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danafeelingsick · 1 year

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ɴᴏᴠᴇᴍᴇᴛᴏʙᴇʀ 2022

@monthofsick

ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛ ʟɪsᴛ | AO3 ᴄᴏʟʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ | ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

ᴀʟᴛ 1: Feverish

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2,2k~

Hihi! This could be a feverish prompt, or just for u to imagine. A is miserably sick and feverish in bed (could be shirtless, platonically), and hugging B is the only thing that makes A's body feel better. Ofc this is uncomfortable for B.

requested @justtopostmyfic-blog read the whole request here!

ᴀ/ɴ hey, sorry this took me a little longer. i didn't know when to post it, and well... i was very busy. but i loved this prompt so much, and honestly i forgot how nice it feels to write A and B as characters. it's just no context, but i know all the context i meant to put in this, so it's fun to imagine. i wrote this on a single cup of coffee, so yeah... 🔥

TW EMETO

B was drifting in and out of sleep as they stayed in bed, their neck stiff from laying flat on their back, the sight of their bedroom ceiling coming into focus.

They weren't sure what had woken them up, but the feeling of A's face pressed against their chest, their arms firmly wrapped around their waist as if they were a giant teddy bear, was an instant reminder. A's hot breath brushed over B's skin, and they couldn't help but compare the feeling to a blow dryer being turned on and off constantly.

A was burning up. No, that was underestimating it. A could've been described as burning up last night, when B stayed until the early hours of the morning, changing cold presses and bed sheets. Now, B was certain A was melting over their abdomen, a puddle gathered under A's cheek, sweat rolling off their nose and dripping on B's chest.

At least, they had finally managed to sleep. Even if it took lining the mattress with towels and leaving a sick bucket by the foot of the bed for easy access, A finally trusted that they could sleep, or try to.

The unnatural heat practically poured out of A's pinkish skin rendering both of their shirts soaked in no time, so they just decided to go without them. Neither had a problem with it, A was too feverish to care about anything, and for all B knew, it would make the laundry inevitably easier.

A tightened their grip around B's waist, the way they were shivering becoming more noticeable as B virtually felt A's muscles tense and tremble painfully. They shuffled slightly, a faint whimper dying in their throat as they buried their head into B's chest, gripping their side.

It pained them to see it, but that was the most peaceful rest A had gotten all week. They were sure, between wasting away on the cold bathroom tile, and sharing their fever with B as they slept, A had picked the latter because they didn't want to be left alone.

B kept their eyes on their sick friend for a moment longer, watching as they breathed in and out, the intervals between each drag becoming shorter. Slowly, without moving too briskly, B reached out and pulled a towel out of the backrest. Gently they patted A's forehead, holding their hand almost weightless so as not to disturb their sleep.

As they pulled back, A let out another struggling moan, but their voice barely came through, almost as if they were protesting the towel being gone. B couldn't blame them, from what they could feel, A was being cooked alive from the inside.

”Shh… it's okay”, B mouthed, gently running their fingers through A's matted hair.

As much as they wished this would've made A magically better, it didn't, their whimpers only seemed to grow needier, pained. They clung to B as if they were a lifesaver, inevitably pressing their belly to B's side as they hugged them, no signs of wanting to let go even if it earned deeper groans out of them. B could almost feel A's stomach tying itself into a knot, constantly tossing around the little B had managed to keep down from the night before.

It took a lot of convincing for A to even try the soup B had made, but once they had a taste, there wasn't any more resistance. Mercifully enough, A wasn't quick to nausea, they were able to keep most things down when they were sick.

What broke them, of course, was high fevers just like these. It made them into a walking furnace, or more accurately into a volcano. B had watched them disgorge a whole pressure cooker's worth of bright orange carrot soup onto the toilet, barely awake throughout the process. It was mercy, however, B held them close as they vomited, shivering so violently they were afraid A could break into a seizure.

Now, with barely more than a cup of tea and a salad sandwich on top of a few gulps of water churning inside their stomach, A was whimpering in their sleep, constantly mouthing something not even they could hear.

B was doing all they could to ease them into a peaceful rest, but A was struggling against the sudden tight feeling gripping their innards. A curled into B's chest as an unbearable cramp wrecked their small frame, ripping out pained sobs.

B tried to move them as gently as possible, A had to wake up, but they wouldn't budge. Their nails dug into B's side, and their chest heaved against them, trying to suppress the swirling nausea leaving them in complete confusion.

One of A's dazed sobs morphed into a harsh audible gag in the back of their throat, prompting them to unconsciously clench their stomach, trying to prevent what was about to happen. It might've only made things worse because when their chest inevitably heaved, – their shoulders jumping, a wet belch traveling fast up their esophagus –, B couldn't react in time.

A's mouth flooded within a second, the strength of their abdominal muscles completely dispersed as their stomach lunged, sending its contents gurgling up their throat. A parted their lips weakly, their eyes still shut, but to no avail as thick vomit burst out of their nostrils while more of that bright orangish soup-like slurry spread over B's chest in a violent surge. It even sprayed past them, landing on the edge of the bed as heavy lumps slithered to the floor.

For a moment B was frozen in place, their body as stiff as a corpse as the situation came to them in layers. A's disgustingly hot vomit was seeping into their bare abdomen, a sludgy mixture heavily detailed with undigested food chunks, leaving slimy trails as they went down the side of their body, pooling under them. They wouldn't think it would burn, but it was much hotter than how A felt, steaming like molten lava, burning a hole through B and the bed.

They couldn't move. Disgust sent paralyzing shudders up and down their arms, locking them in place. B wasn't squeamish, not usually, they were vomited on them before, by a multitude of friends, but it had never been this… graphic. It was A's chest incessantly heaving that snapped them back. They were struggling to breathe, choked gurgles trying to make it through their throat.

“Wake up A!” they start calling, frantically, shaking their shoulders like they were trying to resuscitate them.

B's efforts proved nearly worthless as A continued heaving, eyes closed shut, but their grip around them loosened. They didn't waste any time, and pried their unconscious friend away from them, rolling them onto their back, then on their side. B scrambled to catch A before they could fall off the bed, the still-warm vomit fell to their lap with a wet splotch as they sat up. In the middle of the fray, B had one hand under A's head, holding it tilted, the other firmly around their wrist, keeping them from planting their face on the floor.

A went completely stiff under B, tensing every muscle of their body, then let out another wave of regurgitated food onto the bed sheets. It pooled under their cheek, completely missing the towels as it came out with less force than the first one, infiltrating under them.

B kept calling, growing more and more desperate by the second. A sounded like they were drowning, chunky vomit still pouring out their mouth in weak surges, choked-out whimpers fighting to be heard.

B was at their wit's end when they grabbed the still heaving A by the shoulder, delivering heavy thumps to their back, like they weren't trying to resuscitate a baby, but turn it into minced meat. There was a weak whimper before A snapped awake, coughing violently as they flail their arms, struggling to sit up.

B helped their friend flip onto their side and sit up, uselessly cupping both hands under their mouth as they promptly emptied their stomach onto their own lap. It overflew almost instantly, the chunky heavy slurry pouring down their chin and pooling between their legs, ruining yet another piece of clothing.

A was disoriented, their vision spun and they couldn't focus on anything besides the unrelenting stream of stomach contents pouring out of them, their abdominal muscles hurting mercilessly as they writhed, forcing more and more up.

B wasn't sure about what they were going to do as they reached out, gently landing a hand on A's slumped. back. They winced, startled by the sudden cold touch on their bare skin, and B pulled back, feeling the exact opposite.

A whimpered as the ongoing stream thinned out, leaving them gagging graphically as the nausea refused to let up. They mumbled something unintelligible, their pupils peeking from the corners of their eyes, behind a curtain of matted hair dripping with sweat. Dense ropes of slimy vomit hung from their lips, their chin still coated with lumps that dragged down to their neck. They looked absolutely miserable, still dazed from the raging fever, but aware enough to start sobbing again, seeing the huge mess they had made.

“No, no, no… it's okay”, B approached them carefully this time, using just their arms to hold A as their entire torso glistened with vomit.

A whimpered miserably, shaking still, their hands completely covered in what looked like clumps of bread, bits of lettuce, and tomatoes, all tinged a sickly orange of last night's soup. They were so tempted to just flick them off but knew that once they started moving, it would be impossible to make them stop. B noticed and immediately brought out a towel, wrapping it around A's hands while shushing them.

“It's okay, it's okay. No panicking. It's just a bit of vomit”, they reassured, wiping their hands while knowing very well it wasn't just a bit.

A responded with a short burp and more wailing, their head dropping forward as nausea and fever still lingered, making them feel as if they were being constantly spun around. The very feeling of spinning on a chair then suddenly stopping, their shoulders locked as they anticipated the feeling, but it never came, instead, it kept swirling inside their belly.

“B…”, they murmured, the first whole word they were able to utter and it was their friend's name, in such a pitiful voice B bit their lip, trying to not cry too. "Gon…na..– mmmguh… again…"

It was all they could muster before a harsh gag brought the taste of rot and acid to their tongue.

“There's a bucket on the floor”, B blurted out and sat on their knees as they guided A to lean over the side of the bed. It was completely useless to try and use it now, but none of the two were thinking right.

”Gonna… fall…”, A mumbled, nausea slurring their words together. The fear of heights dawned on them as the gray carpet on the floor inched closer. They could faint just like that, but B held them firmly, one hand around their waist, still trying not to let themselves touch. When they spoke again, there was a clear alarm in their voice. “B, I'm gonna fall!”

“You're not going to fall. I'm holding you, see? I've got you”, B promised, pulling them just slightly closer for confirmation. A trickle of saliva escaped A's lips, their half-lidded eyes lazily moving around. “Try to aim for the bucket, okay?”

A nodded weakly, and leaned in forward with the help of B, parting their lips as they anticipated the uncomfortable heave of their stomach. They did their best to aim, but at that angle, it was nearly impossible not to miss.

They clenched their eyes shut as they burped up a waterfall of now watered-down soup, remnants of the sickly sweet carrot porridge B had cooked for them still clinging to their palate.

They gagged as the ongoing stream brought up more of the sandwich A had forced down, now in thick lumps incorporated into the mixture. They had to resist the urge to chew as vomit clogged their throat. Most of it had fallen by the side of the bucket rather than in it, but a small portion hit the bottom with a sickening splatter.

“Shh… there you go”, B encouraged, rubbing up and down their back. “It's okay, just get it all out.”

A mustered a final voluminous wave of thick orangish puke, missing the bucket by a lot as their eyes remained closed, but at least it was out of their system, and on their carpeted floor. They kept gagging over the mess, sure they were finally empty, their belly visibly deflated like it had been crushed.

“You got… most of it. It's something, hah”, B attempted a little humor, but A just let out a miserable, letting themselves fall into B's chest. “D-Don't! Ah… sorry, I'm a little dirty.”

“It's my fault anyway…”, A cried out, unphased by the sensation of B's skin sticking to them.

“Shh…”, B rubbed their arm up and down, trying to support their shivering friend the best they could. “Take your time… We'll move to the shower whenever you're ready.”

“Y-Yeah… Good idea”, A thanked weakly, closing their arms, and just trying to focus on B's cool breathing above them. It was hard not to fall asleep like that.