#there's just so much that happens and it's not all sickfic so i feel quite proud about that!

[wosoamazing]

Nursery & Sickness

Summary: You don't want to go to nursery. You also get sick from Nursery, making your Mum sick too. Based off this request.

Warnings: Sickness (Vomiting)

A/N: I was kind of stumped on what to write so of course I turned it into a sickfic - I hope that is okay. I promise I am trying to write things other than sickfics, some of your requests are definitely helping with that.

You didn't want to go to Nursery, you wanted to go to training as you always did, but you didn't understand why you couldn’t. Once you realised your Mum was leading you in the direction of your nursery you planted your feet firmly on the ground, refusing to walk, she just picked you up, not budging at your actions.

As she placed you down in your room, you started to cry, you didn't want to leave her side. “I’ve got to go to training Bubba, so you’re going to spend the day here, and I’ll be back to pick you up as soon as training is over”

“No, I come training with you”

“But Bubba you can’t, it's better for you to go to Nursery, and you can still come to games, I promise I will be back to pick you up.”

“No go,” you sobbed.

“I have to, what if we read a book together before I go?” You sadly nodded your head and went over to pick a book, while you Mum sat crossed legged on the floor. You chose a book and walked over to her, before walking backwards into her lap and sitting down, she read you the book and you calmed down, enough so that she didn’t feel guilty to leave you. 

_

When she came back to pick you up, you had a huge grin on your face and you were in the middle of a painting activity, you didn't want to leave. So she helped you finish your painting before you both went home, in the car you told her about your amazing day. She was relieved that you had enjoyed, so much so that you asked when you were getting to go back

_____

Leah expected you to be sad and upset the first time she took you to Nursery, but what she didn’t expect was that you would have a new illness every week, the experienced nursery parents told her that this was normal, and would happen for roughly 2 or 3 months than you would just get like the seasonal flu, and if you moved Nurseries it would happen all over again, Leah took a mental note of that and promised herself she would not move you to a different Nursery. Heaps of the more experienced parents told her that this would happen for the first 2 or 3 months than you would be fine, so she just had to get through it.

_____

Today was game day, which you were excited for, it meant you didn’t have to go to Nursery, however you felt funny, your head kind of hurt and your tummy felt icky, but you didn’t tell your Mum, you didn’t want her to make you stay home.

You slept in the car on the way to the game, which wasn’t a rare occurrence, considering it was a late game. When you were offered your snacks to eat before the game started you shook your head, which your Mum found odd as it was an offer you would always jump at. You fell asleep very quickly into the first half and slept the whole way through the game. Only waking up when Katie turned on the TV to see the men play as she waited for Caitlin to finish getting ready. The loud noise of the fans cheering through the TV radiated through your head and you started crying.

“What’s wrong Bubba?” Your Mum asked, snapping her fingers in Katie’s direction, who quickly turned down the volume.

“Icky,” you cried out.

“Oh Bubba, do you feel sick?” she asked as she felt your forehead, which was quite warm. You nodded in reply.

“Okay, well I’ll just get our stuff all packed up and then we can go okay, I love you,” she said, placing a kiss on your forehead. She was walking around the locker room, gathering all your things when the sound of liquid spilling onto the floor echoed around the locker room. She quickly spun around to see you covered in vomit, with a puddle of vomit in front of you. She quickly moved over to you and moved you out of the way of your puddle of vomit, tears started to roll down your cheeks, as she went to look over to Katie to ask something, but Katie had already left the room and there is no one else in the room, they all have already left or the ones that remain are in the showers.

Your Mum takes off your Shirt and Shorts, and uses a wet wipe to wipe your hands and face, before she starts getting you changed into your spare clothes. As she is smoothing down your hair that was messed up by your shirt, you gag, she looks around the room panicked trying to figure out what she can grab, when she sees Katie walk in who quickly chucks her a sick bowl. She places the sick bowl under your chin just in time as you start throwing up again. Caitlin, Steph, Lia and Kim have all now finished their showers and walk into the room, to see the absolute scene in front of them. Your Mum is kneeling beside you rubbing your back as you throw up into the sick bowl she is holding for you, there is a puddle of vomit nearby and a bag with your vomit cover clothes in it, sitting near you, that has yet to be tied up. 

“Do you need any help Leah?” Kim asks.

“No, no it’s all good, you guys just go, have a good night,” Leah responds, they all quickly gather their things and head out, except for one, who is rushing around behind your Mum, gathering all your belongings. She has finished packing all three of your bags and walks over to where the bag with your dirty clothes sits, your Mum jumps slightly not realising there was still someone in the room with her, she looks up to find it is Lia, her heart melting slightly at the kindness of her best friend.

“Lia, you really didn't need to stay behind,” she looks behind her, “Or pack up any of our stuff.”

“Don’t be silly Leah, I’ll just take these things out to the car and then I’ll come back for you and Y/N/N, and before you say you are fine to drive home, we drove here together.” Your Mum’s face cringed, she had totally forgotten that.

When Lia came back in you were sitting in your Mum’s lap, as she held you close, rocking you backwards and forwards.

“Le,” Lia said softly, your Mum looked up, “I’m ready when you are.” Your Mum got up and headed to the car, you threw up a lot more that night. The worst being when you had just gotten home, you were in your Mum’s arms, meaning it was all over you and her.

____

It had been a day since you last threw up, but you still felt icky so you were sleeping in your Mum’s bed, between her and Lia. Lia had insisted she stayed to help look after you.

“Fuck, Lia, can you hand me a sick bowl?” Your Mum asked.

“Yeah, but why, Y/N/N is asleep. Or have your Mum senses started tingling,” Lia joked as she handed the sick bowl to your Mum, who lent her head back against the headboard and closed her eyes, taking some deep breaths, Lia quickly clicked on to what was happening. She carefully and gently picked you up and quickly walked to your room, knowing Leah would be more comfortable if you weren’t there, she placed you on your bed before returning to the room. She climbed into the bed and sat next to your Mum, placing her hand on your Mum’s thigh, gently reassuring her, knowing that your Mum wouldn't want much physical touch currently. They remained like that for a few minutes before your Mum’s upper body jerked forward and she lost the contents of her stomach into the sick bowl, Lia rubbed her back whilst she softly spoke reassuring words to her.

____

You awoke in your bed feeling much better, but you wanted your Mum so you decided to toddle off down the hall and into her room, you saw her with Lia in the bathroom, hunched over the toilet as Lia rubbed her back, you walked into the bathroom.

“Mummy?” You questioned, slightly worried.

“Mummy is sick, I think she got your sick. Are you feeling better?" you nodded your head, "Thats good," Lia said before she moved her free hand to your Mums shoulder and gently squeezed it, your Mum shook her head slightly and Lia murmured a quiet 'okay' before she turned her gaze back to you. "Why don’t you go out to the living room and I’ll join you in a sec,” you nodded and toddled off.

#woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #arsenal wfc #awfc #awfc x reader #leah williamson x reader

[abiiors]

the spring curse - ross x reader ˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧💌˚.⋆🌿

a/n: this is essentially a sickfic with so much yapping in there oh my god 🙄 yapping and yearning are the two things i operate on cw: brief suggestive content but no actual smut. being ill i suppose but it's very mild and fluffy. also pls we're going to suspend our disbelief here because i have no idea what being a florist entails. wc: 3.4k

they get together at the beginning of winter. 

the last of the leaves are already a deep shade of orange, falling and falling everyday until the trees go barren and white snowflakes start fluttering all around. they’re already exclusive by the time the first proper snow of the season falls. 

ross is a boyfriend. to the girl of his dreams. it makes him feel as giddy as a teenager every time he thinks about it; every time she gives him a sweet smile and an even sweeter kiss. 

he always holds her hand just a little tighter, cuddles her closer just a little longer every time she has to go—he’s making up for the lost time, he thinks. all the time he’s wasted being stupid and a coward. and so whenever she stays over he stays near her, follows her around from room to room. she finds it infinitely amusing, so endearing that she can’t help but kiss him every two minutes for it. 

a florist’s job is pretty slow in the winter. ross learns that quite early on in their relationship when he gets to take the slow days extra slow—cuddling on the sofa and dancing in the kitchen and every other cheesy thing he can think of. 

he fucking adores the slow mornings after she stays over—loves waking up with her in his arms, loves the slow, lazy morning sex where she’s moaning and squirming and cumming on his cock barely awake, loves how she looks at him with sleepy eyes hooded with lust. 

“‘s gonna be so awful when my job picks up again and the spring weddings start happening,” she says one morning while they’re in bed still, her head on his chest. ross hums. “you’ll be lucky if you see me two days in a row.”

he pouts. “it’s not that busy is it?”

“it is! so many new flowers coming into the shop and scott wants us to make sure each one of them is absolutely perfect. individually. fuck and the pollen—you’re not allergic to pollen are you? because i get so covered in it…”

ross racks his brain. maybe he does remember being a bit more sniffly in spring but nothing severe. it’s never been noteworthy. he shrugs and holds her tighter. “nah, don’t think so. it can’t be that bad though.”

she laughs mirthlessly. “you don’t know the half of it. my ex was so allergic i had to stay away for all of spring pretty much. like three months every year where i’d move back in with my parents because it was just that bad for him.”

he pretty much stops listening halfway through, stuck on the part where she had to stay away for three whole months. he can barely stay away half the week. 

“don’t have to worry about that,” he strokes her hair, brushing off the silly unwanted thoughts. 

and it turns out to be true—even when she stays in the shop longer, busy catering to new year’s parties and other events, ross hardly ever has a reaction to it. it’s blown out of proportion, he thinks. sure pollen allergies are real, but they must be incredibly rare.

what are the odds that he has it just as bad as her ex? 

soon enough he forgets the conversation. everything is so blissful, so perfect that by the time valentine’s day rolls around, he’s already asked her to move in. 

“are you serious?” she shrieks, giddy with excitement. it works great for them—for one, the floral shop she works at is so much closer to his house. and then just as an added bonus, he doesn’t have to compromise to seeing her only half the days of the week. 

“yes. oh my god, yes! it’d be perfect…”

and he agrees. it would be perfect… until, well, it’s not. 

spring arrives with a riot of colours—little weedy flowers grow in his backyard, daisies and buttercups cover grassy patches on the ground. even the dead trees start sprouting new leaves. 

everything outside is cheery and pretty and colourful. in comparison, ross feels…weirdly tired. not that it’s an everyday thing but on days when he’s outside more, he’s way too fucking exhausted to do anything else. it’s only when the sneezing starts does the conversation come back to haunt him. 

my ex was so allergic i had to stay away for all of spring pretty much…

ross shudders, thankful that it’s not that bad for him. it’s not! he’s certain about that. it’s only a scratchy throat and mildly itchy eyes that he could have gotten from eye strain too frankly, and maybe just a little case of the sniffles. it’s annoying, sure, but it’s not the end of the world. there’s no reason she needs to know about it and worry that she'll have to be away from him when she just moved in a week ago. 

he can very easily chalk up all his symptoms to a plethora of other things. 

and well, denial’s worked great for him—for one whole week, at least. 

towards the end of her second week, ross feels more tired than usual. she’s been slightly more busy at work (there’s a big wedding coming up) and ross has taken it upon himself to do a deep clean of the house now that he has a bit more free time—spring cleaning, to get rid of the pollen that may or may not be there. 

everytime there’s a persistent cough, he brushes it off. it’s dust—of course, that’s what’s making him cough and sneeze. 

it’s all the cleaning—that’s why he’s so tired.

all of it melts away though when he hears the keys jingling and the door opening. there’s a bit of a shuffle, a door shutting softly and then he hears her. 

“ross?”

he’s out the kitchen and walking towards her the next second, smiling huge. she looks like a fucking delight—hair a bit messy from the wind, surrounded by the smell of her perfume and a whole mix of flowers, plus something inexplicably green. 

she grins when she sees him and almost tackles him into a hug. 

“i love coming home to you…” the words are muffled by his t-shirt but his heart speeds up regardless. ross smiles and tucks his nose into her hair. 

“hello, you. had a good day?”

she nods and stays exactly like she was. the bliss only lasts another second though. ross feels it only a second before it happens—the string of sneezes he lets out with only a split second’s warning from his body. 

one, two, three, fifteen… until his eyes are watery and his throat stings from the effort. she looks at him with a bewildered expression on her face, slightly confused about…all of it.

he shakes his head. “shit, sorry! must have inhaled some pepper… i was just making dinner.” 

which isn’t a lie. he was making dinner and yes he has got the pepper out on the table. she throws him one more skeptical look but doesn’t push it further. 

ross takes her bag from her. “go wash up, i’ve got a movie picked out for us.”

she brightens instantly, and gives him a gorgeous smile, one that makes the tiny dimple by her lip appear. ross watches her nod and walk away from him, making her way to their bedroom. his smile is real for the most part until she finally shuts the door and he lets the cough he’s been holding in loose. he tries not to agitate his throat more, he tries to clear it so it would get rid of the itchy, sticky feeling. 

pollen, the logical part of his brain tells him. there was a tonne of pollen in her hair. but ross stubbornly gulps a glass of water, sighing at the way it makes him feel better instantly. he splashes some water from the kitchen sink on his eyes to get rid of the stinging.

it’s only a bit of allergies, he’s not going to die from it. besides, once she showers, the pollen would be washed away…right?

the other delightful symptoms show up hours later when he’s in bed, tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable. his head feels fucking heavy, like there’s suddenly a dumbbell placed on there. the itchy eyes won’t let him get comfortable and the constant urge to sneeze has him almost on the verge of fucking tears from how uncomfortable he is. 

ross curses silently, staying as far away from her without falling off the bed—for one he wants to try limiting his exposure to pollen. and if there’s a slight chance that he’s coming down with something then it’s better that he stay a bit away from her anyway. 

that just makes him even more miserable. all he wants to do is cuddle and fall asleep and not wake up until it’s at least 8 am the next morning but apparently he’s not afforded this luxury. 

sighing, ross gets up and checks his phone. 1:03 am. 

then he makes his way to the kitchen. maybe some tea might help… at least out of the bedroom he can finally sneeze into the crook of his elbow without worrying about waking her up. 

ross stumbles into the kitchen, his footsteps heavy with exhaustion and frustration. he flicks on the dim light above the stove, wincing as it illuminates the small space. his head throbs with each heartbeat, and he reaches up to massage his temples, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure. 

he tries not to be miffed about it—the fact that being out of the room instantly feels a bit better. it must the the honey in the tea, or the warm water. whatever it is, he refuses to admit it to himself that it may be her. that he’s been cocky about it this whole time only for it to bite him in the ass. 

“ross?” he startles and whirls around. 

despite the painful headache, his heart melts. she looks sleepy and soft—hair half out of the braid, his giant t-shirt drowning her a little, sliding off her shoulder. she squints her eyes against the light and rubs the sleep out of them.

“what are you doing, it’s—” she has to wait till the yawn passes “—so late. you alright?”

he nods, maybe a bit too quickly and fails to stifle a wince. the movement makes a twinge of pain slice through his head and her eyes train on him. 

“you’re being weird… are you unwell?”

“‘m not being weird,” he tries to reassure her. ross walks up to her, placing a hand on her waist so he could gently steer her back to their bedroom. “i’m fine, love. my throat feels a bit dry so i thought tea would help.” 

“your eyes are all red.”

“yeah, babe. i just woke up.” lie, lie, lie. “come on, you’ve got to be up early. go back to bed, i’ll join you in a sec.”

the skepticism on her face remains. “ross, if you’re ill—”

“i’m not ill, come on. would i do this if i were ill?” and then he kisses her. for a good thirty seconds. 

predictably (and to his delight) she goes all loose in his arms, clinging to him as if the kiss is the only thing that matters. that convinces her though and once they break apart, she hmphs. 

“fine, don’t be long.” and then she drags her feet back to the bedroom. 

ross stays in the kitchen for a bit longers, massaging his aching temples and hoping the tea works as some magical cure. he even manages to convince himself a little that it’s working, and maybe it is! 

finally, fifteen minutes later he gives up. he just wants to be in bed at this point. he’ll figure out the rest tomorrow. 

ross wakes up alone to warm sunlight streaming in from the window, perhaps a bit too warm for an early spring day. everything feels weird and uncomfortable and stuffy, almost like he can barely breathe. exhaustion coats every cell in his body. 

what the fuck… 

he just woke up too, how is it possible to be this tired, this early in the morning. he stretches a little, trying to shake off the ickiness, until his eyes land on a post it stuck on the nightstand. 

i don’t know if you remember me telling you i was leaving for work early so i thought i’d leave a note. you looked really tired and uncomfy :( call me if you need me xx 

her neat handwriting stands stark against the paper. how did he miss her leaving for work? he has absolutely no memory of being even half-awake and he never sleeps in until this late. ross frowns and checks himself for a fever but his skin feels cool to the touch, normal. 

allergies. a voice chimes in again. allergies to pollen and spring and. allergies to your girlfriend. 

it’s incredibly childish to think of it that way, he knows it. but he also knows that if she knew her job was causing him this much discomfort, she’d be quite sad about it. so ross just shrugs it away and sends her a text

awake and feeling a lot better :) 

thirty seconds later, his phone pings. 

good, because i took half the day off to spend it with you ♡

despite himself, ross beams, feeling giddy like a teenager. it takes him some effort to get out of bed and shake off the fatigue. he should probably clean the room a bit before she comes back. his thoughts wander back to the last time—to him uncontrollably sneezing and coughing because of the pollen in her hair.

ross groans and tries to clear his throat again. 

somehow he manages to pass the time, doing little things here and there, getting on his playstation to see if any of his friends are free for a game (the are, but only for a bit). he makes himself a lazy lunch, quick and easy tin ravioli that she would 100% wrinkle her nose at (“pasta should be fresh though!”) and then he waits, scrolling on his phone to pass the time. 

he wakes up to an onslaught of kisses and a huge bouquet of daisies. 

for a second ross wonders when he fell asleep. he didn’t even mean to fall asleep, the tiredness just dragged him under… 

“there you are,” she grins at him and places another kiss on his nose. ross tries not to blush like a high school girl. instead, he pulls her into a quick kiss. 

“i got you flowers!” the bouquet of daisies is thrust into his hands. the flowers are beautiful, each about the same size, white and fresh and pretty and she beams at him proudly. “made that one for you.”

“you are perfect…” he kisses her again and cradles the flowers closer. “any special occasion though?”

“nah, just thought you were a bit unwell and thought i’d get you flowers.”

ross brightens. he loves how thoughtful she is, loves that she made sure to get him flowers because she suspected he was sick.

all of it comes crashing the moment he feels the familiar itchy feeling build at the back of his throat, feels his eyes starting to water. he tries not to throw the flowers away as if they were made of fire but he has twist his body away from hers when he breaks out into a coughing fit. hacking and trying to get the flowers away from him. 

“shit, you okay?” she sounds alarmed and rubs her hand up and down his back. it barely registers while ross struggles to breathe. 

quickly she runs to the kitchen to get him some water. it takes him a bit to breathe and stop coughing so he can get some water down. 

“i didn’t know you were this sick!” 

“i’m not,” his voice sounds strained but she ignores him entirely and places the back of her hand against his forehead. 

“no fever,” she frowns. “but you looked so run down before…”

“i haven’t caught a bug i promise!”

she opens her mouth again to argue, about to say something but stops halfway through the sentence, her eyes widening and ross watches in real time as the realisation dawns on her. the room goes drop dead silent. 

“fuck…” she murmurs, “it’s hay fever, isn’t it.”

ross wants to deny it so desperately but all he can do is sit there and pout miserably. there’s nothing he can say that will undo it now. 

“how long?”

“how long what?”

“how long have you been feeling it? itchy eyes, the sneezing, coughing. you know what i’m talking about.”

he does but he doesn’t want to admit it. quietly, she move the flowers as far away as possible. ross palms the back of his neck, sheepish. “two weeks.”

“you’ve been miserable for what–two weeks? because of me! and you didn’t even tell me.” her face falls more and more with each word and ross wants to point out that this is exactly why he didn’t tell her, and now she’s upset anyway. convincing herself that she’s the reason he’s been feeling so horrible. 

“why didn’t you tell me?”

sheepishly, he spills everything—how he remembers the conversation about her ex, how he doesn’t want her to feel like she’s the one making him sick. 

“and i didn’t want you moving away for three months! you just moved in”

he sounds so petulant and childish to his own ears, he sounds like a seven year old, not a fully grown man. 

for a moment she says absolutely nothing. she only looks at him, bewildered and speechless. 

“did–do—” then she has to pause to take a deep breath. “did you take any antihistamines?”

and that’s when it dawns on him. ross opens his mouth and closes it again, like a fish. antihistamines. allergy medicine. a miracle of modern science easily available to him over the counter. something he didn’t even bother thinking about.

“did you?”

“no.”

he hangs his head in shame, embarrassed that he didn’t think about it sooner until peals of her laughter jolt him back. she looks like she’s ready to collapse on the sofa, completely fucking floored by the giggles she can’t seem to suppress. 

“you are so dramatic!” she shrieks, manages to even get the whole sentence out between gasps and giggles. “you’d think you caught the black death or something.”

“oi!” ross flicks her her on the nose but joins in on the laughter too. he has been a fucking idiot, of course he has. “you said you had to move away every spring! because your ex had it that bad!”

“yeah because he had asthma, you idiot.”

with every new piece of information she reveals, ross feels his face warm up more and more. okay yeah… he really has been fucking dramatic about all this. 

“you really are an idiot, you know that?,” she catches her breath with a bit of effort and moves a bit closer to him. ross pretends to grumble but pulls her on his lap and holds her close.

“your idiot?” 

“don’t try to be cute, you’re not living this down.” she sounds stern for about two seconds before bursting into another fit of giggles and burying her face in his shoulder.  

“i’m not moving out the house just because you’re allergic to me, you know?” she teases once she’s sobered up enough. “you’ll be fine with some pills.”

he would be, now all he wants to do is make a mad dash to the pharmacy and buy whatever otc medication they have. it’s been hell as is, he just wants this feeling to go away. 

i’m not moving out the house…

his heart leaps up to his throat and relief floods his body. ross feels like he can finally breathe again (figuratively, at least). 

“i’m not allergic to you,” he counters, “i’m obsessed with you if anything.”

“flirting will not get you out of this!” but ross doesn’t miss the way her smile widens and she struggles to meet his eyes. if only he could stay like this forever…

he would have even, if not for another round of sneezes building up again. ross cringes, turning to the side. 

“shit shit! still, radioactive, sorry.” 

ross snorts, silently begging for the sneezes to go away. 

“let me make a pharmacy run for you,” she declares, putting her shoes back on and shushing him with a look before he can even protest. it’s fine though, he thinks, it's only twenty minutes. she’s coming back home to him anyway. 

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#spring fics #seasons #the 1975 #ross macdonald #ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald x you #ross x reader #ross x you

[dudadragneel]

Hello, guys! It's me!

Since my creativity is off the roof, I am here to gift you with another Chan Sickfic!

Enjoy!

This one was 🍎's request!

Hi hi I’m new to ur account I get the sense that you write hurt comfort fics (thanks btw) it’s so rare to find ppl who appreciate that on here. I also saw that you take requests so I wanted to try my luck here. Can I request a fic where Chan is having a hard time with the whole long distance thing because he’s used to being w reader all the time and he’s been feeling sick and nauseous all day and so he can’t help but call reader in the middle of the night and She immediately knows something is wrong because he’d never usually call that late. She manages to get him to admit what’s wrong and tries to help him over the phone but he has to hang up to throw up. Then reader gets emotional because she can’t be with him when he feels so sick. So she drives all the way to be with him that night.

SO CLOSE YET SO FAR

Chan had been dating you for a few good years now and despite his packed schedule, he made sure to find time to be with you as much as possible. You had offered him to live with you but he politely declined stating that the kids needed him.

He had many reasons to try to be with you as much as possible, one was because he loved you with all his heart and the other was because he felt relaxed when he was with you. You provided him the same comfort he provided to the kids, STAYs, and you.

And the good point of all this was that you lived relatively close to the dorm so it was easy to come and go to each other's house.

However, there were times when he had schedules overseas that you couldn't attend, although you tried your best to accompany him as much as possible. Sometimes you had to travel to other cities away from your house and his dorm. And these were some of the hardest for both of you.

Today was no different, you were about 1hour away from the dorm, working on a new project and messaging Chan all the time, to make sure he was okay and talk about how your days went.

It had been 3 days since you left and he was starting to feel it, being used to seeing you almost every day, and considering how overwhelmed he was with his role as a leader, it wasn't easy for him.

And the cherry on top, he didn't know if he caught a bug, or if it was the food but his stomach began feeling weird during the afternoon. He noticed it as he was working in his bedroom, and it was gurgling loudly, making him burp every once in a while, but he managed to ignore it as much as he could and continued to work.

Then came dinner time, and he was feeling a little worse than before, a slight nausea starting to build up. But he needed to eat, or the boys would suspect something was wrong and the last thing he always wanted was to worry the kids.

And just like during the afternoon, he sat through dinner managing to eat an amount of food his stomach clearly didn't want or needed at that moment.

When he was done he went back to his room and the boys went to their bedrooms to sleep, being as exhausted as always.

Again, Chan continued to work on the songs despite his now more than obvious discomfort, his stomach angry at him for eating. If you were there, you'd keep him from working and get him to relax a bit, even if he didn't tell you he was feeling a bit sick.

As the night went on, he started feeling sleepy, he could no longer pay attention to the songs, and due to that they weren't turning out the way he wanted. Remembering that one time when this same process happened and he had a panic attack, he decided to call it a night and go to bed. He knew you'd be sleeping by now so he didn't call you but sent you a good night message.

He lay down on his bed and surprisingly, despite his stomach being angry at him, he fell asleep quite fast.

But about an hour later, the mild nausea he was feeling after having dinner, had now gotten strong. He woke up but didn't move from his position, and just felt his stomach churning and noticed he was a little too sweaty for cold weather.

He lifted himself up and drank a sip of cold water before lying down again.

However, that was far from being his smartest decision in life. That sip of water proved to be the last straw as the nausea got even worse and his stomach started contracting. His mouth started filling with saliva, a clear indicator that he would eventually throw up. But he knew that that could wake up some of the boys and the last thing he needed right now was his kids being worried about him.

He squeezed his eyes and covered them with his arm, the other resting on his stomach in an attempt to ease the churning feeling. His dinner and what felt like everything he ate that day were swirling inside, apparently jumping from time to time.

He tried his best to take deep controlled breaths as you did with him before but it wasn't exactly working.

Then once more saliva took over his mouth and he started swallowing convulsively, trying to keep everything in for as long as possible.

But he barely managed to control the urge when his stomach contracted one more time making a strong statement that if he didn't go to the bathroom right now, he'd be sick in his bed.

He grabbed his phone and got up, almost immediately regretting his decision as the motion seemed to have upset him even more.

Chan made his way to the bathroom with a hand clamping his mouth as strong as he could so he didn't vomit before reaching the bathroom.

He went to the sink and grabbed the edges tightly, trying to control his body. Looking at the mirror, his face was a bit pale and his curly hair was stuck to his forehead.

He ducked his head and squeezed his eyes taking deep breaths again, swallowing down whatever it was that was threatening to come out. He didn't want to be sick.

After a few agonizing minutes, his stomach seemed to have given him a break, with the nausea decreasing a little. Sometimes he'd deal with this on his own but now, not having you there with him was just worsening the situation. He didn't like the kids seeing him sick, but with you, his walls came down a little easier. And he so desperately needed you.

Yet still reluctant, he grabbed his phone and called you.

You woke up as soon as the phone rang and upon seeing who was calling you, you knew something was really wrong. Chan would never call you in the middle of the night unless he felt really bad.

- Baby? What's wrong?

- Hey, honey. Nothing, I'm fine...I was just missing you.

You could immediately notice that he was in the bathroom.

- Chan, please be honest.

- I am being honest. I was working on some music and then I remembered you-

He was cut off by a queasy burp he managed to muffle.

- Oh sweetie. We've been through this before. You don't have to be strong all the time, you don't have to put up a front with me, you can be weak.

No matter how much he wanted to hide how he was feeling, he'd called you for a reason and he felt safe with you.

- I don't feel good...

- What's happening?

- I've been feeling nauseous since the afternoon...

- Did you throw up? I can see that you're in the bathroom.

- No. I don't want to. I don't want to wake the kids.

Again he covered a queasy burp that brought up a small amount of liquid that he managed to swallow.

- Oh honey.

He closed his eyes and swallowed hard at the awful increasing feeling of dread that he was about to throw up.

You were getting anxious seeing him like this and being away, you had so little power to help him right now but you tried.

- Hey, baby. Listen to me, take deep breaths. With me, come on.

He tried following you through the phone, as you breathed with him. But it wasn't working.

You could see his expression changing, you noticed he'd gone a little green. He closed his eyes one more time and his his face on his arm, trying to control his body and you could see his Adam's apple bobbing up and down consecutively. You feared the worst and it happened.

Chan felt hot liquid rush up his throat and hit the back of his throat and he knew he wouldn't be able to hold it in this time.

When he felt his mouth filling he hurriedly hung up and reached for the toilet spilling out his dinner and a wet burp that followed brought a thicker stream of partially digested food.

You were taken aback when he hung up and started getting stressed over the fact that you weren't there for him. Your heart was almost beating out of your chest of worry and tears started swelling up in your eyes.

You knew he wouldn't ask the kids for help and you were worried this could escalate to a worse situation.

So you made the wisest decision at the moment, grabbed your stuff, and left a note to your friend, whose house you were staying at.

You decided to take the 1hour drive in the middle of the night to be with Chan because he needed you and he would only admit it to you.

In the dorms, Chan was on his second bout of vomiting all of the meals he had that day. He had a few breaks in between the rounds of vomit.

But to his demise, one of the members woke up to get water and heard retching sounds coming from the bathroom and noticed Chan's bedroom door open.

He knew the elders wouldn't want them worrying about him but he couldn't just sit still.

- Hyung? Chan-hyung?

Changbin said softly trying to knock on the door as quietly as possible.

Chan gulped down and tried to answer.

- 'm fine- Changbin-ah.

Changbin knew he wasn't and he wanted to help but he also knew Chan would be reluctant about it.

And as if on cue, you arrived at the dorm.

- Y/n!

- Hey, Changbin.

- What's wrong with Chan hyung?

- He's not feeling well. I'll take it from here, you can go back to sleep.

You said smiling and tapping his shoulder, he obeyed you and went back to his room.

You knocked on the bathroom door.

- Honey? It's me. Can I come in?

He wanted to answer but his stomach decided that he wouldn't as he retched wetly over the toilet and you took that as a sign to enter.

When you got in, you saw Chan leaning over the toilet vomiting for what seemed to be the third time, given how sweaty and red he was.

You rushed to him and kneeled next to him, one hand holding his head and his hair out of his eyes and the other rubbing his back up and down.

He barely looked at you when another gag brought a wave of putrid brown liquid immediately followed by another one.

- Oh baby...

You gently leaned his head on your shoulder and grabbed his hand which he squeezed in return, his other hand gripping his abdomen.

- It hurts so much...

- What happened? Is anyone else sick?

- No...just me...

- It could be a stomach bug...

He suddenly hissed, squeezing your hand even more and you kissed the top of his head as your hand kept rubbing his back.

- You're gonna be okay. I'm right here with you now, okay?

- thanks...

His back started heaving up and down under your touch and you could hear his stomach gurgle loudly. He gagged a few times, clamping his mouth and still squeezing your hand to ground himself and not break down.

- Honey, I know it hurts. You need to let it out. Hm?

You said, rubbing his lower back and comforting him as much as you could.

His stomach jumped rather aggressively and he got away from your embrace reaching the toilet in time for another wave to come out. He coughed a few times until a wet retch brought up even more, the sound of liquid hitting liquid repeatedly making you grimace a little. And you could see it wasn't being easy on him, the veins on his neck were popping up and he was getting red as well.

- Breathe, honey, breathe.

You didn't stop rubbing his back not even once. He rested his head on his arm, his nose was runny and his eyes were watering.

You carefully brushed his curly hair out of his face, looking at him with gentle eyes.

- Do you think you're done?

- No...it's still churning...

- Can I go get some cold water for you?

- I don't want you to leave...

This sentence showed how much he let himself be vulnerable when he was with you, he needed you by his side.

- Okay. I won't leave.

You grabbed your phone and texted Changbin who would probably still be awake now that he knew Chan wasn't well.

- Changbin. Are you sleeping?

- No. Do you need anything?

- Can you get some cold water? Please?

- Sure. And how's Chan hyung?

- He's still vomiting. I think he might've caught a stomach bug.

- I'll be right there.

Changbin knocked on the door before entering holding a glass of cold water.

- Thank you.

- Thanks, Changbin-ah.

The leader said weakly, trying to give a faint smile, to which Changbin returned.

- Text me if you need any help.

- Will do.

You turned to face Chan who had turned green and was swallowing again and you noticed he was actually holding it in while Changbin was in there.

- Honey...you didn't need to do that...

You said as he ducked his head one more time retching up another wave of what seemed to be the food from yesterday. The mess inside the toilet was unsettling, and it was definitely not helping with the situation, as well as the stench.

You pulled him back and while still rubbing his back you flushed the toilet.

You helped him so now he wasn't kneeling anymore and was sitting down. He rested his head on his hand while you held the other and rubbed his back from side to side.

- Here, baby. Rinse your mouth and take small sips.

- Thank you...

He said with a raspy voice that seemed to be hurting his throat. He rinsed his mouth and then drank a little bit, handing you the bottle.

- How are you feeling now?

'm still nauseous...

- Do you wanna try to take something and go to the bedroom?

- Not yet... I can feel something trapped...

As if on cue, whatever it was that was stuck triggered a sequence of gagging and retching and he was leaning over the toilet again. The unproductive gags turned into productive ones, with one wave following after the other. You were seriously surprised by how there were still things to come out.

- oh sweetie, I think it's really a stomach bug.

You said rubbing his back and supporting his forehead while he proceeded to vomit a few more times, the sounds of retching, wet burps, and liquid hitting liquid taking over the bathroom.

After what seemed to be 1h hour since he ran to the bathroom, his stomach decided to give him a break, although maintained the nausea. He was exhausted, completely drained, and if you weren't there he'd probably sleep in the bathroom.

He got away from the toilet leaning all his weight on your chest.

- Honey, do you think you're done?

- I hope so...I'm still nauseous but I don't feel like throwing up, at least not now.

- Wanna go lie down?

- Yes...

But when he moved to try standing up, he noticed how dizzy he was feeling.

- Okay, okay, it's ok. Sit down and take deep breaths.

He did as you told him but he felt completely empty, like he had thrown up a week's worth of meals.

- Do you want me to get Changbin?

- No, there's no need to. Just give me a minute.

You just sat there, rubbing his back and his hand as he tried to recollect himself so he could go back to his now-so-desired bed.

A few minutes after, he was okay to stand up and go back to his bedroom. You helped him up, wrapping your arms around him to help him steady himself.

- You good?

- Yeah...

- Sure? Because if you faint I can't carry you, Babe

You said laughing a little and he chuckled back at you.

- I won't.

- Okay.

You walked slowly with him, stopping at the sink so he could brush his teeth and he ended up vomiting a thin stream of bile and stomach juice but it seemed to be the last of it.

- Let's get you to the bedroom.

You still had your arms wrapped around him as you guided him to the bedroom.

You pulled the covers and helped him lie down and then covered him.

- I'll get a hoodie for myself, okay? And a bucket, just in case.

- Okay.

You had come in such a hurry and you were clearly tired you didn't want to open your bag to get clothes, and his were more comfy and had his scent.

He was lying down looking at you, smiling at how cute you looked with his oversized hoodie.

- Come here.

He said tapping the spot on the bed next to him, with the cutest smile.

You lay down next to him, looking into his eyes, and gently caressed his hair.

- I love your curly hair.

- And I love your eyes. They are beautiful, pure, sincere.

He said as he caressed your cheek. He then grabbed your hand and placed a kiss on it.

- Thank you for being here.

- I'm happy to be here.

You responded and then you told him to come closer so you could cuddle him.

- I'll be the big spoon today.

- I'm fine with that.

You kissed the top of his head, covered yourselves with the blanket, and stroked his back until he was fast asleep.

Chan was happy to have you and the kids and he could proudly say that all of you were his lifeline.

#emeto #sickfic #whump #kpop sickfic #kpop emeto #stray kids emeto #stray kids sickfic #skz emeto #skz fanfic #skz sickfic #bang chan emeto #bang chan sickfic #bang chan x reader #felix x reader #hyunjin x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #jisung x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #skz fluff #skz angst

[thebookshoparoundthecorner]

Sickfic Recs

I'm down for the count with Covid after avoiding it for three years, and thus have been reading/rereading some sickfics that have brought me comfort. I figured while I was at it, I may as well make a list of a few of my favorites, in case anyone else was in need of the same!

In no particular order:

1. A Tree of Life by aknightofthe7kingdoms

Summary:

Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life. Proverbs 13:12 Crowley was certain that he wasn’t ill. He just wasn’t feeling...quite well.

2. La Grippe by LadyWallace

Summary: Aziraphale had watched it take too many lives already, he wasn't going to let it take his friend too. It was lucky then that he just happened to stumble across that deserted barn somewhere in the green fields of France. Sick!Crowley Historical backstory

3. Helped By Angels Unawares by Sodium_Azide

Summary: In the late middle ages, Aziraphale stumbles across a human tragedy that has somehow also affected his demonic adversary, and abruptly understands much more about what he is willing to do for the sake of the Serpent of Eden.

4. Fever Dreams by Lady of Prompts (Aethelflaed)

Summary:

Angels don’t get sick. They can, however, burn through enough of their grace that their corporations begin to malfunction. This happens to Aziraphale far more often than to other angels. Aziraphale gets a fever and Crowley takes care of him!

5. A Matter of Opportunity by PinkPenguinParade

Summary:

The pain danced sharp and angry, lit up ragged nerves. Pulled him on, toward that fuzzy promise of rest. Fifteen feet, maybe? He could do fifteen feet. Could do fifteen feet standing on his head, right?Seven feet.

Four.

He reached out for the door and slapped it once, twice, the wood pulsing against his skinned hands.

6. Such Selfish Prayers by spargelseason

Summary:

Crowley, while still apparently comatose, had somehow managed to wrap himself so thoroughly around Aziraphale on their way up, that any attempt at dropping him onto the mattress without being pulled down as well proved futile.

And hence, quite defeated, Aziraphale found himself lying in a warm tangle of Crowley and blankets. He felt a little stunned.

7. The Words We Say by QixxiQ

Summary: Aziraphale calls Crowley a plague rat one time and it kinda messes him up for roughly 300 years.

8. In Sickness And In Hell by entanglednow

Summary: Crowley picks up something unpleasant while mingling in Hell, and is determined that Aziraphale not see him while he's sick.

9. Temper by TeaCub90

Summary:

‘Angel, I told you not to fuss,’ Crowley croaks, somewhere underneath the blankets – and then he emerges, all tousled hair and black vest, looking both three shades paler than usual and more than a little annoyed at the absolute audacity of the angel for bringing him a hot drink.

‘It’s no bother,’ Aziraphale bats away his irritation, ‘this should be better for you, especially after you threw the Lemsip at the wall. And the hot Ribena.’

10. And In Health by Kalimyre

Summary:

One of the many ways Hell is awful is the demon flu that is always going around the office. Crowley comes down with it, and this time he allows Aziraphale to help.

Indulgent, soft fluffy fic, because Crowley deserves to be taken care of sometimes.

+1 Bonus self rec (cause I'm learning how to get better at doing that)

Our Side by theshoparoundthecorner

Summary:

Aziraphale gets sick. He doesn't know how, and it really shouldn't be possible, but he does and unfortunately there's nothing he can do about it. When he decides he has to cancel his plans to see Crowley, Crowley insists he come over to the bookshop with soup. When he arrives, he looks worse than Aziraphale.

Cue a mysteriously sick Angel and a mysteriously sick Demon, taking care of each other in a London Soho bookshop, drinking tea, eating soup, and having an oddly easy time of it.

Well, at least for the first forty-five minutes.

In which Crowley and Aziraphale see each other at their worst, love each other for it all the more, and learn that being on your own side isn't so bad after all.

Those ten are just a few of my favorites, and I have more that I've been reading and bookmarking, so I might do a second rec soon! Meanwhile, if anyone else has any good omens sickfic recs they want to make (or self recs!!), feel free to do so in the reblogs or comments!

#good omens #good omens fic #good omens fic rec #good omens fic recs #sickfic #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #fic rec #fic recs #i should have been asleep two hours ago but the cough is lingering tonight

[pixelatedraindrops]

Edit thread story of the NDA helping take care of a fever stricken Yuma~ 🌡️

“You’re such a handful… Come. Let’s head back to the agency for you to recuperate.”

Halara escorts a very dizzy Yuma back to base safely lending him their shoulder to lean on. Making sure no Peacekeepers can mess with them. The bright lights of the city aren’t helping his throbbing headache so his eyes remain shut. Halara also picked up the supplies needed from Kanai's shops. (spending their own money in the process no less) They’re still not used to touching Yuma yet so they feel a bit awkward. 💦

“Yuma you’re burning up. And you’re shaking like a leaf. Go sit down and I’ll go and get you a blanket.”

Upon return and Halara’s explanation, Yakou walks over and checks Yuma’s temperature (with the back of his hand) He’s burning and shivering from the fever induced chills. He quickly ushers him to sit down on the sofa he sleeps on. Then he lets him borrow the blanket from his own bed to keep warm. 🧣

"Yuma are you okay? Here, let's check your temperature..."

When Yuma sits down wrapped in Yakou's blanket gripping it tightly still shivering, Kurumi sits right beside him. Although Yakou already checked for a fever, she worries deeply for his state and insists on taking a device reading of his body temperature, using the thermometer Halara bought. When the device is inserted, it turns out to be about 39 degrees (102 degrees f) 🌡️🥵

“Alright Yuma, here's your medicine. Open up, my man. Down the hatch.”

After Kurumi leaves temporarily, Desuhiko sits next to Yuma. He's told by Yakou to give him the liquid medicine that Halara bought earlier. It was a strong fever reducer. After some hesitation, he finally takes it. But it was very strong and bitter. He didn’t like it very much 💀💊

“Here Yuma, I was told that warm soup is always the best if you don’t feel well! This should help to heal you!”

Fubuki cooks and feeds Yuma some nice hot soup from the ingredients that were bought. (Kurumi helps her make it) Even if he doesn’t finish it all, he still enjoys how warm it is with what little he does eat 🥣 It was warm enough to stop his body from shivering.

“This fever is… persistent… What a pain… I wanna die someday…”

Vivia rests in the dark with Yuma after everyone works on cooling him off with ice water. (and ice) due to his fever suddenly spiking later in the night. (rising to nearly 103) So Vivia stays with him until he’s stable. They both end up falling asleep, and Vivia places his cool hand against Yuma’s warm hand. 🤝 They remain this way through the night.

"Sheesh Master, you're so pathetic... Don't worry me like that again. I thought you were a goner for sure..."

Yuma wakes up the next morning with his fever finally broken. Shinigami lays beside him with her ghostly hand over him as if she was hugging him. She mutters something under her breath, and he hears every word. He smiles placing his hand to her form, even though he can't feel it. 👻

He couldn't have been more thankful to have such kind friends

Maybe even a family 💕

~

Yeah, I just wanted to make another edit scenario where the nocturnal found family agency takes care of their frail lil’ trainee needing some help 😷

A different scenario from what happened in my sickfic but similar enough 💕

I love this family so much 🥰 They are perfect.

(Quite happy with how these came out)

#also it was vivia that found him via spectral projection #master detective archives: rain code #whumpcode #kokobolt #kokomare #kokoford #kokowendy #kokolight #I'll put the ship tags just in case :3 #some crumbs for all you yuma x that one memeber of the NDA shippers out there :3 #rain code #yuma kokohead #yakou furio #halara nightmare #desuhiko thunderbolt #fubuki clockford #vivia twilight #kurumi wendy #caretaking #sicknario #my edits #yes some of these edits are recycled #illness #fever edit #whump edit #whumpee #fever whump #yeeeep the gang’s all here! :3 #ready to help the frail trainee as the rain DESTROYS his health #I gotta give him the worst fever ever ;w;

[whumpetywhumpwhump]

Okay, what you think of seizure/convulsions whump? And when did you realize you were a hospital/sickfic fan?

*love your blog, let's be friends!!

Coupla great questions!!!

1. I do love seizure whump a LOT. I try to make sure things are accurate because ofc these things (like a lot of sickfic and whumpy stuff) do affect real people, but yes I absolutely love reading and writing about it. Since I don't usually read whumper content, a lot of the seizure stuff comes in the form of epilepsy HCs and also pretty serious illnesses like meningitis.

There's something about seizures in whump which just takes things to the next level- if a character is epileptic, the looming threat of a seizure is just always there, and when it happens there's the panic of how long it's going to last/whether it's going to be a big one etc etc. If a character is sick and starts seizing, it's a sign that things really aren't right, and perhaps tips the scales for caretakers from 'illness like the flu' to 'this character is dangerously ill and needs to go to a hospital NOW'.

I have so many things I could talk about here lol, and maybe if people want to see it I could make a whole post about seizure whump on its own, but yeah, I like it a whole bunch!

2. I can't quite pinpoint the exact time I realised I was really into hospital whump, and that's probably because I've been into it for a LONGGG time. Like, even as a kid if there was a character I was really into, I'd start picturing them in these precarious situations. It's only when I got older, obviously, that I discovered there was a community of people who were just like me, and I have to say it was super relieving (I genuinely thought I was a complete weirdo with original, weird thoughts).

I mean, to put things into perspective I wanted to be a doctor when I was five, and a lot of that was because I already loved whump.

An interesting little thing as well is how I think this side of me co-exists with my emetophobia: I've always been super afraid of vomit IRL, and as somebody who's also super into psychology, I find it so interesting how the things we fear and the things we're attracted to can be so linked. After all, 'arousal' is the word used to describe the body's reaction to a stimulus, fearful or exciting or.... otherwise. A lot of people love scary movies because the domesticated fear is like a safe way of experiencing terror that otherwise only happens in real life dangerous situations. In a similar way, I suppose I love sickfics because I'm so afraid of them IRL, and it's a safe way to explore the intense feelings I have about it.

Anyway, this post derailed into me talking about WHY I'm into sickfic (I think) but I find it fascinating!!!

Thanks so much for the ask, and we can definitely be friends! Always love meeting fellow whump lovers ❤️

#asks #send asks #whump prompts #seizure whump #whump #sicknario #sickfic #sickfic whump

[fullmetalscullyy]

emma i would love to see u tackle royai and cooking for each other (or sharing in food). there's such a warmth and intimacy in making something for someone. it's whole purpose is to sustain life!!!

U R SO RIGHT. SO CORRECT.

so........ how about......... three wee royai moments where they're cooking together............. :)

here with me

read on ao3

summary: there was a reason // i collided into you // Roy and Riza cooking (providing for one another) throughout the years

rated: g | words: 2718 | tags: royai, cooking, young royai, post-canon, happy, childhood friends, sickfic, post promised day

Riza shuffled into the kitchen, following the smell of cooking, to find Roy standing over the hob, stirring something within a pot. And whatever it was, it smelled delicious. It was so flavoursome, it made her eyes water and caused her to break out into a coughing fit, announcing her presence.

And although it caused Roy to startle at the sudden, loud sound, he still grinned over at her.

He almost toppled off the chair onto the floor, in an endearing, hopeless, sort of way, but that was neither here nor there.

The reason he was currently kneeling on a chair though, was because he wasn’t quite tall enough to reach the hob to cook. Although in his teenage years, Roy’s growth spurt still hadn’t hit him yet (much to his dismay), so he’d taken a leaf out of Riza’s book and dragged a chair over from the table so he could see what he was doing. Bless his wee cotton socks too, because before Riza had interrupted and startled him, he’d looked so precious up there, his tongue peeking out from between his lips as his brow furrowed in concentration, eyes darting back and forth between the pot and the piece of handwritten paper beside it, which presumably detailed the recipe of whatever he was cooking.

Riza tightened the blanket around her shoulders and wrinkled her nose in response to the sneeze which was threatening her. “What are you doing?”

Roy beamed at her. “Cooking.” He answered as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Her brow furrowed. “What?”

He shrugged. “You’re ill. It was the least I could do. Plus, I wanted to.”

“You wanted to.” She blinked at him, unable to comprehend what was happening.

Roy nodded in cheerful agreement, nonplussed about her surprise.

“Is there anything you need me to do?”

“Nope.” Roy even popped the ‘p’.

“Well. Let me help at least –” Riza reached forward to busy herself with assisting him, but Roy was having none of it.

“Ah. Ah!” He swatted at her playfully, brandishing his wooden spoon to keep her back and out of reach. “No. Go and sit down.”

Riza frowned. “Roy, no –”

“Riza, yes. Go and sit down. I’ll cook.”

Sensing she would get nowhere with him and too exhausted and shivery to argue she ambled over to sit at the kitchen table, like he directed.

Riza felt bad though, that he was doing all of this for her while she was ill. He was here to learn alchemy. He was a guest in her home. His family were paying her father to tutor him. And now he’d been left to cook for himself – and her – too? It was too much. Her ailing body failing her was no excuse, and yet, he would have none of her continued attempts to try and help him. Her offers were met with playfulness and patience, but a firm reply which said no. He could manage on his own.

Riza still didn’t feel safe enough to venture far from him and his cooking shenanigans though. He’d once shared how he’d almost burned his aunt’s house down when he cooked and Riza was still unsure if it was a joke or not.

So she watched him like a hawk while he chattered away. Probably to fill the silence, which made her feel even worse, because her ill brain could barely keep up with his train of thought and she felt as though she should offer him something, not just silence. But it was too much for her exhausted body and mind to comprehend.

It was… nice, though. To listen to him. To hear his voice. To hear his stories which he obviously enjoyed telling and sharing.

Secretly, Riza loved it.

It was nice to be doted on for once.

To be cared for.

They both sat down at the table together without incident a short time later. Her bowl of soup was presented to her with a flourish, complete with pristine presentation. One would have thought the young man was a professional cook.

Taking a cautious sip of her soup, Riza politely and gently ignored how Roy was waiting and watching for her reaction as she sampled his dish.

It was… good. Great, actually. Extremely tasty. She tried not to be too surprised at how good it was given how much he’d put himself down about his cooking abilities in the past, but this was delightful. Perfect for her sore throat, and delicious. Not too much for her tender stomach to put away either. It was just enough.

He’d created the perfect dish for her.

Riza swallowed it down and relished in how it soothed her aching throat. And immediately went back for another taste.

“Is it okay?”

Riza glanced up, noticing how nervous he looked, even as she almost started to devour and hoover up his homemade soup.

Still, her face flushed pink. “Yes,” she replied, not quite able to fully find her voice with his attention so directly upon her. It was because of her cold, for sure.

No other reason.

“It’s good. Very tasty.”

Her appraisal lit up his entire face. Roy sat up a little taller in his chair. His shoulders rolled back and his head perked up, but it was nothing compared to the pure joy which brightened his entire being, illuminating him from within.

“Good. I’m glad.” He looked extremely pleased with himself as he tucked into his own dinner.

*             *             *            *             *            *             *

“Riza?” Roy’s disembodied voice called out to her from the doorway to her home.

“In the kitchen.”

Roy entered the room a few seconds later, surprisingly. Riza hadn’t expected him to come straight through to see her. Snow still caked the edges of his boots and the shoulders of his thick winter coat, but he didn’t appear to be too bothered about it. Neither was she, honestly. A little water from melted snow would dry up quick enough, so it wasn’t a problem.

And when he did make his immediate appearance within the room, Roy was ruffling his hair to dislodge the snowflakes which had caught in his dark strands. And like always, Riza’s attention was drawn to him immediately.

As soon as he entered the room.

(It was really becoming a problem.)

Riza had turned to greet him, but the sight of him made her pause.

His hair was tousled, slightly wet from being out in the snow and curling at the ends due to the damp. Since he’d joined the military, he’d started to fill out within his own body with all the physical training they had him doing. His arms, which had been long and gangly as a teen, were now corded with muscle, same with his legs. And now, when he moved to dislodge those pesky snowflakes, his newly discovered biceps flexed. Quite nicely, too.

Not that Riza had been staring, of course.

Definitely not.

Nope.

Riza’s face flamed and she hastily turned back to the stove. “Did you get everything you needed?” She was grateful her voice remained steady as she spoke because on the inside it felt as if her entire being was quivering like a leaf, as it often did around her childhood friend nowadays.

A pesky new discovery, but one she would manage. Through sheer willpower alone.

Riza vowed she would not make Roy uncomfortable with the things which churned within her gut and her chest over him.

“Yep. I got a discount on the vegetables as well. I think the lady in the shop likes me,” Roy chuckled.

Riza felt her stomach twist and the bubbling, happy feeling which had been fizzing within her died.

Crumbled into ash.

“Oh?”

Riza buried it. Buried it deep and locked it down tight. Jealousy had no place here and she was too old, too mature, now, to even consider such a thing.

“Yeah. She was very sweet and kind.”

Roy was a friend. An old friend, who she loved dearly.

Nothing more.

Never mind the fact he’d called Riza and been on the first train back when he learned how her father’s health had taken a downturn. Riza had presumed it was to ask her father about flame alchemy while he still had the chance, but in response to voicing her assumptions to him, Roy’s gaze has hardened. His jaw had locked and he hadn’t looked happy about something. He’d even gone as far to leave the room and once he’d returned, a few hours later, he’d looked dejected, but resigned.

Riza still hadn’t figured out why he’d acted and looked that way. And their friendship felt slightly different because of it.

But perhaps it was simply Riza’s imagination.

“What’s wrong?”

Riza startled and suddenly, he was there. At her elbow. Roy even lifted a hand to grasp her elbow gently, initiating contact with his thumb and forefinger which made her stomach flutter with troublesome butterflies, as it always did.

“What do you mean?”

His eyes searched her face, his brow furrowed and face concerned. Riza just averted her gaze, turning back to dinner before Roy could see too much. Before he could figure anything out she’d rather keep hidden for the sake of their friendship.

Her one-sided affections were hers, and hers to deal with alone. She would not burden him with them.

“Huh.”

Riza didn’t dare look at him, but his sudden response confused her. “What?”

“Nothing.” Roy sounded so nonchalant, such a twist from how he’d looked just a moment ago, which brought Riza’s attention back to him. But Roy had already turned away and was walking over to the kitchen table to unpack his shopping bags.

Riza dropped it. She didn’t want to dwell for too long on what he’d meant by that innocent “nothing”. That sudden realisation which laced his tone.

Her poor heart had endured and suffered enough recently, and she didn’t want to add anymore pressure to it. She owed herself that much currently, at the very least.

Roy appeared by her elbow again, making Riza’s heart jump and stutter. “Is there anything you need me to do?”

“Um…” Her brain was scrambled. Disjointed after trying to make sense of what had just happened between them.

But Roy waited patiently for her brain to stop short circuiting and catch back up with the present.

“Actually… Yes. Would you mind mashing the potatoes?”

Roy beamed at her. “I would love nothing more, Riza,” he replied rather dramatically, equipped with a wink.

Her stomach tumbled again, but Riza forced her brain to reign it in. She reminded herself he was just being Roy. Playful and fun.

The complete opposite of her.

But… Riza was slowly learning. Thanks to him. Thanks to his influence.

She was grateful for that, at least.

Roy rolled up his sleeves, exposing his now toned forearms, and Riza quickly darted her gaze away, unable to linger on the sight for too long. She studied the stew within the pot before her as if her life depended upon it instead, ignoring the young man working methodically (muscles flexing and all) and humming quietly – while so at ease – by her side.

Side by side, they cooked. For each other. For themselves.

A small smile teased Riza’s lips at the domesticity of it all. It tugged at her heart strings. It brought her a sliver of dangerous hope. A childish vision of the future. It made her insides bunch up at the thought of him doing it with someone else… That lady in the shop perhaps, whoever she was…

Despite it all, Riza had never been happier in that moment.

Right now, he was here with her.

No one else.

That may be the case in the future – and that was okay. Riza could make peace with that, for his sake and his happiness. Her little, budding – but difficult – feelings for her friend would never be voiced or known.

And that was okay.

They’d disappear eventually, Riza was sure. If he found someone, it would be all right. Because in the end, Riza would still have him as a friend. She’d still have him in her life.

And that was enough.

She wasn’t brave enough to lose him.

(Just yet).

It would be too much for him to give up everything for her. Far too much. He had his goals and his dreams, and she was a quiet, lonesome man’s daughter. She had nothing at all to offer, but she could still be his friend. Throughout it all, without fail, she’d offer all the support she had for him to see everything he desired come to fruition.

Yeah…

That would be enough…

Riza supposed.

“Riza?”

“Hm?”

“For the record, the lady in the shop was in her seventies. Nothing to get jealous over.”

Riza whipped around and smacked him on the arm with carrot while he guffawed away to himself.

*             *             *            *             *            *             *

Riza knocked on the Colonel’s door. Hayate whined quietly by her side and sat in place patiently as he waited for his second favourite human to make an appearance.

It was adorable how he’d taken to him.

(Riza understood the feeling.)

“Lieutenant!” Roy’s smile was like a beacon in the dark. It transformed his entire face, and he perked up instantly as soon as he set eyes on her.

Again, Riza understood the feeling.

Intimately.

“Good evening, Colonel.”

He opened the door further and stepped aside, inviting them inside his home. “Come on in.”

Hayate was eager and was already tugging on the lead as he hurried towards the Colonel to jump around his shins.

He was a good dog. He never really bothered or pestered anyone – except her and Roy. As soon as he was around either of them, he begged for attention, eager for pets, and always wanted to be the centre of attention. Every time. He loved them both unconditionally and equally, it seemed.

Riza adored him for it.

Roy chuckled and crouched to pay attention to his adopted little dog while Riza walked inside and shed her coat. Ever the gentlemen, Roy raised from his crouch – much to Hayate’s vocal dismay – and offered to take her coat and hang it up.

“How are you today?”

Always asking after her. Always enquiring how she was doing.

“I’m fine, sir. And thank you for the invite. It was much appreciated, as always.” Riza turned to Hayate who was staring adoringly up at Roy. “Hayate missed you, so I’m sure he was grateful for the opportunity to visit.”

“Just Hayate?”

Riza narrowed her eyes at him, watching as his danced as a smile teased his lips.

“Yes,” she deadpanned.

Roy’s mouth parted in mock shock as he placed a hand upon his chest, over his heart, before breaking out into laughter.

He even stuck his tongue out at her.

Just like he did as a boy.

“Come in.” Roy gestured further into his home. “I know I promised a lovely, relaxing evening,” he winked, “but it seems I’m still having some trouble.”

Riza’s concern for him instantly flared as he lifted his hands, wiggling his fingers and inadvertently brandishing his scarred palms from the Promise Day.

“I could use a hand in the kitchen, if you wouldn’t mind, Lieutenant,” he smiled sheepishly. “I tried already… with disastrous results.”

Riza opened her mouth to reply, only to be halted by a different smile, one which spread across Roy’s face and softened his features entirely. “I thought we could cook together. Just like old times.”

His sweet, boyish smile transported her back through the years, to all the times they’d done this before.

A million times before.

Some of the happiest moments of Riza’s life.

And Riza’s heart tugged at the nostalgia of it all. At how he’d remembered she’d once quietly admitted it was one of her favourite memories of her childhood with him – when they’d worked and cooked together. Provided for themselves and one another. At its basest, given each other the gift of care and sustenance.

And he’d remembered.

Riza rolled up the sleeves of her cardigan. The Colonel’s eyes sparkled with delight at her acceptance.

“Is there anything you need me to do?”

Their age-old question to one another.

Something that was just theirs.

“Why yes, Riza, I do believe there is.”

read on ao3

comments and kudos are always much appreciated!! 🥰🥰

#royai #royai fic #royai fanfic #young royai #three wee moments as a thanks for the prompt <33333 #tysm MWAH it was the BEST prompt ILY #u brought me back to royai after my spur of the moment desire to write for them hehehe ur power <3 #emma writes #ask #tsaritsa

[sickficideas]

dazai who regularly gets vertigo that sometimes eventually leads to migraines. he always tries to work through them, but sometimes it just gets too bad & he collapses. cue chuuya caretaking <3 (thinking mostly pm skk)

thank u for the delicious ask anon...dazai is not the only one suffering in this fic, there's so much suffering to go around teehee..

ao3! 4.5k words, sickfic - please refer to the link for additional tags!

you're a headache || skk sickfic

Dazai is hoping it's just the antiseptic smell. He doesn't want to think about the other possibilities.

He sits down on one of the cots as soon as the dizzy spell hits him. He's learned over the years that sitting down right away seems to mitigate some of the effects of his vertigo, but it's gotten worse over time, and it's getting more and more difficult to hide.

"You good?"

Chuuya's voice. Dazai almost forgot he was there with him. He was the one that carried Akutagawa all the way here. Dazai's secretly thankful for it, because he certainly wouldn't have been able to do it himself.

"I'm fine," Dazai groans. Chuuya stuffs his phone into a pocket as he slips back past the curtain, eyeing Akutagawa's unconscious form with far more concern than necessary, Dazai thinks. "Did you get ahold of them?"

"Yeah. They're sending someone over to come get him with our ambulance," Chuuya huffs, leaning against the wall opposite to Dazai. This isn't a good situation. Akutagawa's injuries are too severe for him to be treated long-term by the infirmary staff at headquarters, and he needs to be taken to their own emergency facility. Dazai can't quite tell where he's bleeding from at this point. His head and thigh injuries bled the most, but he has several broken ribs and a fractured collarbone that's jutting out of his skin. He's almost certain one of his arms are dislocated, and Dazai would have put it back in place himself if the kid's collarbone wasn't staring right back at him.

Unfortunately, even if his injuries weren’t this severe, he’s extremely uncooperative and requires sedation to be treated. The infirmary staff have refused to treat him even for minor things in the past.

Dazai sighs, dropping his head in his hands, not caring much about the dried blood that they're covered in. “Such a pain.”

"At least he stopped bleeding," Chuuya sighs.

Dazai nods.

He probably needs to tell Gin. Akutagawa was supposed to go home tonight, but he has a feeling that won't be for a while, now.

Dazai almost never sees Akutagawa’s injuries the moment they happen. He’s learned to use Rashomon to keep injuries quite literally under wraps, and he can stop his own bleeding pretty well if he has the focus for it, but not this time. He fainted as a result of the blood he lost before Dazai even realized he was injured. He has no idea how he managed to hide that collarbone injury.

He has a much higher pain tolerance than Dazai could ever dream of. Here he is, half a collarbone snapped off and poking out, and Dazai thinks he might start crying if this headache turns into a migraine like he's suspecting.

Dazai pulls out his phone to find Gin's contact. He considers texting her, but this is sort of urgent, so he hits the call button and presses the phone up to his ear. Chuuya tilts his head, and Dazai has to hold himself back on making a comment about him looking like a confused dog.

"Gin. Hey. Akutagawa got hurt pretty bad today. They're taking him up to the hospital at the Port for further treatment. I can text you the information when I get it," he says. Gin doesn't speak when she's working, so he doesn't expect a response. There's just silence for a moment before she hangs up, a simple acknowledgment that she heard him.

"Gin? That Black Lizard kid?" Chuuya asks.

"Mhm," Dazai asks, tossing his phone over to the end of the cot. Chuuya looks confused, but Dazai doesn't feel like explaining anything to him.

For a moment, Akutagawa's body tenses up and he clenches his teeth through a pained groan, but he stays unconscious. Chuuya's expression tenses up just the same.

"Go back to work," Dazai grumbles. He only asked Chuuya for help because he was nearby when Akutagawa passed out. He doesn't need him anymore.

Chuuya scoffs. "You go back to work."

"I can't. I have to make sure my dog doesn't kill anyone when he wakes up," Dazai drawls as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Stop calling him that, Dazai," he hisses.

"I'll call him whatever I want, Chuuya," Dazai groans. He doesn't have the energy to argue about meaningless things like this, but he will if it's Chuuya.

Chuuya, for some reason, doesn't seem to be so willing to leave. He leans against the wall and closes his eyes for a minute or so. Dazai isn't sure how long he's been working for, at this point. The bags under his eyes are telling enough. Regardless, he was there quickly enough when Dazai called to help him stop Akutagawa's bleeding.

"Why is he like that, anyway?"

"Like what?" Dazai groans, shooting a glare up at the latter. His voice sounds like metal grating on metal on Dazai's aching brain. He knows he's quickly developing a migraine - or, it's only hit him now that he has time to actually think.

"I saw him last time. Take that nurse's head off," Chuuya says. The memory sends a shiver up Dazai's spine. He's seen a lot of horrific things in his time in the mafia, but he's never seen a clean, instantaneous decapitation like that. Akutagawa is often heavily disoriented when he wakes up, especially when he's injured or ill, and that happened as a result.

Akutagawa didn't speak for two weeks after that happened, and Dazai could never seem right figure out why.

"He's from the slums," Dazai mumbles. His vision starts to list sideways as he straightens himself up, and he tries his best to hide any sign of his vertigo from Chuuya.

"Yeah?" Chuuya asks. He's starting to look irritated. "The fuck's that mean, Dazai? I'm from the slums too, asshole. What's that got to do with decapitating people for no reason?"

"I'm like, ninety-seven percent sure he was trafficked, so, more that sort of thing," Dazai says casually, not at all thrown off Chuuya's random defensive bite.

Chuuya loses some of the color in his face.

"Shit," he curses, letting out a shaky breath.

"I mean, I don't know for sure. I know he wouldn't tell me. But I'd say there's a good chance," Dazai shrugs. "Sure you saw your fair share of that."

Chuuya doesn't say anything, but he knows the answer. He thinks the two of them probably have a lot more in common than either of them realize.

"Maybe you could ask him, since you like him so much. He'd probably tell you," Dazai teases.

"What the hell is your problem? He can't stand anyone but you. He wouldn't tell me," Chuuya scoffs. "I wouldn't ask about something like that anyway, you freak. It's not my business."

Dazai has tuned him out at this point. He doesn't care much to hear Chuuya's defenses, he was really only doing it to get a rise out of him, but now he regrets it. Chuuya's voice is normally a cacophony in Dazai's ears, but now with his ever-present migraine, it's making him much more aware of the dull throbbing in the back of his head.

"Shut up, will you? You'll wake up my dog," Dazai groans, dropping his head back into his hands. Chuuya won't care if Dazai tells him the real reason, he's sure, but he's much more likely to comply for Akutagawa's sake, for some reason.

"Call him your dog one more time," Chuuya grumbles to himself, but Dazai ignores him.

It's silent again for a while. Dazai doesn't have much concept of how much time has passed, he's simply trying to will away his migraine, somehow. Chuuya refuses to leave. It might be a good thing. He can probably carry Akutagawa out once they arrive to pick him up. Dazai couldn't carry him even if he wanted to.

Then, of course, the nausea hits him.

"I'll be right back," Dazai grumbles. He figures he's probably not walking as straight as he thinks, but he's more worried about getting to the bathroom in time than hiding his vertigo from Chuuya, at this point. He pulls the curtain back and stumbles toward the bathroom, one hand clamped over his mouth just in case his stomach contents decide to make a reappearance before he can do it of his own free will.

He drops to his knees with a groan as soon as he closes the door behind him, and he lays his head on the toilet seat. His head is spinning so much that he can't see straight. He has no idea how he managed to get here so quickly. Muscle memory, his strong desire to get away from Chuuya, it's anyone's guess.

"Fuck," he groans, spitting his saliva into the water. So far, there's no sign of Chuuya following him over, not that Dazai is too aware of his surroundings right now anyway. He tries to turn his head to see if he can see anything from the space beneath the door, but everything suddenly turns on its side, and he chokes up a mouthful of vomit. The only sign he has that it landed in the toilet is the splash he hears - he can't see anything.

His brain feels like it's thumping against his skull, which is a sensation so nauseating that it makes everything else feel so much worse. He whines, much rather wishing someone would put him out of his misery. This surely isn't worth surviving.

Whatever forces itself out of his stomach next is strong enough for Dazai to consider it near projectile. He feels it coming out of his nose, which is only adding to the list of awful sensations he's feeling.

He whines to himself, not caring much about how pathetic he must sound. He spits up another mouthful of vomit with a wet burp.

“Hngh…”

He tries not to move his head too much, but he can't stay here for long. He reaches forward to flush, hardly with enough energy to. He's sure he'll have to go with them once they take Akutagawa just as a precaution, and they should be here any minute. He takes a wad of toilet paper to wipe his mouth and nose. His throat already burns so bad.

He has to use the toilet seat for support to get up, and he finds himself leaning heavily against the wall as he's hit with another bout of vertigo. He's lucky he already threw up, or else he's sure this bout would have made him vomit all over the tile floor.

He keeps a hand along the wall as he finds the door, and once he opens it, he has to lean on the bathroom door frame for support. He can't get away with hiding it, not now. If he tries, he'll pass out for sure.

Chuuya is glaring at him, an eyebrow raised. Dazai doesn't have any clue how long he's been out here.

"Did you just throw up?" Chuuya asks.

Dazai groans, pressing his forehead up against the frame. He wishes Chuuya were more like Akutagawa. He's trained the latter to be silent if he notices anything wrong with him, but Chuuya always has to point it out. Annoying.

"The hell's wrong with you, Dazai? You've been weird this whole time," Chuuya huffs. He takes a step forward, almost looking like he wants to approach him for some reason, but Dazai just turns his head back to the side. He feels awful.

"Nothing. Go away, slug."

And then it hits him again, as soon as he takes a step forward and loses the support of the door frame. It feels almost like one foot landed where it was supposed to, and the other somehow took a step on the wall, and now his head is rushing toward the floor.

Of course, Chuuya catches him before he can turn his migraine into a head injury.

Dazai makes no effort to move. He'd do anything to wriggle out of Chuuya's hold right now, but he's practically incapacitated right now, his eyes screwed shut in some attempt to get some control over what he's seeing.

"Dazai -"

"It's just this shitty vertigo," Dazai mumbles quietly, trying to peer his eyes open. "I'll be fine, just -"

Chuuya doesn't give him any room to defend himself. He scoops him up without a second of deliberation.

Dazai finds himself lying in one of the cots in no time at all, one in a closed room. He doesn't trust himself to open his eyes just yet, but he can tell it's dark in here. That usually helps. He probably should lie down for a while.

"Stay here and don't fucking get up," Chuuya huffs before he pulls the curtain closed, and Dazai covers his ears a bit too late, the metal rings sliding along the pole proving to be a bit too much for him. He's not sure why Chuuya was in such a rush to leave, but he hears his phone ringing off in the distance. They must be here to get Akutagawa.

Dazai curls up on his side, taking the pillow and holding it over his head to dull his senses some. It still feels like he's cascading down a waterfall inside of a wooden barrel, but now that he thinks about it, he'd rather actually be doing that. At least he has death to look forward to at the end. This is just pointless suffering.

He hears something. He's not sure what. Something falling against the tile, some sort of a struggle.

"Hey. You're okay. You're in the infirmary, at headquarters," he hears Chuuya say sternly. "Dazai's right in there. He fell asleep."

Dazai can't even remotely muster the energy to get up. Akutagawa's awake, and he's not there to negate his ability.

Get away from him, he wants to say. Akutagawa's true intentions don't matter, the fact is he could easily kill Chuuya in those first blinded moments before he realizes where he is.

But he doesn't hear anything. He doesn't hear any kind of struggle at all, not past that first bit.

Dazai scoffs to himself. Of course he's fine with Chuuya. Of course Chuuya can handle himself.

And then he hears it again. Some kind of struggle.

He forces his head up off the bed, which proves to be a massive mistake. His head swims and rolls off his shoulders, it feels like, reminding him how horribly nauseous he is, and he leans over the side of the cot to try to vomit on the floor, but he's greatly misinterpreted how far off the cot he leaned because of the vertigo, and his whole body tumbles to the floor.

He doesn't have the energy to even lift his head to vomit. Whatever he manages to choke out just slides off of his tongue and spreads on the floor next to his face.

He'd rather be blackout drunk than this.

…

"Dazai," Chuuya mumbles. He hates how concerned he sounds. He doesn't often let himself be read like that.

"I'm fine," Dazai barely manages to croak out, but he's not really sure where he is. He thinks he might be back in that same bed, which means Chuuya moved him from where he was, laying in his own vomit.

It's still dark. Dazai is lying on his back, feeling significantly less dizzy, but now he's met with what feels like the worst migraine of his life, pounding through his skull like there's no tomorrow. He whines, grabbing a fistful of the sheets he's lying on for some kind of distraction.

He feels something damp press against his cheek, and he manages to open an eye to see it's still only Chuuya, rubbing a washcloth on the side of his face. Dazai groans and tries to turn his head away. He realizes there's a washcloth laid over his forehead, too. He doesn't think he has a fever, but it does feel nice.

"Cut it out. Trying to clean your face up," Chuuya grumbles, his free hand taking Dazai's chin to turn his head back in his direction. "What the hell even happened, Dazai? I come back and you're passed out on the floor and laying in your own puke?"

"'M fine," Dazai mumbles. He's exhausted. He can't have been passed out for long.

"No you're not. This isn't normal," Chuuya huffs. His brow furrows.

"'s just a migraine," he says quietly, but he can hardly speak. His voice rattling around in his brain is making his already insanely painful headache worse. He wants to tell Chuuya it's not a big deal. He gets these all the time, they're just bad for the first few hours and then he's okay, but he can't get the words out.

Chuuya, somehow, seems to realize this.

"You should've fuckin' said so," he whispers with a click of his tongue, somehow already understanding that other voices are making it worse.

Dazai's eyes fall shut. He's grateful for it being so quiet in the infirmary tonight. He didn't see a single member of the staff so far, or any patients. Now it's just him and Chuuya.

He hears something click, and realizes Chuuya has shut off the lights in the main hall of the infirmary, too. It's almost completely dark, aside from the emergency light just barely peeking past the curtain.

"I'll come back later. Gonna report to the boss," Chuuya whispers.

There's blood on Chuuya's face. Dazai can trace the faint outline of it, but he disappears before Dazai can figure out where it's coming from. This time, not a single ring of the curtain moves on the metal bar. It's a silent exit. Dazai's impressed.

He lets go of a shaky sigh.

…

"I'm not gonna move him."

Chuuya's voice wakes him. Dazai groans, beyond annoyed to have any voice wake him up - let alone Chuuya - until he manages to remember where he is.

"He's not injured. Just leave 'im. I've got it covered," Chuuya says.

Dazai hears the hushed voices of some nurses, and as he pries his eyes open, he realizes the lights in the main hall of the infirmary are on again, spilling into the dark room he's been resting in. He wonders how long it's been. He hasn't had time to properly rest in a few weeks, at the very least, so he's lost track of time.

The nurses' voices have stopped, and Dazai hears Chuuya's footsteps.

He's still very quiet. Dazai can only hear the fabric ruffle when Chuuya slips past the curtain, and Dazai lets himself fall still again, pretending to still be asleep. He doesn't hear a sound from Chuuya at first, but soon enough, he lets out a deep sigh, and it sounds like he slides down against the wall, opposite to the curtain.

Dazai turns his head just enough that he'll be able to see Chuuya's face.

He looks exhausted. If Dazai had really just woken up, he would have thought Chuuya was dead asleep, the way his head is hanging down. For just a second, Dazai feels something akin to guilt. The blood Dazai remembered from earlier has since dried and cracked against his skin, and his skin is pale, but Dazai isn’t sure why.

"Sleeping on the floor's not good for you, Chibi," Dazai teases, his voice hoarse, hardly above a whisper.

"Fucking hell, Dazai," Chuuya growls, obviously startled, his eyes wide and fixed on Dazai. If Dazai had been any louder, he might've hit his head on the wall from the surprise, "I thought you were asleep, dammit."

"I was, but your annoying voice woke me," Dazai complains with an overdramatic sigh, laying his forearm over his eyes.

"How's your head?" Chuuya asks, evidently not interested in Dazai's taunts. He uses support from the wall to help himself get up, or rather, struggle to, and Dazai hears a quiet groan from him. He’s holding a hand against his abdomen, just for a moment.

"Worse now that you're here," Dazai mumbles under his breath, turning over on the cot. He's still not a huge fan of the lights.

"Seriously, you ugly fuckin' mackerel. Do you feel better or not?" Chuuya groans.

"A little," he admits. It's not nearly as awful as it was before. He can handle the sound of his own voice, at least. The headache is still present, and he's not sure he wants to test his luck with the vertigo and try to sit up, but he's better for now.

Dazai moves his hand back down to his side, and finds a damp washcloth beside his pillow, likely replaced at some point during his sleep. He tosses it over to Chuuya, who doesn't react nearly as quickly as he shoulder.

"You demanding motherfu-"

"Wash your face," Dazai huffs, "unsightly. What kind of executive are you?"

He's teasing, of course, but Chuuya doesn't seem to understand what he's referring to. Normally, Chuuya wouldn't dream of using something to wash his face that's already touched Dazai, but he wipes his cheek and checks the cloth, surprised to find blood.

"Oh, that's…" Chuuya mumbles to himself. He sits down on the cot.

"Akutagawa?" Dazai asks.

"He was scared," Chuuya murmurs, of course, right away to Akutagawa's defense. His fingers graze across the dried cut on his forehead. "You…you need to be more gentle with him."

Chuuya's words are lost to him. He's more concerned with the way Chuuya's looking right now, like he'd pass out any second. He's seen his head bob forward a few times now.

"Lay down," Dazai mumbles. Chuuya meets his gaze for a few moments. Dazai expects him to argue, but he thinks he's so exhausted that he doesn't even give himself a second to think of any retort. He just lays on his side at the end of the bed and curls up, like a cat. Dazai's noticed he often sleeps like that. It almost seems defensive.

"You piss me off," Chuuya murmurs, his voice already heavy with sleep, whispered. Dazai watches all the tension leave his body, but he keeps his gaze on Dazai for as long as he can, before another force makes his eyelids fall shut.

"Yeah, yeah," Dazai whispers, watching Chuuya as he starts to fall asleep.

Only a few moments later, a nurse peaks her head in through the curtains, not as careful to avoid the metal scraping as Chuuya was. Dazai grits his teeth at the sound, but he turns his head, an eyebrow raised at the woman.

"Is he asleep?" she asks so quietly Dazai can hardly hear her. There's one or two more nurses behind her. Dazai just nods, thinking it was obvious enough. "We've been trying to get him to rest all morning."

"All morning?" Dazai asks.

"Yes, he's been in here with you the whole time…he refused to rest," she says. "Please let us know if you need something, sir."

"Turn the lights back off out there, will you?" Dazai sighs, and the nurse nods fervently, disappearing past the curtains. Dazai sighs, long and annoyed, and plans on shutting his eyes and going back to sleep before he feels something warm under the heel of his foot.

At first, he’s inclined to make a joke, but all of the little things he’s noticed have come together to make him realize that Chuuya’s blood is soaking the mattress, and he’s still unconscious. Dazai forces himself to sit up to get a better look at him, and his head swims, proving he’s still not completely recovered from his migraine.

“Chuuya,” Dazai breathes out. He grabs his shoulder, but he doesn’t budge.

Dazai shouts for a nurse.

…

Chuuya’s color is finally starting to come back. Dazai takes note of that. It’s a good sign, even though he’s still fast asleep.

The nurses aren’t too worried about him not waking up. The wound on his abdomen bled a lot, and they’re a bit worried about infection, but at the moment they say it’s nothing he needs a hospital visit for.

Evidently, it was an injury caused by Akutagawa, but Dazai is at a loss for why Chuuya refused to tell anyone, let alone get it treated. He’s sure Chuuya has his own noble bullshit reason for it, something Dazai could never even dream of understanding.

“Can’t you ever just let me suffer by myself?” Dazai grumbles, his head on a pillow beside Chuuya’s. He doesn’t expect Chuuya to answer, but he hopes he subconsciously absorbs the message.

“Fuck you,” Chuuya mutters, his eyes still shut. Dazai didn’t realize that he woke up. His voice is hoarse and heavy with sleep. “Can you shut up? My head hurts.”

“Boo hoo,” Dazai huffs. He manages to fish a free hand out from under the sheets to flick Chuuya in the forehead. Chuuya groans, snatching the sheet they’re both under and pulling it over his head.

“How’s yours,” Chuuya mumbles from under the sheet.

“My what?”

“Your head. Moron,” he huffs.

“I’m fine. Go back to sleep, slug,” Dazai tells him, taking the sheet back so he can see his face. Chuuya’s glaring at him. “Stop worrying about me so much. It’s weird.”

“You’re weird. Ugh,” Chuuya grumbles, tucking his head back into the pillow. “Tell me the next time something’s wrong with you, freak. I don’t wanna find you passed out in your own puke again.”

“And I don’t want you bleeding out in the be I’m laying in again, chibi. Take your own dumb advice,” Dazai groans.

“It was deeper than I thought,” Chuuya mumbles defensively. Dazai knows it was much more complicated than that, but he won’t press for more details. Chuuya’s thought process is a mystery to him, and he’d like to keep it that way. “Dazai?”

“What, slug?” Dazai groans.

“I was trafficked too,” Chuuya mumbles. It’s much quieter than everything else he’s said, and any anger or annoyance has long since left his expression.

“I figured,” Dazai says back quietly. His chest tightens up, and he’s not sure why. He knows how common that sort of thing is in the slums, it doesn’t surprise him at all that that’s something Chuuya went through, but he’s at a loss for why Chuuya’s deciding to tell him.

“Waking up and not knowing where you are’s fucking scary,” Chuuya grumbles. “I don’t…I don’t blame Akutagawa for freaking out.”

“Never said I did, Chuuya,” Dazai reminds him. He recalls simply answering Chuuya’s question as to why Akutagawa reacts the way that he does.

“So don’t punish him. It’s not his fault,” Chuuya mumbles.

Dazai sighs. That’s what he’s getting at, then. “I won’t.”

Chuuya relaxes, just a bit, and only then Dazai realizes how tense he was.

“Will you go to sleep now?” Dazai huffs, trying to force some sort of annoyed tone to get Chuuya to comply, but he’s already halfway there. The exhaustion takes over him one more time. Chuuya’s always been one to fall asleep quickly.

Dazai brushes some of Chuuya’s overgrown bangs from his eyes. He really doesn't want to know how all of this would have gone if Chuuya wasn’t there - between Akutagawa’s injuries and Dazai being nearly completely incapacitated from his migraine, Chuuya took care of it all, and completely neglected himself in the process.

He’s far too selfless. Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever understand it.

#u guys are so funny with ur suffering dazai requests I love it #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd #illness #sick #sickfic #ill #fever #emeto #vomiting #migraine #headache #vertigo #akutagawa #dazai #chuuya #skk #soukoku #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #hurt/comfort #fluff and angst #injury #whump #ask box #my fanfictions #bsd headcanons

[writing-whump]

I'm in the fluffiest mood lately, so how about a no stakes sickfic. Movie night and the trip (Matt, Sel/Zaya) are home and decide to put on something like spiderverse or smth else, point being, either Isaiah or Matt gets super motion sick from it

Something fluffy it is. Thank you for the ask, Soup!!💙

Cinema sickness

The middle position was the best.

Matthew didn't notice when exactly they started to fight for it like that, but it was increasingly a place one of them got as special treat.

Like of course, when Isaiah was having his not so heart episodes that Seline still didn't know the cause of or when he was emotional. Then it wad Seline herself with a fever. She also usurped the spot most openly when she was well.

Matthew was a little too embarrassed to be that forward. Not when he was feeling fine.

They bought a camera projector they have been saving for a few months. Seline dreamed about the home cinema early on and Isaiah was such a movie buff, it was only to be expected.

Matthew found the cinema experience tiresome because of all the people, so their own private living room cinema because of the projector? Sounded fun. Though the cinema made for good people training.

"You guys didn't watch the second Spiderverse movie yet, right?" Seline said, taking control of the chromcast with her phone to put it on.

"I didn't see the first one either," Matthew grumbled as she climbed up between him and Isaiah who was scrolling through IMDb. He had a thing for ratings, while Seline loved comments and spoilers.

Matthew considered himself the only sane and commonly invested movie person. He liked to get surprised.

"The animation is out of this world. The first movie got an Oscar for it too, but they went overboard and beyond with the second. Each universe has a different animation style! It's the perfect movie for a cinema." Seline waved her phone in front of Matthew enthusiastically.

"Isn't animation for children?"

Isaiah and Seline both gave him scandalised looks. "In what hole did you live until now for such an outdated opinion?" Isaiah asked teasingly.

Matthew rolled his eyes. Didn't look like he would have a say today.

"I don't think you need the first one to understand," Seline said thoughtfully as she put the movie on. "They explain it pretty well, plus I can always explain things to you if you need it."

"You are still more of a fan of the first one, aren't you?" Isaiah said, bumping against her. They were sitting shoulder to shoulder, all three of them.

"I think the character development is simply better there? Also the relationships. The focus on bad mentor and a confused kid and different father figured...this one goes more into the romance storyline-"

"The focus just shifts from him to her's all-"

Matthew shook his head. "Alright, quit it. I want to see for myself."

The movie looked like a very expensive video game. The animation really was something else. Matthew understood quickly they would not be able to film stuff like this for real.

So many colours and so much quick movement. Their living room wall was basically flickering, going from one side of the colour spectrum to the next at rapid speed that had his head spinning.

How could there be so much happening on the screen? It was downright impossible to catch it all.

His eyes felt tired from it. It was all so fast and coupled with the music it was downright aggressive.

Matthew didn't notice when, but the left side of his head felt like someone held it in a vice grip. The more he watched and tried to make sense of what was happening, the more his left temple pounded in unison with his heart.

He found himself shaking his head to clear his vision, rubbing at the side of his face. He even tried closing one eye and then the other. But the images just kept coming and there was some kind of dramatic scene with spidermen all over the screen and damn, his head really hurt.

Seline was leaning her head against Isaiah's shoulder, her legs stretched out and touching them both. Her lap seemed very inviting.

Matt leaned to the side experimentally. He wanted to go slow and see how that would be taken, but the possibility of getting some cover from the screen was getting more irresistible by the second.

He slumped down into Seline's lap, twisting so his face was against her stomach. The lights were all over the living room, reaching even to the windows and the kitchen. No hiding from them.

Matthew closed his eyes, face buried in Seline's belly. He secured her from squirming with his arm over her torso, stretched out all the way to Isaiah's tight. If the other wolf wanted to protest or made any move of displeasure, Matt would quickly notice from that position.

His head hurt. Why just the left side of his face? It was tingling.

Everything was moving too much. The dizzying spinning sensation didn't quite go away, although he had his eyes squeezed shut and wasn't looking.

Not to mention he was starting to feel vaguely queasy, his dinner sloshing in his stomach angrily.

"Mattie, you aren't watching," Seline admonished softly. Her hand went into his hair though, petting it softly. He melted under her touch, grateful for a pleasant feeling to focus on.

Suddenly there was the incredible sound of the movie stopping.

"Matt? You tired?" Isaiah asked, shifting somewhere behind his head.

"Mhhhhhhhhmmmm." Was he that obvious? Suspicious? He wanted to stay huddled there in the softness, thanks.

Isaiah's hand landed on his arm. The older wolf reserved his touches for when Matthew felt sick. But they were so physically close these days, because of Seline of course, no other reason, Matthew kind of craved it, even when he didn't need it.

Or maybe it would count now. But he didn't want to ruin the celebratory mood by being a baby. It was a stupid children's movie, for God's sake.

"We can just call it a night, I think. Continuation tomorrow," Isaiah suggested, ever the peace keeper trying to accommodate everyone.

It sounded nice to not continue the movie in any case. But going to bed created a new set of problems.

Matthew would have to move.

Seline wiggled under his head. "You are heavy," she said playfully. She seemed more open to the gesture than Matthew expected. For no reason at all.

Matthew hummed non-committalally not sure how to explain or escape his predicament without losing his dinner. His stomach was churning angrily and his head was still pounding, sound or not.

Isaiah chucked. "You can sleep here for all I care, but at least let the lady get her PJs."

Matthew huffed at that, but opening his mouth wasn't a good idea. A little burp escaped, muffled against Seline's ribcage.

Seline's fingers in his hair stilled. "Mattie? You feeling alright?"

Did she notice that he got burpy when he was about to spew? He could just be full. Damn it all, the risks of living with people so closely.

Another burp, this time a little louder and wetter. Matthew pressed his face closer into Seline's shirt. It smelled of rain and ozone and grapefruit.

He felt both of their gazes on him without looking. They were probably mouthing something to each other at this point. He could picture it vividly.

The pain in his left temple spiked and he moaned quietly.

Seline's cold hand cupped his nape, stroking his neck up to his cheek where she could reach.

"...If I move, I'll hurl," he admitted finally, figuring he should inform her of the danger she was currently in.

The sigh came from Isaiah though, as the raven haired man moved gently away from the sofa into the direction of the kitchen.

"What's wrong? Is your belly upset?"

Jesus, that sounded childish when she said it like that. Not to mention that weird new Mattie nickname.

"Headhurtss," he manged to get through his gritted teeth, still entirely muffled against her stomach. It was quiet, churning only gently, like a purring cat.

"Has it been hurting for long?" She sounded amazingly calm considering he was lying across her lap. "You seemed fine to me," she said with puzzlement. He could imagine the way her forehead creased, a little wrinkle between her eyebrows as she thought back about the evening.

He opened his mouth the respond, but another burp rushed out instead. Pocket of air against her stomach. Saliva was flooding his mouth.

Matthew loosed his hold on her reluctantly, turning so he would be lying on her knees. He covered his eyes with his hands. "Ow."

Seline placed her hands on both sides of his face. "Where?" Her voice was impossibly soft.

He pushed her cool hand - how was it so cool? - against the left side of his forehead.

He felt more than saw two of her fingertips on his temple, making tiny circular movements against it. She bowled over him, her lips hovering over his ear. "How is this? Should I stop?"

"No, that's nice," he said, relaxing a little. The gentle pressure felt good against the pain, though his stomach was still roiling.

Isaiah came back then, the sofa dipping under his weight as he knelt on Matthew's other side. "I got a bowl if you need it."

"Not the nice popcorn bowl, come on," Seline complained, lifting her head.

"It's big and deep," Isaiah protested, sounding amused.

Matthew groaned at the banter. The headache was giving away a bit at the message, but the nausea rose steadily no matter what he did. He felt air in his throat and spit flooding his mouth. He didn't want to move away from Seline's fingers or the attention, but his stomach cramped angrily then.

It had him shooting up into general direction of up. Except he felt dizzy right away, swaying and moaning.

Isaiah grabbed his shoulder to steady him.

Matthew held his eyes shut against the spinning of the room, trusting him to have the bowl at the right place, cause he couldn't aim. His head exploded on his left side with the sensation and puke rocketed into his mouth.

He was right to trust him. The vomit made a splashing sound against the bowl without him even looking, Isaiah holding it under hid chin.

Seline's hands came to cup his forehead from behind. "You are okay, you are okay. Just get it up."

Matthew gave in to his body completely then, a little more voluntarily at the support. His senses were all over the place. He couldn't tell which was was up and down and his left side of the face as pounding and burning from warmth.

More waves of vomit came, easier to bring up now that he wasn't fighting it. When he thought he would catch a break, a loud burp brought in one more splash and then two more. His back arched, only Isaiah's hold on his shoulder keeping him upright. The sofa was moving like a water bed.

When he was finished, he spat the rest of the foul taste and slumped blindly back into Seline's lap. He wanted her nice scent and her cool hands and the little message against his temple that had a drilling machine against it.

"Better now?" she asked, her hands on his face just like he wanted, stroking his cheek and forehead.

"Mhhhhhhhhhmmmm." There was a relief from the nausea, but he was still afraid to open his eyes.

He could vaguely sense Isaiah's movements as he got rid of the bowl, returned to position it next to Matthew. Then circled around, fitting himself into the opening between Matthew's side and the sofa.

Matthew wasn't sure when vomiting because a group activity, or if he shouldn't apologise or feel embarrassed for making a fool of himself.

He sighed contendly as Seline went back to massaging his temple. Isaiah was rubbing his arm gently, as if to remind him he was there.

And who was Matthew to refuse the middle spot?

#sickfic #motion sick #emeto #hurt/comfort #whump #werewolf wip #my writing #Matt

[starpirateee]

I don't know how you feel abt sickfics, but...

(pre-banana, but after they got together btw)

I have this scenario in my head where Owen has a really bad headache, which he has dealt with a million times before. He tries to hide it and passes out in front of Curt who is now worried out of his mind. Owen keeps on insisting he's fine and Curt's like "ok clearly not. I care abt you you know," and Owen is just like in so much pain the whole time.

Oh yeah did I mention it's angsty as fuck lol

I'm quite happy to do a sickfic, anon! And I'm also quite happy to do this sickfic, that's a strong ass idea you've got there

Owen would say he'd pretty much gotten used to the way the state of his vision- and by extension, the world itself- changed so quickly. One moment, everything was fine. Perfectly clear, perfectly in focus. All it took was one little spark, and then it was a mess of blur and oversaturation, like a badly handled photograph.

Sometimes, it would feel like he was trying to walk on a surface not meant to support his weight. That he had to tread precariously, or risk falling into the aether. But he'd gotten used to that tightrope walk, he handled it often enough to make it look remotely normal, even from the outside. Not a lot of people tended to notice when he was having a particularly bad day, so he never really told anyone.

Something of that nature happened mid-mission prep, while he and Curt were trying to make ends of the briefing. Curt was browsing, trying to figure out just why he was needed. Owen was trying to focus, for all it was worth, but he'd neglected to pack his reading glasses for the trip, and had realised all too late. He'd known that was going to cause some kind of problem somewhere down the line, but he'd never quite been sure of when. Until that point, he was locked in a dangerous sway, where a push to the wrong side would spell bad things for him and his ability to get anything done.

It started with a tightness behind his eyes, spreading throughout his brow and down to the bridge of his nose. If he didn't do something about it soon, that tightness would spread and delve in deeper. If he was lucky, it would just result in a complete blurring of his vision, shutting him down before he could get too far and make this worse for himself. That's what he could hope for, anyways, but he was never that lucky, and he was notorious for pushing himself too far and ending up in an even worse mess than before.

He started digging for viable sounding excuses that he could use against Curt. Maybe he could get away with- or perhaps-

No, no. He was going to have to swallow his pride, and just admit outright what the hell was going on before it was too late. That was the only thing that would work against even someone like Curt, who was still sharp despite not being the sharpest person he'd ever met. He knew to detect a lie; he was better than most at telling when someone was lying, and that meant that any excuse that would normally work on someone else might not have worked on him at all.

Curt didn't give himself the credit for his own intelligence sometimes, and sometimes it was just drowned out by his enormous ego, but that was entirely besides the point. He was smart, and he did know what he was talking about at the best of times. So, this excuse had to be one of the most airtight he'd ever come up with. (Owen had prided himself on his ability to lie, before. He was good at playing a bluff, and good with balancing out the truth so people didn't know where the falsehoods layed among his words. The first time Curt had figured him out was an immense shock to the system, and he'd likely never forget it. That was also the first time Curt had ever gotten him flustered…)

He grabbed a pen from their haphazard layout of files and documents, and tapped it against the table. When Curt was focused- really, really focused- it was hard to break it. The sound of his voice alone wouldn't have done any good, so he needed something that didn't sound as if it belonged in the room, and the pen was his best bet. Sure enough, Curt blinked, and looked up from whatever he was trying to get his head around, straight towards Owen.

"Hey, Curt…" He stopped himself mid sentence, almost deciding that it was a futile endeavour and would only lead to more questions. But, this time around, he didn't care that Curt's lack of attention to detail would probably lead to him not remembering that he needed glasses, this was more important than keeping his pride fully intact. Besides, it was Curt. They literally told each other everything. Why was this so different?

He pointed to a specific spot on Curt's file that he thought looked similar to his own. It was roughly the same sized paragraph of barely legible blur, at least. "What does that say? Your agency always prints things so bloody small, and I can't make mine out…"

Curt squinted over at his file, then cast his gaze back down to his own. There was nothing particularly off about either of them, per se, or not that he had noticed anyway. Owen was the one with the attention to detail of the two of them, if he thought there was somethhing wrong with the files, then there probably was something wrong with the files. Maybe the typesetting was off, and he just hadn't noticed, or maybe he'd noticed it was harder to read because it was smudged…

"I can- uh- write that out? If you want? It seems fine to me…"

Owen scanned the document one more time, slightly taken aback that Curt would choose to offer something like that in the first place. Still nothing, and at this point, the tightness had devolved into a dull ache that was starting to take hold of his head like a parasite. His eyes felt way too heavy in their sockets, and the muscles in his face felt like they were working overtime just to keep him looking vaguely alert and like nothing was wrong.

"Here-" Curt took a spare pen and a piece of paper before Owen could think to protest, spun his file around with one hand, and tried to transcribe what was written there. They would have to burn this later, but most of these documents were getting destroyed anyway, what was one more piece of paper?

Owen was exceedingly glad that Curt had always had particularly large handwriting. He wrote in print, too, which made things a lot easier. There may have been a protest if Curt's hand was any less clear than it was, but he had been blessed with such clarity, and that was a godsend when it came down to it. So he just watched, silently, as Curt scribbled out every word of the briefing line by line, trying to make it as accurate as possible. God, Owen knew for a fine fact that he didn't deserve this, someone who would be willing to do something so menial just so that something could be understood better. It was a wonder he'd found Curt at all…

Imperfect as he was, and cocky as he got at almost every opportunity he could muster, he was quite a gentleman when he wanted to be, and quite the charmer to go with. The two of them had found each other through a series of crazy circumstances, and their lives had done nothing but improve ever since. He thought about that until a slip of paper was pushed in front of him, along with the file. Owen nodded gratefully and started to take a scan of the briefing, as well as the images that had been paperclipped to the original copy. He cleared his throat. Something so small shouldn't mean so much, and yet…

"Thanks, Curt."

"Don't mention it."

For curt, it was weird. Owen was always the type of guy never to complain about the work. Never how much of it was set, or having to do the boring office tasks at the end of the espionage, or even the way some of the briefings were worded… He was content in getting his head down and just… Getting it done, no matter the reason or how long it would take him. To see him like this, to see him actually complain about somethign being apparently illegible- especially when it very much wasn't- was a little weird. "You okay there?" He asked, deciding that he was too curious not to want to find out.

Owen looked up from reading Curt's handwriting a little too fast, and immediately regretted it. For a moment way longer than it should've been, everything spun a little too violently, and he had to pinch the bridge of his nose to try and alleviate it. "Sorry?"

"Are you okay? You've… Never complained about the state of the files before, and I've seen 'em worse than this."

"I'm fine. It must be… a change in the typesetting equipment, or something." That being said, he could only barely make out Curt's writing, too. Something about Madrid, and a few names of those he supposed were their targets… It didn't exactly help that there were no imperfections in the transcript, so he couldn't blame it on the ink leaking or Curt's hand being unsteady… That was just typical. It was perfect. Curt had made sure to get it right down to the last detail, and that was infuriating, only because now he didn't know what to say to get himself out of this.

He tried pushing the written document away from himself a little. That seemed to help, for the time being. It was a little clearer from a little further away. God, he needed an aspirin, and fast. Did they even have something like that in here? Probably not… This place barely had enough room for the two of them to do their jobs. It was barely more than a board room, where the two of them had gotten together to make sense of what they were supposed to be doing.

Slowly, and with more care than he had ever executed over such a task, he stood from the table and walked over to the little sink tucked away in the corner. Curt watched him from his position on the table, his brow drawn in concern. He wasn't going to pretend he didn't notice the blatant lethargy dragging Owen's movements to as slow as they had been in a while, or the way he seemed to wince as he stood, angling his head closer to the ground. If he asked again, Owen would just say he was fine. He always did.

He'd found him bleeding and bruised outside of a hotel once, and that had led to enough questions to last a lifetime, but Owen kept insisting he was fine until Curt literally led him inside and he got to attending to his various wounds. Apparently, it was a mission gone wrong, but that was all he'd admitted on the matter for weeks. It had taken Curt the better part of a fortnight to finally get him to admit that he'd been found out because he came dangerously close to blacking out on the scene, and they'd taken advantage of his vulnerability.

While this was nowhere near as concerning as getting mobbed by a bunch of thugs, Curt still found himself worried. The way Owen was moving didn't seem right. It almost felt like he was being forced into making his body cooperate through some unwillingness or other trying to keep him in place.

Owen poured himself a glass of water, his hand resting just a little too reliantly against the tap. He could feel Curt's gaze on him, but he didn't have the strength to care. In the abscence of anything that would actually help this headache of his, hydration was the only thing he had left that he could rely upon. It wasn't like it was going to miraculously fix the blackout pounding, or the fact that he'd insisted on going on that much that he could now barely see… But it was a start, at least.

It was cold. The cool of it hit his head immediately, and he had to physically stop himself from screwing his eyes shut and lettting it get to him. God only knows he'd done this enough times to get used to it, and used to it, he defintely felt he should be. Still, it didn't stop him hating every second, especially since presently, his vision hadn't yet decided to be entirely clear or entirely unclear, and was switching between the two at a rather constant and rather annoying rate.

He set the glass on the side. He could feel how remarkably close he was to blacking out. It had suddenly gotten a lot warmer since he stood up, and everything rushing around in his head had created something rather reminiscent of a brick wall up there, making his head feel heavy.

He didn't last much longer after that.

One moment, Curt was considering asking him if he was okay again, and the next, his instinct had forced him to rush towards him before he could hit the ground. His chair clattered behind him, and he swore under his breath as he darted towards Owen and managed to catch him before he hit the ground.

He'd fully lost his grip on the world, and the next half a minute was among the longest Curt had ever experienced. Normally, he would've considered it incredibly romantic to have someone wake up in his arms, but he wasn't going to use this as his example of such romanticism.

After that painful half a minute, Curt felt Owen shift in his arms, and his gaze immediately moved down to him as he seemed to realise what was going on, and who had broken his fall. His eyes went wide, and he tried to push himself up.

"Jesus-! Owen, take it easy!"

Owen resigned eventually, leaning back against Curt. While he got used to the state of the world, and the crushing headache making the overhead lights so goddamn bright, against Curt was a good place to keep resting.

"You're not allowed to say you're fine anymore, you know that?"

Owen tried to laugh, but he didn't have a lot of effort left in him. "It happens all the time, don't worry about it."

"Don't worry about it? You just blacked out on me! What the hell am I supposed to do if not think that's a bit concerning?"

"Rush of blood to the head, that's all." He propped himself up and rose to his feet, grabbing the glass of water and moving back to the table as if nothing happened. Curt watched him go, and then regained his own seat and tried to pretend that was remotely normal.

"At least tell me what happened," he insisted, unable to find it in him to re look at the notes.

Owen sighed. "Forgot to pack my glasses, trying to read this gave me one hell of a migraine."

"Glasses? I didn't know you-" Curt did stop to think about that, and realised that he had, in fact, seen Owen in a pair of glasses before. Thin framed, silver, perfectly round... "Ah."

"That's why I-"

"Oh. You didn't want to-"

"No..."

"I could just.... Tell you what they want us to do. Your memory's good enough."

#spies are forever #saf #curtwen #agent curt mega #owen carvour #void offering #star mail #nova's tags → #owen with chronic migraines is something that can be so personal actually #is that projecting? #i suppose it is to some degree #anyway. projecting on owen aside #i do love a good fic where curt gets worried (said like i don't do that very thing often enough)

[tired-of-being-nice]

not allowed to die (+ i love you)

febuwhump day 29!!!!!! we made it guys!!!! this is a combo of the actual prompt (not allowed to die) and an alt prompt (i love you), and oh boy, i've been planning it out for a LONG time >:D let's go!

content: some questionably healthy relationships, sickfic, fever specifically, mentions of death

Ray brings them towels, which Milo is disgustingly grateful for—it's a good thing Ray has so many favors to pay back, they have to keep reminding themself, or they'd owe her after all this.

But it's nice to no longer feel quite so much like a miserable wet cat, and they and Ray conduct in whispers a negotiation of the exact terms of this. Much of their relationship, really, has been built off of owed favors and transactions—it is precisely this that made Milo go to Ray first. They know that she will keep her end of a bargain and not try to find a way to screw them over with it, and in this way Ray is the closest thing Milo has to a friend.

The upshot of the negotiation is that Ray goes to get blankets and an Advil, and they bundle up Coren in the blankets and wake it up enough to convince it to take the Advil, and then they sit there for a long time. Ray actually gets out a book and starts reading. Coren dozes. Milo tries very, very hard not to doze off as well.

"I'm gonna go make myself something," Ray announces abruptly. "Should I make you something, too? Some soup?"

Milo would really, really like that, but they only have so many favors left, and they don't want it to swing the other way so they owe Ray. They shake their head.

Ray nods in understanding and goes over towards the kitchen. Milo sits. Glances over at Coren, cozy in its blanket nest. Looks down at their hands. Looks back to Coren.

Ah, fuck it. They peel back a few layers of blanket and tuck themself in next to Coren. It's still pretty out of it, but it doesn't seem to mind. It makes a pleased chirping noise and flops over on Milo.

Milo knows it's not exactly a good thing to do—it's actually probably really fucked up, they observe distantly, to use the shell of your former friend for heating. But fuck, they dragged it all the way here, and it was the kind of cold out that sinks into your bones and makes you think you'll never get warm again, and Coren always ran warm and with the fever they're even more so (and that's fucked up too, come on Milo they're literally sick and you're just– what are you doing) but it's too late, so there, Milo's done many bad things over the years and comparatively speaking this isn't much worse.

Coren is so warm. The warmth is slowly creeping back into Milo's skin, and their breathing is slow and even, and if Milo closes their eyes they can almost pretend they're back before any of this happened, that they're safe and warm on Coren's old couch and they're going to watch a movie.

(Not quite. Not exactly the same. Coren smells like blood and antiseptic, not like comfort and coffee, and it's so thin—god, don't they ever feed it over there? Milo hugs it closer, all the same. Close enough.)

"Coren," Milo whispers. "You in there? At all? Anything left?"

Coren doesn't respond.

"Coren," Milo says, now with a sense of urgency pressing at their throat, "please, even if you don't know me anymore, just– fuck, don't die on me, okay? You are not allowed to die on me. I'm forbidding it, it's forbidden. You will not die. Understand?"

Coren stirs a little, which startles Milo– they mean to actually wake it. "Mmm. Miley?"

Milo feels a jolt of shock run through their body. Coren hasn't called them that in years, are they dreaming or did it really just—

"Mileyyy," Coren repeats, sleepy grin spreading across its face. It bats a hand roughly in their direction. "What'dja say?"

Milo has to take a second to steady themself before they can respond. "Just– that– um. That you're not allowed to die."

"Oh," Coren says, blinking one eye slowly open and then closed again. "Mmokay. I'll do my best." It yawns, head lolling to the side. "I love youuu."

Milo feels like their insides have turned to ice. There's a faint humming in their ears, and they half-feel themself gently brush a strand of hair away from Coren's face.

"No you don't, Coren," Milo says gently. "That's just the fever talking. Go back to sleep, okay?"

Coren frowns. "But–"

"Shhh," Milo says, running their hands through its hair, and Coren sighs and relaxes into their touch, falling quickly back asleep.

Milo wishes they could do the same.

taglist: @whumpsoda!

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday29 #sickfic #not allowed to die #fever whump #oc: coren #oc: milo #oc: ray #milo my love you have oh so many problems #also YAY I DID IT!!!!!! #not every day but almost all the ones i wanted to do!!!! #i set a goal and met it!!! WAHOO

[melandrops]

I am sick af and miserable so i would love to see some goldenpunk sickfic or hurt/comfort if you're still willing to write them <3

For you, avi, of course <3

Pavitr slides into their apartment through the window, his book bag hanging off his shoulder. He tugs his shoes off and sets them where all the other shoes go. Miles left one of his sneakers there. How he managed to leave with just one shoe on, Pavitr didn’t know. Sometimes Miles was a mystery best left unsolved.

He finds Hobie on the couch playing Assassin’s Creed, slumped in the way he always is. Pavitr raps his knuckles against the walls to get his boyfriend’s attention. Hobie looks up at him with such pitiful eyes it almost pulls a laugh out of Pavitr’s lips.

“You okay?” He asks, and Hobie presses a button to pause his game.

“I’m sick,” Hobie replies.

Worry floods Pavitr, but he reasons that if Hobie had really been feeling ill he could have messaged him. He approaches his boyfriend and kneels beside him, already pressing the back of his hand to Hobie’s forehead. “Symptoms?”

“Uh,” Hobie pauses, furrowing his brow, “Sore throat, ‘ve got the chills like nothin’ else, and bit of congestion.”

Pavitr frowns, and leans in. “Poor Hobie,” he drawls, a little bit playful and a little bit sincere, “You woke up feeling like this?”

Hobie leans into the touch at his cheek, and nods. “Dunno what happened.”

“Probably just picked up a bug. No need to worry too much.” Pavitr leans in to kiss Hobie, soft and warm. Hobie makes a small noise in the back of his throat. Pavitr rubs a thumb along Hobie’s pronounced cheekbone. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“Don’t suppose I could convince you to lay with me,” Hobie mumbles, his voice raspy. He clears it with a grimace.

Pavitr shouldn’t. He’s got classes he can’t really afford to skip if he gets sick. But Maya Auntie had always said that love makes a man weak, and Hobie looks like he’s been put through the ringer. “I can arrange that,” he replies, pressing another light kiss to Hobie’s forehead. “Let me get you some ginger tea. I think we still have some lying around. And I’ll start you up on some soup.”

“Soup,” Hobie says with a scowl.

Pavitr smiles at that, and pats Hobie’s cheek. “Yes, I know, soup is essentially hot cereal and cereal is disgusting cold, let alone hot. We’ve heard the routine before. You need to get your strength up, though. I’ll just make you some broth with chicken and some veggies in it.”

Hobie’s scowl deepens, but he doesn’t argue. Pavitr can’t resist another kiss, and so he goes in for one. “Let me get you some tea, and then we can watch something.”

Pavitr busies himself with the tea, though the slight ache in his ankles begs him to rest. He’d broken it a week ago, and superhealing is superhealing but apparently it doesn’t resolve every day aches and pains. Quite an annoyance.

He returns to see an episode of Hoarders loaded up, and the sight makes him smile. Hobie’s taste in movies will be erratic and inexplicable today, tomorrow and three years down the line.

“Alright, come here you big baby,” Pavitr says, sitting on the couch with a mug of tea. He gestures with his free hand, prompting Hobie to crawl forward and lean into his side. He pushes the tea into Hobie’s hands, and the poor dear burrows even deeper into Pavitr’s side. Unable to resist, Pavitr turns his head to plant a kiss on Hobie’s head. “I expect the same treatment when I inevitably catch your germs.”

Hobie hums in assent. Pavitr grins and starts the show.

#fic requests #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse #chaipunk #goldenpunk #hobie brown #pavitr prabhakar

[captain-writes]

If you’re taking prompts, can you do something with Jimmy overworking himself to the point of exhaustion and the other empires step in? I love sickfics with hurt/comfort.

Did I write this in less than an hour? Yes. It was wonderful. I've also posted the oneshot here on my Ao3 account!! Thanks so much for the prompt!

Jimmy wasn't sure quite what had happened, but he knew that he hadn't been in his bed with his cats sleeping on him the last time he opened his eyes.

Even more, he knew that no one lived with him, so the sounds of people downstairs and the smells of food coming from his kitchen were unusual and somewhat startling. He didn't quite have the energy to panic about it, however. So he pulled himself out of bed and began padding down the stairs, Norman cradled in his arms as Flick scampered along behind him.

Coming down to the base of the staircase, Jimmy blinked as he took in the sight of Sausage and Scott cooking in his kitchen as Lizzie and Joel played with Hermes in his living room. Shelby, Katherine, and Joey were sat on his couch near them as they seemed to be repairing his armor, which caused him to realize that the familiar weight of the protective gear wasn't pushing him down. Pixlriffs and Fwhip were going through some sort of paperwork over at his kitchen table. False was tinkering with his elytra and chatting with both of them. Gem and Oli had joined Sausage and Scott in the kitchen, but instead of cooking, they were pulling things out of storage and putting them back, presumably to sort the items.

"What are you all doing here?"

"Jimmy!" The rulers seemed to clamor over themselves to acknowledge the sheriff, causing the man to pull back from the attention. As he stepped back, his ankle caught the lowest stair, causing him to slip backward and land on his butt, now propped up by the fact that he was sitting on the third stair up from the floor.

"Everyone give him some space," Fwhip instructed, the man's voice carrying an edge that they didn't often see from the admin. "Jimmy, I found you collapsed out by the train. We were worried."

"Collapsed?" After a moment of thought, the story didn't surprise Jimmy as much as it should have. He had been over near the train earlier to deal with a few tasks that had cropped up, but he couldn't remember ever leaving the area.

"Have you been feeling okay, Sheriff?" Gem asked gently, approaching slowly and putting the back of her hand on Jimmy's forehead. The cool feel of her hand was soothing and Jimmy's eyes slipped shut only for him to hear: "Oh, Jimmy, you're burning up."

"I'll be fine. I've got stuff to do, gotta finish Tumble Town."

Gem frowned, unseen by the man in front of her, "You shouldn't be pushing yourself, Jimmy. You need to rest. If you've got a fever, you're not going to get better unless you allow yourself time to heal."

"Don't have time though. Already behind, not going to finish at this rate."

"What do you need to finish? If we can help, then maybe you could rest?" Katherine offered.

Jimmy frowned, a moment of uncertainty as he tried to figure out what to say, "Need to... need, uh, I have a list. It's in my vest pocket?"

Shelby recovered the article of clothing from the pile of garments that she sat next to, pulling a set of papers out of the pocket. It was then that everyone realized that it was not one page, but several, filled completely with to-do lists and duties that the sheriff had taken on.

Flipping through the pages, the witch finally looked up at Jimmy with concern etched into her features, "When do you find time to sleep, Jimmy?"

"But I just did?"

"You passed out!"

"But, I was sleeping? I had things to do, empire to run. You know how it is," Jimmy's nonchalance only seemed to concern his fellow rulers more, which confused him greatly.

"Jimmy, look at me?" Pix requested, drawing the younger man's attention his way. "Your health is always more important than your empire. Or anything else. You were collapsed on the ground in the middle of the day in the mesa. That can be dangerous."

"I have to finish my work though?"

"Jimmy, most of us don't even do all the things on this list. And you have things listed to do in other empires to help us."

"I'm the Sheriff. I have to make sure that everyone else's empires are safe and their citizens are doing well. Chromia's had a pillager problem recently and there's a spider nest that I haven't cleared out yet near the Eversea."

“You apparently also check in on some of our villagers at least once a week. And you have a task listed here that just says ‘double food supply’. Has Tumble Town been having trouble getting food?”

“Doesn’t really rain a lot here, crops don’t grow super well. We’ve got enough, but there’s some new families that have moved in and Lyra and Sara both had children last season. We’ve got more mouths to feed, but it’s been a bad harvest so far. Not really looking good going forward.”

“Oh Jimmy, you know I’ve got extra food. Dawn had a good harvest this year, we could easily help you!”

“Right. Yeah,” Jimmy agreed, though the vibrancy seemed to drop out of his voice.

Scott blinked, set down the utensils in his hand, and left the kitchen. He grabbed Jimmy’s chin with just enough force to direct the man’s movements, but not enough to hurt, moving the man’s gaze upward.

“You are not failing your empire. You are not failing us. You are doing everything you can and that’s enough. You don’t have to do extra things to make up for whatever you think you’re not doing. Jimmy, you are doing so well. But we’re worried because you’re doing so much extra that it’s hurting you.”

Jimmy searched Scott’s eyes for some hint as to the level of honesty that the collector was showing. Finding no sign of a lie, Jimmy began to blink back the tears of exhaustion that were finally making their appearance, the sheriff unable to hold them back any longer.

“Scott, I’m so tired.” The sheriff's words were weak, but the admittance and honesty rang loudly through the already quiet house.

Scott smiled gently, “Go rest, we’ve got you.”

#empires smp #jimmy solidarity #empires jimmy #esmp #jimmy solidaritygaming #esmp jimmy #empires season two #empires smp s2 #sheriff jimmy #empires season 2

[pokemonispain]

Do you have any sickfic headcanons for Yanqing or Luocha! I always sort of shipped JingLuo with Yanqing as their son T-T so the family hurt/comfort vibe!!

Sorry this took me so long anon so much life stuff has happened 😭.

So I do not have any for Luocha at the moment although I do adore him and ship JingLuo quite a bit. For Yanqing however oh boy do I have quite a few, I adore him he’s just the cutest little guy, I wanna carry him around 😭

So for regular sickfic

•I feel like Yanqing’s biggest reasons he gets sick are overwork, combined with like recklessness. For example training in bad weather with his swords. While when it comes to over work he is always rushing to prove himself especially in regards to Jing Yuan’s approval .

•He definitely gets quieter when sick. And it’s something incredibly noticeable as well.

•would try to hide it to keep working but Jing Yuan would be able to take one glance at him and it’s all over.

•definitely prone to fainting when his fever is too hot (he’s smol help him) which has given Jing Yuan a pretty bad scare before since the only warning Yanqing gives is a small groan or strained whimper.

•Gets sleepy easily when sick for sure but also prone to nightmares.

•I feel like if they’re in private and he sees Yanqing fighting to stay he would just pick Yanqing up and carry him to bed.

•I feel like if Yanqing is coughing he’d cough like a cat trying to cough up a hair ball which is a funny image to me🤣

•Jing Yuan would either take his temperature by bending down and pressing his forehead to Yanqing’s or just cupping his cheek. It’s just really cute to me❤️

•If this is a fic where like Jing Yuan is dating Luocha or they’re married etc I can definitely see Luocha being the one always prepared for whatever when Yanqing gets sick.

Has like 500 plus different herbal remedies and a bunch more medicinal knowledge on hand.

•Would probably place Yanqing’s hair in a braid so he won’t have to worry about it too much. Would hum to him and stroke his hair while he sleeps.

•I hc that Jing Yuan probably holds Yanqing’s hand when he’s having a nightmare. And is also not above like gathering Yanqing in his arms and just holding him while waiting for the poor boy to calm down.

Now for Emeto hc

•of course I have to start with my fave and that is that Yanqing often has to be held up by the waist when throwing up specifically because his retches are so violent that he will nearly topple when he’s already unsteady due to the fever, nausea and queasiness.

I saw the size differences between him and Luocha but especially between him and jing yuan and have not known peace since then.

•Yanqing is definitely seems like the type to give those like wet hiccups when nauseous. You know the kind👀👁️

•does his best to get to the bathroom because he doesn’t want to make a mess nor anyone really seeing him but it’s a toss up on whether or not he actually manages to get there.

•in terms of noise I feel like Yanqing is somewhere in the middle because he tried his damnedest to muffle it.

•has definitely gotten it in his hair while trying to pull his hair back 😭 poor thing

•the type who likes back rubs without a doubt but nearly refuses to ask for them

#authors note #intermission #Yanqing sickness hc #I love him so much you have no idea❤️

[darthhopereblogs]

Public emeto/sickfic prompts

I just thought I’d make this list. Enjoy! (Hope you like commentary along with your Whump prompts)

You don’t need to credit me if you use these prompts, but I’d love to read whatever you write!

Warnings! Mentions of emeto/vomiting and likely a lot of embarrassment. (These are non-kink)

Character A has to give a presentation/speech/whatever your imagination can think up but they wake up with laryngitis or a sore throat and can’t speak. So, they take some meds for it. However, they neglected to read the label which states that side effects can include nausea and vomiting. It doesn’t hit them until they are standing in front of a whole crowd of people. Use your imagination as to whether they make it through or not.

Character A goes to work/school feeling bad. As the day goes on they start to feel worse. Then, during a quite session (silent reading/work time, etc) their stomach starts to make all sorts of sick noises. Bonus points if the character is normally really introverted and never makes much noise.

Character A and B are doing something for B’s birthday. Character A woke up feeling ill but doesn’t want to miss B’s birthday, they also don’t want their other friends to worry. So, when the friends start to eat, A forces themself to eat as well. This only makes them feel worse.

Character A has an office job where they have to work long hours, maybe something really important is going on or maybe they have a deadline to reach, I don’t know, it’s you’re story. They have been overworking themselves for days (or weeks) and have definitely caught something. Or maybe it’s just from eating and drinking nothing but coffee. But they come to work anyway because they don’t have time to call in sick (why did Ian just suddenly pop into my mind?) However, that probably wasn’t the best call. Use your imagination as to whether they get sick in front of someone else (hence the name “Public”) or somewhere else.

Going off of the last one: maybe A is preparing for a presentation which they can’t call in sick from. This leads to the presentation getting interrupted by the great puking show of 2023.

(Idol AU) Character A is a singer/actor who has to put on a live show. They wake up feeling terrible but go to work (or rehearsal, whatever you do before a show) however… I think you can deduce what happens next. A starts the show. A gets sick in front of an entire live crowd.

Character A has a rather important job, but, unlike our previous characters, they decide to take the day off. Unfortunately for them, it seems that their team cannot function without them! They get called in by their boss halfway though the day, saying that they absolutely must come into work that day. Maybe the team underestimated how sick A was, or maybe they just didn’t care, or just really needed their help. Either way, they realize their mistake when A can’t make it through the day without being sick.

Character A and their friends are going to an amusement park. From here I have multiple prompts:

A reluctantly goes on a ride with their friends but gets extremely motion sick. Unfortunately, due to a malfunction (or some other reason), they are stuck at the top of the ride. Maybe the ride is rocking slightly in the wind, or maybe the height is just to much, either way, A proceeds to get sick all over either themselves or their friends. Much to their shock.

A eats a bit to much junk food before going on a ride. No farther explanation required.

A desides to sit out a ride, maybe they’re already feeling a little sick or maybe they just don’t want to go one it. Either way, their friends go on the ride, leaving them sitting on a bench (or wherever) when they suddenly start feeling sick. Perhaps they got food poisoning from the ridiculous amount of junk food we eat on vacation or perhaps they caught a stomach bug from the ridiculous amount of people who neglect to was their hands! Either way, (I really need to find synonyms for “either way”) A is sick so suddenly they don’t have time to find a restroom, much to their friend’s surprise.

Okay, last one for amusement parks. Maybe the group is a group of kids or maybe they’re just younger adults, either way, *cough cough* AT ANY RATE, they are off running around the amusement park on their own, no parents in sight (or older adults, but I see this one more for kids) when A starts of feel sick. Either they decide against telling their friends or, you know, they decide to. AT ANY RATE, (so sorry) the friends have no idea what to do, they look for their parents but can’t find them. The situation gets even worse when A gets sick before they can find a restroom.

Character A is going on a vacation with a friend and their family. Unfortunately, they end up getting extremely motion sick (maybe their driving through the mountains or something). However, they don’t want to bother their friend and so decide to just try and sit it out. This doesn’t work and they end up being sick all over their friend’s car. Bonus points if A doesn’t really know their friend’s parents and isn’t that comfortable around them. Bonus, bonus points if A remains sick even after getting out of the car and has to deal with being sick in an unfamiliar environment with adults they barely know. (Also makes for a good fluff prompt between the friends.)

Thank you for staying with me to the end!

If you want me to write one of these send me a number (or multiple) and I’ll write it for one of my OCs!

#Stomach ache #sickfic #whump #prompts #emeto #emeto prompts #sickfic prompt #sicknario #whump prompt #prompt list #public emeto #public emeto prompts #public sickfic prompts #puking #EMETO WARNING #vomiting

[pixelatedraindrops]

Happy New Year Everyone💜

(Rambling below)

Tbh: This year has been one word for me. Awful. Too much happened and I’d rather not talk too much about it... x-x

My first half of the year was just dreadful. But the second half of it (around July/August) was a lot better. And I have RainCode to thank for that. After losing a close friend, I was in a pretty depressive funk for quite some time. And what I usually do in these times is escape into my current passions and interests and go wild on it.

And boy did I ever. I had just finished RainCode and was officially obsessed. And I wanted to contribute to it. So at first I made some sprite edits, and a Pokémon crossover. Then as I do for every fandom I have a fixation on, I decided to write my very first sickfic of it. And it received so well that felt a bit more secure in indulging in my hidden guilty pleasure some more.

I made more sprite edits involving Yuma and the more I indulged the more obsessive I became. Soon I was making analysis' on his character and making all sorts of whump headcanons for him. Then I realized I became like most sick whump users on tumblr, and I finally had a fandom and whumpee I could call my own... and the feeling I felt was indescribable. I was so happy. Blissful. (Though it did kinda rot my brain from the inside out. But in a good way? If it makes you happy it's healthy....right? XD)

After some time I interacted a little bit with more of the RC community and honestly?? Its such a fresh new and fun community. And there's a lot more adults in it. My last fixation (demon slayer) had too many minors in it so I felt like I didn't belong or have any right to be in the community at all. But with this one?? I feel right at home. I eventually became known here for making sick related content of the series, even dubbing myself the CEO of a tag I made up myself. Whumpcode.

RainCode even inspired me to start drawing again. Something I sadly gave up on for years. And Its helped me find a style for myself and draw things that make me happy c: (aka sick/fever whump lol)

I found a few very nice people to talk to. (mostly because I'm shy and don't talk too much w others online) And I'm surprised my work even inspired some of the community to make some sick art/fics of their own for raincode. It made me feel such indescribable pride. In a sense I am like the other whump users on tumbr, but at the same time I'm not. (mainly because its not a kink to me) I'm more a member of the raincode community than the whump community. And I'm perfectly fine with that.

I first joined tumblr back in 2014 and after some time, took a 5 year hiatus from it. But upon coming back, I'm so happy to have finally found a fandom I truly feel like I'm a part of. And thank you to everyone that supports and enjoys my work. It makes me so happy that there are those that agree with me and don't see me as a freak despite my odd fixation. But focusing on this has made the second half of my year better. So much better...

So thank you, both RainCode and RainCode tumblr. For making me feel like a part of something. And for making my year end on a positive note c:

have a tiny yuma <3

(part of my big collab wip :3 Coming soon! )

#rain code #pixel txt. #hoping 2024 is better... #I hope you all have a great new years eve! <3 #and I hope I can interact w more of you next year! #if I’m still into raincode… xD #my fixations tend to last a while so I think it’ll be fine xD #as for this pic don’t be fooled #he’s gonna be really sick later... 😈