” Cain’s hand was trembling as he took the water and had a tentative sip. “Give me a sec…” Damian pushed himself off the bench; Cain wanted to beg him to stay, that somehow having Damian next to him made this feel less awful. He took another sip, but the water seemed to be staying in his mouth, his throat not wanting to accept anything down it. “Right…” Damian returned and sat back next to Cain. “Honestly – really honestly, are you feeling sick?”

         “Yep,” Cain said, trying not to move his lips too much.

         “Okay, well – if you think you’re going to be sick,” Damian carried on.

         “Don’t say that word,” Cain pleaded, his chest felt tight and his stomach gave an uncomfortable squeeze.

         “Okay, well if…” Damian paused, “you’ve got two options.” Cain didn’t like the sound of that, his stomach gave another squeezing lurch and he swallowed hard. “First option – you lean over the side of the boat.” Cain groaned.

         “Not an option,” Cain muttered, even the thought of being that close to the swirling, churning water made him feel any worse.

         “Okay,” Damian didn’t argue, there was no point in it, especially with how grey and clammy Cain was looking. “Option two, a bag.” Cain groaned again, he’d wished option two had been getting off the boat. “Look,” Damian put his hand on Cain’s shoulder and gently pushed him back a little, “just lean back, take some deep breaths and try to relax a bit.” Cain allowed himself to be eased back, he hadn’t even realised how hunched forward he’d been sitting. He tried to do what Damian advised; he closed his eyes, taking slow deep breaths in through his nose. He’d realised how tightly clenched all of his muscles had been as he consciously tried to relax back into the hard back of the bench. His head was swimming, every part of him being buoyed along as the waves bore the boat onwards; the cold air was whipping past his face as the boat moved through the water. The boat made a short sharp move to one side and Cain felt a burbling sensation rising from deep inside his belly.

         “Bruuualllp!” Cain’s eyes snapped open as the belch escaped past his lips, a lingering bitter acidity swirling in his mouth and his free hand shot up to his mouth as he attempted to swallow.

         “Cain?” Damian squeezed his knee again.

         “Bag…” Cain muttered thickly, his eyes wide as he looked up at Damian. “I need – a bag…”

         “Right,” Damian released his hand from Cain’s knee and began scrabbling in his pocket. “Isaac gave me these…” He unfurled some plastic bags. Cain hadn’t realised he’d let go of the railing until he was snatching a bag from Damian, his chest hurting from the effort of holding down a heave. He shook out one of the bags roughly and brought it up to his face, holding it close to avoid missing it.

         “H’kkkuuuulllk!” Cain’s eyes forced closed at the heave, and he felt the splash of liquid hit the bottom of the bag and he tightened his grip. He knew that was barely a warning shot, and with the way his stomach was lurching that there was more to come. He tried to spit the tendrils of saliva that were clinging to his lips away, but they felt fast to his mouth. “Uggh…”

         “It’s alright,” Cain could hear Damian’s voice, but it felt like it was far away as the sound of his ragged breathing was loud in his ears. He wanted to pull the bag away, cause the bitter tang of the acid was stinging at his nose, but he couldn’t – he couldn’t risk making a mess. His throat tightened and he coughed, harsh and wet, sticking at the back of his mouth and saliva dripped from his lips into the bag.

         “H’kkuuuuuuurrrrggggllleee!” The force with which the wave of vomit poured from his mouth took him by surprise, as did the bag feeling instantly heavy in his hands. From somewhere nearby he could hear cheering and faintly realised that it was because of him, but he didn’t have more than a split second to think about it. “Kk’hhhuuuurrrrggg!” Cain gasped, struggling to take a breath in.

         “God Cain…” Damian’s hand touched the back of Cain’s neck, almost holding him steady as he gulped and gasped.

         “Sorr- heeeuuurrrgggggl!” The word was cut off as another fierce wave of sick forced up his throat and out into the bag which was rapidly filling.

         “No, no,” Damian replied, “just breathe…” Cain’s breath was hitching in his chest, every deep breath seemed to illicit another wave of puke.

         “H’rrrrrgglllluuurrgh!” The bag in Cain’s hands was becoming precariously heavy now; he forced his eyes open, they were watering badly and making it difficult for him to focus. “Need – a new – bag…” He spluttered, feeling his stomach still lurching and clenching.

         “Okay, right,” Damian sounded so calm – how could he be this calm? “Let me tie this one off, I’ll get you a new one…” Damian’s hands grasped near Cain’s wrists and Cain felt the weight of the bag being taken off him.

         “Hurry – hrkk!” Cain heaved wetly, clamping his now free hand across his mouth.

         “Just take deep breaths,” Damian intoned, but he sounded a little more panicked now. “Deep breaths!” Damian was shaking out a new bag, Cain grabbed it from him, pulling it up to his mouth as another heave produced a further wave of sick.

         “Hheeuuuurrgggh!” Cain couldn’t stop it, it was like being on a rollercoaster ride that he couldn’t get off – his stomach dropping then lurching up inside him.

         “Jesus Christ!” Someone nearby cursed, but Cain was still gasping, just waiting for more.

         “Hrrrrgguulll!” There was less liquid this time; Cain had nearly emptied himself out. “Gggrruuurrgggllleee…”

         “Mate, lie him down…” A voice from above Cain’s head was saying. “Lie him on the bench – it can help.”

         “Cain? Did you hear?” Damian’s voice was low and close to Cain’s ear. “If we lie you down, it might help.”

         “Mm, no,” Cain shook his head slightly, a dry heave following and he coughed wetly. “ ‘ll make a mess…”

         “Nah mate,” the voice was coming from Isaac, “you’re empty as a gutted fish.”

         “Hrrk!” Cain retched dryly again at the mention of fish; his stomach was aching and his head felt light.

         “Cain, come on…” Damian fastened his hands around Cain’s wrists as he tried to take the bag away, but Cain redoubled his grip, shaking his head. “Trust me…” Then the tears came, he could feel them burning in his closed eyes; but he allowed Damian to take the bag from his hands. Damian’s hand gripped Cain’s shoulder and very gently lowered him down so he was lying on the bench.

         Being horizontal did help, so did the coolness of the bench against his cheek – the ache in his belly was still there, but the clenching, churning seemed to loosen. Cain realised that he was fully concentrating on breathing in and out, that was all he could focus on. It was only after a few long moments that Cain realised Damian’s fingers were carefully moving his fringe away from his face and gently stroking his cheek. It was so simple, but it meant so much.

         Before he knew it, Damian’s hand was on Cain’s arm: “Cain, come on, we’re getting off…”

         “Can’t move…” Cain mumbled.

         “Let us help,” Damian said; Cain couldn’t protest even if he wanted to. Cain felt hands gripping both of his arms, pulling him gently upright; his legs nearly gave out underneath him and if he hadn’t been supported he would have buckled. “It’s okay,” Damian intoned, half carrying Cain. “Just take little steps.”

         Cain’s legs wobbled all the way along the boardwalk, he still felt as though he was swaying, the world not solid under his feet. His stomach gave a lurch as he missed a step and he gulped in air. When he reached the solid ground of the marina, Cain leant against the wall, his knees trembling under his own weight.

         “I’ve got him from here,” Damian was telling Isaac, who Cain noted had lost the arrogance he’d first displayed and was watching Cain warily. “Thank you.” Isaac nodded, and briefly grasped Damian’s shoulder.

         Cain’s knees gave way and he crumpled, sliding down the wall into a seated position; he was taking long, slow breaths in. Damian sat next to him, placing his hand on Cain’s knee and squeezing gently. They sat for a time, and Damian didn’t remove his hand.

         “How are you feeling now?” He asked eventually.

         “Better,” Cain mumbled, then swallowed. “Embarrassed…”

         “Don’t be,” Damian’s voice was light.

         “I…” Cain’s voice was thin, his throat felt like it’d been burned. “I ruined it – for you…”

         “Cain…” Damian sighed and shook his head. “No you didn’t…” Cain swallowed again, staring intently at his own knees. “Here, have a drink.” Damian pulled a water bottle from his bag, unscrewed it and handed it across; Cain’s hand was still trembling as he took it and drunk, the cool liquid soothing on his throat. “I thought it’d get us out of the flat, just some time.”

         “Sorry…” Cain muttered again.

         “No,” Damian found Cain’s arm and gripped it tight. “I’d never have signed us up if I thought you’d get so…”

         “Seasick?” Cain offered.

         “Yeah,” Damian nodded. “I’m sorry. For putting you through that.”

         “You didn’t know!” Cain refuted. “Heck, I didn’t know…” Cain wrapped his free arm around his stomach.

         “Is your stomach still hurting?” Damian noticed the gesture.

         “Much less now I’m on solid ground,” Cain answered honestly.

         “Good,” Damian said, he looked out towards those still on the boat, tying it up and ensuring it was all secure. “I think you frightened Isaac.” Cain snorted. “Seriously, I think he thought you were going to do yourself an injury. I didn’t think you were ever gonna stop…”

         “Neither did I….” Cain mumbled; with the water he’d drunk he felt slightly better, his aching belly seemed to be calming. “I know, you just wanted something… A break.”

         “Yeah, well…” Damian shrugged.

         “You can do this if you want,” Cain told him, “I saw you enjoying it.”

         “Nah,” Damian shook his head, “I don’t think I’ve got the stomach for it.” He smiled crookedly at Cain.

         “Don’t,” Cain nudged him, but he couldn’t help but smile back.

         “As long as you’re alright,” Damian said.

         “Next time you need a break,” Cain spoke slowly. “Can we maybe just go for a pint?”

         Damian laughed: “Yeah, let’s do that.”

#emeto fiction #emeto #my ocs #Damian #Cain #sickness #motion sickness #seasick #vomiting #puke #puking #Illness kink #original character fiction #nausea

[chill-to-ill]

okay I’ve seen this done two different ways so I’m taking a poll.

When a character is coming down with the flu, do you prefer:

Scenario 1 - Character is hit with symptoms all at once. They wake up the morning fine and go about their day, only for them to be blindsided. In a few short hours their scratchy throat turns into heavy body aches and before they know it they’re struggling to return home, thoughts of bed the only thing combatting a raging fever. Or—

Scenario 2 - Character’s descent into influenza is a steady slope that never stops. They start with the telltale signs of a cold, assuming they’ll be able to push past it after a couple uncomfortable days of sniffles and malaise, but with each passing day becomes worse until they wake up one morning unable to get out of bed, wracked with coughs and sore muscles, wondering how a small cold could slip into this.

Give me your thoughts because I am……curious 👀

#illness kink #sickfic prompt #sicknario #snzblr #fever whump #whump #my personal fav is scenario one but not at all opposed to the alternative

[undercover-horn-blog]

Something so soft about being the friend that is always low-key about illness. At least when it's mild.

The friend who will come to the meet-up, who doesn't cancel. But is just sort of... there. Rosey-cheeked, a bit spacey... Sniffling quietly. The coughs are small and polite. Nose-blows are rare and super gentle. She always turns away to do it.

She doesn't deny that she's ill but she doesn't complain at all. She's just a bit more vulnerable than usually. Not as chatty. Prefers to listen. Kind of wants a cuddle but keeps her distance to keep everyone else healthy.

Blows gently onto the hot tea in her mug so the steam can loosen her congestion. Sleeves pulled down over her hands because she's chilly. Gives a tired, affectionate smile when one of her friends asks how she's holding up and says "I'm fine, don't worry."

#soooo cute in others #and makes me so happy when i get to be that cute person #snz #whump #mild whump #sickfic #sicknarios #sicknario #fever kink #illness kink #coldfucker

[dampsleeves]

Sick Forrest 🌡️ [PT 1 - Tumblr will only let me put 10 images per post </3]

#snzblr #snz #sneezeblr #snz kink #illness kink #spiiderart #oc eden & oc forrest #ocs eden and forrest my beloved <3 #THIS IS ONLY PART ONE THERE SHALL BE ACTUAL SNZ IN HERE #uploading art at 4 am is crazy 💀

[chestcongestion]

Demon-to-Demon Ch.2/5 : Ha//zbin Ho/tel

Warnings: Contagion, Vale/nti/no (he doesn't do anything, but I know some people aren't into his general...existence), and mess

Word count: 4,329

Chapter two is finished, right before I have to leave for work, funnily enough ^^, this chapter is even longer than the first, including some more setup because I love my porn with some plot, some structure. I don't know how many chapters this thing will have...I'm aiming for at least 4 or 5. Hope you enjoy!

“Hh’KZZHhshew! Hh’Tszchiiiew! HIH’TSHHEW!”  

Niffty dove to catch Alastor’s coffee mug before it hit the floor, placing it back on the end table next to the armchair that he’d slept in all night, waking up the next morning with itchier sinuses and an awful sore throat. 

“Got it! Maybe you should wait until you’re done sneezing before you drink your coffee, Alastor,” Niffty proposed. 

“Mby… snff!- My coffee would be ice cold by the…H-heh…HEH’KZZHHT! HEH’KSHIEW! Heh’KTSCHIEWW… by the time I’m done sneezing,” Alastor replied, his voice noticeably hoarse as he took a sip of his coffee. 

“That’s true,” Niffty said, wiping her hands on her dress skirt. 

Alastor held his handkerchief with both hands, loudly blowing his nose until he had to pause and catch his breath, scrubbing under his nostrils to try and fend off the building itch, “This is ludicrous,” he grumbled to himself, “How did this happen? H-huh’KSCHIEW! Hh’KZzhht!” 

“For fuck’s sake!” Husk groaned from his station behind the bar, wincing at the droplets that sprayed into the air with each unruly sneeze, “Same way it’s gonna happen to the rest of us if you don’t cover your damn mouth!” 

Alastor rolled his eyes, “You seem to have survived a direct hit to the face just fine, Husker,” he said with a knowing smile. 

Husk shuddered, thinking about the previous day and instinctively wiping his face off again, “Don’t remind me,” he said with a huff, “I hope whatever this is knocks you out again so I don’t have to hear your smart ass mouth.”  

Alastor lowered his eyelids threateningly, “Excuse mbe?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, reaching for his microphone, only to be thwarted by the scratchiness of his throat, coughing into his wrist. 

“I could get used to this,” Husk chuckled, “You bein’ too sick to threaten me.” 

Alastor- still coughing- angrily stuck up his middle finger in Husk’s direction. Eventually, the coughing fit let up and Alastor was able to take a deep breath, leaning back in his armchair and briefly shutting his eyes. 

“Morning everyone!” Charlie said with a smile upon arriving downstairs with Vaggie. 

“Mornin’,” Husk replied with a wave, taking a swig from a bottle of cognac he kept underneath the bar counter. Niffty broke her focus on sweeping the floor around the bar to give Charlie an eager wave before returning to her task. 

“Hh’ptshh! Hh’kzZHht! HNK’Tshhieww!” Alastor sneezed, wiping off the underside of his nose with his damp handkerchief, the constant friction leaving his nose irritated, twitchy, and shiny, “Pardon mbe- Snff snff!- I can’t stop… HH’KSchiiew!” 

“I was going to ask if you’re feeling any better, but I think I know the answer,” Charlie said, cautiously holding out her hand, “Can I feel your forehead?” 

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t,” Alastor muttered, staring at Charlie’s hand while he gently pushed it away with his microphone. 

“That’s fair… can I at least take your temperature with this?” Charlie asked, holding up an ear thermometer and flashing Alastor a pleading smile, “It’ll only take a second.” 

Alastor’s left eye twitched, but he relented, “If you insist… snff… make it qui-ih…IH’KSHHIEW!” he said, wrenching his eyes shut as Charlie slid the thermometer into his ear. 

The thermometer beeped, and Charlie quickly pulled it out , “Almost 102… how do you feel?” 

Alastor ignored the heat that had risen in his cheeks, answering Charlie’s inquiry with a shrug until the prickling sensation in his sinuses returned, “HNK’TSHHEW! HH’KSSHHIEW!... Messy is probably the most notable word I’d use…snf-snf!” 

“Fair enough,” Charlie replied, only to jump when Angel rushed into the parlor, draping himself over the back of the sofa, visibly out of breath, “Oh, hi Angel!” 

“Hi, yeah, G’Mornin’, watch this-” Angel said hurriedly, turning on the television in the parlor and glancing at his phone before a 666 News bulletin interrupted whatever had been playing before it. 

“Good Morning Pentagram City, I’m Katie Killjoy!” an all-too-familiar voice greeted from the other side of the screen, “Breaking news from scientists in the Doomsday district: A viral infection is sweeping its way through The Pentagram. While completely harmless, it is said to be incredibly contagious, and researchers say that they are uncertain of how long the infection lasts.” 

“Well, that explains what happened yesterday,” Charlie sighed, leaning against the arm of the sofa and reading the text on the screen, “It’s already infected 16% of the entire city? That’s almost impressive…” 

“Don’t think the virus needs your encouragement, Princess,” Husk piped up from behind the bar. 

“Sorry, force of habit,” Charlie chuckled, silently reading the list of symptoms that appeared on the screen, “Huh, these are basically just your symptoms, Alastor.” 

A silence filled the room, all present individuals shifting their gaze to Alastor, and then to each other. 

“Ohhhh,” Charlie said, finally connecting the dots, “Shit.”  

Alastor blew his nose, tucking his handkerchief away when he finished, “I should have skipped that accursed meetii-IH’Kschhiew! Hih’KShhew! HIH’KSCHIEWWW!” he said, swiping his wrist underneath his nostrils after his last explosive sneeze, wincing at how the wetness of said sneezes was beginning to make his irritated nose look shiny. 

 “It’s okay Alastor, hey, nobody else is sick yet, that’s a good sign, right?” Charlie asked. 

Alastor shrugged, taking another cautious sip of his coffee and wincing at how the harsh texture against his scratchy throat made him want to cough, “I suppose so,” he said, pushing himself out of the armchair and attempting to brush off the way he swayed on his feet, “I’m going to spend my confinement getting caught up on some correspondence… best of lu-huh…HUH’KSHHHEW! Hnk’TSHIEW!...luck, best of luck.” 

In a blink, Alastor’s armchair was empty, leaving nothing behind except an invisible radiating aura of germs that made everyone nervous about approaching it. 

“Alright, I’m heading out with Vaggie to go do some more field recruiting, have fun while I’m gone!” Charlie announced, walking out of the front doors, her left arm linked with Vaggie’s right. 

Angel checked his phone before stuffing it into his chest fluff, “I gotta bounce, today’s shoot is in two hours but makeup’s gonna take at least 30 minutes, see ya!” he said, waving goodbye to the group, shooting Husk a wink on his way out the door. 

“I’m gonna… Gonna go make another mural, yeah… found a bangin’ wall to paint on the other day, hope to fuck it’s still blank,” Cherri said, bouncing on her heels. She’d only recently exchanged her bombs for brushes, after Charlie’s recommendation of a more ‘constructive’ hobby, and it was going well as an outlet for her emotions and destructive urges. 

Once Cherri left through the front doors, Husk and Niffty were alone in the parlor. Husk breathed a sigh of relief and leaned against the bar counter, his nose twitching. 

“Niff… d-do me a solid, hm?” Husk asked, tapping his claws together as he struggled to resist rubbing his nose. 

“Okay! What is it?” Niffty asked, scrambling over to the bar and standing on the counter. 

“I-ih… I need you to h-hih… hit me in the face w-whhihhth your feather duster,” Husk pleaded in a hushed tone, fanning in front of his face as his nose twitched faster, “P-please…Hehh…h-hihhh” 

“Why?” Niffty asked, blinking innocently as she pulled her feather duster out of the loop in her skirt’s waistband. 

“I…Iihh… Hihh… H-hihh!... I gotta sndeeze…snf!” Husk muttered, “It’s st-huhh…Huhh!- stuck.” 

“Ohhhh! Okay!” Niffty said, smacking Husk on both sides of his face with her feather duster, before brushing it up against Husk’s twitchy, sensitive nose, dust clinging to his sinuses with each desperate inhale. 

“H-HUHH’KSCHOO! HUH’KSCHOO! Huh’KSCHUHHH!!” 

Niffty blinked, watching Husk’s violent sneezing fit practically double him over, his fur standing on its end and a slight trickle of moisture beginning to leak from his perfect feline jellybean of a nose. 

“Mmbh…SnFFF!...guhh,” Husk groaned, running the back of his hand under his nostrils with a damp sniffle, his typical alcohol-induced flush shifting from grey to pink, “Fuck I ndeeded that…SNrkk!” 

“I thought you’d sneeze cuter,” Niffty huffed, flicking another puff of dust from her feather duster into Husk’s face with a pout. 

“hHRR’KSCHUHHH! Hhn’KSCHEWWW! HNK’SCHUHHH! H-hUH’KSSHHOO!...SnRKK!...Snff-snff!” Husk sneezed again, his eyes growing irritated and his eyelids getting puffy, the patch of skin above his nose turning an itchy pink as he scrubbed it with the heel of his palm, “Shit, Ndiffty, quit it…snffff!”

“You sneeze like an old man,” Niffty teased, giggling as she held out her feather duster again, only for Husk to grab hold of it and gently push it away, “Awww…no fun!” 

“News flash, I amb an old man…snff! Shit…” Husk grumbled, grabbing a paper towel from the roll behind the bar and noisily blowing his nose, tossing the soiled paper into the trash and attempting to wipe the congestion-induced moisture out of his lower eyelids. 

“You’re good at hiding,” Niffty said with a smile, “I almost didn’t notice you were sick… I don’t think anyone else did at all.” 

“How the hell did you notice?” Husk asked, raising a fluffy eyebrow. 

“You kept pinching your nose, rubbin’ it and pushing up on it… you tried passin’ it off like you were just grooming your face, but I know you,” Niffty whispered, poking Husk’s nose, “You use the other hand for that.” 

“Well ain’t you a clever bug,” Husk scoffed, shooting Niffty a warm smile, “This stays between us until I get shittier at hiding, got it?” 

“You may ndeed to expand your definition of ‘us’,” 

Husk felt his heart jump into his throat, and lunged forward out of panic, nearly slamming his head against the counter, “HHK’SSCHHHUHH! Shit!” he exclaimed, letting out a hoarse cough, “I dunno what to be angrier about, you gettin’ me sick by sneezin’ in my face or you being a nosy fuckin’ creep!” 

“Why not both?” Alastor chuckled, his laughter taking on a wheezy undertone and threatening to turn into a cough until he suffocated it with a harsh swallow, “I’m almost impressed, you’re better at keeping up appearances than me… I suppose after all our years together I’m rubbing off on you.” 

Husk dodged Alastor’s attempt to pet him between his ears, snarling at his boss with an unamused glare, “Don’t you have letters to write or some shit?” he hissed, the plumage on his tail fluffing up as he flattened his ears in frustration. 

“Oh, I have all the time in the world to finish mby letters, eavesdropping is mbuch more fun- snFf!” Alastor replied, pulling out his handkerchief and blowing his nose, rolling his eyes at the heavy rumble of congestion in his sinuses, “Uch…snff!... disgusting.” 

“Tell me about it,” Husk grumbled, staring at Alastor’s flannel pajamas and shooting him a teasing smile, “You look ridiculous.” 

Alastor smacked Husk in the back of the head with his microphone, “I will not take pot shots from someone who looks like they use a giant litter box,” he said through clenched teeth, feeling a familiar tickle in his sinuses when Husk poked his nose, “H-hihh…Hih… HIH’Tshhiew! Hihh’TShhhewww! HIh’TSsHiew!” 

“I could get used to you havin’ an off switch,” Husk said with a smirk. 

Alastor sniffled, wrinkling his nose and wiping around his nostrils with his handkerchief, annoyed with how often he had to pull it out and tuck it away in his pockets again, “You… I…” Alastor blinked, swaying a bit on his feet and steadying himself by pressing his palms against the counter, “I completely forgot what I was going to say…” 

Husk noticed the beads of sweat trickling down from Alastor’s hairline, the glassy quality of his eyes, and the sudden uptick in effort he was putting into breathing. If those weren’t enough to signal that their playful banter was over, twenty seconds later Alastor silently lowered himself to the floor, stretching out on his back and covering his eyes with both hands, still smiling, but noticeably drained. 

“I am going to lie here… until everything stops spinning,” Alastor said breathlessly, holding a hand over his mouth to cover a violent cough, the crackle of congestion audible in his lungs, “Euch…” 

Husk’s ear twitched, and he quietly joined Alastor on the floor, curling up next to Alastor’s reclined form and purring, in spite of the fact that purring aggravated his runny nose.

Niffty resolved to leave the two alone, hurrying away from the bar to finish her daily cleaning checklist, completely oblivious when a message on Husk’s phone popped up from Angel. 

[Might be back earlier than I thought… today’s shoot’s goin’ weird] 

Across the pentagram, in Valentino’s porn studio, Angel found himself on his hands and knees, filming B-roll material for the studio’s current work in progress. The floodlights had been turned off, and the air conditioning in the studio was cranked, making the filming space so cold that Angel could practically see his own breath. 

“He’s shakin’ too much, the DP can’t get the camera to focus,” Travis whispered. 

“Angel, baby, the more you shake, the longer you have to stay like that until we get a good shot of your pretty little ass,” Valentino crooned, blowing a plume of smoke into the air and fanning himself off with a copy of the script, “What’s the matter? You nervous? Need something to calm you down?” 

“I’m n-not nervous,” Angel retorted, running the back of his hand under his nostrils, “I’m cold… snff!... it’s freezin’ in here.” 

Valentino groaned, massaging his temples and snapping his fingers at two members of the film crew, “Turn the lights back on,” he said, unbuttoning his shirt and peeling it off, his pectorals and abdomen slick with sweat, “Fuck, I’m gonna melt, why is it so hot in here?!” 

Angel’s shivering subsided slightly with the heat from the large floodlights returning, and he managed to hold his position long enough for the camera to capture what it needed to capture. 

“Okay Angie, roll onto your back and open your legs,” Valentino instructed, wincing at the bright lights, which were beginning to give him a headache. 

Angel rolled onto his back, spreading his legs open, “Hhh… Val… I uhb… Uh..Huhh…-” he attempted to ask for a moment to pause, his breath beginning to hitch, the tickle that seemed to randomly appear in his sinuses building to a quiet crescendo- 

“Hih’kshuu! Ih’kshuu! Ih…h-ihhh… ‘Kshuu!” Valentino’s squeaky, quiet sneezes caught Angel off guard, so much so that he forgot about his own need to sneeze, “I-IHH’KShuu!” 

Angel sat up, leaning forward and hugging his knees as he watched Valentino pluck a handful of tissues from a box next to his chair, holding them up to his face as Angel’s breath hitched again, “Huh…h-ihh…Hihh-” 

“Ihh’pshuu! Ihh’KSHUU! Hih’kshuu! ‘Kshuu! ‘KShhiew!” Valentino sneezed, throwing his damp tissues into a small trashcan that he typically reserved for dumping out his ash trays, “Fuck! I can’t s-stop sne-eezi’g- IHH’KSHUU!” 

Angel frowned, frustrated that his shithead boss seemed to be snatching his own sneezes out from under him. He swallowed, wincing at a dull soreness in the back of his throat, and basked in the warmth of the floodlights while Valentino emptied his sinuses into another handful of tissues. 

“Where were we?” Valentino asked Travis, who shrugged, “Dammit… snff… I can’t fucking focus with this itching!” 

Angel stared intently, watching his boss scrub desperately at his nostrils with the heel of his palm, his cool-toned skin looking hypersensitive and blotchy. 

Eventually, Valentino gave up, flopping back in his chair and motioning for Angel to approach, “Angieee, c’mere baby…snff!” he beckoned. 

Angel rolled his eyes while Valentino wasn’t looking, and slid off of the bed, sprawling out at his boss’s feet and looking up at him from between his long legs, “Yes, Val?” he asked, his sore throat giving his voice a husky overtone that made him feel sexier, even if it was slightly painful. 

Valentino paused as a shiver ran through his body, making him practically vibrate as more sweat trickled down his face, the previously sexual look in his eyes melted into something more vulnerable and subdued, almost frightened. 

“Uhm… n-nevermind,” he mumbled, massaging his temples and jumping when another shiver ran up his spine, “Fuck… now I’m cold.” 

Angel blinked, feeling heat radiating from Valentino’s body in a manner indistinguishable from the sensation of hovering your hand over a curling iron.

Not particularly concerned about the man keeping him on a choke chain, Angel did see how the current circumstances could get him off the clock earlier than expected, “Val, I think you’ve got a fever,” he said, laying on the faux-concern as thick as possible, cupping Valentino’s warm face with both hands. 

Valentino’s antennae fluttered at the soothing touch, leaning into it, “Really?” he asked, his tired eyes briefly closing as Angel stroked his cheeks. 

“Yeah…” Angel replied, pressing the back of his hand to Valentino’s forehead, feeling a noticeable warmth, but nothing particularly extreme,“You’re burnin’ up… poor baby.” 

Valentino seemed to wilt in his chair, snapping his fingers at the film crew to turn the floodlights back off and getting up from his seat, struggling to stand on his own two feet, “Okay, yeah, we’re done here… I feel like shit…IHh’kshuu! H-hih’kshuu!” he muttered, “Everyone out, I’ll let you know when we’re picking back up with the schedule.” 

Angel nodded, tugging on his shorts and jacket, “Bye Val, hope you feel better,” he said, waving goodbye and rushing out of the studio before Valentino could change his mind. 

“Bye Angiehh- IHH’KSHUU! ‘Kshuu! ‘Kshhieew!- Fuck! I’b gonna kill Velvette for getti’g mbe sick- IH’KSHIIEW!” Valentino hissed. 

Angel sprinted out of the Vees’ media tower, panting to catch his breath upon reaching the bottom, coughing into his arm when his ragged breaths caught in his scratchy throat, “Phew… made it,” he sighed to himself, finger-combing his fluffy hair to neaten it out. 

On his walk back to the hotel, it dawned on Angel that the streets seemed less crowded than usual, there were still people out and about, but it wasn’t the jam-packed squeeze it normally was… not by a long shot.  

“Wonder where everybody is,” Angel pondered out loud, scoffing at his hoarse voice. 

Suddenly, the familiar prickle that had built up in Angel’s sinuses while he was working returned in full force, with nothing distracting him, it built, and built, and built until Angel stopped in his tracks, fanning in front of his face and pawing around on his person for a tissue. 

“Hahh…H-hahh…Ah…!!” 

Angel sniffled faintly, trying to fight the urge to sneeze and failing miserably, by the time he got his hands on something he even thought was a tissue, it was too late. 

“Ah’tshhheww! Hah’tshew! HAH’KTSHIEW! A-ahh’KSHIEW!! ‘KSHIEWW!” Angel sneezed, polishing off his fit with a damp sniffle, thanking fate that no one was around to see the dense mist of droplets he’d just sprayed into the air, “Fuck mbe…snff! That’s probably where everybody else is… somewhere sneezin’ their heads off…AH’KSHHEW!” 

Angel winced, blowing his “nose” into the single tissue he found in a nearly-empty travel packet in his back pocket, tossing the soggy paper into a nearby trash can. Each spraying sneeze seemed hell-bent on scraping at his already-raw throat, swallowing growing more and more painful with every sneeze. 

An hour passed, and Angel walked through the hotel’s front doors with an exhausted expression painted onto his face, struggling to sniffle enough to keep the constant trickle of moisture at bay, his “nose” reddened from the constant rubbing. 

“Back early!” Angel announced, gently resting a hand on his throat and swallowing, frustrated that the husky, almost tattered quality of his voice had only managed to get worse on his walk home. 

“You’re back from a shoot in a good mood?” Husk asked incredulously from his position behind the bar, pouring a shot of whiskey into two mugs of steaming liquid, “Did your boss fall out the window?” 

“Fuck, I wish- snff!- he’s sick with whatever’s been goin’ around,” Angel explained, pausing to clear his throat, “Sorry… but it was ridiculous, he had the AC cranked up and the lights off cause he was too hot… snff-snff! I swear I could see my breath in there it was so cold.” 

Husk chuckled, “Don’t think keepin’ a porn studio ice cold is the best idea,” he said, carefully swiping underneath his nose when Angel wasn’t paying attention, “What’d he have you doin’ today? Normally your voice ain’t this wrecked without givin’ some giant head for an hour.” 

“Actually, I didn’t even have to do anythin’ today, they were just gettin’ B-roll shots of my body by myself… it was kinda nice,” Angel paused, “Mby…snff…sorry… mby throat’s just sore, it’s kinda pissin’ me off cause I feel like I’m losin’ my voice.” 

Husk’s ear twitched, and he silently pushed one of the steaming mugs over to Angel, “This should help at least,” he said with a kind smile, both ears twitching when his fingers brushed up against Angel’s. 

The two demons took a sip of the hot substance in their mugs, and then another, before setting their drinks down. Angel licked his lips at the taste of black tea, honey, and whiskey, a blend of flavors that reminded him of his brief stint lounge singing back on Earth. 

“This is good, thanks,” Angel said, taking another sip and sighing at the warm liquid soothing his scratchy throat on the way down. 

“Don’t mention it, glad the pain wasn’t caused by someone else’s dick for once,” Husk laughed, clenching his teeth to stifle the cough that was building in his chest, and taking another swallow of his drink. 

The plumes of steam blooming from Husk and Angel’s mugs reached up to their faces and wafted into their sinuses, the steam loosening up the congestion they’d built up from hours of sniffling. 

“H’RrSCHUHHH! Hh’TSCHUHHH! Hnk’TSHOOO! hNk’SHEWWW,” Husk sneezed, hurriedly hiding the mess of congestion behind a handful of paper towels, noisily blowing his nose and trying not to wince at the abrasive paper towel rubbing his sensitive little jellybean raw. 

“Ah’KShew! Ah’kShiiew! Hah’kchew! Hnk’Chiew! Ah’KShhhew!” Angel sneezed, running the back of his wrist under his nostrils and wincing at the mess he’d made of his gloves by swiping at his “nose”.  

“Well, at least I don’t have to  hold ‘em in anymore,” Husk sighed, noisily blowing his nose and tossing the bundle of soiled paper towels in the trash, before turning to address Angel, “You too?” 

“Mmhm,” Angel replied, wiping tears from his watery eyes, “I don’t even know who I caught it fromb- A-ahh’KSHEW!- either Val… or Velvette, or Smiles… where is he, anyway?” 

Husk gestured toward the armchair in the parlor with his head, where Alastor was curled up, half asleep, staring at the television with glassy eyes, “The fever’s kickin’ his ass, watch this- Alastor!” he called out. 

“Hm?” Alastor replied, turning to face Husk. 

“How many fingers am I holdin’ up?” Husk asked, sticking up his middle finger at Alastor, who could barely register shapes in his current state. 

“Uhmb…Hnk’Shhiew!... three?” Alastor replied, squinting at Husk’s hand from the negligible distance between the parlor and the bar. 

Husk snickered, “Yup, three,” he lied, turning back to face Angel, “He doesn’t even know where he is right now.” 

“Oh shit, that’s gonna be us,” Angel sighed, polishing off the last of his drink and clearing his throat, “I already feel a little woozy… I’mb gonna go change outta this, you comin’?” 

“Comin’ to change into mby pajamas, or comin’ to watch you change?” Husk inquired. 

“Both?” Angel offered, scratching behind Husk’s left ear. 

“Both it is,” Husk replied.  

Thirty minutes later, Husk and Angel emerged from Angel’s room, both looking noticeably more tired than when they vanished upstairs, and collapsed onto the sofa next to Alastor’s armchair. Husk positioned himself so that his head was nestled underneath Angel’s chest fluff, and Angel shuffled in place so that Husk was right between both of his legs, the large cat’s fever-heightened body heat keeping Angel from shivering. 

“I feel hot,” Husk grumbled, running a hand under his nose and wishing he had a box of tissues. 

“I feel cold,” Angel whimpered, hugging Husk closer to him in an attempt to fight back against his building chills, “a-AH’kSHEW!...’kSHeww! ‘Ksheww!” 

“I mbiss phonographs… snrkk!... It was always so interesti’g to watch themb spin,” Alastor rambled feverishly, his nose twitching, “Hnk’TSHhiew! HNK’TSHHEW!” 

Niffty draped a blanket over Angel and Husk, and wiped down Alastor’s forehead with a damp washcloth, before returning to her flurry of cleaning tasks, humming peacefully to herself while the three pitifully sick demons stared at the television. 

Eventually, Charlie and Vaggie returned from their work outside the hotel, “Guys, we’re back!” Charlie called out, “Cherri texted me saying that she’d be back tomorrow, she’s scouting out another mural space right now, but I wonder if Angel’s back from his shoot yet.” 

Niffty tugged on Charlie’s pant leg, “Look,” she whispered, gesturing toward the parlor, where Husk and Angel were snoring against one another, and Alastor- while awake- was feverishly rambling to himself. 

“Oh no,” Charlie sighed, “At least they look comfortable… the news wasn’t lying about this thing being contagious.” 

“Yeah, maybe we should be a bit more cautious around them and their germs before anyone else gets sick,” Vaggie proposed, inching away from the germy haze in the parlor, with her hands behind her back. 

“Ihh’pshuu! Ih’pshuu! H-hihh’kshew!” 

Charlie and Vaggie winced at the sound of Niffty sneezing from the other room. 

“I’ll go get her,” Vaggie said, “Whatever this is, let’s cross our fingers it doesn’t get any worse.” 

“Yeah… fingers crossed,” Charlie echoed, crossing her fingers while staring at her sick friends with wary concern, their congested snoring occasionally broken up by a hoarse cough from Angel, “Feel better, guys.” 

When Charlie walked away, Alastor drowsily looked up, following her with his eyes until she left the room, mouthing a delirious ‘Thank you’ in her direction before leaning back in his armchair and falling asleep. 

#snz #snz fic #snz kink #illness kink #gingey.rtf #ha/zb/in ho/tel

[shion-yu]

Suddenly remembered the under the influence thought I had last night that almost killed me - A doctor whumper who legally orders bacteria/virus with his license to infect his unsuspecting whumper lover with repeated illnesses, happily taking care of them and getting the credit for being the most wonderful partner ever.

#someone roleplay this with me #sicknario #fever kink #fever whump #illness kink #whump #tw: mental health #TW: medical abuse #tw: abuse #medical whump #whump scenario #whump prompt

[iwritesickfic]

An Unmissable Night

New fic! warnings for emeto

Seamus can already hear tomorrow’s blind items - “infamously awful popstar is noticeably absent from his all-too-forgiving boyfriend’s birthday soiree. is their relationship on the rocks? again?!”

He knows why Theo’s not here, and he knows it’s not because their relationship is on the rocks. Theo’s been sick as a dog for the past two days, and there was no way in hell Seamus was going to wake him up to get to his birthday party.

So Seamus is here alone. Not really, all his friends will be here soon, but he still feels like he’s here alone. If so many people hadn’t already been invited he would’ve just cancelled, but it’s way too late for that. He’d so much rather be at home with Theo, puking or otherwise. Pretty much anywhere he is, he'd almost always rather be with Theo.

They’re at a small but incredibly extravagant spot downtown, with maroon velvet curtains and low lights and a mahogany bar. The crowd has only just begun to arrive, and though he said no gifts, a pile of them are accumulating by the entryway.

As he’s grabbing another drink, he hears more than the average chatter from the door. He turns to see Theo, looking incredible in one of Seamus’s cream fisherman sweaters. It’s cuffed at the sleeves so it doesn’t fall over his hands. He’s talking with the bouncer (and a few of the other guests) as he’s taking off his coat, and Seamus almost thinks he’s made a miraculous recovery.

He knows better than to assume Theo showing up means that, though. Then Theo catches sight of him, beaming. Seamus smiles back, and then Theo’s making his way over to him.

“Happy birthday!” he says, and kisses Seamus’s cheek. He clasps his hands loosely behind Seamus’s back, so his arms are around his waist before kissing him again, this time on the lips. Seamus leans back against the bar top, letting himself enjoy this for a moment before making himself acknowledge how feverish Theo feels against him. He lays his palm on his cheek, and sure enough, he’s burning. Still, he’s so happy to see him he can’t quite wipe the smile off his face.

“Feeling better?” he asks, still half hopeful, and Theo snorts.

“No, absolutely not. But I’m fine. Tylenol, Pepto, whatever. You look so goddamn beautiful.” He’s smiling like he’s being completely sincere. Seamus sighs, cupping his hot cheeks.

“Thank you Teddy, but there’s a reason I didn’t wake you up. You should be in bed. Seriously.” He tries to keep his tone admonishing, but it's hard when Theo is between his legs and has him pinned to a bar. And is calling him ‘so goddamn beautiful.’

He tightens his arms around Seamus’s waist, grinning like a devil.

“And miss your birthday?” He asks, and it’s clear he’s putting every ounce of seduction he can into that one sentence.

“Yes. And miss my birthday. You’re…” He tucks some of Theo’s hair behind his ear. “You’re really burning up.”

Theo tucks his face against Seamus’s neck as Seamus wraps his arms around him. They stay that way for a while, and eventually Seamus finds they’re ever so slightly rocking from side to side.

“I don’t think the tylenol is working,” Seamus finally says as they pull apart. His voice is still low. Theo sighs, closing his eyes.

“That would make sense. I threw up like…almost immediately after.”

“Oh, baby…” Seamus is back to stroking his hair. Theo relaxes into his touch for a moment before straightening back up.

“Look, I’m fine. I’m not missing this.”

“Yeah, because it's gonna be such an unmissable night,” he says, even though he knows that's not what Theo means. “I don’t care what people are gonna say,” he finally whispers and Theo’s brow furrows.

“What?”

“If you’re not here.”

Theo’s brows shoot up.

“Oh. I didn’t even think about that.” He pauses, he looks around the room.

“Then… Why do you wanna stay so bad?” This all makes even less sense knowing that the idea has just occurred to Theo. His face softens, almost hurt.

“Because it’s your birthday,” he says, voice quiet. Seamus's chest immediately aches. Part of him feels terrible for assuming it was Theo’s desire for good PR that drove him here, another is guilty for his stupid birthday being the reason Theo’s not in bed where he should be. Instead he's here, burning up a fever, swaying in Seamus's arms. “You don't want me here?” Theo asks, and Seamus cups his cheek.

“Oh my god, of course! Jesus Christ, of course I want you here, Theo. You're just-” he cuts himself off, tucking a bit of hair behind Theo’s ear. The fever heat pouring off him is astonishing. “You're so sick, baby.”

Theo lets out a shuddering sigh and, again, turns his face into Seamus’s touch.

“Don't make me leave, Shay. I wanna stay,” he murmurs, his big brown eyes pleading in the way Seamus can never resist. The hint of a smile has returned, like he knows how irresistible he's being. It doesn't help that Seamus’s thumbs have found their way under his sweater, to the hollows of his hips. Seamus sighs and looks up at the ceiling, as if the strength he needs to send him away is up there somewhere.

Before he can reply, a voice cuts in.

“Sorry to interrupt the love birds but I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday!” It's Elise, one of the assistant engineers from the studio, and Seamus (very reluctantly) breaks away from Theo to return her hug. As they start to talk, Theo catches Seamus’s eye, raising his eyebrows. After a moment, Seamus nods back, and Theo smiles before going off to talk to another of their mutual friends.

Over the next half hour the crowd grows, and Seamus makes his rounds. It feels like an eternity before he finally spots Theo on one of the maroon velvet tufted couches, laughing with a group of a few other people. When he spots Seamus he beams.

“Hey!” he says, resting his hand on Seamus's thigh as he sits down beside him. Seamus's stomach tightens as he feels the fever heat from Theo’s palm. Seamus kisses his cheek.

“Hey, love.”

As the conversation picks back up, he's almost able to forget what's going on, just able to enjoy the company. God, his boyfriend is so funny. God, he's so charming.

Then Theo’s fingers stiffen where they rest on Seamus's leg, and all of that ease disappears. He turns to him, looking very pale, and all of Seamus’s attention snaps to his face.

“I'm gonna go get a drink,” he says, and Seamus can hear the breathless nausea in his voice. “Do you want anything?”

“No, no, I'm ok. Are you -” He takes Theo’s hand as he stands up, shaking his head.

“Be right back,” he says, and disappears back through the crowd before Seamus has a chance to ask him anything else.

Seamus tries to fall back into the flow of conversation, but he can't quite relax.

“Where's Theo? It's been like, 20 minutes or something,” one of his friends finally remarks, and someone else shrugs.

“Bar’s probably super backed up.”

“20 minutes backed up?”

“Know what? I'm gonna go grab something, I'll find him,” Seamus says, standing up and making a beeline for the bar. It's moderately busy, but Theo is nowhere to be seen. Seamus starts to make his way to the bathroom, and when he tries the handle, he finds it's locked. He knocks.

“Sorry, I'm - Someone's in here,” he hears Theo’s voice say, muffled through the door.

“It's me,” Seamus says, and it takes a few moments for the lock to click. He slips inside quickly, only to see Theo bent over the sink, his sweater rolled up to his elbows, flushed and trembling.

“Hey,” he murmurs waveringly.

“Hey, love,” Seamus says. He doesn't need to ask what happened, he already knows. And Theo knows he knows. So instead, he starts to comb his fingers through Theo’s hair, removing the hair tie that's already begun to fall out. He takes his time gathering his hair into as neat a bun as he can while Theo breathes slowly and deliberately. He rests his palm on Theo’s back when he's done. His fever is raging, his whole body shaking.

“So…” Theo swallows thickly, finally pushing himself upright. “So should I go out first, or you? Or at the same time?”

“Same time I think,” Seamus says, and Theo raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah?”

“Why not? Oh god forbid someone think you gave me head on my birthday.”

Theo laughs, sniffling.

“Yeah, I guess you're right.”

“You ready?”

Theo nods, even though his expression says that he's the opposite of ready. They leave together, back out into the party, and Seamus wraps his arm around Theo’s waist, pressing a kiss to his sweaty temple.

“You wanna go sit back down? Or you wanna come with me to the bar?”

“With you.”

They make their way through the crowd, and the bartender is immediately in front of them as soon as they approach, despite the bar being completely crowded.

“Hey, um, do you have anything with, like, ginger in it?” he asks, and the bartender blinks.

“A Moscow mule?” She asks, verging on condescension.

“No, no I mean… Ginger beer? Or grated ginger or something? No alcohol.”

“Well I can make you a virgin Moscow if you want?” She asks, and Seamus nods.

“Perfect. Two of those.”

She goes back down to the other end of the bar to make the drinks, and Seamus turns to Theo. He just stands beside him, breath shaky and intentionally slow.

“I can't wait to give you your present when we get home,” he says, his voice still wobbly. He's forcing himself to smile, and Seamus smiles back.

“I don't know if you're in any state to give me what I really want,” he whispers back and Theo laughs softly, a genuine smile growing now, and presses himself closer. He bites his lip and leans in.

“I thought you like when I gag on it,” he whispers, and it's so filthy and unexpected that Seamus bursts out laughing at full volume, turning a few heads. He quickly tries to compose himself.

“You are fucking disgusting,” he whispers back, his cheeks aching from how hard he's smiling.

“You can't set me up,” he says, and leans in closer, pressing a soft, open mouthed kiss to Seamus’s throat.

The bartender sets down the two copper mugs in front of them wordlessly before walking away and Seamus feels his face flush as he picks them up.

“Thanks,” he calls to her, and Theo laughs again against his skin. Before he can return to their rapidly escalating banter the lights dim, and he hears Happy Birthday begin in about 7 different keys.

Then Theo is singing too, and the crowd parts as someone wheels forth a gigantic birthday cake with about a thousand candles.

He doesn't have to fake his smile as the song finishes. As he blows out the candles the room cheers, and the lights come back up.

He's relieved the only real event of the night is over, because now he's free to leave whenever he wants. And judging by Theo’s fever that's going to be sooner than later.

A server is cutting and passing out cake, and Seamus rubs Theo's back gently. He's holding his mug with both hands, taking tiny sips, his chin quivering.

Seamus gives him a look, and Theo seems to understand because he nods back, his mouth in a tight line.

“I'm gonna go start saying bye, maybe you can go get some air?” He asks, and Theo nods again, eyes closing as he swallows thickly. He gives him a peck on the cheek before making his way back through the crowd.

It's about 15 minutes before he finally makes it back to the front door where Theo is. He's in his coat, leaning against the wall with his eyes screwed shut, cheeks flushed red. It only takes Seamus's thumb brushing his jaw for him to open his eyes.

“Ready?” Seamus asks, and Theo nods, eyes half lidded. Seamus takes his sweaty palm and they walk outside only to be met by the flash of about a dozen cameras and shouted questions.

He hears Theo take in a sharp breath, and he squeezes his hand.

Just before they make it to the car Theo stops short. Seamus is just turning back to see what's the matter when Theo doubles over and vomits into the gutter. The sound of the camera shutters doubles, and Seamus feels awful about it but he practically drags Theo into the car despite him clearly not being finished. The last thing Theo needs are tabloids writing about how he left a bar “hammered” when his sobriety is already a constant topic of speculation.

When they’re safely inside, the driver is prepared with a bag. Seamus just rests his hand between Theo’s shoulder blades not saying a word. The car pulls away, and the flashes of cameras and muffled questions slowly fade as Theo heaves.

When he's finally done they’re on the Manhattan Bridge, and he leans back, still shaking.

“I'm so sorry,” he breathes, and Seamus frowns.

“No, no, no. Stop it. Nothing to be sorry for,” he says as Theo wipes his mouth.

“You're too nice. I'm such a fucking idiot for coming out tonight, I feel like I'm gonna die,” he whimpers, and Seamus kisses his fiery temple.

Theo's arms are wrapped around his stomach, his shoulders tense.

“I'm not going to not be nice. But, yeah,” he teases gently. Theo's head leans down to rest on his shoulder.

“You're supposed to argue and say I'm not an idiot,” he murmurs back. The car goes over a bump and he moans.

“Well I'm not going to lie either,” he says, before pressing another kiss to Theo’s damp hairline.

“I'm gonna make it up to you. With your present,” he mumbles.

“That's alright, it can wait.”

#my writing #sickfic #whump #illness kink #emeto #oc theo #oc seamus #sorry for the formatting #no idea how to do anything on mobile rip

[heyitsmemel]

I'm just... losing my mind over the thought of someone coming from a wealthy or refined background who has had perfect etiquette and decorum drilled into them that they can't drop it even if they tried. Someone who looks and acts so incredibly proper and put together, the type of person who always says sorry or excuse me after coughing or sneezing.... coming undone with a terrible cold or flu. They feel so horribly sick they don't even have the energy to excuse themselves. Their LACK of their otherwise perfect manners is a sign to their friends or partner that something is seriously wrong with them and that they are down BAD.

#snzblr #snzfucker #snz blog #illness kink #snz thoughts #snzario #this is literally my OC in a nutshell #i love torturing this type of character #like being so ill that you lose your otherwise perfectly intact manners #really does something to me #like oh? you feel so bad you can't even excuse yourself? Pathetic.