purplechyrsanthemum

[purplechyrsanthemum]

what if you had to pee really bad but then someone holds your arms back and keeps your legs spread and you can’t hold yourself so you eventually end up wetting yourself.

#omorashi #piss kink #pee holding #love this #forced wetting

[purplechyrsanthemum]

Does anyone know that meme where it’s a four way handshake and two if the hands are labeled “sneeze” and “monsterfucker” I don’t remember what the other two are not what is in the center but I need to show some people the meme

#snz #sneeze kink #monsterfucker #looking for a meme

[purplechyrsanthemum]

A brow furrowing in concern

“You’re shivering,” they say, “Come here.”

#h/c #illness kink

[purplechyrsanthemum]

How do I tell him I want him to hold a vibrator to my clit while I’m desperately trying to hold my piss without telling him?

#omorashi #trans omo

[purplechyrsanthemum]

Accents that get thicker and more obvious when the person is ill/exhausted: ❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎

#did someone say devo la main? #taz ethersea

[purplechyrsanthemum]

Shoutout to the anon who asked for more Lon.elyEy.es, bc @onetrickponi delivered this lovely prompt to me (I'll publish it separately bc I managed to spend 10 years on Tumblr without ever learning how submissions work)

This was a great opportunity to practice writing sneezes, even if I'm a little rusty writing from Pe.ter's POV uwu*

There was nowhere to sit in Artifact Storage. Peter leaned against one of the cold metal shelving units, the sharp edge digging into his arm even through the thick layers of his coat. He raised his eyebrows as Elias dragged a wooden trunk out from some dark corner and perched on it. "That's best practice for archiving, then?"

"Shut up," said Elias primly, crossing his legs. "I didn't call you down here to listen to you talk."

Peter sniffed and looked around. Even with the automatic lights in their aisle, the cavernous room was wreathed in shadows, the odd spider web hanging filthy and swaying from the ceiling. Elias loved to do this, make his little demands without offering any explanation. He liked to make people ask. "At least buy me a drink first."

"Shut up, will you?" Elias sniffed and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, which was unusual. Oftentimes, he didn't even bother to blink in Peter's presence. "This is important."

"Yes, of course," said Peter, looking around faux-amiably. "Only, Elias?"

"What?"

Peter smiled. "I think I might go for a coffee. It's chilly down here."

"You're being childish," Elias said, his jaw audibly tense. Hypocrite. A sharp inhale, a twitch, and then… "Eh'tsch!" Peter took a breath, only to catch a fierce glare. "Don't."

"Don't get coffee?"

"Oh, for God's sake." Elias rolled his eyes. Perched on the trunk, he looked very small but no less indignant for it, his sharp, pale chin jutting out and brows knitted. "There's something I need to Know, but I don't know exactly where to look. Do you follow?"

"You don't know what you don't Know," Peter said serenely, clasping his hands behind his back. "What does this have to do with me?"

"I," said Elias, and passed. "I…" He bit his lip, nose wrinkling in a way that looked distinctly involuntary.

"Bless you, dear."

"Eh'tschrf!"

Peter sniffled in commiseration, running his index finger under his nose. "Dust allergy?"

Elias shook out his handkerchief and dabbed his nose with it. "I understand this may be difficult for you to grasp," he said in that patronizing tone he loved to use, "but this is quite a serious matter, Peter. Our lives may be at stake."

"Is that so?" Despite himself, Peter felt the smile fading from his face. Elias didn't joke, not about things like this. "Is that why you called me here?"

"Partly." Elias exhaled sharply through his nose, eyes losing focus for a split second. "I need you to keep your eyes on me while I do this. And I need to keep my eyes open."

"I see," said Peter. Could he help it if Elias was so easy to rile? Chuckling, he sat on the cold concrete, one leg bent inward to accommodate for the trunk Elias sat on. "Well, by all means. I'm ready."

Elias nodded shortly and began.

The electric lights hummed above them, bathing Elias in a cold, greenish light. The silent concentration was so unlike his subtle, easy Knowing that Peter found himself transfixed despite the discomfort of the concrete beneath him and the shelving against his back. At first, Elias didn't even bother to breathe, but then the motion came back, a rapid but even in-out that rasped along beneath the ambient hum of Artifact Storage.

Peter's own eyes were beginning to water. He'd never had a compelling reason not to blink. The Lonely didn't reward that sort of thing, really didn't concern itself with the mechanisms of a person's biology.

Elias twitched and reared back, cutting off Peter's inquiry with a short sneeze that might as well have been an explosion in the havoc it wrought on the atmosphere. "Ih'kscht! Ah, damn."

Peter didn't even have the heart to deliver a stern "language" in the most nannying tone he could muster. "Are you—"

"Ah'tschh!" Elias pressed his handkerchief to his face like he was trying to smother himself and still the telltale twitch made furrows on the bridge of his nose. "Ih'kxtf!" Each convulsive sneeze brought his shoulders downward and inward, like he was trying to make himself smaller. It had to have been hell on his ribs. Tears ran down his cheeks, some even bypassing his handkerchief and pooling beneath his chin, where they broke free and dripped onto his trouser leg.

"Oh, dear." Peter really was at a loss. Any attempts at comfort would be met with scorn, any advice with mocking. Still, what else was left? "Did you see anything?"

"London," Elias spat, like the name itself tasted foul on his tongue. "I'll have to try again." He wiped his eyes with his free hand, having evidently sullied the handkerchief with his sneezing.

Peter glanced around, a sharp burn shooting through his own nose. It had to be dust. Though, Artifact Storage was remarkably clean. Sans the spider webs, of course. Those were an occupational hazard. Even the Tundra hosted spider webs no matter how many weeks they spent at sea, no matter how many sailors pulled them down. "Maybe try it without breathing?"

"Oh, thank goodness you're here." Elias glared at him through pink-rimmed eyes which were already watering again. "Try it without breathing, never would have considered that on my— Hh'tschf!" He sighed through clenched teeth, and the hand not holding his handkerchief splayed itself across his chest.

Peter beamed. "Anything to help my dearest friend." Elias refused to look at him, so he let the smile drop and pursed his lips. Maybe it was purely psychological, but a sharp tickle now crawled along his sinuses, bringing with it the promise of— "Ah'kschuh!" Of that.

"You're acting like a child," Elias hissed. He was the kind of man who went pale with anger, not red, and he was very, very pale now, bloodless lips a sickly, noncommittal pink. It made the irritated sheen of his nose that much starker by comparison, teetering on the edge of red.

Peter could argue his case later. Or maybe not; perhaps it was wiser to play the buffoon. It took Elias a great deal of concentrated effort to see through the fog of the Lonely, particularly when Peter wanted to stay concealed. "Just waiting for you to collect yourself. I'm ready when you are."

Elias nodded shortly, a muscle twitching in his jaw. Again, Peter watched him concentrate, his chest going still and eyes darting wildly as though he was reading from a teleprompter. Peter's own eyes roved over that stern, handsome face, silently admiring the high cheekbone (his favorite place to plant an unexpected kiss) and fierce, hawkish nose. It twitched despite the lack of air passing through it, and Elias squinted, teeth bared. "D-damn— hhheh'chrf!" His knuckles were white around his handkerchief as he scrubbed violently at his nose, hard enough to leave the skin around it bright red.

Peter massaged the bridge of his own nose against a renewed tingle there. Surely it couldn't be psychological. Could it? He'd never heard of such a thing, but there was no potential allergen to be found. He looked around again, eyes roving over the tags on the artifacts nearest. "We're not near anything from The Corruption, are we?"

"Yes, Peter, because I'm that much of an idiot." The furrow in Elias' brow seemed a permanent fixture for the time being, a perpetual scathing look affixed to his face and tear tracks on his cheeks. He gestured at the trunk beneath him. "The Stranger." Then, gesturing at the artifacts around them in turn, "The Stranger, the Vast, Stranger, Spiral, Hunt (don't touch that one), and Buried."

"Well, clearly something down here is setting you off." Elias eyed him sharply, one corner of his mouth downturned. The itch in Peter's nose got the better of him and he turned his face to the side, his forehead meeting the soft corduroy of his jacket. "Ah'tchh!"

Elias narrowed his watering eyes, nose still twitching. "You as well, it seems."

"You look a bit like a small dog," Peter said serenely. "Should we move to your office? I assume you had a good reason for wanting to conduct this affair down in Artifact Storage, but I don't think you'll be able to."

"Would you believe me if I told you I didn't want the weekend cleaners to disturb us?" Elias muttered. Rather than get up, he bent a little at the waist and exhaled, staring at his balled up handkerchief like it had done him a personal wrong. "Ih'txt!" He kept his face buried in it, eyes closed. Tears gleamed in his dark lashes and streamed in rivulets down his cheeks.

He must have felt far worse than he was letting on. Peter studied the hunched posture, the teardrops dotting Elias' tie and slacks. Yes, he certainly felt worse than he was letting on. In no universe did Elias Bouchard sully his clothing unless the circumstances were dire.

Well, that was a fun development. Might as well prolong what misery he could by forcing Elias to stand before he had recovered from the fit. Peter hauled himself to his feet. "Let's not dawdle. You did say our lives were at stake."

"They are." Elias sniffled and grabbed onto Peter's arm, pulling himself up with a stifled groan.

"Hang on," said Peter, a flash of yellowed-white catching his eye. "This trunk has two tags." Scooting Elias out of the way, he bent to examine it. "Corruption."

"Somebody," said Elias, his voice taut and congested, "is getting killed."

Peter couldn't resist. "Who?"

Unfortunately, it seemed Elias didn't need the Eye to see through Peter's attempt at teasing. "I hardly think that's any of your concern." And he turned on his heel, striding away with one final, muffled sneeze into his handkerchief. "Ih'tschf!"

Peter followed dutifully behind him. There would be further opportunities to tease once Elias had sorted all this out.

#i love it and think it’s excellent! #sneeze kink #sick elias #sickfic

[purplechyrsanthemum]

aww baby do you have to go? is it really that bad? that’s so cute, does it get worse if i press right here? it does? and here- i need to stop? no, baby, you need to hold it, that’s your responsibility, not mine. how about if i slip my hand into your underwear... wait, are you really this turned on by needing to piss? that’s so embarrassing, oh my god! that’s adorable! aww i love how easy it is to rile you up. you know what, baby, just for that, i think i’ll see how long your tiny little bladder can hold up. no, no protesting- im gonna see just how desperate you can get, in both senses of the word.

#omorashi

[purplechyrsanthemum]

I cannot hold it any longer, I’m going to explode and wet the bed. Trying to hold back sneezes so I don’t leak but the cat was laying with me for an hour…

#sneeze kink #omorashi #omo #full bladder

[purplechyrsanthemum]

Is so this but I have allergies and sneeze at least three times every morning

Alright let’s just try a new challenge where I go as long as I can without sneezing, counting the days. So far we’re at day 0 because I keep forgetting

#sneeze #challenge #snz

[purplechyrsanthemum]

It’s so cute that you’re falling apart at the seems; if only you were strong enough to grin and bear it

#whump #this did pop into my head based on a tma fic #I think I might write something later

[purplechyrsanthemum]

Fandom: The M.agnus A.rchives

Characters: E.lias, T.im, M.artin, J.on. R.osie makes another appearance but only briefly.

Pairing: N/A

Tropes: sneeze kink, more suit kink, caught in the rain, head colds

Summary: Basically E.lias has a cold and humiliates himself in front of a bunch of people who hate him. that’s it, that’s the fic

Warnings/Notes: I’m really dehydrated god i hope this turns out coherent. It’s super short. Less than 1k. Hope you like it anyway :’)

Keep reading

#tma #sick elias #sickfic #i co #i continue to be unfamiliar with the source material but ethereous and Taylor are going to get me into it

[purplechyrsanthemum]

Fandom: The M.agnus A.rchives

Characters: E.lias, P.eter

Pairing: E.lias/P.eter

Tropes: mistaken for drunk, fever, collapsing, flu, coughing, pining, mild humiliation, caretaking, intimacy

Summary: E.lias comes down sick a party he tricked P.eter into attending. P.eter looks after him.

Warnings/Notes: Mild spoilers if you don’t know who P.eter L.ukas is, obviously haha. Mild spoilers if you don’t know why E.lias is a main character. Usually with p.odcasts I try to avoid describing the characters but my h.eadcanons kinda crept through this time. I tried not to be too in-your-face about it Also I have a specific interpretation of how L.onelyE.yes works that you may or may not share??

Umm final thoughts, I’m A.merican and have undoubtedly let some A.merican-isms slip through and you’re just going to have to live with that. Also the symptoms are kinda?? IDK how to describe it. A little inaccurate but done deliberately. You’ll see what I mean. Basically, I know what I’m about and if you see something wrong that isn’t a typo, I either did it deliberately or am aware it’s fudged don’t care enough to fix it

Keep reading

#ethereous writes #sickfic #magnus archives #i am so unfamiliar with the source material I barely understand what’s going on here but I like it

[purplechyrsanthemum]

Really love an offhanded admission of “sorry, I’m so fucking sick” where they’re not trying to be pitied, but their illness is becoming so inconvenient for them and everyone around them that they just have to acknowledge the elephant in the room

#while sounding so fucking sick of course #sickfic #they were doing a good job of hiding it but rapidly deteriorated

[purplechyrsanthemum]

Obligatory "I'm sure someone has said this before but" disclaimer

Can't stop thinking about a character, perhaps even a high-ranking or powerful one, taking orders from a superior. They try not to sniffle or sneeze as they nod along like they're supposed to, only to freeze as the final order is given: "And do something about that damned head cold."

#snz #this is hot but not hot enough for an nsfw tag #imagine?

[purplechyrsanthemum]

Whumpee has been feeling increasingly shitty all day. They’re exhausted, achey, and can barley walk in a straight line, let alone drive themself home from the office. However when they finally cave and tell someone how they feel, gearing up to ask for help, they’re shot down, “it’s just a cold, I’m sure you can manage” “you look fine to me, you just want a free ride” “nothing a coffee won’t fix”

#this is absolutely inspired by a sickfic I read last night #whump #sick #whumpblr

[purplechyrsanthemum]

TMA prompts you say??? i am here!!! if you don't like this, let me know and i can try again, but!! what about Jon in a VERY bad mood, and the assistants are angry with him about it, but it turns out Elias is burying him in work even though he's already sick :( if you'd like me to try again, let me know!!

Hi! Thanks for the prompt! I apologize if this is OOC at all? I feel like it is, but! I hope you enjoy regardless!

Warning! There are slight spoilers for around season 2?

Tim was not happy with Jon right now. Well, nowadays, he was never happy with his boss, but today he was fuming. Jon was more irritable and pissed off than usual, and Tim didn’t even think that was possible, it seemed to him that the other always had a perpetual stick up his ass.

Today, Jon was insufferable. Tim had gone to give Jon his research, only for him to snap at him for entering before knocking, Tim of course, scoffed and made a remark, Jon, who usually rolled his eyes and shook his head instead yelled at him again, snatching the work out of his hand and immediately dismissing him.

Tim marched out of Jon’s office and sat at his desk with a huff of anger. Martin looked over to him, brows furrowed in concern and question. Tim looked over to Jon’s office scowling. “He’s being a dick.” He sighed, slumping in his chair.

Martin frowned, gaze shifting between the closed door to Jon’s office and to Tim typing angrily on his computer. He sighed, hoping that he could figure out what was wrong when he brought Jon his morning tea. Speaking of, what time was it? Martin checked the time on his computer, immediately getting out of his seat upon seeing he was running late already.

He went to the breakroom and put water in the kettle, letting it boil as he set up 4 separate mugs, one for Tim, another for Sasha, then Jon, and then himself. He knew the way everyone liked their tea, he’d learned after trying to provide comfort in small ways, mostly because Jon wouldn’t accept any other gesture of concern.

Martin hummed a half-remembered tune as he poured the hot water over the tea bags, starting the handoff, saving Jon’s office for last. When Martin gave Tim his tea, the other man stopped him before he could even step foot towards the archivist’s office.

“I’m warning you he’s in a horrid mood,” Tim said voice low and serious. “Good luck in the lion’s den.” He said sardonically, resuming his typing on the computer.

Martin just shook his head strolling over to the heavy door that was engraved with “Head Archivist” in silver lettering. He knocked timidly, before entering. Immediately freezing under Jon’s gaze. His eyes were narrowed in scrutiny, his brown eyes appearing almost icy and glare sharp. If looks could kill Martin would be dead where he stood.

Martin was now regretting not listening to Tim. He couldn’t remember a time he’d ever seen Jon look so angry. Martin tried not to maintain eye contact, but he’d noticed something else in Jon’s glower; pure exhaustion.

Martin should’ve known better than to poke the sleeping bear with a stick, but his tongue betrayed him and before he knew it, he was asking “Jon? You alright? You look absolutely spent.”

Jon’s scowl only deepened at this. “What do you want Martin?” Jon spat, each syllable filled with venom, his jaw tight and clenched. His hand was hovering over his tape recorder, the pause button pushed down.

Martin swallowed, chest now tight with anxiety. “Oh r-right, um, I brought you t-tea?” He stammered, hands shaking as he put the mug on Jon’s desk. As he did so his eyes scanned the stacks of papers and statements scattered haphazardly around the small office.

“Next time don’t interrupt me, I’m rather busy. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Jon replied bitterly, glaring daggers at Martin, grabbing the statement he was working on.

“Right. Sorry.” Martin replied timidly, rushing out of the office, the door closing in time with the click of the play button on the tape recorder. The deep timbre of Jon’s voice resuming, taking on the edge that it usually did when he read statements. If Martin hadn’t been so freaked out he might’ve noticed the slight raspiness in the words.

Tim looked over to where Martin was standing, shaking his head with a sigh. “I told you he was in a mood,” Tim remarked. Martin only shook his head.

“I’ve never seen him like that. He was…” Martin paused, searching for the right word to explain the pure fury he’d seen in the other man’s eyes. “Seething.” he completed.

Tim only sighed. “He’s just an ass. What I wouldn’t do to give him a piece of my mind.” Tim scoffed.

“I-I don’t know why but I’m worried about him.” Martin stuttered. “There was something else there… exhaustion maybe? I-I don’t know but I think he’s working too hard.” He fretted.

Tim only laughed at this. “You worry too much Marto, the new position’s probably just gotten to his head,” Tim snarked. “You’ve got it bad for him don’t you.” he teased, grinning when Martin flushed in embarrassment.

“I-I do not! He... I just... I-” Martin rambled.

“Relax! I’m just pulling your leg.” Tim laughed. “I’m just pissed at him. Who does he think is? Yelling at all of us. Pompous idiot.” He rolled his eyes. “Elias should’ve never given him that position.” Tim explained.

“Excuse me, Mr. Stoker?” Elias’ voice suddenly broke out, and Tim felt himself pale.

“Oh, boss! What are you doing down here?” Tim stammered, no longer suave.

“Just coming to deliver more statements to the head archivist, or rather the man “I should’ve never given this position to.” Isn’t that right?” Elias replied smugly.

Martin shifted uncomfortably on his feet, clearing his throat before speaking. “S-sorry! Um.” Martin squeaked.

Tim’s confidence returned as quickly as it had disappeared. “Well, he can’t seem to keep his ego in check, yelling at us over the smallest of errors.” Tim grumbled.

Elias hummed in response. “Well, perhaps you should keep your judgment to yourself, Timothy.” Elias chastised.

“Sure thing.” Tim replied, unafraid. He resumed typing on his computer as Elias walked over to Jon’s office.

Martin sat back at his desk anxiously, keeping an eye on the small window of Jon’s office, trying to see what was going on.

Elias knocked on the office door and walked in, a complacent smile on his face. He was testing his archivist, pushing him beyond his limits. He had been piling more and more work onto Jon, seeing how he would respond, how his work would be affected. Call him cruel, but he was just trying to unlock Jon’s potential. So far, he was becoming more successful than Gertrude.

Jon looked up at the door, expecting another interruption from Martin, he quickly paused the tape recorder on his desk, scolding words already at the tip of his tongue. When he saw that it was in fact, not Martin at his door but Elias Bouchard, his stomach dropped. Elias had more statements, fuck. Jon ran a hand through his greying hair. He just wanted to go home, it was getting harder to concentrate on the words etched in ink on the parchment.

“Hello, Jon,” Elias spoke, his voice holding a sinister edge. “How are the statements coming along?” His smug smile did not falter for a moment.

Jon swallowed thickly as Elias’ gaze burned right through him. “Elias,” Jon acknowledged the greeting. “They’re uh- excuse me-” Jon stopped mid-sentence to cough painfully into his arm. He cleared his throat before speaking again. “Apologies, I’m about halfway through the stack.” he rasped pitifully.

Elias made a hum of understanding. “Good. I do hope you’ll complete these before you leave for the day.”

Jon sighed. “Of course,” he replied weakly, clearing his throat again.

Elias looked Jon over again, the Cheshire grin on his face never falling. “Oh, and Jon?” he said, walking over to the door.

Jon looked at him expectantly, eyes half-lidded, with an eyebrow raised.

“You have quite the fever, do be sure to keep it under control.” Elias said nonchalantly before leaving the small office, leaving Jon alone, mouth agape.

Jon had known of Elias’ omniscience, but not that it was at the level. God, he needed a lie down.

#I’d pay for a part 2 #sickfics #I love overworked and sick it’s my favorite

[purplechyrsanthemum]

!

!: that classic collapse into someone’s waiting arms

It takes everything in A's power to keep their eyes open at their desk. Their head is pounding, and their vision swims and creates a sickly swirl of nauseating color. Their computer screen might as well have hieroglyphics on it, and they groan and weakly rub their eyes.

Just 4 more hours. Then it's the weekend, and you can go home and lay down for 48 hours straight.

It was a nice plan in theory. Unfortunately, their theory didn't count on three other team members deciding that today would be a good day to get sick, too. Which meant that they were currently staring at an enormous pile of paperwork that had to be done by the end of the day, and their shaking hands could barely hold a pen.

“Planning to kill an entire forest before the weekend, A?" B, another manager in their department (and endless thorn in their side) leans on the doorway, impish smile tugging at the corner of their lips. A is in no mood for it.

"Lay off, B. I'll save the trees next week." They chafe their arms and suppress a shiver, eyes searching their office for their jacket. “Why is it always so damn cold in this building?”

"You feeling alright, A?" The smile stays, but a flash of concern flits across B's face.

"Peachy. It's just chilly in here.” And in the conference room, and in the break room. And there’s only so many times you can go warm up your hands under hot water before they completely dry up and you can’t type anymore.

“Heard the flu was going around in our department. Just didn’t know if you were next on its hit list.”

A rubs their itching eyes again, aggravating the sensitive, swollen skin beneath them. “Don't you and your team have some big project to finish?"

"Deadline got pushed to next week. Figure I'd make the rounds and see if anyone else was slacking off like us."

"Stellar. Well, some of us have work to do, so if you don't mind….”

A moves to usher B out of their office, but they sway as they stand and grab the edge of their desk. A chill floods their body from head to toe, making every hair on their arms stand up, and the angles of the room suddenly don’t conform to the laws of geometry.

“A, the color of your face just went from technicolor to silent film. Seriously, sit down.”

A motions to step toward B and shove them out of their office, but their feet don’t quite get the memo. They take one stuttering step that's more like a lunge and open their mouth, but no sound comes out, and they’re falling, falling…

The last thing that registers with their brain before losing consciousness is a feeling of being caught.

When they come to, they’re horizontal on the small couch in their office. Their shoulders are draped with their own jacket, while their legs are covered with an unfamiliar blazer.

“Where….where’d you find this?” A mumbles, pulling their precious jacket tighter around their shoulders.

“Your jacket? In the break room. Where all good jackets go to die.” B’s seated at A’s desk, sleeves rolled up, making steady progress on the stack of files in front of them. “You were shaking like a leaf for a minute there, so I figured I’d contribute mine to the cause, too.”

A’s head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, and they try to make sense of what they’re seeing and where things left off before they fainted. “B….I gotta get up. Those files, they need-“

“-to be taken care of by someone who doesn’t have the plague. I pulled a few willing volunteers from my team, and we should have this done in an hour or so.”

Tears prickle at the corner of A’s eyes. Of all the people they’d expect to come through for them, B had been the last person on their mind. But it's B. There has to be some ulterior motive. So they do the only thing they know how to do – shoot back.

“Calling a ceasefire on your mission to bug me to death, then?”

“A, if you were paying any attention, you’d know that was never my goal. But seeing as how you’re nearly oblivious with fever, I’ll let it slide.”

A blinked twice, slowly, information trickling like molten lava into their brain. None of this made any sense.

“What...what do you mean?”

“A, it’s not that deep.”

“But I don’t get-“

“I’m trying to be your friend.” It comes out exasperated, but A can see the slight blush of embarrassment. “All you see me as is your nemesis. And if that’s all I get, then fine. But just know I'm open to more than just fighting with you."

B stops short and turns back to their paperwork, suddenly aware that they've said more than they intended.

A’s suddenly seeing their coworker in a whole new light - all the harmless jabs become veiled compliments, all the “stolen work” that got taken off their plate right when they were stretched to the limit, and the pranks never really hurt them - just made them laugh. Their throat tightens. What had they missed all this time?

"B?" A's voice is barely above a strained whisper. B looks up again.

"Will you...take me home? After work? I don't think I can drive."

B smiles softly. "Of course I will."

"And B?"

"Rest your voice, A"

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Although if you do want to be friends, can we solidify it before I inevitably get this flu? I'm gonna need some help when that happens."

A snuggles deeper beneath the jackets, a smile tugging at their lips. "Consider it a done deal, then."

#Thanks you for this! #sickfic whump #sickfic #whump