#AND I don’t feel any less congested and I still have a headache so it didn’t even WORK

[fanzou]

It’s a Match!

✗ Pairing: Zoro Roronoa x Fem!Reader

✗ Summary: Lost in an annoying town full of annoying good-for-nothing people, Zoro seeks refuge in an odd looking tent, only to find that it belongs to the towns famous match-maker!

✗ Total WC: 7.0K

✗ CW: SMUT! Zoro is in fact an eater, Zoro in disguise? (Not really), Cunnilingus, P in V sex, Soft Zoro (just a lil bit), Most of this is just smut, ZORO UNMATCHED LIBIDO

✗ A/C: This was such a random thought in my head but I feel like I did so well executing it. I’m hoping you guys like it just as much as I liked writing it!

It’s so nice; The Sunny is really living up to its name right now. The fire-y orb in the sky makes his skin impossibly warmer and it feels wonderful. He rests his hands behind his head and his eyes are closed—both eyes.

Even the waters below don’t crash against the boat so harshly. It doesn’t rock the floating chunk of wood so much to the point that it’s unbearable to even rest as he is, like he wants to.

He doesn’t hear any bombarding voices or obnoxiously loud steps or bangs, not that he isn’t used to it, he’ll sleep right through it because he knows it’s just the ruckus and havoc caused by the usual three idiots doing constant idiotic stuff. But there isn’t any alarming or annoying commotion right now and it makes the peace all the more peaceful, if that was possible.

It’s almost too good to be true, he grunts before he has to involuntarily peel his one eye open and scope the scenery out so that he wasn’t missing any secret attack.

Okay…

Fine. Everything’s fine. And he slowly shuts his eye once more.

It’s not like this everyday and Zoro is eternally grateful for this peaceful afternoon.

And rest he does, in pure bliss with the sun shining off of his defined skin with no havoc to be wreaked and no cook to engage in annoying banter with.

For like… 5 minutes.

-

“Zoro! Get up!” Luffy calls, jumping up and down unavoidably disturbing what he yearned for most, “We’re here!”

Welp, all good things must come to an end right?

Even for the time it was, and he knew for a fact that it was still noon, the lights of the town that inhabited the land still somehow illuminated very brightly. A headache. He gets up finally to wake himself up just a little bit more and he looks around to see almost everyone gathered and ready for the next stop. “Zoro! You finally up?”

He stretches his muscles a bit and fixes his yukata as he does so, “Yeah…m’up.” He says, there’s a little tiredness in his voice.

And now as they near the inescapable flashy lights and overly-decorated scene, he feels even less willing to jump off board and continue his travels with the crew. They’ve talked about this place for the past two days, and none of it seemed intriguing in the way they had described it to be.

Nothing intriguing, and nothing worth mentioning the second they make their way back to the ship.

Which is why he’s more than willing to keep watch of it while they do their own little thing.

“You guys can take this one. M’just gonna stay on board for the time being.” He makes an attempt to walk away before Luffy’s already starting his complaints.

“But you can’t! You have to come, it’ll be fuuuuun! Zoroooooooo!” He yells, because when is Luffy ever not yelling, and grabs hold of his muscles from across the ship with his gum-gum powers.

It’s comedic, laughable. Luffy really is persistent, and it’ll surprise many to believe that his persistence is enough to persuade the big, bad swordsman.

“Usopp said that the food here is amazing! Please, you can’t miss out on this one, c’mon!”

It really is Luffy’s word over everything.

Which is why, unfortunately, he has to join them.

-

So much for his long-gone peace. He got lost somewhere along the way.

Straying away from the group after a liquor store caught his eye, the congested area stirred him far from everyone, and now he was here—just roaming. Sure he could’ve started his search back, but he wasn’t necessarily confident in his ability to do it given the many other circumstances he had… unfortunately, put himself through. So he put his faith in fate.

Don’t even get him started on how much livelier the place is too, how is this even a town? It’s small sure, but it’s so bright, it feels like he’s getting flash-banged anytime his eyes look anywhere but the floor. If he didn’t know any better he’d think this was some sort of grand city. But Zoro would be lying if he said that it wasn’t decent-looking at the very least, the streets littered with decorations from top to bottom with lanterns and glitter shining so brightly.

It wasn’t completely an eyesore, just maybe the people that inhabited the space, and the overdone style to it.

And in the grand scheme of things, there were perks to the obnoxiously crowded area, it did well to shield his public appearance so many would not recognize him. Nor would they care with the way they practically fixated on everything but.

Arrows pointing here, lights pointing there, it only gets worse when it starts getting dark, his exhaust long fades, replaced with an indescribable frustration. He feels his eye twitch every 2.5 seconds, brows furrowed while he clenches his teeth at the bombarding and invasive illuminating advertisements for shops and restaurants that are literally right there. In front of the store.

“Hey, handsome, need a massage? Ya look pretty tense!”

No thanks.

“Hot dogs! Hot dogs for only 100 berries!”

No thanks.

“Fun for him and her! Come to our store so you and your lady can have a great night together!”

No. Fuckin’. Thank you.

He shakes off the growing frustration that brews within him, his patience runs thin and everyone and everything around him is doing little to compensate. He’s mad that he decided to tag along, because it proved worthless in the end, he got lost and now he has to reap the consequences of this stupid fiasco that Luffy so eagerly dragged him along on.

He sighs, defeat evident in his breath. He tries relaxing his shoulders a bit and without the risk of losing his other eye from how blinding every single thing in his vision is right now; he scans the area to find at least somewhere he can ease his mind.

Something, anything. At this point.

And in little time he spots that something. Between two stores, the left store labeled “WAX-IT-OFF!”, and the right being “Grand Line Finance”. He snorts. The complete irony and comedy within the two differing stores humors him but it quickly subsides once he sees what confuses him; it’s an almost igloo-shaped tent. Hm, he says to himself. He naturally gravitates towards it, or unnaturally almost. It’s quite unlike him to let his curiosity get the better of him.

The tent is covered by a velvet fabric and there’s a purple-ish pink light coming from the inside, and for a tent—it’s quite large—fit to house at least 10 people at a time. He doesn’t notice it then but there’s a line that’s already formed, and he waltz’ right on ahead almost as if he owned the huge sphere covered in blankets itself, ignoring the complaints of the crowded line that had been apparently waiting there for quite a while, they express their verbal insults and trash-talk alike towards Zoro.

They don’t do much to hold him back, though.

When he reveals the other side of the curtain, eager to see just what had been waiting, it was far more relaxed, an almost seductive energy that welcomed him. One thing he did realize, was how much more quiet it had become. His once tense muscles immediately unclench at the tranquil setting around him. His hear pears left and right to find that it was just as predictable as the outside was, but that wasn’t to say he was disappointed, quite the opposite.

“Sir, are you next up?” He looks around to see where the voice comes from, and he’s a little confused. “Down here, ya big oaf!” His returned peacefulness is quickly disturbed.

He looks down and it’s a man half his size, he had a weird looking hat and glasses that didn’t let him see behind them. He has a badge that reads “RIO” in bold letters, what Zoro assumes to be his name.

“Are you here to see Lady match-maker or not? She doesn’t have much time to wait!” The man half his size grabs hold of his muscular hand and he just follows. He doesn’t know why. Doesn’t understand how. Typically if it were anything or any other circumstance he’d probably just get the hell out of there, but he doesn’t sense any kind of danger. Not when his only opponent is a 3-foot man and the inside of this new found tent was so comfy.

And—what did he say about a match-maker?

The odd looking fellow practically has to drag him full force across the room and to expose to Zoro another curtain.

Presumably what Zoro thinks might be, “the match-maker”.

He’s got a bad feeling about this, not the sort of enemy territory feeling but a cringy uncomfortable and dumb feeling.

The shorty speaks, “You have ten minutes.” He unveils the curtain and pushes Zoro, or, tries to push Zoro in, but he doesn’t actually step in unless it’s under his own volition because he’s so heavy. When he does; he drinks in the entire scene in front of him, somehow even more glittery fabrics and silky blankets draped across and on top of one another, a table smack dab in the center with someone behind it.

Lo and behold, you—the uh… the match… making—maker. Yeah.

The small guy leaves Zoro’s sight and leaves him under your supervision.

And God, are you beautiful. A lot like your enclosed environment you wore a seemingly large robe that covers a lot of the floor almost acting as a sheet itself. It’s nicely coated around your body, the only skin on you that isn’t modestly covered is your neck and cleavage area and he doesn’t necessarily make his roaming eyes a secret.

And when you speak, “Hello, you can take a seat anywhere.” Your voice is smooth, and the more he takes you in is the more he falls into a sort of hypnosis. You giggle at the tension so prominently visible in his figure, “No need to be shy. Take a seat anywhere.

He snaps out of the trance you didn’t even know you put him in, or maybe you did. Who knows, he sits across from you with his legs crossed into each other and his hands laid onto his lap with a posture that you almost envy, you appreciate his formality.

And he’s just thinking about how amazing it would probably be to fall asleep in here, possibly with you.

It’s at this point that Zoro realizes that he hasn’t talked the whole time, but he makes little effort for his lack of speech until it’s you who breaks the silence.

“First, your name?”

He prepares his voice with a clearing of his throat, “Zo—” Oh wait, shit. He mentally face palms, but is quick to recollect himself. He quickly comes up with a name as a means to cover-up his true identity.

“Zorayo.”

Your brows furrow like you don’t buy it and his heart stops for the slightest second. “Zorayo?”

He feels so awkward right now. “Yeah… Zorayo.”

“Mmm, that sounds a lot like that infamous pirate-hunter… what was his name? Rorono… Roroyoa?” You think long and hard, “Roronoa Zoro!”

He clears his throat with an eye anywhere but yours. “Uh, yeah. I get that. A lot.” With a slight nod.

You scribble something down in your notes, he assumes to be his half-ass attempt at a name. He really hopes he’s not red, because everything about this is just plain embarrassing. If what he assumes about you being a “match-maker” is true and if anyone on the crew saw him coming out of this place, he doesn’t think he’d hear the end of it.

“You don’t happen to be a pirate yourself, do you?” At this, he tenses once again, “You’ve got the look.” He’s a bit taken aback, but as he scans your face for some sort of discomfort or distress, he’s even more surprised at how okay you are with the fact.

You’re not looking at him, instead you’re scribbling something down. You have been this whole time, hardly looking at him.

Yet somehow, the next words to come out of your mouth are, “I find it difficult to believe that you’re really here for match-making, Zorayo.” You drop your pen and rest your chin on both your hands, “What really brings you?”

He grunts, closes his eyes, and inhales. He’s trying to formulate up a lie, but it’s hard when you’re so beautiful. Your eyes are staring into his soul, he’s never seen anything like it. “No, I am. My friends… said that I needed to find a woman. B-But really I just wanna get laid.” If he didn’t know any better, he’d say his answer disappointed you a bit. “Y’know, if that’s an option.” Your hands come down and grip the pen once more to write down a few notes, and he can’t help from tapping on his knee a little bit now. His answer was shallow, desperate, and far from him, and he doesn’t understand why it bothered him to care about how you perceived it.

You let a silence linger for a bit as you bring the pen to your lips and tap it a few times, “What���s your ideal type?” You ask.

He shakes his head, “S’what I’m trying to figure out, woman.” He snorts, and your face returns with an almost bothered look.

You roll your eyes and rest the metal pen down harshly, “Do you actually wanna get ‘laid’?” You ask him almost rhetorically and using his vulgarities against him, “Then don’t be a smart ass.” You mumble under your breath, God, you pirates.

Once again, he’s taken aback by the sheer bluntness in your claim, and he’s almost offended. He gulps, he’s not nervous. Can’t be.

“Why do you assume I’m a pirate?” He exclaims in genuine confusion. “Look at you!” To emphasize your claim you extend your hand in reference to the big muscular and scarred man, “And besides, you’re not the only one who’s ever come to me for my assistance.”

He almost wants to mirror your previous eye roll, assistance?

Almost sounds like he’s having trouble getting his dick wet.

And, well—It looks that way, and he wants to crawl in a hole, anyone other than the one he was kinda already in, because of how utterly shameful this is to him.

Thankfully or not-so-thankfully you break the silence, “You have 6 minutes on the clock, mister. Better make it worth while.”

If he were being honest, all he wanted to do was just rest across the shiny blankets that littered the entire place, even if it meant he had to threaten everyone outside in line in order to get it. And he curses himself for getting into this predicament.

Speaking of outside, he did not want to go back anytime soon. The disgusting, flashy and flamboyant, utterly obnoxious, did he mention disgusting?—Outside.

Well, here goes nothing.

Zoro thinks on his response for you, he wants to make it so that it gives you at least something to work with, but not so much that it sounds tender or anything like that.

“I like women who know what they’re about. Not the shy type. I like ‘em when they can fend for themselves.” He nods in confirmation, satisfied with his own proclamation.

And you seem to be as well. There it is. Now we’re talkin’.

You scribble down on your notes once again, more impressed and relaxed by his revelation, it’s not much but it’s progress. “Anything… physical?”

“Mmm… physical?” He pans his vision from the soft scenery to you, “not… not necessarily.” He’s back to ogling you again.

You scribble, “Okay, Zorayo… You don’t like short hair? Long hair?”

You’re not met with a response, and when you look up, Zoro is still there, just with his unwavering gaze set on you, or more accurately—gaze fixed on your body, like he’s checking you out.

“Zorayo?”

He shakes his head as if to shake away unwanted thoughts. “Oh— Um. No. Yes. I mean, listen, S’long as she’s not ugly.”

Ugh, where have I heard that a gazillion times before.

Men.

“How am I supposed to identify that if you won’t tell me what you find physically attractive?!” The tip of your fingers are white from your grip.

Clients are difficult, clients are stubborn, and it’s not like you haven’t come across a guy like this once in a while, but you’d be damned if you didn’t admit that it was annoying as hell every. Single. Time.

You breathe, “Zorayo, full transparency.” You place your fingers on your chest to mark sincerity, your tone is softer. “I think you are attractive, I believe you’ll find no trouble in getting a girl in that department. I sense that you don’t often make the first move, and because of your naturally intimidating nature, it’s like a double-edged sword. Women won’t approach you.” You empathetically state. He just listens.

You ponder on your next word-choice as to not offend him if you had already, “it’s only difficult because you make it difficult. I assure you, you would have girls falling at your feet if you were just a little more… giving?” You finish with hope that he understands your meaning.

You can tell he absorbs your words a bit, and it’s definitely progress from where you started. You rest your shoulders in a bit of relief to find that he finally might seek that inner peace and comprehension, understanding maybe why he might be feeling so defeated in the romance department. You weren’t a match-maker for nothing, right?

He puts his finger on his chin, and the smallest tiniest smile graces his face.

“Well f’thats the case, why don’t you just sleep with me?”

“That’s great, Zo—Huh?” Your eyes are shot wide open, and you look at him in pure disbelief. What the hell is wrong with this guy? “How could you even suggest something so inconsiderate and vulgar? I have clients that are patiently waiting outside!”

He snorts, “They can always wait.” His smirk gets wider, his eyes a little darker. You gasp, or scoff—you don’t know what it is. You’re so blown away by the fact that he’d request something so dirty and scandalous. “Don’t you know who I am? I’m not one for the taking, idiot! I am the match-maker, not the matched.”

He becomes more relaxed in his posture, his hands are grounded to the floor behind him to act as balance, “Is it against the rules or somethin’? Like ya can’t get fucked?”

Oh, he’s getting so much more vulgar, and… for some reason, it’s… turning you on a bit. And he looks unbothered, almost bored at your fit. You’re red, you’re red all over. It’s bad. This is bad for you. Usually you’re not the flustered one, and sure clients will come in with their occasional flirting and advances. But this?

This is too advance.

“Zo… Zorayo—I can’t possibly…” you close your eyes as you look away from him and shamefully pull your face away from his direction. But he’s not hearing a no, which is something he’d assume you would have verbally expressed by now. And… sure. He was attractive, very visibly, audibly… verbally so. It’s not something you lied about with clients, which is why you were not sold on the fact that he needed any help finding the perfect woman for he in fact, was sculpted by the Gods themselves.

He takes it upon himself to get up, walk over to your side while you wallow in your state of shamefulness and whatever it is that you’re so worked up about. He’s slow in his movement, calculated to see how you’d react if he got anymore closer to you to ensure that what he was about to do wasn’t one-sided and you weren’t actually against the concept.

He kneels at your side and his hand finds its way to your lap, you yelp a bit at the sudden contact. You’re so ashamed right now, so red.

Then it dawns on him, you poor thing. He smiles sadistically. It hits so quickly by the way you react at his physical advance, that you yourself are not being taken care of. The woman who has set up many couples for life? The woman who has brought people to fate and great happiness? But herself? The smile on his face grows a little bit wider, and his hand snakes to your chin, an attempt that you almost melt into too easily. He gets closer to your face. You’re finally looking at him, and he waits for the green light.

“I’ll… I’ll tell Rio to close up for the n-night.”

He’s satisfied, “Good girl.”

You drag your knees across the covered floor as you make your way to the covers, your hands are shaking—with excitement or anxiety, maybe both. You don’t know. You fix yourself, pull the covers in hopes of only revealing your own flushed face and there he was, patiently waiting for your signature cue.

“Rio, there’s a bit of an issue.”

The short man immediately responds, “What is it, my lady?” He sounds a little alarmed so you assure, “I’ll have to reject my services for the rest of the night…”

“T-This one’s… a special case.” You feign a soft smile.

He seems confused a tad, because there’s never an instance where you’ve felt the desire to put such an abrupt stop to your services. A special case? That makes him visibly more confused, but he’s confident in your skill and trusts that you understand what you’re doing. “Understood, Miss. I’ll leave you to it while I fight off those desperate dogs outside.” He laughs at his joke and turns his back to you. You manage a small thank you.

You were confident in his ability in doing so, though he be small he was quite fierce. When the coast was clear and you hear your assistants muffled yells to the stubborn customers, you slowly cover back the space leaving you to the muscled beast, alone once again.

You turn to him, “I’m just letting you know that I haven’t had sex in a while, so you’re gonna need to prep me.” You make work of the robe that’s snug tightly around your waist.

He scoffs, as if offended by your request, “‘Thout question.”

You furrow your brows, “Don’t get cocky on me now, it’s you who needs to get laid.” And you instantly regret the words that come out of your mouth, because now he’s giving you daggers for eyes. He gestures you over nonetheless, and you crawl over to him with no question, now it’s as if you’re entranced by the green-haired man, he’s handsome—beautiful almost, it doesn’t take much will-power to follow his fingers that beckon you over.

“A-And, you can’t be too rough.”

“That’s fine.”

“—And we stop when I say so.” He nods in respect, huh, easier than you thought.

After the knot of your robe was undone, and it feels like it was forever til you got it, you reveal a loose and simple dress underneath and he doesn’t exactly make his appeal towards you discreet.

But it dawns on you, because you haven’t done this in what feels like an eternity that you literally don’t know what to do, let alone with someone so… large?

“How do you wanna…” you gulp and pick at your nails in nervousness.

“Jeez, woman. You a virgin or somethin’?” Well, right now you might as well be. He gets up from his seated position and stands on his knees, “Lay down on the table.”

It’s probably for the better that he’s in control of everything you both do, you’ve already laid out the ground rules of what he can or can’t do, and it’s only really up from here. You do as he instructs, not too eagerly, not too anxiously and you can say that you were satisfied with the way you carried yourself thus far. You just really really hope he can’t tell that you need this as much as he might.

You sit on your little table, and he’s kneeling in front of you.

He’s impossibly bigger.

He grabs ahold of your thighs, almost letting his fingers dip underneath the fabric of your short dress and you shiver in immediate reaction. His hands are so warm, and you can’t help but put your smaller one on top of his.

He takes it as a sign to let his face come closer to yours, and you could almost call him a romantic; the way he tilts his head and his eye is half-shut, he leans in almost too slow for your liking, but his lips meet yours anyways. He almost made you feel like you had to earn it.

When your lips touched, it takes you by surprise to learn that they’re much softer than they look, and he’s skilled—he comes closer, his fingers glide up to your hips and underneath your last piece of large coverage, he grips a little tighter but not uncomfortably so, and his tongue swipes across your lip almost as if to ask for permission to enter.

—And enter it does, you whimper pathetically into his attack and it’s getting very hot. Be it his body temperature or how much you’ve moved within the past 5 minutes within such a tight space, it’s inevitably warmer in your familiar environment. You wonder, is he this good at everything?

Only one way to find out.

“Lie down on your back.” He commands as he pulls away, and you oblige. On your back you get a better look at his figure that looks like it’s about to eat you alive. It’s technically what you want right now, anyway. He hooks his thick finger into your panties and pulls them down. For the first time you hear a satisfied grunt leave his mouth, he’s been damn near non-verbal this entire time so it feels like a little prize when he does.

He throws your undergarment to the side but never strips his stare away from you, “This all for me?” That smirk returns, he takes his middle finger and starts pressing it up and down your cunt that draws another whimper out of you. You think he’s referencing the wetness, and it’s kind of embarrassing.

He laughs at your sudden inability to talk back.

“J-Just get it over with.” You say, you don’t realize it until then but you’re gripping the edge of the table almost like you’re bracing for some sort of impact, perhaps you were just that nervous, would he really be gentle like he promised? He looks down at you, and your body immediately softens, he doesn’t look so mean or aggressive at this moment.

He glides his hands up to the back of your knees and presses them impossibly up to your chest and it confuses you for a split second. He dips down immediately and flattens his tongue almost down from your asshole and all the way up to your clit. Your body flinches a bit and you seethe.

Just when you thought he might have been setting the pace nice and sensually slow, he immediately goes to town, sucking and licking at your pussy like a man starved. You whimper his fake name.

He cringes at the name a little bit, but it instantly subsides when he realizes just how good your cunt tastes. He makes quick work of adding a finger inside whilst his tongue continues a nice attack on your clit. You’re in another dimension at this point. This position was so vulnerable, so open and you now understand why he decided that it was best to start like this.

Another finger joins in, and the way your pussy sounds is pornographic—his bulge grows impossibly bigger and he catches himself from moaning as a blanket softly touches his sensitive area. He’s enjoying this way more than he thought he would. As a matter of fact, Zoro forgets why he was even here in the first place, not that he cares but—wow, what a prize you were. If getting lost meant this was what welcomed him on the other side every time, he’d have to try it a lot more.

You’re gone, understandably so. “It’s—soooo goood, mmmm…” you curse and whine at his fast pace, “‘Think m’gonna—!”

And like manifestation you cum, it hits so much harder than you think it will and the come-down is so much slower than you anticipated.

His fingers and tongue fuck you through it but not unbearably, he pulls his fingers out and glides them up and down your slit as he watches your face contort into a feeling of indescribable satisfaction. He lets you come down from your amazing high before he’s bringing your body closer to him by a latch of your hips, “That feel good baby?” He says in a husky voice, kissing up and down your neck and all you can manage is a whiny mhm! before he’s pulling off his yukata and leaving you speechless.

You softly moan at his bare physique, the little window of his chest doesn’t do it any justice—it’s much better than you expected it to be, much larger too and his cock is damn near screaming to come out just by the looks of it stretching the material out.

You pick yourself up with all the strength from your arms and try to get your dress off, and he watches you struggle for a moment before, “Here, let me—” and in little effort, he pulls it over your head.

He looks you up and down, and it goes straight to your throbbing cunt once again. “Fuck, you’re gonna drive me crazy.” You lay down again but this time pushing yourself up just a little bit by your elbows, just to get a glance at the action.

“You want me to take care of you, doll? Huh?” Zoro pulls his own undergarments down, revealing what you’ve been aching for this entire time. “A shame, no one thought to ever take your feelings into consideration.” He gives himself a few strokes as he lines himself up, then slowly pushes into you. He sighs at the stretch, and the way it slowly and surely disappears into you. “Takin’ it so fuckin’ well. Just like you should.”

Your eyebrows instantly smash together with your mouth hanging open, eyes squinted just the perfect amount. Zoro groans, “You’re so fuckin’ tight, hm? You want me to keep going?”

“Y-es, yes please! Need it bad!”

And since you asked so nicely, he gives a little push in and out, it makes you moan so desperately that one of your hands clenches within itself from how shameful the nature of it truly was.

And you’re so sure that even with the unnecessary amount of coverage the tent has, someone’s probably heard you if they were close enough. You should be ashamed of yourself; getting slutted out like you were some sort of cock-sleeve. No man has ever made you feel this full, so anyone curious enough to get up close was just gonna have to put up with how much of a whore you sounded like right now.

He picks up his pace and it’s not relentlessly fast or painfully slow, it was just right and you think you might be on Cloud 9 with the way the thing glides in and out of your once neglected cunt.

“Tell me how much you like it, doll.” His head is tilted and his gaze is marked with nothing but lust.

“It feels s-so… so good. Feels like nothing I ever felt before— fuck!” You grab hold of the edge of the table and any loose blanket in close proximity. “More, please! More Zorayo!” And he was so lost in his own pleasure that he’s long forgotten about that dumb name he decided to give you.

“J…Just call me Zoro.” He says breathlessly, pace never faltering.

Well, must’ve been as good a time as any to have told you that, because you really didn’t seem to care, maybe too cock-drunk to even think about it enough. And honestly Zoro himself doesn’t either, with the way your tits bounce with every time he pounds into you, you look like you’re in another world and he’s soon to join you.

You’re moaning, then it turns into soft little cries and whimpers and that’s when Zoro knows that you’re on close approach.

“Let it out, baby. Like that.” His own thrusts are a little sloppy and he’s watching your every expression with close examination. “Juuust like that, s-shit.” The way he talks you through it, his grip on your skin and the skin-ship itself—it’s so much, it pushes you over the edge. With a cry of his actual name this time, which sounds so much better and allows him to relish in his own bliss fully, you cum, and it’s even better than the last.

Your body shakes with every thrust that goes in and out, in and out while Zoro chases his own high, his body shivers a little bit and he finally pulls out when he knows the exact moment he might accidentally fuck his release into you. He pushes your legs coated with slick tightly together, then starts to thrust into your thighs, the scene is disgustingly lewd; he’s using you to get off with your own body but oh well, he’s not pushing his seed inside of you and that’s what counts.

He paints your stomach with all different kinds of strokes and you’re a living breathing mess, there’s so many fluids coating your body that you can hardly tell which is which aside from the one on your stomach, you’re tired to say the least. But you’re still aching.

You’re aching for him, in specific. It’s not enough, and after tonight you don’t think it’ll ever be enough, he’s too good. Too skilled for his own good and you can’t stop wanting him. “Zoro, *breath* n-need *breath* more.” You manage to say as you try leveling yourself. “Need more of your cock, ple—ase!”

And all you had to do was ask.

He picks you up a little and off the table with your assistance, grounding your body on the floor next to it, that way Zoro can get in a more intimate position he’d hoped for all along. His body on yours, in whatever way you’ll allow him to take you. It sounds like a dream.

You claw at his bicep while he hovers over you, and it feels like he hasn’t kissed you in forever. He comes down to meet your lips once again, shaft in hand and again, lining himself up. Only this time as a warning Zoro rubs himself up and down before entering you with a slow push. You manage a “Mmmfffhh!” At the intrusion, but you welcome it anyways. He starts his pace like the last.

There’s something different about it though, it might be the intimacy and just how close you guys seem to be this time around, you’re wrapping yourself around him like he was your life-line. You have your hands tight around his shoulders with your legs hanging off his hips for support while they rock into you with much force to accompany it.

He’s just as gone as you are, his cock is hitting you in the deepest places he couldn’t have imagined. “You’re… so good for me, s’like you’re mine. Letting me fuck you like th—is.” He says with a groan following suit, “You like getting spoiled like this, baby?”

Your eyes are shut tight and you’re dizzy, “Mhm! O—Only by you! J-Just by you Zoro!”

Now it might’ve been the heat of the room, but you feel so impossibly wet, all over. And it’s proven in the way that the blankets surrounding you are slowly getting drenched with your sweat amongst many other things, you’re a bit ashamed for a second, you wonder how you’ll clean it up.

That thought gets thrown out the window the faster it comes in through it, Zoro hits a spot you were all too familiar with and you cry out. “Oooooooh… fuck… yesyesyesyesyes—” You chant his name like your life depended on it, and he feels like he could just explode right then. He’s so enamored by you, the way your sweat accentuated every beautiful thing about you and it sends him into overdrive, he promised not to get rough but it’s impossible. His hips are automatic in that sense, he just wants to ruin you.

You don’t seem to mind the change in pace, how rough he fucks you, though. “Y-Yes, like that, don’t. Fucking. Stop.” You welcome it if anything.

He laughs at your change of heart, “M…not planning to, doll.”

And almost as if you’re trying to choke around him, it’s dangerously tight, and with every thrust it feels almost impossible going back in—it’s like he can’t imagine that this feels good for you but your face truly begs to differ. You stare at him with so much desire in your eyes and your body naturally pleads for more, bucking hips and arms like you never wanna let go. Zoro doesn’t even remember what drove him to come here in the first place, but he can’t imagine a better outcome—a doll like you, sweet and willing to let him fuck you in any position he wished. God, he almost wants to steal you away from this loser town and have you all to himself.

He feels himself dangerously closer this time, all the more sensitive. And without your audible declarations, he thinks he might cum before you.

He brings his thumb to your clit and starts his circular motion before coming down to kiss you gently, muffling your sweet sounds while you wrap your hands around his neck. Everything about this screams intimate, if it wasn’t for how rough he’d have been going you would have thought he was making love to you.

You gasp for air as your orgasm quickly reigns down on you for the third time, his strokes are a little bit sloppier and he’s instantly pulling out to once again; cumming on your stomach.

It’s quiet for a while save for the sighs and heavy breaths that leave both your throats, he’s leaning back off of his heel to get a good look at you after damn near ravaging you. He’s content, but he genuinely believes he could go for another couple more rounds. Your laid on your side, eyes closed and relaxed.

Zoro turns you back onto your position before and takes a nearby piece of cloth that is to no surprise nearby, to wipe off your stomach, “Bailin’ on me already?” He says, it’s playful but he’s as a serious as you’ll let him be. He’s still half hard and he doesn’t think he’d be able to stop anytime soon.

“How many rounds can you go, you beast?” You ask trying to sit up off of your elbows once again.

“Bout as many as you can take.”

-

And take you do, the brute man fucks you through all the rest of the continuous rounds. Slow, hard, soft—just when you think you might not be able to withstand the next one, all it takes is a glance at his hungry eyes and you’re back under his wrath, it’s pathetic almost and you should be ashamed, but it feels euphoric.

You realize about half-way through it all that you’re not fucking just anyone, but the Roronoa Zoro. The man with a billion dollar bounty on his head. It should make you stop. Shouldn’t it? You should put an end to this scandal before someone finds you out, the second it dawns on you.

And you’ll take it to the grave; the truth is that it made you so much more hungrier for him. You, a mere civilian amongst a no-name town that many along the Grand Line used as a means to kick their feet up and relax, so small and irrelevant… are fucking one of the most dangerous men across the 4 seas?

Why, it was nothing but fuel to you. To go harder, faster, just for him. Just to impress him and make him feel like you were the only one for him.

The last round is when he ruthlessly suggests that you ride his dick, you could tell that he was getting off on the idea of you being so desperate for his cock and trying to muster up any will-power to drag yourself up and down. It was comedic really, you were crying, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop even though your thighs were so painfully sore. It almost felt like a drug.

Along the way he decides that he’s bored with the theatrics and pulls you down just to fuck up into you. And the way you came just felt as good as the last. You pulled off of him and rubbed your slit onto his shaft while he came as well.

Now with him sprawled against the bedded floor with him on top of you, it’s boiling in the room now, you might even slide off of him because of how wet you both are. Lewd, dirty, disgusting. But if no one’s outside with pitchforks and fire the way you chanted his unmistakable name, you’d say you weren’t too loud. Maybe.

“So, d’you think I found my match?” He says, and you can’t help the laugh that erupts from you.

“Not yet.” You lay your head against his wet chest, “You’re gonna have to keep looking. Plenty of fish in the sea.”

His chest vibrates against your head with a big hum, “Not worth my while, not as good a fish as you.”

[warmasf]

I'd love to see any kind of A and B story where one of them keeps excessively stifling whilst the other tries to get them to stop 🙏 I'm such a sucker for stifles honestly it's bad lmao 😭 you can do whatever you want with the rest of the plot and causes for sneezing, I just love imagining my favourite characters in place of A and B ❤️

Here you go! I got a little carried away…but hopefully this is at least similar to what you envisioned!

They sniffle intermittently, more to keep the congestion gated deep in their sinuses than to clear it from their nose. They rub their nose, cough lightly into their shoulder, and blink heavily more and more each minute.

“Hey, B, you doing alright?” A asks distantly, noticing their shifting in the leather seats, sticking and unsticking their sweaty skin.

B looks up and clears their throat. “Yeah, I’m just really tired, can’t wait to get into a real bed,” they respond, not fully lying. They do really wish they could get into bed and sleep this off. They curl in on themself slightly and rub their nose on their wrist. The itch is intensifying deep in their sinuses, and they really don’t want to sneeze, because that would shift the congestion into their nose, causing it to run and clog endlessly.

When the itch is too much, they hold their wrist taught under their nose and let out a stifled “n’gxt,” making little sound besides a small squeak. They sniff, which sounds more like a low gurgle because of how deep their congestion is, but their nose doesn’t run, not yet. They sneeze again, a nearly silent “ng’ish,” this time contained by their finger and thumb, pinching the tip of their nose.

A snaps back into focus, shooting a glance at their seat partner, who is now red-nosed and bleary eyed. B sneezes again, the same squeaky, congested, pinched stifle. A bats their hand away from their much abused nose. B presses their fingers onto their cheekbones and winces.

“Stop it with that, it’s gonna give you a headache,” chastises A, reaching to grab B a tissue from the center console.

“I already have a headache,” they reply, gearing up for another sneeze.

“n’gsh, “a’nghx, he-n’xsh, heh-“

Teetering on the edge of another stifled sneeze, they feel the congestion loosen in their sinuses and drip into their nostrils. At this realization, they also feel a firm hand on their arm, pulling their grasp away from their nose.

“Hey, you’ve gotta stop with that, you’re just gonna sneeze more. Just let it out so maybe we can get out of sinus infection territory, okay?” Coaxes A, still restraining B’s hand as their eyes water and their nostrils flare in anticipation. Finally, the rush of the trickle of mucus in their nostrils and their admitted potential sinus infection is too much to restrain, and they bend into their opposite elbow, mouth dropped open.

“Ha-ESHiew, Ha-PSHiew, Ah’TISHew” they sneeze wetly and loudly, coating their inner sleeve. They blearily look up at A, eyes begging for anything to clean themselves up with.

“Bless you bless you,” they respond in surprise, never having heard B let out anything but restrained, uncomfortable sounding stifles. They hand B a tissue and wait for the sound of their now productive blow. B pants and lets themself sink into the seat once again, with their breaths coming out much less labored than before.

“Now didn’t that feel better?”

[littlekatleaf]

Roll here in my ashes anyway

Needed a little soft, holiday story for the Junkerboys. It's almost Christmas, I must be feeling melancholy.

I wouldn’t know where to start Sweet music playing in the dark Be still, my foolish heart Don’t ruin this on me. ~ Hozier, Almost Sweet Music

Junkrat leans closer to the paper, rubs his eyes, but the tiny print refuses to come into focus. Damn chicken-scratch writing, hand can never keep up with his thoughts. Roadie’s voice echoes in his memory, “Gonna need glasses before you’re thirty if you keep squinting like that.” Bloke’s got a point, as always. He sighs and sits back, giving in to his aching body. When he looks up reason everything’s gone vague and blurry is abruptly clear - light’s changed. Fat clouds’d been lining the horizon now blanket the sky, winter sun too anemic to dent them. 

He glances back down at the launcher, still in pieces, screws and metal bits scattered over the workbench. Not as far as he’d like to be - Chrissie’s coming on soon. Gotta have Roadie’s prezzie ready. It’s close, but detonation speed needs tweaking - don’t want anyone else losing a limb. He scribbles down a last thought then rolls it all up, plans and gun together, and shoves them in the very back of his desk, behind old comics and skin mags, shit Roadie’d not be caught dead reading. He straightens, stretches, spine pops. Stomach rumbling too. How long’s he been at this anyway? Hungry enough likely missed lunch. Maybe dinner too?

As he crosses the threshold between work room and shared living space, he notices a tray on the coffee table. Coffee gone stone cold, same with the eggs and toast. He sticks a forkful in his mouth anyway. Can’t let it go to waste. Breakfast food. Apparently worked all night. Explains a good portion of the headache throbbing in his skull, the leaden ache of his joints getting in on the complaints. Less so the congestion and vague sense he’s gonna need to sneeze. Rubs his nose. Ignores it.

“Oi, Roadie,” he calls. No answer. He frowns. Hog hadn’t mentioned anything, had he? Wouldn’t go on a mission without him. Wouldn’t go hang with Hana or Lúcio, sick as he’s been. Might’ve been trying to downplay it, pass it off as a lingering cold, but Rat noticed. Felt the fever heat at night, heard the crackle in his lungs when he coughed, the edge of a wheeze in his deeper breaths. Bloke’d been sick for a while and didn’t seem to be improving.

Lack of caffeine’s making his thoughts feel slow, his head full of sludge. Must be why he can’t seem to figure where Roadhog might have gone. He’s still trying to puzzle it when there’s a mechanical click and the door whirs and slides open, revealing Roadie, looking somewhat abashed, with Mercy right behind in Avenging Angel mode. Sheila might be a good couple meters shorter than the Hog, and several stone lighter, but way she looks right now, Rat reckons she can take both of them, not even break a sweat, and is more than ready to do so.

“As Mr. Rutledge seems to be incapable of following the simplest of instructions, I appeal to your better judgment, Jamison.” Her tone is clipped, precise. She steers Roadie into the room with a firm hand on his shoulder.

Rat steps back, out of her way, and grins. “Breaking out the surname and suggesting I have anything approximating good judgment? What the bloody hell’d he do?”

“I explicitly told him to return to his quarters to rest. Under no circumstances was he to exert himself in any way until he completes his treatment. Not even ten minutes later, where do I find him?”

Junkrat shrugs. “Not here.” 

“Indeed not. He was outdoors. Working in the garden. With neither jacket nor hat.”

Junkrat shakes his head at Roadhog, struggling not to laugh. Least it���s someone else getting the dressing down for a change. “How very dare you.”

“Just taking care of a couple of things,” Hog protests. “Not a big deal.”

“This is not a joke.” Mercy directs a glare at Junkrat before turning back to Roadhog. She sighs, deeply. “I am not coddling you or some such foolishness,” she says. “I’m trying to save you from yourself. While the infection is relatively mild at the moment, if you don’t take care it will worsen. I would not have you risk the lung function you still have, Mako.”

Roadie ducks his head, rubs the back of his neck, looking for all the world like a child being chastised. “Yes, ma’am,” he says.

“Take all of the antibiotics. Use the inhaler.” She shoves them into his hand and pivots to leave. “And don’t call me ma’am,” she adds, over her shoulder. “Doctor, if you must.” The door whirs open and closed behind her.

Junkrat blows out a breath. “Ain’t like no doctor I ever met.” Not like he’s met many; ‘doctors’ in Junkertown more like glorified butchers, but still.  He raises a brow at Roadhog. “Sheila’s got a point. You look like shit. The fuck you doing out there? Gonna snow any minute and I can feel the fever radiating off you from here.”

“Don’t start with me, Rat,” Roadhog grumbles. “I’m fine. Just need to put the last of the garden to bed before the weather shifts. Been meaning to take care of it for days. Thought I’d be better by now.” He tosses the bottle of meds toward the coffee table and misses. It hits the floor with a rattle. 

Junkrat moves to pick it up but is stopped by Roadhog’s glare. He holds up his hands in mock surrender and backs off. Knows better than to push straight on when he’s like this. Situation needs a little more… subtlety.

Roadhog leans down to retrieve the bottle, and immediately lapses into a fit of jagged coughing.  It drags on, impressively long until finally dwindling away, stealing most of his voice with it. “Fucking hell,” he rasps, breathless. Least it’s enough that he takes a hit from the inhaler without Rat needing to say anything. Probably better he doesn’t. Bloke’s emanating as much pissed off energy as fever.

Instead Junkrat drops a bag of Lúcio’s medicinal tea into a Pachimari shaped mug and fills it at the instant hot tap. He adds a dollop of honey, enough to soothe Roadie’s throat, but woefully small to Rat’s own eyes. Somehow Hoggie lacks a reasonable appreciation for the sweeter things in life. The rising steam smells of cinnamon and clove, comforting as Lù himself. 

Roadhog’s retreated to the couch, resignation clear in the set of his shoulders. He’s taken off his boots. “Ta,” he says, voice glass on gravel, when Rat holds out the peace offering. Makes Rat’s own throat ache to hear. “Doc’s right. I was acting like a bloody idiot. Garden’s gonna be what it is. Not the end of the world.”

“Already been through that once.” Junkrat floats the admittedly sad attempt at a joke. Testing. Predictably no response. Junkrat frowns, then nods. “Ain’t a lotta people smarter than the doc.”

“Just wish I’d gotten the roses wrapped.” Aims the words into his mug and Rat barely catches them. Roadie picks up a novel and disappears behind it. Over his shoulder the trees bend and creak in the wind. A few leaves that had been clinging to the branches tug free and scatter. Above it all the clouds hang, milk white and heavy with snow.

A shiver wants to creep down Junkrat’s spine but he manages to suppress it. Hoggie’s roses ain’t just any flower. Ain’t replaceable. Little bit of home, here in this place that isn’t theirs. Nothing for it; Rat knows what he has to do.

The wind cuts straight through his jacket before the door even slides closed behind him. He grits his teeth against the chattering, squares his shoulders and heads into the garden. Watched Roadie enough times, shouldn’t have a problem. Starts with the roses. Makes sure they’re trimmed and wrapped proper. Gonna keep the roses safe. The memories safe. He’s sniffling before he gets the first one finished, nose threatening to run. Guess he knows what Jack Frost nipping at your nose feels like. Least raking warms him enough that he opens the jacket even as the first flakes of snow drift down. 

By the time he’s done, everything set and settled down to the last twig, the world’s gone dim and silent with snowfall. It’s a lonely peaceful feel, the gathering dark, the swirling flakes, the way the air is sharp but the world is blurred. He sniffs, sleeves his nose, but makes no move to go inside. 

“There you are. Been wondering where you’d got to,” Roadie says.

Junkrat startles. “Gonna kill Hanzo for givin’ you the ninja lessons.”

This time Roadhog huffs the particular laugh means he’s torn between amusement and not wanting to encourage Rat. 

Junkrat wraps his arms around himself and sleeves his nose. Still itching, but knows if he starts sneezing Roadie’ll make him go inside and he’s not ready yet. Luckily Roadhog’s smart enough to have put on more appropriate winter gear. “See ya ain’t risking Mercy’s wrath.”

Feels Roadie smile behind the mask. “Nah. Once is more than enough.” He pauses and the snow drifts down, dusting their shoulders. “Thank you for this, Jamie.” Roughness of his voice now got nothing to do with being sick. 

Junkrat looks up at him, puzzled. “Well ‘course, mate. Couldn’t exactly let them die, could I?” 

“You could.” Roadhog says, still facing the garden. “Did a good job, Rat.” He puts an arm around Junkrat. 

Rat leans into the warmth, then curls forward with a harsh sneeze, hastily muffled in his scarf. Another follows, and a third. “Shit. Jig’s up.”

This time Roadie actually laughs. “Bless you. Better get back inside before Mercy hears you sneezing.”

Later, even in a pair of Roadie’s pjs and wrapped in several of their blankets, Junkrat still shivers. “F-fuckin’ freezin’. Ain’t never gonna be warm again. Barely more’n a corpse. Heat of life already left my bones…” Plays up the whinge, because he can, and muffles a round of sneezing in the blankets.

Roadhog reaches over, palms his forehead, but gently. “Definitely has not. And don’t be disgusting.” He tosses a box of tissues at Junkrat who can’t free his hands quick enough to catch it. It bounces off his chest.

“This the way you show your appreciation? Some caretaker you are.” Tugs free a handful just in time to catch another, in triplicate. “Fucking hell.”

“Nah. This is the way I show my appreciation.” Hog shifts so Rat can lean against him and begins to knead the tension from his shoulders. Rat sighs as the aching fades, the shivering stills. Feels himself begin to thaw, to drift. As he slides into sleep, he catches the scent of roses, the heat of the sun warming him through. Not the wan halfhearted thing here, but the encompassing burn of Australian summer. Maybe someday they’d go home. Least they had a piece, even if it slept in the winter dark.

[cuddlepilefics]

Coughing fit

Fandom: P1Harmony

Sickie: Keeho

Caregivers: P1Harmony

Prompt: @sicktember

No one’s POV.:

Keeho had been dealing with a runny nose for almost two weeks at this point, so none of the members were surprised when he went right back to sleep in the car as they headed to an extremely early schedule. He hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep the previous night and neither had Intak nor Jiung. While the leader’s cold had mainly affected his head and nose in the beginning, it seemed to have travelled down to his chest the past two days and although Keeho really tried to be quiet, always turning his face into his pillow to muffle his cough, his roommates witnessed most of it. “Is he okay?”, Taeyang whispered, nodding towards their leader. Rubbing his face, Jiung yawned: “He’s been coughing at lot last night. I’m surprised you didn’t hear him, the walls aren’t that thick.” – “I mean, compared to last week his condition is declining for sure”, Intak added quietly. Shaking his head in disappointment, the oldest sighed: “Not really surprising. He doesn’t get nearly enough rest.”

They were lucky to have a rather long drive to the interview they were attending, so Keeho managed to nap for almost an hour with Shota slumped into his side. Both Intak and Jiung also closed their eyes for the bigger part of the drive, catching up on the sleep they had lost the previous night. “Woah, didn’t think I’d actually sleep”, Keeho yawned, trying to sit up straight before realizing his dongsaeng was cuddled up to him, “How much longer till we get there?” – “Fifteen to twenty minutes maybe”, Taeyang hummed, giving the leader a sympathetic smile. It was obvious that the nap hadn’t helped him feel better in the slightest. The car was quiet with some of them at least dozing, so it was easy to hear the crackle of congestion as Keeho drew in a deep breath before carefully clearing his throat. It really itched but he didn’t dare cough while Shota slept against his side. The younger should get as much sleep as he could before the interview.

As soon as they got out of the car, Keeho turned his face against his shoulder, giving a chesty cough. He couldn’t help but wince at the pain in his throat and it were days like this that he wasn’t all too happy about his position in the group. Without having really tried out his voice that morning, the leader could already tell it would come out scratchy at best with how much he had been coughing the previous night and he wasn’t really looking forward to doing most of the coughing for the group. He had taken a generous dose of cold medicine before they had left for the day, which was probably the only reason he had managed to sleep in the car. A tired smile spread on his lips as Shota bumped their shoulders, quietly imitating a Minecraft noise, the younger simply knew how to cheer him up.

Keeho kept his eyes closed as he got his makeup done, the bright lights in the dressing room aggravating his headache. “Hyung, we’re going to get coffee, do you want us to get you a caramel macchiato? Maybe the caffeine will help you get through the interview”, Jiung asked after lightly tapping the leader’s shoulder. For some reason him and Intak were long since ready, while Keeho still had his face dabbed at. Squinting up at the younger, Keeho sniffled: “Really not in the mood for coffee but some milk tea would be awesome.” – “On it”, Jiung smiled, putting on his coat before heading out with Intak. The pair really needed their caffeine fix after the night they had had. “Why are they already done?”, Keeho muttered hoarsely, frustrated because his face was itchy, nose runny and he really didn’t feel like having his skin be messed with. Biting his lip, Taeyang hummed: “I don’t think you want to hear this but I’m pretty sure there won’t be any concealer left after your eyebags are covered. They simply look less dead than you.” He himself only needed his hair fixed and cracked up at the look Keeho shot him. They both knew he wasn’t wrong though.

Gratefully accepting his milk tea, Keeho took a sip and relaxed. It did soothe his throat, so he hoped it’d help his voice too. Shota was growing a little fidgety next to him, so he shot the younger a smile as he rehearsed his interview replies in his head. Keeho was impressed he even remembered them with the ever-growing headache but to be fair, this was far from his first interview, he knew what he was doing. As they went on stage, he had to suppress a wince as the light made his eyes water and for a moment he forgot everything he had just been rehearsing. Luckily, the interviewer guided them through the conversation well and after some comments about his voice sounding weird, they moved on from the topic of his health. About half-way through the interview, Keeho started to sweat. Has it always been this hot underneath the spotlights? His breathing started to pick up and he lightly fanned his face when he noticed the camera zooming in on one of the other members. Taeyang lightly touched his shoulder, wordlessly asking him if he was okay. Forcing a smile, the leader sat up a little straighter and somehow got through the last few questions of the interview well before heaving a sigh of relief when the cameras were turned off.

“Need air”, Keeho announced tensely as they walked backstage, the other members giving him questioning looks when he didn’t follow them to the dressing room. Wrapping his arm around the leader’s shoulders, Taeyang guided him to the fire escape, relieved there was one that wasn’t secured with an alarm. Stepping out onto the metal staircase, Keeho ducked his face into the crook of his arm and gave a deep cough. He had been fighting this off for so long, he felt he couldn’t breathe. Gently patting he other’s back, Taeyang hummed: “You’ve been holding that for a while, huh?” Weakly gasping for air, the younger glanced at him with watering eyes as his body shook from the force of his cough. When the fit continued, the oldest grow more concerned though. “I’m okay”, Keeho choked out between coughs but Taeyang didn’t seem to believe him. Rightfully so. The leader was growing increasingly shaky and when he reached for the railing to steady himself, the older grabbed his shoulders. Lowering himself into a crouch, Keeho rested his back against the building’s wall and rasped: “I’m okay, got a little lightheaded.”

He still kept coughing every few seconds, so Taeyang really wanted to get him some water, hoping the fit would taper off once he had something to drink. He didn’t deem it safe to leave Keeho alone though, seeing as he had just felt faint, so he quickly texted their group chat, asking for someone to bright them some water. It didn’t take long for the door to open, Intak looking quite worried as he handed Taeyang a bottle of water, who opened it, encouraging: “Try taking small careful sips.” Keeho shakily lifted the bottle to his lips and took a sip before clearing his throat.

With the occasional sip of water, Keeho was eventually able to catch his breath. “I feel wrecked”, he admitted weakly, his voice completely shot at this point. They had been outside for quite some time now and goosebumps were covering the arms, so Taeyang sighed: “Not surprising. Do you think you can stand? We should get back inside, freezing your ass off isn’t going to help.” – “Yeah, yeah, I can stand”, the leader muttered, struggling back to his feet only to sway for a moment as the blood drained from his face. Quickly grabbing his arm, Taeyang pulled him back into the hallway, where Intak took the other arm, so they could get their friend back to the dressing room. Keeho tiredly clutched his spinning head, slurring: “’M so dizzy, why the hell am I so d-dizzy. I wasn’t dizzy this morning.” – “You weren’t feverish this morning”, Taeyang pointed out, walking the other to a chair.

Collapsing into his seat, Keeho heaved a sigh of relief, which inevitably turned into another cough. “What are we going to do now?”, Intak asked quietly. They’d have to get to the next part of their schedule soon. Furrowing his brows, Taeyang hummed: “We don’t have dance practice today, which is good. Keeho, do you have any vocal practice today?” The leader shook his head, reminding: “We’ll have a bunch of meetings for the rest of the day. I can do that. There’s a bottle of cold medicine in my bag, so if I take that now, I should be functional till we get there.” – “I don’t really like that strategy but I also know that there’s no point in arguing, so…”, Taeyang sighed, handing the leader some makeup wipes, so he could clean himself up. Having overheard the conversation, Jiung brought them Keeho’s bag.

Taeyang measured out the right amount of medicine, watching the leader knock it back before changing into a more comfortable hoodie. His style was not completely inappropriate for the meetings they were about to attend but he’d also get a sense of comfort from his clothing choice. By now, everyone was well aware of how Keeho’s condition had deteriorated and kept the noise down as they filed back into the car. Lightly poking the leader’s side, Shota offered him a cough drop, along with a smile when the older accepted it. It was sweet really and Keeho, gladly rested his head on his dongsaeng’s shoulder as the fever drained what little energy he had had.

With his throat on fire, Keeho somehow made it through the meetings and was glad when it was finally over. Taeyang and Jiung had made sure there was always some water in his glass, discreetly refilling it when it got empty, so he always had something to sip on to soothe his throat. When Keeho walked out of the meeting room, he seemed surprisingly put together but excused himself to the restroom right away. Intak had wanted to remind him to take some water with him, figuring the leader was about to descend into another painful coughing fit but the older was already out of earshot. Seemingly having had the same thought, Shota grabbed Keeho’s water bottle and followed him. He cringed as he approached the door, already able to hear the other’s deep, chesty cough.

“Hyung”, Shota started, taking the leader by surprise, “You know, that really doesn’t sound good.” Patting his chest, Keeho held onto the sink and choked out: “I’m okay.” – “Sure, you are”, the younger said, rolling his eyes, “Want some water?” When Keeho nodded, he uncapped the bottle and handed it to him. Taking a sip, Keeho seemed to catch his breath for the time being and rasped: “Always got bad chest colds when I was younger. Yeah, it sucks but it’s always fine after a couple of days.” – “How did you handle that?”, Shota frowned as the older coughed into some paper towels, “Jiung-hyung said you barely slept last night.” Keeho dabbed at his watering eyes before responding, his voice giving away just how exhausted he actually felt. “Lots of tea, naps and endless movie marathons”, he admitted, making the younger laugh. Taking the leader’s arm to pull him back to the rest of the group, Shota giggled: “I’m pretty sure we can do that too. Come on, you can nap on my shoulder on the way back.”

That was exactly what Keeho did, the motion of the car surprisingly soothing. His eyes were still sticky with sleep when Taeyang tugged him out of the car, making him stumble. The oldest guided him to the dorm where he pushed him straight towards the bathroom, instructing: “Take a shower and try to breathe deeply, so the steam can clear up some of that congestion.” While Keeho sluggishly followed the other’s orders, the rest of the group got changed and started to prepare dinner. They had some soup ready when the leader shuffled out of the bathroom, sniffling into the cuff of his sleeve. Unbeknownst to him, Shota had informed the other members about how to take care of him and they had already piled about a dozen blankets onto the couch for a movie night while the tea steeped in the kitchen.

“Are you up for a movie or would you rather go to bed?”, Taeyang asked when they were done clearing the table. Clearing his throat, Keeho whispered: “I’d love watching a movie but please don’t blame me if I fall asleep halfway through.” – “Of course not”, Jongseob laughed, “We will make fun of you though.” That did make the leader chuckle. “Fine with me”, Keeho agreed and let Shota pull him to the couch. The younger was quite comfy to cuddle with, Keeho noted and clumsily threw a blanket over their legs. While Intak turned on the TV and they discussed what to watch, Taeyang handed the leader a steeming cup, mouthing: “Hot ginger tea with honey and lemon.” Shooting the older a grateful smile, Keeho lightly blew onto the tea and took a sip, careful not to burn his tongue. The drink felt amazing on his raw throat and the warmth made him feel drowsy, yet he didn’t want to go to bed already, far too comfortable surrounded by his group.

[captaincravatthecapricious]

Sick Fic I Didn't Bother To Name

Post canon, Tim comes over to look after Jon while Martin is at work.

cw dizziness, fever, nausea, fainting, mentions of vomit, food mention I guess. Let me know if I should add more warnings, this is just a fluffy little sick fic it might have some light angst I don't really remember.

The thought of moving makes Jon want to cry.  All his muscles hurt.  The worm scars aching like the day they were made.  He’s just going to lie there here until someone makes him move.  

Which will probably be soon, because he’s positive Martin has asked Tim to come over and …water him?  

No, in all seriousness, he can’t exactly recall what Martin told him this morning as he was leaving for work.  Something about not letting him go in to work, no working online, no checking his email, something something Tim?  Not that Jon is feeling well enough to get his computer.  Let alone let it assault his over-sensitive eyes with the harsh light of the screen.  Which is unfortunate, because he thinks Martin probably left him a text about whatever he missed this morning.  

He really hopes Martin thought to email his students.  He’ll try to remember to ask Tim to check.  If Tim’s even coming.  

Christ, he’s not thinking straight.  

He thinks Tim is coming, but if not, he’s got paracetamol, his inhaler, water, a thermos of tea, some saltines, a little cup of applesauce, excedrin, a thermometer (Jon isn’t sure why Martin left him that, there is no way he’s going to use that he just… really really hates thermometers, they mean he’s ill and that meant no school and staying quiet alone and miserable in his room so ill to open a book if he was ill enough for his grandmother to notice, it was less bad when he got to go to the school nurse.  Actually got some medicine sometimes, but they often sent him home too, and then his grandmother was cross that she had to pick him up.  In any case, no thermometer if he has a say in it.), bin, tissues (again Jon isn’t sure why, he’s not particularly congested, but Martin is Martin and is taking care of him even when he’s at work which makes Jon feel warm to his core, not from the fever that he knows he’s running.), lucozade, and his cane.  Everything in easy reach.  

He should probably take some medicine, but even reaching that far feels like too much.  He’s just going to lay here, on top of his blanket pile until the fever chills take him back and he has to burrow under them again.  It’s been the challenge all night to find a comfortable enough temperature to sleep.  A challenge he’s mostly been losing.  Leaving him feeling gritty and heavy and with a headache.  

He just wants to sleep.  Drifting in and out of it with frantic almost laziness.  Rolling heat to biting cold.  He wishes he could get his laptop, willing to bear the brightness if only to get a distraction from his discomfort.  

He’s just managed a trip to and from the loo, when Tim arrives.  Jon’s collapsed back on his blanket nest on the couch when Tim calls out before keys jangle in the lock.  Jon’s too busy trying not to pass out to make out words.  He’s impressed he managed the loo without a surprise nap.  But, he can make no promises that he won’t pass out now.  

He comes to with the inside of Tim’s wrist pressed to his forehead.  With a quiet gasp.  And then a frankly embarrassing sound as he fully absorbs how wonderfully cool Tim’s wrist is.  

“Hey there, bud.  Hate to ask, but did you just pass out from just lying there, because if so, I’m gonna have to be a little worried?”  

Jon tries to focus on Tim.  “No… no got back from the toilet and surprise nap.”  

Tim looks relieved.  

Jon is just relieved that he isn’t alone.  Where he can too easily spiral.  Being alone and miserable leaves it too easy to slip into memories.  Especially with the impressive fever that he’s got to be running, if the agonizing walk from couch to loo and loo to couch is any indication.  His muscles are shaking from fatigue from that pathetically short walk, and he’d had a death grip on his cane and the wall to keep upright.  Christ, he’s really not well.  

Tim makes a big show of wiping his brow and breathing a sigh of relief.  “Hey think you can give me some of the couch?”  

Jon would love to, he nods, but consciousness flutters when he tries to sit up.  Losing his vision to the dizziness again.  Tim catches him against his chest, and gently holds him steady as he slips onto the couch, positioning Jon as best he can.  Jon snuggling against Tim’s hooded jumper.  

He still can’t believe he’s allowed to do this.  A few years ago, Tim didn’t want to be in the same room with him.  But …here he is.  Here when it counts.  (Although Martin would probably tell him that it counted earlier too, that Tim should have been by his side, a thought that he’s been trying to work through in therapy, and Jon is working through in reverse in his own.)  Jon could cry.  Might cry.  Fever’s high enough that he probably will.  

“Got a bit worried when you didn’t answer any texts.  Wanted to see if you needed anything.”  

“‘m sorry.”  Jon really hadn’t thought to check his phone, and even if he had, well not as if he’d been up to reading anything on a tiny bright screen.  Even the thought of doing so makes his head hurt more than it already does.  

“Don’t worry about it.  Have you taken some meds recently?”  

Jon has no idea what time it is, or when Martin left.  Can’t even keep track of how light it is outside with the blinds drawn and his face shoved into Tim.  “Had some before Martin left?”  

Tim’s got an arm around Jon.  He’s rubbing his back.  And there is a tightness in Jon’s chest.  It’s been years.  It’s been years.  It’s been years, and he still can’t believe that Tim is really back and here and cares.  Tim could hold him every moment he can stand touch, and it wouldn’t be enough.  Jon needs.  He needs the attention and care, and just needs his friend in general.  And if he didn’t feel so sick, he could happily live in this moment forever.  If he wasn’t dizzy and feverish and dreadfully queasy.  

Tim’s hand stills, and a shuddery breath escapes Jon with the absence.  

Tim’s heart lurches.  He goes back to rubbing Jon’s back.  He’s pretty sure this is Jon crying and not Jon about to puke.  Jon’s decent at letting him know these sorts of things, or at least is consistent in his physical cues.  “Hey, bud.  Just gonna get you some fever reducers, it’s about time, I think.  Marto texted me when he was leaving.  Sorry about leaving you alone for a bit.  Had to finish up my shift and grab a shower and grab some soup making stuff and some DVDs, in case you wanna watch anything.  But, I’m not going anywhere.  You’re stuck with me.”  

Jon huffs a watery laugh.  Or maybe it’s a sob.  it’s damp, but that’s okay.   

“You just gotta sit up a little.  Wow, Marto really stocked up the coffee table for you, huh.  He loves you a lot.  Also, he worries.”  

Tim tilts Jon slightly more upright, and wipes away the tears, before handing him some medicine and some lucozade.  Martin said Jon had been sick earlier (probably more due to the POTS flaring up, Martin hoped, and Tim also hopes.  Not that a POTS flare up is a good thing, but if he can keep Jon full of salt and keep his feet up, he shouldn’t have any trouble keeping fluids in him, which makes things easier), in any case, the electrolytes are probably a good idea.  

“You thrown up recently?”  

Signs ‘no.’  That’s good.  

“Wanna try some crackers?”  

Jon shrugs.  

“If you’re up to it later, I can make us some soup, ‘kay?”  

Jon nods, looking …faded.  Probably best to get his legs up and him cozy.  

“Mind if I get you in a more comfy position?”  

Jon doesn’t answer, just blinks dizzily, so Tim carefully gets up, and props Jon’s feet up with the decorative pillows that he knows Jon thinks are stupid, and tucks a couple of the blankets around Jon.  Not too many, not wanting Jon’s temperature to climb any higher, but he can’t just watch Jon shiver.  Hurts too much to watch.  

Reminds him of all the times he ignored him.  All the times he hasn’t been there.  And there’ve been many.  He should have been there.  

So he’ll risk a couple blankets, even though Jon is burning away.  Hopefully the fever reducers do their job soon.  He does, however get a damp flannel for Jon’s forehead while he’s up.  

He thinks Jon might be unconscious again, but he won’t worry about that unless he doesn’t come around in a minute or so.  

Jon’s awake again by the time Tim has himself settled back on the couch.  

“How about some TV?  You up for that?”  

Jon just whines.  

“We’ll start some, and if it makes it worse, we’ll turn it off, okay?”  

Jon wiggles a little, getting comfortable.  And Tim chuckles.  

“Okay, bud.  You get some rest, okay?  I’ll make you some soup later, if you’re up for it.  I got ingredients for your favorite.  Or smoothies, if that sounds better.”  

Jon makes a sound of complaint as Tim as started to talk over the intro music.  

Tim chuckles.  “Alright, alright.  Just let me know if you get hungry.  Martin will be home tonight, until then, you’re stuck with me.”  

Jon falls asleep within an episode with Tim gently carding his fingers through his hair.  

[words-writ-in-starlight]

For the ask meme: Sarah x Jareth (I almost wrote that as David Bowie), 14, 22, and 29!

I am RIGHT NOW watching Labyrinth with my partners, EXCELLENT timing!  Cut for length.

14) When one has a cold, what does the other do?

Jareth has never been “sick” a day in his immortal life.  He’s been stabbed, poisoned, cursed, and hungover, but even the weakest goblin is rarely “sick” and Jareth hasn’t spend enough time around mortals to have a good grasp of the fact that nonfatal illnesses even exist.    

Point is, there’s an intermediary period between Sarah pointedly ignoring every owl in sight, no matter the coloring, and Sarah becoming the Goblin Queen where she forces him to visit the mortal world more than he has in living memory, including his.  (Jareth has a vague sense that he might have been here more often once--perhaps when he was young, before he was King--but he’s been King so long, and the Labyrinth has a chain-tight grip on its own.)  Toby is entranced, and also terrified--he doesn’t buy Jareth’s glamour for a second.  Sarah spends half her life running interference on Jareth’s behavior, and the other half doing a double major in political sciences and folklore.  Which she decided to get before she agreed to start talking to Jareth again, thank you, kindly fuck off.

Point is, eventually even Sarah’s suspiciously excellent immune system clocks out for the day, and she wakes up with a splitting headache, a wet and congested cough, and a sense that her skin is being abraded by even her softest sheets.  She’s not sick-sick, it’s just a nasty head cold with a fever, but she calls out of class and flops down on the couch and mumbles non-answers to the goblin who lives in the top of her closet when it scuttles out to see why she’s still home.

She doesn’t even realize Jareth is there until she feels a shadow fall over her and cracks an eye to peer up at him blearily.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks in his most forbidding Goblin King voice, and she groans and pulls her blanket over her head.

“Go away, Jareth, I’m tired.”

“I will not,” he says automatically as he jerks the blanket down to her shoulder, and then he’s crouching down in front of her, mismatched eyes dangerous and inhumanly bright in the yellow light of her little dorm apartment.  “Who did this to you, Sarah?  I will not leave without an answer.”

“No one,” she says, squinting up at him.  “It’s just a cold.”

“’Cold’,” he repeats, in the same skeptical way that he said ‘phone’ when she complained about his unannounced visits.  “I am not aware of that particular toxin.”

“I’m just sick, it’s not like I’ve been poisoned.”

“An illness?”  He pauses, pulls a glove off one hand and reaches out to touch her cheek experimentally.  His fingers are always cold compared to hers, and she shivers hard when he touches her skin, but he doesn’t flinch.  There’s something odd on his face, a locked-up hardness, and he says, “What is it?”

“A cold,” Sarah says again, pulling her blankets back up to her chin and shutting her eyes.  “I’m just going to feel like garbage for a few days.  Probably less if you let me sleep.  Come back and bother me on Saturday.”

He doesn’t leave.  Whatever, Sarah decides--that’s his problem.  She’s tired and feverish and annoyed and she’s going to sleep whether Jareth likes it or not.  She thinks he’s talking to someone--probably that snitch in the closet--about something--sounded vaguely like library and cold--but that’s Not Her Concern.  Sarah is done here.  She feels the end of the couch sink down by her feet just before she falls asleep.

When she wakes up, the Goblin King is still there, reading a book filched from one of her shelves, pen tapping idly against his lips--he’s marking up the fairy tales again, god, she hates his guts sometimes--and there’s a series of tidy piles on the rickety coffee table.  It looks like someone robbed a pharmacy and cleaned out their Cough And Cold aisle, and then sorted their booty by color, which suggests probably goblins just smart enough to recognize a word their king showed them, but not smart enough to read the labels.

Sarah smiles a little and grabs some cough drops from the top of the red pile, and condescends to drape her legs over Jareth’s lap before she goes back to sleep.

22) Where does their first kiss happen?

Sarah has a much harder time in college than she expected.  Not with being away from home, although she does miss Toby something awful and spends every second of her breaks with him.  No, the problem is that she has to share a room.  All the way through freshman year, she has a roommate, and--

And the roommate is fine, she’s a perfectly inoffensive girl from Chicago who keeps her things on her own side of the shoebox room they share and doesn’t bring anyone back to the room and never makes noise late at night, but Sarah hates it.  She can’t quite put her finger on why--is a little afraid of what she might say if pressed, if she’s honest.  She has these half-finished thoughts that involve words like territory and invader and mine.  Sarah has worked very hard not to be a selfish teenager or, possibly worse, the kind of girl who sometimes talks to a Goblin King and wonders privately if his final offer was serious.

Sarah has no plans to be the Goblin Queen, is the point, no matter what Hoggle mutters under his breath when she admits, the summer after her first year of college, that she’s talking to Jareth again.  (He just--he can come see her, there, and he can look like a person, and none of her other friends can, and people are weirdly nervous of Sarah, these days, and she was lonely, okay, so she let an owl into her room while her roommate was gone, and let them who never made a bad choice in college throw the first stone.)  And that means getting over herself and never voicing any of the thoughts that creep into her head about how her roommate, who has every right to sleep here, deserves to be thrown in an oubliette for disturbing Sarah’s peace.

Sarah is better than that, these days.

The only person who isn’t fooled is, of course, Jareth, who is very perceptive and also very persistently determined to visit regularly.  He smothers smirks when he sees Sarah force herself to be kind, and once offers, sweet as arsenic, to take Sarah’s roommate off her hands if you just say the right words, precious.  Sarah glares at him and pointedly turns her back, and he laughs as he leaves.  But he never does anything to her roommate, and Sarah doesn’t think about how Jareth never actually does anything to her space or anything in it, and doesn’t think about the rules that fairy tales handed down for millennia about places that fall under the power of a creature not to be toyed with.

She’s signed up to room with the same girl for sophomore year, because she doesn’t have a reason to claim a single and seniors always snap up the free ones.  But she shows up to get her key, and the registrar frowns and clicks a few things and then shrugs and hands Sarah a key.  He gives Sarah directions to one of the buildings up-campus, and Sarah goes, not particularly suspicious--she’s never been to the up-campus buildings, because people are nervous around Sarah and, while she’s manages to make a friend or two, no one really invites her back to their room.  Into their space.

Sarah opens her door and stands there, staring, mildly shocked.

Apparently, she is now the proud resident of a senior-only dorm room, one of the very tiny apartments that are supposed to house two people, with a kitchenette and a couch and everything.  There’s no one else’s name on the other door.  Sarah is late moving in, but there’s no sign of anyone here, except--

The Goblin King is sitting at the desk in the bedroom that gets the most sunlight, feet kicked lazily up on the wooden top and playing a pair of crystals between his fingers, and he smirks at her.

“I know, I know,” he drawls, vanishing the crystals with a twist of his fingers.  “I have no power over you.  But the school’s quartermaster--”

“Registrar,” Sarah corrects automatically.  He makes a dismissive gesture.  “Did you--do this?”

“Of course,” Jareth says.  “This...situation is apparently the height of luxury at this institution.  You did so despise that fluttering creature--”

“Molly was perfectly nice--”

“--and I see no reason for you to endure her for another year.”

Sarah--should really say that he’s an interfering, high-handed bastard who pretends that he has the divine right to arrange her life to his liking, and keeps rules-lawyering his way around her totally legitimate freedom from his interference.

Sarah really doesn’t want to share a room again.

“What do you want in return?”  She doesn’t even pretend that she’s not suspicious, and he puts on an offended face, bringing his feet down and pressing his lips together.

“It is a gift, Sarah.”

...oh.  Sarah blinks for a moment.  He sounds--geniunely annoyed.  Gifts are, in her knowledge of the Underground and the fae alike, serious business.

She acts without thinking, takes a step forward and tucks her hair behind her ear, and kisses the high point of his cheekbone above his frown.  When she pulls back, she sees a moment of transparent, raw shock before he orders his face into a self-satisfied and haughty raised eyebrow.

“Don’t say anything,” Sarah tells him, feeling her cheeks burn.  “If you can keep your mouth shut, this might resemble a nice moment.”

“If I had known that I could claim debts in kisses--”

“You can’t!” Sarah interrupts loudly.  “Don’t get any ideas!  Now get out and let me unpack!”

29) Why do they fall a little bit more in love?

Jareth is already thoroughly decided that Sarah is eventually going to agree to be his queen, one way or another, by the time she finally sighs and opens her window and tells the owl that if he’s very very good, and doesn’t talk to Toby, and looks like a regular person, she will speak to him just to get him to stop lurking.  He breaks all of those rules very quickly, of course, but she doesn’t kick him out--instead, she yells at him, and he puts on his coldest and haughtiest voice as he snaps back at her, and it’s fun.  Jareth never could turn down a challenge, and it’s been a long time since he faced a challenge he might lose, and just like the first time, it makes him ruthlessly determined to win.

It’s not news to him, therefore, that he loves her.

She manages to lie, obfuscate, and generally bullshit her way around admitting what she does at school for nearly three years.  But she starts writing her thesis and slips up, and Jareth is stretched on her bed in the apartment he arranged for her like he lives there when he idly picks up a piece of paper and skims her proposal and she sees his eyebrow rise slowly before he holds it up at her.

“What’s this, precious?”

“Homework,” she says flatly.

“‘Thesis Proposal,’” he reads aloud, drawling.  “‘Sarah Williams.  Proposed title: I’d’ve Et Thy Heart of Flesh: Fairy Tales as a Portrait of Royalty Through History.  Majors: Folklore and...’”  His mocking drawl pauses, and he can’t quite hide his transparent delight as he finishes the sentence.  “‘...and Political Science.’”  

When he looks up from the page, she has a stubborn set to her mouth and a bright spark in her eyes, almost angry.  “It’s not about you, you arrogant prick, I picked my majors years ago.  Give me that, I need the notes.”

“And what do fairy tales say about royalty, dearest?”

“That they’re prideful jerks who steal kids for armies and play favorites--the paper, Jareth.”

“And what do you plan to do with your degree in politics?”

“Regicide,” Sarah snaps, and jumps out of her chair to snatch the paper out of his fingers.  He lets her, and smiles at the way she blushes stark red across her cheekbones and down her throat, and wonders whether she would like the emerald ring he’s kept in his private chambers for the past three years.

Mortals have been doing diamonds, for betrothals, but he thinks green suits her better.

[suddencolds]

Bad Timing | Genshin Impact

During Windblume festival, Diluc ends up hosting in an event in a venue that’s suitably decorated. Unfortunately, he just happens to be allergic to the flowers.

(This might be the most self-indulgent allergy fic I’ve ever written, haha. DIluc snzfic + pollen allergies + company from someone... unexpected.)

—

It starts as a miscommunication.

It’s harmless enough. Donna, whom Diluc vaguely remembers seeing outside of the flower shop just adjacent to Angels Share, makes an arrangement with Charles to decorate the Dawn Winery. An act of gratitude, or something along those lines—just in time for Windblume Festival.

At least, that’s how Charles tells him about it, just as Diluc is about to leave from his shift the night before the party.

“Decorations?” he asks. “I see. I will have to give her my thanks. Did she speak to Adelinde about it?”

Charles ponders this, taking his place behind the counter. “I’m not sure,” he says. “She says she hopes it’s to your liking, though.”

It’s all Diluc can do to nod. Decorations for Windblume usually mean one thing, but there’s a reason why the tavern is scarcely decorated, and it’s not that he doesn’t have the means to decorate. The tavern’s current undecorated state—with the exception of pressed-dry flowers or flowerless vines strung around the second floor railings—is meant to accommodate… well.

He doubt Donna knows, because he’s never had a reason to bring it up in conversation. As far as truths go, it’s somewhat embarrassing. For now, he can only hope that her act of kindness isn’t as extensive as he thinks.

— 

It’s an oversight, for sure, but it’s not until he steps foot into the main hall of the winery, two hours before the event’s inception that he realizes the extent of it.

The winery is crowded with flowers. There are snapdragons and cecilias strung up around the balconies, windwheel asters in neatly arranged bouquets on every available table, dandelions and wolfhooks cresting the fireplace. Vines of ivy and windwheel aster blossoms are woven around the staircase railings.

Instinctively, he raises a hand to cover his nose and mouth, as if to shield himself from it all. There’s a telltale itch already settling in his nose.

It’s a beautiful sight. But Diluc is very, very allergic.

He flings every window open—surely the air from outside must be an improvement—and bolts out of the building as soon as he can. Just from a few minutes of occupying the winery, he’s already congested, and his eyes are brimming with allergic tears.

The event—a celebration of the anniversary of the Dawn Winery’s founding, that happens to align closely with Windblume every year—is going to last for five hours. Moreover, there will be esteemed guests present, with which he’ll have to discuss business matters, which means that he has to be present.

Diluc shuts his eyes. Seasonal allergies are not anything that will cause him lasting harm, he’s sure… except, perhaps, to his professionalism. The winery has been in a financially good place these past few years, which means there’s barely any pressure on him to prove his own competence. His presence is more for show than for anything else. This should be fine. A five hour celebration, and then he’ll be out of here. He can ask the maids to deal with taking down the decorations later.

—

He arrives early, stands as far from the floral decorations as he can—it’s difficult; they’re everywhere—to make sure everything is in place. Despite his efforts, the winery is practically a flower garden, thanks to Donna’s well-intentioned arrangements. It’s not long before he’s sniffling again.

His eyes are starting to water, too. He wipes them gingerly on the cuff of his sleeve, sniffles, and nods his acknowledgement to the guests that are starting to file in.

“Sir Ragnvindr,” someone he recognizes as a business associate says to him, holding a flute of champagne. “How are you on this fine evening?”

How does he look? Diluc sniffles again. “I’m well,” he says, rather curtly.

“Mondstadt’s Windblume Festival is certainly a sight,” the associate is saying. “I’m glad I stopped by town at such an opportune moment.”

Diluc can’t think of anything he’d want to do less, right now, than entertain someone’s small talk. “It is one of Mondstadt’s most… hiIh!— most esteemed annual traditions… hiih-!” Damn it. Not now.

The itch in his nose is back. Luckily, the associate either doesn’t notice his predicament or doesn’t find it worth commenting on.

“Is that so? Tell me more about it.”

Diluc sniffles again. Anything to keep his nose from openly running. “I’m... sure… hiIIH-!” Barbatos, he needs to sneeze. He doesn’t want to be having this conversation right now. “...There are many people here more qualified to recount Mondstadt’s hiIhh-!… history… snf!… than I am.”

The associate raises an eyebrow, cocking his head. “Have you not lived here all your life? The previous owner of the Winery was Crepus Ragnvindr. I was under the impression that he was—”

“My father,” Diluc confirms, before he’s ducking away to stifle a sneeze, almost perfectly contained, into his wrist.

“hiIH’NGxt!” He gasps, sniffling, and presses his wrist closer to his face for the second. “hh…. hiiIH’NDGxt!”

It’s two sneezes, but they’re barely relieving. He raises his head, blinking. “Excuse me. Your assumptions are correct, though I…” he makes the mistake of rubbing his nose—something about the gesture just makes him need to sneeze. “hiIH… it’s been awhile since I’ve, snf, had the chance to properly celebrate, and longer still since… hIIh-!... since I’ve heard the history.”

“That’s strange,” the associate says. “You have lived in Mondstadt your whole life, yet you don’t know it’s history? Then again, I heard that you left for a few years, so maybe you feel no attachment to it.” It’s a thinly-veiled insult, but Diluc is too distracted to address it. He wants nothing more than to sneeze freely, but he’s sure that it would be loud, and it’d draw more attention than he wants right now. For now, he settles for raising a hand to—

“hiIH’DGXxt!” God, his eyes are watering, and the sneeze—though stifled—is forceful enough to jerk him forward, his shoulders shuddering.

The associate cringes. “It is a shame that you are spending the festival unwell.”

“I’m fine,” Diluc says, “Just… snf, just… hih!… HIih’GGKXt-shiu! ngh...” He needs to get out of here. Stifling offers virtually no relief at all, and he’s not going to stop sneezing anytime soon, from the looks of it.

He sighs, rubs his nose on the back of his hand, tells himself he can handle a few extra decorations. “Sorry. Did you, snf, have business matters to discuss?”

The associate’s expression hardens. “As you know, we have been ordering from the winery for a couple months now. I regret to inform you that there have been a few—”

Diluc blinks quickly. He can already feel his breath wavering—the start of another long, embarrassingly desperate buildup, probably.

“—troublesome incidents, specifically regarding the delivery of the wine. The delivery vehicles have been delayed on a handful of occasions—”

“hiIH! snf… hIIiih…”

His nose is tickling with such ferocity it’s almost torturous. He needs to get outside. His allergies are tolerable out in town in the open air, as long as he walks quickly enough and avoids all of the more festive installments. But here, in an enclosed space so thoroughly decorated, in a living room with mediocre circulation at best, surrounded by more flowers than he’s ever seen in his life…

“—just last week, the delivery cart was stopped by an assembly of hilichurl archers that destroyed nearly half the stock. Three weeks before that, the carriage caught the notice of one of Liyue’s Ruin Guards. I expect you are aware of these incidents?”

Diluc clears his throat. “I am. An excess of wine was sent back—hiiH! … in both cases, snf!- as soon as word of these setbacks… hIIH... reached the winery, snf.” The congestion is starting to settle in his voice, dulling his consonants. “You yourself… HIIh-! verified that the shipments m-made… hIIH-! it back to you… HIIIh!”

Sevens above. He doesn’t want to sneeze again, in front of someone who’s looking at him with a combination of disgust and condescension. But he knows, by now, that the most he can do is delay the inevitable.

“Ah,” the man waves a hand dismissively. “We did get the wine eventually. But it was still delayed, you see. Quite—”

—Diluc gasps sharply. “HIIIih-!”

“—an unprofessional experience, to say the least.”

His shoulders tense, as he jerks forward again, catching a barely restrained sneeze between the pinch of his fingers. “hihH'GXNt...! snf, hIIH… HIIH’NGDTtsh!” His body shudders with the release; he can feel the pressure of the sneeze settle behind his eyes, along with a dull ache—he’s going to give himself a headache if he keeps this up. “hiih-!... hiihHH…” This would be less humiliating if he could just sneeze and be done with it. Instead he finds himself caught in buildups that go nowhere, with a tickle in his nose that refuses to abate. “HIIIH… hIH’GZSchhh! snf… hhH-!”

Barely a breath in, his breath is already hitching again. He ducks into his sleeve, cringing, just in time for—

“hh… hiiH!... hh... HIIH’GXnT—shEw!!” The failed attempt at stifling is strangely relieving, all things considered, and he exhales shakily, wiping his nose on the back of his hand.

“Sir Ragnvindr,” The associate says pointedly. “I’m sure you can see where the problem lies. Delays are not exactly conducive to business.”

Diluc bites back an irritated retort. Delivery to Liyue from Mondstadt is bound to have its complications, given the concentration of enemies outside of the two cities; he’s sure this associate is aware of that, too. He has no control over whether the deliveries get interrupted, and he’s pretty sure it’s the associate’s fault for not putting the orders in in advance.

“What… snf… would you suggest, then?”

The associate smiles. “Given our longstanding role as customers, I believe monetary compensation would only be fair.”

Diluc sighs, scrubs at his eyes with one hand. “You can bring it up with Elzer. He is usually the one to handle these sorts of things,” Diluc says. “In the future, though, to save both of us the trouble, it would be best if you would... snf!... take care to place your orders in advance.”

The man stares back at him, his lip curling. “I beg your pardon?”

“The roads between here and Liyue are dangerous. I cannot always guarantee a safe delivery,” The tickle in his nose is back, relentless. If he’s going to sneeze again, the last thing he wants is to do it in front of this associate. Instead, he turns on his heels, sniffling. “Excuse me.”

He just about bolts from the room, past the floral decorations and up the staircase. The second floor is darker, lit only by the ceiling chandelier. He all but slumps against the wall. His nose is still itching, and he raises a gloved hand as his vision goes watery and indistinct—

“hiIIH’IISCH’iiuu! Hh… hDDt’TTZCSh’u!”

He doesn’t have time to wonder if anyone’s heard. Suddenly he’s gasping again, fumbling for a handkerchief, pulling up one sleeve so he can wipe his nose on the back of his wrist when he doesn’t find one. “Hiih… hiIIIH… snf-!”

The tickle falters just as suddenly, leaving him on the precipice of a sneeze, suspended in ticklish wait. He rubs his nose again, in hopes that the pressure on the bridge of his nose will be just irritating enough to coax out a sneeze, but...

It leaves him panting, his eyes still shut as he stands there, his breath still shaky with anticipation.

“hiIIH…! snf…” Nothing, still. “HIIIh...”

He rubs his nose again, hard, on the back of his wrist. Maybe if he could just sneeze—give his body relief in the fit it so clearly wants—it will solve his predicament for the next fifteen minutes, at least.

He just has to find somewhere quiet.

He rounds the corner on the second floor, stumbles through the door at the end of the hall out onto the balcony. The fresh air is immediately relieving, and he sucks in a long breath, leaning forward on the balcony railing. With the exception of some of the Dawn Winery staff, no one’s outside, and he doubts any of the guests will have reasons to spend enough time on the second floor to find the door that leads here. He figures it’s as good a place as he’ll find, for the time being.

The itch in his nose still burns, almost intense enough to make him shiver. Cecilias are wound around one of the balcony’s wooden rungs—he wonders, momentarily, if it’d be worth it to—

The door behind him swings open. He startles.

“Oh,” someone says from behind him. “...sir Diluc.”

It’s Rosaria, from the church. He doesn’t know much about her—he can probably count the number of words they’ve exchanged on one hand. She’s at the Angel’s Share every Thursday with Kaeya, downing drinks faster he thinks could possibly be healthy—though she must know her limits, given that she never seems to get as drunk as some of the knights do. Now, she eyes him warily.

There’s a windwheel aster clipped to the lapel of her shirt.

“Didn’t expect you to see you here,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “Aren’t you like, the most important person here?”

“Something like that,” he says.

“Then I suspect there’s a reason why you’re hiding out here.”

He doesn’t answer. How can he? “Ah, well, it’s fine,” she says, sounding unbothered. “Whatever reason you have, it doesn’t really matter to me. Hope you don’t mind if I smoke.”

He sniffles, turning away to wipe his nose on his wrist. “I… don’t.”

“Okay. I figured you’d be happier if I did it outside, anyways.” She steps into place next to him, digs through her pockets for a cigarette. “Think you could light it?”

He lowers his hand and turns to face her. Before he has a chance to light it, though, something about the proximity of the flower on her shirt is just enough to set him off — the next breath he takes leaves him gasping, his eyes watering immediately as he ducks violently into his elbow.

“hiIH… nGKTt!”

He’s not even close to done. “hiIH… hiiihH…. HH-!! snf-! hHiih’NDGXtT!”

“Bless you,” she says. “Are you sick?”

“Your… shirt…” is all he manages to gasp out, before he’s pressing his elbow tighter to his face, muffling another sneeze into the fabric of his sleeve—

“hiIH’IIIGXTtt… HIIiH-! Hiih… HIIH’IISsch’iu! Excuse me... HIih’GGKXt!!...”

“Oh,” she says, sounding like he’s just let him in on a secret. “You’re allergic.”

“Unfortunately,” he admits, feeling his face grow hot.

“You should’ve said.” She unclips the windwheel aster from her shirt, gives it half a look, and flicks it over the edge of the balcony.

“Wait,” Diluc says, his eyebrows furrowing. “I didn’t mean to… hiIIh-! snf... imply you should get rid of it.”

Rosaria smiles unreadably. “I wasn’t wearing it by choice. A friend coerced me to. Is it just windwheel asters that set you off?”

“It’s… hiiiiH… it’s just about everything… hiIH’ITTSChh! hiIH… NGKTT-shiiu!” It’s getting harder and harder to stifle, but it’s already embarrassing enough to sneeze in front of her in the first place.

“Everything, huh? Sounds awfully inconvenient.”

He lights her cigarette with his vision. “Thanks,” she says, and immediately pulls it in to take an appreciative drag. “Kind of suffocating to be inside with so many businessmen for so long, if you ask me.”

He sniffles harder, rubbing his nose on the cup of his sleeve.“I… snf…! I’m not going to be stopping anytime soon. You should probably… hiih... find somewhere else to smoke… hiiH... hiih’GKTT-!”  

“You know,” Rosaria says, after a beat. “You’d be done sneezing sooner if you didn’t hold them back like that.”

If Diluc wasn’t blushing before, he’s sure he must be blushing now. It’s embarrassing to hear her address his sneezing in such a straightforward manner—he’s starting to see why she gets on so well with Kaeya.

“I’m fine, thanks… hiih… hiiH’NGXT’Sshh! HIIH’GKTT-! ugh...” Maybe she has a point—the stifling is starting to make his head hurt, and he hunches forward, still sniffling, to lean more heavily on the railing.

She shrugs. “Okay. I’m just saying, I wouldn’t mind. Why’d you decorate the winery like that, anyway? It seems awfully… masochistic.”

“A misunderstanding. Donna’s doing, though… hiiiH!... it would have been ungrateful if I had taken the decorations down... hiiih... hiIH’GkkT!!” — caught neatly in the palm of his hand. “hIih… hiIIH… nGSSCHh! snf…”

“Sevens, Diluc. Drop the formalities and let yourself sneeze. I’m getting a headache just listening to you.”

He frowns, lifts his hand from his face, only to clamp it back on when he realizes what a mess he’s made out of himself, his skin prickling with embarrassment. “If you’re certain...”

She scoffs, taking another drag of the cigarette. “Trust me. I couldn’t care less.” Usually, smoke doesn’t bother him—his pyro vision would be significantly more inconvenient if it did—but now, with his nose so sensitive, it’s exactly the last push he needs to send him over the edge.

“hIIH.. HIIH…” He blinks through teary eyes, his grip tightening against the railing. “HiiH… iHH'GZCHh-iiu! Hihh… hhD’TTschH’iu! snf.. hiIH... HIHH'iischHiew!”

The relief from letting himself sneeze is immediate and almost dizzying. He gasps again, taking a step back from the balcony. The next sneeze snaps him forward at the waist.

“hiIH’ISCHhiuu! hiIih… GKKTT-’SHiuu!” Rosaria disappears back into the manor, so quietly he almost doesn’t hear her leave, but he’s too out of it to properly react. “Hiih… hiIh… HIIH’ISCCHh’yuu!” He sniffles against his wrist, his shoulders just about slumping with the relief, before they’re tensing again just a few seconds later. “hiih… hiiih.. hiiIH’NGTTT-SHIu! Hiih… HiiH’IIIISCCHh’iuu!”

He groans, sniffling, resisting the urge to bury his head in his hands—it seems like an appealing enough option, if not for the fact that he’s been covering with one of them. The door behind him opens again.

“Thought you might need this,” Rosaria says, and hands him a handkerchief. He takes it gratefully. It’s only after he’s blown his nose into it—quietly—that he trusts himself to speak.

“Thank you,” he says. “I’ll find a time to give it back when it’s clean... snf.”

She blinks at him, her eyebrows furrowing as she looks him over. “Geez, you look awful. I’ll ask Kaeya to stop by later so he and I can take down the decorations for you.”

It’s surprisingly sweet. “You don’t have to,” Diluc says, wincing at the congestion in his voice. “I can get it... dealt with… hiih’IISSSH’iuu!”

“Your maids can, you mean. Still, it will be faster if we help out... your bedroom’s on the second floor, isn’t it?”

When he nods, she shrugs, leaning back casually against the doorframe. “Even more reason to get it cleaned up faster, then. Would it kill you to accept some help for once in your life?”

Diluc sniffles, folding the handkerchief neatly. “I suppose not. I... appreciate it, then.”

She smiles at him. “It’s the least I can do. I’ve been leeching off your free alcohol this whole afternoon, so we can call it even.”

[strikethematch18]

Dadzawa x F! Reader - Over Worked & Tired Part 1

It was now reaching the hour of at least 3 in the morning in Japan and you still hadn’t finished your paper proposal that you have been working on for hours on end. It certainly didn’t help that it was weeks overdue with only a few days until the end of the semester for your college courses back in America. 

You’re an American based student attending U.A. High, but also completing your bachelor’s degree at a college back in the states. Highly intelligent, as you were a member of Class 3-A and still in high school but only have one more semester until you finish your B.A. in English, about the same time you would graduate high school. Unfortunately, the time difference between the US and Japan has screwed with you reaching deadlines and a symptom of overusing your quirk is a lack of focus, something that you didn’t even tell your homeroom teacher, Mr. Aizawa. You were determined this was something you could do on your own.

Lately, you’ve been feeling like you have something to prove, almost like you’re somehow less than your peers as if your quirk wasn’t as useful or not powerful enough. As if your instant ability to feel empathy and affect emotions as well as being trained in formal combat in a similar fashion to Aizawa and his scarf. In fact, he was the one who worked with you and trained you with it. 

None the less you still felt like you were on your own with this and felt like you had to overdo yourself in training exercising. Quite frankly, you were on the serious verge of burn out, you wanted nothing more than to just curl up in your bed and watch a little TV after a nice hot shower. But non the less you had to push those desires aside to finish your college semester out strong.

You take another drink of your contraband energy drink, as a student at esteemed high school U.A. things like those were highly frowned upon as they were enhancing your energy to perform due to their abnormal amount of caffeine. Right now, you didn’t give a damn, you were going to be up all night and had early morning training with Aizawa and you are exhausted either way. Just trying to pull these long nights to finish on time. The dark circles were aware to you and your sluggish movements during the day meant a lot more effort on your quirk.

The door to your dorm room was still open allowing light from the outside room to shine into your room as well as your small little desk lamp providing you with a little bit of light for you to write and research on your laptop. You had a light but warm blanket wrapped around you as you were cold and it was around you very similarly to Aizawa’s sleeping bag come to think about it. You were generally cold a greater portion of the time but this felt a little different than normal, you were starting to become congested, never a good sign.

You sighed as you dropped your pencil on your papers and took your hands and rubbed your face and sat there for a moment just resting them there. You could hear footsteps down the hall and took it as someone getting up to go to the kitchens for something, it was an often occurrence. It did slip your mind that teachers would take shifts to do monitoring at different times in the night just taking a stroll down the hallways making sure everything was alright. Honestly, most teachers just slacked on it most of the time so it wasn’t a regular thing. It didn’t really dawn on you that the footsteps were getting closer to your room and the kitchen was the opposite direction. 

Usually, hallway patrols took around 10 minutes for teachers to complete which is why they were skipped so often, but Aizawa actually decided to do his tonight. And to his surprise, he saw one door open compared to the rest closed. His first thought was thinking about what was wrong and quickened his pace. But when he reached your door he couldn’t help but examine your hunched over posture wrapped in your blanket and head in hands, surrounded by loose papers, post its, pens, books, and laptop.

He knew you had a little extra course load normally but he didn’t realize it was something you would be doing well into the night, he just figured you were about to balance everything extremely well as you never complained and usually performed well in classes. However, thinking back to the last week you have seemed a little more tired and in a daze resulting in more quirk effort. The overuse of quirks segment of your student file was blank and he never made the effort to find out. 

He continued to stand at your door for another minute and saw the can of energy drink beside you knowing you were a good kid and wouldn’t resort to something as foolish as that without it being a last resort. Aizawa briefly knocked on your door to alert you of his presence. He did have a soft spot for you compared to Midoria or Bakoguo so he was a little more gentle with you.

“Hey kid, what are you still doing up?”

Startled out your state you did a small jump in your desk chair, “Just trying to write this essay. It’s a few weeks overdue and the end of the semester is soon so I need to get this in.”

He took a few steps into your room and stood behind you, “12th-century convents and monasteries in Italy. Hmm, that doesn’t sound very interesting. What kind of class is this for?”

“It’s for my Origins of western though class, medieval through the renaissance. And trust me, it really isn’t, especially when you can’t focus on it at all,” you replied.

“You’re having trouble focusing?” he asked genuinely concerned, he had never heard those words come from you before.

You put your face back in your hands and simply said, “Quirk overuse.”

Aizawa was taken aback for a short moment, you were never one to complain or let someone know when there was something going on, “God kid how long has this been going on?”

“This time? At least since last week.”

“This time? So this isn’t something new?” he was a little shocked since this was the first time he heard of any of your overuse symptoms. 

“God no, there’s also an extra degree of fatigue and the occasional headache. Night terrors are kinda common too.”

“Shit Y\N why have you never mentioned this before?”

“It just never seemed to be all that important really, I’ve handled it by myself for years why start before now?”

“When was the last time you got a decent nights sleep, you’re starting to look like me. You’ve even got the whole blanket thing going for you,” he asked looking at your form sitting at your desk as you shifted in your seat to look at him.

“Uh, you know, that’s a really good question and it’s been long enough that I can’t fully remember. To be truthful, I just want to finish this so I can take a warm shower and go to sleep.”

When you looked at him he got a better look at you. To be truthful you looked horrible and he started to feel bad because it was evident you were working yourself to death, and keeping up with both school lives on top of his added one-on-one training sessions were taking a toll on you. He had also noticed the congestion in your voice, that was never a good sign.

He put his hand on your forehead and you leaned into even though it felt cold to you it still felt nice, “Kid you’re burning up, you have a fever, why don’t you stop for the night and get that shower you want and you can crash on my couch tonight so I can keep an eye on you.”

“With all due respect sir, I need to finish this, my professor has been on me for weeks on end on this. I have to finish it tonight. And I couldn’t possibly bother you with just congestion and small fever.”

Aizawa sighed and took a seat on the edge of your still made bed, “Listen, kid, I’ll let you finish. I'm going to sit here until you're done and you’re coming with me.”

You put your head down as you knew there was no way out of this one. He took a book off your nightstand and began reading it as you continue your work. It took you about 2 more hours and he had managed to doze off wait for you. You look back at him sleeping quietly and simply close your laptop for the night and lay your head down and close your eyes for just a second truthfully, you felt horrible. In the absence of your typing, Aizawa woke up and saw you with your head down and got up and put a hand on your shoulder feeling the elevated body heat from your fever radiating through you. 

He quietly sighed and in his general monotone voice said, “Come on kiddo let’s go, grab some comfy clothes and you can shower back at my room.”

You compiled and went to stand up but immediately the word was spinning and you had to grab onto the desk to steady yourself. He had immediately put a hand around your waist and only your shoulder not wanting you to fall in your sick weakened state.

“Okay, new plan, We’re going straight to my room, I’ll just give you some clothes and you can take a sitting down shower. I don’t want you to exert any more energy and risk you falling and hurting yourself, so I’m going to carry you, is that okay?”

You gave a small nod and he put one arm under your knees and one on your mid-back and you put your arms around his neck and snuggled into his chest feeling small. And quite truthfully, Aizawa did notice you were a little nighter and a little bonier than he expected before, almost as if you had been skipping meals.

Walking with you down the hallway still wrapped in your blanket ha=e quietly asked, “Kid I need you to be honest with me, are you eating?”

You give a small groan in response, “I accidentally forgot for a few days I’ve just been too busy and didn’t realize.”

Aizawa sighed and realized how work-oriented you are, stopping for nothing and not accomplishing things for your health, “I’ll make you some soup while you’re in the shower okay, then will you please eat a little bit of it?”

You simply nodded your head in his chest resulting in a lack of verbal response.

Once making it back to his living quarters he opened the door and was greeted by a cat waiting for him to get back. He closed the door behind both of you and took you to the bathroom and sat you down on the toilet and told you to undress and take a shower, and he would leave clothes and some towels for you in a bit. 

As you did that and carefully sat down at the bottom of the shower and turned the water on you immediately felt the warm water hitting your skin rinsing some of the sick away and you let out a small cough, which didn’t go unnoticed by your teacher leaving a pair of black sweatpants and a charcoal grey sweater that will be much too large for you but are clean clothes you should find comfortable.

[toosicktoocare]

🧻❄🤗 for 911 maybe? Or whatever you'd rather do

Happy Valentine's Day!

Happy Valentine’s Day! I’m going to combine this with the anon copied and pasted below! 

🤚🏻 with Eddie and Buck, please? (Also, Tumblr wasn't letting me send you asks for a solid month or so despite having the option up when I clicked on your profile and I have no idea why. Also, sorry if this is too early or I wasn't meant to do this)

So, we’ve got Tissues, Cuddles, and Back Rubs for 911 (Buddie!)

Public. Eddie works the word around his mind, spelling it out slowly, deliberately, honing in on the faint echo of Buck’s voice still ringing in his ears. 

“You want to go public?”

Eddie can still perfectly visualize the faint, rosy blush that colored Buck’s cheeks when he asked just behind a ladder truck after a tasking call almost two weeks ago. Seeing Buck was one thing, but others seeing him with Buck? The question caught Eddie off guard, and while he was hesitant, Buck’s eyes had been so bright and eager. Eddie couldn’t help but nod, and they walked hand-in-hand to the changing rooms, both prominently blushing more at the catcalls that rang out across the station. 

It’s been different since then, Eddie thinks, but he doesn’t mind it one bit. He smooths his hands down his black button up, his eyes dragging up and down his being through a floor-length mirror. It’s his first date publicly with Buck, and it’s also Valentine’s Day. Buck’s handled the reservations, not uttering a single peep, insisting he take care of all the details, and Eddie would be lying if he said he wasn’t just a tiny bit nervous. 

Giddy more so, but there’s an underlining hint of nerves that cradle just beneath his heart. What if he’s not dressed nice enough compared to Buck? What if he hates the restaurant Buck chooses and has trouble keeping his distaste from his face? 

The knock on his front door interrupts his thoughts and kicks his heart into overdrive. He sucks in a measured breath, calming himself with the deep swell of his lungs, and abandons his reflection, deciding that his black button down and gray slacks are going to have to be good enough. 

When he opens the door, he’s greeted with a face full of flowers, all deep red roses that he inhales deeply. He cups his hand over Buck’s, frowning faintly at the cold skin underneath his, and pulls the flowers down until he can see Buck fully. 

“Hey.”

Eddie should be focused on the warm, bashful grin played across Buck’s lips. He should be distracted by how Buck’s maroon button down stretches tightly against his arms, lining his biceps. He should be berating himself for zeroing in on Buck’s navy slacks, and on how much he’d rather be crouching down to undo Buck’s belt. But, he’s not.

Instead, he’s studying the splash of red colored to each of Buck’s cheeks. He’d easily blame it on the cold, considering the chill just from Buck’s hand, but the single bead of sweat slipping down Buck’s temple tells Eddie otherwise. And he’s still working around the single “hey” greeting that came off a tone that’s a few notes deeper than normal and a tad raspy. 

“Are you okay?” Eddie asks, and Buck opens his mouth to speak, but then his nose scrunches up, and Eddie snags the bouquet of flowers just in time for Buck to turn away and sneeze sharply into the crook of his arm.

“I’ll take that as a no?” Eddie tries, eyebrows raising as Buck shakes his head, sniffling. 

“It’s just cold outside.” 

Eddie reaches forward and cups his hand to Buck’s cheek. There’s an unnatural warmth that screams fever, but it’s not high, probably low-grade. Buck drops his guard and leans into Eddie’s touch, and Eddie clears his throat. 

“I think you’re running a fever.” 

“Eddie,” Buck tries, and Eddie knows this tone far too well. It’s one Buck reserves in situations where he’s persistently adamant. 

“I... I may have a small cold,” Buck admits, shoulders slumping. “But it’s Valentine’s Day!” He whines that last part, the words falling away to a few more sneezes that leave Eddie wincing. 

“Okay, get in here,” Eddie urges, latching onto Buck’s arm and guiding him into the house, shutting the door behind them. He slides a hand to the small of Buck’s back, ushering him out of the kitchen and into the living room, where Buck flops against the couch, the dramatics never ceasing, even with a fever. 

Eddie slips away to the bathroom in search of a thermometer, tissues, and aspirin, eyes rolling as Buck’s voice somehow carries across his entire house despite being weighed down by congestion. 

“I ruin everything.” 

“No,” Eddie calls back, rifling through his medicine cabinet. “You don’t.” 

“I do, though. I think I’m literally cursed. I’ve been looking forward to this day all week, and the second it’s go time, my immune system rebels.”

There’s a pause, a fit of sneezing, and Eddie steps back into the room to a long, loud groan. Buck’s hunched over, sniffling loudly, and he’s digging his palms into his eyes. 

“Headache?” Eddie asks, dropping down onto the couch beside Buck. He traces one hand up and down Buck’s back when Buck falls into another, harsher fit of sneezing that shakes his shoulders, his back tensing. 

“Okay?” 

“Ugh, no,” Buck groans, snagging the tissue Eddie holds out to him. “I mean, yes. But no.” He swipes at his nose, and Eddie smiles softly, hand cupping the back of Buck’s neck. 

“You’re definitely giving me a lot to work with here.” Eddie reaches for the thermometer, stopping only when Buck clasps a weak hand to his arm. 

“Don’t bother. I checked it before I left. 100.2. I already took medicine.” 

Eddie swallows back the burning urge to scold Buck for not just informing him that he’s ill and staying home. He wants to lecture, but Buck looks the mere definition of pitiful: his blue eyes dull and mutely glassy, his cheeks an unhealthy blush, and he’s shaking and sniffling, a tissue pressed to his nose. 

The breath Eddie lets out instead is low and calculated, and he can feel Buck’s eyes on him as he leaves the couch and crouches down to undo the laces of Buck’s shoes. He helps Buck slip his feet out of his shoes. 

“You’re mad.” 

“I’m not,” Eddie says lightly. “I’m just worried.” 

“No,” Buck argues, “You’re mad, and you should be because I ruin everything.” 

Frowning, Eddie kicks his own shoes off, and he slides back down onto the couch, shifting until his back is pressed against the arm. “Come here,” he says, arms opening, and Buck reluctantly crawls toward him, flopping down against him, his chest flush to Eddie’s. 

Eddie wraps both arms around Buck, frowning at the faint shivering that vibrates against him, and he brings his hands back to Buck’s back, rubbing small, warm circles. 

“You don’t ruin everything,” Eddie repeats, tilting his head when Buck nuzzles his too-warm nose to Eddie’s neck. What Eddie wants to say is that Buck can somehow make even the worst situations okay, that Buck’s smile can brighten a dark room, that Buck’s determination and eagerness are far too endearing, that he’s falling for Buck so fast it’s scary. “You do the opposite actually,” he opts for, and Buck huffs out a weak laugh, his breath hot against Eddie’s neck. 

“You’re truly a man of many words, Edmundo.” 

The sarcasm is heavy in Buck’s tone, and Eddie rolls his eyes. “And you’re really about to get your ass kicked off my couch, Evan.” 

“You wouldn’t,” Buck drags out, lifting his head and batting lashes that should not be allowed at Eddie’s face. “You can’t. I’m too sick.” 

“Stop talking,” Eddie grumbles, cupping the back of Buck’s neck and pushing Buck’s head back down until his cheek is resting atop Eddie’s shoulder. “If you’re so sick, there should be less talking and more resting.” 

Buck shivers against Eddie again, and Eddie reaches over the back of his couch and drags a blanket over the two of them. 

“Eddie,” Buck whispers after a few moments with only his congested, loud breathing filling their space. “I’m-”

“-what? Sorry?” Eddie interrupts flatly, and Buck twists his neck, peering up at Eddie’s face. “You have nothing to be sorry for. People get sick, and I have a feeling you’re only sick because you stayed up to watch over my sick kid when I was still finishing my shift, so I should be the one apologizing.” 

Buck hums, dragging his gaze back down. “I’ll watch over Christopher whenever. I love that little guy.” 

“I love you.” Eddie meant to say ‘and he loves you,’ and yet... His lips snap shut, and he goes rigid, the weight of his words slamming against his heart. He’s sure Buck’s going to leave any second now, but Buck only nuzzles impossibly closer to him, humming absently, content.

“Love you, too.”

[thewatermelloncat]

Miscommunication   (part 1)

Summary: The Hargreeves siblings were made to be rivals, so Ben had never seemed to care much for Five. That is until the day he realises the rivalry was all in his head.

Author’s Note: I really enjoyed writing this - it’s probably a little rough around the edges but I just wanted to post something because I haven’t in a while.

Thoughts on continuing this? I have a few ideas, but I’m open to suggestions for continuing with the next part…

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It was pretty much set in stone that the siblings would be rivals. Luther and Diego were always at each other’s throats trying to prove who was the better leader. Allison and Klaus being the next sequential pairing, were supposed to have a rivalry but Allison would only cheat her way to the top if Klaus cared in the first place. 

Ben and Five were slightly different. Where Luther and Diego were in a battle over strength and charisma, they were in a battle over knowledge and wits.

Not to say that Ben doesn’t like Five exactly, but he sometimes doesn’t feel the need to get on with him, they are complete opposites. Where Five is outspoken and opinionated, Ben is shyer and more reserved. And where Five is better at math, Ben is better at literature.

Means to say that he doesn’t go out of his way to spend time with Five outside of their training and schooling. He figures that Five has no interest in being his friend anyway.

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A couple of days ago Five started to seem a little off. Not that Ben had noticed until Allison made a passing comment and Five had brushed it off. But after then he began to notice how quiet his brother was being, sharing his opinion less and not answering as many of Pogo’s questions in their classes. Ben would normally hope that it meant that he was becoming less arrogant and egotistical, but from the way he looked with his paling face, Ben knew it was for a different reason.

Call him a bad brother or whatever, but he didn’t think much of it. People get sick from time to time, and he would enjoy the silence while he could.

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It wasn’t until the week was nearing to an end that it began to dawn on him that Five wasn’t getting any better. Granted that he was still functioning and miles away from death’s door, but surely, he should have at least started to get better by now.

One by one things started to stick out to him more, like his siblings’ passing comments. Just in the last day he’d overheard Luther ask him if he was okay after breakfast, since he’d apparently heard him coughing all through the night. He’d seen Diego unceremoniously lob a box of tissues at him while they were all in the lounge reading for their classes – they’d bounced off his shoulder and Ben can’t remember if he’d even touched them. Allison had tried to sneak a hand to his forehead only to have it batted away. Even Klaus had noticed something was amiss and had dropped a pack of painkillers on his lap after seeing him staring off into space with a pinched expression, a clear sign he had a headache. And no matter how quiet Vanya normally was, there was about a 75 percent ‘bless you’ rate each time he sneezed.

Means to say that Ben felt kind of bad about being so quick to dismiss his brother’s state of health. Then again, he wasn’t sure what to do. Five didn’t normally accept help from others and Ben was sure that he would be the last person Five would accept help from. After all, he is incredibly stubborn.

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Despite the fact that their classes are compulsory he still showed up to them. Sure, he participated less than usual but otherwise it was like nothing was wrong. Of course, aside from the way he looked and how sometimes his respiratory system failed him. In those moments when he could do nothing but shield coughs as silently as possible into his elbow, he always made sure to avoid Pogo’s concerned gaze. Though their tutor would do no more than repeat the sentence he had been saying before he had been interrupted.

Somehow with every worksheet they were given, Five still finished first. Ben couldn’t help but feel frustrated that even then he couldn’t beat Five academically. It got him in his head thinking that Five was intentionally working extra fast just to one-up him in their rivalry. To prove he was better even when he was far from his best.

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Though it was in their training that Five fell behind, and for good reason. Somehow, he always managed to drag himself from wherever he had been in the house and down to the training exercise. Force himself to stand up straight and once again pretend nothing was wrong. However, that was where the pretendences were forced to stop.

Five tired quickly in their endurance training, even more so when he had to use his power which sapped him at over twice the speed. It was a sure bet that their father noticed but he refused to say anything. Only looking down to angrily scribble something in his notebook when Five no longer had the energy to jump.

Still Five never complained and never held back. It made Ben hate him for two reasons: one being that he was stupidly pushing himself too hard when he shouldn’t, and two, because he was sure that the latter had something to do with him.

It wasn’t a secret that weakness wasn’t tolerated in their strange family, so Ben had no doubt that Five was over compensating to disguise it. Ben was just an obstacle in Five’s way to proving to their father that he is superior. That his weak brother can’t even beat him even when he’s below par. The thought almost made Ben feel sick himself.

Yet through all this, Ben begins to feel sorry for him. Sorry that he so desperately feels the need to overexert himself to hold on to their father’s approval.

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The pages of Five’s book are beginning to camouflage into the tissues scattered around his desk. Sighing deeply, he drops his pen and pulls his rubbish bin closer to his chair, figuring that he would work better with a clearer space.

Soon after his desk is cleared, he realises that isn’t the case. His eyes still won’t focus on the page and he can’t remember what to do with the math formulas in front of him, regardless of the fact he knows he’s seen them many times before.

In amidst spinning his pen between his fingers his breath hitches and he drops it to the desk in favour of reaching for a tissue from the box in front of him.

“Huht’nnTSCH!”

He groans as the sneeze loosens the congestion built in his head and surrenders to emptying it in the tissue. After coughing slightly as air gets restricted in his throat, he sniffles in vain before reaching for another tissue. The loosening pressure in his head far from done with him.

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Ben had been minding his own business for most of the afternoon. He’d sat with Klaus and Diego for a bit but had left when they had started arguing over whether noodles were a soup or pasta. Then he’d sat and listened to Vanya play her violin until she stopped to do something else. So, with nothing to do, he wondered the halls of the academy without any mind to where he was going.

As he walks past Five’s room his ears pick up on the sound of light coughing projecting through the door. Even after telling himself for days that he didn’t care about how sick his brother was, he still stops in his tracks. Retracing a few steps back to the door, Ben pulls a face at the idea of interacting with his brother which he really doesn’t want to do, although he knows he really should.

Swallowing down his apprehension, he pushes on the door and steps into the room without knocking.

“Five?” he says as half a question since he’d expected to see his brother in bed rather than at his desk with a tissue held to his nose.

“Ben, I’m kinda in the middle of something” Five’s hands steepled over his nose do no favours in helping the quality of his voice before he resumes his task.

“You’re an idiot you know” Ben accuses, stepping forward as Five drops the tissue into the bin beside him.

“I thought randomly insulting people was more Diego’s thing than yours. But if you want to take a page out of his book you can piss off, I’m not in the mood” Five counters smoothly without turning around.

Ben needs to get a better look at him, because if his voice is any indication of how he’s feeling, he is sure that he’s getting worse. “That’s not what I mean” he corrects as he invites himself further into the room, walking over to the edge of his brother’s desk. “You shouldn’t keep pushing yourself.”

Five ignores him and picks up his pen to begin his equations again.

“I get that you want to prove that you’re the best, but you don’t need to run yourself to the ground to do it.”

Five scoffs out a laugh and drops his pen back to the page. “I never cared about the rivalry.”

Ben had predicted resistance and was about to resume arguing his point before Five’s words sink into him. “Y-you don’t?”

“Of course, I don’t” Five turns slightly more towards Ben is his chair. “Everyone has something that they are good at. I’m good at academics, so I work hard at it. You’re good at it too Ben, but how well I do has nothing to do with you.”

Five pauses for Ben to say something, but for a few moments he can’t find the words. Too shocked at Five complementing him, acknowledging him in something that he’s good at.

“I-I don’t” Ben stammers out before he formulates a random sentence which he blurts out. “You never seemed to want to be friends with me.”

He’s aware that he probably sounds stupid but Five doesn’t seem to notice as he counters.

“In fairness, you never seemed to want to be friends with me either.”

Ben tips his head slightly from side-to-side in acceptance of the fair point. He doesn’t know if he expects Five to smile and make a joke about it – that would be something he could expect from Klaus – thinking that it might make the situation slightly more comfortable. But looking at his brother sitting slumped in his chair like he’s sinking under the weight of gravity, he disregards the notion of staying on the subject any longer.

“You need to get to bed” Ben’s serious tone sounds more confident than he feels about it.

Five sighs and turns back to his desk. “I’ve got homework to finish, Ben. I’d rather not have to do it over the weekend.”

“Can you even focus on it?” Ben raises an eyebrow allowing some sass into his words. A dangerous tactic to take when dealing with Five but he couldn’t help it.

“If you would stop bugging me I would” Five replicates his tone but doesn’t sound annoyed by it.

A slight smile plays at the corners of Ben’s lips, finding that Five is happy to counter back and forth with him as if they are on the same level. But it drops as soon as he sees Five pick up his pen and turn back to his book.

Driven by curiosity Ben steps behind Five’s chair to look over his shoulder as he sets about to start working again. With Five’s brain moving slow it is a fair while before he touches the pen onto the paper.

“That’s not the formula you want” Ben says flatly after reading the beginning of the writing.

Five huffs out a sigh and frustratedly drops his pen to the desk. For a moment Ben thinks he’s going to argue with him, and he might have, but instead he raises his arm to cover a few coughs that shake out of his chest.

“Come on, bed” Ben commands before tapping Five on the shoulder and stepping away. Leaving no room for argument.

Reluctantly Five stands from his chair and Ben decides to push his luck in placing a hand around his back and onto his shoulder, starting to guide him over to the bed.

When his fingers touch onto his arm, Ben hears Five intake a sharp breath and begins to remove his grip, thinking it’s in objection. Instead of pulling away, Five raises his own hand to support himself against Ben’s shoulder, and leans away from him into his elbow.

“Hup'nxtch!” he sneezes congestedly and Ben feels a tug down at the force of it.

“Can you pass me a” – Five doesn’t need to finish his sentence, Ben having already reached for the tissue box before he spoke.

Holding out the box to his brother, they both turn and sit on the bed shoulder to shoulder. After Five takes a few tissues Ben moves the box onto his knees while Five blows his nose.

“Do you want me to get mum?” Ben asks after the tissue had been thrown away.

Five shakes his head before reaching for another, “Hir’shhhoo… ish’uu.”

“Yeah, you made that real convincing” Ben says sarcastically.

“It’s almost dinner, anyway” Five points out.

“Oh, right” Ben muses to himself. How long had he been wondering around for? “Are you even going to make it through it?” he asks after a few seconds of silence.

“Don’t have a choice.”

“Surely, dad wouldn’t want you down there infecting everyone.”

“Hasn’t had a problem with it the last few days” Five pauses to sniffle into the back of his hand. “Sorry if I get anyone sick by the way.”

Ben hums in dismissal before the room succumbs to silence until Five breaks it.

He manages to keep the first few coughs behind closed lips, but the rest he is forced to shield with his elbow, his body pitching forward as he tries to control them. He sounds so awful that Ben can’t help but place a hand on the back of his shoulder while they both wait for the coughs to die down.

“I don’t think you should come down” Ben tells him when Five finally gets his breath back.

“Like I told you, it’s not an option.”

“Then don’t make it an option” Ben puts simply. “If you don’t ask, they can’t say no.”

“It’ll be pretty obvious with a chair empty” Five’s voice is almost completely faded.

“It will be” Ben agrees. “But it’ll either be mum or Pogo that dad sends up to get you and either of them will take pity on you.”

“Neither of them has seemed to care when I saw them last.”

“That’s ‘cause you had a front up Five” Ben tells him honestly. “You can’t deny that.”

Ben takes it as a small victory when his brother doesn’t reply, then he adds “you can barely go a minute without coughing.”

Five sighs deeply before he says, “you should head down then.”

Something inside Ben relaxes as Five gives in. “You need anything first?”

Five shakes his head, “nah, I’m just gonna get some sleep.”

“All right” Ben sighs, pushing himself up from the bed. He makes it halfway across the room before he doubles back to the desk and swipes Five’s homework off the top, not trusting his brother to get proper rest while it is in the room. He doesn’t listen out for a sound of protest as he wishes Five “goodnight” before he steps out into the hallway, shutting the door behind him.

part 2

[splendidly-secret-sick-fics]

I’m Fine: An AtsuHina sick fic (Part 1)

@wraithpoison said:

an atsuhina sick fic please <3

This is a request from my other blog! I’m sorry it took me so long. Honestly, I had a lot of trouble with this one for some reason? I rewrote it like three times :/ and this one is actually going to be in two parts too! This part isn’t too AtsuHina heavy, but the next part will be. 

I’m Fine: an AtsuHina sick fic (part 1)

Part 2

Pairing: Sick Atsumu, caretaker Hinata (also caretakers Rin & Osamu)

Word Count: 2,360

Trigger Warnings: vomiting, swearing, stressed Hinata :(

“I’ll be home as soon as I can, Tsumu,” Shoyo frowned at him through their FaceTime. Unfortunately, the redhead was in an airport, sitting at his gate waiting for his flight and not currently with Atsumu. He had headphones in, but they were picking up all of the noise around him and it made Atsumu’s head pound.

“I know, Sho. Try not to worry so much, alright? Imma big kid now. I can take care of a little fever by myself,” Atsumu responded sleepily. He was curled up in a blanket, lying on their couch.

The Jackals were given about 2 weeks off and Shoyo decided to use that time to go visit some of his friends in Brazil for a week. He invited Atsumu, but the latter declined, saying that he wanted to go home and see his mom.

Atsumu got home last night and Shoyo’s flight was set to arrive tomorrow morning. The plans worked out perfectly so that they’d have a week on their respective vacations and a week together.

While Atsumu was driving home last night, he started feeling lethargic and heavy and just overall Not Good. He brushed it off as exhaustion and went straight to bed when he got back, only to wake up this morning feeling worse. It didn’t take long for him to figure out that he had a fever. The sticky sweat that plastered his clothes to his body despite the chills he felt were a dead giveaway.

Shoyo called him when he got settled at the gate. Atsumu tried valiantly to appear healthy, but after 3 years of dating, Shoyo knew him entirely too well to be fooled. Now he was all anxious and trying to magically make the 24 hour journey from Rio to Tokyo happen in less time.

“I know, but I’m just worried. And I feel bad that I’m not there to help you,” Shoyo pouted. Atsumu rolled his eyes.

“It’s fine, Sho. I’ll see ya tomorrow and you can make me better with all the overdue cuddles I’m owed.”

Shoyo’s lips quirked up ever so slightly and Atsumu felt a little better.

“Did you take something?” Shoyo asked.

“Yeah.”

“Are you staying hydrated?”

“Yes, baby.”

“Did you call Samu and Rin to let them know?”

“I just texted them. They’ll come runnin’ if I need ‘em,” he sighed.

“Do you want me to order you some soup from that one restaurant?”

“What? Sho, no-“

“They’ll deliver! I can do it from here. The airport has wifi and I might have to pay for it but that’s okay and if it means that—“ Shoyo started rambling frantically and Atsumu’s head spun.

“Shoyo, hey. Shut up, will ya?” He chuckled and Shoyo’s mouth snapped shut.

“Sorry, Tsumu. I just wish I was home already,” he looked down. (Atsumu obviously wasn’t with his boyfriend, but if he knew him at all, Shoyo was nervously picking at the hem of his shirt.)

“I know. Me too,” Atsumu replied. Truth be told, he was feeling a lot worse than he let on. At the least, he hoped Shoyo couldn’t tell.

His head felt like it was being squeezed, he was congested, those chills were still pretty prevalent, his body felt like it weighed 1000 pounds and he felt vaguely nauseous.

That’s what he was most afraid of, honestly. He really, really didn’t want to throw up. He’s never liked it; never handled it well. Hopefully he could stave off the nausea, at least until Shoyo got home.

Shoyo looked back up at him and Atsumu wanted more than anything for him to be home right now so he could physically rub away the anxious lines on his boyfriend’s face.

“I’ll be fine,” he reassured. Shoyo nodded.

“I’m gonna take a nap, okay? Yer flight leaves at midnight yer time right?” Again, Shoyo nodded. Perfect. That meant that he’d be home by noon tomorrow. It was about 10 in the morning in Tokyo (so 10 in the evening in Rio), so Atsumu only had to wait about 26 hours for Shoyo to get home. Hopefully, he’d be sleeping most of that time anyway.

“Okay,” he said, “can ya stop worrying? It’s just a little fever.” Shoyo groaned.

“Fine! Fine. As long as you promise to text your brother if you start feeling worse. Please don’t push yourself, Tsum-Tsum,” Shoyo all but begged. Atsumu gaped at him.

“Me? Overwork myself? I’m offended at the implication, babe” he teased. Shoyo rolled his eyes and raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’m serious, Atsumu. You always push yourself more than you should. Don’t do that this time, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I gotcha. Honestly,” he resituated himself, “I’m prob’ly just gonna take a nap and order take out. I don’t feel much like doing anything anyway,” he shrugged. And oops, he probably shouldn’t have said that. Immediately, Shoyo became more suspicious.

“You? Agreeing to rest? Are you sure it’s just a fever?”

“‘Course!” Atsumu forced a laugh and Shoyo’s eyes narrowed. “Have I ever lied to you, baby?”

“Yes,” Shoyo deadpanned, “all the time.” Atsumu bristled.

“Not about anything important, though! And my health is important,” he assured.

“Atsumu, please take this seriously. Fevers are no joke, okay? I know that all too well,” Shoyo said, a serious look on his face. Atsumu wanted to wash it away. He frowned, remembering nationals his second year of high school, watching Shoyo collapse on the court. They may not have been close yet, but it was scary nonetheless.

“I know. And I promise I am taking care of myself, alright?” he said, no longer trying to joke, but simply reassure. He hated causing Shoyo any sort of anxiety.

“I’m gonna go now, okay?” He said and Shoyo nodded.

“Okay. Alright. Take a nap. Stay hydrated. Text Osamu if you need to. Don’t be all proud,” Shoyo instructed.

“Yes, yes, okay. I love you. Have a safe flight,” he smiled. Shoyo’s face brightened and Atsumu felt slightly reassured that maybe, just maybe, Shoyo wouldn’t spend his entire 24 hour journey home worrying about him.

“I love you, too. See you tomorrow,” Shoyo replied and with that, the call ended.

As soon as Shoyo’s face disappeared from his phone, Atsumu sank into the couch and exhaled exhaustedly. Keeping up the appearance that he felt alright took way more energy than he thought.

He curled up on his side and wrapped his blanket tighter around himself. A nap. That’s what he needed. If he was asleep, he could ignore the headache and the nausea and the chills. And hopefully, when he woke up, he’d feel better.

With that thought, Atsumu went to sleep.

***

Shoyo stared anxiously at the screen that previously had his boyfriend’s pale, flushed face displayed on it. Atsumu was definitely more sick than he let on and Shoyo might punch him later for lying, but for the time being, there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn’t make his trip home any shorter.

Instead of letting panic take hold, he did the next best thing. He texted Osamu and Rintaro.

From: Shoyo

“Did Atsumu text you guys?”

From: Osamu

“Yeah. Sorry your boyfriend’s an idiot.”

From: Rin

“Samu, while you’re absolutely correct and should say so, maybe not right now.”

“Don’t worry, Sho. Samu is an ass, but he’s worried too. We’re gonna go check on that pig later today.”

Shoyo breathed a huge sigh of relief towards the ceiling. Osamu doesn’t show it, but he does care about his brother. And Shoyo could always count on them.

From: Shoyo

“Thank you guys. Let me know how he’s doing?”

“I just got off FaceTime with him and he was putting up a brave front, but he didn’t look good.”

From: Osamu

“Of course he was. I gotcha, Shoyo. I’ll knock some sense into the big stupid.”

From: Rin

“In other words, yes, we’ll keep you updated and make sure that he’s well taken care of. Don’t stress. Just focus on getting home and leave the time in between to us.”

Shoyo did feel better knowing that Rin and Osamu were so close to Atsumu and could check up on him. He’d be okay. So, for the time being, all he could do was wait.

***

Atsumu woke up to conversation. He squeezed his eyes and shifted around, groaning. Whoever was talking needed to shut up. The tightness in his head hadn’t let up at all and he was absolutely freezing.

“Oh, yer awake. Finally.”

Atsumu scrunched his eyebrows together and blinked his eyes open, only to find his brother and Rin sitting on the love seat next to the couch.

“Samu?” He croaked.

“Yeah. We’re actually here. It’s not some crazy fever induced dream,” he said in his usual monotone.

“More like a nightmare,” Atsumu mumbled. He sat up and the room spun. He moaned and put his face in his hands.

“How are you feeling?” Rin asked him. Atsumu glanced at his phone. It was about two thirty in the afternoon. Twenty one and half hours until Shoyo was home.

“Fine,” he responded, but it was muffled by his hands. “I told you you guys I’d let ya know if I needed ya. Why’re you here?” He looked at them again.

“Shoyo asked us to come.” Rin shrugged.

“‘Course he did,” he sighed.

“Well, it’s a good thing we did. Ya look like shit,” Osamu said bluntly and stood up. He left the room, but came back a second later with some soup and a ginger ale.

“Eat. Then take some more meds and then we’ll get outta yer hair.”

Atsumu stared at the soup for a second and his stomach turned itself over. He really didn’t want to put anything in his body right now.

“Did ya poison it?” He tried to disguise the involuntary curl of his lip off as an insult towards his brother.

“Wha—no, you stupid pig, we didn’t poison it.” Osamu almost yelled, his eyebrows furrowing together. In fact, Atsumu was sure that if he wasn’t feeling so awful, his brother would have yelled and smacked him upside the head. But Osamu also happened to know Atsumu entirely too well.

“It’s from some restaurant that Shoyo told us about. He said it was your favorite,” Rin said, his tone quiet. Probably because Osamu knew Atsumu had a headache and warned Rin.

Atsumu felt his chest twist. Shoyo sent them? And told them about his favorite soup? Atsumu wanted to cry.

“Are you crying?” Rin asked, wide eyed. Oh, maybe he was crying. He couldn’t tell, honestly. His face was hot, regardless.

“Ppppfttt,” Osamu held back a laugh.

“Hey! Don’t be an ass. I don’t feel good and I miss my boyfriend,” Atsumu sniffled. “Need I remind ya of the time Rin was gone for a week and ya whined to me about it nightly,” he shot back. Osamu shut up.

“Just eat it,” was all he said. Atsumu must look at lot worse than he thinks because Osamu wasn’t fighting back. He only did that when he knew Atsumu really wasn’t feeling good—physically or mentally.

Staring at the soup, he couldn’t help the twist of his face again.

“Tsumu,” Osamu sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Does yer stomach hurt?”

Atsumu blushed (or was that his fever?) and shook his head rapidly.

“No! It’s...it’s fine. I’m fine,” he said probably too hastily.

“Don’t lie, please.” Osamu put a hand on his hip and stared Atsumu down. Rin looked between them curiously. Atsumu glared at his brother.

“It’s a little uneasy. But I’m fine,” he insisted.

“Are ya sure you don’t want us to stay with ya until Shoyo gets back?” Osamu asked gently. From the corner of his eye, Atsumu saw Rin’s eyes widen at the abrupt softness coming from Osamu.

Atsumu hesitated. Did he want them to stay? They were offering. It’s not like he was inconveniencing them in any way. Osamu may be a dick, but he was still his brother. And if he was going to puke later, he’d want someone else here. He opened his mouth to say yes please stay I don’t want to be alone, but was cut off by Sunarin.

“Samu, we can’t stay. We promised Akaashi we’d take the twins overnight since they went out of town with Kuroo and Kenma,” Sunarin said. He pulled his lips into a tight line and picked at his fingernails.

Clearly, he didn’t want to leave Atsumu alone. But the Bokuto twins were handfuls at best and nightmares at worst. There was no way that Rin could watch them alone. And Atsumu couldn’t very well go over there and risk getting them sick.

Osamu looked between the two of them and bit his lip.

“Rin, would you mind if—“

“It’s fine, Samu,” Atsumu interrupted. It wasn’t fine.

Osamu’s eyes burned holes into Atsumu’s face. He knew. He knew that Atsumu was nauseas. He knew that Atsumu hated vomiting. Atsumu appreciated it, he did. But he didn’t need his brother to come to his rescue.

“Sho will be home tomorrow morning. It’s fine. I’ll call if I need ya,” he tried to sound confident, but his voice shook. His throat hurt.

Osamu obviously didn’t believe him, the frown on his face and the pull of his eyebrows giving him away. He exhaled through his lips and nodded.

“Okay. But seriously, you can call if ya need to,” he resigned and sat down beside Atsumu on the couch.

Rin and Osamu stayed for a few more hours until they absolutely had to leave. Osamu was still reluctant and it made Atsumu happy when he remembered how much his brother cared, despite the way it looked to outsiders. With another promise to call if he needed to, the two of them left Atsumu alone once more.

He surveyed his body.

Headache? Crushing.

Fever? Scorching.

Body Aches? Heavy.

Nausea? Prevalent.

He moaned and curled tightly in on himself once more. The DVD player under the TV said it was nearly five pm. A little more than 17 hours until Shoyo was home. He could do this. He’d be fine.

***

He was not fine. He was absolutely not fine.

Atsumu heaved into the toilet, gripping the seat tightly. Everything happened so fast. One second he was asleep on the couch and in the next second he was sprinting to the bathroom, just barely making it before projectile vomiting into the toilet.

The room around him swirled and his throat burned with every aborted heave. What time was it? Would Shoyo be home soon? He felt so so terrible. It was so hot. Sweat covered every inch of his body, making it difficult to keep his hold on the toilet. Despite that, he was still trembling. His fever was probably way too high. He should do something about that, right?

His stomach lurched again and he belched wetly, but swallowed down whatever tried to come up. He refused. The loss of control that accompanied throwing up made him feel helpless and horrible and dammit what was that high pitched whine? It cut through his brain like a knife.

Finally, he was granted a reprieve and gasping, he sat back on his heels. He needed to move, needed to do something while he had the time. If he knew his body at all, he knew this was going to be a long fight that he would inevitably lose. It was such a surprise he didn’t have time to prepare. He wiped at his face.

Oh, he was crying. That was probably the whining that still hadn’t stopped. Pathetic.

Okay, it was fine. He could do this. Grabbing onto the sink, he hoisted himself up on unsteady legs.

In the next fifteen minutes, he managed to grab a blanket, a pillow, his phone, some crackers (not that he really wanted to eat them) and one of Shoyo’s nasty fruity sports drinks. The whole endeavor took way longer than it should have, but all of his movements were sluggish and difficult. It also became blatantly obvious that the battle against his stomach was not one he was going to win.

Just the thought of puking more kept a steady flow of tears streaming down his cheeks the entire trip.

Finally, he made it back to the bathroom and set up camp for the night. Smacking the screen of his phone, he checked the time.

“12:27 am” taunted him. Less than 12 hours. Good. He managed to sleep for around 5 hours.

Nausea swirled in his gut and he whimpered. Several unproductive heaves later, he was left reeling.

Somewhere in the haze of his mind, he thought to contact his brother. He couldn’t open his mouth though. No chance. Then he’d for sure puke. Where was Shoyo? He wanted Shoyo.

He picked up his phone in shaking fingers and sent a slew of what he hoped were coherent texts to their group chat with Osamu and Rin. Slowly but surely, he was losing his grasp on his surroundings, the fever messing with his brain.

Help. He needed help. He was scared.

Disgusting gurgles sounded from his stomach and he choked on a sob. He rested a cheek on the toilet seat, and gagged.

“No, no no no,” he cried, but he couldn’t stop it. He was too sick. Too weak. Too tired. Instead of trying to force it back down, he dropped his jaw and burped. Vomit poured out of his mouth and he sobbed between heaves.

When the fit ended, he collapsed onto the floor, gasping and crying. Why was this happening? Where was Shoyo? Why wasn’t his boyfriend here? Did he get tired of Atsumu and leave him? What about Osamu? Was he sick of Atsumu too?

Of course. Of course they were.

Shoyo. He just wanted his boyfriend. Why wasn’t he here? Why why why what did Atsumu do to chase him away?

Those were the last thoughts that plagued Atsumu’s mind before his surroundings faded away completely.

[cuddlepilefics]

Poltergeist

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Jeongin

Caregiver: Seungmin

Jeongin wakes up sick in the middle of the night, making quite some noise on his mission to find medicine.

Jeongin’s POV.:

I had already felt a little off all day, so I had decided to go to bed early, thinking whatever the odd feeling was, it would be gone by the morning. However, when I woke up again only an hour later, I felt like I had gotten hit by a train. My head was pounding and it took me a moment to figure out where I was. I was alone in the room, so I figured, my roommate Jisung hadn’t come back from the studio yet. Shuddering with cold, I sat up and cringed when my clothes stuck to me. How could I sweat so much to soak through my clothes in less than an hour? The shaky breath I drew in, caught in my throat, sending me into a wet coughing fit, that just didn’t seem to end. I felt like I was drowning, when did I get so congested? By the time the fit tapered off, my head spun, making me feel faint. Even worse was that the lack of oxygen made my head pound more ferociously. Knowing I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep with the amount of pain I was in, I wanted to take a painkiller. If my hyung had been here, I would have woken him and asked for help because I didn’t really trust my legs with how lightheaded I was but he wasn’t back yet and I didn’t feel like waiting for someone to find me.

My skin pricked with goosebumps, when I threw off my blanket and struggled out of my damp shirt. Getting up on shaky legs, I stumbled over to my closet and picked out my thickest hoodie. I almost lost my balance when pulling it over my head but the warmth was totally worth it. Alright, next would be painkillers. Muffling another painful cough into my sleeve, I staggered over to the door. Of course, I managed to trip over my own feet, loosing my balance and crashing into the wood with a heavy thud. I couldn’t suppress a whimper when I reached up for the door handle to open it. When it swung open, I pulled myself back onto my feet and continued on my mission to the bathroom. Though it was only a short distance, I tripped multiple times as my legs just didn’t seem to follow my brain’s instructions. I heavily relied on the walls to support my weak body as my eyes kept closing on the way. How could I possibly be so slow? Would I even get there before the morning? My legs grew more and more jelly-like and I had to take a break in the middle of the hallway, afraid I’d fall again. Sinking down with my back against the wall, I heaved a shuddering breath. It was even colder out here than it was in my room and my hoodie did nothing to help with that. The thought of curling back up in my bed gave me the necessary energy to get back up, wanting to get this over with as fast as possible, so I could go back to bed. Surprisingly, I made it to the bathroom not that long after but I stumbled. Loosing my balance again, I fell against the cabinet under the sink. My ears were ringing so loudly that I didn’t even hear the loud noise I caused, closing my eyes and giving in to the darkness.

Seungmin’s POV.:

I had come home about twenty minutes ago, getting ready to go to bed as I was exhausted from a long day at the company. Just when I pulled the blanket over my tired body, I heard weird noises somewhere around the dorm. The clanging stopped after a few minutes and I relaxed, thinking I could finally go to sleep. Just when I was about to doze off, the noise continued followed by a muffled crash. Did a poltergeist move into the dorm while I was gone for work? I knew that this was exactly how horror movies started. Somebody hearing a weird noise and going to investigate. If I was wise, I would stay in bed and ignore it but I was starting to get annoyed, just wanting to get some peaceful rest. Sighing, I got out of bed again. It didn’t matter if it was a poltergeist or some other monster out there, I was going to put it in his place and tell it to be quiet, so we can all sleep. Those ghosts really had no regards for the rest of hardworking people. Believe me, I could be scary if I wanted to, so I doubted whatever monster that was wanted to mess with me while I was tired. Debating whether I should get some kind of weapon to defend myself, I made my way down the hallway and found the door to Jisung and Jeongin’s room open. It was empty, so the poltergeist had probably eaten both of my friends already. Did poltergeists even eat people? I had mentally prepared myself to get the crap scared out of me, yet my heart still stopped when I passed the bathroom and found two legs protruding through the door.

No one’s POV.:

Turning on the bathroom light, Seungmin panicked as he found Jeongin laying unconscious on his side. The vocalist cursed, crouching next to his dongsaeng, patting his cheek. Feeling the heat on his flushed cheek, Seungmin felt the younger’s forehead and sighed in relieve when the boy groaned at the touch. Jeongin slowly came to, whimpering as the bright ceiling light burned his eyes. “Can you hear me, Innie?”, the older frowned worriedly. Giving a tired nod, the maknae choked out a cough and weakly tried to sit up, so he wouldn’t drown in his lungs again. Seungmin cringed at the wet sound and wrapped his arm around his dongsaeng’s shoulders to pull him into a sitting position. Struggling to catch his breath, Jeongin held on to the older’s arm for support. Tears of pain and exhaustion pooled in his eyes and it wasn’t long till they spilled over. When the cough finally tapered off, he laid limply against Seungmin’s side, who hummed: “Can you tell me when you started feeling bad? You seemed okay earlier today.” – “Woke up like this”, Jeongin whimpered hoarsely, “Went to bed because I felt off and then suddenly woke up like this not much later.” – “Oh, Innie”, the older sighed, gently running his hand through his dongsaeng’s sweaty hair. “M-My head hurts so bad. I wanted to get medicine but didn’t make it”, Jeongin admitted shakily, breaking off into a painful cough. Rubbing his back through the thick hoodie, Seungmin whispered: “You’re running a pretty bad fever, so I’m not surprised your head hurts. Let me get you medicine.” Carefully propping the younger up against the cabinet, Seungmin stood up and went to search the cabinet over the sink. His heart clenched when he realized that they had run out.

Kneeling back down, Seungmin thought his dongsaeng had fallen asleep but when he gently put a hand under his chin to lift his head, Jeongin’s glossy and unfocused eyes met his. “Innie, I’m so sorry but it seems like we’ve run out”, he whispered sadly. Eyes stinging with more tears, Jeongin choked out a sob. It had taken him so long to walk here and now it was all for nothing. Why hadn’t he just stayed in bed and saved himself the struggle. Almost tearing up himself, Seungmin cooed: “It’s okay. Ssh, you’ll be okay. Why don’t we get you back to bed, hm?” – “H-Hyung, I -I ca-can’t”, the maknae cried, clutching the other’s sleeve, “I feel s-so bad.” – “I know, Innie, I know. I’ll help you, okay?”, the older promised, helping his friend to his feet before picking him up.

Seungmin carried his dongsaeng to his room, gently laying him down on his bed. He fetched a thin t-shirt from the still open closed and asked: “Do you need help changing your shirt? Your fever is really high, so you can’t keep that hoodie on.” Jeongin frowned and hugged himself, still feeling cold and not wanting to take his hoodie off. “I know you’re cold but we really need to bring your temperature down. Your head will hurt less if we do”, Seungmin promised, “If you get changed, I’m going to get a few things to make you feel better, deal?” The maknae whined, making himself cough. Rubbing his back, Seungmin sighed: “I know it sucks. Just breathe, you’re okay.” When Jeongin was finally able to catch his breath, he defeatedly reached for the t-shirt to change. He knew the older was right, no matter how uncomfortable it was. Whispering a quiet praise, Seungmin hurried off, while the other changed his shirt and crawled under his blanket, shivering violently, emotional tears trailing down his flushed cheeks.

When the vocalist returned, he felt his heart break. Placing the cup of tea, he had prepared and the bowl of cold water onto the nightstand, he walked over to the desk to switch on the little lamp there. He needed to see something but was well aware of his dongsaeng’s headache. Sitting down on the side of the bed, Seungmin pealed back the blanket just enough to see the younger’s face. He frowned, the blanket was way too thick to keep Jeongin from overheating. “Innie, I’m sorry but I’ll have to take this blanket away too. You’re burning. I’ll get you a thinner sheet, we can cover you with”, the vocalist cooed, earning a hoarse whine and more tears as the maknae desperately tried to hold on to the blanket. Jeongin was trembling with chills, failing to get a tight grip on the blanket before his hyung took it away. It was soon replaced by something much thinner, that didn’t provide him any warmth. While Seungmin kept apologizing over and over again, his dongsaeng cried miserably, triggering another coughing fit. The older helped him sit up and rubbed his back till it tapered off. Then he fluffed up the pillows, stacking them, so Jeongin would be propped up a little, hopefully making it a bit easier to breathe. Easing the maknae back into the pillows, Seungmin hummed: “This might be a bit uncomfortable at first but it’ll help your headache and get that nasty fever down.” Fishing the washcloth from the bowl of water, the vocalist squeezed it out and dabbed it under his dongsaeng’s eyes to clean away the tears before folding it and draping it across the maknae’s burning forehead.

Jeongin huffed a breath trying to suppress the chills, that just wouldn’t stop shaking him. His hyung had been right, the cold cloth did feel nice on his head, if only he wasn’t freezing. “Can you scoot over a bit for me?”, Seungmin asked quietly, lifting up the thin fabric to get in next to his dongsaeng. Sitting against the headboard, he situated Jeongin in his arms and hoped the younger would feel a bit warmer from the shared body heat. If he didn’t, it might provide some comfort at least. Whimpering pitifully, the maknae clutched Seungmin’s shirt, his tears dripping freely as the older stroked his back before picking up the washcloth to run it down the younger’s trembling arms. Though Jeongin was so drained that it didn’t take long for him to fall into a restless slumber, the congestion in his chest didn’t fail to wake him back up just to be thrown into another breathless coughing fit. Despite his own exhaustion, Seungmin never left his friend’s side. Even after 3racha had returned from the studio and Jisung joined them, the vocalist kept Jeongin in his arms, comforting him through every coughing fit and feverish nightmare, of which there were many. Jisung went to change the water in the bowl as it had gotten warm over time and turned the aircon in their room down, even if that meant he himself had to sleep in thick sweatpants and under two blankets. Though Seungmin’s heart ached for his dongsaeng, the younger surely was the cutest poltergeist the vocalist had ever seen.

[salamanderskin]

Ooh. Ooh. For the autumn asks, how about Vax and cold?

Here you go. L!am O’br1an’s characters are just made for sickfic.  This one should be readable for people with no knowledge of the series, which is always a bonus. Just 13k of half-elf sibling caretaking. Just to clear up confusion;

Vex'halia leans back in her chair and scans the scene. The tavern is ideal for their needs; busy enough to provide cover but quiet enough to facilitate conversation. Low light, buzz of chatter, lots of pillars and doors in and out. Perfect. She can't quite relax, but she gets close.

Her gaze wanders to her brother returning from the bar with a pint of ale in each hand. His expression is deeply uneasy, eyes darting from the floor to the door and then to her with a crease of concern between his brows. Vex feels a snag of worry all her own. Her eyes and ears are very good, but his are even better. Whatever is setting him on edge, she can't sense it. That could be dangerous.

He sets the pints down and pauses, wary.

"What?" She hisses, leaning very close.to catch any whispered warning. 

A minute shake of the head, a finger held up to pause her- and then Vax'ildan wrenches away from her with a shuddering "hck--CHSH!" of a sneeze. 

He covers his face with a pinch of his cloak at the very last moment but the sound still resounds sharply and a few patrons turn their heads. 

"So much for keeping a low profile." Vex grumbles.

"Don't start." Vax shoots back. "Be glad we found somewhere warm to stay."

"You're cold?" 

"Yes, because it's cold." He states, brooking no argument.

It isn't though, Vex muses. It's as mild as can be expected for fall, and their half-elven genetics should give them a boost, but Vax has drawn his cloak high around his neck and gathered his hands in it, clenching for warmth like a great bat as he glowers out over his ale. 

It's a sorry sight. Luckily it's no loss for her to sit closer to him and lean in, under the pretence that she is cold herself. Her brother tucks the edge of the cloak around them both and lets her lean against him. He says nothing, but she notes the clench of his body begin to relax at the shared heat. 

Then he tenses. There is less than a second's warning before his whole body jackknifes forward with another sneeze., a sharp-edged "Ha-ISSXCh!" that tears through his throat rather than his nose. He doesn't comment, so she doesn't either.

Instead, she orders them both some stew. It's not bad, for a middle-of-the-road inn more well known for crime than catering. Vex eats with gusto and when Vax doesn't finish she takes his plate and clears that too. 

"-----ISDZsch!!!!" Okay, that one made her jump. It sounds like it hurts, too.Vax looks tired when he raises his head, groggy and wrecked like she hasn't seen him for a long time. Three of anything is too many for a coincidence, in her books, and as Vax turns from her and fusses surreptitiously with a handkerchief (black, of course) she casts her mind back over the previous day. He'd been stiff and sore from fighting, constantly rolling his shoulders against a brewing headache. And yes, he had been sneezing all day; only ever one at a time, but whip-fast and harsh, making him grit his teeth in rage at the loss of his usual stealth. 

The icing on the cake are the shivers Vax is trying very hard to suppress. He's doing a good job, too. If they hadn't been sitting thigh to thigh, she'd have had no idea. 

"C'mere." She loops an arm around his waist to draw him closer. Her brother slumps to rest against her shoulder and sighs, sparking a little cough from deep in his chest. The fact that he doesn't resist tells her everything else she needs to know, even before she gets a hand to the back of his neck and finds him just a touch too warm.

"Vax…" Is all she says. 

"M' just tired," he says pettishly.

"Did I say otherwise?" 

He breaks the embrace to press his fingers into his temples then surfaces to give her a fond look. "No. And that's why I love you." 

……………

The wind whistles through the brush, low and mournful. A waning moon spills enough cold light for Vex'halia to find her way through the edge of the woods to the little hollow where she has left her brother. The journey was a success; she has managed to buy a real healing potion that ought to ease his sickness in the course of a day. She'd paid far over what was reasonable, but out in the wilderness she takes that as a win.

Vex’halia didn't much like leaving him, but as he hastened to remind her, Vax is sick not incapacitated. If  needed, he could certainly be on his feet a second and deadly with his daggers. He'd just rather not, feeling as awful as he does. Not that Vax had complained at all, but the waxy cast of his skin and the wince that tightened his features whenever he moved, was motivation enough to send Vex'halia out for a remedy.

On approaching the place where she'd left him, she hisses his name, partly to locate him in the shadows and partly to assess whether he's awake. 

The answer is a soft, percussive coughing followed by a familiar voice, "Here." 

She finds him lying wrapped in both their blankets and his cloak. They'd let the fire go down so as not to attract attention but he is oriented towards the embers and their slight warmth. 

"I'd hoped you might get some sleep." She sighs. 

"Can't sleep." 

He rises slightly, disentangling himself the blankets to come up to sitting. Vex squats beside her brother to inspect him and frowns at what she finds; she can feel the simmer of fever even before she touches a hand to his cheek. His long hair is mussed and strands cling to his brow. When she smooths them away he closes his eyes, overstimulated by the touch. 

"Oof. Your fever's definitely up." 

"Yeah, I guess so. How was the journey? Did you find anything?"

"You're in luck." She takes out the precious vial and shakes it. Flecks of light dance through the glass and then settle. "This is the real shit, none of your herbal nonsense. Cost an absolute fortune, I don't mind telling you."

"You didn't have to." Vax frowns. He knows how careful his sister is with money. 

"I kind of did." 

She hands the bottle over. Vax'ildan's face shows open relief but he makes no move to uncork it. He stares for a moment, lips parted.

"Well, are you going to drink that?"

"I--- --IFFsch!!" Vax's response is a harsh, productive sneeze that comes too fast for him to do more than raise his head. "I ab."  Oh, his poor voice is thick with congestion, wavering with the need to sneeze again. "Give me a seco'd---- -ISDZschu!!

It slams him forward, and when he raises his head she can see the tight furrows of pain beside his eyes. He uncorks the bottle with his teeth and downs the contents.

"This is ridiculous. That can't start working quickly enough."

"Bad news, it's supposed to take up to twelve hours to take effect." Vex sighs.

"Fuck." He grumbles. "Guess I'll have to try and sleep like this then." Vax lies down again and fidgets with the blankets, shivering. 

Now that the potion has been administered, Vax'halia feels something in her relax. With a definite endpoint to this sickness and no immediate danger, there is something pleasurable in tending to her brother. She has never been what would be described as domestic, but she takes pride in her skills as a ranger when she stokes the fire from embers to a blaze and sets a pot of water to heat on it. While the tea brews, she finds a piece of brick and sets it in the coals to heat. In no time at all she has a respectable cup of tea sweetened with a scrape of honey.

"Vax," She says softly. "Stay awake a minute longer. Come on, sit up for me." He responds with a congested, "hhmph-" that soon changes to a sigh of satisfaction when she hands him the cup. While he sips, she wraps the brick in a cloth and tucks it at his feet to radiate heat.

"You're too good to me, stubby." He whispers.

"Probably.. Go to sleep now. I'll watch." 

[breakfastteatime]

Mini Mac Fic Part 2!

Ta da! A continuation of this Jack’s got a sick Mac on his hands, and he’s gonna get him home and safely tucked up.

It was a quiet drive from Phoenix back to Mac’s place. Jack really had to bite his tongue to keep from asking Mac why he didn't just take a sick day. For a guy who was so smart, he could be incredibly stupid about his personal wellbeing. 

Besides, Mac was asleep in the passenger seat, making it hard for him to answer anything. And Jack didn't want to disturb him until they got to his place. For him to be sleeping so much and so heavily during the day meant he really had to be sick. Mac slept light unless he’d gone beyond all his limits. And here he was, sleeping hard, his breathing a little ragged at the edges. He’d slumped against the door, head pressed to the glass like he wanted to cool off.

“Dammit, kid,” Jack muttered. “Can’t you make this easy just one time?” 

Matty was right; Mac would be in trouble when he was well enough. He needed to learn to manage himself better. Or at all, really. Because one day, his cavalier attitude towards himself would really bite him in the ass. Just because they weren't on a mission and were out of rotation for a few weeks unless something major came in, didn't mean he could ignore his health. 

“This would all be a lot easier if you were awake to hear me tell it to you straight,” Jack said. 

Mac didn’t even stir. 

Bozer always said Mac wasn’t one to take sick days ‘unless he’s vomiting, and even then, it’s fifty-fifty.’ Bozer then promised to share the story of how Mac had proceeded to projectile vomit in a high school chemistry class because he ignored a stomach-ache until it was too late. 

There was resilience and then there was Mac. Jack hadn’t bothered asking him why he was so weird about taking time off. He knew why. Mac admitting to weakness, to vulnerability? It didn’t happen.  

It was time for Mac to unlearn some of his bad habits. 

By the time they got back to Mac's place, he was looking more flushed than before. Jack could hear a distinct crackle in his breathing, too. Probably still a cold, but maybe one nastier than average. 

Killing the engine, Jack reached over, gently shaking Mac awake. “Home sweet home, bud. Let’s get you inside.” 

"Mmmm," Mac mumbled, hoarse voice thick with congestion. “I’m up.” 

His eyes hadn't actually opened.  

"Uh-huh," Jack said, smiling fondly. "Wanna try that again?" 

Mac's answer was clearly no because he was already asleep again. And snoring. 

"I will carry your ass if I have to," Jack said, reaching over to check for fever. Yup, he had one. A nasty one. “Mac!” 

Mac grunted. 

"Fine. Stay right there." 

Jack had a plan. He knew where Mac (okay, Bozer) kept the thermometer… Assuming Mac hadn’t repurposed it for anything. If Mac's temperature was anywhere close to 103F, they were going straight to the nearest ER, no passing go, no collecting $200. Jack wasn't letting Mac's ridiculous stubbornness melt his brain. 

Thirty seconds later, Jack placed the digital thermometer in Mac's ear. He flinched, hand reaching up to slap at Jack's hand. "Stop," Mac said, voice coarse. "It's a cold or sinusitis or something. I’ll sleep it off.” He cleared his throat, unsuccessfully. When he spoke again, he still sounded like he’d gargled with sand. “You don't need to worry so much." 

"No, you need to take this more seriously." Jack said. "You don't need it getting any worse." 

"S'nothing," Mac mumbled, blinking hard, trying to wake himself up.  

The thermometer beeped its reading before Jack could argue back. 102.5F. Not quite 103F. Mac got a stay of professional medical attention. 

Jack tucked the thermometer into a pocket. "Bed. Water. Tylenol. In that order." 

“Fine.” Mac pulled himself out of the car. He slumped against the car, sweat coating his face as he panted for breath and went several shades too pale.  

Jack grabbed him before his legs gave out again, guiding him down to the ground. "Dizzy?" 

"Yeah," Mac said, squeezing his eyes shut. “Not good.” 

“You gonna barf?” Jack asked, wondering how he could put safe distance between himself and whatever might come out of Mac. 

Mac let out a shaky breath. “Dunno.” He peeked through his bangs. "Sorry, Jack." 

Jack managed a smile. "Yeah, kid, I know you are. But we have talked about this. You gotta look after yourself. A sick day now and then ain't the end of the world." 

Mac mumbled something in response, but it was too soft and garbled for Jack to make sense of. He also hadn’t regained any color aside from the patches of bright red on his cheeks. 

“Deep breaths,” Jack said. Maybe it wasn’t too late to get to a doctor. “You need me to carry you?” 

“No!” Mac cried out. “Just gimmie a minute.” 

“World spinning?” Jack asked. 

“S’just a cold,” Mac said. “I’m not aching or anything.” 

“Whatever it is, we need you inside, so let’s do this slowly. I’m gonna get you to your feet and we’re gonna walk inside.” 

Mac held out a hand. Jack pulled him upright, holding both elbows until Mac was steady. Mac pulled away, his glassy eyes squinting against the sunlight. So, Jack could add a headache to Mac’s symptoms. He hovered close to Mac's side as they went inside. Mac made a beeline for the couch. 

"Not bed?" Jack asked. 

"Not that sick," Mac said. He sat down. Then he slumped onto his side, awkwardly kicking off his shoes. He groaned in relief. "Thanks for bringing me home. I'll get some rest now.” He shivered, closing his eyes. “Tell Matty I'm sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow."  

Jack threw out his hands and turned in a circle. “Give me strength,” Jack hissed through his teeth. He couldn’t shout. Mac was sick. Calm. Jack needed to be calm. Very calm. Did Mac seriously think he was going to be left alone? Jack took a deep breath. He held it in for three then slowly released it. Feeling slightly less explosive (because when would Mac learn he wasn’t alone?), Jack headed to the kitchen, grabbed an icepack from the freezer, wrapping in a dishtowel. Next, he poured out a tall glass of water. Then he rummaged through Mac and Bozer's medicine collection, pulling out the Tylenol. Taking everything over to Mac, Jack nudged him awake and made sure he took a dose. Mac did what he was poked to, flopped back, accepted the icepack for his head, and fell asleep in seconds. 

Jack fetched a thin green blanket and placed it over Mac. He glanced at his phone. Matty wanted to know when they were settled. Jack typed fast. One genius dosed and tucked up. He sent a photo too. 

Cute, Matty texted back. Keep an eye on him. 

“You know I got him.” Jack made a quick run to his car to grab his bag and his headphones. Going back into the house, Jack tuned into some classic hair metal, and settled himself into the recliner opposite Mac. He was still Mac’s Overwatch. Way too many dangerous people knew where Mac lived.  

Another conversation Jack needed to have with him. But maybe not right now… 

…Not when Matty had jammed a ton of paperwork into his bag. So you don't spend too much time worrying, she'd told him as he'd shepherded Mac to the car. 

She knew Jack too well. 

The hours ticked by. Jack worked hard, going over a number of training protocols for Phoenix’s tac teams. He looked up every so often, making sure Mac slept peacefully. Sure, his right pant leg rode up to his knee, one of his socks was half off, the blanket only covered one half of him, the icepack had melted, and he had his belly hanging out, but Mac was fast asleep and didn’t appear to be having any nightmares. 

Mac awoke late in the afternoon. He blinked hard, staring at the blanket. “Shit!” He tossed the blanket away, breathing hard.  

Jack looked up from the latest proposal. He saw Mac staring into the distance, not really seeing what was in front of him. "The blanket do something to offend you?" 

"Weird dream," Mac said. He somehow sounded raspier than before. Maybe they needed to add laryngitis to his diagnoses. He sounded more congested too, a distinct crackle in his chest. Mac pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Hate sleeping during the day." 

Jack eyed him critically. "How weird?" 

"Couldn't touch anything green," Mac said. "Green was deadly. Except everywhere I went had green carpet so it was the weirdest game of The Floor is Lava." 

Jack took a second to process. "Why green?"  

"Arsenic," Mac said, pushing sweaty hair out his face. "They used to have a green dye that contained arsenic." He coughed, reaching for the glass of water Jack had topped up halfway through Mac’s nap. "And I had to keep stopping everyone putting on green t-shirts." 

"Only you could have a sciencey nightmare," Jack said. He scooped up the green blanket. “Pretty sure this is free of arsenic.” 

Finishing the water with a grimace, Mac slumped against the couch. "Guess it was on my mind." 

"Arsenic? Do I need to worry? Are you looking to kill someone in a really historically accurate way?" 

Mac smiled. "It's not just a murder weapon. There's probably some in your car battery. There could even be cyanide in the car’s upholstery or – " 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, okay, how 'bout you stop talking about deadly poisons, you’re making me itchy. Actually, just stop talking. You ain't gonna have much of a voice left soon." 

"And that'd be a real bummer," Mac croaked. He winced. “Ow.” 

“Feeling rough?” Jack asked. 

“Yeah,” Mac said. He groaned. “Fine. I’m sick, okay? I admit it.”  

“See, this is why you don’t come to the office when you’re sick,” Jack said. “That way, you get better quicker.” 

“I get it,” Mac said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone in today.” 

“So, no going to work tomorrow?” 

Mac sighed. And then coughed. And then winced. “No work tomorrow.” 

Jack punched the air. “I won!” 

Mac cocked an eyebrow. “On the other hand…” 

“Oh no, don’t you dare,” Jack said, jabbing a finger at him. “You’re staying there. I will sit on you if necessary. Matty will probably order me if I tell her you’re thinking of going into the office tomorrow.” 

“I’m joking,” Mac said. He moved himself upright, planting his hands against the cushions. “Okay.” He pushed himself to his feet, grimacing and rubbing his forehead. “Wow, this headache sucks.” 

Jack got up too. “Hey now, stay right there. I can get you anything you need.” 

Mac blinked at him. “Including a trip to the bathroom?” 

“No, nope, you take care of that,” Jack said, hands held up. “I’ll get you something to drink. Something to eat, too. And some more meds.” He backed away, heading into the kitchen. “Think you’ve got any soup tucked away somewhere? Man, who am I kidding. Of course you do. Bozer is always two steps ahead with comfort food.” 

“Hey, Jack?” Mac called after him. 

Jack opened the fridge, looking for juice. “Yeah?”  

“Thanks,” Mac said. “For… y’know… everything.” 

Jack smiled to himself. “Anytime, Mac.”

(You can find my longer fics over here on AO3)

[raleighcarrera]

birthday

platinum | raleigh carrera x mc (cadence dorian)

raleigh can’t let cadence spend her birthday taking care of him.

~2.5k words, PG-13ish (fluff)

raleigh woke up on the morning of june 30 feeling like his head was going to split open. he was very, very familiar with the dull ache of a hangover, and that wasn’t what he had -- this was something else entirely. 

groaning with miserable displeasure, he rolled over to cadence’s side of the bed and huffed when he felt only the bare sheets and not the soft shape of her, stretched out beside him. he hated when she got up before him.

he forced his eyes open, wincing when the light of the sun, filtering through the blinds in his bedroom, made his head throb harder. “fuck.” his voice was thick and raspy; his throat felt sore. 

before he could call out for his girlfriend, the door to his bedroom opened slowly, careful enough not to make a sound. cadence poked her sleep-tousled head in and smiled when she saw him. “oh, you’re awake. you were burning up, i had to get out of here. the bed was starting to feel like an oven.”

the sound of her voice, which was usually his favorite thing in the world, only worsened his headache. he flopped onto his back and shut his eyes wordlessly. he didn’t move even when cadence leaned over him on the bed and pressed the back of her hand against his forehead. “baby, i think you’re sick.”

raleigh groaned again. of course he was -- wait, no. he couldn’t be. today was june 30. “i can’t be sick on your birthday,” he croaked, turning his face greedily towards her, desperately seeking the touch of her cool palm against his flushed skin. “i’m fine.”

he forced his eyes open, even though it made the stabbing feeling in his brain worsen. cadence was standing above him, staring down at raleigh in that sexy, pissed-off but still concerned way she always was whenever she thought he was doing something stupid. as she pulled her hand away, he reached out and grabbed her wrist to stop her from moving. she sighed and reached up, smoothing his hair off his face. her fingers stroked his cheek. god, that felt amazing.

“you’re obviously not fine. you at least have a fever. and a cough -- i can’t believe you didn’t wake yourself up. it was really loud.” 

ugh. this wasn’t happening. today was supposed to be special. it was the first birthday he was going to be spending with cadence as her official boyfriend, and he’d made plans. raleigh had every intention of giving her a day she’d never forget -- a day that was just as wonderful as she was -- and getting sick was not part of it. he needed to be well enough to take her to brunch, to see her face after she left the boutique he’d bought out, to watch her open her presents and bring her to the carefully planned surprise party that all of her friends were going to meet them at. 

he’d gone all out in preparing for today, and it had to be perfect. “this can’t be happening,” he groaned, his voice breaking with a cough. when he recovered, he asked, “what time is it?”

cadence made a soft, sympathetic noise as she brushed her fingers through his hair again. “nine-thirty.”

“okay.” he paused to cough again. “that’s fine -- we don’t need to start having fun until eleven, so -- i just need to get better in an hour and a half.”

she huffed out a little laugh under her breath. she appeared to be fighting a smile. “raleigh, i don’t think you’re going to be well enough to go out in only --”

“cadence,” he protested, his voice an obvious whine. “i have to be.” they had a reservation. he’d even left time for wake-up sex. “we’re supposed to go to brunch.”

“well, we can go to brunch another day. you shouldn’t be going anywhere, raleigh -- you’re really sick. i’m sorry, i know you had plans --”

“god, don’t apologize to me on your birthday.” cadence arched her eyebrows at him. okay, so she thought he was being dramatic. and maybe he was, though he felt perfectly justified in his reaction. he hardly thought she would feel great if she were the one ruining his birthday. 

“you’re not ruining anything,” she promised, her voice gentle and reassuring. he blinked. had he said that out loud? his head was still pounding. “we can celebrate my birthday another day. it’s fine, it doesn’t matter.” 

“yes it does,” he insisted stubbornly, struggling to sit up in bed so she could see how serious he was. the moment he moved, he regretted his decision; his whole body felt achy and uncomfortable -- he didn’t need to make his point that badly, right? cadence pressed lightly on his shoulder and he laid back down, trying to act as though she were forcing him to. “it’s your birthday today. you should still do the fun stuff. avery has the itinerary, he can send it to you.”

“raleigh.” she was very obviously holding back a laugh, amusement clear in her voice. “don’t be ridiculous. i’m not going anywhere until you’re better again.”

“cadence, no.” this was all wrong. he couldn’t let her spend her birthday taking care of him. “you need to go --” a coughing fit shook his shoulders. “-- do birthday stuff. you’re not staying here.”

she rolled her eyes at him. “okay, raleigh.” he fought off a whine as she stepped away from the bed. it was really going to suck, being stuck here without her hands on him. 

cadence slipped out of his bedroom and he sighed, tugging the blankets up around his chin. suddenly, he was freezing. okay -- this was obviously going to be terrible, but at least cadence was going to have her birthday fun. that would make everything worth it. 

a moment later, she came back in, typing away on her phone. raleigh heard the swoop of an outgoing text message before the click of her putting the device to sleep, and watched as she set it into her pocket. “i just texted avery and told him to move everything, so -- looks like you’re stuck with me.”

“cadence. that’s literally the exact opposite of what i said to do.”

she held up her hands. “it’s too late. looks like we’re doing this.” 

despite his insistence, he was grateful to have her close as she stopped near the bed again. “why don’t you take a hot shower? i’ll change the sheets and call in your symptoms and we’ll take it from there.” she leaned down and brushed her lips against his forehead; he could have sobbed with relief. just having her close, with her familiar weight and shape and smell was more comforting than anything he could have asked for.

with herculean effort, he dragged himself out of bed. before he shut the door to the bathroom, he heard cadence humming to herself as she stripped the sheets off and smiled, the sound of the melody already lifting his spirits.

he hated when she was right, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t -- and often. cadence knew what she was talking about; after a few long minutes under the hot water he was already starting to feel remarkably less disgusting. dropping down into a set of clean sheets only made things better. 

cadence felt his forehead again when he laid down. “good news and bad news. the good news is that the tel-a-doc thinks you just have a 24-hour bug. the bad news is you’re all out of what we need to treat it, so -- i have to run to the store. are you gonna be alright for a few minutes here by yourself?”

the question was almost laughable. if cadence only knew the disasters he’d caused in this very apartment, by himself, before she came along. raleigh was sure she’d be completely horrified to know all he’d gotten up to, and on any other day he absolutely would have made a joke about it, just in the hopes of making her laugh. today -- he really didn’t want her to go.

“yeah,” he mumbled, sighing heavily through his congestion as he made himself comfortable in the newly made bed. his eyes felt heavy. “s’cool.”

raleigh was asleep in moments. when he woke up, the clock on his nightstand let him know that it’d been a few hours. his stomach rumbled; he was hungry -- that was a start.

he dragged himself out of bed and made his way to the kitchen. cadence was dancing at the stove, shimmying her hips to the song playing quietly off her phone. he leaned against the refrigerator and stared at her, his lips pulling up into a smile.

she spun around and saw him, flushing bright red. “raleigh.”

“cadence.” he mimicked her voice with -- what he thought was -- a perfect imitation. 

“okay, so i guess you’re feeling better.” she nodded her head at the breakfast bar. “sit.”

he did, folding his arms on the counter and dropping his chin onto them, watching her from the middle of the kitchen. she turned the music on her phone off and then turned back to the stove; raleigh watched as she ladled soup into a bowl and brought it over to him. she set a blue gatorade and two pills down beside it. 

raleigh arched an eyebrow at her. “you made soup?”

it looked pretty good. actually, it looked... almost too good. cadence shook her head. “i just heated it up. you’ll feel better, though, once you take the medicine -- which you should do now so you can have it again with dinner. are you actually feeling better?”

he paused to think about it for a moment, shoveling a spoonful of soup in his mouth. it was hot. cadence stared at him, unimpressed, as he spit it back into the bowl. “yeah, i guess. a little. thanks for doing all of this. i’m sorry i took your birthday away.”

her gaze softened. “raleigh, it’s not a big deal. you didn’t take my birthday away, you’re my boyfriend -- i want to take care of you. we’ll celebrate another day. we can just reschedule everything.” she bit down on her bottom lip, stifling a smile. “although it did sound pretty incredible.”

he groaned. “avery told you? i’m gonna kill him.”

“well -- i asked! i wanted to make sure everything could be moved. and it could, so it’s not a big deal. but... i can’t believe you planned all of that for me.” her gaze was serious where it was fixed on his. “no one’s ever gone through so much trouble for me like that before.”

he averted his eyes to his soup, stirring it around slowly. he felt flushed again. “it wasn’t that involved.”

“yes it was, raleigh. you put all this time and effort into planning the perfect day, and i... i just feel really lucky. to be dating someone like you, who cares so much. so shut up, and let me thank you, and eat your soup.”

she was smiling at him. his chest felt uncomfortably tight. she had definitely done... something to him, that was for damn sure. before her, he’d never been the type of guy interested in earning boyfriend-points. traditionally, raleigh ran at the first sight of anything that could be construed as commitment; he didn’t want to be stuck planning anyone’s anything. celebrating a birthday with a girl was usually a sign that it was time for him to get lost. 

but ever since cadence saw something in him that she thought was worth sticking around for, he constantly found himself working towards a new bar that had been set. every day he was trying to outdo himself, all in the hopes of making her smile. 

her birthday was his chance to pay back all the amazing things she did for him every other day of the year. he was supposed to be using this day to show her how much she meant to him.

“i’d do it every day, you know,” raleigh said finally, between bites. “you don’t have to wait until your birthday. you deserve something that special every day.”

the face she made at him made his stomach twist. she looked so happy. “thank you,” she murmured again, squeezing his hand. “come on. let’s get you back into bed.”

once he’d crawled back between the sheets, she set up camp for them in the bedroom -- bringing raleigh his phone, getting a water bottle for his nightstand, bringing the tissues in close. “now all i need is you,” he instructed, looking meaningfully at her side of the bed.

cadence really needed to move in here -- to make it official. it felt incredibly off-putting when the right side of the bed was empty. 

“one last thing.” she smiled, and then presented him with a cherry popsicle, holding the stick towards him so he could take it.

his eyes lit up. a thousand memories of being home sick from school flooded his senses as he pulled it towards his mouth, nostalgia filling him abruptly. if he closed his eyes he could almost hear his mom whispering terms of endearment in spanish as he laid with his head in her lap. “okay, how’d you know?”

“i called your mom,” she admitted sheepishly, “while i was at the store. she said you always used to have them when you were sick. i thought it might help you feel better, but -- they only had the variety pack, so i bought, like, three boxes to make sure we’d have enough cherry.” 

“jeez. you’d think it was my birthday.” the thought of cadence on the phone with his mom, swapping stories about him was... enough to make him nervous in a way he didn’t understand. his stomach was squirming, but it also felt... good, like pre-performance jitters or takeoff in a private plane. it felt like... he was getting something for christmas that he’d wanted all year.

cadence laughed as she pulled back the covers and slipped into bed beside him. she leaned over to shut off the bedside light, and then made herself comfortable under his arm. “you shouldn’t get so close,” he murmured, even as he pulled her in flush, “you’ll get sick.”

she leaned her head on his chest. “it’s my birthday,” she reminded him, “i can do whatever i want.”

there were a thousand things he wanted to tell her. he needed her to know that he felt lucky, too, to be dating someone like her, and that sometimes it seemed insane that she could feel the same way about him. he wanted her to understand that she deserved to be with someone who would make every birthday of hers the greatest day of the year, who’d kill to see her smile or laugh or turn that wide-eyed look of delight on them. 

but sleep was starting to overtake him again. he squeezed his arm around her, pressing his lips to the top of her head. “you’re right,” he murmured, “it’s your day. happy birthday.”

[iwritesickfic]

not if it’s you

Bo knew that calling out sick for a day would mean he’d see Dell at some point after he was done with whatever he had to do. Part of him is hoping that Dell doesn’t know why he has the day off, but Dell isn’t an idiot. 

Part of Bo’s reasoning is that even though he probably could work, he really shouldn’t. He’s told Dell enough times to not wait until it’s so awful he can’t get out of bed to get some rest, so he’s partially taking his own advice. That said, he feels pretty terrible. Whatever this virus is, it’s absolutely vicious. His sinuses feel like they’re full of concrete, his nose won’t stop streaming and most aggravatingly, he’s sneezing. Maybe for some people sneezing is the least of their worries, but with the aching in his swollen sinuses it makes it feel like someone’s driving a stake between his eyes. 

The final reason is that Bo never really gets sick, and if he does it’s always mild, so he can’t imagine how Dell, who’s genuinely miserable with what others would call a cold, could handle this. The chances are pretty good he’s going to catch it even with Bo taking a day off, but it’s worth a try. Which is why he’s hoping Dell won’t show up at his door tonight, even though he knows it’s inevitable. 

And just as he expected, at 8 PM there’s a knock on the door. Bo takes a deep breath and spends a moment in front of the mirror trying to look less shitty than he feels before opening the door. 

“Hi,” he says, and Dell smiles. Even feeling like this it makes Bo’s heart melt. 

“Hi. You’re sick,” he says, and it’s not really a question but Bo nods. 

“You shouldn’t be here.” All he wants is to be held right now, to be taken care of and looked after and loved but it’s selfish to ask those things of Dell, even if he’s offering them.

“I’ll be fine,” he says, and Bo sighs. His head is really starting to ache from being upright. Dell starts to lean in, and Bo has to put a hand on his chest.

“I really don’t want you to catch this.” Dell tucks a bit of hair behind his ear, and Bo can feel his fingertips brush his temple.

“C’mon, you’re breaking my heart.” His voice is so hard to resist, he’s too damn charming. “Probably caught it already anyway.”

“Well you’re definitely going to if you come in.” A few sneezes catch him off gaurd, and though he’s able to catch them in his sleeve, his head throbs and it’s so bad he’s swaying on his feet. Then, he feels steady arms pull him close, his aching head against Dell’s chest. It feels incredible, being held, and he lets out a shaky breath.

They stay like that for a while in silence, one of Dell’s hands rubbing his back.

“You’re running a fever,” he finally says, and Bo hums in response. There’s another long pause before he speaks again. “Listen, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll go, but you have to take tomorrow off and you have to text me, ok?” Bo breathes a sigh of relief and nods against Dell’s chest. “Alright. One more thing.”

They pull apart, and immediately Bo is disappointed, the steady comfort is gone as quick as it came.

“What?” He asks, and without warning, Dell presses a lingering kiss to his forehead. Clever of him not to ask first, as Bo definitely would’ve said no, but it feels so nice he doesn’t complain.

“I’ll see you the day after tomorrow,” he says, and Bo nods, forcing a little smile. “Good.” He smirks. “Now go get some sleep you look like hell.”

--

Two days later the illness is almost completely gone, the only remnant the odd sniffle here or there and the soreness of his nose from being rubbed raw with tissues. 

He’s glad they’ll be working - it takes care of the whole no-kissing thing without Bo having to actively decline, which is good because he’s pretty sure he’d give in just seeing his smile.

He’s hyper focused on Dell throughout the day, and luckily it seems like he’s feeling fine. He has small tells that Bo’s learned to recognize, but nothing seems off. Usually after work they’d have dinner, but Bo decides it’s best if he doesn’t risk it.

But, the next morning, he sees Dell and his heart immediately sinks. He definitely hasn’t slept well, and he’s touching his septum with his knuckle which nine times out of ten means he’s coming down with something.

“We should take the day off,” he says, and Dell sighs.

“I’m fine. Really.” Bo bites his lip. “Promise. If I feel bad I’ll let you know.” Bo must still look skeptical because Dell puts a hand on his shoulder. “Trust me, I’d love to take a break every time I feel like shit but I have responsibilities. The world’s not gonna stop for me.”

Bo wants to argue but he knows Dell’s right, at least partially. Now of all times it’d be hardest to get a break. He’s still in the process of transitioning into his new role which originally was supposed to be king, but is now just taking over all of the policy his mother doesn’t want to handle. The royal titles are mostly symbolic, but their family still wields considerable political power.

While there’s always tension between Dell and his mother, lately it’s been more pronounced than ever. Things are moving fast and he can’t afford to stumble.

 “Promise you’ll tell me if you need to slow down.” Dell smiles.

“I promise. You’re really cute when you’re worried.” That manages to draw out a laugh, and Dell seems pleased.

The rest of the day goes smoothly, but Bo can tell he’s feeling worse and worse. By the end of the day, Bo’s already trying to see how possible it’d be to cancel their day tomorrow. Better to get a jump on the inevitable.

He’s relieved when they’ve finally reached the end of the day, but almost immediately there’s a new problem.

“Why wasn’t it on the agenda?” Bo asks, and Dell sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose like he does when he has a headache.

“It’s a family thing, I thought you knew about it. It’s not a big deal, it’s just a dinner.” It’s not just a dinner, Bo knows that. They’ll be entertaining some group of politicians for most of the night, then he’ll have to spend at least a few hours with his family and Emilia. But there’s really nothing to be done. Family commitments are non-negotiable. “I feel ok, really. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, ok?”

Bo takes a deep breath and nods.

“Tomorrow morning.”

The minute he doesn’t see Dell at 6:30 the next morning in the front driveway, waiting for the car, he knows something is definitely wrong. Dell’s never late. Ever. Still, he waits 15 minutes. When he doesn’t show by 6:45, Bo makes his way upstairs and through the maze of hallways to Dell’s apartment. 

He knocks once, twice, three times, all to no response. Finally, he just opens the door. The room is dark, and for a moment Bo thinks maybe he’s not here, when he hears a few muffled sneezes.

He flips on the lights, walking over to the bed where he now sees a lump underneath the comforter.

“Hey,” he says, trying to keep his voice low. If he caught what Bo had he’s probably got a pretty bad headache. When he gets close enough he finally sees Dell curled up under the heavy blanket all the way up to his nose, eyes red rimmed and unfocused. Carefully, Bo sits on the edge of the bed, and Dell lets out a soft little moan. He tries to be gentle, but even pressing his palm to his forehead draws out another half-moan half-whimper.

He’s incredibly warm, but that’s not really a surprise.

“Fuck, did I sleep in?” he mumbles, voice thick with congestion.

“No, you’re fine,” Bo says, not wanting to make him feel any worse. Normally Dell’s sharp enough to tell when Bo’s bullshitting, but now he just accepts the information without complaint. He just lays still while Bo runs his fingers through his hair. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Head fuckin hurts. A lot.” Bo can tell. Dell doesn’t offer anything more, so Bo lets his thumb run back and forth against his hot temple.

“Migraine?” he prompts, and Dell makes a small sound from the back of his throat. “That’s a yes?”

“I don’t know, Bo. I just feel awful.” His voice sounds unsteady, like he might cry, which ratchets Bo’s anxiety up a notch. That and the fact he’s actually admitting to feeling terrible. Usually statements like that are followed by “but i’m alright,” or “but it’s not so bad.” He starts to sit up, and his face immediately goes pale. Bo guides him the rest of the way so he’s upright, but lets him rest his weight against his chest. His head is tucked into the crook of Bo’s neck. His breathing is strained.

“Hey, it’s alright, just relax, ok?” Dell shakes his head, and Bo sighs. “What’s wrong with that?”

“I have to get up.”

“I promise you don’t.”

“I’ll take an ibuprofen, it’ll be fine.” He’s shaking, but Bo’s not sure if it’s from exhaustion or the fever. 

“Hate to rain on the parade but you can barely sit up. I’m not just telling you to stay in bed, I -”

“Yes you are,” Dell argues back weakly. Bo almost wants to let it happen. For Dell to get up and pass out  just so he’ll understand what’s going on. 

“It’s not an opinion, i swear, i’m being objective here. You’re just too sick.” Dell lets out a small huff and tries to sit up straight. He manages, and somehow gets his legs over the edge of the bed. Bo sighs.

And of course, just as he anticipated, the minute Dell tries to stand on his own his knees go weak. Luckily Bo’s able to catch him and get him stable again pretty quickly, but the damage is done. The shaking is even worse now, and with every exhale there’s a little pained sound. 

“Fuck,” he finally says, and Bo presses a kiss to his temple.

“Just relax, ok?” He says, and Dell nods. Just as he’s pulling away, he lets out a harsh sneeze, followed by what can only be described as a moan. Two more come soon after, and it’s abundantly clear they’re worsening the pain in his head. He sniffles, which draws out another soft moan.

Bo pulls far enough away so his hands rest on Dell’s flushed cheeks, and experimentally, he presses his thumb into the space under his eye and to the side of his nose. Immediately he lets out a choked sob, and Bo frowns. His sinuses are so swollen Bo can tell from that one touch alone he’s got a sinus infection, and a bad one at that. It’s no wonder his headache is so awful. He remembers his own bout with this and how terribly his own head ached. He can’t imagine how Dell must feel. 

“I am so sorry,” he whispers, and Dell shakes his head.

“It’s not your fault,” he says, and Bo sighs. “M’gonna lay back down, ok?” he mumbles, and Bo nods.

“Yeah, definitely. I’m gonna grab some stuff, I’ll be right back.” He nods, and Bo gets up. In the bathroom cabinet he finds a few things that might help, but he’s not totally sure. He has the thermometer, obviously, and at first he considers something cold to help the fever but decides something warm is probably better to help the ache. He remembers an old trick he used to use in university when he ran track, a quick way to make a hot compress.

He brings the supplies he’s got so far back to the bedside table and slips the thermometer under his tongue, before going to the closet and grabbing a sock. It takes him a minute to find the right drawer, but when he does he heads into the kitchen. It takes another minute to find the rice, but when he does he fills the sock about halfway and ties the end, then sticks it in the microwave. It’s sort of strange, but if it works it works. 

When he finally gets back to Dell, the thermometer’s long done. 102.4. Bad, but not catastrophic. Yet. He takes the hot pack and lays it over Dell’s closed eyes, and he lets out a little gasp.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, panicked for a moment.

“No. Feels good,” he mumbles, and Bo is about to reply when his phone starts to ring. Loudly. Dell’s expression tightens, and Bo fumbles to answer the call. He gets up, walking over to the couch.

“Hello?”

“Bo, shit, what’s going on?” It’s one of the family’s other assistants, Marina.

“Dell’s sick. I was just about to call.”

“So when will he be ready?” Bo braces himself.

“He can’t get out of bed.”

“When did you become a doctor?!” She snaps.

“Mari, I’m serious.”

“I’m serious too!”

“He almost passed out trying to stand up, there’s no way he’s going anywhere. Even doped up on whatever, it’s not happening.” There’s a long silence.

“Well...” she trails off. “Shit. You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Alright.” She sighs. “I’ll clear everything today and tomorrow, and I’ll put in a med assist request. You better not be exaggerating. This totally fucks the entire week.”

“Why would I -”

“Because he has you wrapped around his finger, Bo.”

“I’m not gonna talk about this with you. Just text me about the med assist and let me know if I need to make any calls.”

“Alright. Talk later.”

“Thanks.” When he hangs up he lets out a heavy sigh, and Dell’s weak fever slurred voice pipes up from the bed.

“Who was it?” 

Bo shoves his phone in his pocket and heads back over to where he was sitting on the edge of the mattress.

“Just Mari.” 

“Why? You said we’re not late.” Bo goes back to playing with his hair, hoping the touch is comforting.

“Everything’s cancelled.” Dell still looks confused.

“Why?” Bo considers his options. He could just tell him the truth - it’s because he’s too sick to even get out of bed - but that might just stress him out more. Knowing that he’s the reason everything’s been rearranged will just make him feel worse.

“She didn’t say.” Luckily, he seems to accept that answer without question, but Bo can tell there’s something more bothering him. “Was everything ok last night?” Dell sniffles, and Bo hands him a tissue from the almost-empty box on the nightstand. He takes the now room temperature compress and puts it on the bedside table.

“No, I didn’t sleep good.”

“I mean with the dinner and everything.” 

“Oh. Uh, it wasn’t great. Just family drama.” He pauses. “No one gives a shit about me, Bo.” Immediately Bo’s hand goes to cup his cheek.

“That’s not true.” Usually Dell doesn’t discuss any of his family issues, even when it’s just the two of them. He’s always diplomatic and vague, never really expressing any opinion. Bo gives a soft smile. “I do, right?”

“Not you, that’s not what I meant,” he says, and Bo sighs.

“Well what makes you say that?” Dell looks lost, his mind cloudy with fever, so Bo resates. “That no one gives a shit about you. What would make you think that?”

“I was so fucking sick last night.” He ends the sentence there but Bo can infer the rest of the meaning. And no one cared. 

“To be fair, you’re very good at looking perfectly fine when you feel like shit.” Bo offers, but Dell’s expression doesn’t change.

“ I can’t...it’s hard to explain it.”

“It’s alright, I understand.” He doesn’t, but the conversation is clearly only making Dell more upset. “Can I get you to eat something?” He asks, and Dell sighs.

“I guess. I don’t know. Can you ask Mari why everything’s cancelled? That doesn’t make sense.” Bo bites his lip. 

“Yeah, I can ask her.” He’s wondering how he’ll even begin to think of a believable lie when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He opens his texts. 

medical got denied. Bo frowns, typing back quickly.

what? why?

She texts back almost immediately.

they didn’t say. schedule is clear though, so that’s something at least.

The frustration must show on his face because Dell speaks up.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, just give me a second,” he says, and types back.

he needs the med assist

Another message comes through.

relax. he gets sick all the time its not a big deal 

Bo closes his phone and shoves it into his pocket, trying not to look as angry as he feels. 

“What?” Dell asks, and Bo sighs, brushing some of the hair off his forehead. 

“Just Mari giving me shit, it’s fine.” Dell frowns.

“What did she say about the schedule?” He asks, voice distorted by congestion and fever. Bo takes a deep breath.

“Today and tomorrow everything’s cancelled.” Dell still looks confused.

“Why though?” Bo is really having to weigh the benefits and drawbacks of being truthful. If he lies, Dell might feel better for the moment, but he’s eventually going to find out the reality. But if he is honest - that he told Mari he was too sick to get out of bed - it’ll cause some more immediate problems. Bo decides that he’s going to keep an even keel, and cross the truth-bridge when they get there.

“I think someone last night noticed you weren’t feeling well.” Dell doesn’t look totally satisfied with that answer. “Your mom maybe?” Dell’s expression immediately shifts to one of almost childlike disbelief, and Bo immediately feels guilty. 

“Yeah?” he asks softly, and a lump forms in Bo’s throat. Would it be so terrible to lie if it’d make him feel so much better? He’s so sick he might not even remember their conversation.

“Mmhmm.” He’s really digging himself a hole here. Dell’s going to be devastated when he finds out it’s not true, but for now if it’s what’s going to keep him in bed that’s probably the most important thing. For most people the worst outcome of not getting proper rest with something this bad would be a prolonged recovery, which isn’t great, but it’s much better than what he knows Dell’s experienced twice - sepsis. When a normal infection gets into the bloodstream and wrecks absolute havoc. Insane fever, every nerve screaming, heart racing -

He hasn’t witnessed it himself, just heard the second-hand accounts from some of the other staff, but he knows enough. The awful immune system, the scar on his sternum, the nightmares and panic attacks - that’s where they all come from. One bout after pneumonia went untreated for two weeks when he was 15, the second from a kidney infection when he was 22. And Bo swears it’ll be over his dead body before it happens a third time. 

So maybe he is overreacting, but he’d rather overreact than have to see Dell go through anything like that. Which is all the more reason Dell needs the med assist. 

“Just when I thought she finally, fully, 100% hated my guts...” Dell mumbles, and Bo bites his lip. He types a text to Mari.

who denied medical?

He slips the phone back into his pocket, and goes back to stroking Dell’s hair. He seems so content, like he’s ready to fall asleep.

“Wait, take these first,” Bo says, and hands him two ibuprofen. He downs them quickly, and wastes no time curling back up under the comforter. Bo’s phone vibrates in his pocket.

who do you think? Bo sighs. Another text comes in.

could definitely change though. she’s trying to set some meetings back up, without him obviously, so she might want him distracted

“You keep looking at your phone like that. What does that mean?” Dell mumbles, and Bo rubs his eyes. 

“It’s just Mari, it’s fine.” He slides it back into his pocket and tries to process everything that’s happening. Dell pouts.

“She’s being mean to you?” He almost smiles, but the look on Dell’s face is earnest. He tests the blonde’s forehead. Definitely a little warmer. Once a fever starts getting into the neighborhood of 103, Dell is a little less...filtered. 

“I can’t talk shit about her, especially not to you,” Bo says, and Dell tries to roll his eyes, but his face screws up in pain. Bo smirks. “What’s up?”

“My entire face fucking hurts.” He takes a deep breath, and Bo’s glad it sounds like his lungs are doing fine. He presses the heels of his palms against his eyes and groans. “My teeth hurt, Bo. My teeth. They’re bones.” Bo can’t suppress a laugh. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dell looks at him like he’s an idiot.

“Bones are like...rocks.”

“They are 100% not like rocks. Why do you think it hurts when you break something?”

“Because there’s stuff around it - whatever.” He takes another deep breath and sneezes wetly into his elbow, followed by a soft moan. “Mari sucks. Why can’t we talk about Mari?” he mumbles, and Bo is surprised he remembers the beginning of the conversation. That said, he’s still clearly operating under the fever - he’d never be so candid if he was in his right mind.

“Because it’d be unprofessional,” Bo says, and Dell laughs.

“How does fucking me fit into unprofessionalism?” He asks, and Bo’s a little relieved he seems to have enough mental wherewithal to be sarcastic. 

“Ok, yeah. You’re right.” Bo’s hand has stopped playing with Dell’s hair. “She just said something about me being wrapped around your finger.” Dell opens his eyes wearily.

“More please,” he mumbles, and Bo furrows his brow. “Your hand. Do more.” Bo cracks a smile and continues his ministrations, carefully running his fingertips through the gold-blonde curls.

“I think she was right,” he says, and Dell frowns.

“Bout what?” 

“I’m wrapped around your finger.”

“No, it’s uh...the snakes. Around that thing,” he says and sniffles again. Bo hands him a tissue.

“I’m not following,” Bo says, catching himself before pulling his hand away from his hair. 

“It’s like...two snakes. Around a thing. It’s on a bunch of stuff...” he says, trailing off, and Bo racks his brain.

“Can you give me...literally anything a little more specific?” Bo asks, and although he’s joking, feverish Dell doesn’t seem to get it.

“I’m trying, my head hurts,” he says, sounding genuinely dismayed, and Bo runs a thumb over his hot temple.

“I know, I’m just teasing.” The image suddenly pops into Bo’s head. “Caduceus! The staff with the two snakes, right?”

“Yeah, I guess. They’re like...they’re wrapped around each other. That’s you and me. Wrapped around each other.” Dell closes his eyes, finally seeming content now that he’s gotten a thought across. 

After that, Dell falls asleep for real, which gives Bo a little time to handle everything else that’s going on.

He walks into the kitchen and closes the door before calling Mari.

“Hey,” she says. “Good news. You’ve got your medical but bad news is I don’t think you’re gonna like it.”

“Why wouldn’t I like it?”

“I’m pretty sure the plan is to have a doctor deem him physically unfit for any sort of real political office.” Bo feels a spike of anger in his chest. “It’s kind of bullshit but it might be better in the long run. With everything going on the past few months, he hasn’t been this bad since college. Or so I’m told. It’s what Will says, anyway.” Will’s been working PR for the royals about 10 years now. “He said stress makes it worse. And you know things have been pretty fucking stressful.” 

Bo doesn’t know where to begin. There’s too much he wants to say.

“You there?” She asks, and Bo sighs.

“Yeah. Unfortunately.” 

“They said they wanted the people there asap, so I’d keep a lookout.”

It’s then that Bo hears voices from the other room.

“I’ve gotta go,” he says, and hangs up before hearing her reply. He walks back into the main living area and sees Dell sitting up against the headboard, a young man and two young women are huddled around him. Bo clears his throat, and they turn.

“Bowen, correct?” the man asks, and Bo nods. “Seeing as Mr. Hagen won’t be needing your services for the rest of the day, you’re free to leave.”

“Bo stays,” Dell says before Bo can even open his mouth. The man nods.

“Alright.” One of the women is pulling out some medical tools, the other seems to be prepping a blood draw. The man doesn’t bother introducing himself to Bo, just continues on his conversation with Dell. Bo can’t be sure what’s already been said, but it’s safe to assume Dell downplayed the severity. 

One of the women, Bo guesses they must be nurses, takes Dell’s temperature with an over the forehead reader. Bo braces himself for the reading.

“100.3. Low grade,” she says, and Dell shoots him a look. Either the fever’s miraculously broken in the five minutes Bo’s been gone, or Dell knows how to cheat the thermometer. The nurse taking his blood pressure frowns.

“That’s odd, he’s very warm. Do we have the tympanic?” The other nurse nods, and grabs an ear thermometer from the bag. Dell’s face has fallen. She puts it in his ear and and he sighs. It beeps, and she pulls it back.

“That’s more like it. 103.1.”

“Fuck,” Dell breathes, and the nurse rubs his shoulder.

“It’s alright, just your body fighting to get well.”

“I know,” he whispers. He looks like he might cry. He doesn’t so much as blink when the other nurse starts taking his blood.

“So we’ve gone over how you’re feeling today...” the man says, flipping through pages in a file. “You said mild headache, upper respiratory congestion?” Dell nods. “We’ll add the fever in, and your blood pressure is low...” He draws out his words as he scribbles things down onto the paper. “Obviously I’m just the RN, and Dr. Jones -”

“Dr. Jones?” Dell interrupts.

“That’s who was requested, right?” Dell frowns.

“I didn’t re- where’s Dr. Hansen?” He asks, and the RN looks surprised but not confused. He looks down at the sheet and presses his lips into a line.

“Alright, uh, I see the problem. Dr. Hansen’s -”

“Don’t tell me he’s busy. He’s not busy. He gets paid to be on call, it’s his job to not be busy,” Dell snaps, and Bo’s a little taken aback. He’s never heard Dell demand anything before. “I know what’s going on here, ok? I’m not an idiot.”

“I think your temp-” one of the nurses starts, and he cuts her off.

“I’m not mad because I have a fever, ok? I’m mad because I’m 24 years old and I’m being treated like a child.” He sighs and rubs his eyes. “I apologize, I’m just very frustrated,” he says, and it’s odd to hear him all of a sudden using his professional voice. “I know it’s not...I’m sorry, this is just your job.” He takes a long pause. “My mother made this request -”

“Oh, no. We were told it was uh...your assistant?” He turns to Bo, “I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

“Bowen,” Dell says, voice flat.

“Right. Bowen spoke with Marina, and communicated to her that you were too ill to leave bed. Marina in turn put in a medical assistance request.” 

Dell pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. 

“Ok, whatever.” He sighs, and when he opens his eyes he looks completely exhausted. “What I mean to say is Dr. Jones reports to my mother, and Dr. Hansen is the doctor with whom I have a confidentiality agreement, so if I’m going to be seen by somebody, I need it to be him. And additionally I’d appreciate it if the vitals were reported exclusively to Dr. Hansen.” 

The RN seems to have no problem with this, looking almost relieved that he hasn’t done something wrong.

“Alright, sounds good. Will do. Is there anything else I should tell him?” His pen is hovering over the paper.

“You can tell Dr. Jones I did a thousand pushups. And to go fuck himself.” The RN laughs nervously, but Dell’s face is blank. “Apologies for my language I’m fuck-” he catches himself and lets out a shuddering breath. “I’m really not feeling well.”

“Right, speaking of that,” the RN seems to be relieved the non-medical part of the conversation has ended, “Like I said I’m not Dr. - I’m not the one who makes the diagnosis, but with a fever that high I’m surprised you don’t feel worse.” He flips back a few pages. “From what you described I’d guess a common cold but it doesn’t square with your vitals.”

“Can I be frank with you?” Dell asks, and the RN twirls his pen nervously.

“Of course, sir.”

“I’m exhausted. If you have what you need -” The RN stands up immediately, and motions for the nurses to grab the bags.

“Yes, of course. Absolutely.” The hurriedly pack their things, and are gone without a trace in under a minute. Dell’s still sitting upright, leaning back against the headboard, eyes closed. Bo sits down on the edge of the mattress. Carefully, he runs his fingers through Dell’s hair.

“I’m not mad at you,” he whispers, but Bo doesn’t reply, just keeps playing with his hair. “You’re just worried about me, you don’t...” he sighs shakily. “You don’t know how fucked up everything is.”

Bo feels tears start to well up in his eyes, and a lump form in his throat.

“hey, hey, it’s alright,” Dell says, and Bo shakes his head.

“I hate seeing you in pain. I fucking hate it. And this is my fault. All of it.” He chokes back and sob and rubs his eyes. “And now I’m crying, and you’re comforting me which is ridiculous, and you’re still burning up and you still have that headache because I can see that crease between your eyebrows, and -”

“Relax.” He grabs Bo’s hand gently. His hot thumb runs back and forth over Bo’s knuckles. “Just relax.” Bo tries, and Dell gives him a sad little smile. “Trying to take care of me is...it’s like trying to build a house of cards in a hurricane. It’s rotten work.”

Bo looks down at their intertwined hands, then back up to Dell’s eyes. He tries to keep his gaze steady.

“Not to me. Not if it’s you.”