#sick novak daskalov

[salembutnotthecat]

Novemetober (Rescheduled) | Day Sixteen

prompt: waking up puking

hi yes sorry i died for a week. things were rough.

i swear i have other ocs. but something about making novak puke his pretty little guts out makes me happy inside. and i felt like that was a better thing to come back and write.

@monthofsick

if you have any questions, comments, or requests, feel free to send them.

tw emeto, fever, exhaustion, seizure mention (but no actual seizures this time)

Novak stood on the sidelines of the football field, observing the players as they ran through defensive drills. As the defensive coach for the Mavericks, he felt a sense of responsibility to ensure the team was performing at their best. Whether it was the defensive line, the offensive line, or even himself. Novak wanted everyone to perform at their best, even in practice.

For himself, he was desperate to perform at the top of his game, even though he was sidelined. He had to do well. He needed to prove that it wasn't a waste to move him to the coaching position that was open when he couldn't play anymore, not safely anyway. And usually, Novak was good at what he did. He was tough, but not relentless. He was determined for his team to do the best they could do, even in practice, and would hardly accept anything else.

But today, he felt like he was failing them. Novak couldn't shake off the feeling of exhaustion that seemed to weigh him down with each passing minute.

The sun beat down relentlessly on the field, intensifying the heat and adding to Novak's discomfort. Despite the temperature, he felt a chill run through his body, accompanied by a persistent ache in his muscles. Novak rubbed his temples, trying to alleviate the throbbing headache that had been plaguing him all morning.

As the practice continued, Novak found it increasingly difficult to focus on the drills. His movements felt sluggish, and he struggled to keep up with the fast pace of the players. Every step seemed to take more effort than usual, and he couldn't shake off the feeling of fatigue that weighed heavily on him.

Still, Novak pushed through, determined not to let his team down. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to keep moving, ignoring the protests of his tired body. He couldn't afford to show any weakness, especially not in front of his players. He didn't even know why he felt so... bad. Yuliya had been sick, he took care of her. But surely, Novak told himself, that wasn't what caused that. It couldn't be. Not right now.

He checked his watch briefly. His heart rate looked fine. He didn't feel like he was really at risk for a seizure, so at least that was good. He sighed to himself, before going back to his clipboard and resuming his duties, taking off his sweatshirt in hopes to make himself feel at least a little better.

As practice dragged on, Novak's condition only seemed to worsen. The pounding in his head grew more intense, and a wave of nausea swept over him. He staggered slightly, feeling lightheaded and dizzy.

Despite his best efforts to hide his discomfort, one of his assistant coaches noticed Novak's struggle.

"Hey, Novak, you alright?" Kyle asked, concern evident in his voice.

Novak forced a tight-lipped smile. "Yeah, just a little tired. My girlfriend, she was sick over the weekend. SO I'm just a little worn out. Nothing to worry about."

But Kyle wasn't convinced. "You don't look so good. Maybe you should take a break, get some water or something."

Novak shook his head. "I'm fine, really. I'll tough it out."

With a shrug, Kyle reluctantly backed off, but Novak could tell that his condition hadn't gone unnoticed. He cursed himself for not being able to hide it better. The last thing he wanted, especially after the incident in July, was for anyone to be paying extra close attention to him. Even for a short time.

As practice continued, Novak struggled to keep his focus, his vision blurring at the edges. Each passing minute felt like an eternity, and he counted down the clock until he could go home and crash. Maybe that was all he needed, an early night and he would be fine in the morning.

-

Novak had hardly stepped in the door when his mom came out. She immediately noticed the fatigue etched on his face and the weariness in his eyes, he could see her worry on her face. The thought made him feel guilty.

"Novak, you don't look well," Marina said, her voice filled with worry.

Novak forced a smile. "I'm just tired, Mom. Yuliya was sick over the weekend, you know... I took care of her. And took care of Elya. I'll probably just go to bed early tonight."

Marina studied him for a moment, unconvinced by his explanation. She knew her son well enough to sense when something was off, and today, Novak seemed more than just tired.

"Are you sure that's all it is?" Marina pressed, placing her hand on his shoulder, "Do I need to call Willow?"

"I'm not going to have..." Novak couldn't make himself finish the sentence, "I'm fine. I'm just tired."

"Alright, słoneczko," Marina said, trying to hide her concern. "Why don't you sit down and rest? I'll make us some tea."

Novak nodded gratefully, sinking onto the couch with a heavy sigh. Marina disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Novak alone with his thoughts, trying to piece together why exactly he felt so fucking exhausted. He was tired, but it was more than that. Something told him it was much more than that.

Before he knew it, Novak's eyelids grew heavy, and he succumbed to the irresistible pull of sleep. Unaware of his own actions, he drifted off into a restless slumber, his body craving the rest it so desperately needed.

-

Yuliya's hands running through his hair are somehow incredibly comforting and makes his skin crawl at the same time.

He opened his eyes, staring at the living room ceiling. His head was pounding, the living room lights made him cringe and close his eyes again.

"You're sweating..." Yulia said, he heard the sound her her rubbing her hands on her leggings, "Do you feel okay?"

Novak mustered a weak nod in response to Yuliya's question, though he knew it was far from the truth. His body felt like it was on fire, and each movement sent waves of nausea rippling through him. Novak struggled to form a coherent response, his mind fogged by fatigue and the relentless throbbing in his head. He managed a weak nod, though he knew it wasn't entirely truthful.

"Just tired," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Just need some rest."

Yuliya's brows furrowed with concern as she observed Novak's pale complexion and the sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. She reached out to touch his cheek, her hand coming away warm and clammy.

"You're burning up," she said softly, her worry palpable in her voice. "I think you might have a fever."

Novak's stomach churned uneasily at her words, a wave of nausea washing over him. He swallowed hard, trying to push back the rising tide of sickness threatening to overwhelm him.

"I'll be fine," he insisted, though the tremor in his voice betrayed his uncertainty.

Yuliya's expression softened with understanding as she gazed at Novak with unwavering concern.

"Let's get you to bed," she said gently, offering him a reassuring smile. "You need to rest."

"I have to get Elya from-"

"Your mom took care of it," Yuliya said, "She's worried. Come on, lets get you in bed..."

Yuliya helped Novak to his feet, supporting him as they made their way to the bedroom. Novak's legs felt like lead, each step a struggle against the mounting exhaustion and dizziness.

Once they reached the bed, Novak sank down onto the mattress with a weary sigh, his body feeling heavier than usual. Novak laid on top of his sheets. He felt entiely uncomfortable, and though he felt slightly cold, he was sure the added feeling of sheets on his skin would send him into an overstimulated spiral.

Yuliya sat beside him, gently brushing her fingers through his hair, carefully detangling the ash blond locks that grew tangled from how wet they were from sweat.

"Do you want to change?" Yuliya asked.

Novak thought about it. And he thought about not changing. Just dealing with it. But, he figured he would probably be more comfortable. So, he nodded, forcing himself to his feet and grabbing a change of clothes. Yuliya looked away, occupying herself by picking things up off the floor. Her clothes, his clothes, she tossed them in the bin.

"I'll probably wash these when you fall asleep, okay?" Yuliya said.

Standing made Novak dizzy, he grabbed his dresser as he pulled on some comfortable clothes. He almost didn't answer, his brain not cooperating.

"You don't have to," Novak said, laying back down.

Yuliya sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing Novak's shoulder. Yuliya was the only exception in terms of his touch aversion. At least, to a degree.

"Try to get some sleep," she said softly, brushing a strand of hair away from Novak's clammy forehead. "I'll be right here if you need anything."

Novak nodded weakly, his eyelids already drooping with fatigue. He closed his eyes, hoping that sleep would offer some relief from the relentless ache in his head and the queasiness in his stomach.

Despite the exhaustion, Novak drifted in and out of consciousness. Each time he surfaced from the depths of sleep, Novak found himself enveloped in a fog of disorientation and confusion. His head throbbed with an intensity that seemed to reverberate through every fiber of his being, pulsing with each beat of his feverish heart.

His room is dark when he finally managed to pry his heavy eyelids open, the world swam in a dizzying haze before him. The room spun around him, tilting and swaying with each movement, leaving him feeling nauseous and unsteady, even as he laid down. He felt the weight of Yuliya behind him, her hand resting on the side of his head, as if she dozed off while lightly scratching the side and back of his head with her nails, as she always did. It was comforting, it made him feel better. Usually.

Now her hand just rested there, a surprinsingly comfortable pressure he could focus on that wasn't the nausea, wasn't the headache.

His stomach churned with a queasy unease, threatening to rebel against him at any moment. Novak clenched his jaw tightly, willing himself to hold back the waves of nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. Despite his best efforts, he could feel the telltale signs of impending sickness clawing at the back of his throat, a bitter taste flooding his mouth with each ragged breath he took.

Novak's limbs felt heavy and leaden, as if weighed down by an invisible force that sapped him of his strength and vitality. He longed to rise from the suffocating confines of his bed, to escape the oppressive grasp of illness that held him captive.

But try as he might, he found himself trapped in a state of being unable to muster the energy to move. He tasted saliva in his mouth, swallowing hard and shuddering against it.

The slight shudder must have woke Yuliya. He heard her behind him, heard her hum softly and sit up, reaching over him to turn on his lamp on his nightstand, Yuliya's concern deepened as she watched Novak struggle, his pale complexion contrasting starkly against the rumpled sheets of the bed. She could see the distress etched into the lines of his furrowed brow, the faint sheen of sweat glistening on his clammy skin.

"Novak, are you alright?" Yuliya's voice was laced with worry, her hand brushing over the side of his face, pushing back sweaty hair. He glanced at his watch, his phone was sitting on the nightstand. At least it wasn't that... she figured.

Novak couldn't even bring himself to shake his head at first. His throat constricted with the effort of holding back the rising tide of nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. Every slight movement sent a fresh wave of dizziness crashing over him, leaving him feeling light-headed and disoriented.

He tried to will himself to move, to push past the suffocating weight that pressed down on him from all sides. He needed to get up, to run to the bathroom, or to his desk, where his trash can was. Something, anything. But his limbs felt leaden and unresponsive, as if anchored to the mattress by invisible chains that refused to loosen their grip.

As the minutes ticked by, Novak's resolve began to waver, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps as the relentless onslaught of sickness tightened its grip around him.

"Novak.. Novak hey," Yuliya said, "What's wrong?"

Desperation clawed at his chest as he struggled to keep the roiling contents of his stomach at bay, his muscles tensed with the effort of holding back what he tried not to imagine was the remains of lunch and breakfast, and maybe dinner from the day before. He could finally move, briefly, only enough to cover his mouth with his hand.

"Shit," Yuliya said, starting to go to get up and grab something.

Novak shook his head. He needed to move, he tried to move. But he couldn't. That was when the panic started to set in.

Maybe he could just... breathe. Maybe he could settle his own stomach. Maybe, maybe.

But despite his best efforts, Novak could feel the telltale churn of his stomach intensifying with each passing second, a grim reminder of his body's relentless betrayal in the face of illness.

As soon as Yuliya set down the trash can, then he could move. He moved just enough to grab the bin. It was milliseconds vefore he started heaving, his body trying to purge whatever dared make him feel so disgusting.

Yuliya watched with a mixture of concern and helplessness as Novak's body convulsed with each violent heave, his features contorted in agony as he struggled to expel the contents of his roiling stomach.

She moved closer, her hand hovering uncertainly over his trembling form, wanting desperately to offer comfort but unsure of how to help.

"Easy, Novak," she murmured, her voice soft and soothing. "Just let it out. You'll feel better once it's all out of your system."

Novak could only nod weakly in response, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he rode out the storm of nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. He clung to the trash can with a white-knuckled grip, his knuckles turning pale with the effort of holding on.

With each retch and gag, Novak felt a small measure of relief wash over him. Each wave of sick made his stomach feel less tense and full.

At one point, Novak stopped briefly to take a breath. His body giving him a split second relief. But when the nausea kicked back up again, this time Novak knew he coulf make it to the bathroom. And make it to the bathroom he did.

He bolted, abandoning the trash bin, knowing there was more in his system. Sure enough, as soon as he was on his knees if front of the toilet he was vomiting again.

Yulia sat it the doorway. Wincing as Novak retched up more and more waves of sludge from his stomach. Waves of gods knew what. Yuliya moved a little closer.

Yuliya reached out a gentle hand to brush the sweat-dampened hair from Novak's forehead, her touch comforting.

Novak continued to heave for what felt like an eternity. But finally, finally he was left gasping, trying to catch his breath.

He looked at Yuliya, who offered a small smile.

“It’s gonna be a long night, my love…” Yuliya said softly. “But, I’ll be right here.”

#emeto #sickfic #emeto fic #emeto cw #emeto tw #fever cw #fever tw #emetophilia #novemetober 2023 #sick novak daskalov #seizure mention tw #novemetober rescheduled

[salembutnotthecat]

Novemetober (Rescheduled) | Day Two

@monthofsick

tw emeto, fever, sickness, pushing too hard when sick, bad environment

decided to write a prequel(?) fic of Novak, one where he got sick with his old team

novak is a single father and a professional linebacker.

want more? send me an ask!

He can feel every muscle in his body shaking.

There is saliva dripping from his lips, his breathing is shaky, punctuated every so often by a gag that only gives him more saliva, nothing else.

The saliva splatters into the trash can, he hears it hit the plastic bag, hears the bag rustle as the spit goes down.

This was the worst time this could happen. They had a game tomorrow afternoon, they got to the hotel that afternoon.

They had a team meeting. That was when Novak felt it first. Felt the tension in his stomach, felt the pressure in his throat. Could taste the acid in his mouth.

He’d paid Marceline, and paid her fare to come with, put her in a hotel room. So Elya was taken care of at least.

The team meeting felt like it lasted forever. But when they were dismissed, he was so ready to go back to the hotel.

“Daskalov,” Tristan called him.

Novak turned, running his hand over his face, “What?”

“You look terrible,” Tristan said, “How unfortunate.”

“I’m fine,” Novak said. “Don’t get too excited.”

But now, as he sat at the edge of the bed in the hotel room, his hair sticking to his face, his body shaking, and the relentless nausea plaguing his every moment, Novak was sure he was anything but fine.

His breath hitched, he felt his stomach pull in once. He felt a heave in his throat. That one brought up some acid. His stomach lurched, and he could feel the first wave of vomit coming up his throat.

Novak clenched his teeth, trying to suppress the inevitable. The acidic taste lingered as he swallowed hard, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. The relentless nausea intensified, and Novak's entire body seemed to revolt against him.

Tristan's voice echoed in his mind, but Novak dismissed it. His head throbbed with a dull ache, and each breath felt like a struggle.

His trembling hands clutched the edge of the bed, the room spinning around him. Novak wished he could escape the suffocating grip of sickness, but there was no respite.

Another wave hit, and Novak doubled over, retching into the trash can beside him.

As he gasped for air, beads of sweat now streaming down his face, Novak's resolve wavered. The idea of playing through this felt like an insurmountable challenge.

The night wore on, each hour dragging as Novak battled the relentless onslaught of illness.

Waves of nausea struck him at unpredictable intervals, forcing him to endure the torturous ritual of vomiting into the small hotel trash can. Getting up, dumping it out, only to end up sick again not long after.

He had no idea how much his stomach was trying to get rid of, but it sure felt like everything from the last month or more.

Novak's body felt weak, his muscles aching, and his mind clouded by the persistent illness that refused to relent.

The mental and physical strain left Novak trembling. He could barely hold himself upright, swaying as he attempted to stand.

The room spun, and a persistent headache throbbed in tandem with each beat of his heart. He was sure he was dehydrated. He had to be.

Through the haze of sickness, Novak's determination stubbornly clung to the idea of not requesting to be benched.

He feared the consequences, the perceived weakness in the eyes of his team. No matter how many times Novak was heaving into the tiny bin.

He lay on the hotel bed, drained and fatigued, a thin film of sweat covering his skin.

As the game day dawned, Novak found himself in a nightmarish reality where his symptoms had intensified overnight. The mere act of standing felt like an impossible task, and the weight of his illness hung heavily on every step.

A dull ache permeated his entire body, and the relentless nausea clung to him like an unwelcome companion.

The team bus ride to the stadium was a blur of discomfort for Novak. He felt like he’d vomit again on the way to stadium, but he didn’t. He wasn’t sure how he did it, but he did.

Novak understood the unspoken demands – he was the defensive powerhouse, and nothing less than his best was anticipated, illness be damned.

On the sidelines, Novak fought against his ailing body. The physical exertion was a cruel punishment, and the wave of nausea that hit him as the whistle blew for the end of the first quarter felt inevitable.

In the second, someone tackled him. He felt himself hit the ground, the person who tackled him landed just right on his stomach. His mouth was filled with acid that he painstakingly swallowed back, his whole body shuddering.

During a timeout, Novak darted to the sideline. He pulled his helmet up, heaving on the sideline. Novak felt horrible, and playing was only making him feel worse.

The team physician threw him a disapproving look but said nothing. Novak's teammates, however, watched him with judgment. There wasn’t a trace of concern for his wellbeing. Only how well he played.

He couldn't let them down, he couldn't show weakness. Novak swallowed hard against the bitter taste, putting his helmet back on.

Novak didn’t want to get hurt on the field. But as the second quarter resumed, he was hoping that someone would tackle him hard enough that he could just get out.

Halftime offered Novak a brief respite, yet the reprieve proved more tormenting than comforting. As the team retreated to the locker room, Novak found himself doubled over in an a bathroom stall, his body betraying him with each heaving convulsion. Waves of relentless nausea gripped him, leaving him hunched and trembling.

Novak's breaths came in ragged gasps as he emptied the contents of his stomach. He didn’t even know how, but every wave that came up was copious and each wave made the six foot three linebacker ready to crumble to the ground. The taste of bile lingered in his mouth.

The sheer physical toll was evident in the beads of sweat that clung to his furrowed brow, mixing with the ashen pallor of his face. He felt like he was going to pass out, he was sure.

The halftime clock ticked down. Soon enough he was back on the field.

The second half unfolded as a grueling test of endurance for Novak, each play intensifying the relentless assault on his already battered body. Nausea clung to him like a shadow, and the fever that had seized him persisted, casting a heavy fog over his senses. Every step felt like a leaden march, and the piercing pain in his head throbbed with each heartbeat.

A particularly grueling play left Novak gasping for breath, the strain evident in the beads of sweat that trickled down his furrowed brow. The accusations mounted, each missed opportunity and faltering step becoming a rallying cry for those quick to assign blame.

Yet, he pressed on, determined to meet the expectations placed upon him, even if it meant enduring the scorn of those who failed to grasp the silent war he fought within. But Novak knew he didn’t have a choice.

By now it was painfully obvious how much he’d been vomiting, everything was obvious, he knew it was. But the Hawk’s coaches, none of them believed in skipping games.

As the final whistle blew, signaling the end of the game, the weight of disappointment settled heavily on Novak's shoulders. The defeat was painted across his team's faces, and the jeers from the crowd only added to the cacophony of disdain.

The locker room felt like a chamber of accusation and disdain. Novak's presence seemed to amplify the collective frustration of his teammates, who were quick to vocalize their discontent.

"Novak, you were a liability out there!" Tristan snapped, his eyes ablaze with frustration. "You've let us all down."

"He's right," another teammate chimed in. "We're out here giving our all, and you're dragging us down. We can't afford to carry dead weight. Thank god you’re contract is up this year."

"Can't believe you pulled that stunt on the sideline," someone muttered, referring to Novak's earlier bout of sickness.

"What the fuck, Novak," another voice added, the resentment tangible in the air.

"I don't need excuses; I need results," their coach asserted, his finger pointed accusingly at Novak. "We're not going to tolerate this kind of performance."

The relentless onslaught of blame and resentment fueled Novak's internal turmoil. Each disparaging remark cut deeper, and the disapproval from those he considered teammates stung more than the physical pain ravaging his body.

In the midst of the verbal barrage, Novak's determination to shield his teammates from the truth about his condition wavered. The silent struggle against his body's rebellion became a vocalized battleground, with Novak desperately yearning for understanding and compassion that seemed elusive in the hostile locker room.

He could feel his fever, his exhaustion, everything was so much and now he was pissed off.

“Yeah, well fucking maybe if I hadn’t been forced to play when the last sixteen hours had been near relentless vomiting, I would have done better.” Novak snapped.

“That’s a you problem,” their coach said, “You are expected to play every game. We drafted you early to be the first string, first strings have to play no matter what. You knew this, so get your shit together before the next game.”

-

Novak remembered putting Elya in her crib after being sure that she was cleaned, changed, and comfortable.

He watched her, peacefully sleeping now. Novak always considered himself lucky that she was such an easy sleeper. He’d heard horror stories of kids who wouldn’t, and the mere thought of her being a fussy sleeper was… well, he didn’t know the word for it. But given his current situation it was the last thing he wanted.

Novak grabbed his phone. He felt awful, and though he wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, he wanted nothing more than to talk to his mom. Part of him wished she was here in Richmond.

His phone rang, and he was just hoping she would answer.

She does, and maybe it’s the fever he knows he has, but part of him wants to cry at the relief her voice almost instantly brings.

“Słoneczko,” Marina said. He heards her set something down, like a fork on glass.

It was 10pm here. So it was 7pm there. Maybe she was eating dinner.

“Hey, słoneczko?” Marina spoke. Novak realizes she said something to him that he didn’t catch.

"Hey, Mom," Novak greeted, he cringed at his own voice. He was so worn out and exhausted, and has been sick so long now, he could barely speak.

"Oh, słoneczko, you really don’t sound well…" Marina's voice, a comforting melody from afar, offered a fleeting sense of relief.

"I really… really don’t feel well," Novak admitted, the words felt foreign on his tongue and he struggled to comprehend them. To make sense of what he was saying.

"I saw the news," Marina said, her tone shifting to one of maternal concern. "You looked unwell. What happened out there?"

Novak sighed, “I’ve been sick since last night. I was up all night throwing up and then get sick so much at the game."

“Why did you play?” Marina asked.

“Couldn’t sit out,” Novak said, “Wasn’t my choice. How I haven’t passed out is… remarkable.”

“How much have you been sick?” Marina asked. He could hear her worry. And usually, he hated worrying her, but right now he just wished she was here.

Novak thought, “It was hourly overnight. I threw up on the sideline in the second quarter and then halftime… majority of it was me getting sick… I got Elya back from Marceline, came home. Tried to drink something, it stuck. Ate something before I called, but I feel like throwing up again now.”

Marina sighed. He knew she wished she could be here too. This was his last year in his contract. He was already thinking of trading teams. Anywhere that wasn’t here. Anywhere that was closer to Marina.

“Well,” Marina said, “It sounds like you probably need to-“

Marina's sentence hung in the air, interrupted by the sudden and violent lurch that seized Novak's stomach. Novak tossed his phone onto the nightstand.

With an urgent groan, he grabbed the trash can beside the bed, the room swirling in a nauseating dance.

Novak heaved, spitting up nothing but acid and spit. He had nothing left to give and yet his stomach was trying so hard to get rid of what wasn’t there.

Novak was almost hyperventilating when it was over. He grabbed his phone again, lying back down, pushing sweaty hair off his face.

"Oh no," Marina's voice carried through the phone, filled with concern. "Novak, are you alright?"

Novak could barely respond, his breath shaky as he battled against the rising tide of nausea. His free hand clutched the edge of the mattress, seeking any semblance of stability. Novak was dizzy, exhausted, and definitely incredibly sick.

“I’ll be fine,” Novak mumbled.

“Słoneczko,” Marina said, “How long have you been sick? Vomiting sick.”

“At least since about this time yesterday but-“

"Novak, you need to see a doctor," Marina insisted, “Especially given your circumstances.”

"I can't, Mom," Novak muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I've got Elya here, and I don't have anyone else to help."

Marina sighed, a mixture of frustration and maternal concern. "You can't keep pushing yourself like this. Call Marceline, she can watch Elya, and you need to go to the hospital."

Novak hesitated, weighing the urgency of his condition against the practicality of involving Marceline. The room spun around him as he reluctantly nodded, even though his mother couldn't see the gesture.

"I'll call Marceline," Novak conceded, "I’ll call the team doctor. See what they want me to do. And if they tell me not to do anything but don’t offer anything, I’ll head to the hospital downtown.”

Marina's tone softened, understanding the complexities of Novak's situation. "Alright, call her, and I'll stay on the line until you sort things out."

As Novak dialed Marceline's number, his mind wrestled with the dual responsibilities of caring for his daughter and attending to his own deteriorating health.

He just hoped something would help soon.

#emeto #sickfic #emeto fic #emeto cw #emeto tw #fever cw #fever tw #emetophilia #sick novak daskalov #novemetober 2023

[salembutnotthecat]

because today (january 15th) is Novak’s birthday, here is a fic for the birthday boi

tw emeto, nausea, being sick in public

As Yuliya comes into the kitchen, she finds it quite strange that there is no sign of Novak anywhere.

There’s no coffee in the pot, there’s no dish in the sink, Novak’s running shoes are sitting at the door still. There is silence in Marina’s house.

She had an early ice session, one she planned so she could take Novak and his family, their family, to dinner tonight to celebrate the former linebacker and current defensive coach’s birthday. She was excited.

Yuliya looked around the apartment. She saw messy ash blond hair poking out from underneath a blanket on the couch. She giggled softly.

Checking the time, it was almost 10:30. Novak rarely slept in this late, but as Yuliya thought about it, she was pretty sure Novak was up late last night. And she remembered him texting her once Elya was ready for school.

For Novak to have fallen back asleep in the living room was unusual, sure, but Yuliya came to notice that sometimes Novak would have a hard time falling asleep at night.

So, she figured, that was what happened. He couldn’t sleep last night, woke up to get his daughter to school, and then fell back asleep for a bit.

The Mavericks were knocked out of the playoffs, so Novak didn’t have much work today. The coaching staff had met, changes were made, so now Novak simply had to just wait until it was time to go back.

Yuliya approached the coach, her gaze softening as she took in Novak's peaceful expression.

His ash blond hair fell messily over his forehead, and she couldn't resist reaching out to gently brush it aside. Novak stirred, slowly opening his eyes.

"Hey, birthday boy," Yuliya said with a teasing smile. "Rough night?”

Novak chuckled, a touch of fatigue still lingering in his eyes. "Just a bit. But nothing I can't handle."

Yuliya raised an eyebrow playfully. "Well, you sure know how to make it look effortless."

Novak gave her a grateful smile. He hadn’t slept well, that was true. But he felt vaguely sick all night. The type of vague illness that made him cautious about sleeping but nothing ever came of his symptoms.

He got up at 7 to get Elya to school, and when the queasiness persisted, and a dull ache clung to his stomach, he figured maybe laying down and trying to sleep a little more would help him feel a bit better.

Yuliya sat down beside him. Novak sat up enough for her to sit, before laying his head in her lap. She giggled, petting his hair gently, “So clingy. It’s cute…”

Novak moaned in disapproval, but he didn’t move. He was still so tired.

“So, birthday plans? Or are you one of those people who prefer to ignore the fact that they're getting older?" Yuliya questioned after there was a silence between them.

Novak feigned a look of mock offense. "Who, me? Never! I'm a total party animal.”

Yuliya chuckled, “I’m sure you are.”

“What’s the plan?” Novak asked.

Yuliya smiled, "Well, there's a family dinner planned. You, me, Elya, and your mom. Nothing too fancy, just good food and good company. Downtown, I already made the reservation.”

Novak smiled, kissing the back of Yuliya’s hand. He was grateful for Yuliya's thoughtfulness. "Sounds perfect. Thank you."

-

Novak stood in front of the mirror, donned in a sleek suit, meticulously brushing out his ash-blond hair.

As he carefully smoothed his hair, a sudden wave of nausea struck him. Novak's grip tightened on the brush in one hand. With the other, he braced himself against the top of his dresser.

He took a steadying breath, closing his eyes, determined to keep the facade intact. He set down the brush, taking another breath.

He opened his eyes, fixed his shirt. The faint scent of cologne lingered in the air as he buttoned his shirt, which did him no favors.

He went over to his bag, pulling out a pack of gum. Novak was no stranger to his stomach pitching a fit for whatever reason, so he always carried something minty on him.

He unwrapped a piece, chewing it while he finished getting ready. It was just a few hours. Then he could let this bother him. Just not right now.

Yuliya entered the room, her eyes lighting up at the sight of Novak in formal attire. "You clean up nice, Coach."

Novak forced a smile, the nausea momentarily receding. He looked over Yuliya, in a dark purple dress that complimented her skin and her hair.

“Thanks. You're not looking too shabby yourself,” Novak said, kissing her forehead.

Yuliya chuckled,"So, how are we feeling about dinner..? I smell mint.”

"Excited for dinner,” Novak replied, “I grabbed a piece of gum to make sure my breath was good, couldn’t remember if I brushed my teeth this morning.”

Yuliya smiled, “Well, much appreciated. It's going to be a great night."

Yuliya reached out to adjust his tie, her fingers grazing his neck. Novak winced inwardly, the contact amplifying his unease. He masked it with a casual shrug, hoping to distract her from any perceived tension.

"Well, you certainly look the part of a birthday boy," she teased.

Novak's response was cut short by a subtle but unmistakable lurch in his stomach. He discreetly swallowed back the rising discomfort, unwilling to let his ailment overshadow the occasion.

Yuliya, satisfied with her handiwork on Novak's tie, flashed him a radiant smile. "Alright, let's make this a night to remember."

Novak nodded, mustering every ounce of strength to maintain his charismatic demeanor. As they headed towards the door, he couldn't shake the persistent nausea, but his commitment to the celebration outweighed everything else.

It was just a few hours.

-

The upscale restaurant buzzed with a subdued ambiance, the clinking of fine china and soft murmur of conversations creating a sophisticated backdrop.

Novak sat at the table with Yuliya, his mom, and his daughter, the warm glow of ambient lighting casting a soft radiance over their faces.

As the waiter approached to take their orders, Novak glanced at the menu, his usual enthusiasm for selecting dishes replaced by a muted contemplation.

A dull ache pulsed through his temples, and the prospect of a rich meal seemed less appealing with every passing moment. So began the hunt for something that hopefully would be easier on his already aggravated stomach.

Everyone ordered. Novak didn’t even remember what he asked for, only remembered it was definitely something simple. But that would be for the better, he hopefully

Throughout dinner, Novak found himself pushing the food around his plate more than actually eating. The rich aromas that usually delighted his senses now threatened to overwhelm him. He took occasional sips of water, attempting to maintain an air of normalcy. He drank more water than he ate food, but nobody really seemed to notice.

Conversation flowed around him as Marina animatedly discussed her plans for the next gallery, trying to get Yuliya involved, and Elya excitedly recounted stories from school. Yuliya smiled at Novak, her concern flickering in her eyes, but he offered a small reassuring smile in return.

As the waiter cleared the plates, the anticipation of dessert hung in the air. Novak forced a smile when the waiter presented the dessert menu, but his appetite had long abandoned him.

"I think I'm going to pass on dessert tonight," Novak announced, his voice slightly strained.

Yuliya laughed, “It’s your birthday, coach.”

“Dinner was very filling,” Novak said, “Besides, I don’t think there’s much I can eat here anyway.”

“Actually,” Marina said, “I got you some treats. They’re at home. Ones you can have, I know you aren’t a big sweets guy either. You never have been.”

As the conversation continued, the waiter brought the bill, placing it on the table. Novak shifted in his seat, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

The sudden onslaught of nausea threatened to disrupt the composed facade he'd maintained throughout the evening.

As they waited for the bill to be processed, Novak's stomach twisted uncomfortably. He clenched his jaw, determined to endure the lingering discomfort until they could leave the restaurant.

Suddenly, an involuntary lurch seized Novak, and he instinctively covered his mouth, the color draining from his face. But he tried to pass it off as a simple cough, which did his stomach no favors.

“It’s snowing,” Novak said, “I’ll get the car, Yules.”

He needed an excuse. An excuse to get out of here.

Yuliya watched Novak's abrupt departure, her concern deepening.

“That’s… weird,” Marina said, “Yuliya do you know what’s wrong? Is he sick or something?”

Yuliya shook her head, “No. i mean Novak was pretty tired today but he never said anything about… you know, I should go check on him.”

As she stepped into the parking lot, Yuliya spotted Novak standing near the side of the building, in an alleyway between the restaurant and the neighboring business.

She watched as he braced himself against the bricks, taking deep breaths she could see in the cold air.

"Hey, you okay?" Yuliya asked, her breath forming its own mist in the cold air. "You seemed off in there."

Novak, not realizing Yuliya had followed him, hesitated for a moment, then mustered a weak smile. "Yeah, just felt a bit nauseous all of a sudden. Probably ate something that didn't agree with me."

“My gosh,” Yuliya said, her voice humored and annoyed at the same time, “You are so bad about that.”

Before Novak could respond, another wave of discomfort seized him. This time, he couldn't suppress it, and he moved, doubling over as his body rebelled against the lingering effects of dinner.

The quiet night was punctuated by the sounds of Novak being sick in the parking lot. Yuliya, torn between wanting to help and respecting Novak's privacy, stood a few paces away, her concern etched across her face.

Once the episode subsided, Novak straightened up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His attempt to maintain composure was evident, but Yuliya had seen through the facade.

"Okay, that wasn't just a cough," Yuliya remarked, taking a step closer. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Novak nodded, avoiding eye contact. "Yeah, just a bug or something. I'll be fine."

Yuliya, understanding Novak's inclination to downplay his discomfort, sighed softly. "You don't have to pretend, Novak. Let me take you home. You're not ruining anything by admitting you're not feeling well."

Novak hesitated, then nodded gratefully. "Yeah, maybe heading home is a good idea. I appreciate it."

“I’ll tell your mom, and we can actually celebrate your birthday when you don’t feel so sick, okay?” Yuliya said, “Go to the car.”

-

Yuliya sat on the bathroom floor, her back against the wall, providing a comforting presence for Novak who was hunched over the toilet.

The dim light in the bathroom cast a soft glow, creating a subdued atmosphere. Novak had mentioned a headache when they got home, and Yuliya was quick to try and help him feel less miserable.

Marina put Elya in bed. She felt bad about the whole thing, but figured Novak would be more accepting of care from his girlfriend rather than her, so she took the responsibility of Elya.

Novak, in between bouts of nausea, sighed and ran a shaky hand through his hair. The waves of sickness were unpredictable, making it so he couldn’t trust his body enough to let him leave the bathroom and lay down.

The bathroom tiles were cool beneath him, and he could tell Yuliya was resisting the urge to touch him. But he was thankful.

"You don't have to stay in here with me," Novak mumbled, his voice hoarse from the heaving.

Yuliya shook her head, offering a gentle smile. "I'm not going anywhere, Novak. I'm here for you. Besides, what kind of girlfriend abandons her sick boyfriend on his birthday?”

Novak rested his elbow on the bathtub, resting his head against his hand as he looked at Yuliya.

“I’m sorry about that,” Novak said, “I really thought I would be okay.”

“Of course you did,” Yuliya said, shrugging, “I’m not mad at you. If anything I’m mad at myself for not noticing.”

Novak shook his head, “No, really I tried to hide…”

Novak’s voice trailed off, his stomach lurching again. Novak braced himself for another round of vomiting.

Novak's stomach convulsed, and he leaned over the toilet, enduring another wave of sickness. Yuliya maintained her position in the doorway.

"You're doing great, Novak," Yuliya reassured him, her voice soft yet supportive. "Just take it one step at a time."

Novak, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, managed a weak nod. The nausea was more intense this time, and he could feel the discomfort coursing through his body.

He heaved, hard, gagging up saliva and bile. He was running out of things to purge, which was a good sign, but he knew that until this round was over he would struggle.

“Better out than in, coach,” Yulia said, messing with her bracelet on her wrist to occupy her hands so they stayed to herself.

Novak heaved again. This time he felt tears run down his cheek, felt sweat drip off him. All from the effort.

“You’re doing good,” Yuliya encouraged.

The next twenty minutes went like that. Novak heaving harder than he thought he ever could, Yuliya offering words of encouragement.

As Novak finished, he leaned back, resting against the bathroom wall. Yuliya handed him a damp cloth to wipe his face, providing a small measure of relief.

"Thanks," Novak whispered, his voice still strained.

Yuliya nodded, offering a comforting smile. "Seems like you’re empty, so whenever you're ready, we can take it slow and get you in bed."

Novak nodded, leaning his head back against the wall. His head was spinning and everything hurt.

“Yeah… just… give me a minute.” Novak said, breathless.

Yuliya offered a kind smile, “Don’t worry, take all the time you need.”

#emeto #emeto fic #emeto cw #emeto tw #sickfic #fever cw #fever tw #emetophilia #to no ones surprise this man gets the sheer opposite of a break on his birthday #sick novak daskalov

[salembutnotthecat]

Novemetober (Rescheduled) | Day Eight

@monthofsick

i have just accepted being a day behind the prompts at this point. but hopefully this weekend i’ll be able to catch up!

feel free to send any questions, comments, requests, or concerns.

we are back in the normal timeline of novak’s career, but i’m willing to keep bouncing around as i get an idea that seems fit.

*do note that day nine: persistent illness will be a follow-up, continuing of this*

tw emeto (small), migraine, hypersensitivity, character seizure

Novak Daskalov was very smart, really. At least, on paper he was.

He graduated high school in the top ten of his class, even after only attending that specific high school of at least 900 kids, if not more, for only three years. He graduated university, not only with a double major but in three years instead of four. Academically, Novak was certainly quite smart. On paper.

But, as it's early October and Novak is getting ready in his hotel room in Portland, only to find somehow he managed to forget both his migraine medication and his seizure medication, all while knowing Marina is in France for a gallery and Yuliya is babysitting Elya, Novak was well aware that he was remarkably stupid.

Sure, Novak could theorietically go home and get them. He only lived half an hour away.

But that half an hour easily turned into an hour on gameday. And it was Saturday. Everyone was going everywhere. The game started at one. They had to be at the stadium no later than noon. And even though it was a home game, they couldn't slack on that. It would be rude.

Novak stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at his reflection with a furrowed brow. The telltale signs of an impending migraine were already creeping in—the pulsating ache behind his eyes, the tingling sensation at the base of his skull. His neck was stiff. He knew what was coming, and it wasn't going to be pretty.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to push aside the rising panic. He couldn't afford to let this get to him, not today. The team was counting on him, his players were counting on him. He already had to abandon them on the field as their linebacker. He couldn't continue playing. So he definitely felt like he simply couldn't bail now.

With shaky hands, he rummaged through his toiletry bag, hoping against hope that maybe, just maybe, he had some voer the counter medicine tucked away somewhere. But of course, luck wasn't on his side today. The bottle of migraine medication, prescription or otherwise, was nowhere to be found.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, frustration bubbling up inside him.

And the lack of migraine medicine wouldn'tm be so bad on its own. But not having the seizure medication either was... terrifying.

Bracing himself against the sink, Novak closed his eyes and tried to block out the throbbing pain in his head. He could do this. He had to do this. He just needed to make it through the game, and then he could deal with everything else later.

Novak took a moment to gather himself, mentally bracing against the impending storm in his head. He couldn't afford to let his team down, not now, not ever.

With a deep inhale, he pushed aside the nagging ache in his skull and focused on the task at hand.

Quickly dressing in his coaching attire, Novak grabbed his clipboard and headed out of the hotel room. As he made his way down the hallway towards the elevator, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease gnawing at him. He was used to battling opponents on the field, but this internal struggle felt different, more personal.

He just hoped it would work out. Just until the game was over.

-

Making his way to the team bus, Novak took a seat near the front, trying to block out the noise and chaos around him. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, trying to find a moment of calm amidst the storm raging inside his head.

As the bus pulled out of the hotel parking lot and headed towards the stadium, Novak couldn't help but wonder how he was going to make it through the game. But deep down, he knew there was no other option.

He was a Maverick, through and through, and Mavericks didn't back down from a challenge, no matter how daunting.

With a steely resolve, Novak squared his shoulders and prepared himself for the battle ahead. Today, he wasn't just coaching a football game—he was fighting for his team, his pride, and his very identity. And nothing was going to stop him.

As the team bus arrived at the stadium, Novak stepped off and was immediately enveloped by a cacophony of sounds—the roar of the crowd, the blaring music over the speakers, the chatter of players and coaches. Each noise seemed to pierce through his skull like a dagger, intensifying the throbbing ache behind his eyes.

Novak winced, his head pounding in protest against the onslaught of sensory overload. He struggled to focus, to block out the overwhelming barrage of sound assaulting his senses. But he knew he couldn't afford to let it get to him, not now.

Novak pushed through the discomfort, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. He joined the team on the field for warm-ups, trying to drown out the noise and concentrate on the drills. But every movement sent a sharp jolt of pain shooting through his head, threatening to derail his concentration.

He gritted his teeth and soldiered on, refusing to let his team see any sign of weakness. He couldn't afford to let them down, not now, not when they needed him the most. And definitely not when he wasn't able to be on field with them.

As the warm-up session drew to a close, Novak felt a wave of relief wash over him. He knew the real challenge lay ahead—the game itself—but he also knew he couldn't let his migraine get the best of him.

With a deep breath, Novak straightened his shoulders and plastered on a confident smile. He was still the Mavericks' defensive coach, and he was determined to lead his team to victory, no matter what obstacles stood in his way.

-

As the first quarter kicked off, Novak found himself engulfed in a whirlwind of chaos. The sounds of the game—the clashing of helmets, the roar of the crowd, the referee's whistle—seemed amplified to an unbearable level, assaulting his senses with relentless force.

Novak gritted his teeth against the onslaught, his head pounding with every passing moment. He struggled to focus on the action unfolding on the field, his vision swimming as waves of pain washed over him.

But despite the overwhelming sensory overload, Novak refused to let it defeat him. He dug deep, drawing upon every ounce of inner strength he possessed, determined to push through the agony and fulfill his duties as defensive coach.

With each play, Novak forced himself to analyze the game strategy, shouting out instructions to his players despite the searing pain in his head. He knew he couldn't afford to falter, not when the outcome of the game hung in the balance.

As the clock ticked down towards the end of the first quarter, Novak felt a sense of relief wash over him. He had made it through the opening minutes of the game, despite the odds stacked against him. But he also knew that the battle was far from over.

As the second quarter began, Novak's symptoms intensified with alarming speed. The relentless pounding in his head morphed into a throbbing ache that seemed to pulse in time with his racing heartbeat. Waves of nausea washed over him, threatening to send his breakfast spilling onto the sidelines.

Novak clenched his jaw, fighting against the overwhelming urge to succumb to the agony pulsating through his skull. Every sound—the cheers of the crowd, the shouts of the players, the blare of the referee's whistle—felt like a knife twisting in his already battered brain.

But despite the mounting discomfort, Novak refused to yield. He gritted his teeth and soldiered on, determined to see his team through to victory no matter the cost. The Mavericks were counting on him, and he wouldn't let them down.

With each passing minute, Novak's vision blurred and his limbs felt heavy with exhaustion. But still, he pushed himself to focus on the game, to rally his players with words of encouragement and strategic advice.

As the second quarter wore on, Novak's resolve was put to the ultimate test. The pain threatened to consume him, to drag him down into a swirling abyss of darkness and despair. But still, he fought on, clinging to the hope that somehow, someway, he would make it through.

As the halftime whistle blew, Novak staggered off the field, his head spinning and his stomach churning. But despite the agony coursing through his veins, there was a glimmer of pride in his eyes. He had made it through another quarter, against all odds.

During halftime, as the stadium buzzed with activity and the players retreated to the locker room, Novak's migraine symptoms reached a peak. The pounding in his head became unbearable, and waves of nausea threatened to overwhelm him.

With a grimace, Novak doubled over, clutching his stomach as bile rose in his throat. He ducked into the trainer’s office.

Novak didn’t want to be sick. He really didn’t. He hated being sick. But… he had no choice. He grabbed the trash by the door and threw up. Not even thinking. Not even registering someone was there.

"Novak, are you okay?" Willow asked, her voice laced with worry. "You look like you're in agony."

Novak forced a nod, attempting to downplay the severity of his condition. "I'm fine, Willow. Just a little headache, that's all."

But Willow wasn't convinced. She could see the pain etched into every line of Novak's face, the pallor of his skin ashen with discomfort.

"You don’t get ‘little headaches’, Novak," Willow insisted, gently guiding him towards a nearby bench. "Let me take a look at you. Something's not right."

"I can't," Novak whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible over the din of the halftime chaos. "I have to finish the game. The team needs me."

Willow sighed, her gaze softening with understanding. She knew how fiercely dedicated Novak was to his team, how much he had sacrificed to be here today. But she also knew that pushing himself to the brink of collapse wasn't the answer.

“Do you at least have that medicine that helps your seizures so you could…” Willow trailed off, seeing Novak shift uncomfortably.

"Alright, fine, listen to me," Willow said, her tone gentle but firm. "I know how much this game means to you, but your health is more important. You need to take care of yourself."

“I’ll be fine,” Novak said, shrugging, “I have to head back out… okay?”

-

As the third quarter began, Novak felt like he was wading through a sea of noise and chaos. Every sound—the roar of the crowd, the clash of helmets, the shouts of the players—seemed magnified to an excruciating degree, assaulting his senses with overwhelming force.

Novak clenched his jaw, trying to block out the cacophony around him, but it was like trying to hold back a tidal wave with his bare hands. The migraine had turned into a relentless beast, gnawing at his insides with vicious intent.

Despite the overwhelming overstimulation, Novak refused to yield. He gritted his teeth and soldiered on, his determination burning bright even in the face of adversity. The Mavericks were counting on him, and he wouldn't let them down—not now, not ever.

With each passing minute, the noise seemed to grow louder, more deafening, until it felt like his head might explode from the sheer intensity of it all. But still, Novak pressed forward.

As the game raged on, Novak's symptoms only intensified. His vision blurred, his head spun, and a wave of dizziness threatened to send him sprawling to the ground. But still, he refused to give in. He couldn't afford to let his team down, not when victory hung in the balance.

As the third quarter drew to a close, Novak felt a sense of pride swell within him. He had made it through another quarter, against all odds.

He was so close. He could do it.

-

Willow paced anxiously, her mind consumed with worry for Novak. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was seriously wrong, and her heart ached at the thought of him suffering alone out there on the field.

Vanessa approached her with a furrowed brow, concern etched into every line of her face. "Willow, what's going on? You look like you're about to jump out of your skin."

Taking a deep breath, Willow tried to compose herself, her hands trembling with anxiety. "It's Novak," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm really worried about him. He's been struggling all game, and I don't think he's doing well."

Vanessa's expression softened with sympathy, and she reached out to gently squeeze Willow's hand. "I understand, babe. But we have to trust that Novak knows his limits. He's a tough guy—he'll make it through."

But Willow couldn't shake the feeling of dread that gnawed at her insides. She knew Novak better than anyone, and she could sense that something was seriously wrong. She just needed to find a way to convince Vanessa to help her get him off the field before it was too late.

As they continued to talk, Willow's phone suddenly buzzed in her pocket, startling her out of her thoughts. With trembling hands, she pulled it out and glanced at the notification that flashed across the screen.

Her heart sank as she read the words: "High risk for seizure detected."

Panic surged through Willow's veins, and she turned to Vanessa with wide eyes. "We need to get to Novak, now," she urged, her voice trembling with urgency. "He's in danger, Vanessa. We have to help him."

Vanessa's eyes widened in alarm as she took in Willow's panicked expression. Without hesitation, she nodded, determination shining in her gaze. "Let's go," she said, her voice steady and resolute.

-

Novak stumbled on the sidelines, his senses overwhelmed by the relentless assault of noise and pain. The stadium seemed to pulse and throb around him, the crowd's cheers reverberating through his skull like thunderclaps. Each clatter of helmets, each shrill whistle of the referee, felt like a stab to his already battered brain.

His head spun with dizziness, and his vision blurred as he struggled to focus on the game unfolding before him. The migraine that had been gnawing at his insides now raged with ferocious intensity, a searing fire that consumed his every thought and sensation.

But amidst the chaos and confusion, another sensation began to creep in—a dull, pulsating ache that radiated from the depths of his being. Novak's limbs felt heavy and unresponsive, as if he were wading through molasses with every step.

With each passing moment, the warning signs became impossible to ignore. A tingling sensation danced along the edges of his consciousness, sending shivers down his spine.

But still, Novak pressed on, his determination unwavering even in the face of impending danger. He tried to push aside the mounting panic, the gnawing fear that threatened to consume him whole. He couldn't afford to give in—not now, not when victory was within reach.

Hands grabbed him from behind. Willow and Vanessa had found him, their faces etched with concern as they guided him towards the athletic trainer's room.

"Novak, you need to rest," Willow said, her voice firm but gentle. "You're in no condition to keep going. Let us help you."

Novak wanted to protest, to argue that he could still make it through the fourth quarter. But deep down, he knew they were right. He couldn't ignore the warning signs any longer, couldn't risk putting himself in harm's way.

With a weary sigh, Novak allowed himself to be led away, his body trembling with exhaustion and relief.

Willow guided Novak gently to the floor of the training room, her movements steady and deliberate despite the urgency of the situation. Vanessa hovered nearby, her expression calm and composed as she monitored Novak's vital signs.

"Easy now, Novak," Willow said soothingly, her voice a comforting presence in the otherwise silent room. "Just lie back and try to relax. We're here with you."

Novak nodded weakly, his breathing labored as he struggled to find a comfortable position on the hard linoleum floor. The quiet of the room was a sharp contrast to the chaos of the stadium, a welcome respite from the overwhelming cacophony that had threatened to consume him moments before.

Willow knelt beside Novak, her hand resting gently on his shoulder as she spoke to him in a soft, reassuring tone. "Novak, can you hear me? Can you tell me how you're feeling?"

Novak blinked slowly, his gaze unfocused as he tried to muster a response. "I... I feel... not great," he murmured, his words slurred and disjointed.

Vanessa knelt on the other side of Novak, her trained eyes scanning his face for any signs of distress. She grabbed his wrist, tilting his watch to get a better look at it.

“He spiked, Wills,” Vanessa said, “Almost 175…”

“Oh… so this… this is happening,” Willow nodded.

“Novak, can you tell me what day it is?" she asked calmly, her voice steady and reassuring.

Novak furrowed his brow, his confusion evident as he struggled to process the question. He couldn’t form the right words, so alo he could do was shake his head.

Willow exchanged a concerned glance with Vanessa, silently communicating their shared apprehension. Novak's symptoms were worsening by the moment, and they knew they had to act quickly to keep him safe.

Suddenly, without warning, Novak's body stiffened, his muscles locking into place as a low, guttural groan escaped his lips. Willow and Vanessa sprang into action, their training kicking in as they moved to protect Novak from harm.

"Seizure," Willow said calmly, her voice steady despite the urgency of the situation. "Hold him steady, Vanessa. We need to keep him safe until it passes."

Vanessa nodded, her hands gentle but firm as she supported Novak's head and neck, ensuring that he wouldn't injure himself during the seizure. Willow knelt beside them, her presence a comforting anchor in the midst of the storm. Making sure that in the midst of it, Novak wouldn’t end up on his back.

As the seizure ran its course, Novak's body convulsed with violent spasms, his breathing ragged and labored. But Willow and Vanessa remained steadfast at his side, their calm demeanor a beacon of hope in the darkness.

Finally, as the seizure subsided and Novak's breathing began to steady, Willow and Vanessa exchanged a silent glance of relief.

As Novak slowly emerged from the haze of the seizure, he felt disoriented and drained, his body aching with exhaustion. The pain in his head still pulsed with a relentless intensity, and he struggled to catch his breath, his throat raw and scratchy from the saliva and acid that had pooled there during the seizure.

Vanessa sat by his head, watching him, petting his hair, just trying to simply be there.

“Wills, call Yuliya,” Vanessa said, progressing to patting Novak’s breath.

Willow dialed Yuliya's number, her voice calm but urgent as she explained the situation.

"Yuliya, it's Willow," she said, her tone steady despite the underlying tension. "We need you to come to the stadium right away. Novak had a seizure, and he needs to get home."

Yuliya's voice crackled through the phone, "I'm on my way," she replied, her words tinged with urgency, there was no hesitation in her voice. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

With a sigh of relief, Willow ended the call and turned her attention back to Novak. Vanessa remained by his side, offering words of comfort and gentle reassurance as she progressed to patting Novak’s back.

"It's okay, Novak," Vanessa said soothingly, her voice a soft murmur in the quiet room. "You're safe now. Just focus on your breathing, okay? Try to cough up whatever's bothering you."

Novak nodded weakly, his eyes wide with fear and confusion. He wanted to speak, to ask a million questions about what had just happened, but his throat felt like it was filled with cotton, his words trapped beneath the weight of his exhaustion.

With Vanessa's gentle encouragement, Novak forced himself to cough, the action painful but necessary as he expelled the saliva and acid that had been choking him. Each breath came easier than the last, and slowly but surely, he began to regain a sense of control over his own body.

Vanessa and Willow both stayed close. Close enough to catch him if a rebound happened. Close enough that Vanessa pulled back his hair. Close enough that Willow patted his back and occasionally took his vitals how she could.

As Novak continued to recover from the seizure, waves of nausea washed over him, leaving him feeling hot and clammy. His head throbbed with a dull ache, and his limbs felt heavy and unresponsive. Despite the efforts of Vanessa and Willow to help him, he couldn't shake the feeling of overwhelming malaise that gripped him like a vice.

Vanessa remained by Novak's side, her presence a calming presence in the midst of the chaos. She continued to offer words of encouragement and gentle reassurance, her hand resting lightly on his back as she tried to soothe his discomfort.

"Easy now, Novak," Vanessa murmured, her voice soft and soothing. "Just focus on your breathing. You're doing great."

With each coughing spell, Novak felt a surge of relief as he expelled the saliva and acid that had been choking him. The action was painful and exhausting, but it also brought a sense of clarity and release, as if each cough was a step towards reclaiming control over his own body.

Willow knelt beside Novak, her expression grave as she monitored his vital signs. She could see the toll that the seizure had taken on him, the way he trembled with exhaustion and pain. But she also knew that with time and rest, he would recover.

"Take it easy, Novak," Willow said gently, her voice a steady anchor in the midst of the storm. "You're safe now. Just focus on resting and letting your body recover."

Novak coughed, spitting onto the towel Willow put close by. Spitting made him gasp, like he was coming up for air after swimming.

As Yuliya rushed into the training room, her eyes widened with concern at the sight of Novak lying on the floor, pale and exhausted. She hurried to his side, her hands gentle as she brushed his hair back from his forehead.

"Novak, oh my god, are you okay?" Yuliya asked, her voice laced with worry. "What happened? Why didn't you call me sooner?"

Novak struggled to find the right words. "I'm... I'm sorry, Yuliya. It happened so fast... I didn't want to worry you."

Yuliya's expression softened with understanding, and she reached out to squeeze Novak's hand in reassurance. "It's okay, Novak. You don't have to apologize. I'm just glad you're okay."

“It was like… a minute, the actual seizing,” Vanessa said, “His watch alerted Willow…”

“I programmed it,” Willow said, “I can do the same for you…”

Novak’s breathing was shaky, punctuated by tiny whines every so often. He was still trying to catch his breath, to handle his senses.

"Let's get you home, Novak," Yuliya said gently. "You need rest and quiet, away from all this chaos."

Novak nodded wearily.

“Can we move him?” Yuliya asked.

It took… longer than Novak wanted to acknowledge. He leaned heavily on Yuliya for support as they made their way out of the training room and towards the exit. Vanessa and Willow also took positions to help him outside.

The migraine that had been gnawing at his insides now raged with renewed intensity, a relentless drumbeat of pain that seemed to echo in every fiber of his being.

As they stepped out into the cool night air, Novak couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over him.

“You’re such a remarkable idiot, you know?” Yuliya asked.

“That’s not fair, you can’t harass me when I just had a seizure…” Novak mumbled, leaning back against the seat, ready to crash at any second.

“Fine, I’ll harass you when we get home.” Yuliya said pointedly, taking Novak’s hand in her own before she started to drive.

#emeto #sickfic #emeto fic #emeto cw #emeto tw #emetophilia #sick novak daskalov #novemetober 2023 #migraine tw #migraine cw #seizure tw #seizure cw #novemetober rescheduled

[salembutnotthecat]

Novemetober (Rescheduled) | Day Twenty-Seven

@monthofsick | day twenty-seven: head [ache | pain | injury]

i feel like for as much as i mentioned how novak gets migraines (and how novak has seizured with his migraines), i havent really written a fic about novak having a migraine

tw emeto, migraine, hypersensitivity/overstimulation, seizure (at the end)

*author note: novak’s migraine/seizure relationship is based off my own irl experiences

As the sun rose over the sprawling football field, Novak found himself amidst the hustle and bustle of another day at Mavericks Stadium. Dressed in his customary coaching attire, he stood tall, a figure of authority amidst the sea of players clad in their team colors. Novak loved his team. He loved them when he played, and loved them differently now that he moved to coaching.

Today, however, the promise of a routine practice session was swiftly overshadowed by an ominous sensation creeping into Novak's consciousness. A flicker of light danced at the edge of his vision, like a warning sign. Novak had grown accustomed to these debilitating headaches, each one a relentless assault on his senses. It was always his vision before the pain. Then the pain. Then the fatigue. Then the nausea. Then, maybe the seizure.

As the minutes ticked by, the aura intensified, casting an eerie glow over the field. Novak's temples throbbed in rhythm with the pounding of his heart, his vision blurred by shimmering distortions. Every sound, every movement seemed amplified, a cacophony threatening to engulf him.

At a water break, he took a double dose of migraine medicine. But it had already been an hour before he knew it and the medicine was doing fuck all to help.

Novak gritted his teeth, swallowing down the bitter taste of frustration along with the ineffective medication. He knew all too well the futility of trying to stave off the inevitable onslaught of pain. It was a battle he fought time and time again, a battle he knew he couldn't win, but one he refused to surrender without a fight.

With a weary sigh, Novak forced himself back into the fray, his movements growing more sluggish with each passing moment. The players, engrossed in their drills, remained oblivious to their coach's silent struggle, their shouts and cheers a distant echo in Novak's throbbing ears.

As practice wore on, Novak's world began to narrow, his focus narrowing to a single, all-consuming thought: endure. Endure the pain, endure the nausea, endure the relentless assault on his senses until the final whistle blew and he could retreat to the sanctuary of solitude.

But even as he pushed himself to the brink of exhaustion, Novak knew that this was not just about enduring the physical torment. It was about proving to himself, to his team, that he was more than just a victim of circumstance. He was a warrior, a survivor, determined to overcome whatever obstacles stood in his path.

And so, with every ounce of strength he could muster, Novak pressed on, his body screaming in protest with every step.

-

As Novak trudged through the door of his modest home, the weight of the day's exertions bore down upon him like a leaden shroud. The migraine, once a distant specter, now consumed his every thought, a relentless torment that refused to be ignored.

Yuliya greeted him with a warm smile, her eyes betraying a flicker of concern as she took in his haggard appearance. Beside her, Elya bounced with youthful exuberance, her laughter filling the air like a ray of sunshine amidst the gathering storm.

"Hi, Daddy!" Elya chirped, her voice tinged with excitement. "We're making cookies! Do you want to help?"

Novak forced a smile, her joy was a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within him, but it made him happy.

"Of course, sweetheart," he replied, his voice strained with effort. "I'd love to."

As he joined them in the kitchen, Novak's senses were assaulted by a barrage of sights, sounds, and smells, each one magnified to agonizing proportions by the relentless onslaught of his migraine. The clatter of utensils, the sizzle of butter in the pan, the cloying scent of vanilla—all threatened to overwhelm him as he struggled to maintain his composure.

Yuliya, ever perceptive, watched him closely, her brow furrowing with concern as she noted the telltale signs of his distress.

"Novak," she said gently, placing a hand on his arm. "You're shaking. Why don't you go lie down for a bit? Elya and I can handle things here."

Novak opened his mouth to protest, but a sudden wave of nausea washed over him, leaving him weak and trembling. With a defeated sigh, he nodded, allowing Yuliya to guide him to the sanctuary of their bedroom. He didn't realize it, not at first, but Yuliya was right. He was in so much pain he was shaking.

"Daddy?" Elya asked, "Are you okay?"

Novak forced a reassuring smile, though every fiber of his being screamed in protest. "I'm fine, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice strained with effort. "Just a little tired, that's all."

But Elya wasn't convinced. The furrow of concern deepened on her young brow as she watched her father with wide, worried eyes. "But you look sick, Daddy," she insisted, her voice tinged with fear.

Novak's heart ached at the sight of his daughter's distress, the weight of his own suffering compounded by the knowledge that he was causing her undue worry. With a shaky hand, he reached out, brushing a lock of hair away from her face.

"I promise, sweetheart, I'll be okay," he whispered, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper. "Sometimes Daddy's head just hurts a little, but it'll get better soon, I promise."

Elya nodded, though the uncertainty lingered in her gaze. She trusted her father implicitly, but she couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at her young heart.

Yuliya, ever the voice of reason, intervened once more, her gentle touch a soothing presence amidst the turmoil. "Why don't you finish up the cookies with me, sweetheart?" she suggested, her tone light and playful. "I bet Daddy will feel better once they're ready to eat."

Elya brightened at the prospect, the worry melting away from her features like morning mist beneath the sun. With a final glance at her father, she skipped off to join Yuliya in the kitchen, her laughter a welcome respite from the oppressive silence that had settled over the room.

Alone in the dimly lit bedroom, Novak allowed himself a moment of weakness, the weight of his pain pressing down upon him like a suffocating blanket.He laid back, anxiously grabbing the bedsheets.

With a weary sigh, Novak closed his eyes, surrendering to the embrace of sleep as the world faded away around him, if only for a fleeting moment of respite amidst the chaos of his pain. For though the road ahead was fraught with uncertainty, he knew that as long as he had the love of his family, he would always find the strength to carry on.

-

As Novak stirred from his fitful slumber, a wave of agony washed over him, dragging him back into consciousness with a cruel, relentless force. Every nerve in his body seemed to scream in protest, his senses overwhelmed by the relentless onslaught of pain.

Blinking against the harsh glare of the bedside lamp, Novak struggled to orient himself, his mind fogged by a haze of nausea and dizziness. Beside him, Yuliya sat in silent vigil, her fingers absentmindedly weaving through his hair as she read her book. This happened nightly. It was so normal. Novak always fell asleep before Yuliya. He was constantly exhausted, and his girlfriend was much like his daughter, constantly full of energy.

But instead of comfort, Novak found only torment in her touch. Each gentle stroke sent shockwaves of pain reverberating through his skull, his hypersensitive nerves recoiling from the slightest contact as though it were a branding iron against his skin. Her hand stopped, she must've gotten invested in the part of the book she was reading, but her small hand felt like bricks pressing against his head, making it hurt worse. He tried to tough it out for Yuliya's sake. But when she started running her fingers through his hair again, he couldn't take it.

"Yuliya," he gasped, his voice raw with agony. "Please... I can't..."

Yuliya's movements faltered, her eyes widening in alarm as she registered the anguish etched upon Novak's features. With a trembling hand, she withdrew, her touch hovering uncertainly in the air as she struggled to comprehend the depths of his suffering.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice thick with remorse. "I didn't realize..."

But Novak shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips despite the pain. "It's not your fault," he rasped, his words a mere whisper against the oppressive silence of the room. "It's just... everything hurts."

And indeed it did. With each passing moment, the migraine tightened its grip upon Novak's body, a vice-like hold that left him gasping for breath. The nausea churned in the pit of his stomach, threatening to engulf him in a tidal wave of sickness.

"Did you take anything?" Yuliya questioned.

Novak forced himself to nod. Even that was killer. It always was.

"It did fuck all to help." Novak said through clenched teeth.

Yuliya sighed sadly, "That always happens to you. Especially after that game."

As the night wore on, Novak's torment intensified with each passing moment, the relentless onslaught of pain merciless in its ferocity. His head throbbed with a rhythm all its own, a relentless drumbeat that echoed through every fiber of his being, drowning out all other sensation.

With each shallow breath, Novak felt as though he were drowning in a sea of agony, his senses overwhelmed by the crushing weight of his affliction.

Every sound, every movement seemed magnified to excruciating proportions, a cacophony of torment that threatened to drive him to the brink of madness. The gentle rustle of the sheets against his skin felt like sandpaper against raw flesh, the soft hum of the air conditioner a shrill scream in the darkness. His own clothes felt like they were burning his skin. Everything felt so bad.

And through it all, Novak remained hyperaware of the world around him, his senses heightened to a painful degree. The cool touch of the pillow beneath his head sent shivers of agony down his spine, the faint scent of lavender, the spray Yuliya kept in her nightstand for specifically this reason, in the air a sickly-sweet reminder of the normalcy he could no longer grasp. When his headaches started, or when his anxiety was winning out those moments he felt alone enough to allow himself to deal with it. Yuliya put some of the spray on her hands and run her hands through his hair. Sometimes it helped. Sometimes it didn't.

Beside him, Yuliya watched in silent anguish, her heart heavy with the weight of his suffering. She longed to offer comfort, to ease the burden that bore down upon him like a mountain of lead, but she knew that there was little she could do in the face of such relentless agony.

And then, just when Novak thought he could endure no more, the nausea struck with a vengeance, twisting his stomach into knots and leaving him gasping for breath. With a choked cry, he stumbled from the bed, his vision swimming with dizziness as he raced to the bathroom.

Barely making it to the toilet in time, Novak doubled over in a fit of dry heaves, his body wracked with spasms of pain. Each convulsion sent shockwaves of agony coursing through him, his senses overwhelmed by the sheer brutality of his suffering.

And as he lay there on the cold tile floor, his world reduced to a blur of pain and nausea, Novak couldn't help but wonder how much longer he could take this.

The bathroom walls seemed to close in around Novak, their stark white surfaces pressing in on him. Every tile, every crack in the grout, seemed to taunt him with their pristine perfection, a stark contrast to the chaos that raged within his own body.

The harsh fluorescent light overhead flickered and buzzed. Each flicker sent a jolt of pain lancing through Novak's skull, his hypersensitive nerves recoiling from the assault with a vengeance.

The air was thick with the acrid stench of bile and desperation. Each breath was a battle, a struggle against the suffocating weight of his own suffering.

The pain was intense. And every wave of pain made him vomit again. Every wave of vomit caused more pain. And the cycle felt like it went on forever.

Novak was hyperaware of the taste in his mouth. The acidic bitterness. The faint taste of the green tea he drank at practice before the headache happened, he never drank coffee. He was sure it would hurt and taste a lot worse if he did.

With a trembling hand, Novak reached out, gripping the edge of the porcelain sink with white-knuckled fingers. The cool touch of the ceramic offered a fleeting respite from the searing pain that consumed him. He shut off the light, hoping that maybe, just maybe, that would help. The migraine, relentless in its fury, showed no mercy, its tendrils creeping ever deeper into the recesses of his mind.

He leaned against the wall, sliding down, eventually laying down on the cold tile.

as he lay there on the cold tile floor, his body wracked with spasms of pain, Novak couldn't help but wonder how much longer he could endure. At the very least, how much more he could take before he had to suffer a seizure from the sheer overstimulation of everything.

Honestly, for as much as the seizures hurt, Novak was hoping one would happen sooner, rather than later. As he ran his hands over his face, the sensation feeling as though his face was coming off from the simple act of running his hands over his skin. But usually, seizures meant the migraine would let up. Like hitting the peak of a mountain and sliding straight down.

With each passing moment, Novak's desperation grew, his body a battleground where pain and exhaustion waged a relentless war. He clung to the fragile hope that relief would come, but with each agonizing second, that hope dimmed like a dying ember in the darkness.

Fumbling with the locket around his neck, Novak sought solace in the familiar weight of the pendant against his chest. It was a small comfort, but comforting nonetheless.

And then the door creaked open, revealing Yuliya's worried face peering into the dimly lit room. Her eyes widened in alarm as she took in the sight of Novak lying on the floor, his body trembling with the effort of his fight against the migraine.

"Novak," she breathed, her voice thick with concern. "Are you okay?"

Novak managed a weak nod, though the effort sent sparks of pain dancing behind his eyes.

"I'm trying," he whispered hoarsely, his words barely audible above the pounding of his own heartbeat.

Yuliya stepped into the room, her presence a beacon of comfort amidst the chaos. She knelt beside Novak, her touch gentle as she brushed a lock of hair away from his sweat-drenched brow. It was brief, she knew it would hurt him if she kept it up, but she couldn't help herself.

Both Novak and Yuliya's watches emitted a soft beep. Yuliya checked it, Novak didn't, Novak knew. Novak was at high risk of a seizure, the culmination of his body's desperate struggle against the onslaught of the migraine. This always happened when they got this bad.

A surge of panic gripped Yuliya's heart, but mingled with that fear was a strange sense of relief. For as much as the seizures hurt, Yuliya knew that for Novak, they also signaled the beginning of the end of the migraine, a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness.

Yuliya reached, nudging Novak in such a way his body would reflexively lay on his side.

"It's going to be okay," she murmured, though whether it was meant for Novak or herself, she couldn't say. For a moment, Novak ran his fingers over his locket. But then, his hands stopped. Yuliya knew.

As Novak's body tensed with the onset of the seizure, a wave of helplessness washed over Yuliya, her heart aching at the sight of his suffering. She had seen it before, this cruel dance of agony and relief, and yet each time it struck, it felt like a fresh wound reopening in her soul.

Novak's muscles contracted with painful intensity, his limbs contorting in spasms of uncontrollable movement. It was a terrifying sight, one that never failed to fill Yuliya with a sense of dread, despite the knowledge that it was a necessary evil in Novak's battle against the migraine. Seizures were so normal, now, for Novak. And yet, they never stopped scaring her.

But even as she watched in silent anguish, Yuliya found solace in the knowledge that this too shall pass. For as the minutes stretched into eternity, the tension in Novak's body began to ebb, his muscles gradually relaxing as the seizure ran its course.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. Novak lay still, his body limp and exhausted, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his pallid skin. Beside him, Yuliya let out a shaky breath, her hands trembling as she reached out to brush a strand of hair away from his face.

"It's over," she whispered, her voice thick with relief. "You're going to be okay."

Novak forced himself to nod.

"You're going to be okay," Yuliya said, rubbing Novak's shoulder. "It's over."

#emeto #sickfic #emeto fic #emeto cw #emeto tw #emetophilia #migraine cw #migraine tw #seizure mention tw #seizure cw #seizure tw #hypersensitivity tw #hypersensitivity cw #novemetober 2023 #sick novak daskalov #novemetober rescheduled

[salembutnotthecat]

Novemetober (Rescheduled) | Day Twenty-One

@monthofsick | sleepy sickie

when i saw this prompt i knew I had to go with Novak (who is surprised) because when I tell you this man gets so tired when he's sick, he gets exhausted when he's sick.

if you want to see more, feel free (please send) to send a request (please I'm desperate)

tw fatigue, nausea, vomiting

cw novak's daughter (5ish) is pbriefly present

Novak was exhausted.

He wasn't sure when it started, or how he got so miserably tired, but he was exhausted. The way he barely made it home without getting into an accident was a miracle.

As Novak stepped through the front door of their cozy home, a wave of exhaustion washed over him like a heavy blanket. Worse than the one that hit him at the end of practice, worse than the one that hit him on the drive home. The familiar scent of the home greeted him, mingling with the comforting warmth that enveloped the space. The air had a scent of freshness, new air freshners in the plus in the wall, Novak figured. It had been a long day at practice and Novak felt every ounce of fatigue seep into his bones.

He took off his jacket, dropped his bag by the door. He took off his shoes.

"Hey babe," Yuliya smiled, kissing him gently. Novak realized her hair was damp and she smelled clean, like she just got out of the shower.

"Hello my love," Novak said to her, giving her a hug, "Good practice?"

"Excellent practice," Yuliya nodded, "I got to finalize my program music today, so that's exciting."

"What are you skating to?" Novak questioned.

"It's s surprise, next time you come skate with me I'll show you," Yuliya said.

Noval nodded, "I can't wait to skate with you again, I've just been so busy."

"I know." Yuliya smiled.

Elya came bounding in, hugging her dad "Daddy's home!"

Novak hugged her, smiling warmly.

Novak's heart swelled with warmth at the sight of his daughter's excitement. He scooped her up in his arms, peppering her cheeks with kisses before setting her back down.

"Hey, sweetheart," Novak said, ruffling her hair affectionately.

Elya giggled, her laughter filling the room with joy. Novak couldn't help but smile, despite the heaviness of fatigue weighing down on him.

"I missed you today," Elya said, her eyes shining with adoration.

"I missed you too, pumpkin," Novak replied, his voice soft with affection.

As Elya ran off to play, Novak turned back to Yuliya.

"I'm going to change into something more comfortable," Novak said, stifling a yawn.

Yuliya nodded understandingly, her gaze filled with concern. "Are you feeling okay, Novak? You seem really tired."

Novak forced a reassuring smile, though he could feel the exhaustion pulling at him like quicksand. "Just a long day, that's all. I'll be fine after some rest."

With that, Novak disappeared into the bedroom, shedding his work clothes and slipping into a soft T-shirt and sweatpants. The simple act of changing took so much more energy than he had, his limbs heavy with fatigue.

When he returned to the living room, Yuliya was waiting for him on the couch, a sympathetic look in her eyes. Novak sank down beside her, resting his head in her lap, craving the comfort of her presence.

Yuliya gently ran her fingers through his hair, her touch soothing and calming. Novak closed his eyes.

"Are you sure you feel okay?" Yuliya questioned.

Novak nodded against her leg. "I'm just really tired. How was Elya today?"

Maybe if he could talk to Yuliya, she would be less worried. And maybe he would convince himself he was fine.

Yuliya was telling him. But, he didn't know what she told him. He was dozing off before he even realized it.

-

As Novak stirred from his slumber, a wave of discomfort washed over him, jolting him into a groggy state of wakefulness. His head throbbed with a relentless ache, pounding in rhythm with his racing heartbeat. The room felt oppressively warm, suffocating him with its stifling heat.

With a heavy sigh, Novak pushed himself into a sitting position, his stomach churning uneasily as waves of nausea rolled through him. The mere act of moving sent a surge of dizziness coursing through his limbs, leaving him feeling unsteady and off-balance.

"Are you okay, Novak?" Yuliya's voice cut through the haze of his thoughts, her concern evident in her furrowed brow.

Novak forced a weak smile, "Yeah, I'm fine," he replied, though the words rang hollow even to his own ears.

Yuliya's gaze lingered on him, her expression filled with worry.

"You don't look fine," she said gently, reaching out to feel his forehead. "You're burning up, Novak. You're not getting sick, are you?"

Despite the queasiness roiling in his stomach, Novak shook his head adamantly. "No, no, I'm just a little tired, that's all," he insisted, though the lie tasted bitter on his tongue. Or maybe it was the stomach acid that threatened to come up at any moment.

As Novak struggled to maintain his facade of normalcy, a sudden surge of nausea ripped through him, tearing away the thin veneer of composure he had managed to cling to. With a strangled gasp, he lurched forward, his hand flying to his mouth in a desperate attempt to stifle the impending wave of sickness.

Yuliya's eyes widened in alarm as she watched Novak's complexion pale, a sheen of sweat breaking out across his forehead. "Novak, are you…" she began, her voice trailing off as Novak staggered to his feet, his movements shaky and unsteady.

"I… I'll be right back," Novak managed to choke out, his voice strained and hoarse. Without waiting for a response, he stumbled towards the bathroom, each step a herculean effort as he fought to keep the contents of his churning stomach at bay.

Once inside the relative safety of the bathroom, Novak collapsed against the cool tile floor, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he doubled over in agony. He was forced to do nothing but succumb to the violent retching that wracked his body.

Wave after wave of nausea crashed over him, leaving him feeling hollow and drained, his entire being consumed by the relentless onslaught of sickness. Each heave sent a fresh surge of pain coursing through him, his stomach protesting violently against the assault.

Through the haze of his agony, Novak could faintly hear the muffled sound of Yuliya's concerned voice calling out to him from the other side of the bathroom door. But in that moment, all he could focus on was the overwhelming sense of misery that consumed him, trapping him in its suffocating embrace.

He heaved, hard, again. He could feel his lunch and his breakfast come up, strangling him. Some rounds felt stuck in his throat. He didn't feel good at all.

Novak felt as though he were trapped in a never-ending cycle of torment, each retch ripping through him with merciless intensity. His entire body convulsed with the force of his sickness, his muscles screaming in protest as he emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl below.

Time seemed to lose all meaning as Novak's world narrowed down to the searing pain that radiated through every fiber of his being. He was vaguely aware of Yuliya's worried voice filtering through the fog of his suffering, her words a distant echo in the midst of his agony.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the relentless onslaught began to subside, leaving Novak sprawled on the bathroom floor, utterly spent and exhausted. He sat there in a daze, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath, his entire body trembling with the aftershocks of his ordeal.

Yuliya's gentle touch on his shoulder brought him back to the present, and he looked up at her through bleary eyes, his vision blurred and unfocused.

"I'm… I'm sorry," he managed to choke out, his voice thick with emotion.

Yuliya's expression softened with concern as she knelt beside him, her hand reaching out to brush his sweat-dampened hair away from his forehead. "Don't apologize, Novak," she murmured, her voice filled with tenderness. "You're not feeling well, and that's okay. I'm just worried about you."

Novak swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat as he struggled to find the words to express his gratitude.

He laid his head on her shoulder. She carefully brushed her fingers through his hair. He was so exhausted, and vomiting didn't help.

As Novak rested his head on Yuliya's shoulder, he felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him like a heavy blanket, dragging him deeper into the embrace of sleep. Every muscle in his body ached with fatigue, his limbs heavy and unresponsive as he surrendered to the overwhelming need for rest.

The nausea still lingered, a persistent knot in the pit of his stomach that threatened to rise up and engulf him once more. But for now, he pushed it aside, focusing instead on the comforting warmth of Yuliya's presence beside him.

Yuliya's touch was like a lifeline in the darkness, grounding him in the midst of his turmoil. He could feel her steady heartbeat beneath his cheek, a steady rhythm that echoed through the silence of the room.

"Let's get you to bed," Yuliya whispered softly, her voice a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. With gentle hands, she helped him to his feet, guiding him slowly out of the bathroom and towards the bedroom.

Novak leaned heavily against her for support, his steps faltering as he struggled to stay upright. But Yuliya was there every step of the way, her presence a source of strength and comfort in his time of need.

Finally, they reached the bedroom, and Novak sank down onto the soft mattress with a sigh of relief. The bed felt like a sanctuary, a haven of warmth and safety where he could finally let go of the burdens that had weighed him down for so long.

Yuliya sat beside him on the bed, running her hand through his hair. She was relieved, if nothing else, that he was at least going to rest.

She kissed his head, and he whined in protest.

"You'll be sick too…" Novak sighed.

"It's fine," Yuliya said, continuing to run her hands through his hair, "It's worth it."

#emeto #sickfic #emeto fic #emeto cw #emeto tw #fever cw #fever tw #emetophilia #novemetober 2023 #sick novak daskalov

[salembutnotthecat]

Novemetober (Rescheduled) | Day Nineteen

@monthofsick | day nineteen: sick in more ways than one

while scrolling through my blog, it appeared this fic got deleted from my page. I may have done it on accident or the hellsite may have had it for dinner.

regardless, i saved it offsite. so i went back into my notes, made a few edits, and figured i could reupload it here for this prompt.

i hope to get away from novak for a bit, but we’ll see how that goes.

If you would like to send a fic requests to help (or to get more novak content), PLEASE PLEASE DO SO!! Im begging for asks at this point lol.

tw for overheating, emeto, dizziness, migraine mention, fever

alt cw for novak’s daighter (4) being a little present toward the end*

*this is not a kink thing for me so i do not feel bad about it, but i know some people dont like that lol

The summer sun hung high in the sky as Novak stepped onto the practice field with the rest of the Mavericks for preseason training.

The air was thick with the promise of a sweltering day, and the temperature had climbed well into the upper 80s, with possibilities of maybe even reaching the 90s by the end of the day.

The team, accustomed to the usually mild climate, hesitated but eventually decided to train outside until it became unbearable. After all, it would be good practice if they ever played a game in a hot city.

Novak wasn’t exactly accustomed to heat, but usually the heat didn’t bother him. Granted, he was more used to the mid-80s and below, but surely this wouldn’t be too much more overwhelming. After all, it was only a few degrees.

He’s not so sure about that a few drills in. The sun is beating on the field, Novak can feel the heat prickling his skin.

As he’s getting ready to run through some passing drills, an unexpected wave of dizziness made him stop abruptly. The heat bore down on him like an invisible weight, and he feared based on how dizzy he suddenly felt, and the general poor condition of his stomach at any given moment, nausea would follow.

As soon as the mere thought hit him, he took an elastic off his wrist, tying back his sweat soaked ash blond hair.

Landon noticed immediately. Novak only ever seemed to tie up his hair if he wasn’t feeling well. Something about overstimulation, Landon remembered being told.

"You okay, Novak?" he asked, concern etched across his face.

"Yeah, just hot as hell. I'll be fine," Novak replied, attempting to brush off the worry.

Henry chimed in, seeming to agree, “Man, it's getting pretty brutal out here. We should've trained indoors."

As the team continued their drills, the heat intensified, and Novak's condition worsened. The nausea became unbearable, and he couldn't shake the dizziness.

Novak's steps became unsteady. Nausea churned in his stomach. He felt dizzy, or like he was going to pass out.

Well, maybe pass out. But he would definitely puke first. He could already taste the acid in his throat as he anxiously reached up by his neck and started fidgeting with his locket.

Landon’s hand is on him. Novak realizes Landon said something to him. Or maybe was trying to say something. But Novak didn’t catch it.

“God, you’re burning,” Landon commented. That Novak heard. Landon tried to say something else, but Novak didn’t catch that.

Novak’s stomach lurched, as if to accentuate his suffering. This heat was miserable and every part of him was feeling it now.

“Hang on,” Novak said.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Novak lifted his helmet with one hand, trying to find relief from the oppressive heat. Beads of sweat dripped down his face, his skin uncomfortably warm to the touch. The world around him seemed to blur as he fought against the waves of dizziness.

"Shit, Novak, you sure you're good?" Landon's voice cut through the haze, concern evident in his tone as he caught up with the struggling linebacker.

Novak mumbled a response, his words lost in the oppressive heat. Landon leaned in, trying to catch what Novak was saying.

“What did you say..?” Landon asked, “I’m sorry I couldn’t-“

It was sudden. A split second, but to Novak it felt like an eternity. Novak's stomach revolted violently. Novak clutched his helmet tightly with one hand, trying to keep control, and trying to keep it away from his face, just for now. The other hand stayed clasped around the locket.

"Oh shit, you're going to be sick," Landon exclaimed, helping Novak pull off his helmet, holding it, before quickly taking a step back, a mix of worry and realization on his face.

At that moment, Novak succumbed to the overpowering nausea. He doubled over, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the grass. He heaved, hard, purging what he ate for breakfast and everything he drank leading to this moment.

Landon stayed back as Novak threw up again. He was trying to be mindful of Novak’s boundaries.

Novak vomited again. This time he was more hunched over. Landon could only watch as Novak’s knees buckled and he fell to the ground.

Novak felt so wildly sick. He threw up again, that wave more abundant. He hated that this happened. Part of him thought he heard another player puke too.

“Landon, go deal with Dominic, okay?” Its Jayden. Dominic must have also thrown up.

Jayden knew things that Landon didn’t when it came to Novak being sick. When it came to Novak vomiting. So, Jayden seemed to think the swap was better.

As Novak stood back up, albeit quite shakily, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Jayden offered a sympathetic look.

"Alright, man, let's get you inside, the whole team at that,” Jayden said "This heat's no joke today."

Novak nodded weakly, the remnants of nausea still lingering.

“I think I want to have Daphne look at you,” Jayden said, “That looks like a lot of vomit.”

Novak nodded. Novak still felt too hot, too nauseous. Jayden took him to Doctor Collins’ office.

“Hey, Daphne,” Jayden said, “Heat’s kind of killing Novak the hardest here.”

Novak felt like he was going to be sick again. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t function.

Dr. Collins immediately looked concerned. "Bring him in, let me take a look."

Landon ushered Novak into the office, where the air conditioning provided a welcome reprieve from the outdoor furnace.

Novak, feeling the cool air on his flushed skin, still couldn't shake the persistent nausea. He felt dizzy, shaky, and ready to once more start vomiting.

"Sit down, Novak," Dr. Collins instructed. She probably saw it on his face.

Novak nodded weakly, settling into the chair, his helmet still clutched in his hand.

He felt a sense of relief sitting in the air-conditioned room, but the nausea continued to churn within him.

Dr. Collins assessed Novak's condition. "How are you feeling, Novak?"

The linebacker attempted to speak, but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he doubled over, emptying the contents of his stomach into a nearby trash bin, the sounds echoing in the small office.

Dr. Collins, unfazed by the turn of events, continued her examination, her focus on ensuring Novak's well-being.

After a thorough assessment once Novak was done puking, Dr. Collins sighed, "Novak, I think it's best if you go home and rest. The heat has clearly taken a toll on you. Stay hydrated, and let your body recover."

Novak, feeling drained and defeated, nodded in agreement.

-

Novak stumbled back into the living room from the bathroom, his face pale and beads of sweat lining his forehead.

The few hours at home hadn't brought the relief he hoped for, and the persistent nausea clung to him like a stubborn shadow.

Marina looked up from where she was seated in the chair diagonal to the couch, concern etched on her face.

Novak sat back down on the couch, leaning back against it. He felt horrible. His stomach was a mess. Everything felt bad.

"Is it wrong you ask how you are feeling, sweetheart?" Marina asked, reaching out to touch Novak's forehead. “Goodness, your skin is still so warm. It’s like a stovetop.”

Novak winced at the touch, "Do you want the truth or..?”

Marina rolled her eyes, “The truth, słoneczko.”

Novak sighed, “Honestly… still like… really sick to my stomach? I don’t really know why though, mamoń."

Marina's worry deepened, pulling her hand away from his face. “You're running a fever, Novak. This isn't just from the heat. I’d think by now you’d be cooled down."

Novak sighed, sinking more into the couch, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

Elya, his four-year-old daughter, played with her toys on the floor, oblivious to her father's discomfort.

"I thought I could tough it out," Novak admitted, his voice strained. "But it's not getting any better."

Marina fetched a damp cloth and placed it on Novak's forehead, a feeble attempt to offer some relief. "You need to rest, sweetheart. Let your body recover. Maybe we can call Willow, get her opinion?"

Elya, sensing something amiss, looked up from her toys. "Daddy, why are you sick?"

Novak managed a weak smile, "Just a little under the weather, princess. It’s really hot outside, you know. Daddy will be fine."

The answer seemed to satisfy Elya. But not so much Marina.

"You've been vomiting for hours, Novak,” Marina said, “That’s not normal. Even for you.”

Novak shook his head, "Mom, it's just the heat. I'll be fine."

But as he spoke, another wave of nausea hit him, and he froze in place for a moment.

Swallowing back acid, he tried to piece together if he could make it back to the bathroom or…

“Are you going to be sick again?” Marina asked, crossing her arms.

“What? No…” Novak forced out, “Just… dizzy.”

“You always get dizzy before-“

Novak nodded, hastily reaching for the trash bin Marina brought in the living room in case this happened.

“I’m calling Willow,” Marina said, getting up off the couch and grabbing her phone.

"Mom, I just need some rest," Novak insisted when it was over, after finally coughing up mere saliva. Which, to him, was a good sign at least.

“Don’t care,” Marina said, “You won’t get checked out yourself. I’m having her come to check you out.”

“Mamoń, Willow’s a lesbian,” Novak said, chuckling softly, “She won’t be checking me out.”

“Novak Aleksander Daskalov,” Marina said, “That is not what I meant and you know it.”

“What’s a leban?” Elya asked, her curiosity unaffected by the very bad state her dad was in.

Novak wanted to laugh.

“I’ll tell you when I feel better, okay?” Novak said.

Elya nodded. A little too excitedly for Novak’s taste. But he found it quite endearing regardless.

As the call connected, Willow answered on the other end. Marina quickly explained Novak's symptoms and the ongoing distress.

"Willow, it's Marina. Novak's not doing well,” Marina said, “He was overheated at practice, but he’s been home for six hours and he’s still vomiting and feels warm to the touch.”

“Hm,” Willow hummed on the other side of the line, “Could be a stomach flu, I’ve seen a few cases this week.”

“That’s what I thought,” Marina said, “Naturally he wasn’t listening.”

Willow giggled softly, “Sounds like Novak. I’m finishing my shift soon. I'll come over and take a look at him when I get off."

Marina hung up, returning to Novak's side. "Willow is on her way.”

-

As the evening sun cast long shadows, Willow arrived at Novak's home. Marina greeted her at the door with a mixture of relief and concern etched on her face.

"Willow, thank you for coming. He's in the living room," Marina said, leading the way.

Willow entered to find Novak laying on the couch, a damp cloth on his forehead, covering his eyes. Elya was sitting nearby, watching her father with a worried expression.

“When did the headache start?” Willow asked. No introduction. No greeting. Just right into it.

Novak groaned, “Like an hour ago…. Well, it’s been hurting since practice but it got more migraine level in the last hour…”

"Besides the headache, how are you feeling?" Willow asked.

Novak managed a weak smile, taking the rag off his head and forcing himself to sit up, “Not great. Dizzy, nauseous. Just all-around miserable."

The change in position made the room spin worse, Novak grabbed the back of the couch.

“Emphasis on dizzy…” Novak admitted.

Willow went to work, checking Novak's vital signs and asking detailed questions about his symptoms. Marina filled her in on the events leading up to his current state, emphasizing the persistent vomiting.

Willow, maintaining her professional composure, finished her assessments. "Your temperature is elevated, and your blood pressure is a bit low. Combine that with the vomiting, and it seems like you've got a stomach virus on top of being overheated. Dehydration might be playing a role too."

Novak nodded, grateful for the clarity. "Do I need to go to the hospital?"

"I don't think it's severe enough for hospitalization at this point, but we need to address the dehydration," Willow explained, reaching in her bag, “Hey Marina, can you grab a bottle of water?”

Marina nodded, going into the kitchen and grabbing one. Willow pulled out an electrolyte solution, mixing it in the water once Marina handed it over.

“Drink that, and…” Willow dug in her bag, pulling out four more, setting them on the coffee table, “There’s some extras. Also plain water is good, the solution is just to help rehydrate you faster. If you puke it back up, make up a new round.”

Novak took a few sips, feeling the cool liquid providing a welcome relief. Willow continued.

“Rest is crucial, and you should continue to hydrate.” Willow said, “If the vomiting persists or if you can't keep fluids down, we might need to consider hospitalization."

Marina, hearing the diagnosis, visibly relaxed. "Thank you, Willow. We appreciate your help."

As Willow provided Novak with instructions for medication and hydration, Elya approached her father with a stuffed animal in hand. "Daddy, this will make you feel better."

Novak chuckled weakly, taking the stuffed animal from his daughter. "Thank you, princess. It's already helping."

Willow smiled at the heartwarming exchange between Novak and his daughter. "A little extra comfort is always good for healing."

After ensuring Novak had a plan for the next few days, Willow prepared to leave. Marina walked her to the door, expressing her gratitude once again.

"Thank you, Willow. Your help means a lot to us. I'll make sure he follows your advice."

Willow nodded, her caring demeanor evident. "Keep an eye on him, and don't hesitate to reach out if anything changes. If I don’t answer, call Vanessa, she could help too."

As Willow left, the living room settled into a quiet atmosphere. Novak, still feeling weakened by the illness, was once again laying on the couch. But this time, Elya nestled beside him, clutching her stuffed animal.

"Daddy, are you going to be okay?" Elya asked, her innocent eyes filled with concern.

Novak ruffled her hair gently, smiling. "I'll be just fine, sweetheart. Thanks to you and Grandma taking care of me."

Marina glanced at Novak with a motherly concern. "You heard Willow. Rest is crucial. Let your body heal."

Novak nodded, “Can you get my phone, mamoń, I’m going to call coach, tell him I can’t go tomorrow.”

Marina smiled, “That might be the most sensible thing you’ve said since you got home, słoneczko.”

#emeto #sickfic #emeto fic #emeto cw #emeto tw #fever cw #fever tw #emetophilia #novemetober 2023 #overheating tw #sick novak daskalov

[salembutnotthecat]

tw cough, implied emeto, fever, character making themselves sicker

testing the waters of illness that isnt emeto-based

Novak tossed and turned in the hotel bed, a chorus of coughs punctuating the otherwise silent room. The winter sun struggled to pierce through the curtains, casting a subdued glow on the scene. The warmth of the hotel room did little to alleviate the chill that had settled in his bones.

His head pounded with each heartbeat, a persistent ache that only intensified whenever he moved. Novak groaned, realizing that the ‘minor cough’ he had a week ago had turned into a full chest cold.

The thought of staying in bed and letting his body recover crossed his mind, but it was swiftly dismissed. The weight of responsibility hung heavy on his shoulders.

After the seizures got worse, after that game against his old team, Novak had stopped playing. But, he didn’t leave the Mavericks. He couldn’t leave them.

Instead, Coach Henderson offered him the position of defensive coach for the Mavericks, and even though Novak was still in training technically, the playoffs were no time for absenteeism. Even from him.

With a sigh, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, shivering as the cold floor met his bare feet. Novak reached for a tissue to stifle another round of coughing, his chest rattling with each exhalation.

As Novak took a shower, pulling on his Maverick sideline gear as soon as he could, his mind raced with thoughts of the game plan, defensive strategies, and the unspoken fear of failure. The idea of being perceived as weak or unable to fulfill his coaching duties gnawed at him.

“You sound like shit,” Yuliya said over the phone, after he came back to his room with something to eat and some coffee, “I assume that’s why I was your first call and not your mom.”

Novak managed a weak chuckle, the raspy quality of his voice betraying the toll the chest cold had taken on him.

“Maybe I just wanted to talk to my beautiful girlfriend,” Novak said.

Yuliya scoffed, “Yeah, I’m sure. Should I text your mom and ask her about…”

“No, please,” Novak whined softly "Marina would have a fit. She’d come to the stadium herself and kidnap me.”

“Based on how you sound, I’d help,” Yuliya commented.

“You’re so supportive,” Novak rolled his eyes.

“I love you,” Yuliya said, “I don’t want you to get sicker.”

“I’ll be fine,” Novak said, “How’s Elya?”

“She’s fine,” Yuliya says, “She knows, though. She’s six, not stupid.”

“I never said she was,” Novak said, clearing his throat.

“She wants to make you chicken soup when you come home,” Yuliya chuckled, “So that’s dinner tomorrow.”

“Well,” Novak said, “That doesn’t sound bad.”

There was a pause on the other end, filled only by Novak's labored breathing.

"Novak, seriously, are you sure about this?" Yuliya's concern was evident in her tone.

"I can't let the team down, Yules. It's the playoffs," Novak replied, taking a cautious sip of coffee. The warmth did little to soothe his raw throat, and the taste made his stomach turn from all the coughing.

"You won't be helping anyone if you collapse on the sideline," Yuliya argued.

Novak sighed, his shoulders slumping for a moment, "I can't back out now. The team needs me."

As he spoke, another fit of coughing seized him, leaving him breathless and slightly nauseous. Novak resisted the urge to let it show in his voice, not wanting to add to Yuliya's worry.

"Novak, please take care of yourself. I can hear how hard you're pushing yourself," Yuliya pleaded.

"I'll be fine. I promise," Novak assured her, despite the uncertainty that lingered in his own mind.

Yuliya sighed on the other end. "Alright, just... be careful, okay? I'll be watching the game and hoping you don't make yourself sicker."

Novak's heart warmed at her concern. "I appreciate it, Yuli. I'll do my best."

After the call, Novak took a deep breath, suppressing another bout of coughing. The determination to fulfill his coaching duties battled with the increasing fatigue and sickness within him.

As he pulled on his thick coat and wrapped a scarf around his neck, Novak's mind raced with thoughts of the game plan, defensive strategies, and the unspoken fear of failure. The idea of being perceived as weak or unable to fulfill his coaching duties gnawed at him.

-

Novak stood on the sidelines, the winter chill cutting through him as he tried to focus on the unfolding game. The cough that had been lingering seemed to intensify with each passing minute. Novak was determined to see the team through the first half.

As the action on the field unfolded, Novak found himself frequently reaching for a tissue or using his scarf to muffle his coughs. The players noticed, exchanging worried glances, but Novak waved off their concerns, unwilling to be a distraction.

The crisp air exacerbated his symptoms, and the chill seemed to seep into his bones, leaving him shivering between coughing fits.

Landon, the quarterback turned coach, approached him during a break in the game. "Novak, you look like you've been through hell. You sure you should be out here?"

"I'm fine, Landon," Novak replied, his voice strained. "Just a cold, nothing to worry about."

Landon eyed him skeptically but didn't press further, returning to the field with a lingering glance. The first half pressed on, and Novak's attempts to focus on the game were repeatedly interrupted by his coughing fits.

At halftime, the team huddled in the locker room, their breath visible in the cold air. Novak, still wrapped in his Maverick gear, tried to project an image of strength.

However, the fatigue and sickness were catching up to him, evident in the lines etched on his face and the weariness in his eyes.

The halftime break offered a temporary respite from the biting cold, but it couldn't alleviate the relentless cough that wracked Novak's body.

He retreated to a quiet corner of the locker room, the echoes of his own coughs reverberating off the walls. The taste of blood lingered in his mouth from the forceful hacking, and he pressed the edge of his scarf to his lips, dismay etched on his face.

The weight of his own vulnerability gnawed at Novak's resolve. He wanted to be a pillar of strength for the team, but the persistent coughing fit betrayed his weakened state.

Sweat beads formed on his forehead, a combination of fever and exertion, as he struggled to catch his breath between coughs.

In a moment of cruel irony, the strain on his chest triggered an unexpected wave of nausea. Novak's stomach rebelled against the repeated assaults, and he doubled over, emptying the contents of his stomach into a nearby trash bin.

The bitter taste of bile and the acrid smell filled the small space, and Novak's shoulders slumped with exhaustion and a tinge of shame.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple.

"This can't be happening," he muttered to himself, frustration and disappointment evident in his voice.

Novak had spent five years proving his resilience on the field, and the realization that a simple cold threatened to sideline him stung deeply.

As the halftime clock ticked away, Novak gathered what remained of his strength. He couldn't allow his personal battle to overshadow the team's pursuit of victory.

With a weary sigh, he straightened up and pulled himself together. The second half awaited, and Novak, despite the physical toll, prepared to return to the sideline, would not let his coaching status be brought into question.

The second half unfolded with Novak on the sidelines, the toll of his illness becoming increasingly evident. The biting cold seemed to exacerbate his symptoms, and his persistent coughing drew concerned glances from players, coaching staff, and even some of the fans.

As the game progressed, Novak's movements became slower, his reactions less sharp. The once vibrant energy that characterized his coaching demeanor waned. Despite his best efforts to conceal it, the fatigue and sickness etched across his face told a different story.

During a timeout, one of the assistant coaches approached Novak with genuine concern. "You sure you're okay, Daskalov?"

Novak mustered a weak smile, the effort to reassure both himself and his colleague evident. "Yeah, just a little under the weather. I'll tough it out."

The game continued. Novak continued doing what he did best. A particularly severe coughing fit drew the attention of the head coach, who shot Novak a worried glance.

The final whistle blew, signaling the end of the game. Novak, his shoulders slumped and forehead damp with fevered sweat, forced himself through the customary handshakes and nods of acknowledgment.

The victory was bittersweet, his contribution marred by the specter of his own deteriorating health.

As the players celebrated on the field, Novak made his way to the locker room. His movements were sluggish, and every step felt like a monumental effort. The realization that he had pushed himself to the limit for the team lingered in the air.

Once inside the locker room, Novak wasted no time. He shed his coaching attire, replaced by a hoodie and worn-out jeans. The echoes of the cheers from the field seemed distant as he gathered his belongings.

The journey home felt like an eternity. Novak's chest tightened with each cough, and the chill of the winter night seemed to penetrate his bones.

Yuliya greeted Novak at the door, her expression a mix of concern and relief. "Gosh, you look horrible…"

Novak managed a weary smile, "Well, hopefully I look worse than I feel…”

He took off his jacket, his shoes, putting them up. Yuliya doesn’t give him a second more, she’s standing on the tips of her toes with her hand to his forehead.

"You're burning up. How long have you been feeling like this?" Yuliya asked.

Novak sighed, "A couple of days. It hit hard today. But hey, the team needed me, you know?"

Yuliya frowned, "The team needs a healthy coach, Novak. Come on, let's get you to bed."

As Novak began to follow her, more ready than ever to go to bed, a sudden wave of nausea swept over him. He placed a hand over his stomach, struggling to keep the contents at bay. Yuliya, sensing his distress, rushed to his side.

"Novak, what's wrong?" she asked, her voice filled with worry.

He winced, "I've been coughing so much, it's making me sick to my stomach. Happened at halftime, too."

Yuliya's eyes widened in concern. "Why didn't you say anything? You should have come home."

"I didn't want to let them down," Novak admitted, his pride warring with his deteriorating condition, “I think I’ll be…”

Another coughing fit took over. But this time, Yuliya sees the way his eyes widen in fear. The same fear he gets when he’s going to…

“Okay,” Yuliya said, jumping into action and turning Novak around, pushing him to the bathroom as the defensive coach continued coughing harder and harder

As Yuliya guided Novak to the bathroom, the raspy coughs racked his body, each one more intense than the last. Novak clutched his chest, the struggle to catch his breath evident. Yuliya could feel the tension in his body, the fear lingering in his eyes.

"Easy, Novak. Just breathe," Yuliya urged, her hands steadying him as he leaned against the bathroom sink.

Novak took deep, labored breaths, but the coughing persisted. It felt like an unrelenting assault on his weakened body. Yuliya reached for a towel, wetting it with cold water and gently pressing it against Novak's forehead.

Novak coughed, hard, spitting water into the sink, and whatever else was in his lungs that shouldn’t be there he assumed.

"I'll be fine," Novak managed to say between coughs, though the strain was evident. He placed a hand on one of his sides, a sudden pain making itself known the harder he coughed.

Yuliya didn't buy it. "You're not fine, Novak. You're sick, and this needs to be taken seriously."

Another bout of coughing seized Novak, and as it subsided, he slumped against the bathroom counter.

His fatigue was obvious, and the struggle to breathe lingered in the air. He was gasping, slightly wheezing, and now his side was hurting, more than usual when it came to coughing.

Yuliya placed a comforting hand on his back. "You need rest, and probably a doctor. This isn't something to tough out."

Yuliya's concern deepened as Novak continued to struggle with each cough, and now, a sharp pain in his side accompanied the distress. Novak kept coughing, at one point spitting a little blood from coughing so hard. Realizing the severity of the situation, Yuliya picked up her phone and dialed Willow.

“I’m calling your high school sweetheart,” Yuliya teased.

“She’s a les… lesbian…” Novak said through the seemingly endless coughing.

Willow answered on the third ring.

“Nurse Atkinson, Saint Michael’s general hospital.” Willow said through the phone.

"Willow, it's Yuliya. Novak is really sick, and he's coughing a lot. Like I’m talking can’t breathe, spit up blood a lot. What should I do?"

Willow's calming voice came through the phone, "Is he having trouble breathing, too?"

"Yeah, he's really struggling," Yuliya replied, worry etching her voice.

"Okay, here's what you need to do. I'm at the hospital right now. Bring him in, and we'll take care of him. It's better to have a professional check him out, especially with that pain in his side.” Willow said “Plus, it'll keep things lowkey from the media if you bring him here."

Yuliya nodded, grateful for Willow's guidance. "Thank you, Willow. We'll head to the hospital right away."

As Yuliya hung up, she turned to 4Novak, who was still fighting for breath. "We're going to the hospital, Novak. Willow will take care of you." She helped him up.

-

Yuliya and Novak arrived at the hospital, where Willow met them with a teasing grin. "Novak, getting yourself into trouble again, I see."

Novak managed a weak smile, still catching his breath. "You know me, Willow. Always keeping things interesting."

Willow chuckled, leading them to a room. "Let's see what's going on. Novak, you might have some explaining to do.”

As Willow conducted tests and examinations, she kept the atmosphere light with playful banter. Novak, though feeling quite miserable, couldn't help but crack a smile amid his coughing fits.

“What kind of idiot coaches playoffs in single digit weather,” Willow questioned, light hearted, “Especially when they’ve had a cough for a week.”

“A week?” Yuliya asked, looking at Novak, “You mean to tell me you’ve been coughing like that for a week, and still went to practice and…”

“Willow is being dramatic,” Novak said, “I promise, it’s only been a few days.”

After running some tests, Willow shared the results, "Well, Novak, it seems you've got yourself a nice case of pneumonia, and those coughing fits have left you with a bruised rib. You sure can’t do anything easily..."

Novak sighed, half in relief and half in resignation. "Guess I can't avoid the occasional curveball, even in my own health."

Willow continued with her good-natured teasing, "You'll be fine, Novak. But you'll have to take it easy for a while. No more coaching in the freezing cold until you're fully recovered."

Yuliya looked at Novak with concern, her worry turning into a gentle smile as the camaraderie between Novak and Willow eased the tension in the room.

“I can’t do much. But I will give you a cough medicine, and I’ll also give you a good recommendation of some over the counter cough medicine if you don’t want something that strong, though the prescription will help better,” Willow said, “Also, I’m going to give you an inhaler, just so you don’t give Yuliya anymore heart attacks, sound good?”

Novak chuckled, "Yeah, an inhaler might be a good idea. If I’m going to send my girlfriend into cardiac arrest with my antics, I assure you, it won’t be because I have pneumonia."

“How about let’s not send me into cardiac arrest period,” Yulia said.

Willow laughed, “I wish I could tell you it gets easier. But my girlfriend is a police officer, and a stupid one at that.”

Yuliya, relieved to see some lightness returning to Novak's demeanor, smiled. “Well, we’ll take anything to keep him from pushing his luck, especially when he’s this sick."

Willow handed Novak a prescription and the inhaler, advising, "Make sure to follow the prescription, get plenty of rest, and take it easy. Yuliya, keep an eye on this troublemaker."

Novak winked at Yuliya, "Don't worry, I'll behave. Thanks, Willow."

As they prepared to leave the hospital, Yuliya couldn't help but feel grateful for Willow's care and good-natured teasing that lifted Novak's spirits even in sickness.

“You’re an idiot,” Yuliya said plainly.

Novak nodded, “Yeah. Well, I’m your idiot.”

#sickfic #fever tw #fever cw #sickness tw #sickness cw #sick novak daskalov

[salembutnotthecat]

Novemetober (Rescheduled) | Day Nine

@monthofsick

part one is here but this can be read as a standalone too

if you have more questions, requests, or otherwise, feel free to send an ask! (please send asks!)

tw for migraine, emeto, seizures, character overworking themself.

alternative cw for novak’s daughter, who is now eight years old, being present in this fic a little bit.

side note, to the anon in my box after the last fic and anyone else: novak’s seizures are based on what i go through with mine. any harassment (or comments of how seizures ‘should’ happen in your opinion will promptly be deleted.)

Novak did sleep. For a little bit. He'd fallen asleep when they got home, and against Yuliya's better judgement she left him, making sure Willow was connected to Novak on the phone while Yuliya went to go pick up Elya from school. So Novak did sleep, for a little bit.

But he woke up after Yuliya left. His head was killing him. Everything felt awful. He could feel how bad everything felt, and he wondered why he had almost no change at all in his wellbeing.

But despite the overwhelming pain and nausea, Novak couldn't bear the thought of lying in bed, helpless and incapacitated. He hated feeling like a burden, like he was incapable of taking care of himself and his girlfriend and his daughter. So, he forced himself out of bed, hanging up from Willow, and began to move around the house, his movements slow and unsteady as he attempted to distract himself from the relentless agony that gripped him.

Yuliya arrived home with Elya in tow, her expression a mix of concern and frustration as she took in the sight of Novak attempting to do the dishes despite his obvious distress.

"Novak, what are you doing?" Yuliya exclaimed, her voice tinged with exasperation. "You should be resting, not trying to do chores."

Novak looked up at Yuliya, shrugging.

"I can't just sit around and do nothing," he replied stubbornly. "I hate feeling helpless."

Yuliya sighed, her frustration tempered by concern for Novak's well-being. She knew how stubborn he could be, how fiercely independent, but she also knew that pushing himself too hard would only make his migraine worse.

"Elya honey, why don't you head to your room and get started on your project, I'll be there to help you in a little bit," Yuliya said, "Your dad isn't feeling good."

Elya nodded. She went back to her room, but not before going over and giving Novak a hug.

"Novak, please," Yuliya said after she heard Elya's door shut, her voice softening with worry. "You need to take care of yourself. Let me help you."

But Novak shook his head stubbornly, his jaw set in a stubborn line. "I can't just... I need to do something," he insisted, his voice trailing off as a wave of nausea washed over him.

Yuliya's expression softened with sympathy as she watched Novak struggle against the relentless tide of pain. She knew that he hated feeling helpless, hated feeling like his illness was controlling him. But she also knew that sometimes, the bravest thing a person could do was to admit when they needed help.

"Novak, babe," Yuliya said, placing her hands on his cheeks, "You had a seizure. You don't have to do anything except rest right now."

"I'll be fine," Novak said, "Seriously."

"Fine, tell you what," Yuliya said, "Let's finish the kitchen. And then will you please get in bed and rest?"

"Fine," Novak said, "Wait but what about dinner for you two?"

"We have stuff in the fridge," Yuliya said.

As Novak and Yuliya worked together to clean up the kitchen, Novak's symptoms continued to worsen with each passing moment. The relentless pounding in his head had become a raging inferno of pain, and waves of nausea threatened to overwhelm him with every step.

Despite the agony coursing through his veins, Novak refused to give in. He pushed himself to keep moving, his movements slow and unsteady as he forced himself to focus on the task at hand.

Yuliya watched Novak closely, her heart aching with sympathy for the pain he was enduring. She knew how much he hated feeling helpless, how desperately he wanted to do something, anything, to regain a sense of control over his own body.

"Novak, maybe you should sit down for a bit," Yuliya suggested gently, her voice tinged with concern. "You don't have to push yourself so hard."

But Novak shook his head stubbornly, his jaw set in a determined line.

"I'm fine, Yuliya," he insisted, his voice strained with effort. "I just... I hate feeling like I can't do anything."

Yuliya sighed, knowing that arguing with Novak would only make him more determined to push himself beyond his limits. Instead, she focused on helping him as best she could, silently grateful for his stubbornness even as it caused her heart to ache with worry.

Together, they worked in silence. Yuliya knew anything she said would make him all the more stubborn, she was sure.

As Novak persisted in his efforts to help clean the kitchen, Yuliya's worry deepened with each passing moment. Novak's symptoms showed no signs of abating; if anything, they seemed to intensify with every passing minute. The relentless pounding in his head had escalated to an unbearable crescendo, and waves of nausea churned in the pit of his stomach.

He didn't realize it until it happened, but he gripped the kitchen counter. He felt dizzy, nauseous, and shaky. All around terrible, and they weren't even halfway done with the kitchen in Novak's opinions.

"Okay, that's enough," Yuliya said "You need to stop. You're only making yourself worse."

But Novak shook his head stubbornly, his jaw set in a determined line. "I can't," he insisted, his voice strained with effort. "I have to... I have to do something."

Yuliya's heart ached with sympathy for Novak. She hated that he felt so bad. Mentally, physically. He was afraid for sure, Yuliya knew that. Even if Novak was an idiot and often didn't help himself, she still felt bad he felt so miserable.

"Novak, listen to me," Yuliya said gently, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. "Your health is more important than anything else. Please, let me help you."

Before Novak could respond, a sudden wave of nausea washed over him, leaving him doubled over in agony as he retched violently into the sink. Yuliya rushed to his side, her hands gentle as she rubbed his back and offered words of comfort.

"It's okay, Novak," Yuliya murmured soothingly, her voice a calming presence in the midst of the storm. "Just let it out. You'll feel better soon."

Novak heaved hard, again. Vomiting into the sink. He whined after that one, a small noise that told Yuliya that Novak was in a lot of pain. And he was. God, he was in so much pain. And nothing was letting up.

Yuliya winced herself as Novak heaved again, this time a more abundant wave of vomit splattered into the sink. Again, he threw up. This time, though, a shaking hand reached for his head, seemingly pulling his hair. Yuliya was scared. Scared Novak would be in a position like he was in earlier. She knew seizures were never easy, but Novak especially was scared by them. The thought sent a shiver of fear down her spine.

"Novak, please try to breathe," Yuliya said softly.

As Novak's symptoms worsened, the relentless cycle of nausea and vomiting seemed to spiral out of control. Each retch left him feeling more drained and depleted, his body trembling with exhaustion and fear. The panic that had been simmering beneath the surface now bubbled to the forefront of his mind, threatening to overwhelm him with its sheer intensity.

Then he heard it. They both did.

Novak's watch.

Willow all but forced him to download something to alert for seizures. Or, at the very least, alert when they might happen. Currently, Willow had it programmed to beep when his heart rate was spiking. That was the issue.

Yuliya watched Novak with growing concern, her heart breaking at the sight of him struggling to cope with the overwhelming onslaught of symptoms. She knew that his fear was justified, that the threat of another seizure loomed large in his mind. She knew he was scared. Scared of seizing, scared for Elya, scared for her. She knew he was scared. She knew he was suffering. The tears on his face as he coughed, from both the effort it was taking and the sheer pain of it all, she knew he was suffering. But she also knew that giving in to panic would only make things worse.

"Novak, listen to me," Yuliya said firmly, "You need to try and stay calm. Panicking won't help."

But Novak shook his head frantically, his eyes wide with fear as he struggled to catch his breath.

"I can't, Yuliya," he gasped, his voice strained with effort. "I'm... I'm scared."

Yuliya's heart ached with sympathy for Novak's plight, knowing that his fear was a natural response to the overwhelming pain and uncertainty he was facing. She reached out to take his hand in hers, offering a reassuring squeeze as she spoke.

"I know you're scared, Novak," Yuliya said gently.

As Novak's bout of vomiting subsided, leaving him drained and trembling, Yuliya sprang into action.

She took his hand and led him out of the kitchen, to the living room right on the other side of the kitchen.

"Come on," Yuliya said softly, "Lay down, on the floor, just until you're heart rate settles."

Novak agreed, practically collapsing on to the floor. It was the way Yuliya was guiding him gently to lie down on the cool hardwood that kept him from oturight dropping. They both knew that the risk of another seizure was still very real, and Yuliya was determined to do everything in her power to keep Novak safe. She even pushed the coffee table back in case Novak did have a seizure.

"Easy now, Novak," Yuliya murmured soothingly, her voice a steady anchor in the midst of the storm. "Just try to relax. We'll get through this together."

But Novak's panic showed no signs of letting up, his heart racing with fear as he struggled to catch his breath. The heat of his body seemed to radiate from his skin, a physical manifestation of the stress and anxiety that threatened to consume him whole.

"How are you feeling?" Yuliya asked, rubbing Novak's shoulder.

"I'm... I'm h.. hot," Novak stammered, his breaths choppy.

Yuliya unzipped his jacket, and pulled it off him, tucking the fabric under his head. She brushed her hands over his head, stroking his hair away from his face.

"I know you are," Yuliya said softly, "You always get like that... you'll be okay. I'll grab some ice when your heart rate calms down, okay?"

Yuliya hovered by Novak's side, her presence a comforting presence in the midst of the chaos. She reached out to check his heart rate through his watch, her brow furrowing with concern as she monitored his vital signs.

"You can't do anything normally, can you Novak," Yuliya said, speaking calmly. Bullying him. Acting like things were normal.

She kept an eye on his heart rate. She continued rubbing his shoulder.

"Deep breath," Yuliya directed.

Novak nodded weakly, his body trembling with exhaustion as he struggled to regain control over his racing thoughts. With each breath, he tried to push aside the overwhelming sense of fear and uncertainty, focusing instead on the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Yuliya remained by Novak's side, her presence a calming influence in the midst of the storm. She knew that staying calm was crucial, not just for Novak's sake, but for Elya's as well. She just needed to get him to calm down.

Yuliya continued to keep a close eye on Novak, her touch gentle but firm as she rubbed his shoulder and back, offering words of comfort and reassurance in the midst of his panic. She knew that keeping Novak talking was crucial, not just to maintain his responsiveness, but to distract him from the overwhelming fear that threatened to consume him.

"Hey, Novak, can you hear me?" Yuliya asked softly, her voice a soothing presence in the otherwise quiet room.

Novak nodded weakly, his breaths coming in shallow gasps as he struggled to stay focused amidst the chaos of his own thoughts.

"Good, good," Yuliya said encouragingly, her voice calm and steady. "Can you tell me how you're feeling? Any pain or discomfort?"

Novak closed his eyes for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts amidst the relentless pounding in his head. "Head... hurts," he managed to choke out, his voice barely above a whisper. He was panicking, he was exhausted, and all he wanted was for this to just let up. Just a little bit.

Yuliya nodded sympathetically, her heart aching for Novak's suffering. "I know, Novak. I'm here with you," she said reassuringly, her hand continuing to rub soothing circles on his back. "Just try to focus on your breathing, okay? In and out, nice and slow. Once this is over we can try and give you some medicine..."

Novak nodded weakly, his body trembling with exhaustion as he struggled to keep his panic at bay. The fear of another seizure, of more vomiting, loomed large in his mind.

Yuliya, however, did what she could. She stayed as calm as much as possible. She continued rubbing his shoulder, continued trying to get him to breathe. It killer her inside to see how nothing seemed to let up on him. She used her hand to cover his eyes, she'd move her hand if he started seizing.

Yuliya continued to keep a watchful eye over Novak, her touch gentle and reassuring as she stroked his hair and rubbed his shoulder. She knew that keeping him talking was crucial, not just to maintain his responsiveness, but to distract him from the overwhelming fear that threatened to consume him.

As Yuliya continued to comfort Novak, she glanced over at Elya, who now stood by anxiously, her young face filled with concern. Yuliya realized Elya must've wanted something. Yuliya motioned for Elya to come closer, knowing that her presence would bring a sense of comfort to Novak in his time of need.

"Elya, sweetheart, could you come here for a moment?" Yuliya called gently.

Elya hesitated for a moment before stepping forward, her eyes wide with worry. "Yes Yuliya?" she asked timidly.

Yuliya smiled warmly at Elya, her heart swelling with love and admiration for the young girl.

"Your dad could use a little distraction right now," she explained gently, checking Novak's heart rate again, which only seemed to spike again. "Would you mind talking to him for a bit? Maybe telling him about your day at school?"

Elya nodded eagerly.

She laid down on her stomach, near her father. Yuliya's hand still covered his eyes, but Elya still smiled. She saw Yuliya acting normal, so she was acting normal.

"Hi, Daddy," she said softly. "Guess what? Today in school, we learned about dinosaurs! Did you know that the T-Rex had really tiny arms?"

As Elya chattered excitedly about her day at school, Yuliya continued to keep a vigilant watch over Novak, her heart pounding with fear as she monitored his every move. She knew that the risk of another seizure was still very real, and she was determined to do everything in her power to keep him safe.

But despite her best efforts, Yuliya's worst fears were realized when Novak suddenly went rigid. She felt his whole body tense up.

"Elya. honey," She said, already getting to work bracing Novak as best she could without harming him, "Can you grab me a bowl with ice water, and a rag?"

Elya nodded. She ran off to get what Yuliya asked for. She continued doing what she good, though it wasn't much.

As the seizure subsided and Novak's body went limp, Yuliya's heart ached with despair. She knew that Novak was in agony, his body wracked with pain and exhaustion from the relentless onslaught of seizures and migraines.

Elya came back, the bowl of ice water and the rag. Yuliya smiled at her.

"Okay Novak, you're okay," Yuliya said, “Just breathe.”

As Novak slowly regained his senses, he felt a wave of misery wash over him, his body trembling with exhaustion and fear. The heat of his body seemed to radiate from his skin, Yuliya made a mental note to check for a fever, just in case.

Yuliya moved quickly to comfort Novak, her touch gentle but firm as she stroked his hair and whispered soothing words in his ear. "It's okay, Novak," she murmured softly. "You're safe now. Just try to relax."

But Novak couldn't shake the gnawing sense of panic that gripped him like a vice. The fear of another seizure, of more pain and suffering, loomed large in his mind, threatening to drag him down into the depths of despair.

Yuliya grabbed the rag, pressing it on Novak’s head after dampening it. Trying to cool him off.

“Hey, you’re okay,” Yuliya said softly, “This should let up soon. Everything will be okay.

Novak was begging for it at this point.

#emeto #sickfic #emeto fic #emeto cw #emeto tw #emetophilia #novemetober 2023 #sick novak daskalov #seizure cw #seizure tw

[salembutnotthecat]

tw emeto, nausea, stomach pain, character not telling significant other about something

fun fact(s) for this fic: novak has a girlfriend (yuliya) and also, novak has what he and his mom think is celiac disease but he hasn’t been officially diagnosed.

Yuliya's apartment was filled with a cozy warmth as Novak and Yuliya settled in for a night together. They’d gone out to dinner after their respective practices, Novak’s football and Yuliya’s figure skating jumping practice. They went to a nice, quiet restaurant they always seemed to choose for date night, before heading back to Yuliya’s.

Marina was taking care of Elya, and had all but kicked Novak out for the night so he could have a night to himself, with his girlfriend.

Usually, this happened once a week, or once every two weeks. So it wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary.

What is out of the ordinary is the way Novak’s stomach churned, and the way waves of nausea washed over him, all while sitting on the couch next to Yuliya.

Yuliya, noticing the change in Novak's demeanor, furrowed her brows with concern. "Hey, are you feeling okay? You seem a bit off."

Novak forced a smile, attempting to dismiss the question. "Yeah, just a bit tired. Long day, you know?"

Yuliya, however, wasn't convinced. "Are you sure? You were a little more talkative during dinner. Did something happen?"

Novak shrugged, “Seriously, just tired.”

“Well, do you want to just lay down and cuddle?” Yuliya asked, “Watch a movie, or something?”

Novak agreed, grateful for the suggestion. As they settled into bed, the warmth of Yuliya's presence offered comfort. They scrolled through movie options, eventually deciding on a lighthearted comedy. Novak, however, couldn't shake the increasing discomfort in his stomach.

As the movie played, Novak gradually dozed off, the gentle rhythm of Yuliya's breathing lulling him into a restless sleep. The apartment was quiet, the soft glow of the TV casting a warm ambiance.

Hours later, Novak stirred awake, his stomach in knots. The room felt stifling, and beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He cautiously disentangled himself from the cozy embrace and tiptoed to the bathroom. He felt oddly dizzy, and between the intense cramping of his stomach and the general nausea, Novak felt his jaw clench.

The nausea hit him like a wave, and Novak leaned over the sink, gripping the edges as he endured the discomfort. His breathing was shaky as another painful cramp seized his stomach.

Whatever he ate was clearly bad for his stomach, the way it ached and turned over with every shaking breath.

Yuliya, awakened by the sudden absence of warmth beside her, sat up, looking around the room.

Her door was open. She slipped out into the hall, seeing the light on underneath the bathroom door, which was surprisingly slightly ajar.

She walked over, carefully pushing the door open just in case. But instead of Novak using the bathroom, which Yuliya would have been mortified to see probably, Novak stood, head bowed, ash blonde hair cascading down either side of his face.

But in the mirror, she could see the way his eyebrows were knit together, the way he squeezed his eyes shut, the way his breathing was shaky and his whole six foot four muscular frame trembled.

Concern etched her face, “Hey… Hey, Novak, what's happening? Are you okay?"

Novak, through gritted teeth, tried to reassure her. "It's just my stomach acting up. Happens sometimes. I'll be fine."

Yuliya, unconvinced, reached for her phone. "I'm calling your mom. Something isn't right."

“No, Yuliya it’s-“

Novak heaved. It was dry, but Yuliya could see by the look on his face that the next one probably wouldn’t be. In response, Novak hastily tied back his hair as fast as he could, taking a few steps over to the toilet.

Novak still had his hair in his hands as the next heave sent up a slightly thicker stream of what seemed to be acid. By time his hair is up, enough, he heaved again, clutching his stomach as a thicker wave of sick came up.

Yuliya yelped. She’d never seen Novak so sick, so she dialed Marina, hoping maybe Novak’s mom would have insight of how she could help her suddenly apparently very sick boyfriend.

While the phone rang, Yuliya paced, going to the kitchen to grab water. She could hear the occasional heave from Novak.

“Yuliya, honey, is everything okay?” Marina’s voice suddenly asks.

“I don’t know?” Yuliya said, heading back toward the bathroom with a bottle of water, I mean things were fine I think but now Novak seems like he’s in a lot of pain and he’s-“

Yuliya cringes as Novak heaves, hard, and she just catches the sight of a thick wave of what she figured was a reappearance of dinner splattered in the toilet.

“Yuliya..?” Marina asked

“Novak, Novak’s vomiting,” Yuliya said, setting the water on the counter, “I don’t understand, he was fine during dinner. It was only when we got home that-“

“What did Novak eat?” Marina asked, “Do you remember?”

“Some… I don’t remember what he-“ Yuliya started, pulling back a few loose hairs from Novak’s face as he spit in the toilet, his breaths heaving in a way that told Yuliya he’d probably still throw up again, “Uh, weird as it sounds but… looks like pasta… of some kind?”

“Look like..?” Marina questioned, but there’s a lightness in her voice. Like she’s trying not to laugh.

Yuliya wants to scream at Marina’s tone, because she is terrified and Marina doesn’t seem to be. But, she doesn’t. It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to yell at her boyfriend’s mom.

“He threw up, it looks like he threw up a pasta of some sort,” Yuliya said.

“How do you-“ Novak starts, but doesn’t finish.

“Okay, Yuliya,” Marina said, now she is laughing slightly, “First of all, breathe…. Second of all, my son is an idiot. He gets that from his dad.”

“I’m sorry Marina but,” Yuliya said, completely stunned by the reaction, “How are you taking this so-“

“Novak has celiac disease, we think,” Marina said, “Novak knows he probably has it. But, sometimes, Novak doesn’t exactly make smart decisions.”

Yuliya's eyes widened with realization. "I didn't know. He never told me…”

Confirming Yuliya’s earlier suspicions, Novak does in fact vomit again, but Yuliya notices the water bottle is now sitting on the back of the toilet and some has either been drank or used to rinse Novak’s mouth.

Either way, the linebacker is heaving, quite painfully it sounded like to Yuliya, and getting sick again.

“What’s going on, Marina?" Yuliya asked, gathering more of Novak’s hair, “God you didn’t even try to tie that back.”

“I was nauseous,” Novak said, coughing and spitting into the toilet, “Am nauseous.”

Marina, with a tone of humor in her voice, explained, "We think he has celiac disease. It's an intolerance to gluten. If he consumes it, it wreaks havoc on his stomach. And by the sound of it, he failed to think of that at dinner.”

As Yuliya absorbed this information, she turned her attention back to Novak, who now pressed a hand to his stomach, and Yuliya could tell he was trying to figure out if he was going to throw up again or if he would be fine to rinse his mouth and lay down.

“Well can I do anything?” Yuliya questioned.

“Honestly, not really,” Marina answered, now more calm and slightly serious for Yuliya’s sake, “We’ve come to figure out that nothing but getting it out of his system helps.”

“Well he seems to be having no problem with that,” Yuliya said, still trying to keep Novak’s hair back with the hand that wasn’t holding his hair.

Novak, still hunched over the toilet, spit one more time. He nodded weakly. "I think so." His voice was strained, and he avoided looking at Yuliya directly.

Yuliya, sensing Novak's discomfort, maintained a reassuring touch. "Do you need anything? Water, maybe?"

"Don’t listen to him, get him some water," Marina suggested over the phone. "Novak… he’ll fight to hell and back to not drink anything when he feels like this. Make sure he stays hydrated. It helps, even if he won’t admit it. Call me if you need anything else, alright?”

Yuliya nodded, her worry evident. "Okay, water it is.” She hung up the phone and tucked it in her pocket, “Novak, can you walk back to bed, or do you need more time?"

Novak straightened up, "I can manage."

Yuliya grabbed the water bottle as the two headed back to Yuliya’s room. As they moved to the bedroom, Yuliya helped Novak settle into bed.

Yuliya handed over the water and it took one warning glare for Novak to try and drink some of it.

Yuliya, no longer afraid for her boyfriend’s wellbeing, slapped his shoulder with the back of her hand.

“Well that wasn’t very-“

“Why didn't you tell me?" Yuliya snapped, “You made me panic for what? Why didn’t you tell me the food made you sick?”

Novak sighed, "I don't like making a fuss about it. Usually, it's not this bad."

Yuliya crossed her arms, frustration evident on her face. "Novak, this isn't just 'bad.' You scared the shit out of me. I need to know these things."

Novak ran a hand through his hair, looking apologetic. "I get it. I should have been upfront. I just didn't want to ruin the night."

Yuliya softened, realizing his intention. "You don't need to hide things from me, Novak. I care about you. I'd rather know and help than be kept in the dark."

Novak nodded, appreciating her understanding. "You're right. I should have communicated better."

"Okay," Yuliya said, already softening and petting Novak’s head, running her fingers through his hair by his scalp, “Let’s get through this night together, and we'll figure out a plan for the future. Deal?"

Novak smiled, a mix of gratitude and relief in his eyes. "Deal."

#emeto #emeto fic #emeto cw #emeto tw #sickfic #emetophilia #sick novak daskalov

[salembutnotthecat]

inherited someone else’s oc (with their permission) so i wanted to write fic! (they asked for no tag)

tw for emeto, fever, sickness

warning: sickee is a single dad with a daughter, who appears in the story, proceed as you wish.

There were two things Novak Daskalov loved more than anything else in the world.

His daughter, Elya, was definitely the thing he loved the most. She surprisingly looked so much like him, like his family, nothing like her mother’s. At four years old, Novak was sure she was the only thing keeping him in shape during the off season with her endless energy and constant wanting to play, to follow him almost everywhere because she wanted to learn everything.

And then, football. Football was his first love. The first place he felt welcomed, valued. And sure, maybe having a kid wasn’t in the plan, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything. He knew that.

Besides, if football hadn’t worked out, Novak had a back up plan. A few. Anything to give his daughter the best life possible. He wanted her to have the life he didn’t in some ways.

But so far, football worked out. He was drafted right before he graduated. Signed to a phenomenal contract.

His mom especially was supportive. She would watch Elya at no expense if Novak couldn’t take her. She would brink Elya to home games and do everything she could to support her son and granddaughter, and Novak was thankful he ended up with her all those years ago.

Novak was beyond grateful for the life he had. Truly. He did what he loved, surrounded by people he loved. Naturally, there wouldn’t be a reason why he wouldn’t be.

So even when the practice the day before hosting conference rivals at home felt more grueling than ever, Novak still pushed through.

His mother was cooking dinner, Elya would be home from preschool dying to hell him about her day. He had something motivating him.

When practice was over, though, just thinking about those things seemed exhausting.

The thought of Elya being all over him, talking a hundred miles an hour about whatever it was she learned in school, oddly made Novak feel… well, not annoyed at all. But exhausted.

And Elya would want to play, to hear about his day, she always did. And even that seemed too much to bear.

Then there was his mom. To make Elya’s life easier he moved back in with her. So Elya could have a permanent room, with all her toys and minimal fear of forgetting one between houses. And truthfully, the city living expenses were crazy anyway.

His mom, despite Novak being nearly twenty-five, was still very much a mother. Not only were the thoughts of her cooking dinner, something he usually loved, making his stomach turn in a weird way, but even just going home and being with her, he felt as though he would put her out by her worry. She was still very much a mother.

But, Novak decided, ultimately going home would be better. He couldn’t just up and leave Elya like that. Without telling her. He wouldn’t do that to her.

So, Novak drove home. The ride was quiet, he didn’t bother putting on the radio, he just drove in silence, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with him.

Maybe he was nervous. Big games like this always made him nervous.

But those times only made his stomach uncomfortable at worst. None of the other things he was feeling right now showed up at those times.

Before he knew it, he was home. He didn’t even bother grabbing his stuff, he’d need it tomorrow. Less to carry.

He let himself in.

Elya heard him and it didn’t take long for Novak to hear her little feet running toward him.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Elya shrieked excitedly.

Novak wanted to rub his forehead, or cover his ears. Just this once. Usually, Elya’s excited greetings made him equally excited, but now they just reminded him of the headache he didn’t even know he had until twenty seconds ago.

He kneeled down, hugging her, “Hey princess, how was school?”

Elya hugged her father tightly, beaming with the infectious enthusiasm typical of a four-year-old. "School was great! I drew a picture of us playing soccer, and Miss Sarah said it's really good!"

Novak managed a weak smile, trying to mask his discomfort. "That sounds amazing, sweetheart! I can't wait to see your masterpiece. Did you have fun with your friends today?"

Elya nodded vigorously, her braided pigtails bouncing as she recounted her day in preschool. "Yes, Daddy! We played dress-up, and I was a superhero! I saved Teddy from the evil dragon!" She giggled, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Wow, you had such a big day, didn’t you?” Novak chuckled.

“I did!” Elya giggled, “And Miss Sarah said she was so excited to watch you!”

“Oh, she did?” Novak smiled. Despite the way his head felt almost dizzy, hearing Elya talk was definitely entertaining.

“And… and Billy thinks you are cool,” Elya said, “Everyone at school thinks you are. I told them you are! You are the best daddy in the world.”

Novak ruffled her hair, “Well, that’s easy when I have the best daughter in the world.”

Marina poked her head around the corner as she heard Elya’s excited retelling of her day.

Novak could feel her eyes on him. She knew something was wrong. Her mother’s intuition, she called it.

“Ellie,” Marina said, “Why don’t you go get your picture to show your daddy? Let Grammy and your daddy talk for a minute.”

Novak wanted to bolt out the door again.

Elya, though, didn’t seem to even suspect anything was wrong. She giggled and ran off.

Novak sighed, standing up. Marina was in front of him.

“Novak,” Marina sighed, “You look awful.”

“Thanks mom,” Novak said, rubbing his face, shaking his head, “Just a long practice.”

“A long practice not even a week after you had a sick kid?” Marina said, “Something tells me not to believe that one bit.”

“Mom, I’m fine,” Novak said, “Long practice. We’re hosting our conference rivals tomorrow afternoon, here. So Coach Johnson is working all of us past our limits. As much as he can without hurting us for tomorrow.”

“Well, lucky for you,” Marina said, “Dinner tonight is that soup I used to make when you were sick as a kid.”

“Perfect timing.”

The words come out of Novak’s mouth before he realizes it. Marina arches her eyebrow, that same look she gave him when she wanted him to confess to bad behavior she knew he did.

“I mean,” Novak said, “Elya was sick. So… now that she was able to go back to school she’s okay to enjoy it.”

“Right,” Marina hummed.

Novak sighed, “After she goes to sleep, okay?”

Marina gave a small smile, but didn’t say anything else.

-

By time Elya is in bed, tucked in and mostly asleep, Novak can’t help but wish he was about to go to bed too.

Dinner was hard. Faking feeling fine, trying to eat while trying not to cave to the ever increasing nausea and discomfort, anything to convince his daughter he was okay, took a lot out of him.

Novak still felt awfully sick to his stomach, too hot and too cold at the same time. But, he forced himself to take a cool shower.

That made him feel worse.

By time he changed, he couldn’t make himself brush his teeth, fearing doing so would simply would make him sick on the spot.

It was only 8:30. He couldn’t go to bed now. Plus he had said later.

He went to the living room, where his mom sat on the couch, watching her show. Whatever one it was tonight. Novak was too tired to figure it out.

Novak sat beside her. And just like when he was younger, he didn’t say anything really, just laid his head on Marina’s shoulder.

Marina doesn’t ask. She knows. She knows he used to do that when he was younger. If he was sick, hurting, scared, anything. He went to her. Especially after Nikolai passed away.

She knows by the way he wraps his arms around his stomach. She knows by the way he swallows thicker, each one giving way to a shaking breath or a tiny whine. She knows he’s not feeling good, and Novak knows that she does.

But, she does feel his forehead, his cheeks. Her hand is cold on his skin and that tells him enough.

“You’re burning up Novak…” Marina shook her head, “You should drink some water, take some medicine.”

“No,” Novak shook his head slowly, “That’s really not a good idea.”

“Did you drink at practice?” Marina asked, “I know that Coach is hard on you, but…”

“I did, when I could,” Novak said, “I didn’t even start feeling sick until I got home.”

“Are you going to play tomorrow?” Marina asked.

“I’m going to try,” Novak said, “I don’t want to let them down. Or Elya. Or you.”

Marina chuckled, “Novak, you are Elya’s whole world. Nothing you can do will make her feel different. Not right now, not ever knowing you. And you’re my son, maybe not on paper but as close as you can be, I’m always proud of you.”

“It’s just a lot,” Novak admitted, “But, I love every second of it. Usually.”

“I’d rest up Novak,” Marina said, “Go to bed. Early or not, you could use it.”

-

He felt like he was going to throw up. Right then, right there.

In the locker room before the game. Before the national anthem. Before everything. Before he even had the chance to make a play.

“Dude,” Jayden said, sitting next to Novak, who braced himself against his knee, staring at the ground, staying rigid, trying to appear strong and fine, “You look horrible.”

“I didn’t sleep well last night,” Novak admitted, “I’m fine.”

“You look like you’re going to hurl dude,” Henry said, standing in front of Novak.

“Definitely not doing that,” Novak said, maybe telling himself would make it true. “Now shut up and let’s go kick those cats’s asses.”

“Hell yeah brother,” Jayden said, slapping Novak’s shoulder.

The team headed out in preparation.

Standing there, in the sun, was doing Novak no favors. But he had to hold out. It was only… two hours? Something like that. Novak could do it.

The first quarter commenced, and Novak pushed himself onto the field, determined to fulfill his role despite the growing discomfort gnawing at him.

The adrenaline initially masked his symptoms, but as the game progressed, the relentless nausea intensified.

With each play, Novak's resolve wavered, his focus now divided between the game's demands and the churning turmoil within his stomach.

He clenched his jaw, trying to ignore the urge to double over.

During a timeout, Jayden shot Novak a concerned look. "Seriously, man, you're not looking good. Maybe you should sit this one out."

“Yeah, seriously,” Henry said, “You look like one wrong tackle could-“

“I’m fine, I’m playing,” Novak shook his head, sweat beading on his forehead. "I can't bail on the team now. I'll tough it out. My mother is here. My daughter is here. I can’t bail now."

Henry, noticing Novak's paleness, chimed in, "You're a trooper, Novak, but there's no shame in taking care of yourself."

Despite his teammates' concern, Novak soldiered on, forcing himself through the motions.

The first half ticked away, each minute feeling like an eternity as the relentless illness clawed at him.

It’s halftime that everything falls apart.

Novak’s body forced out a heave out of nowhere. It’s dry, for now, but Novak knows another one won’t be.

He undid the straps of the helmet. He was sweating, his shoulder length hair sticking to his face.

Jayden is grabbing his arm before he knows it, taking Novak to the team bathrooms, on the other side of the wall from the locker room.

In a daze, Novak stumbled towards the bathroom, his teammates guiding him as he fought to regain some semblance of composure. Each step was a struggle against the relentless waves of sickness threatening to overwhelm him.

Barely making it to the sink, Novak doubled over, retching uncontrollably as his body purged itself of whatever remained.

He gripped the edge of the basin, feeling weak and drained.

Jayden stood by, offering support and a bottle of water once the ordeal subsided.

“Novak, you don't have to go back out there, man. Seriously," Jayden said, concern etched in his voice.

Gasping for breath, Novak shook his head weakly. "I have to. Elya is watching. I can't let her down."

Determined to push through, Novak splashed water on his face, attempting to wash away the clammy feeling and the persistent ache in his gut.

Despite the way his body felt shaky from the inside, he rejoined the team in the locker room, refusing to let his illness take him out. He would finish this game. For Marina and Elya.

As the second half commenced, Novak forced himself back onto the field. Every step was an internal battle, but the thought of Elya’s hopeful eyes in the stands fueled his determination.

In a surprising turn of events, a play opened up, and Novak seized the opportunity. With sheer grit and determination, he dodged defenders, racing down the field.

The crowd erupted in a deafening roar as Novak crossed the goal line, scoring a crucial touchdown right at the last second.

For a moment, Novak felt a surge of pride, but it was short-lived. The surge of pride quickly turned to a feeling of a surge of sick coming up his throat. The exertion Of running that distance,coupled with his illness, hit him like a ton of bricks.

He took off his helmet again, covering his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Med tent,” Jayden said, “Let’s get you there. Henry… go get Marina.”

Jayden grabbed Novak’s arm, trying to keep his teammate steady as they made their way across the field

Every step was a battle that sent Novak’s stomach lurching, but he was going go do everything to not get sick. Not there.

As Jayden guided Novak towards the medical tent, every stride felt like an eternity. Novak's vision blurred, his body swaying with the effort to remain upright. The nauseating sensation clawed at him relentlessly.

Struggling to contain the roiling turmoil within, Novak clenched his jaw, determined not to succumb to the sickness in front of the entire stadium. But as they reached the tent, his efforts proved futile.

Barely making it past the entrance, Novak lurched towards a nearby trash can, heaving uncontrollably as his body rebelled against him. Jayden stood by, offering support and trying to ease Novak's discomfort.

Soon, Marina arrived, her worry etched on her face as she rushed to her son's side.

"Novak, dear, what happened?" she asked, concern and compassion evident in her voice. But she knew. She just asked to be polite.

Novak heaved, hard, again into the trash. And again. And again.

But despite the heaving, a strange mix of empty or abundant, or just simple saliva. He could hear Henry yelling.

“Elya, Elya, No!”

Wide-eyed and apprehensive, Elya saw her father's state, Novak felt her latch onto his leg. It was how she showed she wanted to help.

Novak threw up another time, before coughing against bitter saliva. But even that died down too, leaving him to just gasp for breath.

“Daddy, what happened?” Elya asked.

Novak leaned forward, bracing his arms on the rim of the trash can, dropping his head for a moment, toward the bin.

Once more, Jayden grabbed Novak’s arm, Marina pulled Elya back, leading him to sit on a bench in the medical tent. As soon as he was sat, head in his hands and elbows against his knees, Elya rank back to him, sitting next to him.

“Daddy? Daddy? What happened?”

Novak looked up, offering a small smile. "Remember how your tummy was upset a few days ago? And you couldn’t do anything, not even play with your friends? Well, daddy can get like that too.”

“But why did you get icky,” Elya asked.

Marina went to reach for Elya to bring her back, maybe scold her for the questions while Novak was still catching his breath.

But Novak held his hand up.

“Well, there’s these itty bitty things… you can’t see them, but sometimes, they make your tummy really upset,” Novak explained, “You had some itty bitty germs of your own, and they made your tummy feel bad, well now daddy got some of his own.”

Elya, undeterred by the situation, clutched her water bottle tightly.

"Here, Daddy. Drink some water. It'll make you feel better," she offered, her innocence and care shining through, “You told me it would make me feel better, and it did!”

Despite how horrible everything felt. The way his head was pounding, his vision was blurry, he jnew he was too hot and yet he felt cold. All the symptoms that could hit him, did. But, he found it in him to chuckle softly, gratefully accepting the water, taking a few sips.

Marina and Henry exchanged concerned glances, understanding the toll the game had taken on Novak.

“Come on champ,” Henry said, slapping Novak’s back, “you gotta get home before you infect the rest of us.”

Novak nodded, forcing himself to stand. Though he stumbled, his head swimming with the position change, he steadied himself. Enough to pick up Elya.

“You better change and get in bed as soon as you get in,” Marina said.

“We can make a fort!” Elya said, “And then daddy can sleep! Because I had to sleep. And I can read daddy a story! Like he did!”

“We’ll see, sweet pea,” Marina chuckled, before rubbing Novak’s shoulder, “Come. The sooner we get home the sooner we can get you feeling better.”

#emeto #emeto fic #emeto cw #emeto tw #fever cw #fever tw #sickfic

[salembutnotthecat]

Salem's Sickfic Masterlist

Masterlist of Fics I have written!!

if you have a question, comment, concern, or a request, feel free to send it over!

End Zone, Endgame

i. one: in which despite being twenty five, linebacker novak daskalov has to come to terms with the fact he is not invincible, especially when he has a child in public school. (tw for emeto, fever, sickness; additional warning: sickee is a single dad with a daughter, who appears in the story, proceed as you wish.)

ii. two: in which novak learns that despite being a football player, a dad, and an adult in his twenties, the past can still haunt you, especially when you're coming down with something. (tw emeto, fever, character panic, mentions of past abuse)

iii (a). three, part a: in which novak learns that just because the past is past, does not mean his brain lets him off the hook. especially not with a raging fever and a hell of a virus. also, novak is a grown man who makes really poor decisions. (tw emeto, fever, flashbacks of abuse)

iii (b). three, part b: in which Novak is miraculously not too terribly injured (to an extent anyway) and his physical recovery turns into the beginning of emotional recovery too. (tw emeto, concussion mention, religious trauma, parental substance abuse mention)

iv. four: in which novak is fulfilling the duties of being a dad, but also has to realize that being a dad doesn’t make him invincible. (tw emeto, illness fever, content warning: fic begins with child illness, but is majority adult illness)

v. five: in which novak is away for a team building retreat, but the team gets built in a very different way when the star linebacker gets sick (tw emeto, fever, sick away from home)

vi. six: in which novak is stuck with a migraine that results in a seizure. vanessa uses the opportunity to learn more about her girlfriend's high school best friend. (tw emeto, fever, character seizure, migraine, implied past trauma)

vii. seven: in which Novak's girlfriend, Yuliya, plans a nice dinner date night, but Novak is very poor at communicating. (tw emeto, nausea, stomach pain, character not telling significant other about something)

viii. eight: in which it's novak's birthday, but as luck would have it, a proper dinner with family and his girlfriend is the last thing his body wants to have part in, celebration or not. (tw emeto, nausea, being sick in public)

ix. nine: in which even as a coach, not a player, novak still makes terrible decisions about his health, and his girlfriend is convinced he'll send her into cardiac arrest before they get married (affectionately)(tw cough, implied emeto, fever, character making themselves sicker)

Ruat Caelum (Until the Heavens Fall)

i. one: in which vanessa gets sick and almost loses it outside the house she shares with her roommate, willow. (tw for emeto, sickness, fever, nausea)

ii. two: in which we see fragments of vanessa's past, and how deeply she cares for willow. (tw for emeto, panic attack, fever)

iii. three: in which the tables have turned, and we see that even a med student isn't invincible. (tw emeto, vague implication of injury, fever)

iv. four: in which despite being in police gear, vanessa is the farthest thing from invincible despite her better desires. (tw emeto, fever, stress, slight panic)

v. five: in which willow's mom instinct meets her med student instinct, and vanessa is exceptionally confused and totally a cat person (tw emeto, fever)

Ballad of the Wildflowers

i. one: meadow likes to think she's invincible, as untouchable as poison ivy, but even the most vibrant wildflowers wilt once in a while. (tws for fever, nausea, vomiting, slight panic)

ii. two: in which, despite her efforts, meadow has to deal with one of her worst fears, even if she thinks it's stupid. (tw emeto, emetophobia)

Novemetober 2023 (Rescheduled)

big thanks to @monthofsick for hosting this event

i. day one, unconventional receptacle: in which chef emiliene lahaye overestimates her ability to keep herself together and has to utilize a last resort. (tw emeto, fever, underage (16) caretaker)

ii. day two, can't stop puking: in which a fresh out of college novak daskalov gets sick at the worst possible time with the worst possible people. (tw emeto, fever, sickness, pushing too hard when sick, bad environment)

iii. day three, torture (figurately speaking): in which amancio literally has not been sick in over a hundred years, but his special half-human protegee decided to give him a little taste of humanity (and amancio is not enthused at all) (tw for dry heaving, supernatural (not the show) characters, half ghost character, tw implied partial death)

iv. day four, messy: meadow loves to put on a show in every aspect of her life. even the less desirable moments. meadow also learns that it can always get worse. (tw emeto, fever, sickness, scat [in conjunction with emeto])

v. day five, undesirable caretaker: the (fictive) crown prince of sweden has far from a good life, or a good support system. no matter how bad things get. he's just a liability, isn't he? (tw emeto, fever, implied abusive parent) [so much appreciation for @simplysickness to entrust me with their characters so they can live on]

vi. day six, post adrenaline puking: in which caffeine is not medicine, no matter how hard motocross star xavier davenport tries to convince himself it is. (tw emeto, caffeine overload, brief/vague mention of mental health issues, bad coping mechanisms) [once again, sparrow has put their children in Salem's Foster Care System(tm)]

vii. day seven, too feverish to think: in which even in college novak has a severe lack of braincells and refuses to let himself quit anything until he's good and fucked (tw emeto, sickness, overwork, stress, panic attack, fainting)

viii. day eight, choose: loud or silent: in which novak still refuses to quit until he's undeniably fucked beyond a logical explanation, except he's a grown ass man now which has taken more braincells from him than it has given back. (tw emeto (small), migraine, hypersensitivity, character seizure)

ix. day nine, persistant sickness: in which no, novak does not learn his lesson and thinks he is invincible no matter what. he absolutely is not. (tw for migraine, emeto, seizures, character overworking themself.)

x. day ten, motion sickness: in which vanessa is sure nothing stresses her out. well, everything except one thing. and of course, that one thing will make her pay for being so worried in the first place. (tw for emeto, anxiety, motion sickness, brief description of crime scenes at the beginning)

xi. day sixteen, waking up puking: novak daskalov does not know his limits and is so absolutely stupid and cannot lie to his girlfriend for shit. (tw emeto, fever, exhaustion, seizure mention (but no actual seizures this time))

xii. day seventeen, sick for the first time: in which for once novak is in the caretaker position, which isn't exactly common, and even less so that it isnt someone related to him in a familial way, but he's determined to do the best job he can for his ice princess. (tw for emeto, fever, lying about sickness, mention of chronic condition (lyme disease))

xiii. day nineteen, sick in more ways than one: in which the summer heat does nothing for one linebacker in particular, on top of everything else (reupload with edits)(tw for overheating, emeto, dizziness, migraine mention, fever)

xiv. day twenty, late caretaker: vanessa mcallister is usually a loan wold. or, she used to be. but now she has a station pup, leaving her to be a lone wolf plus one, much like her coworker is. (tw for emeto, resistance, fever, sick on the job)

xv. day twenty-one, sleepy sickie: novak likes to lie about being okay and convincing himself and others he is, but unfortunately he has one massive tell that gives him away. (tw fatigue, nausea, vomiting)

xvi. day twenty-seven, headache: novak daskalov likes to think he has no enemies (well, very few). funny how the biggest enemy of all is his own damn body and self. (tw emeto, migraine, hypersensitivity/overstimulation, seizure)

#emeto #emeto fic #emeto cw #emeto tw #sickfic #fever cw #fever tw #seizure tw #seizure cw #sickfic writer #vomiting