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hazbinfallinginaspiral · 21 days

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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.

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indigobrushpen · 10 months

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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

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scarlet-ancunin · 1 month

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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:*✧･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.

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whiskey-tango-matcha · 4 months

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Three (m/m, cold)

And now, for something completely different.

Well, not completely - it's still a cold fic lol. This one is specifically for @ghostlychill who has asked for more Matt and Mark. This is basically the saga of how they ended up together, and it is certainly out of my wheelhouse because it actually has romance lmao. A pre-warning, this is plot heavy (for me) and a little sneeze light. There are a few Greyson cold sneezes, and Matt is sick for the latter half, but it's more of a romance sickfic than a true snz fic. But I hope you like it if you read it; let me know if you all want more Matt and Mark. They were honestly really fun to write, and I banged this monster of a fic out in just a few hours so the muse was musing.

Ok, done rambling. Enjoy :)

CW: Male, M/M (not sexually explicit, just kissing), colds, contagion, coughing, fevers, light mess. 4.3k words under the cut.

Three

Their first kiss was an accident.

Post-brunch. Pre-holidays. “Grab a beer?” Mark had asked as Matt stuffed his dirty chef coat into his backpack. It had become a bit of a ritual for the two of them to grab a drink after a long shift in the past few weeks; usually it was under cover of darkness, but this brunch had been particularly brutal and Matt was craving not just a beverage, but some commiseration. He shrugged, hoisted his backpack onto a shoulder.

“Sure. You’ve got first round.”

One round had quickly turned to two, then three, and before five pm hit they were drunkenly crashing their pint glasses into each other and talking much louder than the half-full pub required to be heard. Matt drained his fifth beer and looked to Mark, smiling sloppily. “One more?” he asked.

Mark pushed his hair out of his face and leaned his head into one hand, taking the other man in. “If it’ll keep you in my line of sight,” he said, emboldened by booze, “I’ll stay here all night long.”

When the bartender finally kicked them out around eight, the two men were so drunk they had to use one another as walking sticks to get down the block.

“We’re way too drunk to be on the street,” Mark laughed, putting a hand over one eye. “I’m seeing, like… quadruple.”

“That’s wild, ‘cause I can’t see at all,” Matt said, looping his arm through Mark’s. The two of them laughed and stumbled until they hit a bench near well-lit central park and flopped down.

“I can’t remember where I live,” Matt admitted, placing his head on Mark’s shoulder. Their arms had stayed looped. Mark gently placed his head atop Matt’s.

“Me either,” he said. “But… can I tell you a secret?”

Matt looked up. Nodded.

“I don’t want to go home,” Mark said, letting a slow smile spread across his face. Matt felt his cheeks flame; he let a beat pass before he smiled back.

“Me either,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Later, they wouldn’t remember who initiated it. All they would remember was when their lips pressed together, everything else melted away.

***

“Oh! Oh, shit, fuck, sorry guys I didn’t -”

“Chef, shit! Oh, fuckin’ hell -”

Greyson slammed the door to the bathroom shut, leaving Matt and Mark to stare at one another, eyes wide as saucers – the silence between them thick as the cigarette smoke that hung in the air outside that little room.

Finally, Mark broke the silence. “Um… do you think he saw anything?”

Matt couldn’t help it; he barked out a laugh. Mark slapped a hand across the other man’s mouth, making him laugh even harder. He really didn’t know what he’d been thinking following Mark in here in the first place.

Much like the stupid party they were hiding from in the bathroom, their second kiss was clearly a mistake.

The New Year’s Eve party had been Elijah’s idea, much to the surprise of literally everyone at the restaurant.

“What?” Elijah had asked when his announcement during pre-shift had been met with a stunned silence. “I thought you all loved parties!”

The servers and cooks eyed one another in a way they all hoped wasn’t completely obvious, until finally Greyson said what everyone was thinking. “Boss, yeah, everyone loves parties… except you.”

Elijah had scoffed at this. “You guys obviously don’t really know me; I love parties.”

Of course, Elijah didn’t love parties and it ended up moving from his roomy condo to Greyson’s tiny Brooklyn apartment at the last minute. Post-service on New Year’s Eve, Matt helped his boss load extra bottles of champagne, vodka, and tequila into the back of the restaurant’s van all while Greyson grumbled about Elijah.

“Fuckin’ Elijah,” Greyson said for about the fiftieth time that evening. “Why the fuck would he even mention a party if he wasn’t a thousand percent sure he wanted to ho – hh-”

Matt glanced up at his boss, who held an arm midair in anticipation. This was the real reason Greyson, who threw parties at his place at least three times a year, was pissed about having to host the work shindig: he was sick.

“Hh-! HhhITSZZH-ue!” Greyson folded over into his elbow, sniffled, and cleared his throat.

“Bless,” Matt offered, placing the rest of the alcohol into the back of the car. “Chef, I’m sure that everyone will understand if you don’t feel up to having twenty people in your apartment. There’re tons of parties right around here, why don’t you just… call it off?”

Greyson, stubborn as ever, just shook his head. “I said I’d do it. They’re already on their way.”

So Matt loaded into the van with Greyson, and Mark got in Elijah’s car with the GM while the rest of the staff hopped on the subway for the party that no one really wanted to be at. Greyson, who’d been able to keep his illness at bay for most of the shift thanks mostly to the Sudafed he kept slamming, started coming down hard the moment they began their drive to Brooklyn.

“Hh...hhITSZZH-ue! Huh-! ETSZH-ue! Fuck mbe,” Greyson muttered, using his sleeve to wipe under his nose with one hand while he drove through the busy Manhattan streets with the other.

“Um… do you want to pull over so I can drive?” Matt asked, a little more pointed than his boss was used to him being. Greyson shot his sous chef a look.

“Ndo,” he said. “I’ve got it.”

Matt was hardly a germaphobe – working in a kitchen bred that out of you pretty quickly – but he couldn’t help but cringe away with every sneeze and cough that came from his boss’s side of the car. He found himself thinking about Mark; they had plans to hang out in just a few days, plans that both of them had been forced to cancel multiple times already, and Matt could just feel Greyson’s germs making themselves at home inside his body. He really didn’t want to cancel on Mark again; he wasn’t exactly sure what they were, what he wanted them to be, or what Mark thought they were, but whatever it was, he didn’t want to fuck it up. Matt was entirely too good at fucking up a good thing.

“HRRSHH-ue!” Clearly, that one snuck up on him, because that time Greyson barely covered his mouth. Matt shrank into the door and considered pulling his shirt over his nose and mouth in a desperate attempt to keep his boss from infecting him. Greyson glanced over at Matt and coughed out a laugh.

“Sorry, kid,” he said, patting Matt’s leg, “but you’re probably already fucked.”

Eventually, they made it to Greyson’s walk-up and after what felt like an eon, they got everything inside. Elijah immediately recruited Mark to help pour champagne for everyone, and Greyson left his sous to go outside and smoke on the patio – Matt had no choice but to just start drinking.

By the time the cooks and servers made it to Greyson’s apartment, Matt was half in the bag. He floated sloppily from group to group, telling jokes and prompting everyone to take shots with him, all while keeping one eye on Mark at all times. Elijah had been keeping his liege busy; Mark was bartending, putting appetizers in the oven, picking up trash… everything except hanging out with Matt. So when he finally got to take a bathroom break, Matt threw back his tequila soda and, emboldened by liquor, followed behind him.

“Hey, it’s occ-” Mark started to say when the bathroom door opened right on his heels – but he was cut off when Matt swung him around, grabbed his face in both hands, stood on his tiptoes, and pressed his lips firmly on the other man’s.

Mark certainly wasn’t pulling away; in fact, the moment their lips touched, Mark grabbed Matt by the hips and lifted him onto Greyson’s tiny vanity to make the kiss easier on both of them. Matt pulled away for just a moment to look at Mark – his black-framed glasses were askew, his hair was wild from Matt’s hands coursing through it, and his face was flushed with lust. Matt was sure he’d never seen anyone so beautiful.

“What was that for?” Mark asked, his voice low. Matt’s face cracked into a smile.

“I haven’t gotten to spend any time with you tonight,” he said, pushing Mark’s hair away from his face. “And I’m probably gonna have to cancel our plans on Monday.”

Mark’s brows knit together, confused. “Why?” he asked. “Is this, like, a fare-thee-well, this is the last time this will happen kiss situation?”

Matt laughed, shook his head. “No,” he said, cocking his head towards the door, where the party rumbled outside. “I’m, like, 99% sure Greyson infected me with his disgusting illness on the long-ass drive over here. I wouldn’t force you to hang out with me when I’m inevitably sick.” He shrugged. “So I figured I’d sneak some time with you where I could.”

Matt didn’t wait for Mark’s response about his impending doom; he just leaned in again. This time, Mark parted his lips and slid his tongue in to meet Matt’s. Matt allowed a quiet moan to escape his lips, let his hand feel its way down to Mark’s shirt, and began unbuttoning when the door flew open once more.

“Oh!”

Greyson.

***

“Chef, I am not in the mood today.”

“Oh c’mon, if I can’t poke fun at your drunken antics then what’s even the point of living? You make fun of my drunken antics all the time.”

Matt put down his knife and gave his boss a pointed look. “Yeah, maybe for like a day after they go down, but New Year’s was three days ago. Are you planning on ever letting it go?”

Greyson shrugged as he pushed onions into a deli container and snapped the lid shut. “Probably not. I mean, it’s just too good – caught red handed in my bathroom. Like, it couldn’t have happened more perfectly if I wrote it myself.”

Matt rolled his eyes; while Greyson living for his embarrassment was annoying, it was kind of the last thing on his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about Mark – after the bathroom kiss situation went down, he’d slipped out of the party and hadn’t mentioned anything about it to Matt since. Matt assumed he wanted to put it out of his head. Maybe the kiss – both of the kisses – hadn’t felt to Mark like they did to Matt. Maybe Mark was put off by how drunk Matt had been both times. Maybe he just wasn’t into him.

All Matt knew was, he desperately wanted to talk to Mark – but despite working the same hours in the same tiny restaurant, Mark had managed to avoid him like the plague.

Speaking of which.

“HTSHH-uh! Hh! Hh’ITSHH-uh! ETZSH-ue!” Matt turned away from the food to sneeze into his shoulder, then his hand, then finally his elbow. Greyson stepped over and plucked Matt’s knife out of his hand while the younger man was compromised.

“You’ll take someone’s eye out that way,” he chastised, placing the knife on Matt’s cutting board. The sous rolled his eyes, sucked in through his nose, and trudged to the sink to wash his hands.

“I don’t want to hear it from you, Chef. You’re the fucking plague rat of this restaurant,” Matt murmured, pulling a hand down his face. This was the other issue: Matt and Mark were supposed to hang out tomorrow, but just as he predicted, Matt had been gifted the cold Greyson had on New Year’s. If Mark didn’t want to talk to him when he was healthy and just a few steps away, he certainly wouldn’t be traversing the city tomorrow to hang out with Matt when he was fever-addled and snot-ridden.

“Rude,” Greyson said, continuing his prep. “But not entirely untrue. Sorry you’re sick.”

“Whatever,” Matt grumbled, his bad mood amplified by his pounding head. “Can you just drop the bathroom situation?”

Greyson bit his cheek to keep from smiling. “I can certainly try.”

Matt knew that meant ‘no’, but he’d take what he could get. He picked his knife back up to start chopping broccoli, but almost cut himself when Mark slipped into the back kitchen.

“Chef?” he asked, prompting both Greyson and Matt’s heads to shoot up. Matt’s face flamed when Greyson swiveled his head to meet his sous’ eyes with a cheeky grin – he put his head back down, pretending to focus on his work.

“Yes, Mark, how can I assist you?” Greyson asked, wiping his hands on the towel next to his cutting board. Matt felt Mark shoot a quick glance his way; his cheeks burned with the knowledge.

“Elijah is looking for you. Says he has a question about tonight’s ten-top with the prixe fix?”

Greyson rolled his eyes, but abandoned his prep for the moment. “When doesn’t Elijah have a question about a prixe fix?” he asked to no one in particular. “I’ll go talk to him. Thanks.”

The chef exited the back kitchen, leaving a sniffling Matt and a stuck-in-place Mark in his wake. Matt was the first to break the silence – unwillingly.

“Hh-! NTSHH-uh!” The sous attempted to stifle a sneeze into his palm, but only succeeded in making a mess of himself. His face reddened impossibly deeper, and he was forced to put down his knife and head for the sink.

“Bless you,” Mark said as Matt pulled a paper towel from the dispenser and blew his nose. Matt swallowed painfully, washed his hands again, and nodded.

“Thanks,” he said, clearing his throat.

They lapsed into silence once again, neither one looking at the other. “Um,” Mark said, finally, “are you -”

“I have to get this work done,” Matt interrupted, though he couldn’t explain to even himself why he wouldn’t let Mark ask if he was okay. “Have a good shift, okay?”

Mark blinked, taken aback, but nodded. He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and turned to leave the back kitchen without a word. Matt didn’t let himself watch the other man go.

***

It was like watching a train wreck.

“Matt,” Greyson called from his spot at the expo board. “Where are we at on the halibut for 63?”

Mark’s eyes darted behind the line where Matt was doubled over, coughing into the collar of his chef’s coat. The sous chef had started the evening looking very much under the weather and quite a bit worse for the wear, but now, at nine PM he looked like he was ready to keel over right there on the line. Mark bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything.

“Matt!” Greyson called again, and Matt stood, shakily, to place the likely-overcooked halibut onto its plate. He pushed it through the window and gave his boss a pointed look.

“The food has to cook, Chef, you gotta give mbe a minu – uh! ETSZCH-uhh!” Matt collapsed once again into his collar, righted himself quickly, and sucked in through his nose. “A mbinute,” he finished, his voice cracking.

“Halibut doesn’t take twenty minutes to cook, Chef,” Greyson snapped, snatching the plate from the line. “I expect my number-two to be able to keep ticket times under fifty minutes so the fucking restaurant doesn’t shut the fuck down.” Greyson handed three plates to Mark, who took them wordlessly and slunk out of the kitchen.

Mark dropped the food at its respective table, the guilt of not saying anything to Matt slowly eating away at him. He counted the tables left in the restaurant who still needed to eat – definitely more than he was hoping for. He really, really didn’t want to go back to the kitchen.

“Hey, Lij?” Mark said, approaching his boss at the host stand. Elijah was moving reservations from table to table on the iPad, configuring the remainder of the night.

“Hmm?” Elijah murmured, only half paying attention. Mark pursed his lips, weighing whether he should say anything.

Finally, he said, “Do you think you could ask Greyson to kind of… cool it with Matt? I mean, he seems like he’s really sick and Chef is like… totally berating him.”

Elijah raised an eyebrow and looked away from the iPad to meet Mark’s eyes. “You want me to ask Greyson to stop yelling at Matt… now? In the middle of service, when there are tables who have thirty-plus-minute ticket times?” The GM huffed out a laugh. “Man, Greyson told me about the whole bathroom situation, but I figured you guys were just drunk. I didn’t realize you were down so badly for him.”

Mark’s face flushed crimson; Elijah smirked at him, and turned back to the iPad. “Matt’s a big boy, Mark,” he said, not looking the floor manager in the eye. “He can handle Greyson yelling at him.”

“Yeah,” Mark muttered. “Okay.”

Mark trudged back to the kitchen to grab more food, the sound of Greyson’s frustrated voice hitting him before he could even step foot through the swinging doors.

“Order in! Two filets, two tofu, one halibut! Matt, I swear to God I had better see table twenty-six up in the next three seconds, Chef, it’s already at twenty-two minutes.”

“Yes, Chef,” Matt mumbled, barely loud enough for anyone to hear.

“I can’t hear you, Chef,” Greyson yelled back, tweezering herbs onto a dish.

“Yes, Che – ITZSHH-ue! HRETSZH-ue!” Matt ducked down below the line to sneeze, the sound painful and desperate. Mark could hear the crackling cough he was trying to hide all the way from where he was standing; his heart sunk. He wished like hell that he’d had the balls to say something – anything – to the other man this week. He wished he wasn’t such a fucking baby when it came to his feelings, or relationships, or standing up for himself or anyone else. He wished he was anyone but himself.

“Bless – Chef, do you need to switch spots with me?” Greyson asked, his voice finally softening at the sound of Matt’s coughing.

“Ndo, Chef,” Matt managed, standing. “I’mb fine. Twenty-six, up,” he said, slamming the plates onto the pass.

“Great,” Greyson mumbled. He garnished the plates and shoved them into Mark’s hands. “Twenty-six, go,” he said, not looking at the floor manager.

Mark nodded; he took the plates out into the dining room and dropped them; as he did, he made a promise to himself and, silently, to Matt: maybe there was nothing he could do or say during the shift to make Matt feel any better, but he would figure out a way, post-shift, to do something to help him. He would grow some balls, if it killed him.

While Elijah was still busy looking at reservations, Mark slipped into the bathroom and pulled out his phone. He put in a grocery order, to be picked up at ten the next morning. He typed out a text to Matt, scheduled it to send at the same time he would be picking up the groceries so he wouldn’t be able to wimp out and unschedule it. Then he put his phone back in his pocket, opened the door, and went to finish the shift.

***

His phone was ringing.

Matt groaned as he came to; he was covered in sweat, he could barely breathe, and he was stiff as a fucking board from passing out on his couch. Who the fuck was calling him? It was his one day off, could Greyson not leave him alone for one fucking day?

He grabbed the phone off the coffee table, ready to throw it across the room, when he realized the name on the screen wasn’t his boss’s.

Call from: Mark, Work.

Matt’s stomach jumped into his throat. The phone continued to ring while he squinted at the clock in the corner: ten twenty-three AM. Had he and Mark spoken last night? He could barely remember a fucking thing about the previous night, other than being utterly and completely miserable. The two of them definitely hadn’t spoken; he remembered giving Mark the cold should before service started, remembered the pitying look Mark had given him as Greyson screamed the restaurant down, remembered flying out the door the moment Greyson told him to go. They hadn’t spoken, their plans were obviously off, so why the hell was Mark calling him?

The call went to voicemail. Matt coughed into his elbow, a chesty sound that he really didn’t like, especially since he didn’t have health insurance. After a minute or so, another notification popped up: one new voicemail.

Curiosity got the better of him. Matt opened his phone and hit ‘play’.

“Hey, Matt, it’s um… it’s me. I know this is super weird, like I don’t know why I did it at this point weird, but, uh… I’m outside your building. I texted you, but now I’m realizing you’re probably asleep. Uh… I mean, if you get this I’m gonna, like, hang out out here for a bit. I brought soup! I can’t cook, so it’s from a deli, but I figured you might need something to eat, and you probably don’t want to cook since you’re sick. Your place is nice, by the way. Um. Okay. If you get this, cool, if not, I’ll uh… I’ll leave in a little bit. Okay. Bye.”

Matt felt his heart near-explode in his chest. Mark was sitting outside his building, with soup? What was this, a Hallmark movie?

He did it without thinking; he pulled up his text conversation with Mark and typed, hey, im awake. sorry I missed ur call. ill buzz you up :)

Mark was up the stairs in record time. He knocked, and Matt stood from the couch, forgetting until he was vertical that he was still in his work clothes from last night. Gross, he thought, but it was too late to change now – he took a few shaky steps towards the door and opened up.

Matt barely recognized Mark at first; he was only used to his floor-manager getup, button-downs and ties and slacks, his hair gelled back. Today, Mark wore jeans and a jean jacket over a Brighton University hoodie – did he go to college in England? - with black high-top converse. His curly hair was in his face, and he was carrying two full grocery bags. Mark smiled.

“Hey,” he said. “Can I come in?”

“Yea -” Matt attempted, not realizing his voice was completely shot until he tried to use it for the first time that day. His hand flew to his throat and he attempted to clear it, to no avail. “Shit, sorry, apparently I can’t talk,” he whispered.

Mark pursed his lips, obviously concerned. “That’s okay,” he said, stepping through the front door. He placed the bags on Matt’s tiny kitchen table and began pulling out supplies. “I come bearing gifts.”

There was the soup, like he said, but Mark also pulled out dayquil, and sudafed, and cough drops. He pulled out a box of tissues, bags of tea, and cough syrup – quite literally the whole nine yards. “I didn’t know what you had, so I figured I’d grab one of everything,” Mark said, embarrassed.

Matt didn’t know what to say. “Mark, I – hh! hhIGTSZH-uhh! Hh’TSHH-ue!” Matt crumpled into his elbow to sneeze, hard, and lapsed into a fit of coughing. Mark pushed the cold supplies towards him, smiling a bit.

“Bless you,” he said. “I’m sorry you’re so sick.”

Matt took a moment to blow his nose and uncapped the cough syrup. He chugged a bit, righted himself, and shrugged, embarrassed. “Not your fault,” he croaked. “Thank you for bringing all this.”

“It’s the least I could do,” Mark said, not looking into Matt’s eyes. “I’m really sorry for ignoring you the past few days, Matt. I… I mean, I don’t want to scare you off or anything but I haven’t really had, like, a real relationship in a long time. Like, a really long time.” He looked up, caught Matt’s red, watery eyes in his, and gave up the whole truth. “Like… ever.”

Matt nodded slowly, processing. “So… you don’t hate me?” he asked, the fever tossing to the wayside any filter he might have once had. Mark’s face colored; he laughed.

“I don’t hate you,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Like… I really don’t hate you. I – I mean, I really, really like you, Matt.”

It was Matt’s turn to flush bright red. “Even like this?” he asked, coughing into his fist. Mark smiled.

“Even like that.”

The two of them stood there, smiling twin goofy smiles, for a moment before Matt ducked once again into his elbow.

“Hh – ITSZHH-ue! Guhh.” He wiped his nose on the back of his hand, not caring how disgusting he looked. “I, umb, I really like you too, Mbark,” he said, coughing again. “Like… probably mbore than is normal or rational.”

This time, it was Matt who was caught off-guard. Before he knew what was happening, Mark had his hands on either side of Matt’s hot face and was tipping Matt’s head up to meet his. This one was different; while the first two kisses felt hungry, dangerous, this one was soft; an invitation. A promise of a future yet to come.

Matt pulled away to catch his breath. “You’ll get sick,” he muttered, eyes closed and hands around Mark’s thin frame. Mark tipped Matt’s head up, pushed his sweaty, dishwater blond hair out of his eyes, and pressed their foreheads together.

“I know,” he said, and pressed his lips against Matt’s once again.

Their third kiss – well. That was the one they would tell everyone at the wedding about.

#whiskeyswriting #snz #sickfic #snzfic #coldfic #snez #snzblr #male cold #male snz #m/m #male ocs #contagion #mess #i'd love to hear any feedback good or bad on this one bc i haven't written romance anything in a very long time lol #and idk if this sucks or not lmaooo

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whumpsoda · 2 months

Note

What would happen if the Sleepy Thrall got sick and needed medical attention?

-- @oliversrarebooks

WOHEO Masterlist So here’s like. My fifth? writing post of the past week… I’m just on the writing grind :3

cw: sickfic, pet whump, multiple whumpers & whumpees, vampire whumpers, captivity hypnotised/brainwashed whumpees

———————————————————————

“Mal…ak?”

Nevan delicately poked his head inside the dimly lit room, the tall, wooden door creaking along.

His vision took a moment to settle into the darkness as he looked toward the thrall’s shared mattress placed beside the vampire’s luxurious bed, fully expecting Malak to be seated atop it.

Strangely, he was not.

“Malak?” Nevan called again softly, turning around the room until his gaze landed on the corner farthest from said mattress.

Huddled up to the wall, curled into a tight ball of his large frame Malak sniveled, nose dribbling with snot and eyes rung sickly red. He rubbed his face with his palms, shielding his vision from bright light sneaking in from the open door. “Oh.”

Nevan carefully stepped inside, shutting the door slowly behind him until it clicked. Arms outstretched in front of him he knelt before the ill thrall. “Malak..? Are you… alright?” He questioned, voice low and gravely, trying purposely to not make enough noise that may elicit or increase a headache.

“Um…” Malak started, peeking the tiniest bit out from his legs. His eyes were wide and shaky, body trembling. “Head… feels weeeird… don’t like.” He mumbled quietly, brows furrowing in muddled confusion. “‘M sorry…”

Nevan placed a hand to his knee, rubbing lightly over his skin with a soft thumb. “It’s fine. Yes… you… you should get back in bed…” he urged, guiding Malak's gaze to the tussled mattress he had wandered out of.

“Nngh…! Noooo… no bed, please…” Malak whined, pushing his frame further into the wall behind him. At least, as much farther as he could, already shoved deep against it.

Nevan sighed. “You… you like it here?”

Malak only nodded weakly in response, his head swaying just the slightest bit from dizziness. Nevan lifted a thermometer between two fingers. “Okay… uh, can… Master Darius told me to take your temperature… again… can, can I?”

For a beat Malak considered allowing him to do so, before giving another slight nod of approval. “Umm… shh… sure…”

“Thank you. Say ah.”

The other man obliged, welcoming the thermometer under his outstretched tongue and accepting it by the grip of his lips. The two waited in silence, Nevan still brushing the other man’s skin as a means of comfort.

“Mm… one oh one.” Nevan read the numbers, disapprovingly.

“I’m sorry… sorryyyy… sorry…” Malak slumped back once again, head lolling onto his buckled shoulders. “Head weird… Nevan.” He whispered, shutting his eyes tight.

Nevan wanted to help him, he really did. He didn’t remember ever having been sick himself, but from the look of how hard it hit Malak, he could almost understand exactly how gross he felt. “No… I’m… I’m sorry.” How could he possibly help? How disgustingly useless.

Malak clawed feebly at his own skin and flesh, wriggling and fidgeting restlessly in his spot and portraying his own agony. “Don’t… don’t, ummm, like it… bad. Bad.” He whined, gratingly, the sound scratching against Nevan’s eardrums.

“Well… you’re, you’re talking a lot. That’s nice.”

“Feels weird… bad…”

Nevan frowned. “Well Master had to, to make you more… awake ‘n stuff so we can help you. That’s good… right?”

Adrastus had been practically forced to ease up on Malak’s enthrallment due to his ill state, him having been doing overall far worse with it as intense as normal. Plus, they required him to be able to communicate his pain in order to aid in his recovery. It was a condition he was, as expected, still adjusting to.

“Good… goood…” Malak mimicked. Nevan grinned, just a little bit from hearing the other man still utilizing one of his common habits even when dreadfully sick.

Before Nevan could open his lips to speak again, the door was nuged open so Adrastus could enter. Their arms were full with further bedding, elegantly lush pillows and blankets gathered for their favorite thrall. “Oh, dear, I’m back.” They bumbled in, heading straight to the thrall’s bed before they took notice of its absence of a body.

The pair followed as their face flipped to further distress in a flash, searching quick for their thrall, before landing on the two. “Nevan!” They exclaimed, recoiling an inch backwards. “You mustn’t be in here, get, get! You might catch it! I know how much you care about your little friend, but we just can’t risk you getting sick as well.”

Adrastus slipped between the thralls as Nevan stood to his feet, heading to leave as the vampire had instructed, but was held back by Malak gripping the bottom of his dress with a deadly grip.

“Goodness, how are you doing, baby? Tell me how you feel. What do you need? I can get you anything.” The vampire fussed, tucking their thrall’s sweat coated curls behind his ears and out of the way of his eyes.

Malak mewled, the edge of his words shaky and cracked as the urge to cry was swelling. “Bad… ickyyy…”

“Yes, love, I know, I know. What’s bad?” They pressed, urgently and needily.

He thought for a moment, processing their wants and questions, scouring for an acceptable answer. “Mmmngh… head… my, mmn, nose…”

“Alright, what can I get you? Umm… medicine? I’ll see if we have any more blankets? Please, baby, I’ll get you anything.” Their tone was growing ever so more distressed by the second, desperate for a solution as they nodded along with his soft but pained mumbles. The edge of their words was tainted with what almost seemed like fear.

Nevan watched their conversation unfold, stomach churning with sick and worry filled unease. He’d never seen Adrastus less than elegantly put together, never without their dignified, strict composure. The sight of them carefully trying to keep up their facade rattled anxiety in his bones.

“Want… want…” Malak gazed gently upward, meeting the other thrall with cloudy eyes that mirrored the still hazy fog of his mind. “Nevaaannnn… Nevaaaannn…!” He continued tugging at the dress flowing from Nevan’s waist, jerking him harder and harder as Nevan struggled against the much stronger man.

“No, no. No Nevan.” Their tone was devoid of anger, rather spewing with urgency. “Nevan. Leave.”

“Nooo! Nevaaann…! Need!”

His head was spinning, being called every which way. He didn’t know what to do, who’s orders to follow. His face was tainted with the scald of flattery, poorly hiding his excitement of someone, especially Malak, expressing a need of him. Him. Though, he knew such defiance was not acceptable.

“No, sweet, Master is right here. Nevan can’t help you, but master can. You could get Nevan sick.” Adrastus corrected with a strained smile, trying their very best to remain calm. “And, you like master more, don’t you? Master’s right here.”

Malak whined again, looking nearly dejected, making Nevan’s heart only hurt further with vigorous compassion. “Sorry… sorry… need, ummm, Nev… annn…”

“No! You are sick! You’re going to get him sick!” Their voice continued rising with stinging heat, shouting at their own thrall while still in a short vicinity. They had dropped any and all lingering peace in their mind, and Nevan jumped back, cowering weakly.

They never yelled at Malak. Never. Both thralls were understandably stuck in place with surprise, salty tears instinctively welling in Malak’s eyes. Nevan wished he could’ve done something, anything, but Adrastus' burning stare was well enough to keep him frozen in place.

“‘M sorry… sorry-”

“Ad, it’s okay, it’s just a fever.” Darius piped up from the back, soft and calm yet unexpected. The three huddled together whipped around to face him, Adrastus’ expression boiling with flushed anger and embarrassment. “He’ll probably get it anyway and they’ll both be fine.”

The other vampire shook their head frantically, a sight that only put Nevan more on edge. “No! N- no, he, he can’t get sick! We can’t let him get sick,

Hester can’t be sick.”

The air flipped the switch to silence, save for their quick and exhausted breaths. Nevan stared dumbly, all he really could do paralyzed by fear. He’d learned full well what happened when a vampire was upset.

Nevan had… never heard such a name before. Of course, not that he could recall, but still. It was sudden, and even Adrastus appeared disturbed that they had let it slip.

“Dear,” Darius interrupted, his voice eerily soothing and kind. He’d never spoken that way. At least not to Nevan, which wasn’t at all surprising. “You need to step away.”

“No, no, I-”

“Ad.” Their lips zipped to a close. “I need you to take a minute.” He looked to his own thrall, who shrunk back with festering fear. “Nevan, take them to the kitchen.”

Malak erupted, moaning in aching agony. “Nooo! Noooo… I need Master! Need… Nevan…”

Adrastus instinctively curled their hands over that of Malak’s, gaze full of unbridled abd desperate saccharine. “But- but what about-”

“Malak will be fine. I’ll stay with him.”

“But, the doctor-”

“Baby, the doctor said the same. He just needs rest and the meds she gave us.”

“Masterrr…!” Malak called again, his words cut apart by thick whimpers and snivels. The sound of his suffering carved deep marks in Nevan’s ears, and even more so Adrastus’.

“But…” they paused, begrudgingly stepping back from their upset thrall. Nevan looked to the other man with sorry eyes as Malak’s face twisted in disappointment as the two headed to leave. “Can I come back…?”

“Of course, Ad. I just need you to calm down, okay?” Darius placed a hand on each shoulder, tenderly guiding them to the door before Malak could continue his outbursts and convince them to stay. “You can take a couple sips from Nevan if you would like.”

“O- okay. Okay. But I’ll be right back to your side, baby. I’ll make sure Nevan is all nice and, and safe and away from any diseases.”

Nevan gave one last small wave to his friend before leaving, Adrastus gripping and squeezing his forearm, biting their lip with unusual nervousness. He tried not to pay too much attention to it. “Thank you, master.”

Though, as the two walked out to the kitchen and he kneeled beside his master, neck craned to show off his throat, even with his brain dazing out from their strong aura, he couldn’t help but dwell on the name they’d previously let slip instead of his.

Just who was Hester?

———————————————————————

Taglist- @softvampirewhump @iys-cloud @battyfantasy @xx-adam-xx @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @mylifeisonthebookshelf

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

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planetharrie · 1 year

Text

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･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

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whumpprentice · 8 months

Text

Thinking about the potential for whump / sickfic with musicians

- losing their voice right before their biggest gig

- getting sick / hurt on stage

- WEIRD STALKER FANS and all the possibilities that holds

- An artist rivalry escalating to the point of sabotage either physical or mental

- FALLING PROPS! MALFUNCTIONING INSTRUMENTS! STAGE HAZARDS!

- Stranded tour buses

- Flashing lights / camera flashes on an already growing migraine

- Having to keep up appearances during a meet and greet /press event

- "The show must go on" mentality leading to awful consequences

- TERRIBLE MANAGERS

#sickfic prompts #whump prompt #whumpblr #sickfic whump #whump prompts #sick whump #whump #why do I want to make rockstar ocs now

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iwritesickfic · 2 months

Text

Surprise

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His arms are looped around Seamus's neck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Theo nods again, his eyes falling closed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ok."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why didn't you say anything?”

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

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

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Zeke!” Seamus snaps, incredulous.

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

“Spare me,” Seamus spits back.

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

“Just tell me everything.”

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Emma,” he starts, just barely contained.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodbye, Emma.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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gelatinouscubed · 5 months

Text

Overkill

I'm a long time lurker, first time (snz) writer. I wanted to try my hand at writing something like this, and decided to pull out a couple ocs I've had for a bit. Kinda experimental, dipping my toes in the world of writing for this kink so any feedback is appreciated!

Only about 1k words, background is that Jay and Elliot are both students at the same college and roommates and that's pretty much it! Their relationship is not romantic yet, unsure of if it will be but idk, I'll see how it goes.

Cw: contagion mention, fever

God, Jay wishes his professor would just shut up about Greek mythology already.

In his foggy mind, those stupid fucking stories from this stupid fucking lecture are the only things that seem to stick. Icarus with his wax wings, flying too close to the sun. He feels a sort of kinship to that doomed boy, his hubris, his downfall. If Jay is Icarus, Elliot is his Daedelus. Setting a bottle of Dayquil on the counter seemed like such a nice gesture at the time, too, considering his roommate was the patient zero to this nightmare plague.

Jay usually has such good impulse control.

With a cold from hell, too much medicine sounded like an oxymoron. Anything would have to be a step up from drowning in his own mucus.

A shiver shoots up his spine, but he barely shifts from his slumped position on the desk in the back of this classroom. With the edge of his sweater over his hand, pressed against his sluggishly leaking nose, he sniffles. He feels and hears a pitiful squeak of pressure stab through his sinuses, ears crackling loudly as he swallows.

He's not sure if it's better or worse, being too dazed to fully comprehend just how disgusting he must be right now. Through the thick haze in his mind, he can vaguely feel the stinging of his rubbed raw and chapped nose, abused by the rough wool of his shirt sleeve. In any other case, he'd be too self-conscious to do this openly, too afraid to be seen as gross by his peers.

Now, as his head periodically bops back up after slowly drifting down, exhausted eyes trying their best not to close, he can't quite muster up the energy to care.

“hhHIT’sschUE!”

He wrenches forward into his elbow, sneezing for what feels like the hundredth time since he's woken up. A couple hoarse, grating coughs follow after, and if he weren't in public he would've allowed himself to groan in misery.

People are probably staring at him, he knows. It's cold and flu season, and he's basically Typhoid Mary right now.

Let them. If the teacher hadn't made this lecture mandatory attendance, he wouldn't have shown up at all. Through red rimmed, watery eyes, he glares at her with as much rage as he can muster. He hopes someone coughs on her doorknob.

One of his knuckles paws at the side of his nose weakly, letting out a small sigh of annoyance at the inevitable. His breath hitches.

“HhHhuhhggh’shkew!! HtxcHH-shEWW!” Hands cupped around his face, his fingertips rest against overheated cheeks brush against the bottom of his teary eyes. God this sucks.

Something taps his shoulder, breaking him out of his dazed self-pity. His head lazily swivels around, vision swimming sickeningly for a short moment.

A figure comes into focus- Jenn, one of Elliots's friends, he vaguely notes- holding something out to him wordlessly. Tired eyes dart down, and out of pure relief, he almost feels himself sober up a bit.

It's a pack of tissues. He could cry. He might cry.

He accepts them readily.

“Thangks.” He rasps, at least attempting to blow his nose. It barely budges, but it's still nice to clean his upper lip with something besides his clothes.

“Of course man. You um… you alright?” Jenn questions, what little attention she'd been paying to the lecture replaced with concern.

Jay sighs, keeping the tissue wadded in his hand as his shoulders slump.

“Fidne.” He grumbles, turning to cough weakly into the tissue.

“Elliot finally gave you his cold?”

Jay scoffs.

“How'd you figure that ode out? Thought I was hidi’g it well.” He complains, punctuating it with a blocked sniffle. Jenn tuts sympathetically, patting him gently on the shoulder. He knows he must be out of it, as he doesn't move away. She seems to notice this too, her eyes darting to the large digital clock on the wall.

“Think you can tough it out for fifteen more minutes?” She asks, getting a half-hearted shrug in response.

“It wod't kill mbe.” He mumbles.

Nodding in understanding, Jay pulls out her phone.

“I'll let him know to come pick you up. No offense dude, but you probably shouldn't be driving right now.” Knowing him, she expects at least a little push back from this, as he's been historically against anything even vaguely considered coddling.

He simply sniffles, wipes his nose, and nods weakly, trying hard not to pay attention to the room spinning as he does.

“Sou'ds gguhh…

hhuh-ghhTCH'SSCHUEww!” Oh god that one was so loud. He can tell Jenn is looking at him without turning to her, even as he lets out a breathy, congested groan into his hands hiding his face.

The professor launches into some lengthy discussion about Sisyphus when Jay completely tunes her out again. All he has to do is make it fifteen minutes.

———

Jay finds himself blinking back into semi-awareness after a bit, not having realized he'd dozed off.

“Snrk- wuh… huh?” He mumbles, distantly feeling the cold touch of a palm against his forehead.

Before he could do anything too embarrassing like lean into the hand, he turns to cough, reaching up a hand to rub his throat with a swallow and a wince. The sleep did nothing but make him feel even more clogged.

When he finally blinks his watery eyes clear, his roommate's form finally becomes visible. He knows he should feel mortified, at least a bit more than he is right now.

But, at least that means he's got a ride home now. The thought of finally laying in his bed is almost enough to make him sob with relief.

“El…” He practically whines, feeling the much larger man's arm gently guide him out of the desk by his shoulder.

“Looks like this thing's kicking your ass, huh?” Elliot comments, the slight amusement in his tone not appreciated by Jay.

“You gave mbe this shit, jackass.” He grumbles with what little anger he can muster. His head resting on Elliot's shoulder as he's guided away certainly doesn't help his case.

“Hey, I warned you. Not my fault you didn't take the multivitamins I offered.”

Jay lets out a single, breathy laugh.

“You act like you're fifty.” He comments, breaking off to muffle a couple coughs into his fist at the end.

“At least my cold wasn't this bad. You look like death.”

“Gee, thangks.” Jay knows Elliot is probably right, though. Which is only more embarrassing given that he knows Elliot still managed to look like a runway model even while running 101°. That man has to be blessed.

Speaking of, Jay stalls for a moment, causing Elliot to stop as well. Jay's breath hitches, one hand weakly coming to cup his face, leaning into his roommate's supportive frame as his eyes flutter.

“HhhhITSCH-UEe! hhgsh'TCHEWww!! Hhhhuhhh…nghohgod-” He groans, stumbling back with the force of the sneezes, lightheaded and drained.

Elliot's hold around Jay's shoulders tighten, noticing him falter. Unintentionally he pulls the smaller man closer, Jay's face towards Elliot's body as he curls into himself.

“Oh hey, easy man. We can just-” Before Elliot can finish, Jay snaps forward into Elliot's shirt.

“hhhhHIITSCH’HEWW!!”

Jay doesn't need to cup his face anymore. Any potential mess has been contained, right into Elliots chest.

Immediately Jay's already overheated and feverish cheeks somehow redden further, shame permeating that constant bleariness for once.

“Nghh- shit. I'mb sorry, that's- that's so fucki'g gross.” He mumbles into Elliot's shirt, not wanting to look up in fear of his friend's possible expression.

The chest beneath his hands and nose stutters a couple times in a chuckle. A hand pats him on the back, and he looks up.

“Hey, I already had it once, so I'm basically immune to it now. No harm no foul.” Elliot offers, a soft smile on his lips.

A set of coughs release themselves from Jay's lungs, a weak fist half-heartedly covering it. Elliot hums in worry, and nudges Jay to keep walking with him.

“C’mon, we're almost home. A little sleep will do you some wonders.”

Jay wanted to retort with the fact that his little nap in the classroom did nothing but make the problem worse, but can't bring himself to. With little to no other choice, Jay allows himself to be guided back to Elliot's car, face still half buried in the man's shirt.

Tomorrow he'll blame it on the medication. But he feels unfairly safe in his roommate's arms.

#snz #snz blog #snzblr #snzfic #oc writing #snz ocs #sickfic #sick oc #fever #contagion #jellys ocs #jellys writing

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mj-iza-writer · 6 months

Text

"Whumpee come here", Whumper choked out, followed by several sneezes.

Whumpee opened the door slightly and peaked in, "yes master."

Whumper groaned and looked at the door, "I'm not going to hit you, just come here."

Whumpee opened the door more and timidly walked in. They quickly wiped their nose on their sleeve.

Whumper looked at Whumpee and frowned.

"Don't tell me", Whumper sighed.

"Yes master, I woke up with whatever you woke up with", Whumpee frowned.

Whumper sneezed again, and quickly covered their nose.

Whumpee handed them a nearby tissue box.

"Great", Whumper groaned.

Whumpee looked down, "I'm sorry master."

"It's not your fault, I probably brought it home to the both of us", Whumper sat up in bed, "I guess I'm calling in a favor."

Whumper reached for their cell phone and dialed out.

"Please pick up", Whumper sighed. They looked at Whumpee and patted on the bed for them to sit down, "might as well rest while you can, that way you'll get better faster."

Whumpee awkwardly sat on the edge of the bed.

"Oh hey Caretaker, I'm sorry to bother you, um Whumpee and I both woke up sick this morning. Is there any way you could bring us some medicine, I'm completely out of it here. No you don't have to come help us at all, we just need medicine", Whumper frowned, "yes. I'll send you some money for it, thanks, bye."

Whumper hung up and fell back into the bed.

"Caretaker had to run some errands, then he'll bring us the medicine", Whumper sighed, "let's just stay in my room for the day so we don't spread it throughout the house, go get some stuff to cover up with, I'll share my bed, but I'm not sharing blankets with you."

Whumpee quickly got up and went to their bedroom. They carried back their blanket, pillow, and stuffed toy.

Whumper was up with their phone again scrolling quickly.

"I'm ordering breakfast. I don't want your sick hands touching my food, and I don't feel like cooking", Whumper sighed, "what do you want to eat from here?", Whumper handed the phone over to Whumpee.

Whumpee scrolled for a minute before clicking on their order, then handed the phone back to Whumper.

"I knew you would pick that", Whumper looked at them before ordering, "okay", they laid down, "this is going to be a long day."

Whumpee nodded, then sniffled some of the snot.

"Blow out the snot, don't suck it back in idiot", Whumper threw the tissue box at Whumpee.

Whumpee started to cry as they grabbed a tissue.

Whumper sighed in frustration and looked at Whumpee, "alright, shh, I'm sorry. Just calm down, I know you're not feeling well either, just relax, it's okay."

Whumpee let out a shaky breath, and wiped some tears away.

Whumper heard a knock downstairs a few minutes later.

"Well, that's either Caretaker or breakfast", Whumper groaned as they got out of bed.

They eyed Whumpee, who shyly buried their face into the stuffed toy.

"It was the food", Whumper came up a few minutes later, "we are stuck with water, had I known, I would have gotten groceries yesterday."

Whumpee excitedly reached for the food as Whumper handed it to them.

"Please don't make a mess in my bed", Whumper frowned, then went to the other side to eat, "here's a fork", they pulled one out from their pocket.

"Thankyou master", Whumpee reached for it.

"Crap... I forgot the water bottles", Whumper sighed.

"I can get them master", Whumpee quickly got up, and raced out of the room.

As they exited the kitchen with the water, another knock came at the door.

Whumpee glanced out the window and saw Caretaker, they opened the door with a weak grin.

"Hi Caretaker", they welcomed.

"Hey Whumpee. How are you feeling?", Caretaker came in carrying more than just medicine.

"Meh", Whumpee shrugged, then sniffled their nose again, "I've been better."

"For the second time, blow your freaken nose", Whumper yelled down the stairs.

Whumpee looked down, "I'm sorry Caretaker."

"It's okay, you go upstairs, I'll be up in a minute", Caretaker smiled, "let's get you two doctored up."

"That looks like more than medicine", Whumper stated from the top of the stairs, "you don't have to go through the trouble of taking care of us, just getting the medicine helps a lot."

"You hush", Caretaker ignored, "I have nothing else to do today. My errands are done, so now I can take care of both of you. Go on back to bed both of you, I'll be up soon."

Whumpee started to go up the stairs.

"Have either of you eaten yet?", Caretaker stepped back to the stairs.

"We are eating right now, I ordered breakfast to be delivered", Whumper stepped aside to let Whumpee through, "I'm serious you don't have to take care of us, we'll manage."

"Nonsense", Caretaker smiled, "I know how grumpy you get when you don't feel well. I don't want Whumpee to deal with you by themself."

Whumper sighed, "fine, if you're insisting. We're both in my room."

"Okay, go ahead and get comfy then, I'll be up after I get the groceries put away."

Whumper rolled their eyes as they went back to their room.

"Well I guess Caretaker is going to take care of us today", Whumper announced as they went back to their side of the bed.

"I'm glad", Whumpee looked up from their food, "Caretaker is so nice."

"Yes, a nice pain in my butt", Whumper stated as they blew their nose, "here blow your nose before you sniffle it up again."

"The tissues hurt my nose", Whumpee sighed.

"I don't care Whumpee", Whumper groaned, "blow your nose."

"What they mean to say is, they care deeply that you don't make yourself even more sick", Caretaker watched from the doorway, "go ahead and blow your nose, we can put some Vaseline on it after, that will help."

"Stop putting words in my mouth", Whumper looked at Caretaker angrily.

"You either need to get along with Whumpee, or I'll move them to their room", Caretaker sighed, "they are just as miserable as you, but they are trying their best to please you. I'm here now, so you are not going to be allowed to bully them, am I clear."

"Yes", Whumper mumbled.

"Very well", Caretaker came into the room, "here is the medicine, take it now while you're eating. I'll keep you both drinking fluids and resting throughout today.

Whumper and Whumpee started to take the medicine, two capsule pills, and then cough syrup.

Whumpee took the pills easily but ignored the cough syrup.

"Whumpee you need to take the cough syrup, it will make you feel better" Caretaker stated comfortingly, "come on."

"It's nasty", Whumpee complained sadly, "I don't want it."

"Take the medicine", Whumper argued, then stot-gunned the liquid.

The grimace on their face said it all.

Whumpee looked at Caretaker sadly, "see."

"Well I believe heavily in the phrase, a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down, I have a lollipop here. It's all yours after you take the syrup."

Whumpee sighed and quickly took the medicine.

"Very good", Caretaker smiled, "I'm very proud of you", they handed Whumpee a candy.

Whumper put their empty food container on the table next to them, then laid down with a groan.

"Do you want a candy, Whumper?", Caretaker offered.

"I'm not a child", Whumper sighed, then reached for a tissue.

"You're certainly acting like one", Caretaker mocked. "I even have a green apple, I know you like that flavor", Caretaker smiled, "it might help your throat even."

"Fine", Whumper reached for the candy, "thanks", they sighed.

A while later Caretaker came up to check on them.

"Still awake", Caretaker looked at Whumper, who nodded.

"I have the chores done for today", Caretaker sat on the side of the bed, "I couldn't imagine Whumpee having to do all of that, even feeling okay."

Whumper sighed, "they have to earn their keep somehow."

Caretaker sighed and glanced at Whumpee, who was loudly snoring.

"Look I know you befriended me to keep an eye on them", Whumper frowned, "you're very obvious about that", Whumper glanced at Whumpee, "they could have it worse, I could make their life a living nightmare if I wanted."

Whumper started to violently cough.

"Not very threatening when you sound like that", Caretaker grinned.

"Why you a...", Whumper croaked out, before Caretaker cut them off.

"Although you are correct that I keep very close tabs on Whumpee, and I will make moves to remove them... if you do anything, but", Caretaker looked back at Whumpee to see if they were awake.

"But?", Whumper impatiently waited.

"But, I feel deep somewhere in your twisted soul you do actually care about them", Caretaker slyly grinned, "I know Whumpee is in an odd situation with you, and not much can be changed about that, at least not without force. I hope that you can change how you treat them one day. That's why I haven't moved to remove them yet, and I come over to help as often as I can."

Whumper looked at Caretaker with disgust, then relaxed their face.

"I do actually care about you as well", Caretaker eyed Whumper, "believe it or not."

Whumper looked at Whumpee sadly, "I never wanted to be involved with them, and I was put in a situation I wanted no part of. Now I'm stuck."

Caretaker nodded, "then why didn't you let them go to someone else?"

"I didn't know who they would go to, I'm not the nicest to them", Whumper frowned, "I'm aware of that, but I couldn't chance them going to someone worse."

Whumpee started to stir.

Caretaker nodded at Whumper in understanding.

Whumpee whimpered as they sat up, "my head feels like a balloon."

"Mine too", Whumper sighed, and sniffled some snot, "great, now I'm doing it."

"Yep, it's time for more medicine, and how does dinner sound", Caretaker stood, and eyed Whumper.

"Sounds good, let's order in again", Whumper reached for their phone, "Caretaker I'll buy your dinner as well."

"That sounds great", Caretaker stated as they exited the room.

"Okay Whumpee", Whumper sighed, "after we get better, we are going to make some changes."

Whumpee gulped and looked at them in fear.

"I'm going to try my best to be nice", Whumper sighed, "I'm so...sorry for how I've treated you. We were put in a situation I'm sure neither of us wanted to be in. Let's work on bettering that situation."

Whumpee looked at them wide-eyed, a small smile crept along their face.

"I'd like that master", Whumpee felt a tear fall, "thankyou."

"You don't have to call me... wipe your nose", Whumper handed them a tissue, "Ugh, you don't have to call me that, just call me Whumper", they sighed, "we'll start there at least, I'll apologize in advance I'm going to have to work on myself for a while."

Whumpee fell into them to hug.

Whumper hugged back awkwardly.

As Whumpee sat back up, Whumper looked at the doorway.

"I know your eavesdropping Caretaker", Whumper called after them, "no one goes down stairs that quietly."

"I'm proud of you", Caretaker stated as they could be heard going down the stairs now.

"Alright lets stop with the soppiness and order dinner", Whumper looked at their phone again.

Whumpee nodded and looked over Whumper's shoulder at the phone.

"Dinner sounds good", they whispered.

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all. @villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened

@a-wumper-on-the-internet you gave me this idea, I hope this is something you were looking for. I hope you enjoy. -Mj

#whump community #whump stuff #whump writing #whump ideas #whumpee #whump #whumper #whump scenario #caretaking #oc #caretaker #care whumper #whumper turned whumpee #change of heart #sickfic #sick fic whump #sick whump

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boysbellyrubs · 5 months

Text

its been a while but here's this. it's probably not the greatest but i just vomited it up in like half an hour...hehe see what i did there.

---

“Ow, oww. Mmh, fuck.” Alistair whined, hugging his upset belly. He swore being at fancy places fucked with his immune system. He ducked his head down and squeezed his middle tightly, the rolling, gurgling organ cramping up tightly. “Gah, ahh, oughh.” Alistair huddled down into the corner, his forehead meeting his knees. He was stuck in the bathroom at the moment, desperately trying to get his stomach to calm down so he could go out and face the multitudes of people in the dining hall.

As of now, Alistair was attending one of his drama societies meetings as he was the treasurer of the committee. He was perfectly fine before he left, maybe a little queasy from nerves but nothing to be wary of. However, he took one bite of the dinner and knew that he was going to be in for a rough night.

His hair was tied up in a messy bun, the baby hairs along his hairline were stuck down with sweat and his stomach was in his throat. Alistair moaned at a harsh cramp, a gurgle rippling its way through his intestines. “Where’s Nikau when you need him?” At home. Nikau was at home completely unawares of his boyfriend’s ailments. Nikau was a student that just did the work and nothing more, so when Alistair signed up for the committee Nikau was more than happy to decline the offer.

Right now Alistair wished Nikau was here. He would hold him and gently guide him out of the building, and everything would be okay.

Another gurgle and Alistair crumpled down to his knees, harshly hitting the cheap lino. “God, my belly. Jesus.” He whimpered as he felt the food he had eaten squelch its way down and around his stomach, refusing to digest and settle. He burped, but it was small and wet and didn’t do much for him. He tried again, but this time it made him gag.

“Mmh, okay, nevermind.” He panted. “Nevermind- eugh.” He gagged again, one hand hovering just below his chin. Saliva gathered in his mouth and Alistair felt another burp weasel its way up his throat. He moaned at the feeling. He clamped his mouth shut, slapping his hand over it for more protection, and prayed. Alistair kneaded his belly, it didn’t do much for the nausea but the cramps in his intestines eased a little.

A few minutes of sitting still later, Alistair felt confident enough to remove his hand and breathe. He sat up a little straighter and put his hand gently on his belly. He was bloated up to the max, his dress pants digging terribly into his midsection. He pulled apart his blazer and quickly unbuttoned his pants, watching as his belly fell forward and push down the zipper. He rubbed underneath his black dress shirt, soothing the angry marks left there. Alistair put both hands on his middle, simply resting them there to ease it. God, he needed to leave. The only thing that would fix this would be Nikau’s hands and a nice hot water bottle.

He braced himself and stood back up, the world tilting around him and he heard a ringing in his ears. Alistair used the stall to keep himself upright as he did up his pants and tucked in his shirt. The simple act of tidying himself up caused more gurgles to erupt and a sickening spin cycle began in his belly. “Oof, fuck. Ughh.” He moaned, holding his belly like he was pregnant; one hand on his belly button and the other on the tight skin of his upper belly. He rubbed himself slowly, trying desperately to calm it down enough to leave the stall.

“Urrp-ouhh. Mmh, I don’t feel good. Ahh.” He breathed. Alistair felt around his pockets for his phone, but luck was not on his side tonight. An image of his phone sitting on a dining hall table flashed into his mind, and he nearly passed out. God fucking dammit.

Alistair slowly unlatched the stall and made his way out of the bathroom. There was no one in the hallway, and no one in the entrance, but before he stepped inside the dining hall he did a quick breathing exercise. Just in case. As he pulled open the doors, the fresh smell of pastry and pavlova attacked his nose and he almost lost it right then and there. He gagged in his mouth and looked straight down, avoiding eye contact with the waiters and waitresses.

His table was near the far right wall. He just needed to make it there and leave as quickly as possible. It felt like everyone’s eyes were on him as he stumbled his way through the crowds. Someone stepped back and walked into him, apologising quickly under their breath. Alistair could’ve killed them. He was so overwhelmed, sweaty, sick and felt like the next time he looked up would be his last.

Thankfully, by some miracle, his table came into view and he beelined it for his phone. But, the miracle didn’t last long, as one of his friends, Cassie, stopped him in his tracks.

“Alistair! Where were you? You missed all the speeches.”

He swallowed thickly. “Uh. Bathroom.” He said stupidly.

Cassie frowned a bit, no doubt noticing his complexion. “Are you alright? You don’t look so good.” Her hands were gripping his arms, making him feel even hotter.

“Um.” He swallowed again. His stomach was revving up the spin cycle once again, and his lower belly was beginning to cramp. Alistair just shook his head and removed himself from her grasp, sidling past her and grabbing his phone. Cassie followed him, blocking him from the other guests' views.

“Do you need help? You look like you might pass out.”

“I’m about to. I feel like garbage.” Another gag grew in his throat and he cupped his mouth, one hand still scrolling through his contacts.

Cassie grabbed a glass. “Do you want some water?” She shoved it in his face and he never thought water could make him feel so ill but the way it sloshed and settled just made him think of his insides, and another gag hit him. Cassie put it back down quickly. “Okay, no water. How about Nikau? I can call him for you?”

Alistair’s hands were shaking as she pulled his phone gently out of his hand. He curled forward and wrapped his free hand around his middle. The smells and temperature of this building was just making him feel like hot shit, he wished he had never left the cool sanctuary of the bathroom.

His stomach grumbled at him, bloated and upset and so close to being sick Alistair was scared he’d soon have puke on his lap. Cassie was talking beside him but he couldn’t understand what she was saying. There was too much going on and his head felt like it was gonna explode.

“Cassie, I need a bin.”

Cassie turned to look at him, phone at her ear. “What?”

“A-urrp- a bin. I’m gonna throw up.” He said thickly. Alistair felt his jaw grow heavy and saliva pooled under his tongue. He gagged harshly into his hand and hoped Cassie had heard what he had said. Suddenly, a bin appeared in his lap and he let the floodgates open. He gagged loudly, curling his around the lip of the bin to cover his face. Vomit splattered into the bottom, crinkling up the rubbish bag and covering the napkins and plastic cups inside it. He was glad there was no food in this one.

His back curled forward as he gagged again, chunky vomit coating his throat and the bin. He burped wetly, rubbing his belly as another gag rocketed up his throat and more vomit fell into the bin. He hoped no one was taking notice, the situation couldn’t get any worse. He had little time to think as another gag attacked him, the nausea sky rocketing to a solid 16 out of 10. Alistair moaned into the bin, coughing and spitting.

Cassie’s hand was on his back. He appreciated that as he could barely feel himself sitting in his own chair. Her hand was keeping him grounded as his head floated away into the sky. Alistair rested his burning forehead on his wrist, methodically spitting into the bin. He tried to soothe his tummy but he was so bloated it was painful to even let his fingers gently graze the skin. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing heavily.

“Hey, are you alright now?” Cassie said, her quiet voice beside his ear. Alistair was glad she was the one who found him.

He nodded. He wasn’t done-done, but for now he felt like he could at least stand up. “Okay, because Nikau is on his way. I think some fresh air will do you some good.” She rubbed her hand up the length of his back, keeping him steady.

“Yep. Okay, help me up.” Alistair’s face was beet red, a mix of exhaustion and embarrassment. He just needed a bed and his boyfriends arms. His stomach was aching at this point, the violent vomiting and the tight swollen skin made it feel like he couldn’t bend over even if he tried.

“How are you?’ Cassie asked.

“Terrible. My stomach really hurts.” He couldn’t keep the whine out of his voice. “And I feel like I’m walking on nothing. It feels really weird.”

Cassie held him tighter at that. “Mm, you’re probably dehydrated. I get that.”

The air outside was refreshing. It blew the sticky hair off his face and filled his lungs. Alistair found himself guided to the nearest bench and sitting down was a relief.

“Is it a stomach bug?” Cassie asked. She was looking out at the road for any sign of Nikau.

Alistair shrugged, rubbing his tummy. “Not sure. Probably, considering my whole body feels like it's on fire.” Cassie gently put her hand on Alistair’s forehead.

“Yeah, no wonder you feel so terrible.”

It went quiet. Alistair just curled up into himself, gently rubbing his belly as it settled down. He was glad the vomiting helped, if only he didn’t have to do it in public. His lamenting was cut short as a car approached the curb, and a very stressed Nikau hopped out of the drivers side.

“Star, oh my god! Are you alright?” A flash of movement and Nikau was in front of him, holding his face with his hands, checking over him like a worried mother. “Cas, hey, is he okay?”

Cassie giggled. “Yes, I think so. He puked inside, but he’s definitely not 100%” She stood up, brushing down her dress. “I better get back inside, actually. I hope you feel better, Alistair.”

Before she left, Alistair mustered up the strength to look at her. “Thank you, Cassie. You saved me in there.”

She looked a little sheepish. “Oh, it was nothing. Just, rest up.”

She left and Nikau brought his hands to Alistairs. “You’re burning. Let’s get you home, sweetheart.”

“Please.” Alistair was pulled up by Nikau and gently put into the passenger seat. He rested his head on the window, still holding his middle.

Nikau got in the car and looked right at him. “How are you? You really don’t look good, Star.” He cupped his face, thumb gently rubbing under his eye.

Alistair leant into his hand. He could fall asleep just like this. “I feel awful. I’m overwhelmed and I feel like my head isn’t connected to my body. And my belly hurts really badly.” He moaned that last bit. He scooted down in the seat more, feeling sorry for himself.

“Aw, Star. Don’t worry, I’ll get you feeling better in no time my love.”

---

terrible at endings

#emeto #stomach ache #sickfic #emetophilia #vomiting #belly rubs #oc's #alistair #nikau #belly kink #burping

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shion-yu · 3 months

Text

A Safe Place (part 1) [Day 28]

Cliff shows up at Elliot's doorstep in the middle of the night soaked to the bone. A Cliff/Elliot sickfic heavy on the angst, also ft. Theo. For @monthofsick Day 28: Chaotic body temperature. I know, not me joining in on a writing challenge right at the end but it fit so well. 3,065 words, original work, TWs for homophobia, emeto (neither strong warnings, but the sick will get much sicker in p2).

It had been a long summer. Cliff had spent it working at Theo's law firm again, except this time he wasn't an unpaid intern but a legal secretary. It was a temporary job that they had offered him when his summer break had aligned perfectly with one of the secretary's maternity leaves and Cliff had jumped at the chance to work in such a great environment again. He was happy to see many familiar faces from last year, and to his surprise they were happy to see him too. Although he was mainly working with one of the other partners this time - not Theo - he saw the lawyer nearly every day and was relieved to learn both Theo and his partner, Al, were in good health. Al had gotten a double lung transplant that last Fall, Theo told Cliff. He and his new lungs were doing great.

"What about you?" Theo asked Cliff eagerly. "How did your first year at NYU go?"

Cliff smiled, automatically thinking of Elliot. "It was great," he said. "My classes were interesting but not too hard."

"You look happier," Theo said, surprising Cliff with how true the observation was. "Did something cause that?"

"Yeah," Cliff said thoughtfully. "Someone did."

Being apart from Elliot that summer was difficult. He missed hugging and kissing Elliot every single day. He wanted to talk to him on the phone for hours and hours just to hear his voice and fall asleep with his fingers in Elliot’s curls. But when he was living at home, Cliff knew he had to be the perfect, straight laced child he'd been raised as. In other words, he couldn't be himself. He wore business attire to work every day, but the soft sweaters and cute hair clips he'd amassed over the past year stayed packed away in his college stuff for next semester. He didn't think his parents would appreciate those particular fashion choices he'd been making.

It's not like his parents made it hard to hide things. They hardly ever asked questions, and if they did it was about grades or tuition. Cliff knew he was incredibly lucky that his parents paid his entire tuition, room and board as if it were a given. Elliot's parents weren't able to help much financially, meaning his boyfriend had to take out loans and work part time while in school. This summer he was working nonstop in his dad's auto mechanic shop, saving up money. Often when Cliff video called Elliot these days he was covered in sweat, streaks of black motor oil on his face. It seemed wrong to complain about his parents when it was thanks to them that he was only working this summer because he wanted to, not because he had to. And yet, silently, Cliff thought maybe he'd be happier if he was in Elliot's shoes - without much money but with a place he could really call home. It was a selfish, privileged thought and Cliff refused to voice it, but it creeped in each time he heard Elliot's mom call in the background, "Boys, wash up, it's time for dinner!"

Working was a blessing to Cliff, because if he'd been at home he would've been in that big, lonely house all by himself most of the summer. Being at the law firm was not only a distraction, but comfortable. Despite wearing a suit, Cliff actually felt less tense there than at his parents' house. He stayed long hours, longer than he needed to, because he preferred the sound of printers and fax machines over his parents screaming at each other downstairs. When he was in high school it seemed easier to ignore. Maybe it was because he'd had a break for so many months that returning to it seemed worse than before. Or maybe it was because Elliot never screamed at him like that, and Cliff had started to realize that this wasn't how things had to be.

Around the beginning of August, Cliff caught a cold that didn't seem to go away. At first it was just the sniffles, and then it was a cough that grew progressively deeper with each week that passed. The other employees started asking him if he was alright, and embarrassingly Theo caught him staring blankly at the water fountain one day for far too long. Cliff was so out of it that he didn't even notice Theo calling his name until the older man waved his hand in Cliff's face.

"Oh," Cliff said, rubbing his eyes to try and make his blurry vision clear up. "Sorry, I was just... Daydreaming."

"You look pale," Theo said, and before Cliff could step back Theo had placed a hand on Cliff's forehead while ignoring Cliff's protest that he was fine. "Hmm, you feel a little feverish. Why don't you go home, kid?"

"I'm really fine," Cliff said, wildly embarrassed. "It's just a cold."

Theo looked him up and down, clearly assessing how pushy he should be. "At least go take a nap on the couch in my office, you look exhausted."

Usually, Cliff would say no immediately. He wouldn't even consider showing weakness at the place he was supposed to be making a vitally good impression at for his career. But he felt weak and a little dizzy and found himself saying in a small voice, "...If you're sure."

Theo was sure. He brought Cliff to his office and shut the blinds so there wasn't much light coming through the many glass windows. He even tossed a blanket to the eighteen-year-old. "I sleep here all the time," he reassured Cliff. "You can't work if you're too tired to think. Don't worry about it."

Cliff felt guilty for taking over Theo's office, but Theo headed out for a two hour meeting and Cliff was left alone on the couch. He had half a mind to leave and get back to work at his desk now that there was no one stopping him, but just sitting there made him realize how fatigued his whole body felt. A little nap wouldn't hurt, he reasoned. A really short one. He lay down and fell asleep so quickly that he didn't even remember closing his eyes.

He woke up to Theo gently rubbing his shoulder. Cliff was confused, then his eyes widened in embarrassment and he sat up. Shit, had it been two hours already? Wait, that clock didn't say 5pm did it? - surely he hadn't slept for four hours?!

"Woah, it's okay Cliff," Theo said quickly, "You seemed really tired so I let you sleep. You should go home now, everybody's leaving for the day."

"I'm so sorry," Cliff gushed, face bright red. "I didn't mean to sleep so long. You don't have to pay me for today - please don't, actually."

"Settle down, it's really fine," Theo said in a calm voice that made Cliff remember to take a deep breath like Elliot had taught him to calm down. "We all have off days. You don't feel so warm now, so that's good. Stay home tomorrow though."

"That's totally not necessary," Cliff said, his confident tone supplemented by a very unconvincing round of dry coughs. He waved off the tissues Elliot tried to hand him. "Really, I'm fine. I've just been having some asthma since I got sick last winter, but my boy-" Cliff stopped himself, realizing he was about to out himself. "My, um, my roommate got me an inhaler so I just have to use it that's all."

"Your boyfriend," Elliot supplied gently. "It's okay to say it, Cliff. You know I have Al."

Cliff wanted to deny the comment outright. He wanted to laugh and say Elliot really was just a friend. But Theo had such an earnest expression, and he was the only successful adult man Cliff knew of who was gay. "I know, but, it's really not, not for me," Cliff found himself saying, voice wavering. "I-I have to go. Sorry I slept in your office so long," he said as he hurried out, ignoring Theo's all too kind voice calling after him. Cliff knew in a certain world that it was okay, but it wasn't his world. Not the world where he still relied on his parents.

Despite saying he'd be back the next day, Cliff did stay home that Friday. His fever was worse and he had chills that left him huddled under the covers. His mom didn't notice he didn't leave the house and he didn't tell her. She didn't need to know, just like she didn't need to know about Elliot. She had never supported Cliff in anything at all, so why... Why did Cliff feel such a strong urge to tell her?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

On the last day of Cliff's work at the law firm, Theo told Cliff if he ever needed a reference, he'd get a glowing one from him. And if he ever needed to talk about anything, anything at all, Cliff could call him too. Cliff knew what he was getting at, and he didn't want to face it. But Theo was such a calm person that it was disarming, and Cliff asked without meaning to, "Is it worth it?"

Theo nodded. He knew what Cliff meant without specification. "Yes, it's worth it," Theo said. "Even if there's nay-sayers and you lose people, you gain much more. It's always worth it to be exactly who you are, Cliff."

Cliff went back to his parents house with those words echoing in his brain. Theo, a successful and respected lawyer, said it was worth it. He had a career and a person who loved him by his side. Was that something Cliff could have, too? Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to be honest, just once?

"Mom," Cliff said over dinner, pushing his phone over to her with a picture of him and Elliot together on the screen. "I want to tell you something. This is my-"

"Don't do this to me Cliff," his mother interrupted before he could finish. "You've already caused enough trouble. He's not - just because you have a thing with another guy doesn't mean anything."

"It's not a thing mom. I love him," Cliff found himself saying angrily. And oh, why did he say that? The first time he finally said he loved Elliot and it was directed at his mom in spite. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

"Cliff, you don't love him. You're too old to be playing this game. Now I'll forget we had this conversation. And don't tell your father."

Cliff saw red. He'd never been so angry in his life. He snatched his phone back and grabbed his wallet on the shelf by the door and went outside. She didn't follow him.

It was pouring rain. Cliff shivered, wishing he'd had the forethought to grab a coat too, but he wasn't going to ruin his dramatic exit by going back inside. Of course his mother hadn't approved. Cliff hadn't expected her to. But he'd expected her to get angry - not to dismiss him all together like he was just a kid with a big imagination. Cliff knew then that she would never really think of him as his own person, and he couldn't do anything to change that. It broke his heart.

Cliff walked for a very long time. He didn't quite know where he was going, only that he wanted to get as far away from that house as possible. He found himself at a park by the water where he beat up a couple of tree trunks that definitely won based on his bleeding knuckles afterwards. The rain didn't let up, and Cliff found himself getting progressively colder. His cough from earlier that month had never gone away and his breath began to catch on what felt like a dry patch in his throat. Cliff realized then that he'd left his inhaler at the house, too. The coughing grew more desperate until he pitched forward and vomited onto the grass he was standing on. He groaned and leaned against the nearest tree he could find, the contents of his stomach mixing with rushing rain water and swept away quickly. He continued to gag for several minutes until the coughing abated ever so slightly. He felt weak and pathetic. And also very, very alone.

He needed to get somewhere dry. Somewhere warm and safe. Cliff only had one place like that in mind. He boarded train after train, shivering in the corner like a wet dog as he made his way all the way to Long Island. He knew Elliot's address because he'd been sending Elliot mail all summer, little love notes and presents that made Cliff think of him. He never included a return address though, because he hadn't wanted his parents to see. Thankfully his phone had enough battery to direct him to Elliot's doorstep despite the wet four hour commute, and he found himself at the front door of a modest suburban home at 3:30 in the morning.

The journey had felt like a daze. Cliff had never done something so erratic, so unplanned. He raised his hand to knock before remembering what time it was, and Elliot had parents and sister who probably wouldn't appreciate him knocking. He called Elliot instead, his phone barely hanging on at 5%. He thought to himself that it seemed unlikely that Elliot would answer at this time of night. But after several rings, by which time Cliff had resigned himself to waiting for dawn under a tree, a very sleepy voice picked up.

"Cliff?"

"Elliot? Sorry to bother you," Cliff said, as if this entire situation weren't incredibly bizarre. "But I'm at your door."

There was a long pause, presumably while Elliot tried to figure out exactly what Cliff meant by 'at your door'. "Like right now? Now?"

"Yeah," Cliff said. "Do you think I could sleep over?"

"I'm coming down," Elliot said, and there was the rustling of sheets and then the thump of footsteps as Elliot ran downstairs. The front door opened and Elliot hung up. Cliff looked at him and thought he was the most beautiful person in the entire world. "Holy crap, you're really here," Elliot breathed. "God Cliff, what happened? No, come in first, you're soaked..."

Elliot pulled Cliff inside and helped Cliff take off his soaked trainers. There were traces of vomit on the front of his shirt and his fingers were still bloody. Elliot brought him to the bathroom, motioning for Cliff to stay quiet with one finger to his lips. He grabbed a towel from under the sink and wrapped it around the shorter boy, who was shivering violently from the marked change in temperature. In the bright light of the kitchen, suddenly his journey seemed a lot less valiant and a lot more stupid. "Sit," Elliot said, sitting Cliff on the toilet. "You're freezing... Can you take your temperature?”

Elliot handed Cliff a thermometer, which Cliff obediently used. After a few seconds it beeped and read ‘96.9.’ Elliot frowned. “Hot shower, okay?" Despite being woken up in the middle of the night, Elliot seemed fully alert. Cliff nodded and peeled off his wet and dirty clothes. He coughed roughly as he did so, a slight wheeze audible on the end of the exhale. Elliot patted his back with a concerned expression. "Do you have your inhaler?" Cliff shook his head no. Elliot grimaced and ran the hot water for Cliff. "You warm up. I'm gonna find you some clothes and I think there's an old inhaler somewhere in the medicine cabinet..."

Elliot moved to leave, but Cliff grabbed his arm before he could go. "Don't wake your family up," Cliff said hoarsely. "I'm okay."

Elliot looked at Cliff in concern and sighed. "Cliff, you just showed up soaking wet in the middle of the night. You live all the way in Newark. I'm gonna be a little concerned. But right now you need to warm up. We can talk later."

"Okay," Cliff said. He took the hottest shower of his life then, and it felt glorious. After a few minutes he started to feel dizzy though and sat on the floor of the tub. Elliot came back and peeked around the curtain, frowning when he saw Cliff sitting there.

"Are you awake?" Elliot asked worriedly.

"Hmm," Cliff hummed in confirmation. "Just feels nice, and I got sleepy."

"Finish up in there," Elliot said. "I've got sweats and a hot water bottle and bed waiting for you."

Cliff obediently finished showering and sat on the edge of the tub as Elliot dried him off thoroughly with two big, fluffy towels. Cliff closed his eyes and remembered how many times he'd imagined being together again over the summer. "I missed you so much," Cliff said, resting his face on Elliot's abdomen.

Elliot stilled and crouched in front of Cliff. "I missed you too," he said softly. "Now arms up." Elliot helped Cliff get into the warmest sweats that he owned and then led Cliff upstairs to his bedroom. The house was quiet, and Cliff hoped that meant he hadn't disturbed anyone else's sleep. He glanced around curiously at Elliot's childhood bedroom, which was decorated in a way that seemed so very Elliot. He smiled at the teddy bear sitting on the dresser that Cliff had bought Elliot at the baseball game they'd been to. It brought back good memories, nothing like the ones that had been swirling around in Cliff's head for the past several rainy hours.

"Bed," Elliot whispered, tucking Cliff under the duvet and several extra blankets. Cliff was still shivering, but less so now. His temperature had blown from low numbers to high and he gazed at Elliot with glassy, feverish eyes. Elliot handed Cliff a very expired albuterol inhaler, which Cliff took a few puffs of. Despite the date stamped on the canister, it still eased the tightness in Cliff's chest a little. Elliot then climbed in next to him and wrapped his arms around Cliff. The feeling and smell of being enveloped by Elliot after all this time brought Cliff to tears and he hid his face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know I should have called.”

"It’s okay,” Elliot said. “Sleep, Cliff. We can talk tomorrow.” Knowing he was finally in the only place he truly felt safe, Cliff slept.

[Cont. part 2]

#shionwrites #novemetober rescheduled #whump #sickfic #sicknario #tw: emeto #tw: homophobia #prompt: chaotic body temperature #novemetober 2023 #oc: cliff #oc: theo #oc: elliot #fever whump #hurt/comfort #angst #hypothermia #pneumonia

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abigailmoment · 7 months

Text

Sometimes it was obvious from a distance when something was wrong with prey. But other times, you didn't know that there was something sickly about blood until after you'd drunk a deer-ful of it.

The heavy sensation of nausea was a familiar feeling. Astarion's old diet had never been what one might call hygienic. The rats of Baldur's Gate suffered from many blood born maladies. Repeated exposure had made him resistant to those, but the beasts of the wilds had exciting new diseases. One of which had him curled up in the corner of his tent, too dizzy to stand and wracked with cramps every hour or so.

He wanted to retch, but he didn't want to lose the blood and he was afraid of being ill too loudly. The others might hear and Lae'zel might make good on her promise. Was this bad blood or ceremorphosis? Can't be too careful and he wasn't in a position to object. You needed to be able to stand and see clearly to argue with a gith and a greatsword. Snicker-snack and then the party would just use magic to open locked chests.

That's how the world worked. Bad things happened when people saw that you were weak.

Full text below. Full Text On AO3

The pain waxed and waned. When it waned he dipped into fitful periods of meditation. Which was good. Unconsciousness passed the time. But it also meant that morning came as a surprise. He startled awake because someone was knocking on a tent pole.

"Rise and shine, Ancunin. Time to be the only vampire in the realms who's a morning person."

He twitched awake and up into a crouch, but then his catlike reflexes slammed into vertigo and made that into a graceless scrabble to half sitting up. All the movement woke his head to the fact that it was apparently supposed to be aching terribly. He groaned.

The person at the tent flap crouched down and peered inside. "Are you okay?"

It was Tav. That was workable. He had pull with Tav. He tried to compose a response. It needed to be casual, minimize this, and give an explanation that had nothing to do with mindflayers. It took far too long, but he came up with:

"I'm afraid I'm not up for adventure, darling. I ate something that disagreed with me. About more than just being eaten."

The cavalier words felt heavy on his tongue. He couldn't roll them off with the careless lilt they were supposed to come with. But he got it all out without mumbling at least.

"Got it," Tav said, peering in at him. "I don't know what spells she has today, but I could get Shadowheart to come over and…"

"No," Astarion snapped much more harshly than he meant to. "No, that's…that wouldn't work on this."

He actually wasn't sure, he'd never had access to someone with Restoration before, but he absolutely could not stand the idea of the imperious cleric looking down her nose at him huddled on the ground.

"Okay," Tav said immediately.

He couldn't see her clearly. The dizziness was still with him and made blurry multiples of anything he tried to focus on. Tav was a violet blotch rimmed in sunlight at the entrance to his tent. She wasn't immediately leaving, which made him nervous.

"What do you…" She started to ask something, but trailed off and turned it into a different question: "How does this work?"

Ah. She wanted to know when she'd have a functional rogue back. That was reasonable.

"It won't last more than a day," he assured her. Which wasn't necessarily true, but the pain wasn't acute anymore and after a day he'd be able to conceal whatever was left.

"Got it," Tav said again, a little more slowly this time.

And then she left. She'd gotten what she needed from him. That was good. He could rest again.

Astarion shifted slowly so that his back was to the back of the tent, flush with the rock wall it was pitched against. The acute pain was gone, thank the Gods, but he still felt nauseated in a way that made him want to crawl out of his skin. He closed his eyes and listened to people moving around the camp. He didn't want to lie down again until everyone else had settled down. The clatter and banter of a group leaving for the day was easy to track because Karlach was among them and she was excited about something. After that everything was quieter. He started to relax.

And then he wasn't relaxed anymore because there were footsteps next to his tent and a shape at the entrance.

"Hey. Can I come in?"

It wasn't Lae'zel. It was Tav again. And he was so relieved he told her "Yes." immediately without really thinking about it.

She ducked inside and sat down opposite him. Her arms were full of random things. It was like when she went around compulsively looting everything in a room, only she'd done it to the camp. Which was strange on multiple levels.

"You're still here?" Astarion asked, a little muddled. Tav never stayed at camp.

"Sure," she said easily, as if this were in any way normal. "Wyll and the girls are going looking for buried treasure. They don't need me for that."

That meant Lae'zel was gone, which was exceptionally good news for Astarion's ability to unclench his shoulders. Tav shifted her armful of nonsense to her lap and fished out a bottle. She uncorked it and held it out towards him.

"We don't have any antidotes left after that spider debacle, but Gale thought an infusion of mugwort would help," she explained.

Astarion took the bottle carefully. It smelled like grass. He supposed it couldn't do him any more harm, so he drank some. It tasted like ashes, but so did everything that wasn't blood. It at least didn't make him feel worse, so he drank some more.

Tav deposited the rest of her burden, which consisted of pillows, a sleeping mat and a blanket.

"When I'm sick all I want to do is be surrounded by soft things," she explained. "So I grabbed a bunch of soft things. Do you want them?"

Yes. Of course he wanted them. He had a general policy of wanting all of the things. It was just perplexing when he didn't have to steal them. The blanket was the very nice sheepskin one Tav had decided to go back into a burning building to rescue after she'd finished saving all the people.

(After the fourth time she'd ducked back inside to save sausages of all things Lae'zel started howling that the tadpole had eaten her brain. She and Shadowheart had joined forces to literally drag Tav away as the tiefling argued animatedly that there were still potato wedges in the kitchen. It had been very funny.)

Then an explanation sidled into his head, illuminating his confusion--this was about the sex. People in alleged relationships did all sorts of odd and particular things for each other. He'd forgotten.

She'd asked him a question, hadn't she? He hadn't answered. He'd been running his fingers over the very soft sheepskin. Now he'd been quiet for too long and now the silence stretched out strangely. He didn't quite know what to fill it with.

Tav broke it with another question: "Would you like me to stay?"

He really wasn't sure. He didn't want to perform. That was so tiring. But it felt safer to have a body between him and the outside world right now. When he wasn't sure he could stand and definitely couldn't stab anything worth a damn. He had pull with Tav. She didn't want him to die.

It was really such a nice thing, to have someone else care that you were alive.

"Do as you will," is how he managed to respond.

She stayed. She helped him lay out the extra mat so that it lay straight on his usual one. She cleared away a pile of books and didn't comment or even look at him when he swayed slightly, or somehow stumbled despite the fact he wasn't even standing.

She ended up sitting cross-legged next to the entrance, looking out and fiddling with a lyre. The one she'd stolen from that drow they'd killed. Astarion had shifted the sleeping mats so that he could lie down with his back to the comforting solidity of stone. He had two pillows and the sheepskin blanket. He thought the mugwort might be helping because the heavy feeling of illness had gentled from claw-skin-off-to-distract-yourself-bad to just deeply unpleasant.

He rested. It was easier now. He even drifted off at one point. He closed his eyes and when he opened them the sunlight was slanting in a different way and Tav had picked up one of his books.

"Hey," she said, noticing he was awake. "Can I touch your forehead?"

Random sort of a question. But fine. Astarion made an indifferent noise that could be interpreted as assent. Then he went very still because she was touching his forehead and that was…odd.

"You don't have a fever," Tav observed.

Astarion pursed his lips. Now that he didn't have to concentrate on sitting up, he could inject just the correct amount of condescending archness into saying: "That would require having a body temperature."

There was a pause.

"Right," Tav said, sounding duly chastened.

"Don't quit your day job, darling."

She laughed. "And here I had my heart set on becoming a vampire nursemaid."

He snorted at her. Her fingers hadn't left his forehead, and when they did they curled away slowly. Trailing through his hair in a lingering way that made him very aware when the touch was gone. She went back to reading his book.

He felt better. Almost normal, as long as he stayed still. And he didn't need to move, right now. The camp was quiet. The only things he could hear were birds and the scrape of paper as Tav turned pages.

This was…nice?

This was nice.

***

This is the start of a series. The rest of the story is on AO3.

***

#astarion #astarion x tav #sickfic #hurt/comfort #astarion doesn't know how to deal with people being kind to him #astarion x oc #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #baulders gate 3 #fanfic #fanfiction

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