#stomach bug fic

[secretobsessionstuff]

The Wedding Fic ❤️

Feat. sick Madix.

I tried my best to strike a balance between the angsty sickfic moments and the cute wedding moments. I hope everyone loves it! I feel a funny sense of pride for my made-up characters. Anyway, I'll always love this community! Thank you for caring about my imaginary friends :)

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

“Guess what?” 

“What?” 

“I’m getting married today.” 

Madix chuckled lowly in his throat as he smoothed out the shoulders on Dakota’s navy-blue suit. He straightened his best friend’s collar, running his hands down the silken fabric so that the lapels lay flat against his chest. “Shoot, I have plans today. I can’t make it.” 

“The betrayal!” Dakota dramatically swooned and grabbed his chest. Their hands touched, making them both sober up. Dakota held Madix’s hand firmly. He sniffled—the first signs of tears of the day. “Thank you, Mads. Everything looks great.” 

“Oh, you’re not ready yet,” Madix said, rummaging in the suitcase he had packed for the day. 

The wedding hall had private rooms for the couple to get ready separately. Blair was no doubt being pampered and kissed in the room next door. He could hear soft laughter coming through the wall. It was only 9am and already the air was alive with excitement. It was going to be a dizzying day full of movement. Madix tried to steady his shaking hands as he pinned a flower boutonnière onto Dakota’s breast. In fashion with a December wedding, the flowers were white as snow with red berries as the accent. Pine green leaves added a touch of nature as well. 

“Are you nervous?” Madix asked, feeling Dakota’s chest rise and fall with each breath. 

“No,” Dakota said simply. “I’ve been waiting for this my whole life. Nothing has ever felt more right.” 

“Gosh, Kota, we’re not supposed to cry yet.” Madix wiped his eyes. He also wiped his palms on his pants. He wore a grey suit, similar to Dakota’s blue one, with less adornments. Sweat seemed to gather in every crevice of the outfit. 

Dakota watched his friend anxiously scan the room. Madix finally took a good deep breath when he put the rings in his pocket. Next, he grabbed the cufflinks off the dresser. “You nervous?” 

Madix sighed and wiped the sweat off his brow. “Maybe a bit stressed. I want everything to go well for you.” Butterflies fluttered in his stomach. He didn’t expect to have so many nerves on a day that wasn’t even his own. He regretted eating such a large breakfast at the hotel. An odd ache settled in the pit of his belly that he knew wouldn’t go away until Dakota and Blair kissed. 

When Madix finished attaching the cufflinks, Dakota grabbed his hands once more, momentarily taken aback by their clamminess. “Relax, Maddy. It doesn’t have to be perfect. I appreciate all that you’ve done up to this point. I love you.” 

“I love you too.” Madix tried to shake off the growing sense of nausea. “Let’s make you a married man.” 

…

Large windows covered the entire back wall of the wedding hall. Madix thanked mother nature for providing the fluffiest snowfall. There were no harsh winter winds or grey skies—only sunshine that danced between soft snowflakes. 

He stood at the end of the aisle with Dakota, Riley, and Dakota’s sister Logan. Logan wore a feminine grey suit that matched the rest of the groomsmen. In the first row of seats, Dakota’s father couldn’t take his eyes off his son. The two generations tapped on their legs in anticipation. Dakota’s smile grew bigger and bigger as his soon-to-be bride was about to walk down the aisle. 

The music changed, and then Blair emerged wearing winter itself.

Arm in arm with her father, Blair made the fateful walk towards Dakota. Her long white dress trailed behind her, tracking red flower petals that the young flower girl had dropped. Intricate lace covered her arms in a flurry of patterns. The bouquet of reds, greens, and white matched Dakota’s boutonnière. And her smile! Her smile matched Dakota’s as well. It was as if their joy drew them together. Madix smirked as Dakota bounced on his feet. 

Her platinum blond hair fell over her shoulders in a snowfall. She radiated warmth despite the arctic aesthetic. Her skin held a candle-like glow. Her eyes shone as if bouncing back the light from the flickering fireplace.

And then the handkerchief came out. Dakota dabbed his eyes lightly at first. Finally, when she stood next to him, he couldn’t help the flood of tears. A queen stood before him. His queen. 

Blair took his hands. “Hi baby,” she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. 

Dakota let out a shaky laugh. “Hi, oh my god, Bee. You look—you look beautiful.” He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t find the words. His eyes remained glassy for the rest of the ceremony, filled with tears of joy. He imagined that he was looking through a snow globe, seeing only one perfect dream for the rest of his life. 

As ceremonies go, this one was short and to the point. 

Neither Dakota nor Blair was terribly religious, but a bit of Blair’s mother managed to squeeze into the officiant’s speech. Yes, it spoke of everlasting love, faithfulness, and the love of God. But it also spoke of evergreen trees, with their unwavering steadiness in the face of harsh winds. It spoke of growth and new beginnings, with the officiant playing off the chilly weather outside to mark a contrast between winter and spring. Dakota and Blair’s life as a married couple would move through the seasons, with all its ups and downs. Whether sun or rain, they would have each other to find shelter and peace in. 

Madix’s vision grew blurry, but not because of tears. He swayed on his feet, feeling a wave of vertigo wash over him. His heart thudded loud in his chest. Trying his hardest to keep his expression neutral, he bit the side of his cheek to keep the nausea from showing on his face. 

For possibly the tenth time, he wiped the sweat from his forehead. At the same time, he shivered as if there were no window blocking out the winter weather. He knew that being hot and cold at once wasn’t a good sign. Nothing happening in his body was a good sign—not the churning in his belly, nor the aches in his muscles. What started out as nerves seemed to be revealing itself as something more. Madix swallowed thickly, forcing down a nauseous burp. 

The ceremony only had a few more beats to hit. He could make it. He would not pass out, even though he wanted so badly to lean back against Riley who stood behind him. It looked like he’d be carrying a secret with him that day—a heavy secret that sat like grease in his tummy. 

Madix forced himself to pay attention when Dakota and Blair said their vows. 

Dakota went first. He pulled a paper out of his pocket and unfolded it with steady hands. He smiled at Blair, getting lost in her soft gaze until he realized that he needed to speak the words out loud. 

“Blair, Bee. I love you so fucking much. I couldn’t think of a better way to start this because writing is not my strong suit.” Dakota let out a shaky laugh, finding the right rhythm for his speech. He held the paper, though never looked down at the words. “I wish you could see through my eyes so that you’d understand that you are my entire world. I look at you when I make a joke to see if it made you laugh. I look at you when I’m scared and overwhelmed because you make me feel grounded. I look at you and I see my future. In your eyes, I see comfort and unconditional love. You put up with all my ramblings and my childish sense of humour. You help slow the world down when my brain is going too fast. I get to appreciate your beauty, your confidence, and your kindness in real time. I hope our lives together move slow so that I can spend an eternity loving you the way you deserve.” 

Tears like icicles fell onto Blair’s rosy cheeks. She mumbled a quick ‘I love you’ under her breath before taking out her own cue cards. 

“Dakota,” she began, wiping her eyes with a tissue, “you’re my favourite person to be around because I can be myself in its entirety. With you I can be vulnerable, and messy, and imperfect. It’s a gift to be able to hold someone who knows and loves every bit of your soul. You’ve always encouraged me to chase my dreams, and this is me chasing my forever dream. Our careers may change, our health may waver, but my heart will never change. It will forever be yours. I vow to always laugh at your jokes, to stand by you in times of sorrow, and to lift you up just as you have done for me. Today I get to marry my favourite person, and I can’t wait another second.”

After a few more words from the officiant, Madix was finally admitting to himself that his unease would not go away even when his best friend was well and truly married. He felt all the joy and love in his heart after hearing their vows, but that did not stop him from feeling other, less pleasant sensations, elsewhere in his body. 

Dakota and Blair were oblivious to anything that wasn’t each other—as they should be! They allowed themselves to get lost in the eyes of their partner. They held hands, wearing their giddy smiles while they exchanged ‘I do’s’. 

With snow falling in the background and candles aglow around them, Dakota and Blair shared their first kiss as husband and wife. 

…

Cocktail hour and photo ops was the worst part of the day for Madix. He held back while his best friends ventured outside to take pictures in the snow. Eventually he would need to join the wedding party in the cold for group pictures, but he took a second to himself to hide in the bathroom. He wandered upstairs where the private bathroom would give him the necessary privacy to wallow in his misery. 

He was going to ruin the goddamn pictures with his forced smile and baggy eyes. His face was the colour of January slush. The lights in the bathroom buzzed in his brain. He groaned and leaned against the sink as a burp rumbled up his chest. His stomach was a blizzard of nausea, swirling with half-digested food. 

This was the beginning of something bad. He was sick and he knew it. He prayed that he could hide it until the end of the night. Out of all the days in the year, this one was certainly the worst one to make a big deal about his own feelings. Dakota and Blair didn’t deserve this on their wedding day. 

Madix debated telling Riley that he was sick, but he decided against it for many reasons. Besides the obvious, Riley would likely insist that Madix be honest with Dakota and Blair. They’re your friends. They will understand. Well, Madix didn’t want them to understand; he wanted them to be none the wiser and go about their special day without worry. 

Madix stayed in the bathroom, forcing down burps, until he had to take pictures. He avoided hugs and handshakes as much as he could. He also avoided the appetizers and drinks. His breakfast seemed to be cooperative about staying down, but he knew that wouldn’t be the case if he tried to eat anything else. Though the vertigo was ever-present, he never dared touching the food. 

The staff members turned the ceremony hall into the dinner hall, swapping out the rows of chairs with circular tables. Deep reds and forests greens gave the room a mature and relaxed vibe. As the day progressed, the moon replaced the sun in the large windows.

Dakota and Blair had their first dance, swaying slowly like trees blowing in the wind. Blair’s dress created a halo around their feet as they spun on the dance floor. 

Madix watched until he couldn’t. He missed seeing Blair dance with her father and then missed Blair dancing with Dakota’s dad. He wanted to stay for it all, but the nausea was too great. His head swam and his tummy gurgled. Madix made some excuse to Riley and quickly fled the hall. 

His stomach was done being kind.

He jogged to the private bathroom in the groom’s room, thankful that he had access to these parts of the building. 

Madix moaned as he dropped to his knees in front of the toilet. He held his aching belly as it whined. A gurgling burp escaped past his lips, dripping saliva into the bowl. 

After a long time of gagging and spitting, he suddenly felt his stomach lurch. His shoulders rolled forward with a deep retch that came from the pit of his guts. Thick vomit splattered into the toilet. His belly gave another squeeze. He moaned as more sick gushed from his mouth. 

Ten minutes later, his hands were shaking and his nose burned with acid. He cleaned himself up, splashed water on his face, and returned to the party. 

Dinner was served to every table by this point. He had missed a lot. He let out a deep exhale and shook out his wrists to release the build-up of tension in his bones. 

At the head table, Dakota and Blair chatted with relatives who came to say hi. Madix tried to inconspicuously take his spot next to Dakota without prompting anyone to notice his absence. 

“Madix, where’d you go?” Dakota said loudly, turning to his friend. “Riley got you a plate of food.” He swung his arm over the back of his chair. “I feel like I haven’t seen you all day.” 

“You’re very popular today, Kota,” Madix said, trying to sound light. “I wanted to give you space to talk to family.” 

“Yeah, it’s crazy. I don’t know who half these people are.” Dakota looked down at the untouched food. He slid the plate closer to his friend. “Eat. You look pale.” Dakota got distracted by a relative coming up to say kind words, but he eventually turned his attention back to Madix who was only stabbing at the grilled chicken with his fork. He looked contemplative for a moment before saying, “Are you alright? You seem off.” 

Madix shrugged. “I’m good. There’s just lots going on. Lots of talking and music.” 

“You got a headache? Blair has ibuprofen.” Before he could say anything, Dakota spun around to ask Blair for meds. 

Blair reached across her new husband to hand Madix two pills. “Hope these help, Mads, because we have a good playlist lined up for tonight.” She held onto his hand for longer than necessary, noticing his flushed cheeks. “You can step outside if it’s too hot in here.” 

“I might do that actually.” 

“But be back in time for speeches!” Blair said excitedly. 

Fuck. His speech…

Madix pretended to go outside, but he just snuck back to the bathroom, hoping he could throw up one more time before he had to talk to a room full of strangers. His stomach made all sorts of noises. He hung his head over the toilet, letting stringy saliva fall into the water. He belched and hiccupped but nothing more. It caused a great sense of dread to build in his body, knowing he was at the mercy of an unpredictable stomach bug. 

Fuck it, he said, preparing to get his speech over and done with. After that, there’d be just dancing that he didn’t mind missing. 

Blair’s sister got up to the podium first, talking about the role model that Blair was. Being a teenager, she made the room laugh with her slang and fresh jokes.

His own speech was printed on cue cards that surely would be drenched in sweat inside his pocket. He pulled out the damp paper, wondering if steam was curling off his head. 

Madix plastered on a smile and stepped up to the podium. Dakota and Blair smiled at him expectantly with their arms wrapped around each other. 

He cleared his throat, remembering the taste of vomit as it clung to his oesophagus. “Dakota…you’ve been my best friend since high school…and now you’ve given me a new person to laugh with, care for, and make memories with. I love Blair as much as I love you, perhaps a little more because” —Madix paused, feeling a burp rising to his mouth. He pressed a fist to his lips, suppressing the belch before it could escape— “because she has never called me in the middle of the night asking for an emergency condom. She has never wrapped my entire desk, including my pencils, in aluminum foil…” 

Madix was sure he had prepared a third example of the ridiculous things that Dakota had done to him over the years, but he couldn’t remember what it was. He UMMed and left awkward silences in this speech until he decided to skip over it. 

This was not going well. His voice was robotic, and his posture was crap as he tried to ease the ache in his belly by leaning forward. He couldn’t rub his stomach behind the podium because Dakota and Blair sat nearly in line with where he stood. 

Madix skipped over much of his speech. He would have to give Dakota the script for it some other time because they really did have great memories, but he couldn’t bring himself to stand there for much longer. He wondered if the microphone was picking up the sick gurgles that came from his stomach. God, he hoped not. It was making so much noise, and of course now he felt like he could throw up. Now, with everyone staring at him—with Dakota and Blair waiting for him to finish his speech—now, his belly was ready to give up. 

His jaw was growing heavier, and he had to swallow an absurd amount of saliva. He hiccupped and blushed, realizing that people must think he was drunk. Finish the fucking speech. He raised his glass, “To Dakota and Blair, I hope you annoy each other now, instead of the rest of us. To Blair, I hope you know that you can come to me just as you would your best friend, because that’s what I��ll be for you as long as you love Dakota.” 

Madix forced himself to drink the champaign. The bubbles angered his belly enough to make him gag so he quickly covered his mouth and left the podium. 

He couldn’t do all that without giving his friends hugs, so he walked into Dakota’s open arms. Dakota mumbled something vaguely funny in his ear then kissed him on the cheek. 

He hugged Blair next. She too whispered in his ear, “Thank you, Madix. I love you.” 

“I love you, Bee.” 

She broke away from the hug but held onto his arm, watching his face closely. Madix squirmed under her gaze, imagining that his expression gave away his secret. Maybe it did. He mumbled something about going to the bathroom. Luckily Blair’s parents were meant to give the last speech, so she didn’t say anything to him as he left. 

Madix’s stomach gurgled ominously. It churned beneath his hand as he half-ran to the same bathroom that he’d been using all day. His knees, now bruised from before, felt the pain of landing on the cold tile once more. 

With his hands gripped tightly to the toilet, he let out the sick belch that he’d been holding for the entire speech. It burst from his mouth, bringing with it a flood of acid that burned the back of his throat. 

The rippling water made him dizzy and lightheaded. His poor tummy turned itself inside out. 

A torrent of sick rushed past his lips. He felt the chunks of food on his tongue, making him gag even more. Another heave, and he filled the bowl with more brown sludge. 

This was the moment that Blair appeared in the open doorway. As soon as the speeches were done, she snuck away to check on Madix. It wasn’t difficult to find him, given the harsh sounds of vomiting. 

The door to the groom’s room was closed, but Madix had not shut the bathroom door, thinking that no one would come into the adjoining room. She closed the door behind her and pouted at the sick boy on the floor. 

“Oh, Madix, hon,” she cooed, stepping into the large bathroom. She crouched next to him and placed a hand on his back. He shuddered at her touch. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” 

He couldn’t say a word because his belly spasmed again. This time, tears of exertion and sadness leaked from his eyes. She touched him so gently that he couldn’t help but mumble her name. He hadn’t realized that someone else’s presence would feel so good. “Blair…Ugh, I’m so sorry.” 

She shushed him. “No, don’t say that. You have nothing to be sorry for.” She brushed his damp hair back from his face. “Oh, you’re really sick, aren’t you?” 

He nodded and leaned back against the wall. “Please don’t tell Dakota. It’s just a stomach bug.” 

Blair made a tsking noise at the foolish boy. “Honey, look at you. You’re delirious if you think I’m going to let you go on like this.” She placed her palm on his forehead. “And you’re burning up. Dakota will want to bring you back to the hotel.” 

Madix wanted to cry more, but he had no more fluid left in his body. 

“Don’t move.” Blair stood up and dusted off her dress. “We’re going to help you, you stubborn man.” 

Blair found her husband chatting with his father at one of the empty tables. Most everyone was dancing. Dakota swayed to the music, listening to his father tell a story. 

She put a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry to interrupt. Babe, can I talk to you, please?” 

Dakota followed Blair into the hallway where it was quiet. He held her hand and giggled as if they were going somewhere to make out.  He sobered up when he saw her face. “What’s wrong?” 

“Your best man is an idiot.” 

“Only occasionally. What did he do?” 

Blair pinched the bridge of her nose. “He’s really sick. He didn’t want to tell you, so he’s hiding in the bathroom.” 

A confused frown brought Dakota’s brows together. His expression softened as he begun to think back. “Oh gosh, he is an idiot.”

“Would you talk some sense into him?” It was not a question. “I’ll talk to Riley and tell him what’s happening.” 

… 

Madix had resigned to sleeping on the floor, which is how Dakota found him. He pouted at the sight of his ashen complexion. 

“Mads, what the heck is this? Did you get drunk without me?” Dakota said, trying to add humour into his voice. With a groan, he lowered himself to the floor. He touched Madix’s shoulder. “Hey, you with me, buddy?” 

In a small voice, Madix mumbled, “Please don’t be mad.” 

Dakota shook his head in disbelief. “You’re such a fool. How could I be mad?” He rubbed his hand over Madix’s back as he rambled. “I suppose I could be upset that you spent the whole day lying to me. I could be upset that you didn’t let me help you before it got this bad.” Dakota just sighed. “Oh well, whatchu gonna do?” 

They sat in silence for a moment while Dakota loosened the tie around Madix’s neck. He puttered around the bathroom, flushing the toilet and wetting a cloth to wipe Madix’s face. He then knelt in front of him. “Time to sit up, Maddy.” 

Madix did as he was told, feeling his face unpeel from the floor. He groaned from the effort it took to move. His eyes were half shut when he finally looked at Dakota. “Did you have a good day at least?” 

“Yes, I did. I married my best friend.”

“We got married?” Madix slurred, letting a playful smile tug at his lips. 

Dakota chuckled. “You’ve been demoted, buddy…Nah, I’m just kidding, you’ll always be my best friend.” With gentle movements, Dakota washed the sick and sweat off Madix’s face. “God, that’s some fever. Here, let me take off your jacket.” 

They started the day with Madix dressing the groom and ended it with Dakota helping his best man out of his fever-soaked clothes.

[angstyaches]

Autumn's First Sickfic Part Two

Alrighty, this is a little all-over-the-place, but it's done! It was so fun to write Payton as caretaker for a change.

Read Part One Here

CW: emeto, fever, confusion, sickness, insecurity, familial issues, jealousy, awkwardness, undressing (maybe vaguely n**w?), stomach noises, belly rubs, brief indirect mention of Lucy's emetophobia.

Word Count: 5,000+

___

Payton slipped their phone halfway from the pocket of their apron, pursing their lips when they saw it was a call from Autumn. It wrung their heart slightly to let it ring out, but they had to let their phone drop away again so that they could serve the two customers waiting in line. 

When their phone began buzzing a second time, though, they started to feel an itch of worry in their gut. 

“Paul,” they said, snagging the attention of their coworker who had previously been wiping down tables. “Could you be on the till for a few minutes?” 

“Absolutely, boss.” 

Payton threw Jake – who was on drinks – an apologetic smile. “Bathroom break,” they said quietly, waiting to get the nod from him, before ducking out the back of the shop and into the staff changing room.  

“Hello, baby, are you okay?” they said softly as they answered, in case Autumn was still half-asleep and calling them. 

“Payton, hey. This is Leigh. Autumn’s friend.” 

Payton’s stomach dropped. What? 

“So, Autumn’s really sick, and she keeps asking for you. Is there any way you could come by the student centre and pick her up?” 

“What do you mean? Autumn stayed home today,” Payton said, even though it was evident by the fact that her college friend was calling from her phone that she very much hadn’t stayed home today. 

Leigh hummed. “Nope. She’s in the bathroom next to the student theatre. Throwing up, crying –” 

“Crying?” Payton found that they were clutching the front of their apron, nails sinking into the fabric. 

“Yeah.” Leigh sounded as surprised as Payton felt. Anyone who knew Autumn knew that she rarely cried. “I think she’s got a fever or something. So, can you come and get her?” 

“I-I’m at work,” Payton breathed, feeling on the verge of tears themself. “Can you… Could you call her mother? Maybe she can –” 

“I, uh –” It sounded as though Leigh had puffed out her cheeks and exhaled roughly. “I’ve suggested that, and it made her even more upset, and that’s why I’m calling you. Can you get here?” 

Payton stepped frantically to the other side of the dressing room, turned around, made their way back to where they’d started. Their lungs felt shrivelled and achy in their chest. 

Couldn’t leave work without letting the shop down. 

Couldn’t help Autumn without leaving work. 

Couldn’t leave work without – 

“Everything okay?” 

Payton swung around, almost dropping their phone in when they realised Jake was standing behind them.  

Their knees felt like jelly at being caught on the phone by a workplace superior – it barely even occurred to them then that they were practically on the same tier as Jake nowadays, in everything but job title and wage, and that they really shouldn’t have felt quite so much like a child sneaking sweets before dinner. 

“S-sorry. Sorry, Jake, um… Autumn’s pretty sick at college, sh-she’s feverish and throwing up and she’s asking for me…” 

“Go, then.” 

“What?” they breathed. 

Jake shrugged. “I’ll stay and close. You can close for me on Friday instead.” 

Go, you idiot, Payton tried to tell themself, take the opportunity, accept the kindness. But their brain seemed intent on fighting them at every possible turn.  

“Annie would kill me,” they choked out. 

“For delegating a task that you were no longer able to fill yourself?” Jake gave another shrug. “Sounds like good management to me.” 

“But… you booked this evening off.” 

Jake’s shoulders went up towards his ears again, this time pulling a little tighter to his neck. “To sit at home by myself and watch the season premier of a TV show. It’ll still be there for me to watch, whether I make it home by seven or by midnight.” 

“But –” 

“Payton,” Jake half-laughed. “Stop arguing, and go get your girl.” 

Payton nodded, then realised with a start that they had lowered their phone all the way to their waist. They pressed it to their ear whilst also pulling open their locker to liberate their hoodie. “Leigh? Are you still there?” 

“I am.” 

Payton started tugging their apron off over their head. “I’ll be there in twenty-six minutes.” 

“That’s weirdly specific,” Leigh said, “but okay.” 

___ 

Autumn wasn’t sure how long she spent by the toilet before she was guided away. She didn’t even remember who had brought her here, to the plush, lime green sofas that were dotted around the common area of the student centre, whether it was Dixon or Leigh or both. When she rose from the feverish haze in order to wrinkle up her nose at the stench of bad coffee from the open-plan café and the sporadic noise of groups of students going about their day, she realised that she had her head on Dixon’s shoulder.  

Her first thought was that she’d better not have drooled on his t-shirt; he’d had enough of her bodily fluids ruining his belongings for one day. The thought alone made her breath hitch, and she pulled away from him, covering her face with her hands to disguise a sob or a retch or both. 

“Oh – you okay?” 

There was the sound of a plastic bag being unfolded, and Autumn opened her eyes to see said plastic bag being held out under her face. 

“I-I’m okay for now,” she stammered, but she reached out and took the plastic bag from Leigh’s hands anyway. She gingerly tucked it right-side-up between her knees for quick access.  

“How long have you had that bag ready?” Dixon asked. 

Leigh laughed. “Since before we left the bathroom.” 

“You’re brilliant. I mean, that was a... brilliant idea.” 

A brief flash of self-consciousness made Autumn very aware of the fact that Dixon and Leigh were sitting at either side of her, and being stuck between the pair of them felt profoundly uncomfortable. She rubbed at her forehead, still in complete disbelief that she was this sick, this publicly. She considered these people to be her friends, sure, but they didn’t need to see her like this. They certainly didn’t need her eating into their time. 

“Oh, look,” Dixon whispered, nudging her gently. “Look who it is.” 

Autumn gave a dazed groan as she lifted her head. 

“Huh,” Leigh said. “Twenty-six minutes.” 

For a second, surprise chased out the headiness of Autumn’s fever. She almost tried to stand up to give Payton a hug in greeting. Instead, she floundered weakly in her seat, jaw falling slack, scalding eyes following their steps until they arrived right in front of her. They were in a black polo shirt and cargo pants, their hair still clipped back from their face like it always was during their shifts. A light sheen of sweat made their forehead glitter in the gaudy, excessive lighting, but Autumn reckoned they still looked a damn sight more attractive than she did. 

“Hey, baby,” they smiled, crouching down in front of her. “You’re supposed to be at home, in bed.” 

She almost literally dropped her jaw. Her mind felt like a swamp, where her thoughts couldn’t get through fast enough. “You’re... at work.” 

“Well, no, I’m not, I’m here. I was able to get Jake to cover for me.” Payton’s big, shiny eyes blinked and their creased brows pulled even closer together, as if something unsettling were unfolding before them. They grabbed hold of her leg. “What, baby, what is it?” 

Autumn lifted a wrist to her cheek, and it came away wet. Jeez, when had she started crying again? She could feel her face crumple, her lips pulling back in a grimace. “I – you’re just – you’re too good, P. Too good to me...” 

“Here, man, sit,” Dixon said softly, getting up from where he’d been sitting and gesturing for Payton to replace him. “I’m Dixon, by the way.” 

“Leigh,” Leigh added. 

Autumn sank into Payton’s torso as they sat, desperate for their warm, familiar smell. The buttons running down their chest weren’t the comfiest to snuggle into, but it was still them that she was embracing. It just seemed like a miracle that they were here at all. 

“Thank you,” they were saying to Autumn’s classmates, “for keeping an eye on her, and for calling me.” 

“Yeah, no problem. Autumn is... an absolute angel,” Leigh was saying. “Least we can do.” 

“You take care of her, alright?” Dixon’s voice was a little unsure of itself, but it sounded vaguely protective. Autumn had a feeling Leigh would tease him about it later. 

“I’ve got this.” Payton’s voice vibrated in their chest against Autumn’s cheek. “Thank – thank you.” 

Autumn opened her eyes as the couch squeaked, the cushions shifting with the absence of Leigh’s weight. Both she and Dixon eyed her warily as they started walking away, and Autumn offered a weak, grateful smile.  

As soon as they both disappeared around the corner, heading towards the library, Autumn felt Payton slide a hand up under her bangs. An anxious sound hummed in their chest. 

“You’re burning up, baby." 

“Sorry,” Autumn rasped. “I’m s-sorry.” 

“Sorry?” Payton leaned forward a little, touching their forehead to the top of her head the best they could. They massaged their fingers into the nape of her neck. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about, baby. Nothing at all. Let’s just get you home, okay?” 

“Home?”  

Payton let out a nervous laugh. “Well, yeah. What did you think was going to happen?” 

“I-I was going to go to the library once I caught my breath,” Autumn said, easing herself up from Payton’s chest. Colour and sound washed in and out of her senses, but above it all was an overarching sense of dread. “And... and I have work from seven until midnight.” 

Payton licked their lips. They looked so... lost. “Baby,” they pleaded, “you’re so sick. You can’t get on a bike like this. Look at you, you’re burning up and you’re trembling...” They curled their lower lip in sympathy, giving her arms a useless rub. “Just like a little leaf.” 

Autumn let out an involuntary whimper. 

“You poor thing.” Payton sounded close to tears. “I really wish you’d stayed home and taken it easy today.” 

“Couldn’t,” Autumn whispered, overwhelmed by the frustration bubbling in her unwell stomach. She gave the plastic bag in her hand a squeeze, reassuring herself that she still had a grip on it between her knees. 

“Hmm?” 

“Couldn’t stay home.” 

Payton placed their hands on the outsides of her arms again, head tilted to one side. “Why not, baby?” 

“Why do you think?”  

___ 

Payton pulled their hands back, almost recoiling right off the sofa. Coming from the girl who said sarcasm was the lowest form of wit, and believed spite gave you wrinkles, a rhetorical question spat with just a hint of venom was as bad – as shocking – as hearing her insult Payton’s entire family. 

And the worst part was that it sounded like she expected them to know the reason, and they hadn’t the faintest idea what that could be. Was this their failure? Their heart was sinking as though it was.  

They opened their mouth, tried for a what do you mean? but nothing came out.  

But then Autumn opened her mouth, and something came out. 

Before the spike of panic could prompt Payton to do anything useful, she had produced a plastic shopping bag from... somewhere. She yanked open the top of the bag and leaned so far over it that her nose and cheekbones were lost. And then she retched so hard that the sound of it was enough to give Payton goosebumps. 

“Oh, baby,” they sighed, shifting closer to her again. They felt bad for jumping back, especially when she needed them. 

Students making their way through the bright, airy building cast tentative looks in their direction, picking up their pace when they noticed Payton noticing them. They wished they could morph into a giant blanket to keep their girlfriend concealed from those prying, judging glances – 

“Sorry – sorry,” Autumn gushed frantically. She pulled one arm to her stomach, scrunching the top of the bag together with the other. A deep, dry sob clawed its way out of her. “I’m so sorry, Payton. My mother, I... I don’t want her to...” 

“What, baby?” Goosebumps prickled at Payton’s skin all over again.  

“I want to stay with you,” Autumn whispered shakily. “And I don’t... don’t want her to meet you like this. Please. Please.” 

Payton nodded, though they were far from sure about this. Autumn needed to rest and be taken care of. If they could just get her to a taxi, maybe they would get her to see that going home to her bed was the best idea. 

They eyed the bag in her fist; it didn’t seem as though she’d heaved much up into it, but if she’d been throwing up since before Leigh’s call, it wasn’t surprising that she was empty by now.  

“How’s your belly feeling now?” Payton asked, tilting their head so they could see her face. 

Autumn’s bottom lip seemed to tremble for a second before she caught hold of it with her teeth. Her hazel green eyes stared at nothing, eyelids half closed, jaw clenched tightly. She gave a vague nod. “Little better.” 

“Then let’s get out of here,” Payton said. 

___ 

She held their hand and followed them through the atrium, taking short, even steps. A couple of times, Payton considered wrapping an arm around her shoulders and keeping her close, but since this was Autumn’s territory, they didn’t want to overstep what she considered to be too much PDA. They stopped off at a bin to get rid of the sick bag, but thought better of throwing it away just yet, so instead, they clenched their free hand around the top of it and carried it by their hip. 

Payton waved to the first taxi they saw by the bus stop, and the driver lifted a hand in acknowledgement. When Payton opened the back seat door, though, and Autumn swayed on her feet as they go of each other, his gaze turned sour. 

“Hey!” 

Payton jumped, peering in at the taxi driver. 

The driver pointed a thumb at Autumn over his shoulder. His eyes were dark and accusing as they glared at Payton. “Is she drunk?” 

What? Payton straightened their back, prickling with defensiveness on Autumn’s behalf. They resisted the urge to state that it was three thirty in the afternoon, remembering that this was a college campus and that anything was possible there.  

Their muscles relaxed a little and they sank into an easy smile. “No, she’s not drunk. She’s just a little sick.” 

The driver looked far from impressed. “Is she going to spew everywhere?” 

“Nope! We’ve got a bag, and I promise I’ll keep an eye on her.” Payton could hear how weakly they were pitching this. They felt like shriveling up under that condescending gaze, but Autumn needed them. “P… Please help me get her home to her bed.” 

“No,” Autumn wept quietly from the opposite side of the back seat. She turned her glossy eyes and tear-stained cheeks towards them. 

“Alright, get in,” the driver sighed, turning around to face the steering wheel. 

Payton’s earlier resolve turned to putty under the look Autumn was giving them; she didn’t need puppy-dog eyes, for she had a face so full of trust and sincerity that they didn’t dare risk letting her down or diminishing themself in her eyes. 

They tried to twist their smile into something even more reassuring as they pulled the door closed behind themself. They reached across the seat for her hand and squeezed it.  

Then they gave the taxi driver the address for Lucy’s flat. 

___ 

“Thanks so much.” Payton hurriedly paid the taxi driver and hopped out without waiting for their change.  

They sprinted around to the other side of the car, where Autumn had alighted and promptly doubled over at the edge of the road, retching horrendously. Payton grabbed her by the shoulder and slid a hand up and down her back, and glanced up at their building, wondering if this had been a good idea after all. 

“Come on, baby, away from the traffic,” they said shakily, despite there being no other cars on the road currently. They held her elbows as they both stepped up onto the path and then onto the patch of grass in front of the building. Autumn let go of a long string of electric yellow sick. She had to spit loudly to get it to drop from her lips and onto the grass. 

Payton gave her a reassuring rub on the back. They had a horrible feeling she’d held that in the whole way from campus to here, afraid to upset the driver or risk making a mess. “Well done, baby, you made it.” 

“I don’t feel good,” she complained, pressing a hand to her chest as she straightened back up. She began to pick at the fabric of her dress as though it were suffocating her. “Really... really don’t feel good.” 

“I know. I’m gonna try to help you feel better,” Payton promised, offering her their hands. They felt a little unsteady themself, carrying their own shoulder bag and Autumn’s college backpack, but they didn’t see much other choice than to be the steady one. “Think we can tackle these stairs together?” 

Autumn’s eyes flicked upwards, and she loudly hiccupped, but she gave a weary nod and let Payton lead her along. 

___ 

Payton would have thought that the last thing they wanted to see as they opened the door would have been Donnacha in the front hallway. They hadn’t considered the possibility of Donnacha in the front hallway carrying a bowl of something greasy and pungent from the kitchen to his bedroom. 

He froze and took a double-glance as Payton hoisted Autumn through the door. She’d gotten dizzy on the stairs and had leaned more and more into them as they’d neared the top, and she was practically clinging to them like a monkey. 

“A?” Donnacha exclaimed. 

Either the sight or the smell of Donnacha’s dinner offended her, because she shrank even closer to Payton’s body, pressing her nose against the front of their shirt, and groaned miserably. 

“She’s sick,” Payton offered. 

Donnacha frowned in her direction. “Autumn? You okay?” 

She shook her head, though she didn’t meet Donnacha’s gaze. Out of all three of them, she was the one who usually played the mediator, but even her will to keep things friendly was dwindling in the face of this fever and nausea. 

It made Payton’s chest pang. 

“Why isn’t she at home?” Donnacha asked when Autumn ignored him. He noticed Payton’s gaze fall upon his bowl and took a couple of steps back, holding it to the side. 

Payton couldn’t help but realise that this was probably the first time Donnacha had asked them a direct question in months. Their heart thudded with anxiety. 

“I… I haven’t met her mother yet.” Payton shuffled their feet. It felt like a silly excuse, now that they were saying it out loud. How selfish it made them seem. After all, they were being selfish. “We thought it’d be awkward to make this the first time.” 

“Right,” Donnacha nodded. His expression had changed suddenly. Softened a bit, hardened again in a different way.  

“So, um... thought I'd take care of her here tonight,” Payton added. 

Donnacha nodded again. “Did she call Helen?” 

Payton gulped. They had actually never heard Autumn’s mother’s name spoken aloud before, and it felt weird to hear Donnacha mention it quite so casually. “I don’t think so. I-I guess I’ll call her –” 

“I’ll handle it,” Donnacha said. “If – if you want.” 

A tiny part of Payton burned with jealousy and indignation, but now was not the time to think about growing a backbone. “Really? That’d be great.” 

“Okay. Well.” Donnacha rubbed at the buzzed back of his head, glancing down the hallway as though planning his escape from the conversation. “She needs anything else, you know where I am.” 

“What’s happening?” came a new voice. 

Donnacha turned to the side. Henry had appeared at his bedroom door, pyjamas hanging on his gaunt frame, his hair disheveled. It was almost five in the evening, but he looked like he’d just been rudely awakened. 

“Autumn’s sick,” Donnacha said curtly, turning to walk towards his own room with his bowl, “so Payton’s having her stay the night to take care of her.” 

Henry grimaced, sucking air through his teeth. “Vomiting?” 

Payton swallowed. “Yes.” 

“Hmm. Lucy’s going to kill you.” Henry scratched his chest and yawned. “Well, goodnight.” 

A grimace pulled at Payton’s cheeks. “’Night, Hen.” 

Payton dropped Autumn off in their room and hurried to the kitchen to fill up a glass with water. When they returned, she was half-sprawled, half-curled up on their bed in a manner that she herself might have described as unladylike. They quickly shut their door again and placed the water on their bedside locker. 

“S-sorry, my sheets aren’t the freshest.” Payton scratched their head and glanced around, at a loss for what else to do – they couldn’t exactly pull the sheets from the bed now, since Autumn was already making herself at home on top of them. And it probably wouldn’t be helpful for Autumn’s nausea if they spritzed some fabric freshener about the place. “I didn’t know to expect company. Do you want a little sip of water –?” 

“Tight.” 

“What, baby?” 

“Tight,” she murmured, face twisting into a petulant scowl that seemed so far from her usual demeanor that Payton had to tilt their head slightly. Their eyes drifted down to her waist, where her fingers were plucking at the fabric of her dress... no, trying to pluck at something inside of it. 

“Are you saying tight, or tights?” Payton asked, eyeing the glossy beige sheen on her legs. They felt their face turn a little warm, and hoped she wouldn’t think they were just ogling her if she noticed their gaze. 

“Yeah.” 

“Oh. Your tights are too tight?” 

Autumn’s shoulders slumped forwards and she pressed her forehead the bed. 

“Baby, it’s okay!” Payton sat down at the edge of the mattress. “Want me to help you out of them?” 

She nodded without looking up. 

“You want to stand up so I can...?” Payton’s heart almost took a running jump up their throat and through their mouth when, instead of standing, Autumn rolled back across their bed, knees lifted, dress slipping back up towards her waist.  

She started fidgeting with the waistband of her tights again, groaning feebly when they still refused to relinquish their hold on her. Payton crawled over to her and gently eased their fingers under the elastic, coaxing it up from the soft curve of her belly and down towards her hips. 

“Can... can you lift –?” 

Before they even finished asking, Autumn tugged her hips upwards from the bed, leaving space for Payton to slide the offending tights down to her thighs. From there, it was easier to remove them, since the fabric was able to roll and bunch together into soft wads. Her soft skin was red and indented where the elastic had pressed into it all day, and Payton grimaced with sympathy. 

They remembered all too well what wearing tights was like; although Autumn wore them for the aesthetic and occasionally for warmth, while Payton only used to wear them under their school uniform skirt to cover up the fact that they didn’t shave their legs.  

As they pulled the nylon from her feet, Payton noticed Autumn sliding one hand across her bare stomach and working it in a circular motion, either oblivious to or uncaring about the fact that her underwear was on show. In the quiet of the room, her stomach could be heard clearly, churning and gurgling and squelching. 

Payton’s ears were on fire as they slid forward on the bed again, guiding her hand out of the way and placing theirs on her bloated middle. They’d rubbed her belly before, to help with period cramps – she'd done the same for them – but never with her dress pulled up like this. 

Even though they’d spent countless hours in bed together, cuddling and kissing and giggling, very little of that time had involved states of undress. Payton often wondered if this was purely for their sake, since they were comfiest in their boxers and with their chest covered, but they were always a little too nervous to ask if Autumn was looking for... more. 

Right now, Autumn groaned at their touch against her skin. She nuzzled into their neck with her nose, and they were hit by a gentle wave of her floral perfume. “Baby, my belly hurts,” she complained, as though they weren’t already tending to it. 

“I know.” They pressed a kiss to her clammy forehead. “My poor baby.” 

“Mmm. I’m not a poor baby, am I?” Autumn mumbled softly.  

“Yes, you are, you’re my poor little baby.” Payton grinned as Autumn squinted up at them in confusion. “Accept it.” 

“No.” 

“Ssshhh.” Payton surprised themself with their assertiveness. 

“Okay.” Autumn snuggled down again, her toasty forehead burrowing into Payton’s chest. She let out a long, slow breath as they cradled her gurgling stomach and stroked her hair back from her face, but the peace only lasted a couple of minutes before she was sitting upright again, patting her sides as though she was looking for something. 

“A?” Payton whispered. 

“My mother, I have to call my mother.” Her voice was pinched with panic, the colour draining scarily fast from her face. “Where’s my phone?” 

“Your phone is in your backpack, baby,” Payton said, “but Donnacha is calling your mother, remember? He said he would call her and let her know you’re staying here.��� 

Autumn began nodding then, her eyes wide and seeming to plead for reassurance. “Donnacha. Okay. She loves Donnacha. Okay. It’ll be okay...” 

Payton gave her an uneasy smile, feeling a little concerned about how jumpy she was, and not entirely excited to hear about how much her mother loved her ex. They opened their arms, coaxing her back into a reclined position. Her dress had drifted down over her waist again, covering up her striped, navy boy shorts and the red marks left behind by her tights. Payton felt awkward about lifting it up again. 

“Do – do you want to change into one of my t-shirts?” Payton asked, their face flushing all over again at the thought of her removing her dress and her bra in their bedroom. They hated how big of a deal this all seemed, and wished they could have been playing it cooler. 

“Mmm.” Autumn hummed, turning half of her face into Payton’s pillow and eyeing them shyly with the other half. “Yes, please.” 

Payton almost imploded over how cute she was. They slid from the bed and opened a drawer, pushing aside a few binders and stiffer t-shirts until they found something soft and oversized. Autumn had pushed herself into a sitting position again when they turned around, and she was taking a long drink from the glass of water. 

“Oh – careful, baby,” Payton said softly. “Can your belly handle that much water right now?” 

She gulped loudly as she lowered the glass, tongue working at the insides of her lips. “Thirsty.” 

“Yeah?” Payton handed over the t-shirt, eyeing her hopefully. “Do you feel like trying to eat something too, or –?” 

Autumn screwed up her face and rubbed at her belly. 

“Okay, maybe not,” Payton half-smiled.  

“I will puke on your floor if you try to feed me, Payton Harte,” she murmured, a flicker of her usual warmth pushing through the glazed look in her eyes.  

“Well, don’t do that.” Payton dragged their bin out from underneath their desk and positioned it next to their bed. “Puke into this instead.” 

“No, I don’t think I will.” 

“Pretty please,” Payton smiled, relieved when Autumn smiled weakly back at them. 

And then she began to pull her dress up over her head. 

Instead of standing around feeling weird about it, Payton made the snap decision to change, too. They unbuttoned the top of their polo shirt and lifted it over their head. They turned their back to Autumn as they freed themself from their binder, not feeling altogether ready to let her see their chest, even though they were sure her fever-addled mind wouldn’t remember seeing it. They slipped into a t-shirt, too, and stripped down to their boxers. 

When they turned around again, Autumn was curled up with their t-shirt on, her head positioned near the edge of the mattress, one hand touching the rim of the bin on the floor. 

“Queasy again?” they asked softly, approaching the bed. 

Autumn squeezed her eyes shut. “You were right. The water’s swishing in my belly.” 

Payton half-smiled, wishing they weren’t right. 

“P?” 

“Yeah, baby?” 

“I threw up on the stage.” It sounded like this was brand new information to her even as she said it. That tremble came back to her lower lip, but she didn’t attempt to bite it this time.  

“I heard...” Payton clicked their tongue and tucked a strand of loose hair behind Autumn’s ear so it wouldn’t tickle her nose while she lay like this. “Try not to worry about it too much.” 

“I threw up on the stage...” Autumn tugged on the bin, “and it was the closest I’ve gotten to a spotlight all semester.” 

It was the closest she’d come to complaining about being put in the chorus, and Payton couldn’t help feeling a little stunned. They shook their head, not really sure what they could say to encourage her. 

“You’ll...” They broke off, realising that Autumn’s hand had fallen slack between the edge of the bed and the bin. Her lips were still parted, a little glisten of drool already cascading from the corner of her mouth to the pillow. There was a low rumble from her stomach, and Payton instictively placed a protective hand over it, which prompted no movement from her at all. They leaned over to kiss her forehead again, and whispered, “You’ll show them next time, baby.” 

[danafeelingsick]

having soft thoughts of a sickie feeling guilty about puking up all the food caretaker made for them with so much love and care:

sickie having to maintain appearances, even as their poor stomach revolts agaisnt the heavy meal sitting inside it

sickie who can't help but grimace at the sight/smell/texture of the food, which makes caretaker think they might've messed it up

sickie clutching/hugging their middle as they try their hardest not to puke, thinking of the smile caretaker had on as they watched them eat, thinking they finally were starting to recover

sickie who has a hand clasped over their mouth, holding it tight to keep the food in no matter what, even to the protests of caretaker who's trying to tell them to just let it out, don't try to hold it

sickie who ends up losing the barely digested food over the blankets, sobbing apologies to a caretaker who's more worried about their well-being than anything else

[pmak2002]

You are awoken by a headbutt to your arm.

“Mm Timothee stop!” You whine.

Timothee whimpers and does it again harder this time. He seems determined almost desperate to wake you.

“It’s late Mon cher.” You say as he continues to bump his head against your arm.

He whimpers again when you roll so your back is facing him.

“I don’t feel good.”

That phrase immediately wakes you. And you turn to face him.

“What’s wrong my dear?” You ask.

“Throat, head and stomach.” He says his voice sounding horribly raspy.

You reach out to feel his head.

“Yeah you’re feverish alright.”

You sit up and turn the light on.

Timothee sits up and rubs his eyes. His stomach gurgles and rumbles.

He squirms and reaches for you. Making grabby hands.

You pull him close and hold him. He burps when you pat his stomach. He groans and tries to settle down in your arms.

“What do you need sweetheart?” You ask

He whimpers and buries his head in your neck as you hold him.

“Don’t know it’s all swirly inside and I don’t know what it wants.”

You hold him tight and kiss his head. You hold him like that until his stomach gurgles loudly and he moves away. He looks at you as sweat breaks out on his forehead.

“Bathroom?” You ask

He nods and rushes off to the bathroom. You follow him and kneel next to him as he gets on his knees to vomit.

You keep his hair out of his face with one hand and rubbed his back with the other.

He groans in between fits of vomiting.

“Hurts so bad.” He whimpers

“I know but it might help your tummy sweetheart.”

He nods and his stomach gurgles. He groans

“I think you’ll have to leave I gotta shit.”

You nod

Despite dating him for over three years at this point he was always paranoid about when his stomach was upset. He was worried about grossing you out.

(Like that one time when he got horribly sick from accidentally eating spicy food that wrecked his GI tract all night long and he refused your help because you’d be too grossed out.)

You nod and turn on the fan in the bathroom.

“There’s more toilet paper in the cabinet ok? I’ll be right outside ok?”

He nods and slowly gets up.

You step outside the bathroom and close the door behind you. You can hear him groaning and cursing to himself. Clearly in pain and miserable.

You leave him be and wait for him. You hated when he got so sick especially when it was his stomach.

As a skinny guy he would lose a lot of weight fast when his stomach would be a mess and make him so sick and weak.

Once he’s done you hear the toilet flush and then the water running in the sink.

Once he’s done washing his hands he leaves the bathroom and just about collapses into your waiting arms.

You kiss his head as you hold him in your arms.

“Icky.” He whines

“I know sweetheart.”

You move him back to bed and you cuddle him and play with his sweaty curls.

He whimpers and coughs as you hold him in bed. You gently pat his back to keep him coughing.

“Good boy.” You sooth as you coach him through the coughing fit.

“Mm. Everything hurts. I hate being sick.” He whines.

“Shh I know baby. You’ll be alright I’ve got you.”

You hold him tight and hum a little as you hold him and kiss him.

“Want to try to take something?” You ask him.

“Nu uh it’ll just come back up.”

You nod and hug him.

“You feel warm I might have to check your temperature. But let’s wait since we just got into bed.”

He nods in agreement and clings to you. You fall asleep holding him.

You spend the rest of the night alternating between sleep and taking care of Timothee when he wakes up sick.

By morning you check his temperature and give him meds for his fever. Then call Brian to cancel Timothee’s plans for the day so he can stay home and rest.

[vinelark]

hello good morning i read the fic The Long Way Home by itsnatalie this week and finished it at 1am and had to stare through the ceiling processing for another full hour having emotions over tim and jason and a sentient labyrinth and the concept of choosing kindness when it would be so much easier to choose cruelty at every turn and NOW i am stumbling back here to recommend it to everyone who might want a tim & jason (& batfam) psychological horror longfic that will knock your socks off

testimonials once i was semi-coherent (mild spoilers):

[strawwritesfic]

Joel x Female!Amputee!Reader: (Don't) Hold Your Breath [Ch. 4]

Summary: You’ve made a lot of monumental mistakes in your life. Cutting your arm off isn’t even at the top of the list. Now you’re about to learn a lot of life lessons at the hands of your savior and her brute of a guardian–and they’re not about to let you learn them the easy way either.

Challenge: "#32 in His Rulebook" by Edible Heart Monster on Lunaescence Archives

Rating/Warnings/Tags: M (post-The Last of Us; excessive swearing; sexual references; violence against children; infected children; references to abortion; references to cannibalism; references to starvation; references to riots; implied domestic abuse; implied grooming; implied sexual relationship between an adult and a minor; death of a parent; violence; gore; blood; gun use; ableism; amputee!Reader; enemies to lovers; not canon compliant)

Pairings/Relationships: Joel/Female!Reader; Tommy/Maria; Reader/Male!OC; Ellie & Reader; Ellie & Joel; Ellie & Maria & Tommy

Tag List: @imaginesfire

Master List (with important note!)

Rule #4: Quit Stealing Shit

“You must have had trouble if the fence is up and running again.”

If Joel had wanted to make things tenser, he certainly got his wish. The tiny table’s atmosphere, already difficult to breathe in, became suffocating. You dragged your tired eyes away from your plate to gauge everyone else’s reaction in the long moment of silence that followed his observation. Ellie remained picking at her broccoli; Maria frowned; Tommy shrugged.

“Not really,” the last answered.

“Really?” Joel shoved his empty plate away and crossed his thick arms across his chest. “Because last I heard, you didn’t have the gas stock to keep it running 24-7.”

Tommy shifted to look at Maria, but all she did was lift her eyebrows. Apparently, no help would be coming from her. He returned his gaze back to Joel.

“Last I heard, Herbert’s group was supposed to bring us some from their scavenging trip.”

“Last I heard, they were supposed to bring you infection checkers, too.” Tommy sighed. At last, Joel’s arms unwrapped. “Tommy, face it. they aren’t coming back. They took your supplies and booked it. A trip to a border city shouldn’t take a month.”

“Joel—”

“What if they come back and try to take over?”

“It’s not Herbert’s group,” Maria said.

Joel’s eyes snapped over to her as she moved her chair back several inches from the table.

“Just a renegade hunter group. Now that people know we’re established, we’re attracting attention. It’s nothing we weren’t able to handle.”

“Then what was with the fence?”

“Just in case they came back,” Tommy answered. “It hasn’t been on the last couple of times. We figured if we melted a few of their faces, they might think twice about showing up again.”

Joel regarded Maria seriously for a moment, but before he could ask any further questions, Ellie’s bright eyes caught the food remaining on your plate. “You gonna eat your meat?” she asked.

Scowling, you pushed the dinnerware at her. Then you slumped back in your chair. Giving Ellie your food was the last thing you wanted to do—you were still starving, not that that was unusual—but no one had offered to cut the fucking stuff. It was too tough to manage with a fork; your knife lay obviously untouched in front of you.

Ellie laughed as she tucked in. It looked as though Joel wasn’t finished with his previous train of thought, however.

Tommy must have noticed that, too, because he shifted his chair so that he faced you instead. “Let’s take a look at your arm.”

You thrust the stump up at his face without further ceremony. He caught it between his palms, and your eyes slid away from his face. Joel’s brother’s easy-going nature was more off-putting than Joel and Ellie put together. Besides, you didn’t want to look at the rust-colored stains seeping through the bottom edge of your bandages.

“Hm,” said Tommy. “We’ll have to do this up again to prevent any more blood loss, but I think you’ll live. Ellie, you do up this tourniquet?”

Ellie’s eyes widened. She swallowed her mouthful of your food before answering: “Sure did!”

“You learn this in class?”

She shrugged, the spitting image of her uncle, or whatever the fuck Tommy was supposed to be. You didn’t understand these people. They ate dinner around a table, with chipped plates and camping silverware, like that was somehow fucking normal.

“I read it in a book I picked up. Trying to be…” Ellie trailed away, rubbing the back of her head and looking pointedly away from Joel, whose sharp eyes were upon her. “...more useful.”

No one said anything to that. You wondered if that had anything to do with that Messiah complex of hers that Joel kept mentioning, the one that was supposed to have landed you in that tiny, suffocating room in a power plant with people you didn’t know and certainly didn’t like.

The walkie-talkie at Maria’s hip gurgled with static. She placed a hand over it without answering, but got to her feet the very next second. Ellie blinked up at her until Maria announced, “I’ve got to get going.” Then she looked back at Ellie. “And speaking of class, you’ve missed enough. You can come with me until we reach the school building.”

“But—” Ellie broke off to throw a pleading look at Joel’s direction. He gestured for her to follow Maria; Ellie’s shoulders slumped. Still, she got to her feet. Before the door swung shut behind her, you distinctly heard Ellie mutter, “Bunch of ungrateful fucks.” Joel laughed. “See you at dinner, Ellie.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

With the other two women gone, the room didn’t feel any calmer. You felt your remaining muscles tense, even when you didn’t bother to look back at Tommy or Joel. Joel laughing was the weirdest thing to happen yet. He looked just as likely to find something humorous as Maria—though even she seemed to smile a lot around Ellie. What was with that kid? Was she dying? Were they all just humoring her?

No. No one else��could be that stupid.

As another stroke of pain in your missing arm coursed through you, you realized that you were still staring at the door where she had left. Much as the kid annoyed you, you had to admit you felt more displaced than ever without her there. Fuck. You hastily grabbed your glass and took a swig of lukewarm water, then asked, “You have a school?”

When you hazarded a glance upward, Tommy smiled. Joel remained scowling at you, but who the fuck cared what he thought at that point? Not you, that was for damn sure.

As seemed to be his practice, Tommy shrugged. “Nothing major. Basic writing and reading, some math. Just enough to get the kids by in the world. Ellie spent some time in a military boarding school, so she’s ahead in that respect.”

“She’d be ahead in all respects if she’d quit insisting on going on these trips,” Joel broke in. It was probably just your exhaustion talking—your vision was starting to pulse again, and it was taking quite a bit effort to keep yourself sitting up in your chair—but you thought you heard a hint of pride in his voice. “I keep telling her I can handle it—”

“—But she always says the same thing: ‘We go together.’” Tommy grinned.

Joel rolled his eyes, got to his feet, and placed his plastic cup at the end of a row of other cups. “She’s just afraid I’m gonna ditch her ass and take up smuggling again.”

“Well, you’d have a hell of a time doing it,” said Tommy.

You had been entirely forgotten. Seeing as you weren’t dying, it would be perfectly fine to just let you sit there and faint again. Probably you’d wake up on the floor. It wasn’t as though Joel gave enough of a shit to put you anywhere you’d actually want to be. While you mentally grumped about this, Tommy continued:

“Not sure how many more quarantine zones are still in effect. Speaking of, we just had a group from your old base come a few days back. You didn’t make too many bad enemies, did you?”

“None that I can’t handle.”

The corners of Tommy’s mouth twitched down, but he must not have been in the mood to bicker with his brother. He instead returned his attention back to you, clasping his hands in front of him and looking at his fingers, as though your face was unpleasant. Hell, it probably was. Bathing was a luxury you frequently weren’t afforded, and you were pretty sure you’d broken your nose in a fight a few weeks back. For all you knew, all that fucking blood remained dried across your upper lip.

“Speaking of teaching,” Tommy said, with an air of having to force the words out, “we might have you do that, if you’ve got anything worth teaching. You can’t hunt in your condition, and we can’t let you stay for free.”

“I don’t like kids,” you said mulishly. Joel hadn’t moved from over by the wall, but you saw his hands contract into fists. Hastily, you added, “I’ve done worse in exchange for room and board, though.”

“What’s that mean?” Tommy asked.

You took a leaf out of his book and shrugged in answer. The throbbing in your eyes got stronger, but you did not want either Joel or Tommy to think you were weaker than you already were. Focusing on remaining upright unfortunately left you completely open to surprise when Joel smashed his hands into the table in front of you.

“Shit!” you said, but broke away when you found his angry face only a few inches away from your nose.

“Are you a Firefly?” he growled.

“Were you ever a Firefly?”

“Fuck no, I wasn’t a Firefly!” you snapped. Though you twisted somewhat frantically in his grip, Joel didn’t let go. “Lay off!”

But Joel didn’t let go. His fingers only grew tighter around you, and tighter still. You didn’t have the strength to fight him off. One of your feet smashed into his shin, but you might as well have been made of feathers for all the effect that had. A horrible note of hysteria started to crawl up your throat, but before it could clamber out, Tommy said, quite pleasantly:

“Joel, would you kindly not hurt my guests when they aren’t actively trying to murder you?”

“Tommy, do you know why this woman doesn’t have one of her arms? Did Ellie make you aware of that little detail?”

“She did.” He inclined his head. “And, like Ellie, I’m pretty sure she would have turned by now, unless she’s immune.”

“That doesn’t make things okay.”

“Joel.”

With something that sounded very like a snarl, Joel released you, threw his hands into the air, and then stalked back over to the cups. “You and Ellie are going to be the fucking end of me.”

“She already was,” said Tommy.

Meanwhile, your vision had practically gone. Struggle as you might have, you just couldn’t remain sitting up straight. Through the fog, you saw Tommy’s head turn back to you.

“Now, I know you’re probably tired—”

“Figured that out, have you?” you asked, voice raspy. Dammit. At this rate, Joel was going to have the last laugh.

“Yes, I suppose I have. We’ll get you to a room here in a minute, and you can take a nap. No need to worry about your job or station today. But before you go, I’m going to need your name.”

“None of your fucking business.”

“We need something to go by,” he insisted. “And even if you are a Firefly, it’s not as though we have a stash of medals to check. Now, if you don’t give me your name, I suppose I’ll have to do as Joel suggested and lock you up until we have a better idea of who you are.”

So they weren’t going to lock you up either way? What a bunch of fucking morons. What if you were with that group they talked about earlier? What if you were a Trojan horse? But you were too tired to fuck around with them. All you wanted to do was curl up somewhere away from Joel and Ellie and sleep.

“[Name],” you said shortly.

“Family name?” Joel growled. You summoned up enough energy to glare straight across the room at him.

“Hasn’t mattered in fifteen years,” you said. “Can’t imagine why it’d matter now.”

“You—”

Tommy lifted a hand. “Maria and I are the ones running this joint, Joel. A first name’s good enough for me.”

The sound of his chair scraping against the concrete floor jolted you enough awake to get to your own feet. Standing was difficult, but not impossible, and no way in hell were you going to let Joel see anyone else carrying you or otherwise offering support. You shot him a defiant glare, then followed Tommy out of the room. Joel’s footsteps sounded behind you shortly after; you made the decision to pointedly ignore him. Getting an idea of your surroundings would benefit you better than giving him the time of day anyhow. You only caught snatches of conversation from the two of them, most following the same subject:

“You know, if you hate Ellie following you out there—”

“I don’t.”

After leading you outside for a short walk, Tommy ducked into another building, and you followed suit. Grated windows lit the gray walls every so often. Several doors led off to what you could only assume were other rooms. Busted cabinets and drawers littered the way; several times Tommy had to shove past them. As you passed one such cabinet, you caught a glimpse of a pair of familiar handles. It occurred to you that Ellie had taken both your pistol and her knife with her when she and Maria had left.

You feigned a stumble, snatched the scissors, and slid them into the pocket of your jacket. The shaking as you righted yourself was completely natural, and had Tommy looked at you with worry in his eyes.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” you said, but a moment later, Joel’s hand was on your shoulder again, pushing you into the wall.

“Give it back,” he snarled.

“Give what back?” you asked.

“Don’t play fucking stupid with me.”

“I didn’t do—”

But his fingers slid into your pocket to wrench out your newly-acquired weapon. His eyes looked pointedly at the scissors, then at you. If you hadn’t been so worried he was going to punch your face in, you would have shoved your own hands sullenly into both of your pockets. With a scoff, Joel threw the scissors back into the drawer.

“Quit stealing shit,” he said. “That ain’t yours. Nothing here is yours.”

“It’s just a pair of fucking scissors,” you shouted as he released and wandered back up the hall the way your trio had been headed. “You want me to run around with absolutely no way to defending myself?”

“If it’d get you outta my hair quicker.”

He wasn’t looking—no doubt he had some idea of your intentions anyway—so you took the scissors back before scuttling after him. Tommy watched you all the while. It was his fucking settlement. If he didn’t care, why the fuck should Joel? Maybe that explained the extremely dour look Joel threw him when you caught up to them.

Tommy didn’t say anything about your so-called theft. He reached past you to turn the knob on a nearby door. Inside lay a dark, drank room taken up mostly by something that must have helped power the plant in its heyday. Several musty, moth-eaten blankets and a smashed pillow were jammed up on a cement slab beside the boxy equipment. Only you stepped in; there wasn’t enough room for anyone else.

“You can stay in here,” Tommy said from behind you. “We’ll have Ell—We’ll have someone come get you when it’s time for dinner. We’ll be eating as a community. Maybe you’ll find someone you know.”

“That would be fucking fantastic.” You could hardly muster up the appropriate sarcasm.

Tommy let out a dry chuckle. “Now where have I heard that before?”

“Don’t start, Tommy,” said Joel.

You turned back and flipped him the bird before setting your bag down and walking over to the bed. A nap seemed very much in order.

“You’re welcome,” Joel said. Huh. Maybe Ellie was his daughter.

You flipped him off a second time without looking. “Fuckin’ A, man.”

When Tommy shut the door, you got the feeling it was to hide you from view as quickly as possible.

[gblogg]

Daniel gets the flu

--------

Something I wrote to stretch my fingers and get back into the feeling of writing. It's nothing special, but it's something.

Daniel had always prided himself on his strong immune system, especially given his job as a preschool teacher, constantly surrounded by sneezes, coughs, and runny noses. But today was different. He could feel it as he left work, his stomach churning uncomfortably. By the time he reached his car, he was sweating and shivering simultaneously. 

Leaning his head against the steering wheel, he fumbled for his phone and typed out a quick message to Luna.

D: Lu, I’m feeling awful. Think I caught something from the kids. I'm heading home now :(

As he started the car, his phone buzzed with her reply.

Lu: Oh no, babe. Come home quickly. I’ll be here waiting for you.

The drive home felt endless, each bump in the road exacerbating the nausea that had settled deep in his stomach. By the time he pulled into the driveway, he was certain he wouldn’t make it inside without being sick.

Stumbling out of the car, Daniel made his way to the front door, fumbling with the keys. The door swung open, and Luna was there, her face a mix of concern and love.

“Baby, you look terrible,” she said, reaching out to steady him.

Daniel groaned, his face pale and clammy. “I feel worse than I look,” he admitted, barely able to keep his voice steady. “I think it’s the stomach flu.”

Luna guided him inside, her touch gentle but firm. “Let’s get you to bed,” she said, leading him towards their bedroom. But halfway down the hall, Daniel’s stomach lurched violently.

He wasn’t able to speak as he started feeling his lunch in his throat. He bolted for the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before he started vomiting.

The force of it made him gag and heave, his body emptying itself with a violent intensity. He gripped the edge of the toilet bowl, his knuckles white, as wave after wave of nausea wracked his body. Luna knelt beside him, rubbing his back soothingly.

“It’s okay, baby. Just let it out,” she murmured, her voice calm and comforting.

Daniel retched again, a loud, guttural sound that echoed in the small bathroom. His stomach spasmed painfully, expelling its contents in a series of agonising heaves. He gasped for breath between bouts, tears streaming down his face from the effort.

“Ugh, this is horrible..” he managed to say between retches, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I know, D. Just get it all out,” Luna said, continuing to rub his back. Her presence was a balm to his misery, grounding him as his body purged itself.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the vomiting subsided. Daniel slumped against the cool porcelain of the toilet, completely spent. Luna handed him a damp washcloth, and he wiped his face with a shaky hand.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, feeling weak and lightheaded. 

Luna smiled softly, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “Which one of them gave you this now? Don’t tell me it was Megan. Poor thing is always sick.”

Daniel chuckled weakly, appreciating her attempt to lighten the mood. “I honestly don’t know which one it was this time,” He burped lightly against his fist, grimacing slightly.

She helped him to his feet, guiding him to the sink where he rinsed his mouth out. “Straight to bed with you,” she said again, and this time, he didn’t resist.

Once in the bedroom, Luna tucked him in, placing a trash can beside the bed just in case. “Do you need anything? Water? Ginger ale?”

“Just you,” he said, reaching out for her hand.

She climbed into bed beside him, wrapping her arms around him. “Alright, alright. Try to rest.”

Daniel closed his eyes, comforted by her warmth and presence. But sleep was elusive. The nausea, while less intense, still simmered in his stomach, and every so often he’d moan softly in discomfort.

“I really hope this is a 24-hour bug,” he said after a while, his voice thick with exhaustion.

“I hope so too” she added, her fingers tracing soothing patterns on his back. She kissed his forehead, whispering. “Okay, go to sleep”

Daniel smiled, “Did you just shush me?” Luna giggled at that and hugged him tighter. 

They lay together in silence for a while, the room dark and quiet except for the occasional groan from Daniel as his stomach continued to churn. Luna’s presence was a constant comfort, and she loved a steady anchor in the storm of his illness.

Just as he was starting to drift off, another wave of nausea hit, and he bolted upright, reaching for the trash can. Luna was right there with him, rubbing his back as he retched again, his body convulsing with the effort.

“It’s okay, baby. Just let it out,” she said softly, her voice a soothing balm to his misery.

He heaved again, his stomach empty but still spasming painfully. When it finally subsided, he collapsed back onto the bed, utterly spent. “Fuck..” he muttered.

Hours passed in a blur of nausea and brief moments of fitful sleep. Luna’s unwavering presence made the ordeal a little more bearable, and as the night wore on, he began to feel a glimmer of hope that the worst was behind him.

By the early hours of the morning, the nausea had finally started to subside. Daniel lay in bed, exhausted but grateful for Luna’s care. “Thank you, Lu,” he said, his voice hoarse from vomiting. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out,” she replied, snuggling close to him. “Now, try to get some rest. We’ll get you feeling better soon.”

Daniel nodded, closing his eyes as he let himself relax into the comfort of her embrace. As he drifted off to sleep, he couldn’t help but feel incredibly lucky to have someone like Luna by his side, someone who loved him unconditionally, no matter what. 

[damthosefandoms]

“it’s exposure therapy” she says, becoming a hypochondriac halfway through an education degree and going on to work in an elementary school

[angstyaches]

1/2 I'd like to send a link to a fic prompt (If you're open to them 😊). It gives me Sharlie vibes, and even though there's sickness involved I think it's a good one for them to angst over each other - the not-sick one worrying about the sick one and trying to let them rest, but also stressing over why they weren't told and having to find them like this, and the sick one feeling guilty for being a bother but also being grateful. Good couple shit 😁

Aagghh, I'm sorry, I deviated a bit from the exact wording of the prompt and it became more of a starting point, but I hope you enjoy it!! Thank you for waiting 🖤

Prompt

Word Count: 3,000ish

CW: nightmare (skip to the first "___" ellipses to avoid it), fever, emeto, anxious caretaker, out-of-it sickie.

___

Charlie bobbed in and out of nightmares like a chunk of driftwood thrown in the ocean in a storm. He let the waves take him; being awake felt dreadful anyway. It wasn’t the most restful of sleep, but if he got enough of it, maybe his body would right itself. 

Fractured shards of blue sky were flanked by darkness and rock. He was barefoot, teetering at the edge of an inky pool. His nerves were alight as though he were being watched, and dread rose up his throat as he lowered his gaze from the horizon, towards the surface of the water. He braced himself for Charlie Two’s image – skeletal, brittle, angular – to greet him instead of his own human reflection. This was, after all, the place where they had first met, where their souls had been bonded. 

What awaited him was much worse. 

The face of a child rippled and distorted in the black water, his skin blossoming with bruises, his blue eyes wide and terrified, his mouth hanging open in a silent, perpetual scream. 

In true nightmare fashion, Charlie tried to scream and found that he couldn’t. His mouth was already gaping, too, as though his younger self’s form were mimicking him. He tried to fling himself backwards, but instead, he sank head-first into the water, glimpsing the whites of his own eyes as he tumbled. 

When he fell, he spun, and he found he was in a living room that hadn’t been familiar to him in years. This was the last house he and Jon had both lived in, before Jon went away to boarding school. Charlie glided like silk through the room, as though he were one of the shadows cast through the room by the moonlight. A figure sat, hunched on the floor by the sofa, head buried between their knees. Charlie recognised the flop of dirty-blonde hair. This wasn’t a memory; he had never seen teenaged Jonathan cry, not even when Grandad had passed away. 

Jon, he tried to cry out, reaching for his brother’s shoulder. But Charlie was still a shadow that passed right over him. Jon’s lonely, anguished wailing only grew louder and louder.  

Jon, I’m here, I’m right here, I’m – 

Jonathan flung back his head and roared, his face contorting as sunlight suddenly pierced the front window. His features quickly became indiscernible, but those broad shoulders, those... those dark shadows that rose upwards until the tips of those awful wings touched the opposite walls of the room. 

Charlie once again tried to get purchase. He clawed at the ground, desperate to drag himself away before those wings could beat, before those talons could be wielded, before... before the shattered glass and the blood –  

He was incorporeal and yet he flailed, he shrieked, and he punched. 

___ 

“Charlie. Charlie, stop it, calm down!” 

Charlie’s lungs wrenched and he gulped thickly at the air. His hands pushed at the mattress just as they had been pushing at the creature’s chest before he’d awoken. The sheets were soaked, and for one horrible second, Charlie deduced that it must have been his blood, that the vampire must have clawed him open and left him to bleed out. 

It was only when he felt a thick, lukewarm droplet run down the back of his neck that he realised that it was sweat. He’d sweat right through the sheets. 

“Hey. It’s okay.” 

The fact that Shayne was sitting on the bed, right next to him, made Charlie jump, but being startled by his boyfriend was the least of his problems right now. His stomach was roiling, forcing a rumbling, wet belch up into his throat. 

Charlie badly wanted to reach for Shayne’s hand with his own, but one arm was trapped beneath his own body and the other was currently needed in front of his mouth. 

Oh, god.

Oh, fuck.

This was hell. This was the hell that he'd been avoiding by staying asleep.

“I’m – mmph, I’m gonna...” He broke off into a strangled retch. 

“It’s okay, Charlie.” 

A belch rolled up from his cramping gut, and a trickle of bile landed in his hand. Panic flared in the back of his skull. He felt Shayne rest a hand on his sweat-slick shoulder, and he whimpered in appreciation, and in expression of how awful he felt, and in apology for the mess he was about to make all over the bed. 

“Charlie. Bowl.” 

Charlie blinked, lowering his hand to find the designated sick bowl sitting just under his chin. No, not sitting. Shayne was holding it there, ready. 

Oh...

The glow of appreciation might have burned a little warmer in his chest if his chest hadn’t currently been burning with stomach acid and the remains of yesterday’s dinner.  

Charlie tried to take the bowl into his own grasp, but he was positioned at a terrible angle, practically propping himself up on his right shoulder. He tried to twist around and sit up, and only made it because Shayne leaned over and held him by the waist to support him. As it was, the movement took it out of him. He was out of breath and seeing spots, and now trembling with miserable anticipation. 

His fingers were slippery on the sides of the bowl, but steady enough to hold it in place while his belly forced a torrent of sick out of him. His insides were so wrought with sickness that all he had to do was leave his mouth hanging open – shit, no, don’t think about the nightmare rockpool – and more chunky, pale slop came gushing out of him. 

Shayne’s hands kept gentle hold of Charlie’s torso – one at his lower back, the other on his tummy – as though he might topple off the side of the bed otherwise. 

Honestly, Charlie felt dizzy enough that he might have. Plus, the illusion that he was being physically held in place by somebody who loved him was possibly keeping him from breaking down altogether. 

Rope after rope of stomach contents came clawing out of him, hot and slick and foul. Bubbles of gas were churned up in between gags, forcing up long, thick belches that made his body shudder even more than the cramps.  

“Hmm,” Shayne groaned, smoothing his hand over Charlie’s bare back after a particularly watery belch left him whimpering.  

Charlie had been out of breath before he’d puked; at this point, he felt ready to black out. His throat felt like it’d been punched by the time his stomach settled down. It still hurt, and gurgled uneasily under Shayne’s hand, but at least it was no longer trying to smash itself against Charlie’s windpipe. 

Shayne waited for about a minute, still moving the hand on Charlie’s back in a slow, soothing circle before taking the hand from Charlie’s belly and reaching for something on the nightstand. Charlie smacked his lips and spat weakly into the bowl, hoping Shayne was reaching for a glass of water.  

It was a tissue, though, which Shayne used to dab at Charlie’s hand.  

Charlie grunted softly and turned his hand over to be cleaned on the opposite side. He’d completely forgotten that he’d puked into it. That part felt as though it might have happened within his dreams. 

“Whoops,” Charlie murmured. 

“Don’t worry about it, love.” 

Charlie lifted his head up, briefly catching Shayne’s eye before his boyfriend returned to carefully cleaning the edges of the bowl. 

“How’d you know I was sick?” 

Shayne raised a dark eyebrow. “Impressed?” 

Charlie nodded. He loved this boy so much it hurt. More than having a sick tummy. 

“Don’t be. You were burning up,” Shayne said. “And I know you like to sleep, but you don’t usually sleep until the afternoon.” 

“It’s the afternoon?” Charlie exclaimed hoarsely. “Shit! Rin –” 

“I called her. She can do next weekend.” Shayne’s hand came to rest on the outside of the sick basin. “Is your stomach okay for now?” 

Charlie nodded again, feeling a flush rise to his face. Shayne handed him some more tissue, and Charlie sheepishly used it to wipe his mouth and dropped it into the basin before it was swept away and placed out of sight.  

“Oh, but wait,” Charlie groaned. “Next weekend you’re training with Elliott –” 

Shayne frowned and waved a hand to dismiss Charlie’s half-formed protest. “I’ll figure something out. You just focus on getting better, okay?” 

“I'm sorry," Charlie sighed. "Maybe we can go to you.” 

Shayne grunted at that. He leaned back a bit, so he was propped against the headrest of the bed. “A demon, a demon eater, and a redhead walk into a vampire’s Georgian townhouse. Sounds like the start of a bad joke that Felix would tell.” 

Charlie snuggled closer, hugging himself in an attempt to soothe his bubbling stomach. He shut his eyes and nuzzled his cheek into the flat expanse of Shayne’s belly. Shayne was wearing a pullover hoodie, so there was no zip to press into Charlie’s face; just fabric and softness and warmth. 

A concerned hum came from Shayne’s body. “You’re sure that’s comfy?” 

“Mmhmm,” Charlie giggled, even as shivers started to roll through him. His body ached and it felt like he’d puked up some of his organs along with the contents of his stomach, so he wasn’t quite sure where the energy to giggle was coming from. 

Shayne spent the next minute trying to adjust the corner of the duvet without disturbing Charlie too much, covering Charlie’s shoulders and making sure no draughts were getting to his back. Then he splayed his hand against Charlie’s upper back, keeping him scooped close.  

Charlie had already drifted off by the time he was tucked in. 

This time, his sleep was blissfully dreamless, occupied only by the faint rush of his boyfriend’s and his own bodily sounds. 

___ 

Shayne wasn’t sure if Charlie would actually slump away from him if he stopped holding his shoulder in place with his arm, but he wasn’t willing to take the risk. Idiot, he thought, examining the back of his boyfriend’s head as it lay across him. Why couldn’t he have been happy sleeping in a position that he couldn’t roll out of? 

Deep down, he really didn’t care, though. He’d never gotten over the sting of embarrassment whenever Charlie rested his head on – or even close to – his stomach, particularly since any amount of anxiety or stress could turn it into a churning, gurgling mess to be inflicted upon Charlie’s eardrums. 

While he lay there, he listened to Charlie’s breathing and felt tentatively thankful for the fact that he wasn’t groaning and twitching like he had been before. Shayne’s chest hurt a little at the fact that Charlie had been attempting to just sleep through whatever this was, instead of telling Shayne that anything was wrong. Should he have realised sooner? Should he have woken Charlie earlier, gotten him a cool cloth to soothe his fever before it had a chance to wreak havoc on him? Gotten him hydrated, gotten –? 

“Shit,” Shayne hissed gently to himself. He glanced towards the bedside locker. There were tissues, there was paracetamol (which hadn’t seemed wise to offer Charlie while he was still so nauseous), there was a thermometer (which he hadn’t needed to use to know that Charlie was burning up) – there was even a dry cloth that he’d brought with the intention of running under some cold water, but had never gotten around to. Charlie had started heaving so quickly that it’d slipped his mind. He hadn’t even thought to bring him any water to drink. 

Fuck. He was shit at this.  

Shayne tensed his back and stomach muscles to ease himself up. He cupped the back of Charlie’s head, supporting it as best he could while slipping out from underneath it. He dragged a pillow down from the headrest and propped it under Charlie’s cheek. 

Charlie inhaled sharply. His eyes seemed to try opening, but only made it halfway before they fluttered shut again. He made a soft whimpering noise that sounded vaguely like a question. Guilt tugged at the pit of Shayne’s stomach; if he had planned everything better, he wouldn’t have had to disturb Charlie’s nap at all. 

“Sorry, love.” Shayne curled forward, kissing Charlie on the head. “I’m just...” 

He shut himself up. Charlie was asleep anyway, and explaining himself would just disturb him even more. Shayne swallowed nervously. Please, no more bad dreams. 

He couldn’t remember ever being in such a state of hyperfocus whilst walking downstairs to fill a glass with water from the kitchen tap. He even grabbed one of the silicon straws Charlie had bought for his iced coffees in the summer, in case Charlie didn’t want to sit up to drink, but the whole thing felt instinctual and automated. It just made sense. It felt like no time at all had passed by the time he returned to the bedroom, but clearly it had, because Charlie was sitting up now. 

He was sort of reclining on his side, his torso and left arm making him into a right-angle triangle with the mattress. His free hand rubbed at his face. 

“Charlie?” 

“The... pull the tuna into the boat,” Charlie mumbled. 

“The what now?” 

“Turn the car around, the...”  

Shayne raised an eyebrow and waited a couple of seconds. He was kind of interested to know where this was going, but Charlie didn’t finish that sentence. Instead, he groaned and lay down again, pushing his face into the pillow that Shayne had left for him near the centre of the bed.  

Shayne carefully sat down. He frowned as he stroked Charlie’s hair. There was still heat radiating from his head. It broke his heart to think about disturbing him yet again, but with the sweating and the vomiting, Charlie was bound to be dehydrated. 

“I’m so sorry, light of my life. Can you sit up and drink something real quick?” 

Another groan. Charlie rolled his head back slightly. Bleary blue eyes squinted at Shayne for a couple of seconds. “What’d you call me?” 

Shayne’s heart thumped. 

“Absolutely nothing,” he said, moving the glass of water into Charlie’s line of sight. He turned the straw towards Charlie’s face. “You want some of this, or no?” 

Charlie nodded promptly and closed his eyes. He murmured wordlessly to himself as he pushed himself up into the triangular position again. He stayed a little lower this time. 

“Little sips,” Shayne told him, bringing the straw to Charlie’s mouth.  

Charlie closed his lips around it and took a few steady pulls before flicking the straw away with his tongue. He exhaled slowly through pursed lips, as though it was taking some physical effort not to let the water slip right back up and out his mouth. 

Shayne grimaced and laid a hand on Charlie’s shoulder to let him know he was rooting for him. “Still pretty sick to your stomach?” 

A nod, slow and careful like the steadying breaths. 

No chance of getting any paracetamol into him, then. At least, none that were likely to go down and stay down.  

“Probably enough water for now, then,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone, as he twisted away to place the glass on the bedside table. It was getting crowded up there now. When he turned back, Charlie’s were barely open, but he was still sitting part of the way up. He met Shayne’s gaze and managed a weak little smile. 

“Thank you so much, lovely,” he whispered.  

Shayne quickly shook his head, hating that Charlie was thanking him for doing the bare minimum – and at the last fucking minute, too. He also hated that the sleepy, adoring look in Charlie’s eyes was making his stomach flutter. 

“Lie back down and get comfy again,” he instructed as softly as he could. “I’m going to try to get your fever down.” 

“’Kay...” 

He took the cloth from the bedside table and brought it into the adjoining bathroom. In the mirror, he was still able to see Charlie on the bed, and he began to get concerned when the boy made no move to put his head back on the pillow or settle back down in any way. 

Shayne hurriedly wet and wrung out the cloth and returned to the side of the bed. 

"Charlie?” He crouched down to Charlie’s eye level and got ready to reach for the basin again. “Are you okay, love?”  

“Mmph...” came the distressed response. 

“Talk to me. What’s up?” 

Charlie blinked heavily, his glassy eyes roaming over the opposite side of the bed. He seemed to know exactly what he wanted to say, but was struggling to put it into words.  

He finally parted his lips to say, “Is the tummy pillow coming back?” 

Heat flooded Shayne’s head. “Oh. Um...” 

Charlie rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand. The arm that was propping him up was starting to tremble visibly with the effort. If this was the quickest way to get the idiot to lie back down again – 

“Okay. Yeah, it is,” Shayne nodded. “Just let me put this on your head, okay? You're roasting.” 

Charlie placidly allowed Shayne to smooth the cloth across his forehead; he even lifted his eye-rubbing hand to hold the cloth in place while he was still sitting up at an angle. The faintest of smiles crossed his face, tugging gently at his tired eyes, as he watched Shayne take the pillow away and replace it with himself.  

He put his head down, cheek-first, and left the cloth sitting across the right side of his forehead. Shayne wondered, for a few seconds, if he would lose any of the benefit of the cloth if it was off-centre, but quickly realised that thought was probably even more ridiculous than Charlie's rambling about tuna and cars.

A contented hum rumbled through Charlie’s throat, making Shayne jump slightly as he felt it in his stomach muscles. He wrapped his arm around Charlie’s shoulder again, and brushed the fingers of his other hand through Charlie’s hair as a quick apology for getting startled. 

“Go back to sleep,” he whispered. “Go... turn the car around, and pull the tuna into the boat.” 

Charlie grunted. “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

Shayne bit his lip to keep from snorting with laughter and jolting Charlie’s head from his belly. “Nothing. I love you.” 

Charlie let out three more consecutive little hums. 

[skyward-floored]

I haven’t had anyone in my inbox who’s been like “wait YOU wrote [insert fic here]?? That was YOU???” in a while so either I’m finally home free or I’m due

[tigers1o1]

Someone pray for me i am fighting for my life on the toilet

I had to call out bc of a stomach bug that made my ass leak while i was napping

[izzy-b-hands]

The good news: I captured the flying bug from yesterday

The bad news: ...you guys remember how Sally dropped the bell jar on her cupcake in that one Taskmaster task? Well, I was using a mug we never use to try and cover him, and I'm very sorry.

[jurassicsickfics]

idk if youre still taking requests, but you should write a sickfic for Carrie where billy has to reluctantly take care of a very sick chris 😌

The way I got so excited when I saw this request! Yass!! Hope you enjoy!

It was a normal day at Bates High. With Carrie quietly doodling on paper in a corner, Norma re-braiding her pigtails and, of course, Chris strutting into the room with the usual look in her eye of smart remarks just waiting to be fired off. Naturally, she went for Carrie. Most of the kids in the room laughed as the bullied girl started silently crying. Chris broke out into a laugh. "Aww, look at her! She's such a crybaby!" She said in a mocking tone. Billy stood behind Chris, smirking.

"Poor, poor Carrie! Is crying your answer to everything, freak? I don't know how anyone could-" she stopped in her tracks. "O-oh..."

The room went quiet. "What?" Norma asked.

"I-I...Um...I gotta...gotta go." Chris stuttered before bolting for the door. Her stomach decided she wouldn't be making it to the bathroom, so she was forced to drop to her knees over the trashcan by the teacher's desk...in front of everybody.

Billy just stood there, an indifferent look on his face. He felt eyes on him, and when he noticed other students gesturing to Chris, he rolled his eyes and walked over to his puking girlfriend. He gave her a couple of half-hearted back pats before turning his attention away from her again.

Chris stopped vomiting, and the retching sounds were quickly replaced by sobs. Sobs of both mortification and misery. The blonde looked up at Billy, a pitiful, "help me" sort of look on her face. He once again rolled his eyes, before reaching down and wiping her mouth with his thumb.

"There. Happy?"

This only made Chris cry harder. No, of course she wasn't happy. She'd just barfed in front of everyone and all he could do was wipe her mouth?! Come on! He wasn't even sweet about it, either.

"What are you crying for? You just puked, chill. "

Chris sniffled and swiped her wrist across her runny nose. "I need to go home, Billy..." she moaned.

"Ok, I'll drive you. Come on." Billy said, turning to leave the room. After a few steps he realized she didn't follow him.

"Are you coming or what?" He asked. Chris shook her head. "My belly hurts ..."

Billy was confused. "Yeah, I gathered that when you barfed, babe. Now c'mon."

More sobs from Chris made Billy finally get the message.

"Oh for the love of... fine, come here." He said, scooping her up into a bridal hold.

Chris nuzzled into his shoulder and let out a soft burp. "Don't puke on me." Billy said as he started to carry her out of the school.

Soon, the two teenagers were at home. Chris was laid out on the bathroom floor, a cold cloth on her forehead and a blanket draped over her hip. "Billy...I don't feel good..." she whined, shivering against the cold tile floor.

"I know. I gotcha." He said, trying to muster a sympathetic look as he rubbed her leg. He never was good at this comfort thing.

Suddenly, Chris sprung up out of her lying position and lurched for the toilet again, gagging loudly and gushing vomit.

Billy cringed. He was not at all used to seeing Chris like this. She was usually a dainty girly-girl, and the gross, obnoxious gagging and belching sounds coming from her were extremely out of character.

As she finished throwing up, she turned to Billy again. "Babe..i wanna cuddle in bed..."

Billy sighed. "Not until you quit spewing every few minutes." He replied.

"Babe, please! I don't feel good...I just wanna get warm and sleep..." Chris begged, tears dripping down her cheeks.

Billy sighed. "Ok ok, fine." With that he helped her up and they made their way to bed. Billy wasn't too excited about cuddling his sick girlfriend; any other time, he loved holding her. But when she just puked and could do it again any moment? Nothing cuddly about that.

As the two settled into bed, Chris cuddled into Billy, her head on his chest. She shivered even though she was covered in blankets and dressed in warm pajamas.

Billy flipped through channels on TV, finally feeling relaxed enough to rub her back after a few minutes without incident. "How ya feeling, hot stuff?" He asked.

For a moment, he got no response, but suddenly he heard a, "hrk, hrk, hrk..." sound.

"Chris? Christine don't you dare-"

Too late...he was soaked....

This was gonna be a very long night for Billy.

[arecaceae175]

Febuwhump Day 9: Voice Loss (Wind)

AO3 link. Warnings: illness and vomiting

“Sailor, you okay?”

Wind grumbled to himself. They had been asking him that all morning . He had woken up to his stomach roiling with nausea, but he could handle it. He has pushed through worse before. Besides, Twilight said they were headed somewhere important and they would only barely make it on time. Wind did not want to be the reason they had to stop. 

But the question was getting old. First, Sky had asked when Wind was the last one to rise from his bedroll. Then Wild when Wind declined breakfast. The smell had nearly made him gag. Now, Hyrule and Four were watching him too closely as they traveled. 

He was fine, really. His stomach was just a little upset. Wind told them as much, but Four still looked skeptical. Wind rolled his eyes and quickened his pace, ignoring the way the movement sent his stomach tumbling. 

He managed to make it another few miserable miles before he felt the tell-tale sign of saliva gathering in his mouth. Bile began to creep up his throat as his stomach spasmed painfully. Wind slapped a hand over his mouth. 

Oh. He needed to stop now.

“Uh, guys?” Wind said, swallowing harshly. Everyone turned to look at him and Wind felt the tips of his ears go pink. 

“I’m gonna-“ Wind’s stomach cramped harshly and he felt bile claw its way up his throat. He covered his mouth with both hands and ran for the bushes on the side of the path.

Wind reached the bushes and fell to his knees just as his stomach pushed out all its contents. Wind curled an arm around his torso and coughed harshly as he vomited. 

Warriors was by his side in an instant, holding him up and rubbing his back. As soon as Wind had a moment of reprieve, he swallowed thickly and opened his mouth to apologize. Before he could get a sound out he was seized by another round of heaving. 

“Okay, you’re okay, don’t try to talk. Just let it out, sailor,” Warriors said, rubbing circles onto his back. 

By the time the vomiting stopped, Wind’s arms were shaking and tears were running down his face. Warriors gently guided him to sit back and handed him a water skin. 

“Don’t try to drink yet, just rinse,” Warriors said gently. 

Wind nodded, still feeling too weak to respond. He took a tiny sip of the water, rinsed it around his mouth, then leaned over to spit it out. He handed the water back to Warriors with a shaking hand. Warriors wrapped his scarf around Wind’s shoulders and guided the younger hero to lean up against his chest. 

“Better?” Warriors asked. 

Wind’s gut churned, and his stomach throbbed in time with his head, but the nausea was slightly better than before. Wind curled his hands into Warriors’ scarf and carefully nodded.

Oh, how he wished grandma was here. She always made him feel better. The homesickness hit him like a physical pain, and to his horror Wind felt more tears leak out of his eyes. He roughly wiped them away with his sleeve.

There was a lull of soft voices floating around his head, but Wind couldn’t quite make them out. He didn’t realize he had shut his eyes until he was being gently shaken awake by Warriors. 

“The rancher says there’s a spot nearby that’s safe enough to stay for a few days. Do you feel up to walking?” Warriors asked. He had one hand supporting Wind’s back and the other was gently brushing Wind’s hair out of his face. Wind gratefully leaned into the touch. 

“We can keep going,” Wind whispered. As soon as the words left his mouth his stomach cramped violently. He gagged, and heaved, but nothing came up. Wind shut his eyes and curled into himself, hands digging into his hair, silently begging the nausea to go away.

“Oh, Wind,” Warriors said, and the soothing circles on his back resumed. “Will you let me help you this one time? Everyone needs help when they’re sick.”

It didn’t take much convincing. Wind felt terrible , and Warriors’ offer sounded far too good to pass up. He could deal with the consequences later. Wind moved one hand out of his hair and weakly gripped Warriors’ tunic. He nodded gently, not willing to risk talking again. 

“Alright,” Warriors said softly as he readjusted his grip on Wind. “Ready?” 

Wind nodded again, hoping Warriors could feel it. 

“One, two, three.” 

Warriors very slowly moved to his feet, barely jostling Wind at all. Wind was grateful; even the slight movement had his stomach cramping in protest. Wind screwed his eyes shut and let his fevered skin rest on the cool metal of Warriors’ armor. 

“Need any help?” Twilight asked. Warriors arms tightened around him.

“I’ve got him,” Warriors said. Then, softer, “You can sleep, sailor. We’ll be there in no time.”

[pmak2002]

A character who can never hide their sick stomach because they are skinny and when their stomach hurts. It’s bloated and easily noticeable. No matter how much they want to hide it from others.

[angstyaches]

couldn't resist sending you a few prompts from that list, what yummy dialogue!! i'd love to see some sick Donnacha and caretaker Henry (i adore their dynamic, it soothes my soul) maybe using "you're still alive, right?" and "shit, i've never been this sick in my life." i'm also fond of "i hid the car keys. you're. staying. home." but tbh flick everything you write is pure gold so please go for whatever prompts tickle your fancy <3

Anon asked:

yay! i wasn’t sure if you were so i didn’t want to make a request without checking first. from the question ideas #15 post that you reblogged, would you be interested in writing something for donnacha around the “bad day?” prompt? i’m kinda obsessed with the platonic caretaking between him and henry. i’m also really interested to know if donnacha will continue to explore his sexuality beyond his kiss with henry (without actually involving henry in the experimentation) and how any potential realizations will make him feel

Quotes are from this prompt list.

Thank you for the opportunity to expand upon Donnacha's bisexual journey because I've actually wanted to do that for ages.

CW: anxiety, slight (bisexual) panic, coming out, nausea, stomach ache, emeto, platonic caretaking, implied potential sc*t,

Word Length: fucking long.

___

11:36pm 

When he walked through the hallway and into the living room at this hour, he didn’t expect to find the room filled with basically everybody he knew – besides his family and his rugby mates. 

Donnacha froze, feeling like he’d just stepped off a plane. Or a merry-go-round. Somewhere he didn’t quite feel like himself, where the rules of life sort of went out the window, and existence itself shifted a little bit. 

All the nerves and adrenaline and sparkly feelings that had filled his night all left him at the same time, dumping him right back in the thick of reality. 

His stomach took a particularly low dip as he noticed Payton on the couch, their arm draped around Autumn’s shoulders. They both stiffened when they saw him, but they didn’t disentangle from each other. 

“Hi,” Autumn said. Her hair was longer than the last time he’d seen her. 

“Hiya,” Donnacha mumbled. 

Payton didn’t greet him. He’d been cold with them for so long now that they barely bothered anymore. Donnacha’s stomach twisted with guilt, as well as a hint of victory. An empty sort of victory, but still. 

Lucy was sitting on the couch too, in pyjama bottoms and a hoodie, one knee pulled to her chest. She looked up briefly from her phone. “Oh, hey, Donnacha.” 

And then Henry fixed him with a look, and Donnacha felt like he could breathe again. He was sitting at the dining table, with his worn copy The Catcher in the Rye and a cup of tea.  

Tea sounded fucking lovely, actually. The cocktails had been yummy while he’d been drinking them, but he would appreciate something to wash the sickly-sweet aftertaste out of his mouth and settle the burning upset in his belly. 

“How was it?” Henry asked him, ever straight to the point. 

That snagged everybody else’s attention more than Donnacha’s initial arrival had.  

God, he loved Henry, but he could kill him sometimes. 

“Oh, shit,” Lucy exclaimed, eyeing Donnacha’s jeans – his nice jeans, not his everyday jeans – and shirt. She let her phone rest on her knee. “Did you have another date tonight?” 

“Yeah, I did,” he responded weakly, focusing on her rather than letting his eyes trail towards Autumn. “It was kind of a... last-minute thing.” 

“Another date,” Autumn repeated. She was braver than him. Always had been. Ran headlong into things with a smile on her face. 

Donnacha gritted his teeth and tried his best to look casual as he met her gaze. 

“I didn’t know you were dating someone.” She looked genuinely happy for him, which Donnacha silently resented, and resented himself for resenting. Payton shifted their weight, and for once, Donnacha couldn’t even bask in their discomfort, because this was extremely uncomfortable for him, too. 

“Two someones, actually,” he blurted out. The words immediately tasted horrible in his mouth. He had no desire to make Autumn jealous, so what was this burning need to prove something? What was he even trying to prove?  

“Two?” Henry’s interest was renewed. “You weren’t out with the same person as yesterday?” 

Donnacha forced a smile, promising himself he wouldn’t get mad at Henry. But Christ, he just wanted a cup of tea, not an inquisition. 

“Nope,” he said. 

“Okay, so, how was it tonight?” Lucy wanted to know. She propped her fist under her chin and leaned onto her knees. “Was she pretty? Nice?” 

“Um...” Donnacha felt a tickle of a laugh rise in his chest, despite everything. His hands and his voice were trembling, which was mildly ridiculous. “Actually, he was... cute.” 

The room fell silent, and his unsettled belly was suddenly flooded with an anxious buzzing. This wasn’t the fluttery anticipation he’d felt at the start of the night, like he was a teenager about to step onto the field for his first under-20s game. This was despair, like fumbling the ball and costing his team the winning try during his first under-20s game. 

It sank in all at once, what he had just done. Jesus, what a way to come out to two of his roommates and his ex-girlfriend as... whatever he was. He probably should have at least waited until he had a word for it. 

“He was a polite sort of lad. Pulled my chair out for me, which has never happened to me before, actually,” Donnacha chuckled, mainly because nobody else was saying anything. The only person whose gaze he could bear to meet was Henry’s, and when he did, Henry gave him a little wink of approval. 

And then Donnacha got his breath back.  

He could kill Henry sometimes, but he loved him. 

Lucy looked the least surprised out of the other three, but she still squinted at him like he was a maths test and she’d slept through the last ten lessons. “Okay, sorry, but... yesterday, it was a girl, right? You showed me a picture. She had long, brown hair, a tattoo on her neck –” 

“That was, um, a genderqueer person, actually.” Donnacha rubbed the back of his neck. He wished he could stop saying ‘actually’ so much; he butchered it with his accent every time, and it made him feel like he was being insincere when he wasn’t. “Not a ‘she’.” 

“Oh,” Lucy exclaimed. “Oh, sorry.” 

“And... how did that one go?” Payton’s voice was low and somewhat deliberate. It was probably the first time they’d spoken directly to him in a week. 

“Ve was very nice.”  

Even Henry looked shocked and impressed this time; he’d surely assumed that someone like Donnacha wouldn’t even know what neopronouns were, let alone manage to use them in a sentence. It seemed like a silly thing to feel smug about, but Donnacha couldn’t help it. He barely recognised himself these days; it almost felt necessary to let some other people in on the craziness. 

“But m-maybe a bit too intellectual,” Donnacha went on, despite the swelling discomfort in his stomach. He was over-sharing. He had never been like this. Maybe he’d always talked things out with Autumn one-on-one, and now his ramblings needed other outlets. “I think ve would get, um, bored of me very quickly.” 

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Lucy frowned. 

Donnacha shivered, breathing hard against a wave of nausea. What the hell was wrong with him? Henry and Lucy were both gay, Payton was nonbinary, and Autumn was... well, he wasn’t entirely sure, but she was clearly attracted to someone who wasn’t a man, so not necessarily straight. This was the safest room of people he could be in. 

So why did he feel like he was going to faint, or throw up, or both? 

“Anyway. Cuppa?” He skimmed his gaze over Payton, Autumn, and Lucy. “No? Hen?” 

Henry shook his head. “No, thanks, hon, I’m still nursing mine.” 

“So you are.” Donnacha snapped his fingers in the direction of Henry’s mug. He’d never snapped his fingers before pointing at anything before in his life.  

Before he could do or say anything else weird, he turned towards the kitchen. His knees threatened to sag while he was putting water in the kettle, ears straining towards the living room. It felt like he’d just let off a slew of random fireworks and then left. He wondered if they would talk about him now, while he was out of sight.  

Sweat crackled on his forehead. What whispers would Autumn and Payton be sharing? Donnacha wondered – again – why he even cared. His feelings for Autumn were in the past. If she broke up with Payton and asked Donnacha to take her back tomorrow, he would say no. He knew that, as certainly as he knew Henry’s favourite chocolate was 70% cocoa with sea salt. His feelings for her had changed. That was what his kiss with Henry had taught him.  

He slapped a dry teabag against the back of his hand while he waited for the kettle to finish boiling. His cheeks puffed out under the force of a slow, lazy belch that crept up from his gut. God, those cocktails were not sitting great. Donnacha’s throat felt sticky, as though he was still sipping one. Now that his mood was dipping, he couldn’t help thinking that the fried chicken they had ordered to the table had been a little hard to choke down. He wasn’t used to deep-fried food, and he could feel how his belly was gurgling away trying to digest the greasy coating and the stringy meat. 

At this point in time, he remembered the unpleasantness of the food, and the shifting of his stomach, more than he remembered the face of the man that he’d shared it with. Although, that might have had to do with the fact that he felt like he was suffocating right now. 

Do you know what? Tea, be damned. Who could be arsed standing around, waiting for a kettle to boil, when they were embarrassed and not feeling well? 

Donnacha skulked back through the living area, slowing down but not stopping. 

“I’m off to bed, actually,” he said. Actually. He didn’t meet anyone’s gaze this time. “I’m wrecked. I’ll see yous tomorrow, or...” He broke himself off with a nod as he ducked through the archway and bolted for his bedroom. 

11:58pm 

He sat and fidgeted with his phone for a couple of minutes. He had texts from both Josh and Willow, but every time he thought about composing a reply to either of them, it felt like they were both in the room, standing over him with their shoes pressed against his chest. Josh with his brogues, Willow with ver knee-high boots. Josh, smelling like musk and molasses; Willow, smelling like an ocean breeze. Both of them fantastic and gorgeous and, apparently, waiting for texts back from him because they liked him. 

So why couldn't he stop focusing on the looks he might get if he walked about town with either one of them on his arm? Why, instead of giddy and excited, did he only feel this sickening dread?  

“Donnacha!” Henry’s voice said sharply on the other side of the door, as though they’d been in the middle of a conversation and Donnacha had said something outrageous. 

His skin prickled, hot then cold. He got up, stomped over, and opened the door. “What?” 

Henry made a face and shut his eyes, like he was rebooting himself. When he spoke again, there was something a little more fragile about his voice. 

“Bad day, was it?” 

“No! It was fine! I told you.” Donnacha sat down on his bed again. Standing was doing his stomach no favours.  

Henry paced in behind him.  

“Maybe our personalities didn’t click very well,” Donnacha shrugged. “Maybe he reminded me a bit too much of myself. And I might now know who or what I’m interested in, but I know for a fact I’m not interested in going out with myself.” 

Henry nodded as though what he was hearing wasn’t the ramblings of a slightly drunk man having a crisis. 

“And, of course, I was nervous,” Donnacha murmured, lowering his chin slightly. “You know? I’m twenty-five and casually dating for the first time ever. And it was a lad, hen. And this... the lads thing, it – it still feels weird, actually.” Actually. “But I was... no, I was the normal amount of nervous. It was a normal kind of date. Just normal.” 

Henry shifted his weight from one leg to the other, cane tilting with his hips. “Donnacha, I... asked if you had a bad day. Not a bad date.” 

Donnacha swallowed, this time tasting the chicken grease right in the back of his throat. He folded his arms over his middle and leaned forward, testing how the pressure felt against his stomach. “Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Misheard ya, then.” Donnacha sniffed and cleared his throat. And then words came out of his mouth in a dizzying rush. "Bad days, I-I've had any amount of those recently."

"What?" Henry asked hoarsely. "And... you didn't think to say anything?"

Donnacha shrugged. He noticed that Henry’s glasses were slipping down his nose, just a bit, but he was eyeing the way Donnacha was sitting, hugging his belly.

“Are... you feeling sick?” 

Instead of a verbal reply, Donnacha hiccupped, the pain cutting so deeply through his chest that he made a choking sound like he’d been punched. 

“You gonna be sick?” Henry asked, casting a glance towards the hallway as an afterthought, presumably wondering if Lucy’s ears had pricked up at his words. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything, Hen!” Donnacha was raising his voice now, and he either didn’t care, or cared immensely. “I – I don’t even know who I am anymore.” 

Donnacha’s face burned as the words escaped him.  

Jesus Christ.  

He’d never been this moody and self-indulgent, but it felt as though he’d stumbled across this beautiful, yet painfully delicate, thing inside of him, and the thought of exposing it – allowing it to be observed, critiqued, potentially broken – to the world made him want to scream. 

Back home, he’d have sent his old man into absolute uproar if he’d come out with a line like that, accusing him of having too much time on his hands. His secondary school coach would have asked him if he’d rather join the drama society (ironically, of course, since his school hadn’t had a drama society). Even the lads on the current team would probably chuckle at him, or, at best, nudge him in the direction of a counsellor rather than have him bang on like this in front of them. 

Henry didn’t ridicule him. He didn’t accuse him of being soft. 

Instead, Henry hobbled forward to stand next to him, combed his fingers through Donnacha’s hair, and leaned forward to kiss his forehead. Donnacha sighed – or was it a little sob? – and tilted his head against Henry’s stomach. It felt good to have a body so close to him. This was more physical contact than he had experienced on either of his two dates, and that thought was so confusing that it made the knots in his stomach pull even tighter. 

“You don’t have to know,” Henry whispered. “You don’t have to know anything. Your story belongs to you, and no one else.” 

Bile rose in Donnacha’s throat. “Bit late for that now.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, I... made a show of myself, didn’t I?” Donnacha flicked a hand in the general direction of the living area, as though the scene where he’d announced his sexual fluidity was still taking place out there, in open defiance of him and his current feelings about it. 

“You didn’t make a show of yourself. Donnacha, what are you on about?” Henry tilted his head and brushed a tear away from Donnacha’s cheek with his thumb. His hand was a little cold, thanks to his bad circulation, “Exactly what do you think you did wrong?” 

“I... I don’t know. I thought talking about it would be easier, is all,” Donnacha said on a trembling sigh. His stomach cramped, but the pain felt secondary to the panic that had wound its way around his chest. “It felt weird, a-and... it felt like stripping down to the nip and waving my arse in the air, with all of you watching me.” 

“That’s...” A smile, both wry and fond, crept through the lines in Henry’s features. “Unfortunately, that’s what coming out often feels like. I mean, maybe it was too soon for you, and you took yourself by surprise. You sure as fuck took me by surprise.”  

Donnacha chuckled drily, and Henry kissed his head again.  

“But I was so proud of you, hon.” 

A spark of warmth circled Donnacha’s heart. 

“Hope you know that.” 

Donnacha tried to swallow around a hiccup, not wanting to ruin what felt like a tender moment, but he failed spectacularly and ended up belching instead.

“Thank you," he mumbled. "‘Scuse me.” 

"We'll chat more tomorrow. I think you should try to get some sleep.” 

“I will, if you get out of my room, you weirdo,” Donnacha mumbled. He reached up to squeeze Henry’s arm before sinking back a little on the bed.  

“Rude.” Henry finally adjusted his glasses. He glanced towards Donnacha’s bedside cabinet. “You never made that cup of tea, by the way. Do you want me to bring you one?” 

Donnacha curled his lip, rubbing one hand over his middle. “Nah, my stomach really doesn’t feel great.” 

Henry nodded, eyeing him warily again. “Well, I’ve been having atrocious insomnia, so let me know if you need anything.” 

12:21am 

Jesus, but these cramps were getting brutal now. 

Donnacha was relieved that Henry hadn’t decided to spend the night in his room, because as soon as he had laid down, it sounded like a lawnmower engine had started up in his belly. 

He had resigned himself to sleeping on his back, which he didn’t usually do. Acid sloshed into the base of his oesophagus, thanks to the heartless bitch called gravity, but it was the only position he could find where he could cradle his sore, gurgling stomach with both hands. He woke a few times to find his hands had slid to his sides and had to readjust them. 

4:07am 

A car horn blasted him fully from his sleep.  

Donnacha groaned in pain (Oh, sweet Jesus, my belly hurts) and confusion (who the hell is sitting on their horn at this hour?!). He was starting to think he’d never get used to living in the town. Back home, the most he’d ever be woken up by was a crying fox, and even that used to be an exciting affair that he’d share with his parents and sisters over breakfast. (Did any of yous hear the fox last night?!) 

He sat up in bed, and as he did, his belly growled like he was starving, when he was in fact the opposite. Its contents went tumbling over into a heavy pile. Donnacha let out a hiccup-belch, his throat too tight to release enough air to relieve any of the pain. 

He planted a hand on his stomach, flinching when the pressure stirred up more pain than he’d expected. His belly was pushing out, taking up more space inside his old jersey than it usually did, and the surface of it felt stretched and tight. He frowned. He hadn’t exactly gone overboard last night, and none of his drinks had been carbonated.  

Must’ve been that chicken, he thought. Saliva flooded his cheeks even as he recalled it. A gurgle wove its way through his gut, accompanied by a clenching, slithering pain. 

A bead of sweat chased another bead of sweat down his back. 

He shot to his feet and moved as fast as he could without bouncing himself up and down. His stomach was jostled nonetheless, and he burped and hiccupped and gulped convulsively all the way to the bathroom. 

When he reached the toilet, he was drooling and gagging, ready to get this over with. Donnacha cringed and braced himself, but it wasn’t enough to lessen the unpleasantness of experiencing that sticky, greasy chicken in his mouth all over again, this time mixed with acidic juices.  

All he could do was squeeze his eyes shut and look forward to the relief he knew he’d feel later, when the food was unable to torment his stomach anymore.  

He retched hard, throat constricting around strangled groans. 

It was down his shirt, he realised when the retching slowed down and he opened his eyes. One of the hiccups in the hallway must have brought something up with it.  

Shit. He needed to go check that he hadn’t left any on the floor. If Lucy saw that, she’d – 

“Urrgggghhh,” Donnach moaned as sharp pains wracked his belly. He’d made a bit of a mess on the floor, too, somehow, but he’d had to deal with that later. 

The next wave was coursing up his throat, filling his mouth all the way to the backs of his teeth, before spilling into the toilet bowl. He couldn’t remember throwing up this thickly, this immensely, since he’d been little. He could almost feel the chill of the farmhouse bathroom – which was very different and much fresher than the chill that plagued apartment blocks. He pictured his mother fussing over him, checking his forehead with her hand, tutting as she went looking for the cordless landline so she could call his school. He could almost taste the 7Up that she would stir the bubbles out of, because flat 7Up was the cure for everything in those days. 

As he choked up a mouthful of yellow fluid that stuck to his lips on the way out, Donnacha couldn’t remember if stomach acid and flat 7Up tasted much different.  

Ew. 

He retched again. 

He wasn’t sure how long he spent in front of the toilet, but eventually, Donnacha noted that he needed to pee. Too exhausted and nauseous to stand, he peeled himself up off the floor and sat on the toilet seat. He couldn’t have said how long he spent like that, hunched over so that his head nearly touched his knees, arms gripping his cramping belly. All in all, this was a relatively safe spot for him to be in, especially if things went south. Well, further south. Based on how things were progressing, he wouldn’t have been surprised... 

Donnacha sat up, propped his elbows on his knees, and cradled his head in his hands.  

5:27am 

The front door slammed. 

Donnacha jumped. Shivered. He was still sitting on the toilet, and he felt dizzy. Had he dozed off? Or just spaced out for a second? He blinked and glanced over at the thin light white streaming through the bathroom window. 

It had probably been Lucy, he thought blearily, leaving for classes a lot earlier than usual. Made sense that she’d want to get out of the house, if she’d caught wind of any of Donnacha’s troubles in the night.  

Donnacha would probably feel bad about setting off her phobia later, but right now, he didn’t have the energy to feel any worse than he already did. 

5:38am 

Whether he’d beaten his insomnia or not, the front door slamming must have gotten Henry out of bed. He must have seen Donnacha’s bedroom door swinging open, and his empty bed, because Donnacha’s ears were suddenly prickling from the gentle taps of his cane as he came down the hallway towards the bathroom door. 

He didn’t knock. He just gently called out, “Donnacha?” 

Donnacha squeezed his eyes shut. Bad idea. His head immediately started to spin and his upper body started to sway. 

“Hey, hon?” Henry called out a little more sharply. “Still alive in there, aren’t you?” 

“Just about,” he croaked. 

“Want me to come in?” 

Donnacha looked down at his sick-stained jersey. He was still sitting on the toilet. He and Henry might have been close, but… not this close. Donnacha wasn’t sure he ever wanted to be this close to anybody. 

“No,” he muttered. 

“You coming out soon?” 

Donnacha groaned. “Yeah, yeah. Just go away and give me a few minutes.” 

“Alright.” 

5:45am 

“Jesus…” 

“Come on,” Donnacha murmured, reaching for Henry’s hand and attempting to turn him around. “You don’t want to be near that bathroom for a while.” 

Henry was inclined to believe him. 

“How did... I didn’t think you were that drunk last night.” Henry frowned. If he’d known this was going to happen, he could have left a bucket in Donnacha’s room. He’d seemed upset after talking to everyone in the living room, but Henry hadn’t thought he’d been hammered. Who got drunk enough to make themselves puke on a first date? 

“I wasn’t,” Donnacha whined. He rubbed the heel of his hand against his belly as they walked towards Donnacha’s room. “I think it was the food at the cocktail bar.” 

“Why, what’d you have?” 

“Ugh, this horrible, greasy chicken.” Donnacha’s cheeks puffed out a little, and his hand pressed further into his middle, as though his wrung-out stomach could barely take the mention of said chicken. “Ugh. Gave me this fierce belly ache last night.” 

“Or,” Henry ventured, “you were coming down with a bug.” 

“No. Nope.” Donnacha shook his head and let go of Henry’s arm as they reached his bedroom. “See, I had that one a few months ago. You remember it.” 

Henry stood still, frowning as hard as ever, while Donnacha lowered himself onto the bed. The duvet was ruffled from the night before, but he made no effort to pull it up around himself. 

Henry blew a gentle raspberry with his lips. “You don’t – you can’t just, like, get one tummy bug and then be immune to all of them. It’s not like the chickenpox –” 

Donnacha whined, making a face like a child who was about to be lectured. “Ssshhh, Hen.” 

Henry bristled slightly at being told to sshh, but let it slide seeing as Donnacha wasn’t feeling well. He eyed him as he settled down on his side, face pressed into his pillow. 

“Going to sleep?” 

“I’m actually just... gonna rest my eyes for a minute.” 

“Or you could go to sleep.” Henry reached for the duvet and started to pull it up over Donnacha’s side. 

“Can’t.” Donnacha's voice sounded ragged. “Training at half eight. Have to shower.” 

Henry snort-laughed. Donnacha lifted a hand to try to push the duvet away from his shoulder.  

“Match next week,” Donnacha croaked, tucking one arm under his head and curling the other around his belly. For someone who didn’t want to be tucked in, he sure looked like he was getting comfortable. “Can’t skip.” 

“Wait, you’re being serious?” Henry froze, still holding the corner of the duvet so that it made a tent shape over Donnacha’s upper body. He didn’t want to laugh again, but one was bubbling in his chest. “You’re hardly going to training, hon.” 

“I’m grand,” Donnacha told him. “I’ve got – gotten it all up. And… out. Out of my system. Should be fine now.” 

“I thought you might say that, so, actually –” Henry said. 

He swore he heard Donnacha mutter under his breath, “Actually.” 

“– I’ve taken the liberty of hiding your car keys.” 

It seemed to take a few seconds for the words to filter down through Donnacha’s tangled, exhausted thoughts. Henry used that time to lower the duvet and tuck him in, ignoring the twinge in his hip as he leaned.  

He hadn’t really hidden Donnacha’s keys – they had probably walked past them in the hallway on the way back from the bathroom – but Henry was relying on the fact that Donnacha seemed way too shattered to get up and investigate. 

Donnacha glared up at him from the bed, with all the ferocity of a puppy waking from a nap. “No, you bloody didn’t.” 

“Bloody well did. I know, I know.” Henry gestured lightly towards his own collarbone and let his voice drift towards Lavender’s, just for the theatrics. “I always have been a criminal mastermind of the highest order.” 

“I can walk,” Donnacha threatened, stifling a yawn, “if I leave right now.” 

“Dear boy, you’ll get blown down by the smallest breeze,” Henry relished telling him, “before you even get out of the driveway.” 

“You know that I can take you, don’t you, Hen?” 

“Oh, yeah?” 

Donnacha hummed in the affirmative, wrapping the corner of his duvet around his hand and pulling it in close to his chest. “Yeah. I can make you give me my keys and spill all your secrets.” 

“Usually, yes, but you couldn’t even take a bit of tall grass right now. Will you listen and get this through your head?”

Henry leaned forward on his cane, so his face was a little closer to Donnacha’s pillow. His hip twinged a little less this time.

“You’re. Staying. Home," Henry said, his stomach twisting with each word. He hated having to be stern - he had a fundamental aversion to it - but sometimes Donnacha could be so stubborn that he was a hazard to his own health. Henry reckoned he would never understand it himself, the way that Donnacha devoted himself, as well as the majority of his free time, to the rugby team. 

Henry righted himself, sighing, when Donnacha's silence indicated that he'd won. “You can beat me up over it when you’re better.” 

“Probably a good thing,” Donnacha slurred. Henry was almost sure that he’d just started to drool against his pillow. “My belly hurts something fierce."

Henry raised his eyebrows.

"I don't... mmm." Donnacha gulped, his hand tightening around the corner of his blanket. "Shit. I don't think I've ever been this sick in my life, actually.” 

“Donnacha. Seriously?” 

“Yeah.” 

“And... you still needed me to stop you from going to training.” 

Donnacha hummed in the affirmative, and Henry wondered hopelessly how someone so consistent could ever feel as though they didn't know who they were.

He reckoned he'd spell it out for him later, though, since Donnacha seemed to have fallen asleep and was - indeed - drooling on his pillow.