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

[seilon]

pro tip: do not take four stimulants at the same time unless you want to vibrate so hard you tear your molecules apart and phase into different plane of existence

[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?”

[soupandtissues]

Pretty late for fall prompts but if you’re feeling it, G/ood O/mens? 🤧🍁🤐

late again, but the husbands enjoy the fall weather or at least one of them does.

A Yellow Wood

“Well I like spooky.  Big spooky fan me.”

That wasn’t a lie Crowley did enjoy the whole spooky season as it were.  The atmosphere, the ghost stories, the whole slant towards wicked deeds, but not in a destructive way usually.   He took credit for the pumpkin spice craze and as a mid-level annoyance to off-set rounding up every cat he could find for safety during the plague times.  And if he was still doing that with a shelter back behind the garden shed well Aziraphale pretended not to know about it.  It really was a wonderful season they’d come up with.

He just didn’t, you know, like being outside for any of it.

Ironic that when everything was mostly dying off or bedding down for winter it bothered his nose so much more than when everything was popping up fresh in spring.  Not to mention it was embarrassing whoever heard of a demon allergic to fall for Satan’s sake!  Now at their cottage thankfully there was little cause for concern.  Not one stray leaf, or speck of pollen, or spot of mold dared to enter his garden.

The local craft market however not so much.

Aziraphale insisted on attending, going on about getting along with their neighbours and window shopping.   Crowley was coming too obviously, what was he going to do not spend the afternoon with his angel?  Of course not.

So having popped a few meds in the vain hope they would help and discreetly tucked several tissues into his pockets they set off, crunching through the fallen leaves on the ground. The sound alone seemed to bother his nose and he rubbed at it, stepping back a half step so Aziraphale wouldn’t notice.

Thankfully his angel was easily distracted taking time to admire every stall and talk to those running them.  Less thankful was Aziraphale grabbing a potent candle shoving it directly under his nose.

“I think this will be just lovely in the lounge, don’t you agree, Crowley?”

A sharp snap of his fingers was all that kept the sudden burning urge to sneeze at bay.

“Uh, yeah it’s-it’s great, Angel.”

Aziraphale turned to pay for three of them and Crowley managed to slink off and duck behind the nearest tree, though that certainly didn’t help matters, as he fumbled for the tissues and pressed them to his face to stifle the fit.

“hh’NXXtch! heh’GNITChh! Huh-huh…Hh’itSHHhh!”

Another snap of his fingers managed to clear his sinuses for the moment.  Crowley adjusted his sunglasses so they weren’t pressing so tightly against the now tender areas.  While still keeping his eyes covered, and forced himself not to rub them.  Then he went back to his angel, purchasing a snack he didn’t even like so at least he would stop offering for him to smell everything.

***

When the afternoon was finally over Aziraphale went about setting up the all new items he’d purchased humming pleasantly.   Meanwhile Crowley dragged himself off to the bedroom, dumped his glasses on the nearest surface and sat down on the bed with a congested sigh.  Rubbing at his eyes trying to relieve the pressure that had built up as the day wore on.  The constant use of miracles had left him drained and tired, and keeping all the congestion back had now turned it in to firm cement which was only exacerbating his headache.

“Crowley?”

“Hmm?”

“Is something wrong?”

He shook his head as Aziraphale sat down beside him.

“Well it’s just that you seem rather…distance.”

“Don’t mean to be, Angel, it’s just my a-heh-allergies,” he confessed too tired to bother hiding it anymore.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, to what?”

Crowley just gestured vaguely to the window as a few stray leaves passed by in the wind.

“But why wouldn’t you say something?”

Crowley shrugged. “You wanted to go out today and I like watching you like things.”

He curled his fist under his nose as it began to twitch.

“Heh-heh-snf! Just overdid it a bit trying to keep myself under control and-huh-huh…uhhh…ugh, sorry.”

There was a warm hand on his shoulder. “Crowley, you don’t have to do that.”

“Can’t do much else I-ihhh…hehh…”he huffed out another sigh at losing the sneeze once more.  He was just so stuffed up.

“Oh, do let me help.”

Aziraphale moved them fully on the bed and began moving his thumbs between his eyes in a gentle massage.  Working to slowly dislodge the congestion and as it worked he covered Crowley’s nose with a conjured soft beige handkerchief.  

As his fingers stroked up and down his nose Crowley couldn’t help but notice through his watery eyes that his angel seemed rather flushed.

“You know I think snf! You’re getting more enjoy-heh-enjoyment out of this than I am, Angel,” he said, his breathes coming in softer pants as the teasing of his nose continued.

“Do let me concentrate, my dear,” he answered, as he moved his finger pointedly down again.

Crowley jerked back reflectively as he hit a sensitive spot and the tickle flared up hard.

“A-Angel I…huh-I’m gonna-ahh…really sn-snehhh…sneeze this time.”

Aziraphale nodded and pulled him close again.

“Let them come, Crowley, I assure you I don’t mind.”

“Ehhh-ehh’ESHHhh! ASUHHHh! ISHHUu! I think that’s all-ahh’EASHHhh! huhh’ESUUHHhhu!...snf! Thag you.”

Aziraphale kept the handkerchief firmly in place and allowed Crowley to clear himself out.

When the demon at last pulled away from him Aziraphale spent far too long admiring his pink nose and then glanced down sheepishly.  “You were right, Crowley I do enjoy it, but was I too forward?”

Crowley smirked. “Like I said, Angel, I like watching you like things.”

The End

[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.

[lemonlillybee]

Sicktember Day 2: Peter Parker and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Sicktember Day 2

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41442750

Title: Peter Parker and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Prompt: Alt #4 Taking A Sick Day

Fandom: Spider-Man (MCU)

Word Count: ~2700

A/N: Continuing on day two of this very exciting month with an alternate prompt, as I used #2 in yesterday’s fic :) @sicktember

Sometimes, Peter forgets to drink water. 

Although, if he’s being honest with himself, most of the time he forgets to drink water. Between Aunt May, who’s a nurse, Ned, who has a “hydrate or die-drate” sticker on his forty ounce insulated water bottle that he carries around like a security blanket, and Tony, who’s taken a keen interest in Peter’s well-being since Germany, he gets plenty of reminders to drink water. 

Even so, he’s not the best at actually drinking the water, and as a result he wakes up most mornings with a dry throat.

So it’s not much of a surprise when he wakes up on Thursday morning with a super, super dry throat. This morning, however, something is different. It’s less of a dry throat and more of a…sore throat. Almost like he’s getting sick, which would be surprising, considering he hasn’t been sick since the spider bite and he’s pretty sure he can’t even get sick any more. When he turns over to check his nightstand for a cup of water, he doesn’t realize he’s so close to the edge of the bed, and he falls off. For some reason– maybe it’s because he’s still trying to wake up, or maybe it’s because his legs are all tangled up in his sheets– he’s not able to catch himself like he normally would be able to, and he lands headfirst on the floor with a loud thud. 

Great. He can now add a headache to the sore throat. 

Well, he’s not really sure if he had a headache before or after hitting his head on the ground, but either way he’s not off to a great start this morning. 

“Peter?” May stumbles into his room, half asleep, frowning as she takes in the sight of her nephew tangled up in his sheets on the floor. “Are you okay?”

Peter lifts his head up off the ground with a groan. 

“I am so, so sorry, May. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“It’s okay, I only fell asleep…” She trails off, checking her watch. “One hour ago.”

Peter lets his head fall back against the floor, feeling even worse. Just then, he sneezes, and it’s so loud it echoes off the apartment walls. Peter winces as the sneeze scrapes his throat and shifts a whole mess of congestion around in his sinuses and shit, he’s definitely getting sick.

“Are you getting sick?” 

Peter shakes his head, but they both know he is. 

“Why don’t you take a sick day, sweetheart? I’ll call in for you.”

“No! No, I should really go to school. I have two tests on Friday, and I want to be in class for review.” 

“Today is Friday, Peter.” 

“Ugh. Of course it is!” Peter throws his hands into the air in frustration, accidentally hitting his nightstand and sending his alarm clock tumbling toward his face. Luckily, his enhanced senses finally wake up and he’s able to catch it a second before it crashes into his nose.

“Nice reflexes,” May says, her eyes narrowing. “If you’re going to school, please be mindful of covering your coughs and sneezes so you don’t spread your germs to your classmates.”

Peter rolls his eyes, sitting up slowly and rubbing at his right temple. He looks at the alarm clock in his other hand and gasps. 

“Oh no, I’m going to be late!” 

Sometimes, it’s agonizing to have to ride the subway when he knows he could physically run to school faster– if he didn’t have to keep the whole superhero identity thing a secret, that is. Instead, he just breaks into what is hopefully an average looking run as soon as he steps off the subway. He’s one block away from Midtown with one minute left until the bell rings when he runs right into a puddle. Looking down at his now completely soaked shoes, Peter sighs dejectedly, his shoulders slumping when he hears the school bell ring in the distance. He jogs the rest of the way, cursing under his breath and coming to the conclusion that he’s having the absolute worst day in the history of bad days. 

Turns out, there are too many ways his day could get even worse. 

In chemistry, they take a test that he feels woefully unprepared for, and between his sore throat, headache and rapidly increasing congestion, he can barely concentrate.

In Spanish, Señora Benetti hands back their pop quizzes from Monday and Peter looks down in disappointment to see a bright red B minus.

He can’t find his calculus homework anywhere in his backpack when it’s time to turn it in, and Ned and MJ give him odd looks, their expressions a mixture of confusion and pity.

When he’s walking to their table in the cafeteria, he bumps into a garbage can and drops his tray of food. Ned offers to share his lunch, but Peter declines, too embarrassed and fed up to eat anyway.

His second test of the day in English goes somehow worse than chemistry, and Peter doesn’t even finish all of the questions before the bell rings. His teacher frowns at him as he tries to scribble out one more answer as the rest of his classmates file out, but he doesn’t let him finish, and Peter feels as empty as the second half of the test looks.

Flash trips him during warm up laps in P.E. and he has to let himself fall freely, landing forecfully on one elbow and causing Flash and his dumb friends to laugh at him when he cries out in pain. 

On his way home from school, he’s looking down at his phone when he steps in the same damn puddle as before, once again soaking his still damp socks and shoes. 

He finds himself at a hot dog stand before patrol, his stomach growling, and he buys four hot dogs to tide him over until dinner. His plan is to take them up to a rooftop nearby and eat before donning his Spider-Man suit, but when he ducks into an alleyway to swing up, he trips over an old tire, sending three of the hot dogs flying. A pair of stray dogs descend on the food, and one of them is bold enough to snatch the remaining hot dog from his hands before running off.

“This day sucks!” He yells. The sound echoes in the alley. 

Peter sinks to the ground. He’s cold, sick, hungry, and exhausted. If only he had listened to May and stayed home from school today, he probably wouldn’t be in this situation. What he would give to have a do-over of this crappy day. 

In the distance, there’s a sudden scream, and the hair on the back of Peter’s neck stands up. He ducks behind a dumpster and changes into his suit, then swings in the direction of the scream. Three blocks over, he comes across a man accosting an elderly woman, his hand closing around the strap of her purse. Peter aims his web at the man’s wrist and shoots, dragging his arm back from the purse, and the man spins around to face him with a startled grunt.

Sirens sound in the distance as Peter pins the man against the wall with more webs, and he looks around to see a few bystanders nearby. He gives them a friendly wave, then hands the woman her purse, waiting for her to get safely around the corner before he leaves the scene. 

Finally, he thinks as he swings above the city, things are turning around. Helping people always makes his day better. There’s a feeling of relief that fills his chest, making him feel lighter, and even though he’s still definitely sick, things are finally looking up. The thought quickly fades as a sneeze creeps up on him, and he jerks forward, his swinging interrupted by the forceful expulsion from his mouth and nose. His web breaks off and he somersaults in the air, unable to stop himself before he slams face first into a light pole, and he hears a terrible crunching sound come from his nose as his face erupts in agonizing pain. He barely manages to wrap an arm around the pole to slow himself as he slides down, and he lands on his feet for just a second before he collapses onto the ground.  

Peter sucks in a sharp breath and carefully pulls his mask up, lifting a shaky hand to his nose. There’s blood everywhere, and he cups a hand under his nose, ducking into another alleyway to assess the situation. His nose is most definitely broken, and there’s no way he’s going to be able to continue with patrol today, so he makes his way back to where he stashed his backpack. 

He pulls his completely full water bottle out of his backpack, thankful that he’s so bad at hydrating, and uses the water to clean himself up a bit. His nose is swollen and every touch makes it sting. He sulks as he washes the blood from his face and hands, but even worse than the pain is the fact that he has to cut patrol short and go back home so early in the day.

At least May will be home. Sure, she’ll kill him for how bad his nose looks, but he can tell her he got in a fight at school and that it’s just bruised, and with his enhanced healing she’ll never have to know it’s broken. She’ll give him ice, and maybe make him hot chocolate and bundle him up with fluffy blankets and watch TV with him until she has to go to work. The thought of letting his aunt take care of him perks him up a little, and he hurries the rest of the way home, mouth salivating at the thought of the giant pile of whipped cream May always used to let him put on his hot chocolate whenever he was sick before the bite. 

“May?” He calls as he enters the apartment, but his voice seems to have given up and it comes out as a croak instead. He clears his throat, which makes him cough, and he doubles over, whole body trembling from the exertion. When he’s finally able to get in a breath, his throat feels raw and his face is throbbing. “May? He pants, walking farther into the apartment. “May? Where are you?” There’s still no answer, and Peter’s heart sinks when he sees a note sitting on the table.

Had to go in to work early. There’s leftovers in the fridge for dinner. Larb you!

Peter’s eyes burn with hot tears, and he feels stupid for caring so much that May isn’t home. He plops down onto the couch and tries to blink back the tears. Four minutes into feeling sorry for himself, his phone vibrates, and he picks it up, gulping when he sees the message from Mr. Stark.

Tony Stark: Happy is pissed. You better have a good reason for skipping lab day.

Shit. Shit shit shit. 

He’s so dead. 

Running makes his swollen nose throb, and it’s now pouring down rain, but he finds himself running most of the way to the Tower, subway be damned. When he finally arrives, he’s soaking wet, and his throat is on fire. His hair is dripping into his face and his nose is running relentlessly, and he drags his sleeve under his nose without thinking, yelping when the action results in intense, throbbing pain. In the elevator, he tries to pull himself together, but he’s not sure it’ll do much when he looks like he just walked in from a– well, a rainstorm. 

“You’re here,” Tony says cooly when the elevator doors open, his back to Peter. Peter scurries over to his station, cringing at the way his shoes squelch loudly with each step. 

“I’m not going to send Happy to pick you up from school next week if you’re not gonna show,” he continues, and Peter looks down at the table, face flushing. He hears Tony finally turn around to face him. “I’m a little disappointed, to be–” 

Tony stops talking, and Peter looks up to see him staring at him in shock.

“Holy shit, Peter, what happened to your face?” 

Peter lifts a hand to his face and gingerly touches the tip of his nose.

“I think I broke my nose,” Peter mumbles. He keeps his eyes down as Tony approaches.

“You think? No shit, Peter. Have you put any ice on it?” 

Peter shakes his head, biting his lip guiltily.  

“What the hell happened?” 

Tony’s tone is still curt, and Peter suddenly can’t stop the wave of emotions that washes over him. The tears come fast, and he leans forward in his chair, sobbing hard. “I have a cold and a broken nose and everyone is mad at me and I got a B minus in Spanish and I’m pretty sure I failed two tests today and a dog stole my hotdog and May had to go to work early so she couldn’t even make me hot chocolate, and–” Peter breaks off to cough, tears streaming down his face. 

When he stops coughing, he takes a deep, shaky breath, swiping at his eyes, and Tony stares at him with an unreadable expression. 

“Did you say you got a B minus in Spanish?” He finally asks, and Peter’s lower lip quivers as he nods.

“On the pop quiz.”

“On…a pop quiz?”

Peter sniffles and then winces.

“And you’re sick?”

Peter nods again. 

“Peter,” Tony sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That B minus isn’t a bad grade, especially for a pop quiz. And if you’re sick, that’s not your fault. That sucks, yes, but you need to take it easy and stop trying to do so much. It’s okay to rest if you’re not feeling well and it’s okay to not do well on a test. I promise.” 

He sounds like he’s trying to convince the both of them, but Peter doesn’t notice. At that moment, Tony realizes that literally anything he does for the kid is going to make him feel better, but he starts with something simple.

“I can make you hot chocolate.” 

Peter’s mouth opens and closes like a fish. 

“I’m no Aunt May– I mean, have you seen that woman?” Tony chuckles when Peter frowns in disgust. “But I do know how to make a mean mug of hot chocolate.” 

Tony motions for Peter to follow, and he leads him to the common room. Once Peter is settled on the couch with a blanket and a movie, he makes him hot chocolate, and Peter sips it contentedly. Tony perches on the arm of the couch, studying the high schooler as he rubs sleepily at his eye with a fist.

“How long do you think it will take for your nose to heal?”

“It usually takes about three days.”

“Usually?” 

Peter shrugs sheepishly. “Uh…I’ve only broken my nose one other time since the spider bite.” 

“Hmm.” Tony squints at him. “How long until you shake that cold?”

“I have no idea. This is the first time I’ve been sick since the bite.” 

“Hmm.”

Peter shifts around, self-conscious under Tony’s scrutiny, and Tony takes pity on him, filing his other questions away in the back of his head for a different day. 

“Scoot over,” he says, nudging Peter’s legs and sitting when he moves them. “I’ve never seen this one.”

“You’ve never seen The Force Awakens?” Peter gasps, and Tony chuckles, shaking his head. “You’ve seen the really, really old Star Wars movies, though, right?” 

“Ha ha, Underoos. Good one. Yes, I’ve seen the really, really ancient Star Wars movies.”

Peter smiles and then coughs. He shivers slightly, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders, and then falls silent. Tony relaxes in his seat, half watching the movie and half watching Peter.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter mumbles sleepily halfway through the movie.

“What’s up?”

“Next time I wake up with a sore throat, I’m taking a sick day.” 

Tony barks out a laugh and pats a blanket-covered foot. “Good plan, kid. Good plan.”

[bearfully]

My sad diary of Covid symptoms because I’m bored and wanted to list them out ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ . CW for discussions of health and body weight.

Day 0 (was confident I had covid, but didn’t test positive until the night of): coughing, headache, dizziness

Day 1: coughing, headache, dizziness, chills, hot flashes, body aches (legs, feet, jaw, teeth, ears, scalp); basically couldn’t function if I wasn’t on a painkiller

Day 2: coughing, headache, chills, body aches, but less severe than day 1; didn’t need to take painkillers as often; beginning of a sore throat

Day 3 H E L L: worsened cough overnight, excruciating sore throat; couldn’t swallow or sleep more than an hour at a time without being woken up by the coughing or the pain of the sore throat. Spent the day miserable and fighting tears. Lost some (but not all) of my sense of taste. Cold symptoms kicked into overdrive and I had a constantly runny nose. Voice is more or less gone.

Day 4: coughing, sore throat, congestion & intense pressure in my sinuses; swallowing became painful not because of my sore throat, but because it caused pain in my ears. Some dizziness and nausea. Still sound like a sad, croaking frog.

Day 5 (current): cough, sore throat, croaking, still can’t taste certain things. Runny nose has stopped, but my nose is sore from all the blowing. Generally feel my best (so far) today.

I didn’t think my appetite was affected much by covid, though I did expect to lose some weight regardless, as you do when you’re sick. Today I dipped into the double digits, which I was not expecting, considering I ate better yesterday than any other day this week. Hopefully it’s all uphill from here.

Also, I probably had a fever for at least the first two days, but I don’t own a thermometer, so I can’t say for sure (and the painkillers I was on 24/7 worked against fever too).

I have to text my boss tomorrow and see what the protocol for returning to work is, because I don’t think I’m going to have a negative test result by Monday.

[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.”

[jammatown919]

Sick of Losing Soulmates

Takes place in an AU where everyone made it to Vacuo and they got to enroll as students at Shade rather than being thrown into an adult position like they were in Atlas.

Upon waking to the sound of quiet sniffling, Ruby's first thought was that Penny was having another nightmare. She'd been having quite a lot of them in the weeks since the group's arrival at Shade Academy, and while Ruby certainly didn't mind getting up to comfort her girlfriend, it was always difficult to listen to her tearful retellings of the horrors her newly human brain had chosen to subject her to.

Blinking away the last remnants of sleep, Ruby sat up and steeled herself, only to turn her head and find that Penny wasn't crying. Instead, she was sitting up against the headboard of their bed with her eyes closed, gently massaging her temples.

"What's wrong?" Ruby asked softly so as not the wake the rest of the team. Judging by the sunlight pouring into the dorm, their alarms would be going off soon anyway, but she wasn't in the mood to hear Yang moaning about being woken up early.

"I feel awful." Penny whined, her voice thin and nasally.

"Oh, sweetie," Ruby murmured sympathetically, reaching over to feel Penny's forehead. "Are you sick?"

Penny sighed at Ruby's touch, relaxing slightly. Ruby, on the other hand, stiffened in surprise as the heat from Penny's skin met her fingers.

"Jeez, you're burning up." She remarked.

"I'm what?" Penny asked, her eyes going wide with alarm.

"You have a fever." Ruby clarified. "Don't worry, it's totally normal. Just another part of being human."

"I do not like this part." Penny muttered, sounding absolutely miserable. Ruby gently brushed some hair from her girlfriend's face, her heart aching for her.

"Why don't you lay back down?" She suggested. "I'll go and grab you some stuff."

Penny gave a slight nod and sank back down into her pillow as Ruby slid out of bed and slipped quietly from the room.

After about twenty minutes, ten of which were spent wandering the Academy's halls trying to figure out where their floor's student kitchen was, Ruby returned to the dorm with everything she thought Penny would need.

By now, the rest of the team was awake and going about their morning routines, though it seemed they'd realized something wasn't right with Penny and were making an effort to make as little noise as possible. As Ruby crossed the room, she saw Yang glance at the items in her hands and nod in understanding.

"Penny," Ruby said quietly. For a moment, she thought Penny might have drifted back to sleep, but then she opened her eyes and squinted up at Ruby. "Hey, I have everything you'll need for now."

She handed Penny a paper plate with two slices of toast and two bright orange gel capsules, as well as a glass of milk.

"Milk?" Penny inquired, peering curiously into the cup.

"Whole milk." Ruby specified. "My dad gave this to me whenever I got sick as a kid. It's supposed to help you get better faster."

"I don't think that's correct." Penny replied, though she still took a sip to wash down the pills. She glanced briefly at the toast, and then set it, along with the rest of the milk, on the nightstand beside their bed. Slowly, she began to sit up, prompting Ruby to put a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

"What are you doing?"

"I have to get ready." Penny replied, giving Ruby a puzzled look. "It would be awfully rude to our new teachers if we were late for class."

"Baby, you're sick. You should stay here." Ruby gently nudged Penny back down.

"But all of us are already behind on the year's coursework." Penny protested, though Ruby could tell she really didn't have it in her to argue much. "What if I miss something important?"

"I'll take notes for you." Ruby promised. "Or, if you want, I can stay here to take care of you and Weiss can take notes for us."

"That's very kind, but I would feel terrible if you missed class on my account."

"You know I wouldn't mind." Ruby replied, gently cupping Penny's warm cheek. "You're more important."

Penny smiled softly, bringing a hand up to lay it over Ruby's.

"I will be fine." She promised. "Go."

"Alright," Ruby sighed and pressed a kiss to Penny's forehead. "I'll come check on you at lunch. Try to eat some of that toast if you feel up for it. And drink plenty of water."

"Affirmative." Penny replied, managing to muster up some semblance of cheer in her voice. Ruby smiled, then turned toward the closet to pick out her outfit for the day.

---------------------

Penny didn't remember falling asleep, but she knew she must have. One minute, Team RWBY was bustling around the dorm getting ready for the day, then she'd blinked and suddenly she was alone in the room and the clock above the door read 10:21am.

The nap, as well as the medication Ruby had given her, appeared to have done her some good. Her congestion was still there, but less so, and her headache was finally subsiding. Maybe she could attend her classes after all.

She pulled back the covers and moved to get out of bed, only to be instantly hit with a wave of dizziness. Grabbing the mattress for support, she dangled her legs over the side of the bed and waited for the spell to pass. Once it had, she remembered Ruby's instructions to eat and credited her lightheadedness to fact that she had yet to heed them.

Though she had little appetite, Penny reached for the plate and slowly began to eat, forcing each bite down until she felt nauseous. For the sake of not making herself any sicker, she settled for finishing most of her meal and gently set the plate back down on the nightstand. Then, with more effort than she would have liked, she hauled herself out of bed.

Teetering, she made her way over to the closet, trying to blink away the black spots that had formed on the edge of her vision. She'd never seen those before, and so she wasn't quite sure what to make of them. Where they a normal part of being sick? Perhaps Ruby could tell her when she got to class.

Gripping the doorframe, she grabbed one of Ruby's shirts off it's hanger. She had a few of her own, provided by Shade Academy, but she vastly preferred Ruby's soft t-shirts.

As she stood in the doorway, trying to decide if she wanted to wear one of her own skirts or a pair of Ruby's shorts, the dizziness returned and the room around here suddenly tipped to the side.

She hit the floor with a loud thud, the shirt falling from her hands, and found that her limbs would no longer obey her. Try as she might, she couldn't get back up; she couldn't even lift her head. As her vision swam, she briefly considered calling for help, but nobody was around to hear her.

There was nothing she could do. Nothing except close her eyes and let herself fade.

------------------------------

Ruby had been antsy all morning. She really, really hadn't liked the idea of leaving her fevered girlfriend alone in the dorm, especially since it was her first time being sick. Part of her kind of wished she hadn't listen to Penny and stayed behind instead.

The second her last class of the morning was over, Ruby was rushing back to the dorm to check on Penny, stopping briefly in the cafeteria to get her something to eat. After a few moments of consideration, she decided on bringing Penny some soup, and then she was off again, Weiss trailing after her with the spoon she'd forgotten to pick up.

Though they were on entirely separate floors of the Academy, the trip from the cafeteria to her team's dorm only took Ruby about ninety seconds. In her haste to get back to Penny, she'd abandoned Weiss at the elevator two halls over.

"Penny!" Ruby called as she pushed the door open, stepping quickly into the dorm. "I brought you some..." Her brow furrowed in confusion as her gaze fell upon an empty bed, then shot up in alarm when she noticed Penny lying on the floor near the closet.

For a moment, she was reminded of a dream she'd had a few nights ago, and was certain that there was blood seeping into the carpet. Then she blinked and it was gone, leaving just her girlfriend's unconscious body.

"PENNY!" Ruby dropped the container of soup and quite literally flew across the room with some help from her Semblance, dropping to her knees at Penny's side.

She grabbed hold of Penny's shoulders and began to shake her, loudly calling her name, but Penny remained limp and unresponsive. As she continued to shout, Weiss hurried into the room.

"What in the world are you screaming ab- oh..." Weiss stood in the doorway for a moment, staring at the two, then snapped out of her shock and rushed into the bathroom. She reemerged moments later with a damp cloth.

"She's not waking up." Ruby mumbled numbly as Weiss knelt down beside them, gently dabbing the cloth on Penny's forehead.

"She needs a doctor." Weiss replied calmly, her hand resting on Penny's face for a moment. "Was her fever this high this morning?"

"I-I don't know.." Ruby stammered, her voice trembling almost as much as her body. She gripped Penny a little tighter, giving her another rough shake. "C'mon, Penny, wake up."

"Let's get her to the infirmary." Weiss suggested. She began to put her arms around Penny's torso, presumably to help carry her, but Ruby held onto her protectively.

"No, I've got her." Nothing against Weiss, but Ruby really didn't trust anyone but herself with Penny right now. She was too prone, too fragile.

"Okay," Weiss didn't protest at all, just stood and allowed Ruby to scoop Penny up and lift her alone. "But we should hurry. We don't want her getting any worse."

Just the thought of Penny being in any worse condition than she was now was enough to send Ruby sprinting down the hallway, unhindered by the extra weight. She didn't even know how to process the emotions running through her right now; all she knew was that she was terrified.

What if Penny did get worse? What if she didn't wake up? Ruby had already lost her once, and come so close to losing her again back in Atlas. What would she do if Penny didn't recover? If she never got to see those beautiful green eyes or that endearing smile ever again?

Stop, she thought firmly. She couldn't start spiraling. Penny would be fine, with some time and medical attention. She'd probably be awake in a few hours, and Ruby would realize there'd been no reason to worry.

She's going to be fine, her mind echoed as she ran. She has to be fine.

-------------

Penny woke to the sound of a heart monitor, which she found extremely concerning. Even more concerning was the fact that her limbs felt like lead, and she could hardly move beyond flexing her fingers. She tried to call out for someone, anyone, but all that escaped her lips was a string of incoherent mumbles.

"Penny?" A familiar voice responded urgently from somewhere beside her. Was that Ruby?

"Mmnn?" Penny groaned, forcing her eyes open with great difficulty.

"Thank God you're awake." Ruby let out a sigh, one hand lightly caressing Penny's face.

"Wha'?" Penny mumbled, struggling to take in her surroundings. It appeared she'd been moved while she was unconscious, and though she'd never been here before, she could reasonably assume that it was Shade Academy's infirmary.

She turned her head, resting on an uncomfortably hard pillow which in turn rested on an equally uncomfortable bed, to look around for the heart monitor that had woken her. Much to her surprise, it was right beside the bed, displaying vital signs that she could only assume were hers. Next to it was an IV drip, the bag nearly empty.

"Baby?" Ruby asked quietly, leaning in close. Penny quickly returned her attention to her girlfriend.  "How do you feel?"

"Tired." Penny replied weakly, momentarily squeezing her eyes shut in response to the returning headache.

"Yeah, I bet. Weiss and I found you unconscious in the dorm." Ruby explained, her voice soft and sympathetic, but still somewhat anxious. "You didn't hit your head or anything, right? The doctors said you probably didn't, but I just want to make sure."

"I'm alright." Penny assured her softly. "I believe I fainted."

"You sure did." Ruby replied, relaxing slightly. "What were you doing out of bed?"

"I was getting dressed," Penny said. "To go to class."

"What?!" Ruby exclaimed. Penny flinched at the sudden increase in volume, and she immediately lowered her voice. "Penny, why in the world would you have tried to go to class? You had to have been feeling terrible if you passed out."

"I thought I was feeling better until I stood up."

"And you didn't lay back down when you realized you weren't?"

"Well, no..." Penny admitted, unsure if the warmth in her face was due to the fever or embarrassment. "But, it was not that bad, was it?"

"Not that bad?" Ruby echoed incredulously. "Penny, it was absolutely that bad! You didn't just faint, you've been unconscious for almost seven hours. Your fever went up so high that you needed an IV. I was so scared you weren't going to wake up."

"You were?" Penny felt her brow furrow as she gazed upon Ruby's anxious face.

"Yeah." Tears sprang into Ruby's eyes, and she quickly turned her face to hide them. "I was terrified when we found you. For a minute I- I thought you were dead."

"Ruby..."

"I lost you before at Beacon. I almost lost you so many times in Atlas." Ruby sniffled, her voice thick with emotion. She turned back toward Penny, tears flowing freely down her face. "I had a dream the other night that you didn't make it to Vacuo. You lost that fight with Cinder, and you were hurt, and I wasn't there to help you. You had to ask Jaune to kill you just to stop your powers from going to Cinder. When I found you, you looked just like you did in the dream, and I was so scared that I'd lost you again."

Penny's chest constricted the way it always did when Ruby cried, and she was now certain that the burning in her body was more shame than fever.

"I'm so sorry." She said quietly, fighting back tears of her own. "I never meant to make you upset."

"You don't need to apologize." Ruby sighed, reaching out to rest a hand on Penny's shoulder. "I'm not mad, I just don't want anything to happen to you. You're so new to all these human things; there's so much that can hurt you now that couldn't before, and I'm worried about you."

"I promise I will listen to you from now on."

"You don't always have to listen to me." Ruby said gently. "I know I'm too protective sometimes. But please, listen to your body. If you feel like something's wrong, it probably means something's wrong."

"I think I understand." Penny gave a slight nod, which was about all she could manage without worsening the pain in her head. "I will do my best to prevent situations like this in the future."

"Good," Ruby leaned in so that their foreheads were almost touching. "Because I'm sick of losing you."

"You will never lose me again." Penny said as Ruby pressed a firm kiss to her fevered cheek. "I promise."

--------------------------------------------------

If you enjoyed this piece, please consider reblogging to share it with others! Likes unfortunately don’t help posts to circulate, so the only way for content creators on this site to have their work seen is if people decide to reblog it. If you do reblog, I see you and I love you. 

[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.