#look at me writing sickfic

[galaxywhump]

if wren started begging for something during a torture session (a small break bc he feels like he's gonna be sick, or some water) would daniel grant that to him? or would it be situationally dependent?

I know you were probably expecting a straightforward answer, but your ask made a WIP happen, so here it is.

[SV-240 masterlist]

contents: forced relationship whump, slavery whump, creepy/intimate whumper, defiant whumpee, illness, non-graphic emeto, torture, knives, stress position, blindfold, creepy comfort.

~~~

Wren woke up feeling terrible.

It’s nothing out of the ordinary for him, but that morning he felt terrible in a different way. He felt ill; weak and slightly dizzy, shivering despite it not being cold in the house. He didn’t tell Daniel, even though he wanted nothing more than to be given medication, hot tea, and some peace and quiet. No, telling Daniel would also mean him being overly caring and doting, which was the last thing Wren wanted to deal with.

So he didn’t say anything, and then he learned that Daniel was in the mood for some handiwork with his favorite knife.

Shit.

He still didn’t say a word when Daniel closed handcuffs on his wrists and attached them to a chain connected to a hook in the ceiling, forcing him to keep his arms outstretched and stand on his tiptoes. He didn’t say a word when Daniel put a blindfold on his eyes and earplugs in his ears. He just shuddered and gritted his teeth when the knife pierced his arm and was dragged downwards.

Just get through this, he thinks to himself while Daniel makes small, precise cuts around his shoulder blades in a pattern that only makes sense to him and his artistic vision. It’s not the first time.

But it’s the first time when he feels this awful during torture, and the position he’s in doesn’t help. His body is under so much strain, stretched out uncomfortably, he can barely stay upright, his arms hurt, his head hurts, everything hurts, and Daniel’s only adding more pain. He still feels dizzy despite the darkness - or maybe because of it - his face is covered in cold sweat, he starts feeling slightly nauseous. The blindfold is soaked with tears of frustration, he can hear his heartbeat way too clearly, it’s the only sound he hears, he feels horrible, he wants out, he wants this to end, he can’t handle this after all, but that means…

“Stop,” he mumbles weakly, shaking his head and whining when the pain from the cuts seems to intensify now that he’s not fully preoccupied with his illness. Talking with the earplugs in is an unpleasant, almost surreal experience, and he can only hope he’s actually saying something, that his voice isn't too weak. "Please stop."

But this is Daniel, so Wren can imagine him laughing at his begging, making a stupid comment promising that this will be over soon, sweetheart, but this isn't about that. He whimpers when the knife cuts into his back again.

"I'm serious, stop, I-I think I'm gonna be sick, I just need a break."

The knife disappears, and Wren swallows desperately, struggling to take a deep breath.

He flinches when he feels Daniel grip his arm - thankfully an undamaged part of it - and a moment later his wrists are released. Daniel catches him before he can collapse, unable to stay upright after the punishing position.

The earplugs are removed, and the blindfold follows. Wren winces and blinks, and when his eyes get used to something other than darkness, he sees Daniel's face, with worry written all over it.

"Are you still feeling sick?" he asks, and Wren nods.

Daniel wraps Wren's arm around himself to support him and leads him to the bathroom, where the nausea gets overwhelming. Daniel holds his hair back for him, not saying a word for now.

Wren closes his eyes, exhausted, and fuck does everything hurt, but mostly his arms and back now that he's moving again. He's trembling, getting up feels like an impossible task, and he's still crying, from pain and from his awful state, and he's not even mad at himself for it.

"Better now?"

"I think so," he mutters. Daniel lets go of his hair.

"I'll get you some water."

Wren nods, keeping his eyes closed, not daring to move an inch for fear of his body igniting with pain again and the room spinning.

Anxiety creeps up on him; nothing like this has ever happened before, and he doesn’t know what to expect from Daniel.

He comes back and hands Wren a glass of water, then sits down next to him, looking at him with a puzzled expression.

"What happened?" he asks.

"I think I'm sick." Wren stares down at the water, every breath causing his fresh wounds to shift and hurt even more. "I feel like shit, and… you just saw for yourself, I guess." He sighs. “So just get the session over with before it gets worse.”

Daniel firmly shakes his head, frowning.

“No. You need to rest. I’ll take care of your wounds and then you can lie down.” He pets Wren’s hair. “We can continue some other time.”

Wren huffs, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You do realize how fucked up that sounds, right?”

Daniel just chuckles in response. He does know. It changes nothing.

The knife will return in a few days, and yet Wren can’t help but be relieved as Daniel cleans and dresses his wounds, then gives him a shirt and carries him to the living room.

“I can carry you to the bedroom, if you’d like. Unless you prefer the couch.”

“Couch,” Wren mutters. The bed is more comfortable and the bedroom would offer more peace and quiet, provided Daniel leaves him alone, but he wants to stay out of there as much as he can, and the couch is too small for Daniel to lie down next to him.

As much as he hates the couch, he can’t deny that it’s comfortable, and in his exhaustion he practically melts into it. Daniel even brings him a blanket, which Wren curls up under, pulling it up to his neck.

“I’ll bring you some pills,” Daniel says, pressing his palm to Wren’s forehead; he clicks his tongue when he confirms that it’s unnaturally warm, and brushes Wren’s hair away from his face, making him wince. “Do you need anything else, sweetheart?”

“Rest,” Wren sighs, struggling to keep his eyes open. Now that he’s stopped ignoring it, his illness has decided to hit him with everything it’s got.

“Okay. I’ll fetch the pills and you can sleep after you’ve taken them, alright? Try to stay awake.”

“Mhm.”

Daniel leaves, and Wren wraps the blanket tighter around himself, blinking slowly, trying to fight his exhaustion off for a bit longer. Daniel is just as doting as he’d feared he would be, but… aside from his usual sweethearting it feels good to be taken care of, and to be listened to. The wounds still sting, a reminder of the torture he’d gone through and will go through again soon, but he can’t bring himself to care. He waits for his captor and torturer to come back with the medicine, and he has to remind himself not to thank him for this bare minimum of kindness, more than most of what he’s gotten throughout his life.

He wishes it wasn’t like this, moments of kindness and loving care juxtaposed with pain and tears and coercion; he knows how much Daniel enjoys doing this, being the sole source of both suffering and comfort.

He’s aware of so many mechanisms of his captivity, yet he’s powerless to fight them, forced to accept them, and all he can hope for is that all these processes won’t shape him into something else, whatever Daniel, whose smile is unnervingly genuine and fond when he enters the living room, wants him to be.

“Sleep well, sweetheart," Daniel says softly once Wren's washed the pills down with water. "I hope you’ll feel better when you wake up.”

“So you can torture me more?” Wren mutters, closing his eyes. 

Daniel’s lighthearted laughter keeps ringing in his ears long after he's fallen asleep.

~~~

taglist: @faewhump @inky-whump @whole-and-apart-and-between @whatwasmyprevioususername @procrastinatingsab @funky-little-glitter-bomb @goneuntil @redstainedsocks @luminouswhump @lonesome--hunter @as-a-matter-of-whump @renkocchi @whump-only @muddy-swamp-bitch @girlwithacoolcat @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @sophierose002 @whump-headspace @to-whump-or-not-to-whump @kixngiggles @ohwhumpydays @whumpvp @wibbly-wobbly-whump @stab-the-son-of-a @his-unspoken-words @pumpkin-spice-whump @onlyhappywhenitpains @suspicious-whumping-egg @morning-star-whump @burtlederp @there-will-always-be-blood

[choccy-milky]

sometimes you gotta lure your overly-studious ravenclaw gf into spending time with you 🥰 📚 ( from 'Every Teardrop is a Waterfall' by Kat_12739 on ao3, GO READ IT!!! the first story is about seb falling sick and still pushing himself/not admitting he's sick until he ends up in the hospital, the second story is about the birth of seb and clora's daughter and seb's reaction to clora almost dying in childbirth, and the third is about dealing with a fussy newborn lewis😭🥹THEY'RE SO GOOD AND SWEET AND SOMEWHAT SAD (not to mention beautifully written) so go check it out!!💖💖 )

[jubilantmedusa]

Untitled Zukka Hurt/Comfort Ficlet #1 (because practicing drawing means I need to write little mini fics I guess...)

“You’re sick.” Sokka’s voice was as calm as the surface of water on a still night. Not a hint of accusation or contempt. No softness, no sting. Only observation. Reflection.

Zuko took a breath, deep to sooth his limbs that were threatening to shake. “I’m fine.”

Sokka frowned, and Zuko felt a knot form instantly in his stomach. His shivered, vision swimming as he saw the flash of another frown, superimposed. A different frown. Harsh. Sharp.

Sokka’s movements were calm. Fluid. Gentle as he raised his hand to Zuko’s forehead and pressed with just the right amount of pressure. “You have a fever.” Zuko felt his heartbeat pick up as Sokka’s lip began to curl, but as his expression settled Zuko realized that Sokka wasn’t angry, just concerned.

Zuko breathed deeply, pinning his arms to his sides before the other boy could notice that he was shaking now. Only, he must not have been fast enough because Sokka dropped his hand from Zuko’s forehead to grab Zuko’s trembling fingers. 

“Your hands are freezing.” Sokka hand tightened around Zuko’s as he pulled it upwards, pressing it against his mouth. Zuko couldn’t stop his hands from shaking even harder as Sokka’s breath warmed his skin.

—

“I can do that.” Zuko reached to grab his sleeping bag. “I’m fine.” Sokka lifted it over his head like they were kids playing keep away. Zuko huffed, crossing his arms, but let Sokka keep it.

“You’re not fine.” Sokka spread of the blanket. “How long have you been feeling sick?”

“Ugg.” Sokka paused. He looked up, holding  Zuko’s gaze until Zuko finally drawled, two days? maybe three.”

“Three days?!” Zuko felt his pulse quickening again, his shoulders bracing. “Why didn’t you say anything!” Even though Sokka’s voice voice was high he didn’t sound angry. In fact… Sokka’s eyebrows were scrunched, lips pressed thin. “You were training Aang this morning. Zuko, you shouldn’t be bending like that if you’re sick “ Sokka was worried.

“I’m fine.” How many times had Zuko said that now? “It’s just a fever. It’ll go away.”

“I mean, sure it will, if you rest. Can you, uh…” He gestured towards the sleeping bag, laid out and waiting.

“Oh.” It felt awkward to lower himself down when his legs felt so much like jelly, Zuko was sure it wasn’t graceful. But Sokka didn’t say anything, just stood there, eyebrow raised. Waiting. Zuko realized, then, that he was supposed to lay all the way down. So he did, somehow feeling boneless now that he wasn’t holding himself up. 

He blinked as Sokka settled a blanket over to his shoulders. It took Zuko and absurd number of seconds to realize that it was a blue blanket, one of Sokka’s own. Woven. Thick. Soft.

“Comfortable?” Sokka asked. When Zuko met his eyes he smiled.

It was nice, seeing Sokka smile. Zuko wanted to smile back, but he… there was a quivering in his stomach. Not sickness, just… waiting. “I’m fine,” Zukp said. When Sokka raised an eyebrow, he added, “I… feel fine.”

“I doubt that,” Sokka said.

“I do,” Zuko insisted. Yes, his body felt suddenly heavy. And his skin buzzed strange sensitivity that made event he gentlest touch feel like a scratch. But he was lying on his side, on something soft, and he was warm. “I… thank you.”

Sokka shrugged. “I didn’t do much,” he said. “Do you need anything else?”

Zuko thought for a moment. “Water?” He croaked.

“Coming right up, bud.”

Zuko let his eyes close for a moment, just listening to the sound of Sokka’s footsteps as he went back to the packs, the rustling of fabric as he was digging through something. Then there was a feeling, something hard brushing his fingers. Zuko opened his eyes to see a small, green glass. “A Ba Sing Se souvenir cup?”

“It was on sale,” Sokka said, chuckling. “Drink it. It’s medicine.”

“For what?” Zuko asked.

“The fever?” Sokka reminded him. “Do they… umm… not treat fevers in the Fire Nation or something?”

“Of course they do.” Zuko propped himself up just enough to tip the bitter liquid into his mouth before settling down again.

More sounds of shuffling as Sokka lowered himself, and then Zuko felt weight on his back as Sokka pressed into him, a hand settling itself onto his arm. Sokka’s touch was firm, but quiet. Soft. Sweet. “But not yours?” Sokka sounded sad.

Zuko swallowed. He remembered that feeling, tossing and turning as his skin crawled and his stomach churned. Waking up with a sweat drenched face but father still expected Zuko to do his katas. Run through his katas, go to school, sit up straight. There was punishment for slouching, even if he only slouched because he was shivering so hard he couldn’t mind his posture. “We were being trained to rule, Azula and I. Countries don’t stop because you have a cold.”

Sokka didn’t say anything, just started rubbing his arm. 

“You can rest now,” Sokka said after a while. “I can take care of you.”

Take care of him? Zuko tried to remember the last time someone had taken care of him. His Uncle had tried, of course, but Zuko had always pushed him away. He couldn’t let himself be seen that way - weak, sick. So he ignored the quiver in his Uncle’s voice when Iroh spoke to him from the other side of a metal door. And before that… before that his mother would, when father would let her. When Zuko was so sick that she’d block his bed with her body to keep father away, even if it cost her. Then sit with him and fuss his hair back with slender fingers.

“I’ll take good care of you,” Sokka said.

Zuko took a deep breath in. Not a sigh, just a breath, one to fill him up. He could feel his heart starting to race again, but... nicer this time, with Sokka so warm and solid against his back. He let the breath out. Slow. Controlled. Eyes still closed, he whispered, “Okay.”

[undercover-horn-blog]

An authority figure who is super annoyed with somebody who has a bad cold. Think... conductor in an orchestra, sports coach... Somebody mean.

They go "What the fuck is wrong with you, [last name]?"

The person's voice is all thick and hoarse. "I have a cold, sir."

"A cold?" Cue the disgusted look.

Everyone feels so, so bad for this person, but they would never speak up. Too scary.

"Swear to god, if you don't stop sniffling right now, I'll stop being so polite."

A while later this authority figure is chewing the sickie out (again) for making some kind of mistake, yelling at them close to their face. They stop abruptly when a weird expression takes hold of sickie's face. There's confusion initially, then the cause becomes evident.

Sickie gets a withering look. "[Last name.] Don't you DARE -"

"heh'CHieWw!"

After that... the most intense eye contact ever. Sickie will either get... his throat ripped out or the most disgruntled "bless you" ever uttered.

[caspersickfanfics]

Written for @monthofsick Day 13: Professionalism Failure

Prompt List | AO3 | Ask | Rules

Warnings: Vomiting, fever, implied scat/diarrhea off screen

Anon asked:

Hey! I was wondering if I could request the professionalism failure for sick Cyno Tighnari caretaker? Maybe cyno has gotten food poisoning from a work event and has to somehow keep it together until tighnari can rescue him? Or maybe he can’t and has to deal with the embarrassment of it all. I just can imagine Tighnari being really protective over him if the other academy members give him a hard time~

A/N:

I don’t think this really makes sense in the canonical progression of things, but as I wrote this I imagined it taking place before Nahida had time to select actual good sages to replace the old ones. So the sages here are like the default ones who were next in line after Azar and that group. Essentially, they’re connected to Azar still but weren't directly convicted of any crimes and they have a lot less power. Idk, thinking about politics too much even in fiction makes me mad so I’m just gonna do a bit of a hand wave here.

This meeting has been a thorn in Tighnari’s side since the sages demanded to arrange it weeks ago. Despite his best efforts to wriggle his way out of it, the thorn had stuck. They’d backed him into a corner of sorts; the Akademiya demanded his presence specifically to even consider allocating funding to assist in the healing and maintenance of the Avidya Forest. Somehow, now that he’s in attendance, it’s even worse than he’d expected.

He scowls at the itinerary in front of him. It’s weighted so that anything anyone’s interested in will happen at the very end. No chance of leaving early. He probably shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up.

The one saving grace is that Cyno is here as well. While the matras’ financials are essentially secured as a matter of tradition, the specific way in which the money gets distributed is up in the air. Depending on the outcome, Cyno’s internal sense of justice may be placed in alignment with or in opposition to their mandates. This meeting may be even more important for him than for the forest rangers.

Which is why Tighnari is alarmed when, about 45 minutes into the 5 hour meeting, Cyno’s head is pillowed in his arms, resting upon the ridiculously long conference table. Although Tighnari is seated a distance away, he thinks he can see sweat matting the matra’s hair down. With any luck, he’s just being paranoid, though that seems unlikely. Even more so when Cyno raises his head and suddenly stands. His typically warm skin tone has paled to an ashy brown. He’s hunched over, too. His posture is altered so slightly that Tighnari doubts anyone else has noticed, despite all eyes turning his way at the scrape of his chair, but it’s glaringly obvious to him. Not to mention - this is Cyno’s second time interrupting the meeting. For the second time, too, he quietly excuses himself for the bathroom.

It’s fortunate that Alhaitham is still Acting Grand Sage. Tighnari had been somewhat grumpy towards his friend for the fact that he hadn’t been able to exempt him from the meeting, but the fiery grudge is doused when the ex-scribe’s glare silences annoyed complaints from the other sages about the General Mahamatra’s exit. If Alhaitham’s lingering frown is anything to go by, he’s noticed something off about Cyno as well.

The meeting continues on, and its participants are forced to split into breakout groups. They’re meant to be discussing the continued importance of knowledge to Sumeru, though no one seems to care enough to stay on topic. Instead, the people around Tighnari begin trash-talking Cyno.

“That’s enough gossip, I think,” Tighnari asserts dryly. He recognizes a handful of the nuisances around him as Bimarstan employees and smirks as they pale before him. “Sorry, who was it you were saying is unprofessional? I, for one, wonder about the ethical repercussions medical personnel might face if they were, say, reported for rudely speculating on a past patient’s personal life.” He resists the urge to make specific jabs at a particularly loud doctor whom he has quite damning intelligence on, but keeps the option available for future use as needed.

Fortunately, his colleagues are just barely smart enough to catch his threat. They carry their discussion to the topic at hand, and then onto some other irrelevant gossip that Tighnari doesn’t care enough to comment on. Instead, he’s distracted by tracking the time that Cyno’s been gone. Ten minutes, then 15. When the door finally creaks open, conversation lulls. Heads turn.

“I apologize for the disruption,” Cyno says upon entering. He looks… marginally better than he had when he’d left. The sages accept his apology with minor grumbling that is cut surprisingly short - again, likely thanks to the Acting Grand Sage. Tighnari will thank him, later. He tries to let his concern fade away, but is unable to resist clearing his throat.

“I’d like for the General to join our group, if that’s alright? I believe his insight would be rather beneficial to our current discussion.” A discussion to which Tighnari has been paying no attention. He is grateful once again for Alhaitham, who nods and silently leaves no room for disagreement.

Up close, Cyno looks exhausted. Tighnari was right to be worried. Cyno runs hot, but doesn’t tend to sweat; definitely not this profusely. He’s quiet by nature, but has never hesitated to voice his opinions. Now he says nothing even when their colleagues unapologetically speak with microaggressions and horribly biased misconceptions about the Eremites. His eyes are unfocused; Tighnari wonders if he’s hearing the conversation at all. As time passes, Cyno’s condition only worsens and he drifts closer to Tighnari’s side. Eventually, the matra’s stomach makes an angry noise and his cheeks flush. Tighnari pulls him aside.

“Do you need to leave?” He asks gently. Tighnari silently dares anyone else to comment with a quick glare at the rest of the group. They continue to chatter amongst themselves, shuffling out of earshot. Perhaps out of respect, an effort to grant some privacy; perhaps simply to gossip more. Tighnari simply does not care - not right now, at least. He’ll deal with it later if he needs to.

“I’m sorry,” Cyno says, voice weak. “I’m okay. My–” He sucks in a sharp breath and winces, his hand shaking as it drifts to his midsection. A moment passes; the pain intensifies and then relents. When he speaks again, Cyno’s voice is dulled. “My stomach is just disagreeing with something I ate.”

Clearly. If his partner were feeling better Tighnari would argue that this is a severe understatement. “You’ve been feeling bad this whole time?” Tighnari asks instead. The General shrugs.

“It’s manageable.”

Very deliberate phrasing, Tighnari notes. Outwardly, he nods. “Let me know if that changes, Cyno.”

The meeting carries on. It’s boring and obnoxious. The loud doctor continues to be vocal about his nonsense. Tighnari rebukes him occasionally for the sake of a bit of entertainment, but the other man is easily cowed. He defers quickly to Tighnari’s judgement each time. Uninteresting, but probably for the best; there’s no point in getting worked up over someone who will likely lose his position for malpractice in the next few months.

For his part, Cyno remains unspeaking in the presence of the rest of the group. He sits off to the side and fidgets, looking at the floor. His cheeks are flushed, which Tighnari suspects is due to both a fever and humiliation. When the side of his face comes to rest against the table, Tighnari resists the urge to remove his heavy headdress only because he knows that doing so would embarrass Cyno further.

Next on the itinerary is free discussion, meaning that everyone at the meeting is supposed to get up, walk around, talk to people… Tighnari does not care for this sort of connection making. He doesn’t bother moving, and responds politely but vaguely to anyone who approaches him. More importantly, he responds the same way when anyone tries to approach his partner - perhaps with a touch of extra heat. Of course, Cyno could fend for himself, even in his current state, but Tighnari has no doubt that at least some of their colleagues have picked up on the General's vulnerability and are deliberately targeting it. He’s just sent someone away perhaps a bit too forcefully to be called diplomatic, when a cool, clammy hand wraps around his arm. Cyno is looking up at him.

“Tighnari. I feel sick.” A queasy burp escapes him. Tighnari frowns.

“You’re nauseous? Cyno,” he chides. “You need to rest at home.”

Fortunately, Cyno nods in agreement. “I’ll let the sages know that I’m leaving. You should stay,” he says, waving away Tighnari's skepticism. “I can handle this and - hic! - there’s no need for the forest to suffer for my failings.”

Tighnari nearly rolls his eyes. He’s sure that neither the forest nor the matra need to face consequences as a result of an illness entirely out of Cyno’s control; though he can acknowledge there is some benefit in his presence here, if the other man is able to hold out on his own. If he stays, Tighnari could at least ensure nothing disastrous happens regarding either of their positions.

Still. He would easily sacrifice that for the sake of Cyno’s wellbeing.

He watches the sick man approach the sages, who sit in large, looming chairs, making Cyno look tiny. Alhaitham stands, as if to stretch his legs, and moves close. Frustratingly, with all of the chatter and the distance between then, Tighnari can’t hear a thing without imposing on the conversation directly. He can see Cyno speak, and then Alhaitham nods. The elder sages frown and one says something, before two more join in. Cyno's head bobs, then shakes, and then he muffles what looks to be another burp into his fist. He’s still for a moment, aside from his Adam’s apple bobbing frantically. 

Even without knowing the exact words exchanged, it’s more than evident that the sages are unwilling to respect Cyno’s needs. Tighnari is about to interfere when Alhaitham’s voice jumps up a notch - likely deliberately at a volume just loud enough for Tighnari to hear.

“So,” he’s saying to the other sages, “you’re saying that a doctor whose medical skills are acknowledged by the Akademiya must verify that he’s ill?”

Tighnari tenses. He immediately glances around the large room, eyes searching. Alhaitham is still speaking.

“For example,” he continues. “A Bimarstan doctor?”

There’s no use checking whether the sages agree - Alhaitham has them cornered. Now Tighnari just needs to— Ah. There.

He barely resists grabbing the doctor by the ear and latches onto his wrist instead. Under his breath, he speaks with venom, “Cyno is sick, clearly, don’t you agree?”

The man is silent, probably stunned, and Tighnari continues. “Or would denying the obvious truth be worth risking—”

“Oh no, yes, you are correct, Master Tighnari,” the doctor rambles nervously. Tighnari pushes him before the sages. They glance at one another. Cyno looks up, as well, but stays quiet, taking measured breaths.

“Well?” Tighnari asks. “He’s a Bimarstan doctor.”

With the glares of both Tighnari and Alhaitham pinned on him, the eldest sage slowly nods. Tighnari turns his gaze to the doctor and taps his foot. “Go on, then.”

“Oh! Um, yes, I believe that the General Mahamatra is experiencing some, uh, gastrointestinal distress. He should rest at home for the quickest recovery.”

“And,” Tighnari jumps in before he gets a chance to scurry away. “Would you recommend that someone assist in his care during this time, perhaps due to the strain of having been forced to stay on his feet for so long?”

“Ah, yes. Master Tighnari is correct, it would be wise for him to accompany the General. Should– should you all agree–” His backtracking cuts off with a wheeze as Tighnari stomps on his foot.

The eldest sage doesn’t look pleased, but he sighs, unsmiling as he spits out begrudging words. “I will allow it. But the forest watcher must agree to reapply for his funding and return to the city in a few weeks' time... Should he still be interested in the Akademiya’s support, that is.”

Tighnari grits his teeth. These geezers always need to get the last word in. “Fine,” he snaps, foregoing any pretense of politeness. He all but drags Cyno out of the conference room - gently of course, though he’s sure they’re equally eager to be elsewhere.

As soon as they’re through the door, Cyno stops.

“Tighnari. The bathroom— urp!” He lurches forward with an empty heave, then scrambles away. Tighnari is quick on his heels, and finds Cyno in an unlocked stall, trembling with his head hanging over the toilet. He hasn’t been sick yet, but it’s only a matter of time.

“Hey,” Tighnari speaks quietly. “Deep breaths, okay?”

Cyno glances at him briefly, then nods and squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. Tighnari scoffs.

“For saving me from that meeting? Cyno, please.”

The matra shakes his head. “It was important. And now you’ll have to come back. Not to mention– ugh,” a queasy shudder runs through him before Cyno is able to speak again. “Not to mention having to do the paperwork a second time.”

It’s an annoyance, but the paperwork isn't a big issue. Tighnari tells Cyno as much. “Just focus on getting better.”

The sick man has lost a great deal of the color in his face, and sweat glistens on his temples. His whole body is tense. Tighnari brushes his hair back, hoping to protect it from any mess and provide some comfort at the same time. “Try to relax,” he says.

“Guh,” Cyno moans. “I feel so… gross.”

Tighnari aches in sympathy. For as ill as Cyno looks, he’s sure he feels even worse. Minutes pass slowly. Cyno’s stomach makes angry noises and he’s periodically wracked by hiccups and burps. Eventually, Tighnari coaxes him into leaning back against his chest. His hands card through Cyno’s hair as the sick man turns, pressing his face into Tighnari's neck.

“You’re okay,” Tighnari murmurs. There are warm little puffs of air against his neck and it tickles, but he remains still.

He’s just beginning to sweat from his partner’s body heat when Cyno lurches away from him, hunched forward over an empty but gut-wrenching belch. His entire body heaves three times until he’s burping up a flood of vomit. It pours out of him with alarming urgency. Tighnari keeps his hair out of the way, but he can do little else but watch as Cyno violently empties himself. Each time he thinks it may be over, Cyno’s stomach contracts again. He sways; Tighnari steadies him just in time for another jet of puke to splash into the toilet water.

Disgusted shudders run through Cyno while he tries desperately to catch his breath. When he gets close, he is overtaken by coughs that bring up more bile. He groans.

Fortunately, there’s only so much in his stomach. When Cyno’s retching fails to bring anything else up for a handful of minutes, Tighnari half-drags him out of the stall, away from the sour smell. It seems to help. Cyno wipes his face and swallows thickly.

“How are you feeling?” Tighnari asks.

Cyno shrugs. “Bit better. For now.”

Tighnari hums; it’s to be expected. He suspects a bout of food poisoning or the stomach bug, so the next 24 hours or so will likely be challenging.  It’s a humbling thing, being able to do so little in the way of comfort at such a time. Still, he does what he can, massaging the back of Cyno’s neck, feeling him relax in time with his ministrations. He only stops when the matra begins drifting off.

Tighnari pokes his cheek. Cyno cracks an annoyed eye open, and Tighnari raises a brow. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want to sleep here? In this bathroom? Where our colleagues will eventually find us?”

Cyno nods. Cheeky bastard. His words are slurred when he speaks, as if his mouth has relaxed along with his body. “As long ’s you keep doin’ that…”

With a snort, Tighnari pulls them both to their feet. “Let’s go, you big lummox. I’d much rather give you a massage on your couch than on these gross tile floors.”

“Mhm,” Cyno mumbles, leaning heavily against his partner as they walk. “Nari… thank you.”

Chest warm, Tighnari ruffles the other man’s hair lightly and presses a quick kiss to the top of his head. “Any time.”

———

Fanart for this fic!!!

———

If you enjoyed the fic, feel free to let me know by replying directly to this post, by sending me an ask, or by sharing your thoughts with me privately and anonymously through this survey! I would super appreciate it <3 Thank you so much for reading!!

[jenniferstolzer]

Now that Raz is a junior agent, he thinks he's ready for the big Psychonauts missions, but when Sasha gets him a place on the Pelican for a simple fact-finding mission, he finds himself pitched against the the next world-threatening foe. Escaped convict Grinsmith Forrut "Hornblower" Horatio has perfected a fatal technique called the "mind bomb" with the goal of killing all non-psychics in the world. Even worse, when the mission goes south and the superstar secret agents fall victim to his attacks, it'll be up to Raz to save the day again. Can he find Hornblower's detonation code before his human bombs go off? And will Raz still have his mentors in one piece when it's all said and done?

Mostly a Raz and Sasha mentor story. Hurt/comfrot for Raz emotionally, Sasha physically, Milla mentally. Oleander ego-lly I guess? It's hard to keep Oleander down. This one is going to be a long one and there's no update schedule so just be warned about that.

____

Against my better judgement I went ahead and posted the first chapter of my very intense Psychonauts fanfic. Follow along if you want to see this epic unfold. I'm putting my favorite tropes in as always. People worrying about each other, hospital bedside scenes, my favorite character nearly being killed. For those worried about triggers I'll put those in the tags.

[alaskan-wallflower]

Hey can you write Kyle hunger head canons or a fic?!?!?

Yk bc of ur hunger kink LMAOOOOOO

Hey can you get the fuck off my blog?!!?!

Yk bc nobody likes people like u LMAOOOOOO

anyway. you know damn well that’s not what it is. i’ve said that a million times on here and you must either be blind as shit, you haven’t read any of my posts or you wrote this to me purely because you are a dick.

i made a post on this like a week ago? i said it is an angst/comfort situation where people can be comforted and happy in the end. it’s not unlike the whump scenarios that are on here. and if those are okay, tell me why this isn’t. it’s purely a method of comfort that i enjoy and im not gonna let you ruin that for me.

you wanna talk shit you do it off anon too. don’t be a coward. if you’re okay with sending messages like this, man the fuck up and send it off anon.

unbelievable. my blog, my posts. if you think it’s weird nobody’s forcing you to look at it. i’m not hurting anybody.

[danafeelingsick]

kinda... kinda want a cute boy or girl just out of it, y'know? weak, feverish, shivering, very very nauseous, slurring, drooling

[murielles-crowsnest]

Last Line Challenge

thanks @coruscantiscribbler for the tag!

One of the WIPs: Haunting A Ghost. I'm not sure about this bit staying in, I only started rolling it around in my head while I was literally low-grade feverish.

"I'm Sorry. That was insensiti-" "DON'T." Rex snapped. "Yeah. I deserve one after that, but I'm sick of hearin' every other word outta your mouth bein' an apology." Aaand there he was again, that blank, incredibly punchable face Rex had been subjected to the entire flight back to Yavin. Not much out of him other thank the "yessirs" when given instructions.

No tags again. I'm le tired.

[xluminaheart]

also kind of a hot take? idk if it’s that hot really but as someone who’s physically disabled I don’t really mind if fic writers use characters’ canonical disabilities for whump purposes. I mean that’s just how disabilities work they make you feel bad sometimes and tbh I’d really like to see more fics where it plays a part, like where one character takes care of another during a flare or something

[sambambucky]

i don't know if you're actually taking prompts but in caee you are, I'd LOVE to see what you do with "homebound"

(((:< why wouldn't i be?!

Sam thought he’d get over Bucky, eventually.  In the earliest days of their relationship, Sam could practically hear the clock ticking down, the sand pooling at the bottom of the hourglass. He figured there were only so many hours of the day, or weeks in a month that two people could spend together before it was all too much. The tight squeeze at his heart and the bright burst in his chest whenever Bucky smiled at him always felt too good to be anything but temporary. But as they tick into the second hour of day three in their lazy drive back to Delacroix from DC, Sam is smiling because he can’t wait to get back home and spend more time with him. 

thanks for the ask!!!<3<3

[strawberryjamikins]

the authors curse is real i posted a fic on HALLOWEEN and got a sinus infection that turned into maybe bronchitis ?????? which i am just now recovering from

[woncon]

➳ sick duty.

➶ poly!ateez x gn!reader (yungisang focus) ｡˚ °

-ˏ` ✎﹏ Yunho is sick, and you and Yeosang are on sick duty. When the others still haven't arrived with jelly, you decide to go to the nearest shop in the raging storm and buy some, because Yunho really wants them.

➴ genre: slice of life, sickfic, estabilished relationship, polyamory, non-idol!au

: ̗̀➛ warnings: yungisang focus, but everyone gets screen time, poor yunho has a fever, one sexually suggestive offer, petnames, nudity

⌨ :: 3.5K words ♡ ︵ . .

⁀➷ This idea came to me when I saw a double rainbow in early June while listening to Golden Hour Pt1. It was supposed to play in the summer, but I never got to the end. Now autumn came and I decided to write it. But in this rainy, gloomy weather it seemed better to set it in a more autumnal setting. That changed my basic idea a lot, but I'm happy with it as it is.

⁀➷ My lovely @wonsheep, I'm still sorry the rain poured on you so heavily on Wednesday. :( But it was very motivating, as you can see. Many thanks for reading through the story and founding my silly mistakes!

➳ mlist

I'm hot.

I want tea.

I'm cold.

The sickly season of the autumn-winter months spares no one. Yunho, who is hard to dislodge from whatever well-endowed giraffe's legs he has, is now curled up in the middle of the bed, disconsolate because he didn't pull on a thick enough scarf, or was carelessly underdressed in the living room, or simply spent too much time around a co-worker who has been lurking with some virus. Whichever the case, the poor guy is in a terrible mood.

"I want medicine," he whispers his next wish.

You look at your watch.

“One more hour before you can take the next one,” you say, brushing his hair away to touch his sweat beaded forehead. It's still as warm as underfloor heating.

Frustrated, he rolls to the side and buries his head fully into the pillow. You drop your hands back into your lap, helpless. It's simply exasperating to watch him suffer, to listen to his snotty, ragged breathing mix with the rain beating against the window.

“Do you want something to help?” you ask, when he turns to you again and raises his feverish eyes to you. The skin around his nose is flushed from all the blowing.

“Jelly.”

Yunho is convinced that jelly sweets can help him. Or at least when he's sick, he likes to eat sweets. Other times, not so much. Unfortunately, you guys weren't prepared for Yunho being sick in the near future. Plus, there's a storm brewing, the kind you haven't seen in a long time. It's been raining steadily for a week now, sometimes more, sometimes less. The others went to do the shopping with the car, leaving Yunho behind with the promise to bring him some jelly. He responded with a small, grateful smile.

Now, looking at his tortured expression, you would give a lot to see that smile again, the hope in his eyes. You reach out and take his hand. You sigh. Gently, slowly, you caress the back of his hand, knowing how sensitive he is to touch when he has a fever. You don't want to overdo it and hurt him, but at the same time you want to let him know physically that you're there for him.

"It's on the way." You really hope it is. The last time Jongho called, they were already at the checkout. Your youngest friend boasted that they were bringing five full bags of jelly beans. That was about twenty minutes ago. No news since then. It bothers you that you can't offer an immediate solution to Yunho's every wish.

Before Yunho can ask any more questions, the door opens. Yeosang arrives with a tray holding a steaming mug and something wrapped in napkins that you can't identify yet. With cautious steps, he moves to the other side of the bed among some discarded clothes - because Yunho didn't want to shower this morning, just threw everything off the bed he'd chosen as his regular place - and then takes a seat, placing the tray safely on the bedside table, gently moving Seonghwa's half-finished book.

“I've brought the tea," he says to Yunho. "And I found some biscuits to go with it."

Interested, the patient moves up on the pillow, but still looks vulnerable. Yeosang holds the cup in his hand and gives the man small sips. Meanwhile, you get up and gather up the laundry strewn around the bed and take it to the bathroom. On the way, you hear a conversation emanating from the kitchen, from which you hear the word 'jelly bean' clearly spoken at one point. So after throwing the laundry in the hamper, you go to the kitchen instead of the bedroom. The room is filled with the smell of hot water and tea leaves. Mingi is putting away the tea ingredients. The call is already finished, his phone is on the counter.

Originally, Mingi wouldn’t be on sick duty today. Today's subordinates are you and Yeosang, Mingi just didn't want to leave the apartment in this crazy weather and he’s helping you instead. It's not like this sick duty thing is strict in your relationship, and it's set in stone that Mingi can only nurse Yunho on Mondays and Fridays and holidays or anything. That said, there are rules. For example, Mingi usually only needs one nurse when he gets a cold or something more serious, but at such times it is Yunho for most of the time. Then there's Jongho, who, if he falls ill, no matter what the schedule, has all eight of you at his disposal twenty-four hours a day. Or, again, there's Seonghwa, who hides the fact that he's sick until it's too obvious, and you're all freaking out as to why he won't let you take care of him.

Yunho usually hardly gets sick. When he does, even a mild cold will get him down. And when he is ill, he's even fussier than the sick Wooyoung, and only one lover has a hard time coping with his demands. Usually two people are enough to care for him if there are jelly beans nearby. Which, for now, there aren’t.

“Are they on their way home?” you ask Mingi, who's packing honey. 

"It's worse downtown than here," he says. "The traffic's bad. They're just moving towards home inch by inch."

You both look out of the window, and the tapping of the rain remains as unrelenting as the fever that plagues Yunho.

“Is the tea to his liking?”

“I'm sure of it,” you smile at him. Mingi is usually insecure when it comes to Yunho's well-being. You suspect that the boy's illness was a more significant reason for Mingi to stay home than his desire not to get wet. “But you can ask him.”

You return to the bedroom with Mingi at your side. You remind yourself that this room now functions as a ward. The patient is huddled near the edge of the bed, munching on biscuits soaked in tea, so that they don't scratch his throat.

“It's not jelly,” he mutters, then pulls away from Yeosang and lies back on the upholstered cushions.

You look at Yeosang. Your theory is that you're thinking the exact same thing. If jelly beans are the only thing that helps your boyfriend, you'll do anything to get them. You're even willing to go to the convenience store in the pouring rain, because when you are on sick duty, Yunho mustn't lack anything.

"We'll go and get jelly beans," you say. Yeosang nods his head in commitment.

“We'll go?” Mingi looks terrified. “All of us?”

You can't leave Yunho alone in this state. It's a good thing that Mingi is here, in addition to Yeosang and you, ready for action, and not stuck in traffic with the others downtown. 

“No. You stay here with Yunho and look after him.”

Mingi continues to blink. 

“We'll be quick, don't worry, you don't have to multitask. Yuyu will probably fall asleep soon.”

"It's not me I'm worried about," he protests, "You'll get wet and cold."

"The store is not far away. We won't have enough time in the rain to freeze to death."

Yeosang wraps Yunho in a blanket and kisses him on the head.

"Mingi?" The man folded in a burrito addresses the worried individual.

“Yes?”

“Gimme a hug.”

Mingi doesn't resist, but climbs onto the bed, swapping places with Yeosang, who pats his shoulder as he passes. Before you even leave the room, you hear Mingi apologize and ask for Yunho's forgiveness.

Yeosang sticks the umbrella out the door. Just a little to test how much it rains. There's really barely any surface out, but the wind immediately grabs it and tugs it further. He pulls it back in time before the umbrella swings out or the wind wins, and you close the door with a great struggle, which also wants to jump off its hinges from the violent gusts of wind.

“I think this will stay here,” Yeosang says, and then drops the solid black umbrella behind you.

You zip up your raincoat. It occurs to you that maybe Mingi is right, and you're so wet you'll get stuck in a puddle of icy water. Yet the idea doesn't discourage you, doesn't make you stay, because Yunho needs the jellies.

Yeosang adjusts his hood, then holds out his hand. You embrace him tightly. You check your wallet stashed in the waterproof pocket one last time and place your hand on the doorknob. Then you push it down. The door swings open, and you let it drag you along with it. The back of your coat gets soaked immediately. The rain doesn't fall, it instead pours down from behind in a wave with the wind. Clinging on to Yeosang in vain, it's hard to keep up your own pace and not lurch forward like a rag doll. It's a wonder your boyfriend can close the door.

Although the shop is indeed a block away, at this time it feels like you're wandering for eternity. For one thing, the scenery is completely different in the rain, it's harder to navigate, especially in the raging, commanding wind. Around one corner, Yeosang has to pull you in, because out of nowhere a car appears, its wheels gallantly splashing a full puddle onto the pavement.

Somehow, you do reach the store. As soon as the automatic door closes behind you, the storm is out of the way. Inside, the weather is pleasant. Only the clothes clinging to your skin and the small puddles and mud stains on the floor left by other shoppers are reminders of what a doomsday is happening outside.

“Huh,” you sigh in relief. The first game of the war against weather is over. You only have one more to go to succeed in the jelly bean mission.

“We're crazy," Yeosang shakes his head in disbelief. Then he smiles up at you, sweetly and lovingly, because he's proud you're crazy. You return it.

Insanity is part of sick duty to some extent. Last time San must have used up thirty tissues a day, and ran out in the middle of the week. Hongjoong ran so fast to replace the used-up packets that he was almost hit by a truck. And when you were sick and craving nothing but a mug of hot tomato soup when all the shops were closed and there were no tomatoes at home, only ketchup... Well, Jongho tried.

You purposefully seek out sweets. Luckily, you don't have to wander around and scout the place, you'll often find yourself here. You take off two bags of Yunho's favourite flavour, sour apple. You remember again how pitiful your otherwise healthy and cheerful boyfriend looks.

“This will help him,” Yeosang says encouragingly, as if he's reading your mind.

You nod, then head for the cashier. You get in line. From here, you can see the window and the rain pouring down.

For the first time since the jelly bean plan was born, you have time to think about Mingi's excuse when he cuddled up to Yunho. It's my fault. I'm sorry. But how could it be his fault that Yunho caught a cold?

You're rewinding the previous two weeks. Yunho was in home office the whole time. He really enjoyed it, and when he wasn't working, he was playing video games. He didn't put his foot out until one time when he had to pop down to the shop for something. It didn't rain so heavily that day, just a gentle drizzle. Maybe Mingi had taken off Yunho's blanket one night? It couldn't be, either, because they'd been sleeping far apart lately.

It's your turn, so you suspend your musings. When you get back, you'll ask Mingi and hope it's not too embarrassing for him not to tell you. If he feels guilty, you could help him and reassure him that it's not his fault.

You and Yeosang pay. You put the bags in your coat pockets. You pull the hood up, not that it matters. You cling together again, then step out onto the soggy pavement. 

The way back is harder. This time the wind brings the rain from the front. Each blast smacks you in the face. Neither of your hoods can stay up. Your hair gets wet, the rain drips under your coat. You successfully step into a puddle, literally splashing in the muddy water, and the inside of your boots get soaked. You're wet everywhere, from your elbows to your toes. It's really annoying, but you don't falter, clutching Yeosang's arm until you reach the sheltering door of your home to drop in like two wet rags on the threshold and with a combined effort you shut out the cold, ominous wind. Yeosang slides along the door, his hair leaving a wet streak on the wooden panel.

“We did it,” he sighs, and proudly rattles one of the jelly beans he pulls out of his pocket. The bag is intact, of course.

“We did,” you agree, and pull him up off the ground.

Suddenly you're faced with the problem of not knowing what to take off first because everything is equally soaked. It's almost as if your clothes are the cool part of your skin, plus outer layers. Finally, following your boyfriend's example, you throw your coat on the floor first, then your shoes on the doormat, and socks after.

Before you reach for the next layer of clothing, there is the sound of footsteps. You think Mingi is coming, but when he sighs, you realize it's not your tall lover.

“You guys are adorable and dedicated, but silly at the same time," says Hongjoong with crossed arms.

“But at least Yunho’s jellies will hold out until he heals,” answers Yeosang, taking off his shirt.

“When did you arrive?” you ask.

“About a minute ago. But we'll talk later. Now go take a shower before you too end up feverishly next to Yunho,” Hongjoong advises, then retreats and San steps forward. He unconcealedly runs his eyes over Yeosang's naked torso, and yours, which still has your shirt stuck to it, rather tightly, so it might even be useless.

“If you get sick, I'll be on sick duty every day. The thing is, the adorable, dedicated, silly people are just my type” he winks.

“Move over, Sanie," Wooyoung appears and nudges the other one in the side, "You promised to help hyung pack up.”

San hums and walks away, but still smiles in your direction. You all love to oblige Hongjoong and Seonghwa, and that goes for when there's an opportunity to flirt as well.

“You two are sexy, all wet,” Wooyoung admits. “If you need help with the shower, let me know. I'll be within earshot.”

“We'll consider it,” you promise. Wooyoung nods with a grin, and he also retreats to the kitchen.

You pass through the hallway, but before you can go to the bathroom, Jongho stands in front of you with a plate of jelly beans. “Here. I thought you should be the ones to give it to him. You made a greater sacrifice, and most of us stayed dry. Except for Hwa hyung, who opened the door and held the umbrella.”

“Thank you,” you say at the same time. While Yeosang takes the bowl, you press a kiss on Jongho's cheek.

When you retire to the bedroom, the scene is quite cozy. Yunho is in bed, hugging Mingi, craving jelly beans, and you offer him what he craves most, and what you fought Mother Nature for.

“We got it,” you report.

Yunho snaps his head up. The mere hope brings life to his sick features. You stand by the bed, careful not to get rainwater on it.

“Here, hyung," Yeosang hands the bowl to him in a soft whisper.

“I hope you weren’t too desperate, baby. We hurried as much as we could.”

“You're the best," says Yunho, touched, between bites. “I love you.”

“We love you too, giant baby. Very much,” you assure him.

And he smiles up at you. The mission is a complete success. Whether all that time and getting soaked was enough to put you to bed remains to be seen. In the meantime, you bask in success.

Mingi sneezes. Then he reaches under the pillow and takes out a handkerchief. “My throat may be a tiny bit scratchy.”

“Should we set up someone on sick duty for you too?” Yeosang offers readily.

“Our poor boyfriends,” you sigh, watching them. Yunho in the midst of illness, Mingi as he probably slips into a state of flux.

“I deserve it,” murmurs Mingi, looking ruefully at Yunho.

“Why do you think so?” you ask the question that has been nagging at you for a good twenty minutes.

“When we ran out of milk last week, Yunho and I went to the grocery store... I offered to make out with him in the rain. It didn't rain much, and there was no wind. Still, that's how Yunho got cold.”

"Come on," the other protests hoarsely. He sucks on a jelly bean with great enthusiasm. You wouldn't believe he can taste it. “You offered, I agreed, I could have said no, but I didn't. All in all, it was worth it.”

“Worth it?” Yeosang raises his eyebrows. “You were dying before the jelly arrived.”

"If you haven't kissed Mingi in the rain, you won't understand," he declares, then turns to Mingi. “Want a jelly, princess?

Yeosang and you leave them alone, let them romance each other in the infirmary. Barefoot, you stomp off to the bathroom. You open the door, and a thick, fragrant steam rises from the room. A pleasant warm breeze reminds you how cold you are. You hurry inside. Yeosang closes the door to keep the comforting steam from escaping.

Seonghwa is already drying his hair and got dressed. You look at him expectantly, ready to be reprimanded. But he has no such plans. He takes your face with one hand and Yeosang's with the other. “I am proud of you. Take a bath, then we can watch a movie. We made a whole list while we were stuck in traffic.”

Yeosang hums, you nod in response. Good idea. At this time of year, there's no point in doing anything other than curling up on the sofa together.

You bask in Seonghwa's soft touch until the last moment, and the knowledge that he's proud of you. It's really enjoyable to play good cop, bad cop with Hongjoong, and they don’t scold you twice. Regardless, you need to figure out a way to cheer up that boyfriend of yours who called you adorable, dedicated, and silly all at the same time. 

“So he probably caught it while kissing,” you acknowledge what you've heard by tugging your trousers down after Seonghwa has left you alone.

“Interesting.”

“And understandable. Sounds romantic.”

“Do you want to go back?” Yeosang glances up at you as he pulls towels out of the closet. The look in his eyes is willing. It embarrasses you to know that he would take a single word from you and go back with you into the pouring rain to fulfill that desire.

“I wouldn’t do it in this weather. But, for example, standing in a cool summer drizzle, refreshing after the heat. When me and my partner won’t be so likely to have a fever for a week.”

“Last summer Woo did it with someone. I think it was with Sanie, but I'm not sure. Maybe he caught Hongjoong hyung in a moment of weakness.”

“Really? Is it fashionable to kiss in the rain in our relationship?”

“A bit.” Yeosang undresses completely. 

Your hand is over the laundry basket, you've dropped the last of your clothes in it, yet you don't move. You’re looking at Yeosang. At his naked back, how rainwater is dripping from his hair, onto his delicate muscles. The line of his shoulder blades as his back narrows, ending in the lovely hips you'd hold in your hands for days. And of course you can't neglect his ass or his thighs or his whole being, because once you start looking at him, one part of him is not enough, and the whole of him is overwhelmingly wonderful.

He turns back to you. “Are you coming?”

“Sure.” You follow him into the bath. You take his face in the palm of your hand and kiss him on the lips. “Wooyoung was right.” 

“About what?”

"You're sexy when you're wet," you explain, and at the same time you probably reveal that you were just staring at him.

"He didn't just say that to me, love," he replies, pulling you close. Then he opens the water. The warm, soothing drops fall on your head and drip down your chilled skin. Like rain.

“I have an idea. Let's kiss here like it's raining.”

“Oh,” Yeosang smiles sweetly. His thumb caresses your cheek. “Okay.”

And you shower until the hot water runs out.

[ellecdc]

Yaaay:D

That poly moonwater sickfic was so sweet- maybe you could write a sequel where one (or both) of the boys get sick from when they were helping care for you <3

I love these little requests from all the way back in May - it's like a little treasure trove. Also, I wrote this while currently sick and tired (both in the literal sense) so I'm not actually sure how this turned out; it took me a really long time to manage what I got so I apologize for inconsistencies or just all around poor writing <3

poly!moonwater x fem!reader who got Reg sick [1k words]

CW: sick fic, fluff, Remus being The Worst™ [positive and affectionate], my potentially poor writing

You scrunched your eyes closed and threw your head back rather roughly against the sofa; arms that were holding your book falling limp into your lap.

Remus - less theatrical - did not throw his head back nor did he let his book fall into his lap, but he too scrunched his eyes shut with an equally exasperated scrunch of his nose. 

“Who gave him that thing?” You grumbled as you tucked a bookmark in to save your page and made to stand.

“Do you want me to go, dove?” He offered softly, giving you a sympathetic look when he caught you by the wrist as you made to walk past him. 

“No.” You grumbled rather petulantly, kissing the space between his brows when they furrowed further in sympathy. “It’s my fault, I’ll go.”

Remus smiled at you before pursing his lips in ask which you quickly answered by placing a kiss there, too. “I hardly think you did this on purpose.”

The - now ear splitting - sound of the bell ringing again interrupted your moment as you let out a sigh.

“No,” you agreed, “I certainly didn’t do this on purpose.” 

You poked your head into the bedroom to see Regulus much in the same way you left him, curled up in the fetal position under a mountain of blankets, though his hand was currently poking out of said blankets with his bell held tightly in his grasp.

“Hey bubs.” You offered gently; knowing that for as nettlesome as you currently found him, you really had sort of done this to him. “How’re you feeling?”

“Awful.” He muttered, barely putting any effort into aiming as he tossed the bell back in the direction of the bedside table.

You made a sympathetic humming sound as you perched on the edge of the bed and pushed some of his curls away from his forehead. “What can I do for you?”

“Can I have more meds?” He whimpered, voice awfully small as if he already knew the answer but was hoping to elicit some compassion.

You grimaced as you looked at the clock sitting beside balled up tissues, the damned bell you’d supplied him with, a glass half full of water with a pitcher next to it, and some lozenges. “I’m sorry, my love; it’s not been long enough.”

Your response was met with a petulant whine, a body burrowing further into the blankets, and a hand slithering into yours. 

“How about I rub some more vaporub on your chest, hm?” You asked, beginning to pull away without waiting for an answer, only for his hand to tighten on yours.

“Can you just sit here with me?” 

You cooed almost embarrassingly as you settled more comfortably beside him, one hand holding his as the other raked through his hair, “of course” falling so easily from your lips when he looked so young, so vulnerable, and so innocent with his pink flushed cheeks and glassy eyes no doubt from the pressure in his sinuses. 

“I’ve been terribly troublesome, haven’t I?” He asked a few moments later, startling you when you thought he’d been drifting off.

“No, darling.” You denied, though he lifted his head slightly so he could give you a disbelieving look. “You’ve not been terribly troublesome.” You amended, earning you an almost snort of laughter that quickly dissolved into a coughing fit. 

You helped him sit up and passed him his glass of water.

“You’re so nice to me.” He whispered as if the feeling of your lips against his temple was a foreign concept. You tried to quell your smile as you pressed another kiss to his fever warmed skin.

“I’m really not, bubs. I did this to you, remember?”

You were met with silence as Regulus’ eyes darted around your face. “You’re so mean to me.” 

“Awe Reg, come on now.” Remus sounded from the door as he walked in with a cup of tea in one hand and a damp cloth in the other. “You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t tell me what I do and don’t mean.” Regulus harrumphed, though his ire was quickly undermined as he made grabby hands for the cup of tea. 

“If Remus catches this next, this flu will have had an almost month-long stint in this house.” You mused as Regulus drank his tea.

“I don’t get sick.” Remus offered nonchalantly with a casual shrug of his shoulders.

“What do you mean you don’t get sick.” Regulus all but sneered as he glowered at his perfectly healthy boyfriend over the rim of his tea cup. 

“I don’t get sick.” Remus repeated. “It’s like the universe has decided I’ve got enough shite to deal with, my immune system’s just not one of them.”

Both you and Regulus blinked at him with varying levels of jealousy whilst he brushed lint off the sleeve of his arm. 

“Well isn’t that just fucking dandy for you.” You spat eventually, causing Regulus to nearly spit out his tea in laughter as Remus’ mouth fell open in faux offence. 

“You minx.” He accused you. “I’m in here helping you help your boyfriend-”

“My boyfriend!?” You squealed.

“-who you got sick. I think you should be rather grateful.” 

“Grateful.” You scoffed as you turned to look at Regulus like ‘can you believe this guy?’. 

“I’m grateful for you, Rem.” Regulus let out with a sigh as he handed Remus the cup of tea back and moved to recline against his pillows - that you’d fluffed to perfection for him - with Remus’ damp cloth on his forehead. 

“Okay, well, since you’re all so well taken care of up here.” You teased as you made to stand, Regulus circling his hand around your wrist as Remus made a protesting squawk before you were being manhandled into his lap, though your hand remained safely in Regulus’. 

“No.” Remus murmured into your neck. “We need you to nurse us back to health.”

“I thought you don’t get sick.” You accused.

“I don’t, but I find myself deficient in vitamin you.”

Both you and Regulus groaned as you tried to wriggle yourself free from Remus’ grasp and Regulus buried his head under the blankets. 

“Both of you out, all this corny flirting is making me nauseous again.” Regulus grumbled.

“Well, you heard the man.” Remus stage whispered quickly before he was all but shoving you out of the room. “Feel better bubs! You know where to find us!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Regulus called. “I’ll just ring the sodding bell.”

“You should have never given him that bell, dove.”

[theromaboo]

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH <3333333333

agrippa and octavian because I am nothing if not EXTREMELY predictable with tropes that I enjoy

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[watermelonlovershigh]

another sickfic/period prompt.. living together as friends/housemates and H finds her on the floor in the night feeling really sick from her period and sits with her + helps her out 🥲 changes her sheets for her, rubs her back and just holds her on the floor with a blanket round them. she's absolutely mortified with no choice but to be accepting of his help and all he wants to do is make her feel a little better :(

Period Cramps Are No Fun {part 1.} (housemate!harry series)

AN: thank you for this request. it's not exactly as the request said but i hope it's close enough. and i normally don't write harry as anything other than y/n's lover but made an exception with this story. please share your feedback with me and let me know how you liked it. enjoy. xoxoxoxo

This story contains: small period leak, severe period cramping, puking due to period cramps, crying due to pain and embarrassment, mentions of sex toys, comfort, fluff

{ housemate!harry - friend!harry - softrry - any harry era - au!harry }

word count- 1,956

You wake up in the middle of the night with severe period cramps and when your housemate and friend Harry happens to wake up for a glass of water, he sees you on the bathroom floor crying and has no choice but to be by your side and comfort you.

You were looking to be someones flatmate or housemate. You'd put offer after offer online and one day a guy named Harry accepted your offer. He had a pretty nice townhouse in London and from his brief description of himself, seemed to be an alright guy. You didn't want to move in with some lazy scumbag and you'd come to find Harry is the opposite of that.

He's probably the cleanest guy you've ever met. He enjoys keeping things organized and loves to keep the house smelling fresh with candles on every shelf and table. And you get along quite nicely. You'd even go as far to say over the six months of living in his townhouse that you've become friends.

Doing things friends do such as order take-out food together, watch movies on the couch, paint each others nails, share juicy details about your love lives (or lack thereof). Harry is a very fun guy to be around and if you're being honest with yourself, you'd say you've developed a slight crush on him. I mean how could you not? He has nearly all the characteristics of what every woman's ideal man would have. Physical characteristics and things through the actions he does.

Now even though you've became great friends over the six months of living here, there is still stuff you try to keep private. For instance, your periods. Harry's not dumb and obviously knows you get a period. Mainly from seeing your sanitary products under the bathroom sink or in the bin by the toilet. You don't try to keep your periods a secret, just private.

And though Harry knows you get periods, as do most females, he has yet to see the bad side of your periods. The periods that make you sob on the bathroom floor from the amount of pain your cramps are causing. The periods that make you nausous and throw up. Luckily those periods aren't a monthly thing but they do happen a few times a year for whatever reason and it sucks.

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

Late last night as you and Harry were watching a movie on his sofa, you began to feel crampy in your lower stomach. You asked if he could pause the film while you went to the bathroom down the hall and he agreed. And that's when you realized your period had came and you'd leaked. It's not a bad leak but it's enough for you to need to change your underwear and your shorts. Which the shorts barely had any blood on them but still called for a fresh pair.

Once you got yourself situated, you returned to the living room where the first thing Harry commented on is your changed clothes. "Did you change your shorts or somethin'?"

Quickly, you answered, "Yeah, my period started and I kinda leaked. Okay, you can press play on the movie."

Harry nodded sympathetically but followed your orders. He would have said something else to try and comfort you but knew you prefered to keep your periods more private. He doesn't understand why though. All women get periods. It's not something you should be ashamed of and he wished you'd understand that.

Now it's four in the morning and you're woken up to what feels like the worst period cramps of your whole life. Fuck, you scream in your head, it's gonna be one of those months. The longer you lay in bed the more nausous you began to feel from how painful your cramps are and that leads to you stumbling out of bed and rushing to the bathroom down the hall.

After what felt like an eternity, you made it to the bathroom and literally crawled on the floor over to the toilet. Now that you're in the bathroom you feel less nauseous but the pain is still in full force. That's when the tears start flowing. With your back against the wall and your knees up to your chest, sobs roll out your body as you fight against the waves of your uterus contracting to release its lining.

Harry is a heavy sleeper and usually don't wake up unless someone outwardly calls his name or pushes him awake. What wakes him up right now though is a dry mouth and a craving for a glass of water. So he gets out of bed and heads to the kitchen. But before he can even make it to the kitchen, he hears what sounds like crying coming from the hall bathroom.

Rushing over to the bathroom door, the sight before him breaks his heart. You didn't have the strength to shut the door so from the hall, Harry sees you sobbing in front of the toilet, back against the wall, and a hand clutching your stomach. "Oh, Y/n," he steps inside, "what's the matter?"

You slowly lift your head and the first thought in your mind was you didn't want him to see you like this. This was too embarrassing and you were too vulnerable at the moment. "Harry, go. Don't look at me."

Taken back by your words, Harry retorts in concern, "Not until you tell me what's wrong. Are you sick? Why're cryin'?"

Realising it's no use to deny your housemates help in your condition, you answer through the pain and tears, "My.....my cramps are SO bad. It hurts so much, H...Harry. *sob* It's making me feel so sick."

Harry frowns sympathetically and kneels down beside you in just his boxer briefs, which is his usual sleep attire. He would have covered up a bit more if he'd known this is what he was going to be walking into on his trip for a glass of water. As soon as he kneels down, you get the real urge to puke.

You push yourself off the wall and hang your head over the toilet. A harsh dry heave leaves your mouth that makes him cringe but nothing more, yet. Harry quickly scoots behind you and collects your hair with one hand and runs his other hand over your back. He doesn't know if you want to be touched right now but knows that when he's getting sick he finds that if someone rubs on his back it makes him feel a little better.

"Shhh," Harry whispers gently, "it's okay. You're okay. I've got you." He patiently waits until your feel better or actually get sick. After a few more jarring dry heaves, you end up throwing up in the toilet. And though the act feels like hell and is gross, you hope it will also relive the sickness your belly feels due to your period cramps.

You slowly lift your head up, taking deep breaths, and start crying again. This time not from the pain but from embarrassment. Harry's quick to ask, "Hey, what is it, Y/n? The cramps again?"

A little more coherently then the last time you spoke, you answer, "No. Just embarrassed. I threw up in front of you." That has Harry throwing his head back with a laugh.

"Y/n, I don't give a single fuck about you throwing up in front of me. Everyone gets sick from time to time. Just want to make sure you're alright. I hate that your period cramps are causin' you so much pain."

While subconsciously rubbing circles in your lower tummy, you ask desperately in a near whispered voice, "H, can you please go get me some pain medicine. It's in my bedside table drawer in my bedroom. Once I have that I think I'll feel better. At least for a couple of hours."

"Of course." Harry agrees and gets up off the bathroom floor to head to your bedroom. Once inside, he walks straight to your bedside table and opens the drawer to find your bottle of pain medication. While rummaging through to find the bottle, Harry tries to ignore the assortment of sex toys you have in there; bullet vibrator, dildo, clit sucker. Shit, this is the wrong time for him to get all hot and flustered at the thought of you using those under his roof.

He finally finds the bottle of pills and heads back to the bathroom where you still are. Within the time it took him to grab your medicine, you've stood up off the floor, flushed the toilet of course, and now sit on a closed toilet seat. Harry opens the bottle and asks, "How many? One or Two or....?"

"Two please." Harry hands you two tablets and grabs a paper cup used for rinsing your mouths out by the sink and fills it up with tap water. You carefully grab the small cup from his hands and take the pills with urgency, just wanting to be out of pain as soon as possible.

Once that's over with, Harry annonces, "Well, I'll let you get cleaned up in here and I'll be out there waiting for you."

"Okay, thank you." you respond gratefully. Harry really is the best housemate you could have asked for. While he's gone, you change out your tampon and brush the taste of vomit from your mouth. Then you exit the hall bathroom, ready to try and get a few more hours of sleep.

As you step inside your bedroom, you're taken back. Harry has managed to change your sheets and duvet, claiming a fresh pair will help you relax and hopefully sleep better. He's also set an actual glass of water on your nightstand, as well as plugged in his heating pad for you to use. "Harry....... what's all this?"

Nervously, because he doesn't know if this is all too much to do to someone who is just his housemate and friend, Harry replies, "Um, just wanted to make sure you come back to a comfy room. Hopefully you'll get a few more hours of sleep. And if you get thirsty or need to take more medicine, there's a glass of water there. Then my old heating pad that you can use across your tummy to also help with your cramps. Hope it's not too much."

You turn around with a small smile on your face and reach out to hug him. He's startled at first but soon relaxes and hugs you back. You hug for a minute before you break away first and mutter your appreciation. "No, this is great, Harry. Not too much at all. Thank you for your kindness tonight. And thank you for putting up with me in the bathroom. I know that wasn't a pretty sight. So yeah, just, thank you so much."

Looking down at you, Harry gets the urge to kiss you, but instead, says, "Y/n, it's no big deal, really. I would have helped anyone in that situation. Just want you to feel better s'all. Now get back into bed and around ten I'll wake up and make us a brunch. Sound good?"

"Yeah, sounds perfect." You crawl back into your bed that now has fresh sheets and maneuver the heating pad over your tummy. The pain medicine has begun to work but your uterus is still quite achy. As Harry turns around and heads out your door, you yell out, "Night." even though it's five in the morning by now.

"Night, Y/n." Harry speaks as well before slipping back into his bed across the hall. Now laying in your separate beds, all you can think about is how much you would have loved if Harry was in your bed cuddling you. And all Harry can think about is how much he wishes you were in his bed, so he could cuddle you. Maybe one day that day will come. But for now, you're just silly housemates that's turned into friends.

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

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Arguments and Confessions {part 2.} (housemate!harry series)