#i know this is hardly a sickfic

[bellysoupset]

Sicily Part 5

This is just unapologetic fluff, necessary for the next fic.

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"No, I don't wanna," Livia said in a cry like voice and Bella frowned, walking in the kitchen just as she watched Magda struggle to get Livia to finish up her breakfast.

The older woman berated the little girl in italian, but the answer came in English.

"I don't wanna go!" she whined, rubbing her eye and making a frowny face, looking ready to cry. Bella walked closer, kissing the top of her dark head.

"Hi baby..." she glanced at Magda, "everything okay, ma?"

"We're going out to visit some relatives, but she doesn't wanna go," the older woman scoffed, hands on her hips, "you have to eat, Livia."

"Vince is going too, I'm assuming?" Bella asked, combing her fingers through the little girl's hair and Livia turned to look at her as if she was a saving grace.

"He'll meet us there, actually. Him, Wendy, Leo and Jonah left super early this morning," Magda explained, "no one wants to babysit during vacations, I can't blame them."

Bella hesitated for a second, before saying, "well, Luke and I aren't going out today," she shrugged, "it's not like we even could, he can't put a shirt on with how sunburned he got" she rolled her eyes and Magda looked away from her daughter hopeful.

"And you wouldn't mind watching her?"

"Can I stay?" Livia made her best puppy eyes and Bella snorted. Just like her brother.

"Yeah, we wouldn't mind," she pointed the breakfast, "but you have to finish eating, Liv."

The little girl promptly threw herself at the task at hand and Magda, who had been hunched over trying to feed her, straightened up with a sigh.

"Are you sure? She's a lot..."

"We'll be fine, don't worry" Bella smiled, "you deserve a day out, without running after a toddler, ma."

The woman nodded, blushing slightly, "let me go change then..."

"Go, I got her," Bella pulled a chair next to Livia and sat down, stealing a bacon piece out of the big plate in the center of the table, "why don't you wanna go visit your uncles, Liv?"

"They're boring," she pouted, munching on her toast, "and they don't let me do anything."

Bella chuckled, "how inconsiderate of them to not let you paint on the walls," she teased lightly, noticing Livia had all but finished the remaining toast, "do you want more?"

"No," Livia shook her head and Bell shrugged.

"Okay, how about..." she piled up a plate with bacon, hashbrowns, toasts and fruits, "you take this up to Luke? He's in bed whining like a big baby."

Livia giggled at the phrase and happily took the plate, sauntering off the kitchen. Bella smiled, filling up two big cups of juice and following her out at a slower pace.

True to Bell's words, Lucas was still in bed, sprawled on it like a starfish and attempting to nap. Their night had been hellish as there was no comfortable position to lie on, but at least he wasn't feeling nauseous anymore.

"Luke," Livia poked his arm, hard, and he let out a wince and opened his eyes.

"Bell, sto- Oh hey," he frowned at Livia's little face, "are you lost?"

Bella snorted at his answer, leaning on the doorway, "she's our little guest today. Ma and pa are going out to meet with some relatives and no one else's home," she explained quickly, "I said we could keep an eye on her."

"I brought food!" Livia perked up and grabbed a blueberry, pushing it in his mouth. Lucas let out a surprised noise, chewing it and rolling on his back with a groan.

"Alright..." he pushed against the mattress, forcing himself to sit up and Livia climbed the bed uninvited, sitting near his knee and planting the plate on his lap.

"Bella said you're a baby," she gossiped and Bella let out an offended gasp.

"Hey! That was between us two, Livia!" she chastised lightly, walking into the room and planting the juice glass on the bedside table with a faux courtesy, "my lord."

"Fuck off," Lucas groaned, smiling and Bella showed him her tongue in a childish manner, while Livia let out a gasp.

"You said a bad word!"

"What? Ah fuck, I did, uh- Shit- Sorry," Lucas stumbled over his words and Bella laughed, climbing on the bed too.

"You should charge him fifty bucks per bad word, Liv," she said, squirming out of Luke's reach when he tried pinching her side, "secure your college fund."

"Bella, don't give her ideas!"

"Ma says that who says bad words gets stinky breath," Livia glared at him.

His face, that was already red from the sun, turned a shade darker, "I'm not gonna say any bad words," he vowed with a pout, stuffing his mouth with more berries, while Bella pressed her lips together not to laugh.

Livia, like apparently all members of the Monacelli family, was completely enchanted by Luke. She refused to get down from the bed, even when her parents came to say goodbye, even when Bella suggested they went outside to swim in the pool.

"Can Luke come?"

Bella glanced up, to where Lucas was still sprawled on the bed and scrolling through his phone, clearly in pain and with zero desire to go in the pool.

"I don't know Liv, why don't you ask him?"

Livia poked his chest, causing him to hiss and recoil.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Come to the pool with us," Livia bossed, instead of asking, "pretty please."

"I don't think that's a good idea..." Lucas pouted, squirming away when Livia attempted to grab his face. Bella was trying her best not to laugh, she had never seen him be so uncomfortable before.

"Why not? You don't know how to swim?" Livia frowned, "I can teach you. Papá teached me."

"Taught," Luke corrected without thinking and Livia stared at him, unimpressed, causing Bella to snort.

"Good job, Atwood," she whistled from the door, while Liv pouted.

"Per favore?"

Bella watched, amused, as Lucas let out a whine sounding every bit a kid like Livia and then got up from the bed.

"Fine."

"YAY!"

"Yeah, yay!" Bella grinned, tiptoeing to kiss his cheek when Lucas passed her by, hand in hand with Livia, and glared her way.

"You're being so mean to me," he whispered, wincing as Liv tugged on his hand.

"Teaches you to wear sunscreen, babe," Bella whispered back, skipping behind them. It was a warm day and even their room a/c wasn't cutting it, so it felt amazing to sink the cold water of the pool.

Until she looked up and saw Livia already inside the water, holding Luke's hands and pulling him in. He had a large, painful frown on.

Bell sighed, swimming closer and circling Livia, "honey, let Luke go, you're hurting him."

"But he doesn't know how to swim!" Liv cried out, "he'll drown!"

Lucas winced at the childish yell and Bella frowned. Sure he clearly didn't like children, but that was a bit much.

"He does know how to swim, Liv," Bella wrapped her arms around the kid, unhooking her childish fingers from Luke's hands, "let's race to the end of the pool, alright? You go first?"

Livia's face lit up and she nodded eagerly, "I'm gonna do it like a mermaid!" then proceeded to swim diving in and out of the water. Bella slid closer to Luke, cupping his face.

"What's wrong? It's just a little girl, babe."

"Yeah, I know," he was still grimacing, "she's just loud and my head is killing me, that's all."

"That's all?" Bella raised an eyebrow. She had seen him keep his good humor through a migraine, "Lucas."

"I'm fine, just thinking... Of the future and stuff," Luke waved her off, wincing when the gesture pulled on his muscles, "I'm gonna sit in the shade. I can judge your race."

"Please don't spare me any criticism," Bella smiled, leaning in and giving him a peck, "I'm so pissed you're too toasty for me to fuck you, Lucas. Really putting a bummer in my vacations."

He chuckled, "get out of here-"

Right on cue Livia swam back to them "DONE! How did I do!?"

It was another hour of swimming back and forth before all three of them were starving and went back in the kitchen roaming for food. There were leftovers from last night's dinner in the fridge, so they went back outside, sitting on the hammock while eating, Livia blabbing away between them.

She attempted to crawl her way into Luke's lap, only for him to promptly put her back in the hammock and Bella laugh, opening her arms for the little girl to nest against her.

"How about dessert, Liv?" Bella asked, getting up from the hammock with a grunt and pulling Livia with her.

"Can we have ice cream?"

"Yeah, of course..." she carried her back inside, leaving Lucas behind. They grabbed popsicles from the freezer and rushed back out, Bella handing Luke his favorite - strawberry - and then patting his head, "watch her for a sec, I need to go to the bathroom."

"How long is a sec?"

"Don't be a dick," she rolled her eyes and Livia frowned.

"That's a bad word..."

"Add it to Luke's tab!" Bella yelled back, already going back inside.

When she did make it back outside, not even five minutes later, Livia and Lucas were curled up on each other, both passed out in the hammock. His hand was sticking out, the popsicle melted in a little puddle under his fingers, the other one cupping the back of Liv's head. Her forehead was resting on his chest, a dollop of drool already on his belly.

Bella scoffed, rushing back inside to grab her phone and taking a picture, which she promptly sent to Vince with the caption "so what's up with your fam and being in love with my boyfriend?"

She saw Vince's contact light up and then his text bubble appeared, "It's just because he's tall."

[milktei]

Homecoming

Ushijima Wakatoshi x gn!reader

Genre: Sickfic, hurt comfort

Warnings: Slight manga spoilers

Requests: Closed*

a/n: hello hello! (is acting like i haven’t been gone for forever), can you believe i found this just sitting on a random note in my phone 90% done???? i literally wrote this over a year ago and never found the motivation to finish it ;-; due to its age toshi might be a bit ooc.

anyways, i’m not entirely back yet but i keep seeing lovely comments and reblogs that just make me want to start writing again ;-; maybe with the haikyuu movie being released soon my motivation will amp back up. ALSO i’m gonna try to start reblogging regularly again

*request box is still technically “closed” but if anyone has some genshin or *ahem* Baldurs gate 3 requests, i may be inclined to write if they pique my interest :)

enjoy!

If there was one thing that you knew for an absolute fact. it would be that volleyball would always be his main priority.

You knew this well before you started dating him, it was part of the reason you refused to admit your true feelings for him. You refused to take him away from his first love. Something that he was so visibly passionate about.

So you stayed on the sidelines, watching wistfully as the boy you had a crush on rose higher and higher, while you stood on the ground looking up in awe. This was comfortable, you were content with just watching and admiring. It was all you thought you were able to do.

Until he had asked you out first.

You had genuinely thought that Tendou was joking when he had told you that the Ushijima Wakatoshi saw you as anything more than one of the team’s managers.

His face was always devoid of emotion. Your interactions were limited to him nodding in thanks as you gave him a towel or water bottle, or him humming in acknowledgment as you relayed to him the notes you took after the most recent practice match.

And yet you found yourself standing in front of him, just outside the gym after practice, heart absolutely racing as he asked you out on a date.

Your first date was awkward to say the least. Having never spoken outside of club activities, you found it hard to keep a conversation flowing as you two sat in a cafe sipping your drinks.

He had walked you back to your dorm that day, but before you could go in, he had grabbed your hand.

You stared in shock at the large hand enveloping yours, “Ushijima?”

Suddenly, you felt a tiny gust of wind and a slight pressure against your forehead. You could only stammer dumbly as you realized the pressure was his lips.

He pulled away after a moment. He was heavily avoiding eye contact and turned his head to the side, but you could see the tips of his ears turning red.

“I don’t know much when it comes to this stuff. But I know I would like to go out again… if that’s okay with you of course.”

You gaped at the boy in front of you “I- um we…” you took a deep breath to centre yourself and smiled “Yes I would like to go out with you again Ushijima.”

Your relationship progressed quite fast after that. More dates, hanging out with him and Tendou in their dorm.

You were there for everything, cheering him on during games, you were the first person he would seek out when he won, you comforted him after a loss.

Your relationship lasted through high school and even university. It wasn’t long before you two ended up moving in together.

When Wakatoshi found his place with the Schweiden Adlers you were ecstatic. You had also just landed a great job and it felt like your two were simply cruising through life with ease.

Unfortunately your seemingly perfect life would never last forever.

Being in the v-league, volleyball seemed to fill his schedule more now than ever. Constant practice, games outside of the city even in other countries sometimes.

You hardly saw Ushijima anymore despite living with him. Even when you did, he was tired or just about to leave for practice.

It felt like you were pushed back into the sidelines. Watching hopelessly as he rose higher and higher, to places where you could not reach. It was no longer comfortable, you could no longer look in awe, but in despair as you watch him slip from the already loose grasp you had on him.

You couldn’t even remember the last time you went on a date. Every time you mentioned doing something in his free time he had brushed you off.

Which led you to now.

You woke up to an empty bed yet again. It was your day off so you weren’t rushing to get out of bed.

Yet you felt off.

The dryness in your mouth and throat is what you felt first. Then how runny your nose was. Finally, the cold sweat you were experiencing.

You were definitely sick.

You groaned to yourself and pulled the blanket to your chin. Hoping that you could possibly sleep it off.

Yet your efforts were in vain. After what felt like hours of trying to fall back asleep you realized that you were just going to feel even more miserable without anything to eat or at least drink.

You pushed yourself up onto your elbows and immediately regretted it. The world spun around you and your entire body shook. You collapsed back onto your pillow and panted at the exertion it took.

As you caught your breath you turned your head towards your bedside table, where your phone sat charging.

Weakly, you lifted your arm and with a bit of effort you were able to grab your phone. As it turned on you winced at how bright the screen was and with bleary eyes you managed to open your contacts.

The words seemed to blend together as you searched through your contacts, you nearly sobbed in relief as your eyes finally focused on the name of your best friend.

You clicked the call button and dropped you hand to beside your ear, preparing for the way your throat would undoubtedly hurt as you spoke.

After a couple rings you heard the person on the other side pick up and you quickly began speaking, desperate to get them to come quickly so that you could hopefully feel better.

“Hey, I’m sorry if you’re busy but do you think you can bring me some drinks and maybe food? i’m not feeling the best and I don’t know if I can get up at all.”

The person on the other end of the phone began talking but you could barely decipher it as your head spun and your body shivered despite how warm you were.

“-/n….y/n?”

You froze at the deep voice on the other side of the phone. You pulled away an looked at the screen, nearly breaking down at the sight of Wakatoshi’s name instead of your friends. Quickly you put it back against your ear

“Ah I’m sorry Toshi. I meant to call a friend you’re probably busy you don’t have to come back home.” you said quickly, actually sitting up as you rambled nervously, reprimanding yourself for interrupting his practice.

You had called and texted him during practice before. At one point he was fine with it, responding during breaks or calling you back once practice had finished. But lately you had been greeted with one worded responses, or you were just ignored.

One time you even tried to pry once he got home from practice, asking him about his odd lack of response. That day, he had turned to glare at you.

“I’m busy y/n. I don’t have time for things like that.”

“You’re sick?” your thoughts were interrupted by his voice again. He used a tone much gentler than the one he had used that day.

“A little bit, nothing to worry about I can just call-“ you cut yourself off with a harsh cough, unable to hold back the whimper as your throat throbbed in protest.

“I’m coming home.”

Whether from his words or the fever you couldn’t tell, but a chill ran down your spine

“N-no toshi you don’t have to I’ll be fine don’t leave practice just because of me”

“I’ll stop by the store for some ingredients don’t get out of bed.”

And with that the call ended. Slowly, you took the phone away from your ear and looked at it in shock. He was leaving practice early. Something you weren’t aware he was willing to ever do.

At least not recently.

Only when the shock settled, did you realize just how much your body was protesting you sitting up. So, despite your better judgment, you lied back down, waiting in nervous anticipation for him to come home.

What might have been half an hour felt like forever as you laid in bed. Shivering underneath the comforter despite sweating profusely, rubbing your nose raw from having to blow it constantly, all whilst it felt like you were spinning.

In your haze you didn’t even hear the front door or you bedroom door open. How could you when your body demanded all the attention you had?

Wakatoshi stood frozen in the doorway, a plastic bag hanging off his arm, silent as he took in the state you were in.

How hadn’t he noticed before he left? you couldn’t have possibly entered this state within the couple of hours he was gone.

He felt a tug of unease pull at his heart and willed himself to walk up to you.

“y/n,” he called softly. sitting on your side of the bed.

You flinched at the sound of his voice not knowing he was in the room. Slowly, you opened your eyes and winced at the light in the room.

“Toshi,” you croaked pathetically.

His face softened and he brushed your damp hair away from your face, frowning when he felt how warm your forehead was.

“Hey,” he greeted, he lifted a hand and that’s when you saw a thermometer from the medicine cabinet in his hand “can you open your mouth please?“

Weakly, you did as he asked, and as it sat in your mouth, he quickly walked towards the master bathroom. Mumbling something about a towel.

You didn’t hear him however as you turned your head back towards the ceiling and already felt your eyes drooping again.

You only came to when you felt something cool against your forehead, you opened your eyes to see Toshi looking down at you with furrowed eyebrows. The thermometer beeped and when he looked at the reading the crease deepened.

Toshi disappeared for a moment again, making his presence known when he began to take the comforter off of you.

You whined as he did so, shivering even harder as air hit your body. You even sat up to try and grab it back.

“‘s cold toshi,” you slurred.

He was quick to place a thinner sheet on top of you “I know dear, but we have to get your body temperature down.”

As you pulled the blanket closer Wakatoshi opened the bag he brought with him. You heard the rattle of a pill container and then the crack of a bottle being opened. Wakatoshi turned to you and held out some medicine and water.

You reached out a shaky hand to take the medicine, placing the pill in your mouth. Wakatoshi helped you hold the bottle, noting how weak your arms were.

You sighed in temporary relief when you finished drinking, glad that your mouth felt less dry.

Wakatoshi allowed a small relieved smile to cross his face and he quickly helped you lay back down.

“I’ll make you some food, stay here.”

Once he was sure you were comfortable he made his way to the kitchen quickly getting his ingredients ready.

It was only when he was midway through washing some rice when he took a moment to pause.

When was the last time he had cooked for you?

Wakatoshi continued his task albeit feeling guilty thinking about how you’ve been the one cooking and eating dinner alone for some time now. It used to be a shared responsibility. Now he usually came home late so you would put a plate aside for him or he would go out to eat with the team.

He was still deep in though as he pushed the bedroom door open with his back, a tray consisting of a bowl of rice porridge and a cup of tea left a trail small trail of steam as he walked.

You were asleep but woke easily at the sound of his footsteps. It took a moment for your eyes to focus on him.

He gestured with the tray, “Do you think you can eat?”

You looked at the food, perfectly plated and garnished, your mouth watering slightly at the savoury smell.

“I think so. At least a little bit.”

He helped you sit up, and when he saw the weakness still in your arms he fed you himself.

You hummed contently at the first bite of food. You had missed this more than you thought you did.

After about half the bowl was done and your tea finished, you signalled that you stomached as much as your body would allow. Now with your body temperature having gone down and your stomach full you could feel yourself becoming less and less loopy. You watched quietly as he put the tray on the bedside table. When he was finished with that, he sat still on the bed and stared at the wall.

You looked at his face, despite it deceptively lacking emotion, you knew better than anyone else that something was bothering him.

However before you could ask he began to speak

“Why wasn’t I the first person you contacted when you realized that you were sick?”

You froze, looking down in your lap fiddling wIth a loose thread in the blanket.

“…Well…you’ve been busy as of late….I didn’t think it was important enough to take you out of practice. Someone less busy would have probably been willing to come.”

He slowly turned to face you. “You didn’t think that your wellbeing was important enough?”

You shrugged, “Well volleyball is always going to be your biggest priority. I’m just sick it’ll pass.”

Obvious distress crossed Ushijima’s face “y/n, you are my main priority.”

You paused. Perhaps it was time to tell him how you were really feeling instead of dancing around the subject.

“…It hasn’t felt that way lately.” you say hesitantly, your voice small.

Wakatoshi faltered. You kept looking down, almost scared to look him in the eye.

“I was content with that at first, your love of volleyball is admirable, it’s was drew me to you at first. But it always made you seem unattainable. When you asked me on that date all those years ago I was over the moon,” you paused to clear your throat huffing in annoyance as your sickness interrupted you.

“But I can only endure so much Toshi. Nowadays it feels like your going where I can’t reach. You’re always busy, which is understandable for a professional athlete… I just wish it wasn’t to the point where I’m worried about your reaction if I were to try to talk to you.”

There was a shift in the mattress. Then familiar arms that you had been longing for wrapped tightly around you.

“Toshi you’re gonna get sick.”

“It’s fine,”

“but-“

“I’m sorry y/n.”

you stiffened but stayed quiet to let him speak.

“You’ve done so much for me without complaint and I have done so little in return. i’m sorry for letting it get to this point. It took you getting this sick for me to realize.”

A stormy look crossed his face, “I… I’ve been struggling to balance work and home, in return I’ve been neglecting you and letting how tired I am influence my reactions. you don’t deserve that. you are my first priority y/n, I don’t know what I would do without you.”

You sniffled and wiped a tear that fell from your face. You didn’t even know you were crying. For a man usually so quiet and stoic, he always knew what to say to you when he needed to. It was always so endearing to you.

“If I had known you were going to take it this well I would’ve said something earlier,” you say softly.

He smiles sadly, “I haven’t been making it seem that way hmm?”

You shake you’re head but smile back, “no”

He sighs to himself but places a gentle kiss against your forehead much like how he did all those years ago. Your eyes flutter shut and you make let out a pleased sigh. You were much more comfortable than you were when you first woke up.

“We’ll talk more once you get better. I promise,” He eventually says. holding you a bit closer to him.

You nodded and snuggled closer to his chest. While it wasn’t an immediate fix, it was a start.

“Sounds good to me Toshi.”

He smiled down at you “Sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

[katyawriteswhump]

(You’re just) too good to be true 

For @astrangersummer week 3 prompts, flowers and/or hugs. Thanks to bananas and yesdanger on discord for the extra prompts to get me going. I have tried to get as many in as possible. 

Summary: Steve wakes up in hospital after everything is over and can’t quite believe how well everything has turned out…

Rating: T. WC: 1460   CW: None. Other tags: Steddie, platonic stobin, angst, sickfic, hurt/comfort, temporary amnesia, fix-it fic, everybody lives.

…

Steve flutters his eyes open and spies Robin sitting by his bed. Mascara streams down her face, and her hair’s a literal disaster zone.

“Steve! You’re awake!” She grabs his hand. “You’re gonna be okay. The doctor should be here any minute.”

Doctor!?! Where the heck am I?

His throat proves too dry for words. Robin garbles way too fast for him to understand and she’s wringing his fingers ever tighter.

If she’s touching me, I guess it can't be rabies.

His memory triggered, the shitshow slams back. First, the bats, the bites. Then everything that happened after, until they journeyed again into the Upside Down to try to kill Vecna.

Oh hold on, scratch that. 

To fail to kill Vecna.

Staring blankly through Robin, he fixates on the terrible parts. Eddie lying bloodied and dead in Dustin’s arms. Dustin sobbing his eyes out. Max was pretty much lost too, and Vecna was alive, gone to ground, and…

What happened next? Why am I in a hospital bed? Jesus, I was fine! 

There’s one of those IV thingies in his arm. He shivers though can’t tell if he’s cold or hot. The doctor arrives, jostles him, talks at him, shines lights in his eyes. He’s not in pain, but his brain is all woolly, and he’s confused and weak and lost.

He needs a hug more than ever in his life. Robin peeps at him over the doctor’s shoulder, bouncing like a spooked bunny-rabbit, then she’s gone.

It’s all too much.

He quits, sinking back into the darkness.

…

When Steve next pries an eyelid open, he spies Eddie breezing into the hospital room. Eddie joins Robin, who has moved to the window to pick at her nail polish.

Eddie is gone, which means… Oh, no, no, no, no, no! I’m dead too? Or dreaming?

His throat is achy and tight. He closes his eyes again, hot tears welling. More memories trickle back.

“Make him pay,” Eddie had said.

He recalls that last, lingering look between them. The one that slammed him like a freight train, because... Wtf? For some strange reason, that moment doesn’t feel like the end of a story anymore.

It feels like a beginning. Which is just dumb. 

Eddie is no more.

He peeps again, watching a dude who is very definitely Eddie pouring bottled water into a vase of flowers on the windowsill. Robin seizes the bottle from him: “What are you doing, shit-bird? Those are silk—his mom brought them. They don’t need water.”

“Riiiight.” Eddie pulls a silly face, which Steve finds freakish levels of adorable. Suddenly, he wants to crush Eddie to him, tell him that he’s insanely happy he’s here, even if this is some crazy dreamworld, and…

… he wants to shove his tongue into Eddie’s mouth and kiss him stupid.

Huh?

Steve licks dry lips. Most bewildering of all, he somehow knows how awesome kissing Eddie is. As if they’ve done it before.

More than once.

Eddie sneezes dramatically. “If those flowers are fake, I’m allergic to WASP chintz. Which checks out, I guess.”

Robin laughs, though it’s sad and nervy. He catches a glimpse of Eddie’s bambi eyes, and they’re anxious, haunted, too. Then Lucas and Max walk in.

MAX? She’s in a coma!

Steve’s head throbs miserably from trying to make sense of this mad place. 

He quits and drifts back to the darkness.

…

When he next peeps, Robin and Eleven are sitting by his bed, sharing a packet of cool ranch doritos. 

Which makes less sense than ANY OF IT.

Robin’s gotten real picky lately about sharing food. At least, with anybody but him. He’s vaguely pissed, because these two hardly know each other. The way they’re huddled on the same chair, like close buddies, suggests otherwise.

Yeah, he’s vaguely pissed. And kinda jealous. He sort of hates himself for being needy... but he really wants that hug. 

Then another memory flashes back. Some alien desert landscape, with Eleven blasting Vecna with everything she’s got. Eddie sprinting toward him—tailed by what looks like a medium-to-large demogorgon with at least a dozen extra flailing limbs—and Robin yelling, “Steve! El’s got this—help Eddie!”

He finally forces his eyes wide enough for them to see he’s watching. “R-Robin?” he croaks.

“Steve!” She leaps to her feet, nearly knocking El and the chair flying. “You’re really, actually awake this time? Please say yes.”

There’s noise and confusion. The doctor arrives again, checks Steve’s vitals, then bitches that there’s too many kids in the room: “It should be family only,” she says.

“We’re his family,” argues Robin. “His parents only come during official visiting hours.”

Robin is allowed to remain. She helps him sip water, and then he says, “Look, I think was dreaming earlier, or off my head on meds, because I saw you with Eddie, and I know that’s impossible, because…” He swallows hard, mumbles the hateful words: “He's gone, right?”

“Oh my God, you don’t remember?”

“Jesus, Robin! Remember what?”

“We won, Steve. Everyone lived. We even got Crissy back. Vecna’s the only one who’s history. If you hadn’t got hurt, it would’ve been the perfect revenge.”

This time, he manages to take more of her story in. He gets lost in the part where Robin and Dustin figure out time travel—some crazy shit about the proximity of alternate dimensions causing rumples in the space-time continuum. The rest of her tale unleashes a slew of badass memories that squish all the terrible ones into the dirt. Instead of Eddie being dead, he recalls…

“You and Eddie totally slayed this nasty-ass demo-squid-monster,” says Robin. “It got pretty intense, and when you survived, you had, like, an EPIC hug. Aaaand might’ve kissed. Then, later, you threw yourself at Eddie to save him from flying debris, then you rolled into a crater, and he wound up on top, and…”

Steve suddenly recalls that moment vividly. Eddie straddled his hips, and his own hands landed not entirely accidentally on Eddie’s butt. Once they’d gathered their breaths, Eddie leaned forward, swiped hair from his face, and whispered:

“About what you said to Wheeler. If you still want to win her back, that’s fine, I’ll back off, but… just so you know, six kids is cool with me, Stevie. Not like we need to adopt. When you’re around, they simply rock up.”

“So, yeah,” Robin says, ripping Steve from these mind-blowing revelations, “it took us half a dozen attempts to get things right. In the final boss-fight, it was just you, me, Eleven and Eddie. We were lost in the Upside Down for weeks, before we exploded Vecna into a billion disgusting pieces. Because you're you, you were closest, got caught in the blast. You lost a lot of blood, but all important appendages are still present and correct, including, um… any important appendages you were particularly worried about. Not that I’m saying you were, but… Ugh!” She facepalms. “This so isn’t where I meant to go with that.”

He faintly smirks. “You dug that hole, not me, Buckley.”

“No need to gloat. You’re gonna be fine. Everyone is going to be just fine.”

It’s still too much to take in. One question bugs him the most: “Eddie and me, erm… How far did we..?”

“I didn’t stand there and count the bases, Dingus! He’ll be back in five. Ask him. But, you know, there was talk of picking out rings, getting matching tats and—”

“You’re kidding?”

“A bit. Seriously, by the third week, you two seemed chill. Happy. I really hope you remember it all soon.”

He takes a beat. Warmth pools in his chest, because everything Robin says sure as heck feels true. He gives her hand a little pulse, and their fingers intertwine.

“Robin,” he says. “At the risk of sounding downbeat, it’s all a bit too perfect. I’m kinda worried I’m dead.”

“Oh! You’re really, really not. I’m all sticky and gross 'cos I was here all night, but… would a hug help?”

He nods, levers himself up a little, suppressing a wince at the effort. He wraps the arm unencumbered by the IV around her, and she awkwardly cuddles him. He rests his cheek on her bony shoulder, and breathes deeply, while she rubs juddering circles in his back.

She’s sweaty and clumsy and real.

“You’re not dead, I promise,” she whispers. “If you were, I’d be so mad with you, after all that effort to fix things. Besides, you still got hurt, and we were all out of time travel opportunities. Long story. Anyhow, it's been hell, till the doctors said you’d be okay, and even then… We’ve been so scared.”

Her trembling shakes through him. He tries not to sniffle, but he can't seem to help it. Everyone survived. Eddie’s alive. Eddie and he are…

His heart gives a crazy squeeze that says everything he needs to know.

“As soon as you’re out of here,” whispers Robin, “this summer is gonna be the best ever.”

(also part of my steve whump fic series on AO3)

[comfortless]

If it's not too much trouble or boring to write, may I ask for more König taking care of sick reader? Thanks :)

(The anon that asked for the other sickfic and that is sick again 🥲)

König brings you breakfast. Tries, at least. There was an attempt made to ensure that the plate of hastily thrown together food and the big mug of lemon tea look nice together. Warm bread and your favorite jam, butchered on the plate with the butter running off to the other side of it entirely. He’s not a chef, and breakfast isn’t quite his forte; König much prefers you cooking in the mornings and the lazy way he can drape himself over you as you do so.

But… you’re ill and look so somber and adorable tucked into bed, wearing one of his shirts and hardly able to keep your eyes open when you’re presented with food. To think this poor little angel would have to suffer so… He momentarily sets everything aside, tells you in a quiet tone of voice that everything around the house has already been handled, so all you need to do is focus on taking care of yourself. No. Actually, he can help you with that too.

Despite any protests, you find yourself seated in his lap, one large hand gently caressing your cheek as a digit prods at your lips. There’s an expectation of compliance. He knows what’s best, or, has himself convinced that he does.

“You have to eat,” he chides, bringing the bread right up to your mouth. Apple butter for the first bite, some other sticky confection on the next. And as frustrating as it might be when all you would like to do is curl back into bed and nurse your aching head with the comfort of a cool pillow, König does not let up until every crumb on the plate has been cleared.

There’s a dollop of jam smattered across your bottom lip from being hand-fed like a disobedient pet. Then, a warm tongue grazing over it and a mouth leaving a trail of kisses up to the peak of your warm cheek. “Messy little thing,” he huffs against your temple. “And your tea..?”

Thankfully, he doesn’t try to scald your mouth feeding you that, too. His hands find your hair instead, then massage at the nape of your neck as you sip away at the bitter drink. There’s a rumble in his chest as he tries to soothe you, humming a song his Oma used to sing to him as a boy until your eyes shut and you relax against his chest in sleep.

If or… when you do try to leave the bedroom, you’re met with a horribly doting brute. He isn’t entirely sure what else he can do to console you. He isn’t one to sit about on his phone for hours on end, but his search history is assuredly a mess by now. You’re not given the chance to walk even a foot past the threshold of your shared room before you’re picked up and toted about like a bride on her wedding day with no warning.

Medicine is pressed into your mouth by his hand while you’re sat on the countertop, trying to assure your weary, giant nurse that you’re fine. He could stand to relax a bit. König is nothing short of a tense, anxious nightmare when he’s worried about something, especially something as important as you. It’s no surprise when you find yourself lying back on the couch with his face buried into your chest as you stroke at the top of his head, the overgrown buzzcut prickling the tips of your fingers. He smiles in his sleep, babbles something like a wish as his hands twitch to squeeze at your sides.

“Just… stay right here.”

[her-devils-advocate]

I drag myself like a rug in the rain

pairings: Levi Ackerman x reader

genre: sickfic / fluff

summary: You are sick with the flu, yet refuse to admit it before a certain stern captain. He easily makes you swallow your pride.

The title is taken from The Amazing Devil – Blossoms. It was also a quick drabble written from my own frustrations of being ill!

word count: 1,015

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55134844

“You’re not going and that’s final. You look like you’re about to keel over.” Levi’s voice is stern, leaving very little room for argument, but despite his harsh words, his hands are gentle as he pushes you back down on the bed.

"I told you, I'm fine. I'm more than capable of joining the meeting!" Your voice is strained, the words coming out jumbled as you rush to finish the sentence before being overtaken by yet another coughing fit. You weakly glance up at Levi, the man standing before you with crossed arms and a highly unimpressed look on his face.

"Right," he drawls out, moving to the other end of your small bedroom to lean against the door as if you were capable of rushing past him to escape his scrutinising gaze. Part of you is tempted to try, just to cause some amount of annoyance. The more rational part stays still, knowing that in your current state, you would just prove his point faster than you’re willing to.

"If you can walk over to me with ease, then I'll believe you."

You scoff, ignoring the harsh tickle in your throat that the action causes, and slowly rise from the bed. Your body protests, the stiff muscles aching with each movement while your vision blurs. You push it down, refusing to let it show on your face as you slowly place a foot forward, doing everything within your willpower to take a firm step.

"When I make it to you, you promise to let me attend the meeting?"

"If you can make it over here, then sure. It’s not like I want to keep you locked up in here, lazing around all day when we have shit to do.”

“When.” You argue weakly, refusing to back down despite the nausea growing worse with each passing second.

“Besides, you know the meeting is important, especially since it's about the upcoming expedition. We can’t afford to miss a single one now that it's approaching us.”

He rolls his eyes, shifting his position to get comfortable against the cold stone, almost as if he's expecting to be stood there for a while. “Stop stalling. If you want to go to the shitty meeting so much, you know what you have to do.”

You give him your best glare, yet from the way his lips twitch with a concealed smirk, you know you must look like a mess. You have hardly slept, the night spent in a feverish daze, despite retiring to bed earlier than you usually would. The day prior was spent pushing your body beyond its usual limits, wanting to train as much as possible despite the chill air, the change of season growing more noticeable. You groan, regretting the past yet being unable to change a thing.

“You could simply order me to stay in bed, that way we could just avoid this whole song and dance. The fact that you aren’t giving the order proves that you think I’m fine.” You mirror his stance, crossing your arms against your chest with fake confidence and wishing that he doesn’t notice the slight trembling of your hands.

This time Levi lets out a small laugh. The sound is airy and unexpected, and your eyes widen momentarily, convinced that your sickness has finally caused you to hallucinate the rare, but welcomed sight. 

“Nice try. We both know you wouldn’t obey the order, regardless of how sick you are, I’m not going to waste my time giving it. So if you would like to get this ‘song and dance’ over with?” Levi says as his eyes fixate on the way your breathing grows more and more laboured the longer you stand. 

You deflate, knowing he has called your bluff. You give in and place your weight on the extended foot, shakily moving forward. Your bones feel like glass and your chest burns, but you manage to take the first step. You forget to keep up the appearance of health, more focused on actually getting your body to function under his piercing stare, yet you silently celebrate the hollow victory. 

The mental celebration is cut short when you feel your legs give way, you squeeze your eyes shut, preparing to feel your weak body collide with the solid ground. Instead of the unforgiving floor, you are met with strong, firm arms wrapped tightly around you. You slowly open your eyes to be met with his silver glare. Annoyance is painted clear on his face as his lips thin into a straight line.

“This is why you should have stayed in bed, instead of wasting time and arguing with me over it.” Despite the glare, his voice is soft as it reveals his worry. Your health has always been his top priority, even when it's just a common cold making its way through the scouts.

Levi slowly lifts you and brings you back to the warm comforts of your bed. You snuggle against your pillow, letting out a defeated sigh as he brings the blanket up to your chin. He tucks you in tight and you let out a small, slightly delirious giggle, you almost regret it when his hands pause and he stares at you expectantly.

“Are you trying to make it so I’m physically unable to leave this bed?”

His features soften and he continues to help you get comfortable, smoothing out the cover until each crease that dares to mar your blanket retreats, “That’s not the worst idea you’ve had.”

You’re not sure if you want to bask in the compliment or argue that you’ve had better ideas and that he knows it. Your mind is made up the moment he continues to speak.

“That way we can minimise the amount of surfaces you can infect with your germs. We don’t want you infecting the others at the meeting, do we? Now stay put while I bring you some food.”

And with that, he turns to leave the room, a soft smile on his face as your strained shouts of protest and offence follow his retreating form.

[makemeimmortalwithahug]

My Place By Your Side

Painland Week Day 1 - Love Languages/Sickfic

Charles/Edwin - post-canon

@painlandweek has brought me so much joy, it's so fun to just write for the sake of celebrating something I love again

Word count: 3920

summary:

When Edwin gets sick, Charles needs to figure out a way to comfort both Edwin and himself.

“Mate, that really doesn’t look too good.” Charles was crouched over Edwin’s arm, the shirt-sleeve rolled up to reveal the pale skin that sported dots in varying sizes and colours that made Charles feel sick in return. The rash reached from his elbow until the back of his hand, starting small in muted earthy tones that anyone else might have mistaken simply for moles. But Charles knew Edwin like no one else. He could’ve reached out and found every scar, every beauty spot or callus blindly in an instant. He could’ve counted the speckles in Edwin’s eyes from memory alone. 

“Astute observation, Charles,” Edwin sniped but Charles wasn’t fooled. The distress in his voice was obvious, pitchy and cutting around the vowels. He had spent the better part of the day going through his collection of books that dealt with similar symptoms while he kept anxiously glimpsing at the exposed skin. It had not reached the other arm yet but when Edwin lost his bowtie, complaining about the heat in the office that had never bothered him before, Charles could see hot pink and green speckles like those on Edwin’s hand. 

“No reason to snap, mate, I don’t know what caused this either.” 

If there was any indicator for how worried Edwin was in that moment himself, it was at what speed he gave in. Charles could see him practically wilt right in front of him, his shoulders drooping and Edwin shifting his weight self-consciously from one foot to the other.  

“I do apologise, Charles. I frankly do not know what to do.”

Charles frowned. Edwin was stubborn on his worst days, a quality Charles found oddly charming. To see him fold so easily was more disconcerting than it should have been.

Charles stood up and moved to put his hand on Edwin’s shoulder in comfort, trying with all his might to make it seem casual and not an act to calm his own nerves. Before he could feel the soft fabric, however, Edwin flinched away, forgetting to phase through the desk and instead hitting it and knocking down the last payment they had received for a job well jobbed (a magical ball of wool that kept changing colours depending on your mood).

Well, Charles thought hysterically, there was that.

In the unsure way only an entirely gobsmacked person could manage, Charles drew his hand back.

His heart hurt. He didn’t know that was still possible.

In general, Edwin wasn’t known for initiating their physical contact but he certainly wasn’t averse to it, always grateful for feeling Charles close to him. Except for literal Hell, Charles couldn’t remember a time where Edwin had avoided his touch. 

“Charles,” he heard, but the word hardly registered. He kept awkwardly staring at his hand.

“Charles,” Edwin said again, closer now again as he cautiously inched around the desk. 

“Mhh.” The sound was less acknowledgement and more a way to push back the cry that wanted to force its way out of Charles’ mouth.

“You must know that I mean no offence,” Edwin began, which almost caused Charles to snort or, at the very least, crack a smile. Never in their friendship after the day of their meeting had Edwin bothered with sugar-coating anything. Charles had spent the majority of his life tip toeing around his father in fear of his rage at any given moment. Until he met Edwin, he hadn’t known how much he’d like not having to guess someone’s feelings and walk around on eggshells. 

Edwin cleared his throat. “I do realise this situation is far from ideal, what with all these new cases.” This at last pulled Charles somewhat out of his stupor. Who cared about the bloody cases? “But we cannot risk you falling ill as well in the pursuit of helping me get to the bottom of this. We don’t even know whether it is contagious, not to mention by touch or mere proximity!”

Edwin ran both hands through his hair, messing up the carefully coiffed strands. It was a gesture so jarringly agitated and foreign on him that it shocked Charles once more. “Therefore,” he concludes, “it would be better if I keep my distance until I have found a solution.”

And the worst thing was: Charles couldn’t blame him for coming to this conclusion. This supernatural disease could end up in more chaos than they usually dealt with. Because what else could it have been? Edwin had his last cold in 1915 and the last time he had so much as sneezed was when that poor bloke’s head had blown up into their faces in Port Townsend and he had been too shocked to let it not affect him.

No, Edwin was right. This could endanger the agency if Charles accidentally got sick too. One detective out of commission for legwork was bad enough and he didn’t want to imagine one of their clients catching this. 

Didn’t mean that Charles had to like this plan, though. And it wasn’t particularly about them not being able to touch anymore for the foreseeable future. Despite how right Crystal was when she said that they lived in each other’s pockets, they weren’t literally attached at the hip. 

What Charles actually made nauseous was the way in which Edwin had recoiled from him that resonated horribly within him. Ghosts couldn’t normally get cold, but Charles felt like someone had shoved a bunch of ice cubes into the inside of his polo shirt, leaving him shivering and shaken. 

He never wanted to make Edwin feel scared of him and even though he knew that Edwin was just trying to protect him, something about the alarm in his eyes had him thinking back to seeing himself in the mirror when he heard his father come home early. He had sworn to himself that he would never put this look in anyone’s eyes - accident or not. He had already failed at that with the Night Nurse, but even then it had been Charles who had shied away from contact and not Edwin. Never Edwin. Until today. Edwin used to freeze, sure, and it had taken a long time for Edwin to lean on Charles as well, but he didn’t know what to do now with the sharp panic edged into his best mate’s features.

A soft sound made him pay attention to his surroundings again. Edwin was still standing at least an arm’s length away from him, his hand curled into a fist to knock against the top of the desk to get Charles’ attention. His eyebrows were furrowed in concern, his mouth a thin line. A blue dot had reached the side of his throat.

Charles sighed and shot him a quick smile, trying to seem fondly exasperated at the worry. 

“For sure, mate. You’ll be well in no time, it’s gonna be brills.” 

Charles hated this for both of them, but most of all for Edwin. From the outside, nothing seemed to have changed. Edwin was still sitting at his desk, rifling through paperwork, while Charles sat upside-down on their couch, throwing the magical ball of wool from one hand to the other. It was navy blue.

He felt like there was an invisible barrier between them, a line Charles couldn’t cross without repercussions he couldn’t imagine. Edwin looked like a confetti cannon had exploded right in front of him, the confetti littering his face. 

After Niko and Crystal showed up at the agency to keep an eye on Edwin (Edwin vehemently argued that he did not need a minder, thank you very much), Charles had risked a quick mirror-trip to Tragic Mick to get advice. To everyone’s dismay, Tragic Mick said there was nothing they could do except wait it out. 

That was two weeks ago and Charles thought he was going insane. His best mate constantly looked on edge and seemed on the verge of tears at every minor inconvenience in his files. The Night Nurse was no help either, opting to comply with Edwin’s self-assigned quarantine that he had set in motion after Crystal expressed a slight scratching in her throat. The only acceptable exception to his isolation was Charles. Which should make him feel better but it just made him long even more for Edwin because he could see him. 

No, they never used to touch constantly but there had always been the possibility. Having this revoked from him, the reassurance that Edwin was in reach, that he was there, made his skin feel tight. After Hell, it had been so good to walk next to Edwin, leaning into him or letting his fingers brush Edwin’s shoulders - to have physical proof that Edwin was with him. 

Now, Charles sometimes looked at Edwin, watching the outline of him against the backdrop of the window so hard that he was almost convinced that Edwin was just a figment of his imagination. That only his silhouette was left for him to admire from afar while the real Edwin was still stuck in Hell.

Other times, he just stared into the air, his mind stuck on how Edwin jerked back on impulse - to get away from Charles. He never wanted to make Edwin feel helpless but he still managed to fail, leaving Edwin with the desperate need to get enough space between them. The thought was enough to repeat the moment again and again, a split-second decision that haunted Charles.

Poorly suppressing a groan, Edwin stood up and started pacing the floor. He came to a halt in front of their massive bookshelf, where he started pulling out books at random, flipping brusquely through the pages. Every so often, a gust of wind came through their window that turned the pages, which made Edwin quietly swear before giving up. They were less than four metres apart but it might as well have been an entire ocean. Edwin kept pulling on and off his gloves in irritation. All Charles wanted to do was to make it somehow better. He needed to make it better. But usually his strategy for making Edwin feel better was to hug him or lean into his side or put his head against his. 

On the day Niko and Crystal finished moving into their new flat, Niko spent an evening curled up with Charles on her bed doing quizzes online while Crystal introduced Edwin to the confusing twists and turns of reality tv next door. One of the quizzes was called, “What is YOUR Love Language?” and after Niko explained the concept to him, Charles set to answering the questions until the words, “Physical Touch” blinked at him. He hadn’t put much thought to it except yeah, that checks out.

But Charles was at a loss now. How could he cheer Edwin up? When he was in this space of mind, no word of support would get through to Edwin, but how else should he reach him?

He tried anyway. “Mate, we’ll get through this, you know that, right? Tragic Mick said it’ll pass and you trust him.” At least he did after his soapstone bear had managed to save Niko. Charles made sure to make his voice as happy as possible, as “happy-go-lucky” as he could manage.

“I know.” But the flat tone told Charles that Edwin didn’t know. Bloody hell, why did he have to be so rubbish at words? In the end, though, there was nothing Charles could say in this situation that would ease Edwin’s worries. Charles had a lot of practice soothing Edwin when he was stressed about something but he wouldn’t be fobbed off with sweet nothings. Normally, Charles could give Edwin a new perspective, but right now Charles was in the same hole of despair and however hard he’d wreck his brain, he couldn’t come up with anything remotely helpful. 

Sighing, he let himself slide down off the couch and onto the floor when something caught his eye. He reached out and found a small box on top of a stack of colourful paper. The box contained pretty ribbons, glitter pens, googly eyes, different yarns and at the bottom, there was a thin booklet about origami. Niko must’ve left it here, she enjoyed making all kinds of decorations and had gone at it with extra vigour when Crystal allowed her to decorate their flat (under supervision by Edwin. Who was not as assertive as one might have imagined, only fools thought someone could resist Niko).

Charles tilted his head, discreetly looking at Edwin who didn’t pay him any attention, a hopeless expression on his face, his now once again gloved fingers curling uselessly. Charles would do anything to see Edwin smile again, no matter how long this nightmare would go on. And Charles got to work.

Charles couldn’t say that he was a crafty person, in life or death. He knew his way around his bag of tricks and could hold a paintbrush well enough to paint runes and used to do pottery with his mother. But he never made things like the adorable mug cosies Niko loves. 

Therefore, he figured he should start simple. In this case - a bookmark. Edwin normally didn’t bother using them because he is the brains, after all, he just memorised the last page he had read. There were cases, though, where they both were in a hurry and having to spare precious time for Edwin to rifle through a proper tome while the danger came closer and closer was never a good time for any of them. 

A bookmark it was, then. He first made a dark blue one, a paper rectangle with a hole through which he threaded a few threads of silver yarn and knotted them. It looked elegant, something that would fit into Edwin’s encyclopaedias or the poetry books stacked in-between. Edwin was sitting on the desk, playing with the now grey-ish ball of wool. Charles would tease him, because Edwin was the one who usually chastised Charles lightheartedly for not sitting properly, but honestly Charles was just relieved Edwin was doing anything but forlornly looking at his files. They hadn’t bickered in days. Edwin seemed exhausted enough that he didn’t talk much. Charles would be scared that his best mate was getting sick of being stuck here with him. And a part of him was still petrified of how scared Edwin had acted and that was the only thing that kept Charles from following the direction in which every atom of his body longed to pull him - right into Edwin’s arms, his face plastered into the crook of his neck. It kept him confined to his spot on their couch, embarrassingly conscious of their positions in the room, the walls closing in on him whenever he blinked, compelling him to press deeper into the cushions to give Edwin the space he deserved.

But even he realised that the “stuck here” part without being able to go on cases as an outlet was the problem and not Charles. He willed his mind to shut it. 

Speaking of cases, he felt bad leaving Edwin behind and in the one case had been on since Edwin got sick, a deep feeling of homesickness had made him careless, like a missing limb throwing him off his balance. 

From then on, he had referred the easier cases to Crystal and Niko, while he had checked in with their clients with more difficult cases and told them they would get back to them as soon as possible. 

Now Charles was on a new case: The “Give Edwin Presents (Probably) Debacle”. He picked up the bookmark and slowly made his way towards Edwin, hiding the gift behind his back. “Hey there, mate,” he grinned, coming to a halt in front of him - still far enough from him to not freak him out -, and nervously shuffled his feet.

The ball of wool flashed a subdued pink hue. “Charles,” he said, a small smile gracing his lips, a blink-and-you-miss-it moment. There were so many dots in his face, blue and green and magenta. The others on his arm hadn’t disappeared either but at least didn’t Edwin seem bothered by the heat anymore. Small mercies. “Is there something you need?”

I need you to get better, I need to reach out again and feel again, I need to sit near you again, my place is still there, right? By your side? Do you forgive me? Say it’s going to be okay soon.

“Ah, no mate, everything’s aces. So, ah, you know, business is pretty slow right now, so I thought I’d make you a little something to…” to pass the time, he almost said, but that wasn’t right, was it? Charles didn’t want Edwin to think this came from simple boredom and not from the heart. “to make you smile,” he finished, holding the bookmark at one corner out to Edwin so that he could grab the other one.

But Edwin didn’t reach out immediately and instead stared down at it, puzzled beyond belief. 

Humour had rarely disappointed him. “Come on, mate, don’t let me down here. I might just cry,” he joked.

This set Edwin in motion and he reached for the bookmark, inspecting it. And after turning it in his hands a couple of times, he finally broke out in a brilliant smile, his eyes bright. He looked up at Charles and made an aborted move like he wanted to hug him, but for the first time in weeks, the realisation that that wasn’t possible right now didn’t dim the spark in his eyes. 

“Thank you so much, Charles. It’s beautiful.” Charles basked in the unabashed sincerity and warmth. It had been such a simple and easy thing to do but hearing Edwin’s praise made him happy and proud in a way he couldn’t describe with words. He didn’t need to, he was feeling it.

“Don’t mention it, happy to do it.” And he was. 

It didn’t stop there. The bookmark found a home in one of Edwin’s favourite books and another one soon followed - an origami bookmark corner for which Charles found instructions in the book. It was quite nice to have something to do with his hands, being careful to neatly fold the corners and afterwards decorating it with silly googly eyes and a glitter pen smile. Edwin found it incredibly charming.

“That’s going to come quite in handy on cases, the other one might fall out, thank you!” The excitement was addicting and Charles loved seeing how Edwin flourished. 

The dots became fewer. Charles counted them like the days that passed on the calendar. 

An origami owl followed. He used a light green sheet of paper, gave it buttons as eyes and made a bowtie out of a red ribbon. When Edwin saw it, he smiled this soft smile that made Charles melt inside. “I don’t think ‘thank you’ suffices anymore,” he murmured. “I don’t have anything to give you.” 

Charles moved closer to him. Edwin was lounging at the desk and Charles carefully sat down on the corner, almost where he always used to greet their clients. 

“Edwin, honest, you give me so much. Just keep being you.” Edwin laughed and Charles only ached a little. The ball of wool glowed green.

He made origami plants and butterflies, stars and swans. They littered their windowsills and shelves. Their office never used to look this colourful. 

It had been a little over a month. Who was Charles kidding? He knew the exact time. One month, three days and five hours and Edwin’s supernatural cold had finally ended. There was nothing but pale skin to be seen. 

The moment Charles saw the last dot on Edwin’s cheek disappear, he leaped up and practically flew over to him, pulling him into his arms, chanting, “It’s gone, Edwin, it’s gone, it’s gone!” He pulled back and kissed the same spot where the last reminder of this nightmare had been. And then the other cheek. Edwin’s arms were tight like a vice around him, gripping the back of his shirt. 

“Charles…” He gasped softly, a man dying of thirst being offered a cup of water. Charles could relate. When he died, he had given up the need for air. Now, he just needed Edwin. 

Blinking back tears, Charles buried his face in Edwin’s chest. He couldn’t imagine letting Edwin go, in this decade or the next. Feeling the proof that he was really there - his Edwin was with him, Edwin wanted to be there with him - under his fingertips, it was like letting out a breath he had held for too long. 

But there was one thing left to do. Blindly, he felt after one of Edwin’s hands. It took a few tries and gentle shushing to pry Edwin’s fingers off of Charles, but eventually he pulled the hand to his mouth, kissed the back of it and linked their hands. 

“Shh, you’re alright mate, c’mon, love, it’s okay. Let’s just get over there, yeah? Easy, innit?” 

They ended up on the couch, Edwin’s face pressed into his neck. All semblance of composure had vanished long ago. They were both frayed at the seams, chests pried open to reveal their unbeating hearts, vulnerable and open to one another. 

Hastily, Charles went through the pockets of his jackets in search of his most important gift yet. His fingers closed around it.

“Edwin, hey? I got something for you.” He presented him with a little paper heart in blue and red. Charles had the front row seat to see Edwin’s eyes fill up with new tears all over again, joy flowing over his lovely face.

Edwin let go of Charles’ hand in favour of taking the heart into both of his reverently, careful as if he were handling a real one, and pressed it to his chest where his own heart was.

They leaned into each other, with Charles eventually ending up on top of Edwin, and he lazily played with Edwin’s short hair. The next time Charles kissed Edwin, it was softly on the lips. Both of them drifted to a not-quite-sleep with Charles’ lips pressed to Edwin’s forehead

With quarantine officially over, Niko and Crystal were allowed back in the agency. They hugged them tightly and Edwin didn’t even complain about how “a handshake would have sufficed, Crystal”. While Edwin was resting with his head in Charles’ lap, he and Niko took up their usual search for quizzes again. They came across another one of those talking about love languages. This time, his result was “Words of Affirmation”. When he fussed about how his results could’ve changed so quickly, Niko just giggled.

“Oh, but it’s not just black and white, you know,” she explained in her soft voice. “It’s never just one of them. Here, you can see your percentages.” She pointed at a few blue bars, the first one titled the same as his result with 74 percent, the second one, “Physical Touch”, just barely below with 71 percent. “And there’s also a difference of which direction the love language takes. It’s a two-way street. Love languages for how you love and for how you wish to be loved. And that changes constantly, and multiple can overlap. It’s interesting, isn’t it?” 

Niko smiled brightly and Charles was helpless to do anything but give her one of his own. 

“Which ones do you think Edwin has?” she mused. 

Charles grinned and ran his fingers through Edwin’s hair. “I think I have an idea or two.”

[sickficideas]

Hello it’s me Rui again! You’ve been so good to me recently for absolutely no reason at all but your own kindness. But I’m here to share some sickfics with you and the wonderful lurking community that looks at your page. 

In my opinion, I think that finding good bsd sickfics is actually really hard. So many of them are too short, not enough buildup, emit enough suffering… you get the idea. I tend to find that sickfics are best (in my opinion) when there is good buildup and absolute suffering that then elicits care :]

I have 411 (mainly soukoku) bookmarks, that vary between hurt/comfort and sickfics. (Most are hurt/comfort because sickfics that I like are hard to find). I’ve spent an unholy amount of time going through thousands of bsd fics to find satisfactory sickfics, and I thought I’d share them here for anyone else who struggles finding them <3

Mainly focusing on emeto fics for this blog because that’s what the central topic here is lol. I hope you enjoy some of my stash! If you end up liking it, maybe I can share my larger stash of hurt/comfort. I wish this category wasn’t so sparse.

» Nothing || Fraink5 - https://archiveofourown.org/works/11365941

A sadder fic with a bit less emeto. TW for major character death. I know it’s not exactly emeto, but it has its moments, and I find that this short little fic provides some of the same things that standard emeto fics do. Definitively worth the read if you’re in the right headspace for character death.

» Nebulous || way1203 - https://archiveofourown.org/works/37985296

Beautiful Chuuya sickfic oneshot. It’s about the aftermath of corruption. There’s a lot of delirium, sometimes it is hard to suspend my disbelief, but I still enjoy this one a lot.

» You’re a Canary, I’m a Coal Mine || PlayRough - https://archiveofourown.org/works/37985296

One of the more popular bsd sickfics writers, but I found myself needed to include this fic. It is quite long, but it’s basically just Dazai suffering from sickness and Chuuya assisting him. I’m ashamed to say this has become one of my bedtime stories.

» surely i’ll go bite the dirty dust || lizzielovessharks - https://archiveofourown.org/works/36533236

I can confidently proclaim this as one of the most criminally underrated bsd sickfics I’ve ever had the honour of discovering. Chuuya and Dazai are severely injured after a mission, Chuuya can hardly walk, and he’s sick. They just get so tormented but there’s so much comfort in this short and sweet fic. The ending always makes me smile, and I find myself coming back to this one very often.

» In Sickness and In Heath || TheShortestAlchemist - https://archiveofourown.org/works/48006802

Chuuya taking care of Dazai :]

Less emeto but still provides much comfort for the soul. 

» I’ll Take Care of You || Anonymous - https://archiveofourown.org/works/49949443

Sorry this one isn’t emeto either… but it’s chuuya being torment by Arahabaki so much that he gets a migraine that renders him unable to do anything. Still fulfills many sickfics desires.

» Poisoned Valentine || Wolf___Spirit - https://archiveofourown.org/works/53768785

Someone tries to send Chuuya home with poisoned chocolates with the intent to kill. However Dazai ends up eating them first, thus causing him to endure a lot of pain. (Read this honestly it’s wonderful)

» Burning Out || Trinity_of_Madness - https://archiveofourown.org/works/18899161

Long term corruption side effects… that’s all I’m gonna say. Take it or leave it as you see fit :] (it’s very fluffy, however it is quite bittersweet in case that’s not what you’re looking for)

» crimson headache, aching blush || kaiunkaiku - https://archiveofourown.org/works/24344119

More post corruption. Chuuya really needs a hug. He gets one. (Recommend reading lol)

» Underwater || TheGreatCatsby - https://archiveofourown.org/works/24344119

I’m so sorry. Not as much of a sickfic, but gosh it has to be one of my favourite comfort oneshots to ever exist. Chuuya does have a small emeto moment though. Ahhhh I’m so sorry for getting off track in these recommendations, I just have so many 🪦

» A Joyless Ride || calmlb - https://archiveofourown.org/works/55224694

This one is beautiful. I personally love the motion sickness Dazai headcannon. And this does a perfect job at demonstrating it. Dazai and Chuuya are on a mission, but they have to escape via Chuuya’s motorcycle. Dazai gets motion sickness that Chuuya had not considered.

» on standby for you || lonelydoctors - https://archiveofourown.org/works/48558496

Chuuya is hit with a virus ability and Dazai has to take care of him while he suffers. I really enjoyed this one. 

» Flashover || affectropia - https://archiveofourown.org/works/35640841

Bittersweet concept that is the reason behind this fic being a sickfic. However, it has a fluffy ending, and is only the care taking half of it. 

» beating drums and piping flutes - as they play the rain will fall || saanoir

This fic has to be another criminally underrated one. It’s the insomniac Dazai headcannon, except he starts feeling badly. All alone, he remembers a promise him and Chuuya made years ago. Hurt, even more comfort.

» I Think I’ll Just Collapse Right Here, Thanks || huntersserenity - https://archiveofourown.org/works/27219268

Chuuya has a drink poisoned. He is disoriented and not very functioning, but Dazai is there to assist him like he always is. (Very good, underrated, highly highly recommend)

Andd that’s all I got for now! Aside from another wonderful writers works that I didn’t include. Their username is ringingmaybelles and they make very very quality sickfics. Definitely read their work if you want the best there is to offer.

I’m sorry for the long list, I hope it is helpful/enjoyable. Sorry to come back and bother you with this essay. Thank you for letting me share these for the fellow sickfic enjoyers 😭😭😭

(Apologies in advance for the links not working I’m sorry ahh, you’d have to put it into your browser qwq)

RUI!!! You have no idea how much I appreciate you doing this for us 💖💖💖 hehehe...you're so sweet🙈🙈

I know a lot of people on this blog loooove SKK as well, and you've included many sick Chuuya fics here which I find more difficult to come across...this hand selected list is so beautiful and I really appreciate all of the effort you went through to give this to us 🥺💖

It took me a little bit to get to this ask chronologically between all the asks in my inbox but here are clickable links compiled for everyone's ease, since tumblr asks took yours away hahaha!!

I've included short summaries from the fic's original summaries along with Rui's descriptions, but please head the warnings and tags on the fics themselves!

Enjoy and share with fellow SKK sickfic enjoyers :))) I haven't read many of these and I'm so excited to dive in 🙏 let me know if any of the links are wrong so I can fix them, and if any of these authors see this and want to be tagged on tumblr ;)

Nothing by Fraink5

"Chuuya wakes up with a terrible fever--except he can't stay awake. Dazai is determined to keep Chuuya from losing consciousness, but how long will it last?"

Nebulous by way1203

"Chuuya struggles with the aftermath of using Corruption too many times and Dazai helps him through it."

You're a Canary, I'm a Coal Mine by PlayRough

"Super self indulgent Dazai sickfic."

surely i'll go bite the dirty dust by lizzielovessharks

" "Come on Chuuya," He muttered quietly as they felt themself having to pull Chuuya harder and harder to keep up, "Just a little bit further." -- or more Chuuya angst :) "

In Sickness and In Health by TheShortestAlchemist

"Dazai is sick and Chuuya takes care of him like the loving bf he is~"

I'll Take Care of You by toucheslikethesun

"Dazai walks into the ADA to find a desperate and distressed Chuuya looking for him, haunted by Arahabaki and having been unable to sleep for a long time."

Poisoned Valentine by Wolf__Spirit

"On Valentine's Day, Dazai steals and eats some chocolates that were given to Chuuya in the mafia. Turns out they were poisoned chocolates."

Burning Out by Trinity_of_Madness

" “Chuuya… We have to go…” Dazai whispered and pulled him up unwillingly. -- Chuuya held his hand, followed his guide with his usual smile on his face. Dazai’s chest tightened painfully at the sight, and he couldn’t stop himself from pulling him into a tight embrace."

crimson headache by kaiunkaiku

"the aftermath of corruption is its own kind of hell."

Underwater by TheGreatCatsby

"Chuuya has never liked water, but he never thought about why."

A Joyless Ride by calmlb

"Dazai hates motorcycles but right now he doesn’t have a choice. It does not go well"

on standby for you by lonelydoctors

"Chuuya gets hit by a virus ability and Dazai has to take care of him"

Flashover by affetropia

"Dazai tried again. Now, he gotta to deal with the pain, and Chuuya is there. He always is there when he needs."

beating drums and piping flutes - as they play the rain will fall by saanoir

"Dazai, in the midst of suffering another bout of insomnia, remembers a promise he made to Chuuya a long time ago -- to go to him when he's feeling bad."

I Think I'll Just Collaspe Right Here, Thanks by huntersserenity

" ‘ ‘Samu,’ Chuuya groaned. ‘Wanna take a nap.’ -- ‘You can’t nap right now, darling,’ Dazai said." "

The end 🏁 Enjoy!!

[abiiors]

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

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

they get together at the beginning of winter. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

he pouts. “it’s not that busy is it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“ross?”

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

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

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

“hello, you. had a good day?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“ross?” he startles and whirls around. 

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

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

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

“you’re being weird… are you unwell?”

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

“your eyes are all red.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

what the fuck… 

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

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

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

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

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

awake and feeling a lot better :) 

thirty seconds later, his phone pings. 

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

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

ross groans and tries to clear his throat again. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i didn’t know you were this sick!” 

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

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

“i haven’t caught a bug i promise!”

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

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

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

“how long?”

“how long what?”

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

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

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

“why didn’t you tell me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“did you?”

“no.”

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

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

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

“yeah because he had asthma, you idiot.”

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

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

“your idiot?” 

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

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

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

i’m not moving out the house…

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

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

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

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

“shit shit! still, radioactive, sorry.” 

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

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

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[mir4inotes]

i hold your head deep in my arms // dazai & ango sickfic drabble

originally posted on 7th jun 2024

warning for non-graphic vomiting

read on ao3! / 928 words

———————————————————————

dazai is sixteen, slumped over the toilet in the cramped bathroom of bar lupin. the light above his head flickers in a seemingly random way; combined with how much whiskey he had, it makes for an unsettling, almost ethereal experience.

his throat and nose burn. he’s barely eaten today, but his stomach is keen on removing every last drop of alcohol until he’s shivering and barely able to hold himself up.

his body crumples against the bathroom wall as if his head were a massive paperweight, barely having the sense to wipe his mouth with a clammy hand.

he thinks he’ll just fall asleep here. the poor soul tasked with closing the bar will find him eventually. kick him out. then he’ll stumble home, alone.

at first he thinks he’s hallucinating when a warm hand presses into his upper back, too drunk to tell left from right.

“are you done?” comes a quiet, hesitant voice. ango, dazai registers. ango has seen him like this before, only once or twice, though. he later explained that oda thought ango to be more of a comforting presence, so he’d always send ango to check on dazai instead.

dazai shrugs, unmoving. his eyes are shut, his breaths coming in soft pants.

ango frowns. he opens his mouth to say something else when, of course, dazai gags again. ango’s arm darts out to redirect dazai’s head back over to the toilet, the rest of his body soon following suit.

he throws up again. and again.

ango’s whole arm wraps around dazai’s smaller body, mostly to hold him upright, but also for an attempt at comfort. he doesn’t say anything. his own body is starting to droop sideways, as holding someone else up while tipsy is far from easy. ango only turns his head away and waits.

soon, there’s a break in the retching, and ango glances over again. he finds dazai trembling now, white-knuckling the edges of the toilet, saliva dripping from his lips. ango’s heart nearly stops.

he looks so tiny.

his hand moves on some instinct, brushing dazai’s dark, unkempt hair out of his face. he can’t read dazai’s expression thanks to the bandage over his eye, but he can guess at it.

and then dazai heaves again.

ango clicks his tongue, maneuvers himself so he can better hold dazai, then stops as he hears something else. a high-pitched, quiet sound that ango could have easily mistaken for a rat. his chest twists again.

dazai is only dry-heaving now, but he still looks to be in pain with every movement. his trembling is only worsening. then, just as ango brings a hand to his back, he hears dazai murmuring. “no more...”

ango had vowed to stay silent, not wanting to upset a drunk higher-up, but his mouth moves before his brain can catch up.

“it’s alright,” he mumbles. the hand on dazai’s back rubs in tiny circles. “you’re almost done.”

“it hurts...” dazai trails off into another weak gag. it sounds like he can’t get a deep breath in.

ango’s stomach drops as dazai progressively becomes more pathetic. he’s seen him be ill, but he’s also seen him laugh it off afterwards before promptly heading home for the night. ango didn’t even think dazai had it in him to be so… pitiful. his heart genuinely twists at the sight.

“i… i know it hurts.” a rather stupid thing to say, ango thinks, but whatever. “try and breathe for a moment.”

it takes him a few tries, but dazai slowly starts to calm down. he can hardly pull his head out of the toilet before immediately sagging against ango with his entire weight.

it’s warm. dazai can’t help but loosely wrap his arms around ango’s waist, burying his face into his chest.

oddly enough, ango had never really thought about dazai’s age too much. he was a mafia member and friends with oda somehow, and that’s what mattered to him. he didn’t need to know any more than that.

yet now, with slow arms coming to hold dazai’s shivering, thin, cold body, ango truly understands. this is a child.

“i’m here,” ango murmurs, holding dazai against him. he wants to warm him up at least a little bit before they leave.

—

dazai’s memory of this is fuzzy in the first place, but he can really hardly remember what happened afterwards. he thinks ango took him home that night, unsatisfied with letting him wander back to his shipping container alone.

the one thing he does remember is how it felt to share a bed with ango. the way dazai curled up against ango’s chest, ango’s warm, soothing hand in his hair. how warm dazai felt.

now, dazai is twenty-two. his phone buzzes for the fifth time in ten minutes; he knows it’s kunikida. he’s late for work.

dazai pulls his head out of the toilet bowl, leaning back against the wall with shaky limbs. his stomach is screaming at him.

in his delirium, he mistakes atsushi’s number for kunikida’s and punches out a short message, then tosses his phone aside.

he can’t walk. he knows he’ll throw up again, so he might as well stay in the bathroom. it isn’t like he’s planning to do anything else today.

he blinks wearily, eyes heavy with exhaustion as he stares at the tile. and just as he shuts his eyes, he hears that low, gentle voice.

it’s alright.

dazai smiles a little. he grabs a towel from the floor, wraps himself in it and curls up on the tile. he’s warm from fever.

i’m here.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

what are some of the most appealing whump tropes for you? i'm new to writing kind of subject matter, but i love making my oc's/fave characters suffer. i would love ideas from someone experienced!

my top 10 favorite whump tropes

tw: force feeding, implied/reference self-harm, nonconsensual drug use

forced surrender — for me, the trope suits defiant whumpee better than whumpee who’s already broken and terrified. it gives me whumperflies when whumpee who is feisty, defiant and prideful is forced to surrender. so while they are obedient, there may be occasional hissing and snarling from them. should they get punished for such an audacity? the choice is yours.

enemies to friends / enemies to lovers — classic one. though I personally like it better if, prior to their becoming enemies, they started out as friends. so it’s ‘friends to enemies to friends (or lovers) again’. but besides whump, if fluff isn’t your thing and you 1.) don’t want to make their relationship wholesome the second they go from enemies to friends/lovers 2.) want to make it hot and sexy, then I did talk about spicy ;) enemies to lovers trope and the dynamic between two characters here and here. so you can check them out too

medical whump — maybe this one’s not as popular, but it’s still my personal favorite. anything that involves hospital setting, or maybe it doesn’t necessary have to take place in a hospital but a medical ward anywhere where the main focus is whumpee being injured while also being taken care of by caretaker. the more graphic, the better. (it doesn’t really have to be medically accurate, just… you know, how graphic the scene is described, the more the better. give me all that blood and gore, describe to me how each character feels, etc.)

hallucinations — self explanatory. love love love it when whumpee hallucinates from blood loss, infection or high fever, etc. they can hallucinate about anything you want!

sickfic — in my opinion, ‘medical whump’ associates with injuries, while sickfic is about illness. I personally like it when whumpee has the flu and is bedridden, though they’re the worst patient, whining and trying to convince caretaker that they’re fine when they aren’t. unlike medical whump and hallucinations, which deal with angst and stress, I like to throw in some fluff while writing a sickfic. guess you could say sickfic is the fluff version of medical whump and hallucinations (at least that’s how I personally view these terms).

force feeding / hand feeding — bonus if, instead of caretaker, whumper is the one feeding whumpee; they can force feed whumpee as a way to keep whumpee alive (maybe they secretly, genetically care about whumpee, deep down? *cough cough* enemies to lovers?), and they can hand feed whumpee as a way to dominate, humiliate, dehumanize whumpee.

shock collar — whumper puts defiant whumpee in their place by using a shock collar on them.

restraint — there’re so many ways to restrain a whumpee, and they’re all so good, but one that is so criminally underrated in my opinion will always be straightjacket. put. the. blorbo. in. a. straightjacket.

“who did this to you?” — this. this right here. whumpee tries to hide their injuries from caretaker, but of course, they can’t fool them. so when caretaker demands in a low voice that whumpee rolls up their sleeve, caretaker is hardly able to contain their anger when they see bruises on whumpee’s arm (because while they’d rather whumpee not try to hide this from them, they’re not angry at whumpee but at whoever did this to whumpee) and when caretaker asks, “who did this to you?” you know someone is about to pay for what they did to whumpee.

locked up by mistake — I’m not talking about jail here. I’m talking about a psych ward, an asylum. whumpee is not actually crazy or suicidal, but either there’s been a misunderstanding (no one believes them when they say these cuts on their arm aren’t self-inflicted) or they’ve been set up by an enemy. but of course, the more they try to make people believe them, the more unwell they look. and from there, there’re so many ways, so many scenarios to explore, maybe whumpee is drugged until they’re so groggy they don’t even remember their own name, maybe they’re restrained to the bed or are forced into a straightjacket. or maybe they have to undergo a shock therapy.

[allthewhumpygoodness]

So the way I see it, there's "cold sick" and then there's "warm sick".

(funnily enough, both can and should be accompanied by a fever)

"Warm Sick" to me equals a flushed face and puffy red eyes, bundles of blankets piled on so thickly you can barely see the poor sickie underneath, wet coughs, sad eyes and pathetic whimpers, body aches, restless tossing and turning in their sleep and frightened feverish mumblings -- usually offset with the aesthetic of firelight or cozy lamps, quilts and blankets on winter nights, mugs of hot tea and broth.

"Cold Sick" is distinguished by a lack of these things. When a character is past all that, instead of flushed they're white as a ghost, all pale lips and bruised looking eyes ringed with dark circles, face thin and cheeks hollow, too exhausted to lift their eyelids...they aren't conscious at all most of the time, their breaths thin and shuddering and wheezing; and when they're semiconscious they hardly have the strength to move at all and instead lie there frighteningly still. The light is cold and sharp, natural light from an overcast outside that sends a greyish shade over the whumpee's bedbound form.

The former suggests a warm and familial environment; the sickie in question feels miserable but has people around them they know they can trust. The theme is overstimulation - everything bad is too much, and every comfort is extra comforting. The whumpee may be emotional - upset over their circumstances or just plain scared - but their feelings are strong and ever present. You get this variety in domestic sickfics, someone coming in from the cold with a raging fever and being cooed over by a significant other, or a common cold that breaks a poor whumpee down to tears after one too many sleepless congested nights. Comfort, and warmth, and feeling, for better or worse.

The latter on the other hand, suggests understimulation. The whumpee may be in a place that's unfamiliar, or with strangers, and this gives a removed and reserved quality to their interactions. And they're far too out of it to notice this fact in any clear way. Even the 'comfort' is more practical than anything else, emphasis is placed more on keeping the sickie alive than on their personal comfort. If the whumpee is with it enough to know what's going on at all...well, they're resigned more than anything else. They've more than accepted their situation and fate. It's the kind of illness that haunts Victorian street urchins and Gothic heroines - one that will leave them looking close to a corpse by the end of it. And when they finally recover, it truly feels like they've come back from the dead.

[mangoisms]

i don’t want you to the bone (i just need to lay down with soft skin close)

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ summary: The school year starts and with it, autumn days and sick kids. You’re fine but Tim keeps getting sick for a reason you can’t figure out. A fourth and final time reveals that reason — that is, his apparent lack of spleen.

━ word count: 3.1k

━ contains: established relationship, domestic fluff, sickfic, comfort no hurt

━ a/n: technically takes place as an extension of my other tim fic, i’ll be the dangerous ledge (you be the parachute), but prior reading is not required; all you need to know is reader is a teacher’s aide for sixth graders! title is also from this song

━ you can read this on ao3 as well (and find my end notes ^_^)

New school years are always a little nerve-wracking. 

New faces, new personalities, new parents. 

But each time you do it, the easier it gets. 

A routine forms quickly and you fall into it like it’s nothing. 

For the first part of it, August and September, you and Ms. C are getting adjusted to the new batch of kids. Seeing which ones are struggling and accommodating them accordingly. Autumn sets in. Mornings are colder, days are shorter, leaves start to brown. Then the sick days start rolling in. 

The common cold and flu take out a couple kids at a time every couple weeks. But your immune system is nothing to scoff at, not after working at Gotham Elementary in Burnley with the third graders. Middle schoolers are better on that front but there is still some room to improve. 

Last year, you took a hit, a small cold taking you out for a couple days. This year, your second here at Gotham Pointe, you’re perfectly fine. 

You are still wary, though, too aware of your clothes and what you might carry back home. As a general rule, you don’t like sitting on the couch or the bed in your work clothes just because it feels a little gross but it is particularly exacerbated by your career choice. 

And your boyfriend is an additional factor. 

Not for anything particular, just that you want to be mindful for Tim. Especially since he spends ninety percent of his time at your place. 

You see him as soon as you step through the door and you often linger, sharing a kiss, taking a while to talk about your respective days and discuss dinner. Only after you go and take a shower. 

Sometimes, he takes you out for your lunch break, too. And of course you’re in your work clothes and can’t change or shower and you admittedly forget and let him get close. 

You simply did not think you would ever need to get extreme about it. 

This, you would reflect after everything, is wrong. 

The first time, a couple weeks into the school year, it’s a cold. 

You both surmise he got it somewhere outside. Gotham isn’t exactly the pinnacle of cleanliness, so it’s hardly a great mystery to ponder. You mostly focus your energy on getting him better. 

Then it happens again in September. The flu this time. It prompts you two to go out and get your flu shots — after he gets better, anyway. 

You think you’re in the clear after that. 

But then it happens again in October. Another cold. Less severe. Or so he insists. 

And then again in November. 

And you start to worry. 

“Why do you keep getting sick?”

A weak cough, then a sniffle. “Just want an excuse for you to take care of me.”

You shake your head, seating yourself on the edge of the bed, pressing the back of your hand to Tim’s flushed face. His fever still rages on, skin hot to the touch. 

Despite that, he finds it within himself to be cheeky. 

From the bed, dark hair mused from the pillow, a little sweaty from the fever, cheeks flushed, nose stuffy and eyes bleary, Tim gives you a dopey smile, one you can’t resist returning. 

“I’ll take care of you anytime you want, handsome,” you laugh, running your fingers through his hair, not minding the dampness of it. “But this is the fourth time… What’s going on?”

“It’s fall,” he says. “People always get sick in the fall.”

“Not four separate times.”

“I’m just special like that.”

“All the jokes even with a fever of a hundred and one, hm?”

“Just for you, gorgeous.”

“Alright, cornball,” you chuckle, grabbing the CVS bag with the medicine you picked up on your way home. “I called Alfred on my way back. Just wanted to get his soup recipe but he insisted on coming down with a batch for you. He’ll be here in a little while.”

Tim hums an affirmative, sitting up with a small groan as you pour out a dose of medicine and hand it to him. He gets a comical look of disgust as it goes down, nose wrinkling. 

You smile, taking the little cup and handing him a glass of water, which he quickly drains. 

“I’ll go ahead and take a shower,” you say, picking up the bag and the medicine. “You need anything?”

“I’m good,” he says, dropping back onto the pillows and yawning. 

“Alright.” You lean over to kiss his head, ignoring his groan of protest. 

“Gonna get you sick —”

“You didn’t the last two times, so I don’t think you will this time,” you chuckle, squeezing his hand. “I seem to be the strongest immunity-wise. Which is odd since you grew up here and should be more prepared for it…”

“Well, you know,” he mumbles, noncommittal as he burrows under the sheets and closes his eyes for what you imagine is his hundredth cat nap of the day. 

You don’t really know and you’re still… worried about this, so you just squeeze his shoulder and rise from the bed. 

Every time you bring up going to the doctor, he shoots down the idea. Even when you point out you don’t need to go to the ER and you can just go and see Dr. Thompkins. But that makes him refuse even more. Says it’s just a cold or the flu and not an issue. But this is the fourth time. You’re rapidly approaching your threshold for concern. 

Maybe you can bring it up again today. 

You ponder ways to approach the conversation while in the shower. It’s not that he’ll fight you about it and you need to plan for that. It’s just you want to be prepared. Think it through. If anyone will appreciate having a plan of action, it’s definitely Tim. 

You have something of an idea when you step out of the bathroom. But you find the bedroom empty and voices coming from the living room. 

You quickly recognize Alfred’s posh accent and Tim’s soft tenor, thick from his stuffy nose. 

You don’t intend to eavesdrop. But it happens anyway. 

“… much too often,” Alfred is saying. 

“I know,” Tim responds, sighing. 

“Are the antibiotics not working?”

You frown. Antibiotics? What antibiotics?

“They do their job when I need them, it’s just that it’s been viruses, not bacteria.”

“I see. And this increase in viruses is because…?”

Silence. 

You remain rooted in place near your bedroom door, the wood thin, conversation easy to hear, even with the fan whirring in your bathroom. 

“It’s her,” Tim eventually sighs. “From the school. But she tries, Alf —”

“I understand,” he says gently, placating. “I am not placing blame on the young miss. But does she know?”

An even longer silence. 

Your heart pounds fast in your chest and you feel dizzy and off-kilter all of a sudden. Do you know what? What are they talking about? What are you doing? You’re the reason he’s getting sick? That… makes sense, it does, but… why is he so susceptible to it? 

You’re not blaming him. Of course not. But it’s just — it’s weird, right? And Alfred is talking about antibiotics that Tim has to take? As far as you know, he doesn’t take any medication. Tylenol sometimes. Daily multivitamins that you often have to remind him to take because he forgets. But that’s not medication. 

“No,” Tim finally says. “She doesn’t. I haven’t told her. I just don’t want her to feel bad. Because she will. I should’ve said something sooner about it and we could’ve worked something out but I didn’t and now we’re here.”

“Master Tim…”

“I know,” he says. “I know.”

You’ve heard enough. You’ve done enough. Dammit. You’re going to have to tell him about this. It was wrong to listen behind his back. Even if you want to know what it is he’s hiding, mostly, you just feel guilty. You seem to be the common denominator here and it’s not a good thing. 

You try so hard to respect his boundaries. Because there are things he does not want to talk about. Does not like to talk about. But you don’t like the thought of him not saying something to you because he doesn’t want to make you feel bad. You understand the intention! But you also don’t want him to feel scared to tell you stuff. Even if they hurt your feelings. 

No doubt because of his love for you and you get it. But still. 

You grab your dirty clothes and step back into the bathroom, then shut off the fan. Should announce your presence to them as you putter around the bedroom, tossing your clothes into the laundry and sliding your feet into your slippers. 

You emerge a minute later, Tim sitting on the couch, bowl of chicken soup in his lap, Alfred perched near him, the TV on the evening news. 

None of them give any indication of their prior conversation and neither do you, greeting Alfred as you usually do, serving yourself some soup, too, at his insistence. He sticks around for a little bit then bids goodbye, making you promise to give him updates and that if need be, I am perfectly willing to team up with you to get Master Tim to see Dr. Thompkins. 

After, Tim takes a shower while you get your dishes washed up and everything else locked up for the night. Checking on the boys, checking the locks on your windows and doors, then the super expensive security system you had covertly installed by Tim that your landlord would probably kick up a fuss about if he knew. But needs must. 

You pop into the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face, getting ready for bed, thinking about how to approach this. 

Seems simple, in the end. Just say it. 

It’s nothing, right? Easy-peasy. 

But your nerves betray you. And he notices. 

“You feeling okay?” he asks, sliding in next to you, eyebrows furrowed in concern. For you, of course. Always for you. 

You sag into the pillows, sighing. “Tim… I, uh, heard your conversation with Alfred. I didn’t mean to! But I know that doesn’t mean much since it still happened… I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” he says, sitting up against the headboard like you. The look on his face is hard to read. 

You wince. “I’m sorry again. And this will be the last I talk about it if you want but I just need you to know… you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t feel comfortable sharing, you know? But you can tell me anything. No matter what.”

A small shake of the head. “I know. I just — well, you know. I didn’t want you to feel bad. I should’ve said something first about it.”

“About what?”

He sits up, reaching for the hem of his shirt. 

You watch him carefully. 

It’s a familiar sight. The scars that litter his body. Amassed since he was fourteen-years-old. 

Fourteen. 

Just a kid. 

You were doing jack shit at fourteen. As fourteen-year-olds should be allowed to do. 

And you know the story, you know how Tim got involved with it but… sometimes on bad nights when he wakes up from a nightmare and can’t go back to sleep, either huddled in your arms for comfort or turned away from you, curled in on himself for subconscious protection, on the days where the injuries sustained bother him, body aching and in pain, stress pulling him apart at the seams, or the nights he gets called out and sometimes comes back in pieces for you to put him back together… you really, really loathe Bruce. 

Maybe his initial introduction couldn’t be helped. Batman needed a Robin. That’s what he said. But everything else after that… how Bruce treated him sometimes, how Bruce treats all of them. 

It pisses you off. 

But you can’t do anything about that. You can’t change it. All you can do is be here. Go at his pace. 

You’ve seen his scars. You’ve made sure not to make him uncomfortable. Tim is beautiful to you, a Michaelangelo painting come to life, the kind of beauty that haunts you, but those scars have harrowing stories attached to them and you understand that anyone might be uncomfortable with it. 

You told him that. And that helped. And by now, you are intimately familiar with them. You don’t know all the stories. He doesn’t want to scare you. Like you could ever be scared by him. But nonetheless. You’ve seen them. Run your fingers over them, pressed kisses to them. Wondering about the pain he suffered. Still suffers. Wishing you could take it all away. 

“I was seventeen,” he tells you, once his shirt is off, revealing pale skin, toned muscle, and so many scars. Bullet wounds, stab wounds, bullet grazes. You shift, knee pressed to his, your eyes on his face. 

“Stabbed in my spleen,” he goes on, taking your hand and pressing it to the horizontal scar on his belly. Your thumb brushes the silvery, textured skin, heart clenching at the thought. “They had to take it out.”

“Your… spleen?”

You scramble to grasp your scant biology knowledge. You were required to take science labs when you were in college but you went for astronomy instead of biology or anatomy. Before that, your only experience with biology is your class from freshman year. A very long time ago. 

So, you come up with nothing for what a spleen does. But you can infer. You just need him to confirm it. One look between you and he nods, sighing. 

“It’s not very well-known,” he says, glancing down at your hand, fingers stroking the scar, his own wrapped loosely around your wrist. “But the spleen has a small part in fighting pathogens. More specifically bacterial infections. I’m —” his lips purse, displeased with what he is about to say “— particularly susceptible to those kind. And I’m supposed to take antibiotics at the first sign of some kind of infection. But the spleen is also for pathogens — viruses — in general and well, antibiotics don’t work on those.”

“You’re immunocompromised.”

He winces. “That’s… a very strong word.”

“But not untrue, Timmy.”

“No,” he mutters. “No, I guess not.”

You quickly understand your place in this. Even if you shower, you two still talk, still kiss, still linger before then. Then for those lunches…

“I’m sorry,” you sigh.

“No,” he groans, leaning forward to scoop you into your arms. He’s still hot to the touch, still feverish, but you don’t care, arms circling him as he buries his face in your neck. 

“No?”

“No,” he grumbles. “I should’ve told you from the get-go. I just… honestly, honey, I forgot. And by the time I realized we might need to accommodate when you come home…”

“You didn’t want to make me feel bad.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your neck. 

You run your fingers through his hair, closing your eyes and leaning your head against his. The scent of his shampoo, eucalyptus, is fragrant and pleasant to your senses. “Don’t be. I know why you did it. Let’s just accommodate better from now on, okay?”

You feel him nod. 

“You don’t need to go to the doctors, then?”

“Probably do,” he sighs. “I’ll call Leslie tomorrow. See if she or Jean-Paul have an open slot.”

That relieves some of your concern. You press a kiss to his hair. “Good. You worried me.”

“I know.”

No use in apologizing. He’ll always worry you. He might have stepped down from Red Robin but he still gets called away. For a Titans mission, for a favor to Conner or Cassie or Bart, then of course, for the way Bruce is perfectly able to guilt him into joining them for patrol. 

“No detours when I get home,” you say next. “Try not to touch anything. Keep my jacket separate from yours. Dirty clothes, too. And lunch…”

“I still want to take you out for lunch,” he says a tad petulantly into the skin of your neck. “I’ll just… I don’t know. Take some of that Emergen-C stuff. Bulk up my immune system. We don’t have to do anything extreme.”

Which is an amusing statement, coming from him of all people. 

But you get it. It pleases you, to know he still wants you very much. Your time. Your company. And that these indulgences are entirely feasible with your relationship. That he is willing to cut corners for it. But you’ll have to put your foot down on some of it. Just to make sure you don’t get him sick. 

For now…

You kiss his head. “I love you, you know that?”

He kisses your neck, arms tightening around your waist. “I love you.”

You squeeze him. He sighs, sounding particularly put-out about something. 

“What?”

“I want to kiss you,” he mutters. 

“We’re on break next week. Kiss me.” 

Probably not your best decision. But also not your fault that your boyfriend is very pretty and also a great kisser and also that you think you’d kiss him forever if you could. You’re like kiss deprived by this point, since he started feeling bad yesterday and developed a fever last night. Hopefully that breaks tonight. 

“I can get you sick.”

“We’ve been sleeping in the same bed. And also you know I didn’t actually catch anything —”

“You and your immune system of steel,” he complains. 

“Bet Conner’s jealous. Also, why the complaint? Do you want me to get sick, is that it —”

“Just bringing it up very frequently, while I can do nothing but suffer.”

“Oh, you’re suffering, are you? Suffering with a butler to make you dinner, with my excellent bedside manner and pretty face —”

He laughs, finally pulling his face from your neck, eyes crinkled. The smile that curls your lips is nothing less than lovesick but you don’t care. You cup his hot face in your hands, thumb rubbing the sensitive skin under his eye, feeling the way his cheeks curl with his smile. 

“I’m bringing my continued immunity up to make a point, Timothy.”

“Oh, is that what it is?” he asks, teasingly latching on your last name like you’re at school. 

You turn your head, starting to pull away. “Well, if you don’t want to kiss me —”

He groans. “Okay, fine. But if you get sick —”

“You’ll take care of me just like I took care of you,” you finish, smiling. “You love me too much to abandon me like that.”

A smile. “Yeah. Yeah, guess I do.”

You share a kiss to seal the deal. 

(And yes, a week later, you do get sick. 

And yes, he does take care of you.)

reblogs are appreciated!

[shion-yu]

A Safe Place (part 1) [Day 28]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Cliff?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you awake?" Elliot asked worriedly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Cont. part 2]

[myteavsricochet]

Latest fanfics read, part 6

(Part. 1) (Part. 2) (Part. 3) (Part. 4) (Part 5)

I Keep My Mouth Shut Tight (Cause I Don't Want To Lose What's Not Even Mine)

"Being affectionate, he has always used certain pet names with me. He’s called me sweetheart since we met, and I have used several in turn. That night he used a new one... I realised that he had woken me, saying it was time to take another dose of medicine. It was the way he said it, though: “Baby, I need you to wake up for me...” I am only slightly ashamed to admit that I whined pathetically at him calling me that, but he seemed to take it as protest that I didn’t want to wake, and not for what it really was—me absolutely losing my mind over that word coming out of his mouth and being directed at me. The cherry on top of it all was when he kissed me on the forehead and my brain promptly stopped working completely."

OR: At hit wits end, Henry decides to turn to reddit to ask the internet if his roommate likes him back, or if he's going insane. Then Nora intervenes.

Additional tags: Social Media, Ask reddit, Cute, Short & Sweet, Silly, Sharing a bad, Didn't know they were dating, Cuddling & Snuggling

It's Not a Secret

Henry is a boring person.

This is an objective fact. It’s been such a constant in his life that it hardly bothers him. He prefers the mundane. Thrives under routine. Tolerates many things poorly: surprise parties, capsaicin, loud noises.

Another objective fact: Henry loves Alex. Alex is not boring at all.

Unfortunately, everyone else in Henry’s life seems to think that a bore like him is incapable of a relationship like theirs— and, more distressingly, that this must mean that Alex simply doesn’t exist.

Or: Five times that no one believed that Henry and Alex were an item, and one time that they all did.

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Director of Finance Henry Fox, tattoo artist alex claremont-diaz, Opposites Attract, Not actually a secret relationship, Misunderstandings, Developing Relationship, Sexual Content

in sickness and in health

Henry has a rather nasty cold, but June had her appendix removed, which means she wins. Because of her victory in the unwell olympics, Henry will stay in Texas while Alex flies to New York to visit his sister and the rest of their chosen family, something Henry desperately tries not to resent.

Additional tags: Slice of life, Sickfic, Married life

The Room Where It Happens

caged, Alex who he had never thought would be his, making himself at home, in a place Henry hasn’t thought of as home since his father died. It was simply a place he lived. His home was now sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling off his socks.

----

Or, a trio of firsts.

Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, First Time Bottoming, Angst, But not like Alex/Henry angst, Lonely Henry angst, Praise Kink

the way it is suddenly there, total and complete

As Alex falls in love with David, Henry falls even more impossibly in love with him, and their little family.

Or: Over the first year of their new life together, Alex fully commits to being a dog dad. Henry is his captive audience.

When I Get Going

“On a scale of one to ten,” Henry says softly, stepping closer to him and lowering his voice in a way that has Alex’s pulse jumping in his throat, his entire body aching to respond, “how far gone are you right now? One being ‘I could easily hold a conversation with the Queen’ and ten being ‘I’m genuinely surprised nobody’s noticed yet’.” Alex grits his teeth, but even the reminder of Henry’s nefarious grandmother can’t quell the arousal burning hotly in his stomach.

“Six,” he hisses, embarrassed and turned on, every molecule of him straining to reach out and pull Henry into something that will start off as a kiss, and end as anything but.

“Let me know when you get to eight,” Henry says firmly, then he just-

Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, PWP, Underwear, Coming In Pants, Orgasm Delay/Denial, delayed gratification, Control, Light Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, Begging, Praise Kink, Henry is a fucking tease

crushed velvet

"In this brief moment of reprieve, Henry pants for breath, digging his fingers into the red material of the sofa to remind himself that this is, in fact, somehow real."

Or, movieverse couch blowjob missing scene.

Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Ficlet, Missing Scene, Blow Jobs, Skull Fucking, Simultaneous Orgasm, Coming In Pants

Comfort in the Backlight

For the prompt: "rainy day in the brownstone, fluff?"

Maybe sneakers weren’t the best choice of shoe for the day, Alex realizes as he shuts the front door behind him and grimaces at the quick puddle forming beneath him.

you are my medicine (when you're close to me)

After one last peck, Henry finally pulls away, leaving a sore spot of hollowness where his touch had filled it before. Alex forces his face to stay even– he doesn’t want his boyfriend to feel guilty for doing what he needs to do, doesn’t want to feed into the assumption that Alex is helpless without him.

Doesn’t want to be another obligation in Henry’s life that will one day grow to be too much to shoulder.

When the door falls shut, leaving Alex alone with a house that is much too empty and silent without his family there, there’s a lump in his throat that he can’t quite swallow. He thinks of Nora, making jokes that Henry is a saint for putting up with him during exam season; he thinks of June who uprooted her entire life to take care of him during college– and finally, he thinks of Henry, gentle and perfect Henry, that has had to worry about others way too much in his life– and a stinging sense of dread settles over him.

-

Or, Alex's no good horrible very bad two weeks without Henry.

Additional Tags: Alex Claremont-Diaz Has ADHD, Alex Claremont-Diaz Has Abandonment Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Panic Attacks, Alex Claremont-Diaz Needs a Hug, Long-Distance Relationship, Mental Health Issues, Established Relationship

Smile, You're on Camera

"Baby," Alex manages, and Henry groans in response, grazing his earlobe with his teeth. Alex bites his lip his stifle his own whimper. "H, hang on."

Henry pulls away from his assault on his neck, face flushed, chest heaving. "What's — what's wrong?"

"Nothing, sweetheart, nothing," Alex soothes, placing both hands on Henry's shoulders. "I just — do you wanna do it? Now?"

Henry blinks owlishly. Alex watches as the realization slowly dawns on him, and he turns his head to look at the camera. He stares for a moment, then looks back at Alex and says, "Can you bring it closer?"

Or, Alex and Henry film a sex tape.

Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Tapes, Explicit Sexual Content, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Crying During Sex, in a sexy way not a sad way, Switching, Sub Top Alex

no bunny compares to you

Henry is a lot of things as a person and while much of his personality transfers over to his bunny form, his physical attributes do not. Most notably, his size.

Where Alex’s boyfriend stands tall and regal, his furry counterpart is small and fluffy, unable to summit even the most minor of obstacles.

Take their sofa, for one. Alex is watching TV and minding his own business, when he hears a steady thump from just below him. Peering over the edge of the dark cushion, he spots his boyfriend angrily pounding his back foot against the carpet.

“Ha! Is my little bun too tiny to get up here on his own?” Alex teases. He’s promptly rewarded with a whisker twitch followed by a nose scrunch. Henry is pouting and it’s the most adorable thing he’s ever witnessed.

--

or, five times Henry shapeshifts for himself and one time he does it for Alex

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Magical Realism, 5+1 Things, Bunny Henry, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Shapeshifting, Idiots in Love, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Needs a Hug, Protective Alex Claremont-Diaz, Soft Boys, Henry Has Bad Days

[laurancezvahlslefteyebrow]

Fever

A fic based on @cinnamontoastcroonch ‘s take on Cadenza’s perspective during Laurance’s de-Shadow Knighttaion induced fever, but from Aphmau’s perspective

Aka: Laurance has a really bad fever, hallucinations a bit and everyone is panicking

CW: Sickfic, fever whump, thoughts of death, mention of hallucinations

At first she didn’t notice. She’d nodded off sitting in the rickety wooden armchair next to Laurance’s bed. Her arm was beginning to fall asleep as she rested her head on it, when suddenly she heard the soft rustling of sheets. Her head shot up to see his face, scrunched in agony, beads of sweat running down his pale skin. His eyes fluttered open hardly half way, hot tears falling to his ears. His breaths quickened and all she could hear was a pathetic whine escaping from his soul. Aphmau was willing herself not to panic. Not yet. She could tell he was hurting, she needed to comfort him, make him feel ok.

“No, no no. Shh shh. It’s alright. You’re ok Laurance. I’m here. I’m right here. I got you.” Despite her best efforts, her voice broke a bit and she became chocked up. She hoped he didn’t notice. Aphmau raised a hand to his cheek to verify a fever. Oh gods he’s burning up. This is bad. She wiped some tears from his cheek as she stood, rushing off to the basin on the window sill. She dunked a rag in the cool water and rung it out before returning to Laurance and placing it on his forehead and eyes. A sudden gasp fell from his mouth as he tipped his head away from the sudden attack of cold. “I know, I’m sorry, but you’re burning up! We need to cool you down.” Aphmau could not keep her voice from wavering, she was beginning to panic.

Aphmau grasped Laurance’s clammy hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. He seemed to calm a bit after that, Aphmau thought maybe he’d be able to sleep now. But after a while, Laurance spoke softly. “Why’s.. he here..? He- Aph I-“ Before she could do any more, he attempted to sit up. A long groan escaped him before he collapsed back into bed. “Laurance!” he was shaking, shivering maybe. Aphmau needed help, she didn’t know what else she could do for him. Her magicks hadn’t been working, no matter how hard she tried.

Aphmau let down Laurance’s hand and ran to the door, though before she could open it, Garroth stepped in. “Garroth! Garroth, he woke up! Laurance woke up! But,” she was talking a mile a minute, “but he’s out again. Shaking! I need to find Cadenza! I don’t know what else to do!” Before Garroth could even get a word in, Aphmau was gone, the door bouncing closed behind her.

“Cadenza! Cadenza I need you!” Cadenza set down the flowers she planned on buying and turned around, a look of fear on her face. “…Is it Laurance or Eseryt?” Aphmau could tell by the look on her face that she was dreading the answer. Aphmau took a moment to catch her breath, “He woke up. Bad fever, asking weird questions. Cadenza he needs you.”

Cadenza wasted no time, practically running to his bedside. When they arrived he was awake; shaking, looking around the room wildly, on the verge of tears. Garroth practically had to hold him down to keep him in bed. Cadenza went to Laurance, taking his hand and speaking quiet words to him that Aphmau couldn’t fully make out.

“D’you see him?” Laurance sounded so weak. He looked so weak. Aphmau had never seen him like this. Not even after he returned from the Nether. At least then he was more aware, less delirious. “Who, Laurance?” “…Joh.”

Aphmau’s heart dropped into her stomach. She could tell that everyone’s did. Garroth stepped back, finger nails digging into his crossed arms. Cadenza’s eyes widened, a hand going to her mouth to stifle a sob. Aphmau was in shock. All she could do was stand and watch this unfold. Is this really happening? Is Laurance…Oh gods..

“Laur. Joh’s… He’s.. He’s not here.” Aphmau could hear the lump forming in Cadenza’s throat, as the pain of one forming in her own made itself known.

“Caddy… I.. Are they here for me.?” he paused a bit longer than anyone would hope for, “Am I… Dying?” His voice was so small, too small. Weak and hoarse and filled with fear and pain. He starred into the void, eyes glazing over and unfocused.

Garroth turned to face the wall, unable to bare the sight of Laurance like this any longer. Aphmau could no longer keep the sob from escaping her throat, though she managed to stifle the tears.

Cadenza squeezed her eyes as a tear rolled down her red cheek before resting her other hand atop of Laurance’s. “Of course not. You still have so much ahead of you Laurance. So much. You have yet to even meet your daughter. Remember? Lina?” Laurance didn’t answer, only closing his eyes as he slowly gave a single nod, a barely visible smile resting on his cracked lips.

At that Aphmau came back to his side, opposite of Cadenza. She leaned over and gave him a long kiss on the forehead. She didn’t know what else she could do. She just got him back and now she might lose him again? This time permanently? Gods no, please. He doesn’t deserve this, he never did.

————————————————————————————

Hope you enjoyed that and that your heart is shattered :D

It’s ok he pulls through. They just don’t know that.

[thiefbird]

Sky Set to Burst (4478 words) by Thiefbird Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: Temeraire - Naomi Novik Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: John Granby & William Laurence, John Granby & Tenzing Tharkay, John Granby & William Laurence & Tenzing Tharkay, William Laurence/Tenzing Tharkay, John Granby/William Laurence Characters: John Granby, William Laurence, Tenzing Tharkay Additional Tags: Epistolary, Pre-Relationship, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, (for the various relationships), Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, William Laurence Has Migraines, Head Injury, Can be read as either pre-slash Granby/Laurence or just very close platonic, Chronic Illness, Period-Typical Language Summary:

John,

  Or should I address you as Admiral, now I no longer retain my own Rank? I confess I hardlie know the Etiquette for such thinges, and must beg you to excuse my Familiaritie.

  Scotlande treats us as well as can be imagined - though Tenzing rather better - for while we are a wayes South of Loch Laggan, I am confident in confirming that the weather is scarse changed by the Distance, and we hardlie have seen the sun twice together in a weeke all April; I hope that it shall do my roses well.

John Granby visits Laurence and Tharkay in Scotland after the war. Written for Temeraire Summer Exchange 2024!

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My Temeraire Summer Exchange fic! My first ever fic for Temeraire, and my second-ever writing challenge! Thank you so much to the mods and everyone who joined!