#oc sickfic

[shion-yu]

A Safe Place (part 3) [day 18]

A feverish Cliff is seen in the emergency room. For @monthofsick Day 18 “Unfamiliar surroundings”. 2,965 words, original work, TWs emeto, hospital content.

Part 1 | Part 2 - I swear this was supposed to be 2 parts but now it’s gonna be 4? Lol whoops.

Elliot supported Cliff into the busy ER. It was a Saturday, of course there were a lot of people there, Elliot thought regretfully. Silly to hope otherwise. Elliot eased Cliff into a seat as close to the reception desk as possible and then checked Cliff in, presenting Cliff’s ID and health insurance card. He was grateful Cliff’s wallet and phone were the two things his boyfriend had actually brought with him when he left his parents’ house, although a jacket and his inhaler would have been useful third and fourth choices.

“What’s this visit for?” The receptionist asked after scanning the cards and handing them back to Elliot.

“My boyfriend is having trouble breathing,” Elliot said, hoping this concerned her as much as it concerned him. “He has asthma, he’s wheezing, and he has a high fever. He didn’t know who I was earlier.”

The receptionist stood up a little to catch a glimpse of Cliff in his seat, who did look like he was struggling. “Okay, we’ll get him triaged as soon as possible,” the receptionist said. Elliot chose to believe her for his own sanity’s sake. “In the meantime, have him wear a mask.”

Cliff sagged against Elliot when Elliot sat next to him. He was in no shape to do paperwork, so Elliot tried to fill it out as much as he could. Fifteen minutes passed. Cliff was whimpering in pain and his wheeze had grown louder. “Just a few more minutes, Cliffy,” Elliot said, hoping it wasn’t a lie. Thirty minutes passed. Cliff was now insisting he was fine after all, and that they ought to go home. But that was when he was lucid, which would last only a minute before he’d follow up by saying something that made very little sense and reminded Elliot exactly why they couldn’t leave. Finally, about forty minutes after they’d checked in, a nurse called Cliff’s name and brought them to a small room between the waiting room and the actual ER. Elliot repeated the story he’d given the receptionist although more aggressively this time as the nurse nodded and took Cliff’s vitals.

Elliot never wanted Cliff to be so sick. However, his vitals did prompt some action and for that Elliot was grateful. Cliff’s fever was 103.5 now, his oxygen running lower than expected at 92%, and his heart rate and blood pressure were both high. The nurse led them to a stretcher in a curtained off bay and told Cliff to change into a gown. Elliot had to help Cliff climb up, his boyfriend’s coordination poor. His hands were shaking too hard to button his own gown up, so Elliot did it for him.

“Don’t feel good,” Cliff mumbled, swaying even as he sat up on the stretcher.

“I know, just lie back,” Elliot said. “They’re gonna help you.”

Thankfully, this time they only waited about ten minutes before a new nurse came in with a small bucket full of supplies. She introduced herself as Anna and said she was going to insert an IV, take some blood, and hook Cliff up to oxygen and fluids. She was also going to swab Cliff for flu and strep, but Elliot explained the urgent care had already done that. “Well, this tests for some other stuff too, it’s a full respiratory panel. I’d recommend we just do it anyways.” Elliot agreed on Cliff’s behalf; Cliff seemed to be communicating only in nods at this point.

Nurse Anna looped some oxygen tubing over Cliff’s ears first and plugged it into the wall. She also attached a blood pressure cuff and oxygen probe that she said would stay on for now for monitoring. Elliot felt like all the devices only made Cliff look sicker. Anna swabbed Cliff’s nose, which made him cough harshly to the point of gagging, and then got ready to insert an IV.

Cliff looked to Elliot in panic, swallowing rapidly. ‘Faint,’ he mouthed to Elliot helplessly. “Um, I think he passes out when there’s needles,” Elliot spoke up for him. Cliff nodded gratefully.

“Well you’re in the right place if you do,” Nurse Anna said. She lowered the head of the stretcher and told Elliot to hold Cliff’s hand as she looked for a vein in his other arm. “I’ll go super quick,” she reassured them, and she was right. It was quick. But Cliff turned sheet white and got really sweaty and by the time she’d collected enough tubes of blood, flushed and secured the hub and hooked him up to a bag of fluids, Cliff was barely conscious. “Don’t worry, it happens,” she said. She put a pillow under Cliff’s legs and told him to breathe deeply through his nose. Elliot found her calm demeanor the only thing keeping him calm, because it seemed terrifying even if it was normal. Cliff followed her directions and eventually gained some color back. Anna said his blood pressure was coming back up and that he should just lie there with his feet up for a few more minutes, then left the room.

“I’m sorry,” Cliff apologized miserably for the tenth time since they’d come back here.

“Baby, please, stop apologizing,” Elliot told him. “You’re here because you have to be and you’re not doing anything bad or wrong. Just rest.”

Cliff’s eyes filled with tears and he covered them with his forearm. “I suck,” he whimpered, Elliot’s words clearly not having reached him as intended. Elliot sighed and put one hand on Cliff’s head to stroke his sweaty hair. It wasn’t worth fighting Cliff on this right now. Elliot just had to be there for him.

Cliff fell asleep to Elliot’s relief. Elliot texted his mom what was going on and hoped this wasn’t as bad as it felt. Cliff snored quietly until a woman came with a huge portable x-ray machine. “Sorry to wake you up,” she said, “Cliff? I’m here to get your x-ray. I’ll go fast.”

Cliff opened his eyes and stared blankly at her. Elliot wasn’t sure if Cliff knew what was going on at this point so he stroked Cliff’s arms and explained, “Cliff? She’s gonna take the pictures of your lungs now.” He helped the x-ray tech manipulate Cliff’s torso so that he was lying on a hard board. Elliot stood in the doorway while they did the films.

“Alright, take a nice deep breath for me and hold it,” the x-ray tech said. “I know, good job, got it. You can cough.” And cough Cliff did, that same desperate wet cough that had made Elliot’s mind up to bring him here. He managed to catch his breath, but it wasn’t over. “One more,” the tech said, moving the boards and machine around to point at Cliff’s side now. “Again. Deep breath. One, two, and good. Let it out.”

This time Cliff didn’t seem able to stop coughing. He coughed until each gasp sounded like a Herculean struggle and Elliot wasn’t sure that any of that air he was gulping in was actually reaching his lungs. The machine that was measuring Cliff’s oxygen levels started to beep and the tech told Elliot she was going to find the nurse. Elliot held on to Cliff and tried to soothe him, but it didn’t seem to work. Cliff just kept coughing until suddenly his eyes flew open and he spewed a sharp wave of vomit from his mouth all the way to the end of the stretcher. Elliot winced, pulling back and trying not to look at the mess. Cliff spluttered and coughed between additional harsh gags that produced little besides a stream of thick brown saliva that pooled in his lap. Elliot prayed the nurse would come in soon and hesitantly rubbed Cliff’s back. He didn’t know what to do and Cliff seemed frozen, unable to lift his head or close his mouth.

Thankfully the nurse showed up then and said, “Oh no!” Oh no was right, Elliot thought anxiously. “Did we just get coughing too hard?” She glanced at Cliff's oxygen levels and turned a small green dial on the wall, which made a quiet hissing noise for a second as the flow of oxygen increased. “Don’t worry hun, we’re going to get you cleaned up.” She found a change of sheets in one of the cupboards behind the stretcher and changed the blankets and top sheet in record time. She checked Cliff’s fluids which were nearly done and then charted standing in the room for a few minutes on her rolling computer.

Cliff was silent, hunched over holding a pink plastic basin in his lap in case of another incident, and Elliot couldn’t tell if he was just out of it or humiliated. The room still smelled of putrid stomach acid; Elliot breathed through his mouth. His phone dinged in his pocket and he saw an alarmed text from his mother. He didn’t have time to reply though, as the doctor walked in at that moment.

“Doctor Jim,” Anna greeted him politely, scooting her computer farther away from the bedside. “He just threw up coughing and I turned up his oxygen.”

“I’m not surprised,” Dr. Jim said. He looked to be in about his forties, was mostly bald and had tiny round glasses that looked too small for his face. “Cliff? I’m Jim, I’m a physician here. How are you doing today?”

Elliot thought that was a stupid question. Cliff looked at Dr. Jim with hazy eyes and mumbled, “Sick.”

“Well, that makes sense. You’ve got yourself a nasty case of double pneumonia,” Dr. Jim said. Elliot’s heart sank. “Has this ever happened to you before?”

Cliff shook his head no. He moved his hand to the edge of the bed that Elliot understood as a silent signal to hold it, which he did. “Well, I think it’s best if we admit you for observation overnight with the vitals you have. I’m going to order two IV antibiotics and some steroids, try and get that swelling down in your lungs and hopefully you’ll be feeling better in no time. How’s that sound?”

Cliff didn’t answer. “That sounds fine,” Elliot said, squeezing Cliff’s hand. “Can I stay with him?”

“Once we move him to the floor, visiting hours are eight to eight,” Dr. Jim said. “But you can stay with him for as long as he’s in the ER.” He turned to Anna and gave a few other orders for Zofran, Tylenol, albuterol and budesonide treatments. It all seemed so casual to them, but Elliot was still disturbed by how sick Cliff looked and seemed to him.

Dr. Jim physically examined Cliff next. Cliff shuddered and Dr. Jim apologized for his cold hands, but Elliot knew that the temperature hadn’t had anything to do with it. He hummed a lot, wrote down some notes, and then left with a “Hope you feel better soon.” Elliot wondered if he told all his patients that, or just the ones who could actually get better soon. Nurse Anna also excused herself to get the ordered medications, leaving Elliot alone with Cliff once again.

“So… pneumonia. That sounds pretty bad,” Elliot said. “Why didn’t you tell me you felt so sick?”

“You were at work. I didn’t want to bother you,” Cliff said in a tiny voice. “And then I tried to text you but none of the letters in my phone made sense.”

Elliot felt his chest clench painfully hearing that. “Cliff, you wouldn’t have bothered me.”

“But I’m bothering you now,” Cliff whimpered.

Elliot frowned. “I didn’t say that.” Silence from Cliff. Elliot sighed and grasped Cliff’s hand in his own. “Cliff, Cliffy, can you look at me?” It took a second, but fever-bright, hazel eyes eventually focused on Elliot. “You’re my boyfriend. I want you to be okay. Can you at least try to trust me?”

“I do trust you,” Cliff whispered, voice hurt.

“Then let me care about you.”

Cliff fell quiet again and Elliot sat back but kept Cliff’s hand in his. Cliff had his eyes closed, but it didn’t do much to hide the tears that escaped from the corners of them. Elliot didn’t say anything, just brushed them off of Cliff’s cheeks with his sleeve. Once Cliff was asleep, Elliot finally allowed his own silent tears to fall.

Eventually a CNA came to bring Cliff down to the short-stay unit. She rolled Cliff’s stretcher down the hall and into an elevator. Cliff looked nervous and kept glancing at Elliot, making sure he was still right next to him. Elliot always was. They got to a small room that had a real hospital bed in it and the CNA and Elliot both helped Cliff take two steps from the stretcher onto the bed. It was painful for Elliot to see how difficult even this brief transfer was for Cliff, and Cliff started another one of his long coughing spasms afterwards. Elliot rubbed Cliff’s arm, unsure what else he could possibly do to help. “Water,” Cliff croaked hoarsely between deep, rattling coughs.

“Sure. Um…” Elliot looked around him but this room was barely more than an ER bay. It didn’t even have windows. “Let me go check,” he said, and went to go look for the nurse’s station. There were two tired and rather bored looking, middle aged women sitting at computers at the end of the hall. “Excuse me? My boyfriend just got here and he could use some water…”

“I’m almost there,” one of the nurses said, which Elliot thought was a weird thing to say when she very much wasn’t almost there. Regardless, they didn’t seem to like him hovering very much so Elliot went back to Cliff’s room. There was nowhere for him to sit, so he stood at the bedside. Cliff had managed to stop coughing at least.

The nurse, despite her indifferent demeanor, did show up with a little bin that contained hospital socks, meds and a large plastic jug of water. “Clifford Barrows, hmm? I’m Carey. And you are…?” She raised an eyebrow at Elliot.

Suddenly feeling extra protective, Elliot quickly said, “His boyfriend.”

“Alright. Mr. Barrows, are you okay to have Elliot in here?”

Cliff nodded a yes. Elliot thought it was so weird to hear Cliff called by his last name. They seemed too young for that.

“Well, your boyfriend will have to leave after I finish this admission paperwork as visiting hours are over soon, but remind me to get you a chair for tomorrow,” Carey said. She started a myriad of questions, which included Cliff’s emergency contact.

“Make it Elliot,” Cliff said quickly, looking at him. “Um, will my dad know I’m here?”

“You’re eighteen, right? Not unless you tell him,” Carey said. “But I see your dad is the primary insurance holder so he may see the invoice after you’re discharged. It shouldn’t show any details though.”

Cliff grimaced but nodded. At least there would be no confrontation in the actual hospital, Elliot thought to himself. Carey kept asking questions, which ranged from did Cliff smoke to could he walk up a flight of stairs to did he have any plans to hurt himself right now. They seemed a little ridiculous to Elliot, but Cliff was able to answer all of them with simple yes’s and no’s pretty quickly since he was for the most part entirely healthy.

“You’re easy,” Carey said, winking at Cliff. “Boyfriend? Visiting hours are over now honey, so you say your goodbyes and you can come back at 8am tomorrow morning.” Elliot thought she was kind of like those old ladies at diners who yelled at you for your order but called you honey so you couldn’t feel totally attacked.

He nodded and gave Cliff a quick hug. He thought about kissing him, but Cliff didn’t like to be kissed in front of other people so he just squeezed Cliff’s hand instead. “I’ll be back in the morning,” he promised. “Get some rest and tell them if you don’t feel good, okay?”

“Okay,” Cliff said. He looked scared, so Elliot hugged him again and kissed the top of his head this time.

“I love you,” Elliot said. “I know you can be strong for me. You’ve got your phone right here.”

Elliot didn’t look back as he left, because he could feel Cliff’s kicked puppy expression trailing him and knew if he did, it would be ten times harder to leave. He walked to the parking lot without thinking, got in his car, and drove home without Cliff beside him. He made it to the park a block away from his parents’ house before he pulled over and cried for a solid ten minutes.

Cliff was going to be okay, Elliot told himself. Cliff was stronger than he seemed, and realistically Elliot couldn’t be there for him every second of the way. But he’d promised Cliff they weren’t going to the hospital, and then he promised Cliff that he’d be right there next to him the whole time. He’d broken both of these promises and now Cliff was sleeping in a hospital bed, in a tiny room with no windows and only a crotchety old lady to keep an eye on him. Elliot felt just terrible and wondered if he’d made the wrong choice dragging Cliff to the ER. All he wanted was for Cliff to be okay, though, and he really hadn’t seemed okay today.

Elliot wiped his tears away and told himself he had to be strong. This seemed so intense and adult, but Elliot couldn’t let it overwhelm him. He tried to remember the coping mechanisms his therapist had taught him back in high school. Deep breaths. One second at a time. He could do it, and so could Cliff. Elliot turned on the car and returned home by himself.

[Part 4]

#shionwrites #sickfic #illness whump #fever whump #oc: cliff #oc: elliot #whump #sicknario #sick whump #male whump #angst #hurt/comfort #novemetober rescheduled #prompt: unfamiliar surroundings #vomitting #emeto #tw: emeto #oc sickfic #pneumonia fic #flu whump

[angstyaches]

Hi Flick! How about “my belly is really upset” for Rin with Charlie as caretaker?

I know it’s been a minute since you’ve written for Rin, but I love that girl 😊💜 Congrats again on over 1000 followers!

Hi, dear! The way I squealed when you requested Rin, thank you so much!!

100x10

CW: food mention, nausea, public setting.

___

Charlie heard the metal bottle in Rin’s bag clink against the armrest. He looked over as Rin shifted in her seat, the lights from the theatre screen glinting across her glasses. 

“Charlie Bear?” She leaned in close to whisper at him. The paper bucket had been emptied, banished to the floor, but the sickly-sweetness of the caramel popcorn lingered on her breath. “Sorry. My belly is really upset –” 

A loud hiccup jerked her frame and she glanced sheepishly towards the strangers seated nearby. She raised a hand to her mouth, shoulders lurching forward. 

Charlie gently took her arm. “Let’s go.” 

#StW Rin #100 word drabbles #emeto #sickfic #OC sickfic #OC emeto #whump drabbles #emeto drabbles

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

Downfall (pt 2/2)

See? I didn’t lie, part 2 is here and it’s only...11:00PM Sunday night lol. Wow guys, this part got long (like 3.5k words long. Oops.) and *sappy*. But, you know what I love about snz fic? We always give the people what they want. You see a smoking gun in act 1 you best believe it’s going off in act 3. Lmao. Also, I’m sorry if there’s continuity/grammar/spelling errors, I’ll read it through again in the morning and fix them I just can’t do it tonight haha.

Anyway! Hope you guys like the second part.

cw: Male, colds, contagion, mess, there is a passing-out moment in here as well. Shit gets wild lol. This part is heavily inspired by 3 prompts in my inbox, so if you sent a prompt it’s probably featured here!

Downfall - Pt 2

When Elijah opened his eyes Friday morning, he nearly cried in relief; after three full days of feeling like death, he finally, finally felt like he was on the other side of this shit.

The past two days had been a nightmare. After Greyson had called him Tuesday night and told him that not one but two other managers had gone down, Elijah had to mentally prepare himself for a full week of work with one of the worst colds he’d ever endured. He’d walked into the kitchen Wednesday morning stuffed to the gills with dayquil, cough syrup, and ibuprofen; a combination he was sure was actively taking years off of his life. Greyson was already hard at work, despite the fact that Elijah knew he’d been at the restaurant until well after midnight the night before.

“He lives!” Greyson said, throwing his arms up as though Elijah had just scored the winning goal for their nonexistent soccer team. “You look god-awful, and I’m so glad you’re here!”

Elijah coughed out a laugh, and Greyson lead them both into the office. “So, here’s the deal,” Greyson said as they both sat. “I told both Matt and Mark to stay home til Saturday – just to make sure they don’t infect anyone else. I closed the books at 50 covers tonight and tomorrow – and I know, it’s barely enough to cover labor, but we’re in survival mode here, so don’t give me that look. I got in at six, most of my prep for the evening is done, so I figured when we open I can throw on a button down and help on the floor while you expo back here during the rush. Does that all work for you?”

The GM blinked, blindsided. He knew Greyson was good in a shit situation, but damn; the kid should’ve been a fighter pilot or an ER doctor. “Yeah,” Elijah said, “sounds great, Grey.”

So that’s what they’d done. Both Wednesday and Thursday. Elijah had holed up in the office until the servers needed him for preshift, and Greyson had prepared his cooks for two weird nights of Elijah expoing. Service had been moderately slow both evenings, which would’ve been great, if it hadn’t allowed Elijah to hyper-focus on his lingering symptoms and Greyson to flit and fret over him every time he stepped into the kitchen.

“Do you need anything, Lij? Water? Tea? Meds?” The constant stream of mother-henning had eventually worn on everyone, and even Greyson’s cooks had finally said, “Chef, he’s fine.”

But they had gotten through it. Elijah had sneezed and coughed and cursed his way through garnishing dishes, and Greyson had awkwardly talked to tables until finally the week was nearly over. And now it was Friday, one day til the big wedding, and Elijah was finally, finally feeling better.

Elijah walked in at 9AM to a thankfully-empty kitchen; he’d told Greyson the night before to sleep in, prepare himself for the weekend, take some Emergen-C and be absolutely sure he wasn’t going to succumb to the rot Elijah had brought in, but he was surprised that the chef had actually listened to him. The GM placed his things down in their empty office and took a breath; it was going to be okay. Mark and Matt would be back for the wedding, they would be relatively slow tonight, and Saturday would be perfect. Manifest it, Lij, he said to himself, sitting at the desk and turning the computer on. Manifest it.

After an hour or so of paperwork, Elijah heard the back doors open as Greyson let himself in. The GM pushed away from the computer and cracked his neck, anticipating the usual barrage of word vomit Greyson was wont to spew out the moment he walked into the restaurant. “Morning, Chef,” he called out before even seeing Greyson, marveling at how much clearer his voice was today. Fuck that fucking cold.

Greyson stepped into the office and silently saluted his boss, a Starbucks cup adorning each of his hands. “Hey, boss,” he said, placing one in front of Elijah and one next to his own computer. The chef didn’t sit down; instead, he took off his hoodie, grabbed a clean coat from the back of his chair, and buttoned it up before snagging his drink and heading into the kitchen. Elijah swung himself around in his chair, dumbstruck.

“That’s it?” he asked, watching Greyson unpack his knives a few feet away. “‘Hey, boss’? No big gameplan? No huddle to discuss the week’s insanity? No bombardment of questions regarding my health?” Greyson huffed out a laugh, but Elijah wasn’t having it. “You didn’t even tell me what you got me to drink,” he said, holding up the mystery cup.

Greyson raised an eyebrow at his boss and bit back a smile. “It’s a chai,” he said, bemused. Elijah threw his hands up, flustered.

“The amount that that doesn’t address 90% of my questions is truly amazing,” he said, taking a long sip of his drink, which – certainly wasn’t a chai. The hell was that?

“I don’t know what second-rate Starbucks you stopped at, Chef, but this is definitely not a chai,” Elijah said, pushing the cup towards the door. “What is that? It’s like...something lemon.”

Greyson colored a bit and picked up his own cup to look at the sticker. “Ah, fuck,” he mumbled, striding back into the office and switching their cups. “Sorry ’bout that. I switched the cups.”

“What is it?” Elijah asked, his face seemingly stuck in a mask of disgust. “So that I can remember to never order it.”

Greyson rolled his eyes. “Have you ever ordered something from Starbucks that wasn’t a chai?” he asked, sipping his drink. Elijah shrugged and turned towards that computer again.

“Fair enough,” he said, waking the screen by shaking the mouse. He turned to Greyson again when the floorplan popped up on his screen. “Can we take a quick look at tonight together? Since Matt and Mark are still out? Do you think we should cut the covers off now, or go to 75?” Elijah squinted, his face nearly touching the screen in concentration. After a few moments of silence, he peeled himself away from the monitor to glance at the chef, who was – the fuck was he doing?

“The fuck are you doing?” Elijah asked, snapping Greyson out of his trance. The chef had been turned almost all the way around, facing the kitchen. Clearly he hadn’t heard a word Elijah said.

“Huh? Shit, sorry boss. Lost in thought,” Greyson said, turning back toward the GM. “Uhh… 75. Yeah, that looks good,” he finished, lamely. Elijah raised his eyebrows.

“What’s your problem today?” he asked, though not with malice. Greyson chuckled.

“Just got a lot on my mind, boss,” he said. “Big weekend. Week’s been long. I need to get back to prep, if that’s okay.” Elijah gave Greyson another look, but nodded after a moment and shooed him out. Greyson smiled at his boss, held his cup out in a false ‘cheers’. “I’ll be prepping in the back kitchen if you need me,” he said, and disappeared past the line into the back.

It wasn’t Elijah’s fault, he reasoned with himself later, that he hadn’t seen through the ruse. He’d just barely gotten over a monster of a cold; he was himself busy and stressed; it was early and he hadn’t had enough caffeine. He couldn’t be expected to decode what was wrong with Greyson every time the kid acted weird. However, he couldn’t help but kick himself when he finally realized – thirty minutes before service – what the weird-tasting drink the chef had gotten himself was. Aptly named, of course, and something Elijah himself had only had once before, courtesy of Greyson himself.

A medicine ball. Greyson had gotten himself a medicine ball.

***

He wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to keep this up, but it certainly wasn’t going to be through tomorrow’s wedding.

Greyson sat down, fully clothed, on the toilet and put his head in his hands for the third time that day. The fact that Elijah hadn’t noticed at this point was a mix of pure dumb luck and more sudafed than a human person should ever in their life consume. He assumed the former would begin to run out soon, as the latter had hours ago.

“Huhh...HNGSTH! NTSH! ITZSH! Fuck – HNGTSZHUE! Goddamn it.”

Greyson pulled a length of toilet paper from the roll and blew his nose until it made him cough. He checked his watch as he threw the toilet paper into the trashcan next to him – 9:15PM. When he’d stepped into this bathroom, dodging Elijah as he locked the door, all but one of the tables had left. He’d go back to the line, he’d tell Leo, his grill cook who’d been there nearly as long as he had, to check that everyone had cleaned thoroughly, and he’d sneak out the back before Elijah could question him.

And then what? Greyson asked himself as he stood and washed his hands. You somehow make a miraculous recovery between now and tomorrow morning? Have you seen how this shit took down Elijah, Mark, and Matt?

Greyson ignored the voice in his head and dried his hands. He assumed Elijah hadn’t noticed because they were both wildly busy before service, and once service had started, they were both worn thin being the only managers in their departments for the third day in a row. Greyson had managed to keep the congestion out of his voice with the aforementioned sudafed, and he had taken his happy ass to the bathroom or out back to ‘smoke’ when he really needed to sneeze or cough all night. Elijah had definitely given him some looks through the evening, but nothing Greyson couldn’t brush off by pulling a ticket distractedly and not making eye contact.

Tomorrow, though? When Matt and Mark were both going to be back, and they were all going to be prepping their asses off for the wedding? He genuinely had no idea what he was going to do to keep them from noticing.

Greyson exited the bathroom, stealthily managing to avoid his boss as he slipped into the kitchen. He gathered his things, put Leo in charge, and was nearly out the door, nearly safe, when -

“Chef!” Elijah called behind him, making him freeze in his tracks just outside the back door. Fuck.

“Yeah, boss?” Greyson asked, turning to face Elijah and hoping he didn’t look like the garbage fire he felt. Elijah crossed his arms over his chest in the cold of the alleyway and motioned to Greyson’s entire being.

“You leaving?” he asked tapping his foot. Greyson managed a smile and lifted his backpack and knife bag a little for inspection.

“Is it obvious?” he asked, quietly clearing his throat to mask the gravel of his voice. Elijah didn’t say anything for a few moments.

“Leo shutting down the line?” he asked. Greyson nodded, swallowing around a throat on fire.

“Yeah,” he said. “Did you uh…ndeed something from mbe?” Fuck.

Elijah gave Greyson a pointed look. “Grey,” he said, voice low. “If you’re sick, you need to tell me. Now.”

Greyson felt his cheeks redden, but he immediately shook his head. “I’mb good,” he said, cursing once again the congestion that had sneaked into his voice. “Promise. I gotta go, I’mb gonna mbiss mby train.” Without missing a beat, the chef turned around and headed towards the street, hoping his boss couldn’t see him stifle nearly ten sneezes into his fist as he walked.

This was not going to end well.

***

It was worse than Elijah could have even imagined.

When Elijah walked into the restaurant that morning, the first thing he did was text Greyson.

9:01AM

Hey. I’m here, is there anything you want me to pull out/start on before you get in?

9:01AM

Also, how are you feeling?

Normally, he’d get a response in moments; when Greyson wasn’t at work, the man was glued to his phone, playing some stupid game or messaging one of his fifty Bumble suitors he kept on the line at all times. I get bored, he often said to Elijah. One starts annoying me, BOOM! Onto the next.

Today, though, nearly twenty minutes passed before Elijah’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out immediately and couldn’t help but wince at the text the chef sent.

9:18AM

great. no. ill be there in 20.

Anyone who texted with Greyson more than once in their life knew that if he wasn’t being his multi-exclamation-point, constant-joke-and-lol self over text, he was probably close to death. Elijah typed out an ‘ok’ to the chef, before making a thread with Matt and Mark.

9:31AM

Elijah

Hey, guys. Just making sure you’re both on your way in. Greyson’s gonna be down bad. Need all hands on deck asap.

9:32AM

Mark

???? is he ok??? down bad in what way?

9:33AM

Matt

ya, coming now. figured chef would’ve gone down by now. should I bring anything?

9:34AM

Elijah

Just your stamina. Gonna be a long day. Thx.

9:34AM

Mark

no one answered my ?

im so confused

oh

OH

shit, I knew I got greyson sick. fuuuuuuuuck. sorry, boss :(

9:35AM

Elijah

All good. Inevitable. Let’s just get this day done.

Elijah clicked his phone off and sighed. He could go for a whiskey, or even just a long, drawn out scream about now, but a cigarette and a prayer would have to do him. Twelve hours until the wedding was over.

***

How Greyson managed to make it to work was anyone’s guess, him included.

The chef pushed through the back doors and before he could even get past the prep kitchen he was doubled over, sneezing into the sleeve of his hoodie.

“HhhIGSTZH-ue! HuhESHHH-ue! HRRTSCHZUE! NGTSHZUE! Christ, fuck,” Greyson muttered, wiping his nose on his sleeve for what he could only wish he could say was the first time that morning. He cleared his throat, which was for naught since he could barely speak, and continued his trudge into the main kitchen.

When Greyson had made it home last night, he told himself he’d be able to continue to hide his burgeoning illness. He thought maybe more medicine, some Vick’s, and a good night’s sleep would give him the upper hand against it. He’d told himself he was stronger than his coworkers, that his immune system wouldn’t fail him on one of the most important days of his career.

Oh, how the mighty will fall.

“HhNGTSHHZUE! ITSZH-uhh! Fuuuuck,” Greyson moaned, stumbling into the thankfully-empty office and yanking a handful of tissues from the box on the desk. He wiped his nose, unwilling to unleash the volley of sneezes he knew would be behind a nose blow, and pressed his palms into his eyes to try and relieve some of the pressure. Who the fuck gets a cold this fucking bad, Elijah, he wondered silently.

As if conjured, Greyson felt his phone buzz with a text from his boss.

10:07AM

Bless. That sounds fucking awful.

Could a guy not get a moment’s peace in this fucking place?

10:08AM

i should call the cdc’s biohazard unit on u for unleashing this shit onto us.

An admission, but what else was he supposed to do? Elijah could hear him in the dining room. The game was over. Greyson put his head back into his hands until he heard his boss’s footsteps click into the kitchen.

“...chef?” Elijah asked, and Greyson wearily lifted his head.

“Mornding,” Greyson croaked, before turning to the side to cough, crackly and painful-sounding, into his sleeve. He felt something get placed on the desk next to him, and when he finally was able to compose himself he saw it was a Starbucks cup. Greyson smiled, weary.

“Chai?” he asked, picking up the cup. Elijah huffed out a laugh.

“Something like that,” he said, moving to sit next to Greyson. “Now, hear me out. I think I have a gameplan.”

***

At five o’clock, Elijah finally went to rouse the man of the hour with a knock on the office door.

“Chef,” he said, trying to wake Greyson as gently as possible. “Grey. We need you for plate-up.” Greyson nodded blearily and, with the help of both Matt and Elijah, managed to get to his feet.

It had been an interesting day for sure. Elijah’s plan had been for Greyson to try and help with some of the more intricate parts of prep in the morning, and then lay down from noon until it was go time, but that had proved nearly impossible.

Greyson had managed to prep for about three minutes at a time before dissolving into nasty coughing fits that lasted minutes at a time, or absolutely relentless bouts of -

“HTSHH-ue! HRSHH-ue! Hhuhh…NGTSHZUE! ITSZHUE! Huhh-ETSHZCH-oo!”

“Christ, boss,” Matt said, attempting a laugh after a particularly intense fit of sneezes, “When you go down you really go – oh, fuck.” In teasing his boss, Matt nearly missed Greyson’s eyes rolling back into his head and his knees buckling as he lost consciousness for a moment. “ELIJAH!” Matt called, catching his boss and lowering him to the ground as gracefully as possible.

Once they’d managed to get Greyson back to a standing position, Elijah had decided it was too risky to let him continue to be...vertical. Greyson had laid out for Matt exactly what he needed him to do to finish preparing the food, and retreated to the blanket fort they had all heavily utilized this week for a sleep that more closely resembled a coma than anything restorative.

Matt, Elijah, and even Mark had managed to finish the prep Greyson had worked so hard on that week by four PM. Once they felt ready, the three of them gathered in front of the office to stare at the racked-out chef.

“Should we… ask him if everything looks okay?” Mark had asked, ringing his hands. Matt and Elijah exchanged a look before Elijah shook his head.

“I think… I think he’ll be okay with just about anything at this point,” Elijah said. The other two nodded, unwilling to take this precious moment of sleep away from the chef.

When the guests were all seated and ready for first courses, it was, of course, Elijah’s job to wake the sleeping bear. Greyson, ever the trooper, took his place at the pass and regarded the three of them with all the pride he could muster.

“Thangk you guys. Really,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “Ndow. Let’s get this shit over w – HGSTHH-ue! Snrf. Guhh,” Greyson held tight to the granite counter top and pulled himself back to his full height.

“Let’s get this done,” he said, pulling out his tweezers. “And whend it’s over, I’mb ndot answering mby phone for a fuckigg week.”

They all managed a laugh. They all assumed their positions for plating and running food. This certainly wasn’t the glamorous job it was portrayed in the movies, but they did have something all that media never seemed to truly capture; they had each other, and this place that all of them thought of as not a second, but a true home.

Greyson cleared his throat as the first of the servers came through the doors, bearing labeled sheets with seat numbers. “Order in!” he called, and they all put their heads down and began their work.

#whiskeyswriting #snz #snz fet #snez #snzfic #sniction #sickfic #coldfic #male cold #original charater #m cold #oc sickfic #snzblr #aight im going to bed lol i feel like a teenager again up late writing snz fic christ ive regressed lmaoooo

[sleptwithinthesun]

my first oc fic!! i'm actually so excited and so nervous to post this :)

this is basically just band au except! not au!! isn't that so cool? i have my own little guys to play with and i hope you love them <3

1.7K words of ✨ plot ✨ and like snz of course but you know me. always an excess amount of plot

(you can also send asks/inquiries about my ocs based on this!! please send asks i fucking love receiving and replying to them!!!!)

Em wakes up to the soft drumming of a headache in her temples, and she groans softly as she cracks open her eyes. Winter mornings in Concord are freezing, as their first two months have taught them, and today is not exception. The sunlight creeping hesitantly through the curtains is thin and watery, barely illuminating the bedroom and washing it in shades of pale gray. It's just enough for Em's tired eyes to pick out the flush that's beginning to dust across her girlfriend's sleeping face, spots of warmth kissing her cheekbones.

In half a second, Em's sitting bolt upright, her legs still tangled in the topsheet and comforter. She gently presses the back of her hand to Luc's forehead and sure enough, she's too warm. Granted, Luc always runs a bit warmer than most people, but her temperature right now is higher than usual. It's only a low-grade fever, which is typical of any virus Luc contracts, but it's a fever nonetheless.

"Oh, honey," she murmurs, tucking a loose strand of wavy hair behind Luc's ear. Slowly, her girlfriend begins to stir, emitting a cute sigh before stretching languidly. She smiles softly at Em upon seeing her.

"Hey," Luc whispers, her voice raspy. "I think I caught your cold."

Em gives a quiet, breathy laugh, mindful of her own faint headache and the lingering pressure in her sinuses. "Yeah?" she asks.

"Pretty sure." Luc rolls onto her back and sniffles, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before she nods. "Unless I somehow managed to, like, contract the flu off Sol or something, I definitely caught your cold."

"Sol's not even sick. Neither is Q."

"Oh, so you'll spare them, but not me?" She pouts, shoving herself into a sitting position and fluffing the pillows behind her only to dramatically flop back against them, staring plaintively at Em with big hazel eyes. Her lower lip is even sticking out. Em rolls her eyes fondly at Luc, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek.

"You're the one who insisted on sleeping with me," she counters, words murmured against the warmth of a fever spot, and her fingers twist into the hem of her sleep shirt as she sits back on her heels. Em doesn't want to say it, just because she knows Luc would complain, but her girlfriend is absolutely gorgeous like this, her body wrapped in an oversized college boyfriend's T-shirt with her legs pulled up to her chest, boyshorts visible in the faltering morning light. "I'm sorry, love, but I think it's your own fault."

Luc sighs loudly, feigning surrender. The playful attempt morphs into a hoarse series of coughs, and Em makes a mental note to send either Q or Sol out to get more cough drops. She places a hand on Luc's shoulder as the fit persists, carefully drawing her girlfriend up further and rubbing her back as she pulls the blankets to her face and coughs harshly into them. Once she recovers, because it's Luc, it's like it never even happened. She just grins, quips, "Well, one of us needed to make the sacrifice," and then winks at Em.

"And you've paid dearly," she deadpans, standing up. "Hold on, Lu, I'm going to make you some tea."

"I'll take an iced coffee, actually," Luc mumbles.

"Yeah, no."

"Worth a shot."

Sol's awake, predictably, when Em walks into the kitchen, and glances up at her entrance. "Morning," she greets cheerfully, already bright-eyed and wide awake. "You feeling any better?"

"Mostly. Definitely an improvement over yesterday." Em walks over to the cabinet where they keep their stash of tea, rummaging through the messy collection of boxes in search of chai for Luc. "I did finally get Luc sick, though."

Sol gives an amused scoff, shaking coffee beans out into the lid of the lid of the grinder before dumping them into the actual grinder. "Yeah, that makes sense. With the way she's been clinging onto you all week, I'm pretty sure she was due for it yesterday."

"Like a fucking limpet," agrees Em, finally locating the chai and setting the bag on the counter. She fills up the kettle with enough water for both her and Sol and places it on the stove, then asks, "You're feeling alright though, yeah?"

"I'm fine," Sol reassure easily. "Focus on yourself. And Luc, obviously." She gives a friendly eye roll, then places the lid on the grinder and presses down. There's a pause in the conversation for her to grind the beans and then to dump the fresh grounds into the french press that Luc had insisted on getting back when the three of them had first moved in together, her, Em, and Sol in a shitty apartment, C4 a dream in their hands and slipping between their fingers like sand. Even now, three years down the line, Em finds it hard to believe that it's actually worked out, that they're finally complete and living in a real house that they bought with money earned from playing shows and that they're all safe and comfortable and making it—

Music is a tough career to pursue, but against the odds, they made it. Soledad, Luciana, Emory, and Quentin, the four of them laced into each other's lives in a way that's so purely impossible for anyone else to understand. Luc and Em are dating, yes, but that doesn't mean either of them care for their other bandmates any less than they do for each other. It's just... a different relationship. Every band's dynamic is unique, and Em is positive that none of them would trade what they have now for anything.

The creaking of the bedroom door breaks her from her thoughts, and Em looks up to see Luc shuffling out, a fuzzy blanket that definitely was not on their bed wrapped around her shoulders.

"Hey, you should be in bed," Em says, frowning as she walks over to her girlfriend.

Without hesitation, Luc presses into her body, her shorter frame allowing her to tuck her head nearly under Em's chin. "I got lonely," she complains, words slightly muffled.

Em can't help but smile down at Luc. She and Sol weren't kidding when they were discussing how clingy Luc is; she'll take advantage of any opportunity to be close to Em, often snuggling up as close as humanly possible. It's an instinct that's completely ingrained in her, evidenced by the fact that Em will literally wake up in the middle of the night with Luc just... lying on top of her. She's affectionate, almost disgustingly so. Em adores it.

"Well," she whispers, swaying slightly, "misery does love company." Luc giggles into her shirt, and Em's heart melts.

"God, would it kill you to get a room?"

"We share a bedroom."

"Yeah, so use it!" teases Sol, grinning at Em. Her gaze drops to Luc, though, and softens with sympathy.

"Come on," Em says, pushing Luc toward the couch. "Sit. Take a sec. I'll bring your tea when it's done."

Luc sniffles, rubbing at her nose. It's already tinged pink at the tip, and she wipes at it roughly with the heel of her palm as she settles. "Thank you, Em. And, uh, I'm... sorry."

"For what?"

"Getting sick."

"Why are you sorry about that?"

"I probably could have avoided it if I tried."

"Luc, I love you, but there's absolutely no way you could've kept yourself away from Em while she was sick," Sol cuts in, smiling gently at their younger bandmate. "You care. That's not a bad thing."

There's a moment where Luc seems like she wants to say something, but her gaze goes glassy, her jaw drops, her breath hitches, and before they know it, she's pitching forward into cupped hands. "hH'ASHhiew!"

"Bless you," says Em, and Sol drops a quiet Jesús, looking up from where she's started pressing down on the filter to the french press. Luc just shakes her head, indicating that she's not quite done yet, and her entire frame shudders with another high-pitched sneeze.

"hah'SHiiew!"

"Bless you again."

"Jesús."

Luc plucks a tissue from the coffee table, blowing her nose into it and sniffling when she's done. "Explain to me again, what's the whole Spanish blessing custom?"

"That's Q's thing." Sol pours herself a mug of coffee, and wordlessly, Em hands her a spoon and the small holder they use for their sugar. Sol accepts them both. "He's Mexican, I'm from Spain. We usually just say Jesús."

"Speaking of, where is Q?" Em asks.

Sol frowns, a pensive look flashing across her face. "I'm not sure, actually. I'd assume in his room." She stands, heading toward the staircase that leads to the second floor, where her and Q's bedrooms are located. "Let me check on him," she tosses over her shoulder.

Luc's tea is going to take five minutes to steep, so Em sets a timer on the microwave and slips into the space between Luc and the arm of the couch. Luc immediately leans into her, and Em wraps an arm around her, rubbing her shoulder through the fabric of the blanket. "You want Tylenol?"

"Please," Luc whispers, quiet and miserable, now that Sol's not here to distract her from just how bad she feels. It's not that Luc actively tries to hide it when she's unwell; it's just that she'll forget the extent of it until she has a moment to herself, and then everything crashes into her at once.

Em moves to stand, but Luc's hand on her wrist stops her instantly. "Don't leave yet?" she asks, and Em sinks back into the cushions.

"C'mere," she murmurs, cherishing the way her girlfriend's body fits into hers when the smaller woman curls in closer. Her fever's rising, Em thinks. She'll have to actually get a read on it later, but for now, she's content to simply hold Luc in her lap and card a hand through her hair. Luc just sighs, breath warm against Em's collarbone, and she melts into her. "I love you, you know that?"

"Mm, yeah. Love you more, though." She can feel Luc's grin as it curves over her skin, and her own lips curl up in response.

(This, she believes, is what true love is.)

She sighs, nuzzles closer, and breathes.

#oc sickfic #sickfic #swts oc #oc group: C4 #oc ship: luciana x emory #oc: soledad gil cabral #oc: luciana cirilli #oc: emory fischer #oc: quentin soto #swts fic

[osp-originals]

Unfortunate Discovery

TW: emeto, brief food descriptions

———

It was supposed to be a fun night out. They had just finished the final day of shooting for a short film and gone to a nice restaurant, and now Lucas felt sick to his stomach.

Armando was driving half of the crew—himself, Penelope, Lucas, Steven, and Ethan—on the two hour drive back to campus. Lucas, being the skinniest, was stuck between Penelope and his brother Steven in the back seats. It had only been a few minutes since they had started the trip.

With every minute that passed, Lucas’ stomach got more upset.

I don’t get carsick, so it can’t be that… and I don’t have any other symptoms, so I don’t think I’m actually sick…

He tried to figure out what could be making him feel so awful.

Did I just eat too much? I don’t think so…

The pressure of his stomach against the inside of his abdomen just kept getting stronger as more minutes went by.

Did I eat something I don’t usually eat? Let’s see, steak, rice, no, those are fine…

He leaned back in his seat to try to get more comfortable. It didn’t help. He leaned forward. It didn’t help.

Avocado? I guess I don’t usually eat that much of it. That could be it.

He tried to lean to one side somehow. It didn’t help.

Nothing was working. He held his seatbelt out from his body, which helped a little bit with the pressure.

“You okay, Lucas?” Penelope asked, breaking from her conversation with Ethan and Armando.

“Yeah, my stomach just feels a bit…” he shook his head, trying to think of the right way to describe it. “…bad.”

“How bad?” she pried.

“Are you gonna barf?” Steven teased him.

“I might just barf on you,” he quipped back.

“Seriously, though, so I need to get off the highway?” Armando asked.

Lucas thought about it for a moment.

“Yeah, probably,” he answered.

“Okay,” Armando said with a sigh. “You better not ruin my car.”

“Are there any plastic bags or anything in here?” Ethan wondered.

“I don’t think so,” Armando answered.

Ethan checked the glove compartment as Armando took an exit to get off the highway. The GPS voice started telling him how to get back on the highway.

“Ethan, could you turn that off and change it to avoid highways?” Armando requested.

“Sure,” Ethan said. “It needs your passcode.”

Armando skillfully typed his passcode without looking at his phone.

While Ethan messed with the GPS, Lucas tried to figure out whether he was really going to be sick or not. The feeling was right at the point where he couldn’t tell whether it was going to stay the same and eventually subside, or get worse and make him double over.

If it gets any worse, I’m definitely going to throw up.

It got worse. His stomach started to turn.

“Pull over,” he mumbled.

“What?” Armando asked.

“He said pull over,” Penelope told him urgently. “I think he’s going to throw up.”

“Oh, shit,” Armando said.

They were in the middle of a three lane road with a decent amount of traffic. He looked around for an opportunity to change lanes.

Don’t barf in the car, don’t barf in the car, Lucas repeated to himself, trying to prevent it from happening with sheer force of will.

Penelope noticed Lucas’ face getting pale and his cheeks getting flushed. His stomach churned and gurgled more and more. He pressed his hand over his mouth.

“If you don’t want your car ruined, you better get over, Armando,” Steven warned him.

“I know, I’m trying!” Armando snapped.

He cut aggressively into the left lane. Someone honked at him, but he didn’t care. Penelope unbuckled her seatbelt and got ready to jump out of the car. Lucas did the same while Armando pulled the car over onto the shoulder.

As soon as the car stopped, Penelope opened her door and gracefully hopped out of the way. Lucas clambered over the seats and practically fell out of the car. He staggered forward a few steps, then braced himself with his hands on his knees.

He gagged loudly, but nothing came up.

“Come on, get it over with!” Steven yelled from the car.

Lucas wished it was that easy. The pressure was unbearable. He heaved again, but still, nothing.

Steven mocked his retching noises. That finally sent him over the edge. His stomach violently contracted, forcing a large amount of his dinner up his throat and onto the grass.

He tried to spit out the awful taste. He could hear Steven laughing in the background.

Another painful heave sent up a mouthful of half-digested food. He spat again.

“Do you think it was something you ate?” Penelope asked, now standing next to him.

“Probably,” he responded.

Mucus dripped from his nose. His face was hot with embarrassment. He wondered how many people were looking at him from their cars.

He gagged again, puking up only a small stream of mucus and saliva.

He took a deep breath, letting the spit drip out of his mouth.

“Do you think you’re done?” Penelope asked gently.

“Maybe.”

He stood upright. He still felt queasy, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it was before. The pressure was almost gone.

“Yeah. I feel so much better now,” he told her.

“That’s good.”

#oc #original writing #emeto #my writing #oc sickfic #my inbox is open #taking requests #osp Lucas #osp Penelope #osp Steven #osp Ethan #osp Armando #osp film club

[i-love-all-whumpees-equally]

don't you ever see a blorbo and wanna just-

#whump #whump community #whump prompt #whump scenario #whump scenarios #whumpblr #whumpee #caretaker #sickfic #sickfic whump #fever whump #hospital whump #writing memes #oc memes #original character

[forestryprompts]

Character A: You caught my cold. I'm so sorry.

Character B: It's okay. We can be sick together. It's kind of cozy.

Character A: Cozy and miserable. But at least we're in it together.

#dialogue prompts #story starter #prompt #writeblr #writerblr #writing inspiration #writing prompt #dialogue prompt #writing prompts #prompts #writing ideas #writing #imagine your otp #otp prompts #imagine your ocs #oc prompts #fluff prompts #romance prompts #sickfic

[jaebeomsbitch]

There’s nothing you hated more than being sick. You felt helpless and useless, leaning against your partner for help when you despised relying on others. Nonetheless you sit quietly next to him feeling the heat of his arm radiating deep into your skin as you cough and sniffle.

You wipe your nose with your sleeve standing up and slowing, swaying with dizziness.

“Woah, hold on. What do you need baby?” He asks softly holding onto your wrist, thumb tracing your inner wrist comfortingly.

“Need a blanket” you murmur, wiping more snot against your sleeve. He pulls you down softly onto his lap.

“Got one here sweetheart, where it’s always at” he says, pulling the blanket from the back of the couch where it always hangs.

“Oh” you blink, as he spreads the soft fabric over the two of you, tucking in the edges under your thighs.

“Better?" he asks quietly, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns onto your thigh.

When you nod sleepily, he leans in and whispers into your ear, "Good. Now let's try to enjoy this movie, yeah? No more coughing allowed - I want to hear those sweet little gasps of yours when the scary parts come on."

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x original character #Eddie Munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x oc #gender neutral reader #gator tillman #gator tillman x reader #gator tillman x you #comfort #sickness #sickfic

[indigobrushpen]

dirty car

See, even though she'd rather chug a gallon of milk in public than tell you, Felicia is really nervous about visiting her parents.

Every single time she goes on this road trip, she gets nervous. And it usually ends up fine (albeit awkward, but fine), simply because of how posh her parents are, but then she forgets that it was fine and then while she's halfway there the next year, she starts getting nervous again.

And when she gets really nervous, her stomach starts to hurt.

She hides it from you, of course. Impeccably well. Mostly because the ache quickly fades once she actually gets there, but this time, you're coming along.

And Felicia loves you, really, but she has no idea how her parents are going to react. Thus, when you get caught in traffic nearly an hour into the drive, and you start swearing at this jerk in front of you, Felicia's stomach gets worse.

And look- normally she would tell you. But you're really serious about this stuff, and if you know her stomach hurt you'd drive home that second. Felicia doesn't want that either.

The seat belt presses against her dress, which is already tight against her skin, which makes her stomach feel endlessly cramped. She places a hand over the swell, face tightening with discomfort.

I really don't feel so good, she thinks miserably. Maybe I should drink something.

She glances at you out of the corner of her eye. You're still focused on the road and all the excessive honking that surrounds you. Quietly, she reaches down (wincing at the pressure on her tummy) and pulls out a bottle of ginger ale from the glove compartment. She twists it open, listening for the quiet hiss, and then hesitates.

Ginger ale's supposed to soothe tummy aches, right?

Felicia takes a deep breath, presses the rim of the bottle to her mouth and takes a long, dainty swig.

She gulps down the soda easily. Her stomach still hurts after the first couple of gulps, but the longer the soda travels down, the more it begins to settle. She's downed half the bottle by this point, and with the way she's chugging it, the soda will be finished soon. Felicia relaxes.

And then immediately stiffens when you place a hand on her shoulder and say, "Easy, make sure to take small-"

She chokes a little, the soda stuck in her mouth. Her cheeks are puffed up with liquid and she places a hand to her chest, trying to swallow. You pound her back, which makes the pressure in her tummy tighten. Something gives way after a few moments; Felicia finally gulps down the mouthful.

And burps immediately.

"BHUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRGGGHHHHPP!"

It's a loud, long, nasty burp. The force of it makes her thrust forward, eyes wide and a hand out, strands of hair flying out of her face. When it's out, you stare at her in surprise. Felicia, equally surprised, immediately claps her hands over her mouth in mortification. " 'Scuse me," she giggles sheepishly. You begin to chuckle.

"That was- that was really stuck in there, huh?"

Felicia sputters, hands falling away from her face as the laughter takes over.

"Man, good thing you got that out of your system," you tease. "I don't know how I would've explained to your parents that their daughter imploded on the way over."

The mention of it makes Felicia's stomach twinge a little, but she ignores it, giggling harder.

"That was- that was huge," she says between giggles. "It almost hurt, I- ooooh."

She's cut off by a sudden, violent gurgle in her belly. You frown a little in concern. Felicia feels the pressure return to her stomach tenfold- is my stomach supposed to feel like it's bubbling up? Isn't burping supposed to make me feel better? "Ooooh," she mumbles, one hand clutching her stomach, the other daintily placed on her chest. The pressure worsens, and Felicia grimaces.

"Felicia?" you ask, concerned. "You alright?"

"F-Fine," Felicia mumbles, very much not fine. "Just- my tummy hurts a little bit, that's all, I- BUUUUURRRRRRGGGHHHP! Oh, mmh-excuse me..."

"That," you say skeptically, knowingly, continuing to rub Felicia's sides, "doesn't sound fine."

"I'm okay, honey, just- the road-"

"This traffic isn't gonna let up for another ten minutes, at least," you say. "Don't worry about it. Is the ginger ale sitting okay in your stomach?"

For a moment, Felicia contemplates lying, saying something like No, I just really needed to burp, and now I'm fine and everything is fine and we can just keep going.

But her belly rolls again, the ache strong and tight, and - albeit hesitantly - Felicia shakes her head, lips pursed.

"Figured," you say, sympathetically. "You said your tummy hurts?"

"Mm. Y-yeah."

"Must've been before the soda," you murmur, your reach branching out to lightly stroke Felicia's distended belly. "God, no wonder you're all burpy."

"My parents," Felicia says suddenly, face panicked. "Oh, no- they're- I'm- I can't be like this in front of my-"

"Easy, easy," you say gently, as though speaking to a distressed animal. Your ministrations across Felicia's stomach become firmer, more soothing. "It's okay, it's okay. We're gonna get all that gas out before we see your parents, okay? I'm gonna take care of you."

Felicia seems to relax a bit, at that. She slumps into the seat, face a little more pained. Her tummy really hurts, and she really needs to burp or something because the pressure in her chest is inhumanely tight, and-

"Something's probably stuck," you muse, the fabric of Felicia's dress sliding up and down with every rub. "You think you can finish the rest of the soda?"

Felicia glances to the bottle of ginger ale in the cup holder. There's just under a quarter left.

Felicia purses her lips and nods.

"Perfect," you say, rubbing her stomach with a hand between her shoulder blades. "Okay. I'm here."

Felicia picks up the bottle. unscrews it. Hesitates-

Her tummy rolls violently, and the hesitation flies out the window.

Felicia takes a deep breath, tilts her head back, and chugs the rest of the soda in lightning speed. She gulps down every mouthful instantly as you lightly rub her back to soothe her. Finally, she pulls away, gulping down the last of the soda. She sighs, pained, before burping loudly.

"BHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRGGGHHHHP! Ooh, 'scuse me- goodness, that felt weird..."

You spot a yellow light in the corner of your eye and - though regretfully- remove your hands from Felicia and back onto the steering wheel. "You feeling any better?"

Felicia burps again and grimaces, a hand hovering over her mouth. "UUUUUUUURRRGGGHHHPP!...Oof. A- A little."

"I- shit," you mutter, as the light turns green and the cars ahead of you begin to move. You resume driving, glancing over at Felicia. "You need me to pull over?"

"But- we just-"

"No buts," you say. "We'll stop once we're a few minutes away from your parents' house and if you still have a tummy ache, I'll help you, okay?"

Felicia thinks about how supportive you are, every time this happens. Even if it's 'gross'. Even if she's embarrassed as hell every time. Just as long as Felicia feels better. And the anxious ache in her gut, about how her parents will feel or react or even behave lessens a bit.

Because at least you'll have each other the whole time.

Felicia smiles weakly. "Okay."

#eructo #burp kink #oc x reader #burping #nausea #sickfic #caretaking #mini fic

[hazbinfallinginaspiral]

Sickfic Vox Ideas

And prompts, I guess.

Vox gets sick- well, the closest thing to it he can be, considering he’s part machine. He’s got a fever so his system is running hot, his body is sore, and he feels sort of sluggish. Most of the effects could be seen on his face. His screen flickers sometimes and is often buffering or loading. There might be small lapses of memory as his sickness progresses and his fever gets worse, due to corrupted files and loss of important data in his system. It’s backed up so he’ll be fine. He might have a few small crashes, displaying a blue screen. Caretaker handles Vox during this time, despite Voxs protests. Vox is a bit stubborn, not wanting to accept help, but becomes a bit clingy and more sweet than normal when he accepts being cared for.

-Pale skin, sweating (static), unfocused eyes

-flushed cheeks (screen), slight glitching

-Lying down/sitting with eyes open, everything blurry, just thinking because he can’t do anything else.

-Being dazed, disoreinted, confused, stressed or afraid.

-From nightmares/fever dreams

-system crash, making him frustrated

-temporary lapse of memory

-Garbled words and incoherent noises

-Shivering, feeling unbearably cold despite his high body temperature

-heat pouring off him in waves that can be felt just from being near him

-hypersensitive to touch, especially when its unexpected. Could startle him or hurt.

-Stumbling around, moving sluggishly

-losing his train of thought, trailing off midsentence

-Constantly clinging to caretaker because everything hurts, he’s miserable, and he doesn't know what to do with himself.

-having to convince/coerce him into take his meds

-Whining, curled up in bed, not wanting to move and swaddled in blankets.

-Him wandering around sometimes and making a bed for himself in whatever the warmest room in the house happens to be. (Cat behavior tbh)

-whispering sweet nothings as he falls asleep/as you cuddle because he can’t sleep (or he just had a nightmare) and is uneasy

-placing a hand on his forehead to check his temperature only to remember that doesn’t work because it’s a TV (then touching his arm or shoulder or something instead)

-extra pillows, blankets, water and a bucket at the ready

-cooking his favorite soup (or comfort food)

-finding something to distract him from pain (ex: movies, games, music, etc)

-convincing him that the medicine’s taste isn’t that bad

-KISSES AND LULLABIES AND COMFORT

-hdjdifjjdhjdjcbjdjs

Prompts

1. Vox's Screen Flickers: As Vox's fever worsens, his digital display starts to flicker more frequently, causing him frustration. Caretaker (could be reader, Lucifer, Alastor, whoever floats your boat) intervenes by adjusting the lighting in the room and finding a workaround to stabilize Vox's screen, earning a grateful smile from the usually composed demon.

2. Memory Lapses: Vox experiences occasional memory lapses due to corrupted files in his system. Caretaker helps him navigate these moments by providing gentle reminders and filling in the blanks, leading to some humorous exchanges as Vox tries to piece together his thoughts.

3. Blue Screen Crashes: During one particularly severe crash, Vox's screen displays the dreaded blue screen of death. Caretaker panics momentarily before realizing it's just a system error. They manage to reboot Vox's system and get him back up and running, with Vox expressing both annoyance and gratitude for their quick thinking.

4. Cuddling for Comfort: Despite his initial resistance, Vox eventually gives in to caretakers insistence on cuddling for comfort. They share a tender moment as caretaker wraps their arms around Vox, offering him warmth and reassurance as he battles his illness.

5. Care Package: Caretaker surprises Vox with a care package filled with remedies (for his physical symptoms and technological problems) and soothing programs to help alleviate his symptoms. Vox is touched by the gesture and allows caretaker to administer the treatments, grateful for their thoughtfulness.

6. Vox's Vulnerability: As Vox's fever peaks, he becomes increasingly vulnerable, shedding his usual stoic facade in favor of expressing his true feelings. Caretaker witnesses a softer side of Vox as he opens up about his fears and insecurities, forging a deeper bond between them.

7. Late Night Conversations: Unable to sleep due to his discomfort, Vox engages caretaker in late-night conversations about life, love, and the complexities of being a demon in Hell. Caretaker listens intently, cherishing the opportunity to connect with Vox on a deeper level despite how tired and groggy they are.

8. Comic Relief: Despite his illness, Vox's signature wit and sarcasm remain intact, providing moments of comic relief amidst the seriousness of the situation. Caretaker finds themselves laughing at Vox's quips, grateful for his ability to lighten the mood even in the darkest of times.

9. Slow Recovery: As Vox's fever begins to break and his systems stabilize, caretaker continues to provide unwavering support and care. They celebrate small victories together, rejoicing in Vox's gradual recovery and the return of his usual health and power.

10. Gratitude and Affection: In a quiet moment of respite, Vox expresses his gratitude to his caretaker for their steadfast companionship and unwavering devotion. He admits that he couldn't have made it through his illness without them.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #vox #my writing #writing #writing prompt #sickfic #he’s sick #my prompts #go feral idk #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel brainrot #sick #sick fanfic #vox x reader #vox x alastor #vox x lucifer #radiostatic #staticapple #if you want idc #vox x valentino #vox x velvette #voxvel #voxval #staticmoth #vox x husk #vox x y/n #vox x oc #vox x you

[scarlet-ancunin]

Omg i know Astarion is a Vampire and all but, can you do a headcanon or one-shot with Astarion denying he is sick but he is Tav see's it his companions see it and they do little things to make him feel better even if he denies it. Thank you so much

A/n: heh interesting I'll make it happen *cracks knuckles to regret it later*

✧･��: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧

I'm A Vampire, Forever Healthy

Everyone in the group was sick.... in the head due to your undying fiend living in your brain.

But luck was on your side and your companions side since no one seem to get the symptoms of becoming a mindflayer. You learned that day to count your blessings.

You met some interesting people along the way to a one in particular caught your interest more. A pale elf who you found out was a vampire spawn, who also happened to greet you in a unique way. A knife to your throat.

You chuckle at the memories by the camp fire while everyone else talked about random things. But you notice one member missing from you little band of misfits the vampire spawn. 'Hm?' You thought to yourself.

Turned out Astarion was acting a little strange sitting inside his tent sipping some wine which looks more along the lines of blood but he looked slightly.... out of it.

"Astarion are you okay? You look a little pale" you said before realizing what you said doing a mental facepalm

"Obviously darling last i checked im a vampire spawn comes with the territory" he sneers.

You winced "i mean paler than normal hows that are you feeling well?" You asked and Astarion waves you off dismissively "im fine, no meed to worry thay pretty head of yours" he said smoothly.

You drop it but something in your gut tells you. The man is clearly lying.

Next time it happens you watched Gale dodge a stray lightning arrow that Astarion let out making him turn to scold Astarion but noticed the man was holding his head pain etched in his features.

Gale made it his business to hunt down two boars amd drained it perfectly into two jars and walked over to him in camp holding the two jars "i believe you need some nourishment my friend so i took the liberty of draining the boars i caught for dinner so enjoy"

Astarion looked up his elf ears twitching lightly surprised and he was going to respond with a snarky remark but it was a nice gesture. But he didn't need to be owing anyone favor but Gale spoke up "our deal is try to stay healthy so you wont shock me" he chuckles and walked away.

The next time was when they entered a cave Astarion was shivering and his body just felt awful he didn't think typical weather can effect him. What in the hells was going on. He was thinking until Karlach stood beside him "hey Fangs you okay? Shivering like a leaf over here" Astarion scowls "im fine just.. just saw something- um disgusting" Karlach rolled her eyes not beliving him but mentioned you was making camp soon

When everyone turned it Karlach saw Astarion was struggling to meditate because he felt awful still and cold. He didn't hear when Karlach came over and simply sat next to him her body heat was welcoming but Astarion still scowls "i said im fine-" "easy fangs im just sitting here because gale is snoring"

If Astarion wasn't feeling terrible he wouldn't have believed such a deception. But he did and huffs "fine"

After a few moments Karlach felt a weight on her shoulder before looking at down to see Astarion head was on her shoulder slipping into a light meditative state.

You had the last stray and glare at Astarion the team behind you "Astarion your sick and your going to rest and be taken care of understand"

Astarion was taken aback "sick what do you mean im sick, im a vampire forever Healthy" he sticks his head up in resentment, much to his protesting headache.

You frown "please let us help you its clear you feel aweful and i-.... um" you look away having a faint blush since you never really told Astarion how you felt since he probably wouldn't believe you.

Then Karlach steps in "you see Fangs, this one care about you alot more than you think. And they want to see you okay get it?"

Astarion looked over at You and gave you a blank stare before sighing in defeat. "Alright fine, but you better not mention this little group meeting to everyone else" he complained and their little band chuckles quietly agreeing.

Later that night you made it your business to remain in his tent tending to him and even stayed back to keep Astarion company until he was on his toes again and when he was fully healed he pulled you in for a timid kiss before smirking.

"This is a gift, i won't forget it" he said softly holding your hand

⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇ ⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇ ⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇

A/n: he got everyone sick later one oops.

Requests are open for our favorite vampire spawn 🥺💞 thank you everyone hope you liked it.

#request open #send me stuff #unhinged #unhinged astarion simp #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion baldurs gate #astarion ancunin #astarion x oc #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x tav #astarion approves #astarion and you #bg3 #bg3 tav #baldurs gate 3 #vampire spawn #sickfic #astarion needs a hug #vampire spawn astarion #spawn astarion #friendship #Gale #karlach #careful i bite

[shion-yu]

Not Your Fault (part 2)

Part 1 | Alex has fever dreams, Shu comforts him. Fill for my @badthingshappenbingo space "It's All My Fault." Original work, 1,474 words. No TWs, CW: PTSD, vomit, Alex is 13 here. And don't worry, of course Shu's gonna get whumped in part 3 :P

Shu was woken up by the sound of screaming. He ran into Alex's room not bothering to knock where he found Alex sitting up in bed crying and coughing. His breathing was fast and congested, a mix of tears and snot running down his face. Without the confident scowl on his face that he usually protected himself with, he looked exactly like the teenager he really was.

"Alex, Alex! Look at me bud," Shu urged him, hands hovering over Alex's shoulders. Alex looked at him with such a hurt, scared expression that it was clear he wasn't in the present moment. Shu took a chance, placed one hand on Alex’s shoulder and rubbed Alex's back with the other in the hope that it would help bring Alex back to reality. He knew that nightmares were a common occurrence for Alex, but usually Alex would shout once or twice in his sleep and then go quiet. This time he seemed to be in a full blown panic though, likely thanks to the fever Shu could feel through his t-shirt. 

Alex looked up at Shu with a heartbreakingly devastated expression. "It's my fault," he whimpered, his eyes shining with tears. 

"You haven't done anything wrong," Shu soothed him, his voice low and gentle. "It's okay. Just focus on me now."

Alex let out a small sob and gripped the hem of Shu's shirt. He was shaking, either with fear or chills or both. "I killed them. It's my fault they're dead. I-I-" He shuddered violently. Shu pressed his hand to Alex's cheek and grimaced at the high heat coming off the teen. 

"No honey, it's not your fault," Shu tried to soothe Alex like he was far younger than fourteen. He wasn't exactly sure what Alex was talking about, but it likely had something to do with how everybody else in that apartment had died the day of the explosion - Alex's mom, his mom's boyfriend, and the downstairs neighbor. Alex had been the only one to survive it because he’d been in his bedroom with the doors closed, suffering only minor injuries while everybody else had died on site. Such an event would haunt anyone, let alone a thirteen year old boy who clearly did not have the best coping mechanisms. Alex tried to act like it didn’t bother him, but Shu found that impossible to believe. He made Alex go to talk therapy even though the kid almost always found some way to bail on it, thinking that maybe if Alex didn’t want to tell him about his troubles then at least maybe he could tell someone else. 

Shu kept rubbing Alex's back, something he usually wouldn't be able to do without Alex slapping his hand away. "Breathe for me, can you?" Shu asked gently. "It's just you and me here. You're safe."

Alex seemed to listen for about ten seconds, growing momentarily quieter, before his breath quickened again. "Alex?" Shu questioned him. All the color had suddenly drained from Alex's face. 

"I'm gonna puke," Alex said, gagging once before Shu managed to shove the waste basket under his chin just in time. Despite skipping dinner, Alex managed to vomit a substantial amount before collapsing back onto his pillows, trembling violently. Shu hummed sympathetically and took the basket away, tying the bag up and bringing it to the kitchen where he double bagged and tossed the mess. He returned with the bin containing a fresh bag, the thermometer and a wet rag. Alex was lying there with one arm over his eyes. It was difficult to discern an expression in that position, but it was clear he was upset.

"Let's get you cleaned up and I'll take your temperature," Shu said softly. Alex just groaned in response, not moving. Shu hummed and pressed the dampened cloth to Alex's sweaty neck. Alex flinched but then took the washcloth and wiped the rest of his face off. Afterwards Shu traded the washcloth for the thermometer.

"It doesn't matter," Alex muttered, but begrudgingly placed the small instrument under his tongue. The number rose until it stopped at 102.3 and beeped. Shu took it and made out the reading using the dim hallway light that flooded into the bedroom from the doorway. 

"Oof. You must feel awful," Shu hummed softly. 

"No, I feel great," Alex said sarcastically. This usual snarkiness actually made Shu feel a little better. The wet, "Ht'ksshh!" and whimper that followed did not. 

"Do you think you can stomach some more Tylenol?" Shu asked him, handing Alex the glass of water. "Just try a few little sips first," he urged when Alex looked at the glass apprehensively. Alex followed instructions and then nodded after managing a few sips without throwing up, so Shu handed him two more Tylenol to take. "We'll bring you to the doctor in the morning," Shu said.

Alex looked annoyed. "I don't need to go to the doctor," he said. "I just need to sleep it off."

"Is that what you're used to?" Shu asked, perhaps a bit too pityingly because Alex scowled and pushed the glass back into his hand. "Alex..."

"Sorry for waking you up," Alex growled. "Go back to - to be... H'nnxgh-“ Alex managed to halfway stifle the first of the fit of three sneezes only, the rest too strong for him to hold back. He launched straight from sneezing into coughing and Shu was surprised when Alex grabbed onto Shu's forearm, although it seemed simply to prevent himself from pitching forward. Shu reached for a tissue from the box on Alex's nightstand and held it to Alex's nose.

"Blow," he said. “Just do it, you're choking on your own snot," he added when Alex glared at him with watery eyes. Alex took the tissue and blew what sounded like far more than what could fit in one tissue's worth. Shu held out his hand for the used one and traded Alex for another, which he also filled. "Good," Shu said. "Better?" Alex nodded slowly. He looked miserable. "Do you think you can go back to sleep?" Shu asked him hopefully.

Alex shook his head no, sniffling pathetically. “Everything hurts,” he whined.

"Okay, that's fine,” Shu said. “Do you want me to stay with you? Or we can go watch TV in my room." Alex didn't go in there much, but Shu always tried to make him feel like he could enter whenever he wanted. The first night Alex had lived with him, Alex had slept there while Shu slept on the couch since he didn't have a bed for Alex yet. It had all been very sudden, how Alex had come to live with him, and Shu still couldn't believe everything that had happened in the handful of months that had passed since then. 

Alex didn't answer, but he was looking at Shu with a strange expression that Shu couldn't read. "Or the couch," Shu added awkwardly, trying to come up with other options in case maybe Alex didn't like any of the first ones. "I could make you something warm."

"You're too nice to me," Alex blurted out suddenly. His face turned red, but Shu wasn't sure if it was all due to the fever. 

"Alex," Shu sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed and facing him with a serious expression. "You're my kid. I know I'm not what you'd prefer but it's what you've got, and I'm trying my best. I want you to feel safe, this is your home now. Whatever happened or didn't happen before isn't your fault. You deserve to be taken care of."

Alex went quiet again. Shu waited for him to process this, half expecting Alex to kick him out. But instead he sniffled and said, "TV in your room sounds okay." Shu smiled and tried not to make it obvious how thrilled he was. They moved to Shu's room where Shu set Alex up in his bed with lots of pillows behind him and a hot water bottle to hug. If Alex's sniffles sounded more like crying than just a runny nose now, Shu kept his mouth shut. They watched late night TV until Alex slumped lower in Shu's bed and Shu could tell he'd fallen asleep. Shu adjusted the pillows and tucked him in so he would be comfortable enough not to wake up.

Alex was a handful and often Shu felt like he was far more than Shu could handle on his own, but right now he looked so boyish and peaceful. Poor kid was going through it, and illness and nightmares only made things worse. Shu hated to see him suffering, but at the same time a tiny part of him was grateful that it had pushed Alex to trust him just a little bit, even if it was only for tonight.

Part 3

#shionwrites #sickfic #fever whump #parental relationship #bad things happen bingo #It's All My Fault #oc: alex #oc: shu #whump #illness whump #flu whump #sicknario #male cold #sick whump #minor whump #oc sickfic #emeto #nightmares

[angstyaches]

i feel like 🐈‍⬛ (superstition) would be really cool for charlie if he said something off-handed and then one of the aldridges was just like “well, yes. obviously.”

Okay, I love this idea! I ended up tweaking it slightly, but I hope you enjoy 🖤 Also, I've been writing too many different Halloweens for these boys so it takes place on Friday the thirteenth instead!

Sick or Treat

CW: emeto, alcohol/drunkenness, superstition, teasing/banter, brief mention of parental death.

___

Charlie hiccupped and triumphantly swallowed back the acidic swell of liquid at the back of his throat. If he was going to vomit – and all signs pointed to yes – he would prefer to do it in the semi-privacy of Shayne’s bathroom, not here on the street in full view of Felix and Elliott.

“How much further?” he whispered, leaning on Shayne’s arm. He apparently didn’t whisper as quietly as he’d thought, though, because a few paces ahead, Felix turned around with an easy smile.

His freckled cheeks were flushed from the alcohol. “A little bit further, bud. You holding up alright?”

Charlie gulped again as he nodded. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to vampires and their extra-sensitive hearing.

“It’ll take even longer,” Shayne complained, staggering slightly as Charlie’s weight overpowered him for a couple of steps, “if you don’t walk in a straight fucking line.”

“Sorry, lovely.”

“It’s… it’s fine.” The nervous double-flutter of Shayne’s dark eyelashes sliced through the drunk, queasy haze in Charlie’s head.

“Mmm,” Charlie hummed, resolved to keeping his head down and walking in as straight a line as possible until they made it back to the townhouse. The part of town they were currently passing through was in need of some TLC, and soon, Charlie found himself taking longer or shorter steps, leaning to one side or the other, to avoid the soles of his shoes touching the cracks in the pavement. Some ran so close together and spread out from the same spot so that they looked like spiderwebs, which sent shivers down his spine.

Shayne groaned, hitching Charlie’s arm a little closer to his body. “The fuck are you doing now? Are you gonna throw up or something?”

“No, I’m just walking.”

“You’re all over the place, love.”

“Look at all the cracks!”

“What?” Shayne asked slowly. “What about them?”

“You know what they say! Step on a crack, break your mother’s back.” Charlie felt a stab of panic a moment after saying it out loud; it probably wasn’t a cool thing to say to someone whose mother was dead. He looked up sheepishly, reckoning he could afford to take his eyes away from the path for just a few seconds.

Shayne just looked confused, though. His pupils were endlessly dark, almost swallowing up the brown rings in his eyes. “Seriously? You’ve never cared about that before.”

Charlie raised his eyebrows. “It’s Friday the thirteenth.”

“So?”

“So, maybe all of that stuff is actually true on Friday the thirteenth.”

“Well, yeah.” Hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers, Elliott turned on his heel and walked backwards for a couple of paces. The whites of his eyes gleamed in the moonlight, and Charlie was filled with the sickening dread as he was about to flash his fangs and everything. “Obviously, it is.”

“Elli,” Felix hissed softly, to which Elliott responded by freeing one hand from its pocket and tapping him on the arm.

“Friday the thirteenth is the reason all of those superstitions exist.” Elliott gave a shrug. “Not a lot of humans know that.”

Charlie always flinched under the way Elliott said the word humans. He never said it in a way that sounded condescending or superior, but he still managed to make Charlie feel like an insect standing by the feet of giants. Nothing so undignified as a maggot or a worm, but perhaps an ant.

Unsure of what to make of any of this, Charlie slowed to a stop so he could look at Shayne without risking a misstep. “Wh-what does that mean, lovely?”

“It means Elliott’s being an asshole,” Shayne said, shrugging a shoulder in Elliott’s direction. “So, you know, business as usual.”

“Hey, you little shit. You think you know better than I do?”

A kind of primal fear coiled in the pit of Charlie’s stomach. People kept emphasising that Ryan was the Elder vampire of her bloodline, that she was the one who’d been around for centuries and had all the answers, but from where Charlie was standing, Elliott appeared just as unshakable, just as timeless, just as… inevitable.

In other words, just as frightening a gateway into the supernatural world as Ryan. So, who could say he didn’t know something the rest of them knew?

Stranger things had happened, after all.

Don’t you think I would know about this? CT wondered idly inside his head; they were always extra quiet, extra sluggish, when Charlie drank alcohol. This was probably for the best, because otherwise, the two would probably start having loud, uninhibited conversations out loud for the world to hear. I am more ancient than the forests –

You can’t even remember what your name was before you met me, Charlie pointed out, to which they sat back in silence again, resigned.

“Elliott, are you being serious?” Charlie demanded.

“Yes,” Elliott said, at the same moment that both Shayne and Felix said, “No.”

“Charlie.” Shayne’s voice had an edge of desperation. “You’re drunk off your fucking face and Elliott’s bullshitting you.”

Charlie shook his head, dropping his gaze to the path again as he started forward. “I-I’m gonna avoid the cracks,” he said, “just to be safe.”

Shayne sighed with exasperation as he was tugged along.

“Do you want me to break my mother’s back?” Charlie demanded.

Somehow, Shayne mustered up an even more passionate sigh. “No, I don’t want you to break Ingrid’s back.”

They forged ahead, until checking for cracks pushed Charlie’s plans of walking in a straight line from ambitious to futile. He felt Shayne’s grip on his arm tighten as he wobbled across the path, the streetlights converging into one dizzying blur.

“Charlie, what’s wrong?”

Charlie pitched forward, spurting out several mouthfuls of dark, foamy vomit into the well-trimmed grass that separated the path from the side of the road. He groaned with relief that the ground would soak up the foul liquid, so that it mightn’t get all over his Converse.

“Love,” Shayne said, and Charlie reached for him with one hand.

“Dizzy.”

“Yeah, no shit, you’re drunk.”

Charlie didn’t have it in him to explain to his boyfriend that he’d been handling his booze just fine until the lines in the path had started to blur before his eyes as he passed them. However, as though he’d cast off a few units of alcohol along with his vomit, his head felt a little clearer.

“Lovely?”

Shayne lightly smoothed a hand over Charlie’s shoulder. “Mmhmm?”

“Elliott was..." Charlie paused to stifle a wet, shallow burp. "... Winding me up, wasn’t he?”

The hand on his shoulder twitched into a grip, just for a few seconds, before it resumed forming a comforting sweeping motion. “Did… Did you figure that out all by yourself, genius?”

#StW Charlie #StW Shayne #StW Elliott #StW Felix #Sick or Treat drabbles #sickfic #emeto #emeto fic #emeto drabbles #sickfic drabbles #OC emeto #OC sickfic

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

A Cup of Tea and Paracetamol pt 4/4

The final installment is done! Phew, thanks for sticking with me, I know this was a long story and idk how people feel about that. This last part is pretty much just sneeze p0rn lmao, so I hope you guys like it. Let me know if there are any scenarios/story ideas you’d like to see with these two next, because I don’t have any WIPs currently!

A prewarning, this is of course not beta’d or reread because I am a full dunce and I shit out snz and then run away. 

Love you all, enjoy

“Listen,” Elijah rasped the next morning, as he and Greyson waited for their cab to approach the hotel, “I’m gonna need you to pull it together.”

“Lij, I – HGDSTHH-oo! Hnn-NGSTSH-uhh! Huh…”

“See, this is what I’m talking -”

“HUHHHESTCHH-ue!”

“-about.” Elijah coughed into his elbow, while Greyson fished a paper-thin hotel tissue out of his pocket and blew his nose. They made quite the pair, really. Greyson grimaced and tossed the tissue into a waiting trashcan before turning to his boss and clearing his throat.

“Lij,” Greyson said, his voice sticky and congested. “I dond’t thindk I’mb gonna mbake it.” He swallowed back a cough as the cab rolled up to the valet. “Whend I’mb gone, tell mby staff I loved – HRFFSHH! GTSHH-ue! HRSSHHH-oo! God-fucking-dammit.”

“Remember when I said pull it together?” Elijah asked, his voice once again cutting out completely. He yanked the cab door open, pulled a mask out of his back pocket, and mouthed “Pull. It. Together.”

Greyson sucked in through his nose futilely, then cleared his throat again as he pulled up his own mask and lowered himself into the car next to his boss. “Hi there,” he said, actively avoiding any m’s or n’s. “Airport, please.”

The driver grunted in understanding and set off through the early-morning traffic. Greyson gave Elijah a thumbs up as if to say Pulled it together pretty well, huh? Elijah rolled his eyes in response and collapsed over his own lap to cough as quietly as he could.

“Need some water?” the driver asked, producing a small bottle from a chest on the passenger’s seat. Elijah shook his head in Greyson’s direction.

“He’s good.” Greyson said, rubbing his nose behind the mask. He wondered silently how much longer the ride was going to be; it had felt like a short drive on the way in, but that may have had something to do with the fact that he didn’t have the constant feeling of needing to sneeze on the way in.

Sometime between the end of the event yesterday afternoon and when he’d gone to bed around midnight, Greyson’s body had suddenly decided that it was going to cut the bullshit and start sneezing like it was his job. Greyson assumed it had been sometime after his fourth drink; that’s when things started getting hazy, anyway. He’d woken up this morning with sinuses packed, a throbbing head, and a note on his arm that read, Call me when that cold’s cleared up -Alex with what he assumed was a London phone number scrawled beneath it. Alex’s face, location, and gender were, at this point, a toss-up.

“Huhh…” Greyson’s breath hitched audibly then, and Elijah sat up suddenly and shook his head. Greyson understood his meaning; between their matching pallor and Elijah’s coughing, he was sure they were already on thin ice with this driver. No need to cause a scene and get them kicked out of the cab. Greyson pawed at his nose again and held his breath – to no avail.

“HXTSH-uhh!” Greyson attempted to hold the sneeze back, but his body clearly had other plans. He gave Elijah a watery, apologetic look before collapsing into a fit of sneezes, directed into his elbow. “HFSHH-uh! Huh...hehh...HGSTHH-ue! HRSSHH! NGTSHH! HUHESSTCHOO! Fuck mbe,” Greyson grumbled into his elbow.

“Is everything alright back there?” the driver asked, tentatively. Elijah cleared his throat as best he could to take over the speaking role.

“We’re okay,” he managed, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just a cold.”

“Hell of a cold,” the driver grumbled, pulling up to the airport gate. “Need help with your things?”

“We’re okay,” Greyson said, throwing the door open the moment the car came to a stop. “Thangks.” He handed the driver a wad of cash – far more than they owed, to make up for the disinfecting this guy was going to have to do – and dragged Elijah out of the car. They quickly collected their bags from the trunk and made their way into the airport.

“Did I or did I not tell you to pull it together?” Elijah asked, voice cracking. Greyson gave his boss the dirtiest look he could muster while they got in line for their boarding passes.

“That was mbe pulling it together,” he said, sniffling behind the mask. “Trust mbe, you dond’t wandt to see mbe letting loose.”

They made it through ticketing and security with little incident, and once they found their gate, Greyson declared, “Great, it exists. Let’s go get drungk.”

The two ill men plopped themselves down at a corner table in the darkest airport bar they could find. Once drinks were ordered, they ripped off their masks and stared at one another, dead-eyed. Elijah was the first to break the silence.

“Huh-GTSHH-ue!” he sneezed into his elbow, which propelled him into a fit of coughing. Greyson sucked in through his nose, and let out an irritated cough in sympathy.

“Is that what I have to look forward to ndext?” he asked, nodding at the server when a beer was placed in front of him. Elijah rolled his eyes and shot his whiskey before giving Greyson the middle finger.

“Yeah, enjoy,” he rasped, pulling a hand down his face in misery. Greyson chuckled darkly and sucked down the beer in a few gulps, then raised a hand toward the bar to get the server’s attention.

“Keep ’emb combing,” he called out.

“Alcohol’s only going to make it worse,” Elijah rasped. Greyson laughed in earnest this time.

“You think it could get worse?” he asked, and Elijah returned the laugh.

“Fair enough,” he said. He quietly thanked the server who brought their second round, and lifted his rocks glass. “You know what would really hit the spot right now?”

“A lobotomy?” Greyson guessed.

“Some nyquil.”

Greyson nearly moaned at the thought of it. “Dond’t even say its precious name,” he said, sucking down the second beer. He placed the half-empty glass back down on the table when his breath began to hitch once again. “HGSTHH-uhhh. NGXTSHH-nn! HXTSHH! HTSH!”

“Will you just sneeze like a normal person and get it over with?” Elijah asked, downing the remainder of his drink. “Holding them in just makes it worse.”

“You’re such an expert ind how I’mb mbaking it worse, and yet you dond’t seem to be doing mbuch better thand mbe,” Greyson said, blowing his nose quietly. “So I don’t think I’ll be taking my advice from you, thangks.”

Elijah shrugged. “Fair enough,” he whispered, turning to signal for the check.

“Hey, I wandted another,” Greyson said, coughing into his sleeve. Elijah raised an eyebrow.

“I think you’re good,” he said pointedly. Greyson grumbled while Elijah produced a credit card and signed the check. “I’ll make it up to you,” he told the chef, pushing his chair backand gathering their things.

“Mmmb, how’re you gonna do that?” Greyson asked, pressing his palm into an aching eyeball. Elijah shrugged.

“I was thinking maybe a cup of tea?” he said, attempting a British accent with his mangled voice. “Perhaps a paracetamol?”

Greyson couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, fuck off, Lij.” Elijah laughed, too.

“Let’s get this flight over with,” Elijah whispered. “And, Grey?”

“Y – HFSHHH-uhh! Fuggck. Snf. Yeah?” Greyson asked, his eyes watering. Elijah attempted a smile.

“Let’s go ahead and keep the restaurant closed this weekend.”

Greyson coughed out a laugh. “Ndow,” he said, “you’re speaking my language.”

#do i love this ending? nope! #but it's as good as i'm gonna be able to do lmao #original character #male snz #cold #snz fic #sickfic #coldfic #whiskeyswriting #oc sickfic #snz #snzfic

[planetharrie]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Partied a Lil’ Too Hard

Available to read on my Wattpad @PlanetHarrie

In which Harry’s possibility of holding his liquor is tested to the limits and he leaves a thoughtful gift for his fiancée the following morning.. 🍾🧺😷

Warnings: Mentions of vomiting

(not quite sure why I put Niall as character when Harry’s not famous, oops!🫣)

⭐️

"Alright big guy," Niall wheezed as an unstable Harry began drooping from his drunken grip, "lean on me—that's it, buddy."

They were both drunk; Harry more on the plastered side. Tonight was Niall’s birthday celebration and he'd been drinking like it was his 21st birthday party and not Niall's. The said birthday-boy was holding up Harry's entire body weight on his right side as they stumbled down m the plastered-man’ lamppost-lighten street.

"Here we are, H." The ex-blonde pushed Harry into his front garden when they arrived at his and Lucille's house and had him lean against the frame of the front door. Before knocking, Niall fished his phone out from his pocket; it was about to hit 2 A.M on the dot and he winced. The likelihood of Lucille being awake at this hour was far from high.

Despite his doubt, Niall rapped two of his knuckles on the oak and stepped back while biting his lip. He scanned the house for any lights or sign of life inside and breathed a sigh of relief when the hallway light beamed through the glass of the front door. Rustling of keys was heard on the other side.

Niall's drunk eyes wandered over to Harry who's body was slumped and looked like it was about to kneel over. His chest hitched with a drunk hiccup.

"Mate, brush your teeth when you get in; for Lucille's sake if not yours." Niall grimaced at the putrid stench of booze practically radiating off of his friend.

"Shu'thefuckup. ." Was what Harry slurred back and swallowed warily afterwards with a hand placed on his sloshing stomach.

Lucille eventually opened the door, revealing herself wrapped up in her short, silk dressing gown. Her hair was falling out of its plait and she was squinting with tired and confused eyes under the warm hallway light.

"Hey, Luce." Niall started. He eyed Harry's fiancé carefully as he helped Harry stand straighter. "Sorry for waking you; he's absolutely hammered."

"I. . . can see that. . ." She stepped back and allowed Niall to nudge Harry inside. "Did he forget it was your birthday party and not his?"

"Ello, m'lovie." Harry slurred. Lucille could only attempt a smile but it turned into more of a grimace as she stared up and down her fiancé; he was shirtless, sweaty and his jeans were low and showing his boxers.

"Niall, where's his top?"

She was passed Harry's t-shirt which was clearly congealed with a portion of last night's dinner and drinks down its front. She sighed and draped it over the stair banister.

"Well, thanks for bringing him back. Guess I'm on babysitting duty for tonight." Lucille folded her arms.

"Well, he's your fiancé!" Niall sarcastically saluted as he backed out of the house. Lucille shoved his chest and pushed her front door shut, leaving her and Harry alone.

Now that Niall had left, she unwrapped her dressing gown and draped it across the banister on top of Harry's soiled shirt. She was left in a see-through white tank top that was bunched up around her waist from sleep and a pair of plain black panties. Harry cheekily cupped one of her boobs and smirked.

"Y'look so pretty, Baby. . ." Harry pulled her into his chest and kissed her hair. He'd always been a real cuddly person when he'd get drunk.

Lucille rubbed his bare back with a dry laugh but quickly froze and grimaced when he suppressed a drunk burp into her hair. Her eyes widened and she pulled back, staring up at Harry, who only looked back at her innocently.

"Gross, H!" She chuckled and pulled away, "it's bed time for you.”

"M'not tired, Luce!" He whined, "jus' wanna kiss you all over, Baby. . . m’pretty girl. . .”

Lucille gently took his hands from her chest, "No chance, Mister. Sleep; now."

Harry eventually trudged up the wooden hill and stripped his jeans off and climbed into bed. He'd actually fallen twice while trying to actually clamber onto the mattress but finally got settled with Lucille's help. She too climbed in and tried tucking him under the duvet,

"No, 's too hot." He pouted and rolled over onto his side, his back facing Lucille.

"Too hot for a cuddle?"

Harry's ears seemed to perk up and he rolled back over and spooned his fiancé. She giggled softly and stroked his cheek.

"Did y'have fun tonight?" Lucille whispered softly, breathing in his cologne and alcohol-mixed scent. The answer she received was a soft snore. Her face was gobsmacked and she rolled over with a joking scoff, squirming into Harry's big spoon and drifted off to sleep.

⭐️

When Harry woke up later the same morning, he was met with a face full of sunshine barging in through the window. He groaned and squinted while shakily covering his eyes with his hands.

Lucille was already awake and sat up against the headboard on her laptop when her hungover fiancé aroused from his post-drunk slumber. She set the computer aside and stroked Harry's bed-hair out of his face.

"Hey. . . how're you feeling?" Her voice cooed quietly. The reply she got was another grumble and her fingers pinched her reading glasses to rest them on the top of her own bed-head.

"The sun? Wha'the fuck?"

"Sorry, I opened the curtains; thought it would be good for you to have some vitamin-D on your face," She shrugged slightly, "I can close them if you like?"

"Yes, please." Harry mumbled. Lucille padded over to the window and drew the curtains shut before climbing back into bed.

"Sleep well? It's nearly one in the afternoon!"

Harry slouched himself against the headboard and rubbed the sleep from his eye as he recollected his thoughts. "Not bad; was sick at one point though.."

Lucille frowned and worry crossed her features. She shifted slightly so that she could fully face Harry; she couldn't help the flow of concerned questions that rambled out her mouth.

"You were? Where? Are you still feeling sick?"

"In the bucket." Harry simply replied with a yawn tailing. Lucille's frown only deepened; what bucket?

"What bucket, Harry?" She began subtly glancing around their bedroom for a puddle of stomach contents soaked into their carpet.

"The bucket you left out for me, Luce." Harry shortly snapped, his hand flopping to from his face to his side in frustration. He looked up at his fiancé and was slightly frightened at the complete confusion written on her face. "Lucille!The bucket at the end of the bed!"

His fiancée shook her head. "Babe, I didn't—" Lucille paused and crawled a little to peer over the edge of the bed.

She had been correct; she hadn't left a bucket out for Harry that night which meant that the said 'bucket' was actually their round laundry basket with a pile of freshly-folded, clean clothes inside. "Fuck, Harry!"

Lucille rounded the bed and picked up her basket as Harry swung his legs of the edge of the mattress and sat up. She had a look of disgust and horror on her face as she shoved her clean clothes under Harry's chin. His eyes widened.

"Shi-i-it. . ." He drew out and scratched his forehead shamefully, "God, I'm so sorry."

Crusty, half-dried vomit soaked into the t-shirt on top of the folded pile and Harry had to swallow a gag from erupting while he stared at his mess.

"Luce, I'm really sorry but can you please—" He swallowed cautiously and pushed the plastic washing basket away, "—get it away; it's making me feel weird."

Lucille sighed and dropped the basket to the floor and sat on the edge of the bed next time him, running her hand through his hair. He leaned into her touch and shut his eyes momentarily. "Fancy some breakfast then?” She offered softly but she knew the answer she was going to get.

"Nah, I-I'm good. For now at least.”

"I was thinking pancakes? . ."

"No—seriously I'm good, Lucille. . .”

"With thick maple syrup drizzled on top. ."

Harry gagged (ever so slightly) at the description of Lucille's ideal breakfast, earning a laugh from her. "Alright, alright; I'll stop." She glanced at Harry's features.

His face was an uncomfortable grey colour and his hair was suddenly plastered with sweat to his forehead, making it look like he had some kind of bowl haircut. "Hey. . . You 'kay?"

Her hand slowly began rubbing up and down his bare back while Harry slowly swallowed with a weary shake of his head.

He felt her lean across him and opened his eyes, only to be greeted by a glass of foggy water being waved in front of him. She told him to take a sip. Before he could listen to his nauseous stomach and decline, Harry realised how dry and stale his mouth and throat felt and took the glass in both hands.

The water slid down his throat; it felt good and refreshing so he took another two sips before placing the glass back down on his bedside table.

"Ergh—god. . ." Harry grimaced, his green eyes blinked slowly as he stared at a spot of the carpet intensely. The water wasn't feeling good in his stomach as it did going down his throat.

"What's wrong?" Lucille questioned, tickling the back of his neck softly.

"The water. ." His throat bobbed and Lucille watched the grey fade into green in his complexion. "it's hit my stomach like a rock."

Lucille hesitated before opening her mouth to suggest laying back down. That was then Harry quickly stood up with slight panic but slowed his walking pace when he began heading for the bedroom door.

"Where're you going?!"

An incoherent reply drew quiet when Harry walked down the landing and swiftly shut the bathroom close behind him. Lucille stayed seated, twiddling her engagement ring while listening for Harry to come back from the bathroom.

It was the agonising retch from down the hall that had her standing up and bounding into the bathroom. Harry was knelt in front of the toilet with his head hanging just above the bowl; his mouth opened with a gag and his shoulders rolled forward as he heaved up his second bout.

Lucille swore under her breath and bent down at the waist to smooth back Harry's sweat-soaked hair from his face. With her own hair in her eyes, she scanned the bathroom counter for Harry's mini claw clip and briskly pinned back his fringe. She then knelt down behind him and rubbed the nape of his neck while he panted over the toilet. Harry moaned and shifted closer to his safe-haven, holding his head in one of his propped-up arms on the toilet seat.

"Shhh, you're okay. ." Lucille cooed to her fiancé. Harry barely felt her kiss and rest her forehead on his bare, sweaty back before he rocked forward with another dire retch.

"Lucille." Harry called for her between bouts of projectile vomiting and her heart broke; she'd never heard him sound so vulnerable before. She watched in pity as he reached down and held his bare stomach while profusely spitting into his mess in the water.

"I know, Lovely; just get it all up and you'll feel so much better. . ."

"'S all jus' alcohol—no food." Harry breathily hiccuped at the swirling sight of his sick in the toilet. Lucille reached up and flushed away last night's mistakes before pulling Harry into her lap and tucking his head into her chest.

"Do you feel any better?" She whispered, stroking his hairline. He gulped and nodded, his warm breath fanning her collarbone. Lucille smiled to herself and rubbed slow, firm circles along his back.

The two sat for a few minutes in comfortable silence, Lucille rocking them both side to side ever so slightly.

Harry pulled away from her touch and sat up after a while and Lucille was on high alert, thinking he was going to be sick again. Her panic settled when he cracked his cheeky smile and tucked her hair behind her ear,

"Lucille, I think I'm ready to stomach some of those pancakes of yours."

⭐️

#harry styles #harry styles instagram #harry styles fluff #soft harry #harry styles social media #harry styles writing #love on tour #harry styles imagine #harry styles prompts #harry styles x oc #harry x reader #harry's house album #dad!harry #harry styles blurb #harry styles fic #harrys house #dadrry #harry styles sickfic #wattpad

[osp-originals]

Sympathy Sick

TW: emeto

———

It was 11 PM on a normal Tuesday night and Raj was getting ready to go to bed. He saw that the sign was flipped to “occupied” on the shared bathroom door in his dorm.

Oh, Julian must be in there.

He decided to brush his teeth, not thinking anything of it.

A minute later, he heard a loud retch come from the other side of the door. He froze. His stomach was already turning from the sound.

Oh god, is he getting sick?

Raj tried to spit out the toothpaste so he could get out of there as soon as possible, but he was too late. His roommate heaved loudly again and liquid splashed into the toilet.

Raj barely had time to brace himself on the counter before a bit of his dinner made its way up his throat and into the sink. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to think about it.

Julian vomited again and Raj’s stomach followed, bringing up a mouthful of sick. It sounded like Julian was throwing up everything he ever ate with the intensity and length of the splashes.

Jesus Christ. I hope I don’t catch whatever he’s got.

The thought of himself being that sick made his stomach jump. His roommate let out a sickly burp and then more liquid. Raj puked up another puny amount of his food in response.

Julian, please, just stop, he thought. He would never say that out loud, though, because of course, that’s not how sickness works. He can’t stop any more than I can. Wait, can I…?

The next time Julian threw up, Raj tried to forcefully stop himself from following suit. He successfully swallowed down the liquid that came up his throat at first, but then it just came back with a vengeance seconds later. The second gag was much more violent and painful than the first and brought up much more vomit.

That didn’t work at all. I guess if it was that easy, no one would ever be sick.

“Raj?” Julian said from the bathroom.

“Yeah?” Raj responded.

“Are you sick, too?”

“No, I just…” He paused, knowing that even saying these words out loud would turn his stomach. “I always throw up when somebody else throws up.”

“Oh, you’re a sympathy puker?”

He had never heard it in those words before, but now that he did, it definitely applied.

“I guess so.”

“Well, sorry,” Julian apologized.

“It’s okay. I just wish you would’ve told me you were going to… y’know… so that I could stay in my room.”

“I’ll try to text you next time, if it happens again.”

“Thanks. Are you okay, by the way?”

“Yeah. I mean, I feel like shit, but I’m fine.”

I sure get that.

He washed the evidence down the drain and went back to his bedroom, hoping and praying Julian wouldn’t be sick again. Just in case, he texted him:

Let me know if you need anything.

Luckily, it turned out to be a one-time thing and he didn’t need anything.

———

Yeah this is really short lol. Just a fun intro to Raj as a sympathy puker tbh.

Here are some notes/background about Raj if you’re interested:

He and Julian have known each other since high school, but they weren’t very close in high school. They happened to have a couple of classes together in their first year at Uni, and since he was the only person Julian knew in those classes, Julian talked to him and they became better friends. Raj’s parents immigrated from India when he was in preschool and Julian’s parents immigrated from South Africa before Julian was born, so they bonded over their shared experiences with that. They started rooming together in their second semester because they got along so well.

This interaction is set in their fist semester rooming together, so their second semester at Uni.

Julian is now one of the few people Raj is comfortable talking to at Uni. Raj doesn’t talk much to or around people he isn’t close friends with, but he talks freely to Julian. He has always been a pretty socially anxious person, and he has undiagnosed selective mutism.

Usually Raj would avoid sick people like the plague (literally), but he cares enough about Julian that he wants to make sure he’s okay no matter what. He’ll still avoid him when he’s actually throwing up though. He’s not emetophobic, but ofc he doesn’t enjoy throwing up.

They’re both straight btw.

#original writing #emeto #my writing #oc sickfic #my inbox is open #osp originals #taking requests #osp Raj