#[ i caught a cold so i've been having a fever for the past few days ] | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

factorialsotherfandoms · 5 months

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Fit's brain and throat and nose are made of gunk, and he can only praise Hausmaster that Ramon has been preoccupied with something in his room and not wanting to come out the past few days. His beautiful baby boy has his cookies for the week, a good supply of food, and absolutely does not deserve any of this. Not being made of cotton wool, and not being so dizzy getting up is impossible.

He has tried to get up - being sick is not an option, being sick gets you found and killed and killed again - but didn't even make it to the door. In defeat he dragged himself back to bed, burrowed under the duvet, and consoled himself with the fact at least this way he has the element of surprise.

And a sword. Can never underestimate the power of a trusty sword.

He dozes, rather than sleeps, already too vulnerable for his liking but unable to stay fully awake.

His sneezes wake him up. Its gross, and its messy, and he can barely find the energy to grab a tissue and care.

It's as he's trying - failing - to get the gunk out of his nose that he hears footsteps. He freezes for a second, then hides himself back under the covers.

Don't look.

Pretend to be asleep.

Maintain the element of surprise, or die.

He listens, and waits, and after a little bit there's a knock at the door.

"Fit?"

Pac. That's Pac's voice.

Fit isn't sure why he relaxes at that, but he does. He tosses the tissue at the bin, misses, and calls a very stuffy "come in, Pac."

Pac enters shoulder first, using his elbow on the door handle while he carries a tray. There's a bowl, and a spoon, and a glass, and a bottle.

"Phil said you weren't feeling well last night" traitor "Then you weren't there and... I have soup?"

"Soup sounds lovely, Pac."

Fit keeps his thoughts about Philza's meddling to himself, and struggles to sit up instead. Pac quickly puts down the tray, scooting over to help him get comfortable against the cushions.

"I wasn't sure what sort of sick you are feeling, so I bought all the medicines," he gestures not just at the bottle, but the sheets of pills around it too.

"You're too good to me, Pac."

Pac blushes a bit in reply.

It's a little too much to process. Fit waves a thank you and asks, "soup first?"

"Of course, of course," Pac shifts the tray over, balancing it on Fit's lap. "Do you need help, or...?"

"I'll be fine," Fit reassures - its just a stuffy head cold. "Try not to get sick?"

"I think Richas already has it. If I'm catching it, I've caught it," Pac shrugs. "Toast?"

The idea makes Fit a little queasy; he shakes his head.

Is it good to know some virus is spreading around the island? No, but at least there's someone else to blame if Pac does end up sick. Richars probably caught it off one of the other kids in turn, germ factories that they are.

A hand reaches his forehead, resting there a second as Pac scowls. Fit lets him be, focusing on the bowl of soup in his hands.

Chicken, and there's some sort of noodle in it. The noodles bits are a little much for his throat, but the liquid itself is good.

"I don't think its a fever?" Pac eventually concludes. "So, um..."

As Fit eats a little more soup, Pac starts picking out some of the medicines. A sneezing fit later and he's handed a handful of tablets, and a glass of juice.

Fit...

Fit hesitates.

But then he looks up at Pac, and decides he is going to trust him.

He takes the handful of pills, swallows them dry, then sips at the juice to quell the anxiety of /something/ in his throat.

"Thank you," Pac says, and really shouldn't that be Fit's line?

Instead he's struggling to keep the medication down, not because of sickness but panic.

A familiar hand reaches out, rubbing his shoulder. It feels good for a moment, before suddenly it pulls away.

"Sorry, sorry," Pac mutters.

"You're good," Fit replies, and stuffy nose warping the tone.

More hesitantly, the hand returns. Fit gives the medicine a few moments to settle, and finishes the juice. Shakily he lifts the tray back up, only for Pac to swoop down and take it.

Fit slumps a bit into the pillows.

"I'll be back when you can have more medicine...?" Pac suggests.

That's good, that sounds good; Fit doesn't want Pac staying and getting sick too.

So he nods, and scoots back down below the cover.

Just as he begins to doze, there's the brush of lips atop his head. And Fit...

Fit isn't sure what to do, so he pretends not to notice, and allows himself to slip back into fragmented sleep.

#qsmp fanfic #qsmp fit #qsmp pac #sickfic #fitpac

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gaycey-sketchit · 7 months

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Sicktember 2023 retrospective

Template by @ethereousdelirious! Good idea, taking time to reflect on and be proud of one's work is a good thing to do after the effort of a creative challenge!!

How many prompts did you fill? 15 (across 14 works), planning to fill a few more at my leisure for the remainder of the year.

Longest Fill: Choking on Love (3858 words)

Shortest Fill: Heal Bell (834 words)

Favorite fill(s) and why: This is a tough question! But I'll say Goodknight, Sweet Prince--I'm so weak for knight/royalty AUs, there's a lot of great stuff you can do with them and it was fun to dive right into one and have fun playing around with the change in dynamics for a ship I've written a lot of! It was also softly dedicated to a friend who is my sibling in arms in both sickfic writing and gay knight solidarity, so that's even more love put into it.

Least favorite fill(s) and why: Respect to those who want to answer this, but I try to avoid speaking negatively about my writing in public so I will refrain.

Were there any prompts that challenged you in a fun way? Several! But will the rain ever stop falling? (I've been cold for such a long time) definitely deserves a mention. I tend to write mostly very lighthearted fluff with little to no angst, so writing the tension and conflict and guilt and the trauma at the heart of it all was challenging! It made me so nervous! But when I pushed the fear of not doing well with it aside I enjoyed the process! Another layer of challenge was that canon indicates Tracey is not the kind of person who talks about his personal stuff much, as evidenced by the fact that his backstory is a total blank slate because he never mentioned anything about his past or family at all, so I had to figure out a way to get him to talk about it. Making a character delirious with fever is a good way to make their secrets come out, thankfully, with a bonus of getting the person hearing it caught between feeling like they aren't meant to be hearing this and wanting to listen and console someone who clearly needs it.

All in all, pleased with the results of taking that challenge on. I enjoyed it and made readers feel things so mission accomplished!

What, if anything, would you like to do differently next year? Other than a vague "plan better" and "write more" (I managed to improve from last year on both those things!) I'm not sure. Maybe I'll enlist a soft beta/hypeman so I'll be less tortured by having to sit on finished fics for days/weeks and can have the assurance the stuff I'm writing is good before I toss it into the wild and spend all day refreshing my email, haha.

#respectfully me #sicktember 2023 retrospective #sicktember 2023

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sheliesshattered · 8 months

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Dragon Con 2023 Retrospective

We've been home from Dragon Con for two weeks as of today -- but we've spent most of that time recovering from a particularly nasty Con Crud™. I tested negative for covid, but Jack tested positive and we had the same symptoms, so eh I figure I finally actually caught it, after several rounds of head colds that tested negative.

I always get some level of Con Crud and/or spoonie post-event exhaustion, so I was prepared to feel pretty awful for a week or two at least. The fever and sinus headache was a bit novel this year, but as I'm getting over this infection I'm actually feeling okay-ish. Hopefully my energy will continue to return over the next few weeks (I've got a big day of walking planned for the end of October!) but otherwise I might actually be feeling better now than I have two weeks post Dragon Con (or post Wasteland Weekend) in previous years.

And unlike previous years, I got through the whole con and the trip home without feeling sick at all. A little dehydrated at times (the wait for airport security at ATL was the worst honestly), and my body taking the trouble to remind me how much stretching in the evening helps me, but nothing worse than that.

I've had Dragon Cons in past years when I was too wiped out to even leave the hotel room by Sunday evening, but this year I spent Sunday evening standing around and socializing at the Doctor Who Ball, and didn't hate myself for it later. A combination of being in better physical condition now in general, and pacing myself (and Jack needing to pace too), and staying on top of vitamins and electrolytes and water all really seemed to help.

We got home on the Monday of Labor Day weekend, and then Tuesday morning I was feeling well enough to go grocery shopping on my own and make corn chowder from scratch when I got back. I was tired, but not too bad, honestly. Buuut by that evening I had a sore throat, then by Wednesday morning both Jack and I woke up with a fever. The rest of the week continued more or less like that, with a lot of lying around on the couch and watching movies and tv shows, lol.

Despite feeling like death, we did spend some time talking about what went well at Dragon Con 2023, what we'd want to do again and what we'd want to do differently. I really enjoyed the House of the Dragon photo meetup on Saturday, and wearing my Rhaenyra cosplay in general. I even ended up wishing that I'd carved out time to go to the Game of Thrones/ASOIAF photo meetup in the same costume, just to have more time in that dress and hanging out with that fandom.

There's something that I really enjoy about working hard for months on end to make something screen-accurate from a fandom that is active but also fairly focused. I recognized every costume worn at the HotD meetup, knew which character wore it in which episode, etc. Everyone I talked with at that meetup knew exactly which dress I was wearing, which character I was, and noticed the details I spent so much time working on -- just as I did theirs. There's a wonderful camaraderie and bonding in appreciating each other's hard work to achieve screen accurate reproductions of well-known and visually compelling costumes.

Between that meetup and late night drinking shenanigans while wearing my Rhaenyra cosplay, I really felt like I achieved my peak Dragon Con experience this year while wearing that costume.

By contrast, while I did have fun wearing my Harley Quinn Taylor Swift mashup cosplay, I didn't have nearly as much fun as I did as Rhaenyra. I got some nice compliments from complete strangers who saw the shirt and got the mashup concept, and I had one funny in-character interaction with a Joker cosplayer, but by the evening I was ready to switch back to being Rhaenyra.

The Harley mashup was clever, but not people-stopping-to-take-pictures clever, and honestly there are just a lot of Harleys running around the con. And her canon is a lot more scattered than HotD/GoT canon, and costumes are much more commercially available, so there wasn't nearly the same level of bonding over hand-making the costumes.

The Swifties meetup was fun, and exchanging the beaded friendship bracelets I made was a good experience -- but honestly I had more fun handing out the few Rhaenyra ones I made than I did exchanging the Swiftie ones. I don't regret making the Harley Quinn Taylor Swift mashup, but it did really help clarify my priorities for future Dragon Cons.

So Harley Quinn was fun, but won't be repeated, I don't think. But because I'd worn Rhaenyra's red dress so late into the evening on Friday, I hadn't had a chance to wear my punk!Rhaenyra original concept yet, so on Saturday night when I wanted to switch back to Rhaenyra for awhile, I got to break that one out for late night parties and shenanigans (and also Dairy Queen).

Sunday was lower-key by comparison. Quite a few Doctor Who cosplayers looked right at my Oswin and didn't seem to recognize it, which seems to be par for the course for mainstream Whovians when it comes to Clara's era. That said, just when I was starting to get snarky about that (quietly, only to Jack), a Sixth Doctor cosplayer complimented my Oswin, which made the whole thing feel worth it.

And then when I switched to my MOTOE Clara cosplay for the evening hours, there were a few more people who clearly recognized the costume -- including one woman who gasped and yelled 'Clara!!' at me as we were passing each other in heavy Marriott crowds. I didn't get a chance to do more than gasp in surprise at her excitement, but the cycling of the Marriott crowd being what it is, we eventually passed each other again, and I ran off through the crowd to catch her that time. We chatted for a bit and I gave her the beaded bracelet reading 'Don't Stop Me Now' that I made for exactly that situation, lol. We ended up hanging out at the Doctor Who Ball, but her excitement over the MOTOE cosplay really made my night.

The Doctor Who Ball had a costume contest (that wasn't real well organized, but sounds like it will be a more official thing in future years, because it was such a popular event) that I entered on a lark. The announcement of the winners in particular wasn't well done, I missed it completely because I was talking with people, but I went and asked afterwards and found out that I'd done well and (according to the woman running the contest, who immediately asked to take a picture with me) apparently I only lost the Companion category to a Wilf cosplayer who was spot-on, and tugging on everyone's heartstrings. I don't know how close the vote really was, but her enthusiasm for my cosplay felt like such a gift.

I haven't felt like going to GallifreyOne in recent years, since I've felt so much on the outside of the Doctor Who fandom (between the hate focused on Clara's era and my own dislike of the most recent era), but the Doctor Who Ball was a great time to talk with like-minded Whovians, and to remember why I love this corner of the fandom in general.

I think MOTOE Clara will probably make an appearance at future Dragon Cons, and Oswin met the original purpose of being a comfortable easy-to-wear cosplay for during the day, so in all likelihood that one will come back too (after just a little bit of repair work on the belt).

The red silk Rhaenyra gown held up well, much better than I feared it would. I maaay need to handwash it, but I washed the fabric with shampoo before I sewed it, so theoretically it can be handwashed again, if it really needs it. I need to replace the shoes, but that's already in progress. At this point I'm planning to bring Rhaenyra's Red Dress back to Dragon Con 2024 (and maybe even to something else in between, like Wonder Con?). Quite possibly punk!Rhaenyra too.

I think season 2 of HotD will air before next Dragon Con, or at least start before the end of August. There's every possibility that there will be new costumes from s2 that I'll want to make -- but either way, I know now that I want to lean into cosplay from fandoms like HotD/GoT, and focus less on fandoms like Harley Quinn.

I've already started thinking about and planning cosplays for next year, but this is already way too long, so I'll post an update about that tomorrow...

#Dragon Con #Dragon Con 2023 #my cosplay #my sewing #RRD cosplay #Harley Quinn Swiftie cosplay #Oswin Oswald cosplay #Clara Oswald cosplay #House of the Dragon cosplay #Rhaenyra Targaryen cosplay #Harley Quinn cosplay #Doctor Who cosplay #long post #my costumes #2023 mood

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schraubd · 2 years

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COVIDing in Summer 2022

COVIDing in Summer 2022 So after two and a half years, COVID finally caught me (and my wife). We tested positive on Tuesday morning. First thing is first: We're both doing okay, with only mild symptoms (mine slightly more severe than Jill's, though part of that might be attributable to me being much more of a baby about being sick). Over the past 36 hours or so, I've gone through essentially every symptom even remotely related to a flu or cold, including: Sore throat Sore chest Cough Vomiting (from the coughing) Congestion Runny nose Lost voice Loss of appetite Upset stomach Fatigue Muscle aches Fever Chills Individually, none of these symptoms were that bad -- I've had worse iterations of all of them (and the one symptom I haven't had is low blood-oxygen levels). But having every single one of them in rapid succession wasn't exactly fun. Right now, I'm feeling okay -- mostly the congestion and lost voice linger. My biggest worry is the timeline for recovery, which seems markedly inconsistent across cases. Some people shake it off after a few days, others linger more or less indefinitely. I already had to cancel a surgical procedure I had scheduled for next week (great timing!), and my parents who were visiting this week have checked into a hotel (really great timing!). I really hope this won't endure into the school year. I doubt it will, but again, the uncertainty is weighing on me. Most of all, though, I'm grateful that I'm fully vaccinated and boosted. Even under the best of circumstances, I have breathing issues (initially, I thought the COVID symptoms were either allergies or GERD), and I can easily imagine that if I were unprotected my experience with COVID could've been a lot worse. It is a sobering thing to realize that, if this had happened two years ago, I could have died. The development of these vaccines, in such a compressed timeline, is a true miracle, and I'm incredibly grateful to everyone who worked so hard to make it happen. It's not implausible to say I owe my life to it. Here's to feeling better very shortly! via Blogger https://ift.tt/wvbp71n August 11, 2022 at 01:37PM

#health care #Personal

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kyuus4ku · 3 years

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ryley bae i have no idea if reqs are open or not so feel free to 100% ignore this 🙏

how about a scenario where akutagawa is sick and has a fever and reader takes care of him? him being vulnerable and hesitant but still trusts the reader to wipe his forehead or give him medicine…aku is sensitive to physical touch but lets the reader touch him…i absolutely adore how you capture vulnerability when you write about the characters <33

AGAIN, VERY SORRY IF REQS ARENT OPEN AHAJZJ ILY TAKE CARE 💕

𝗳𝗿𝗮𝗴𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀

akutagawa ryunosuke

genre: scenario ; fluff

warnings: none

word count: 2K

a/n: RAI MY BELOVED <3 tysm for ur support😞♥️ yk i've actually been meaning to write for aku for some time now, and your req made me so happy :") aku is a really hard character to write for, but i tried my best, and i really hope you like it😼 take care <3

The morning was bleak. It was gloomy... it was... blank.

Akutagawa didn't know how to describe it— the early hours of the day were usually saturated with tranquility and peace which made getting out of bed a little less overwhelming.

For Akutagawa, it was quite the opposite.

The way everything was so still and calm made him yearn for his soul to be vaporised into nothingness. The fleeting hours of the morning reminded him of how void of meaning the course of life truly was— life always moved forwards, it never rewinded for you to grab on and catch up.

But still, there was a paradoxical companion living across that melancholy, and that was rage.

He wanted to watch the world burn, and he didn't care if he was burned along with it. The unquenchable flame seated deep in his heart made him dream of the impossible: to bring the world to ruins because of how the world effectuated his own soul's self-destruction.

Maybe he just needed coffee.

He threw his legs over the edge of bed, but abstained from getting up because of the evident sharp twinges of pain rooted in his muscles. His throat felt sore, and his head was burdened with a dull, nagging ache.

The cold air enveloped him in discomfort, inducing him to wear a hoodie over his shirt. He sighed— he didn't like being physically impaired. With a low grumble of curses, he got up, a little too fast, and sat back down again.

He looked at the other side of the bed to find it empty. He wondered if you had gone to work without saying goodbye— he never really liked leaving you out of his sight unless he was sure you were safe.

He checked the time— it was 8:46am. Rubbing his eyes in fatigue, he buried his face in his hands and sighed. He had never overslept for work before, but for some reason, he was too tired to care.

It wasn't like him to be this careless, but still, he wished he had slept earlier last night— he was too caught up in his head, and the hours flew past as quick as the midnight thoughts infiltrated his peace of mind.

Though, he remembered the way the obscure sound of your steady breathing next to him calmed his restless mind a little, enabling him to squeeze in a few hours of sleep to sustain him.

Nevertheless, this wasn't like him at all, and a bitter sword of rue was about to crack open his skull if he weren't distracted by the sound of the bedroom door opening.

"Morning~" your quiet voice cooed from the doorway, making his vexatious mood dial down by a few degrees.

He didn't know what was embedded in your vocal cords— your voice was like honey. It was mild and sweet, and it never did anything to hurt him, even if the two of you were arguing— it never bit back in retaliation, and it never even increased in volume to inflict any form of harm on him.

He turned around and met your silhouette— he wished you'd stop stealing his shirts, but never said it, because he thought you looked pretty nice in them.

"Why aren't you at work?" he said in a hoarse voice, massaging his throat as it ached in inflammation.

"It's Sunday," you stated. At this, you walked over and knelt in front of him, lips curving into an endearing smile. You discerned the dark shadows underneath his eyes, and saw that his lips were a little dry.

"Uh oh~ somebody's sick," you teased casually, raising your hand toward his forehead.

"May I?" you asked before letting the back of your hand touch his temple. He didn't respond; instead, he reluctantly leaned forward so that his forehead made contact with your touch. This was quite different from what you were used to back when you two weren't that familiar with each other.

If you looked back at the times you tried to comfort him in the past— whether it was simply by interlacing your fingers into his, or pressing a soft kiss against the back of his hand— oftentimes, you could see that he fell apart at your touch.

His eyes would simultaneously gleam with panic and relief— it was like his heart exploded into a million fragments and then fixed itself back again all at the same time.

Love conveyed through a human's touch was simply unorthodox to the boy who was moulded by words of aspersions and acts of violence. He was more afraid of getting attached to a human being than death itself.

But to your contentment, he got over his fear. No, hold on, that wasn't the right word... perhaps it was the state of being inexperienced with something to the point of indispensable curiosity.

Deep down, he wanted to feel it— even if it ruined him.

Gradually, it became easier to get over the wall of hesitance, yet he never failed to shatter under the pressure of the thoughts which asked 'what if this was the last time I ever feel this way?'

That would ruin him for good.

Yet in your eyes, there was promise. They promised to watch over him and keep him safe, and also to show him parts of the soul he had never himself witnessed nor experienced.

Meaning to say: he trusted you because you gave him a reason to.

"You hungry? I could make some soup for you-" he crinkled up his nose and sneezed before you could finish your sentence. You couldn't help but giggle, leaning forward to take his face in your hands to kiss him on the forehead. Of course you couldn't tell if it was just the fever, but you felt his cheeks grow somewhat warmer under your touch as he refused to make eye-contact with you.

"I'm guessing it would be useless to tell you to stay in bed?" you asked sarcastically, receiving a curt nod in response.

"You can never sit still," you held the back of your neck and sighed dramatically, staring at him with eyes which implored him to compromise his principles and sleep in. He still refused.

Realising it was useless to fight a losing battle, you took his hand and led him out of the room into the kitchen, where he sat right at the dining table with his head buried in his arms.

"This was your fault," he whined in a low voice, "You took me to that fun fair yesterday. It wasn't fun— the crowd must've made me sick."

"I was just trying to get you interested in other activities," you reasoned, bracing yourself for his witty comeback.

"Life in itself is uninteresting," he uttered rigidly. Though time and time again, just like this precise moment, he couldn't help but wonder why you never got bored of him.

You could only chuckle in response as you bustled about the kitchen for ingredients, silently conjuring up a recipe in your mind for the soup you promised to make him. It wasn't long before you found yourself seated next to him with his meal ready. You poked his rib softly and found that he had fallen asleep at the table by accident.

"Five more minutes," he mumbled in a dopey tone.

"Eat first, then go back to sleep," you ordered. He grumbled incoherently and obeyed, sitting up straight to find the bowl of soup in front of him.

"Now I really regret taking you to the fun fair," you chortled as he stared at the soup in daze.

"Told you so," he muttered moodily, grabbing the spoon and stirring its contents. You noticed his hands shaking as he did, and dragged the bowl away from him, stealthily stealing the spoon, too. He stared at you in bewilderment as you carried a spoonful of soup to his mouth, at which he tilted his head back slightly to flounder out words which, if pieced together properly, sounded like 'What the hell are you doing?'

"Trying to feed you, idiot," you expressed tenderly. He squinted his eyes, and decided it was best not to argue with you. After contemplating life, death, and the like, he opened his mouth and tasted some.

"Is it good?" you asked promptly.

"Mmhm," he nodded, trying to get his head around what tasted like drops of heaven. He had just realised he was starving, and now that you had caught his full attention, he shifted his body toward you and crossed his legs on the chair.

"Have you eaten?" he broke the silence which temporarily deluged the atmosphere.

"No, I haven't. Once you get to bed, I will," you replied, rather quietly, because he had the tendency to get quite agitated with the way you failed to take care of yourself sometimes. It was too early for his lectures.

Instead of a verbal response of annoyance, he snatched the bowl of soup from your hands, and having regained his strength by a small degree, held up a serving to your mouth. You rolled your eyes and complied, yet it didn't stop there.

"Akutagawa, this is your food," you argued, but he ignored you. Then you thought of a better justification.

"You do know that I might get sick since we're sharing the same spoon, right?" you tilted your head, smirking charmingly as his face fell, a shadow of realisation tainting his already pale skin. He gave you back the bowl in defeat, and soon enough, he was done with his meal.

The two of you were in the bedroom after a while, and after bickering for about 7 solid minutes, he let you give him medicine, which made him a little too drowsy for him to throw himself into the unforgiving attitude of 'I-can't-believe-I-let-you-give-me-cough-syrup.'

You tucked him into bed and laid right next to him with your head propped up against your hand. His eyes fluttered in exhaustion, yet he tried to keep them open as long as you were there.

"Get some rest, Ryuu," you laced your fingers into his hair, planting a soft kiss against his cheekbone as he frowned in thought. He had something on his mind, and was too groggy to hold it back from escaping his tongue.

"Why do you do all this?" he asked, looking at you with eyes you had never before properly comprehended. They were usually blank— blasé to the intricate emotions of this life or rather, so deeply infused with what every other human endured to the point of resisting any temptation to actually feel in the first place.

This time, they sparkled in gratitude he never showed, but usually meant.

"Don't get sappy with me now," you whispered, grinning, "It'd be embarrassing to know that you're shameless with expressive affection when you're drunk with cough syrup."

"I don't understand a word you're saying," he murmured in reply, closing his eyes finally. A lighthearted laugh escaped your lips as you nestled up against his neck.

"You're gonna get sick, too," he put out.

"Take care of me when I am then," you replied simply, laying your hand on his chest and letting his scent engulf your being, your eyelids eventually losing its strength to stay open. You felt his hand wrap around you to bring you closer.

In a few days, you did end up getting sick just when he had fully recovered, and he took care of you as best he could.

Part of you wished more people saw what you saw when it came to him, but realised that his exclusive acts of care toward you were to be treasured, not shared, because you were the only person he trusted not to render his spirit into pieces and ultimately discard.

Though, if tearing him apart meant unveiling parts of him which he kept reserved and isolated from the rest of the world, you had done it, and he counted his lucky stars each day knowing that you stayed by his side to help him put himself back together.

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coldsandfluff · 3 years

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Friday Night Fever (F/M, Original, Illness Care-Taking Fluff)

Wrote this little original F/M care-taking fluff fic inspired by something that happened to me when I was in college (basically, caught a cold, three friends came over unannounced and insisted on me coming with them to the bar until one of them noticed the thermometer on my nightstand and realized I really was too sick to go). I've changed all the characters personality/appearance (including myself) so that we are completely unrecognizable, and added more to the story of course 😚

So if you like group of friends, platonic to maybe romantic care-taking fluff and F/M illness, read on!

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Annabel left the sandwich shop at the end of her evening shift, feeling the cold autumn air seep through her jacket. Darkness had blanketed the town hours ago, and college students were already filling the streets on their way to the bars to celebrate the end of the week. Not that they’d really needed a reason to drink, of course.

As she launched the trash bags in the large dumpster in the back alley, Annabel felt an uncomfortable shiver running down her back. She’d been feeling under the weather for a couple of days, downing vitamin C fizzy drinks to stave it off. What she’d hoped would end up being a little annoying cold was turning out to be more than she’d bargained for. She could feel the icy tendrils of a fever crawling on her skin, and all she wanted to do was slip under the covers of her warm bed and sleep all weekend.

Her phone pinged as she started making her way back to her apartment.

Finn: We’ll be there in 40 minutes. Zack wants to pick up some pregame vodka from the store first.

Annabel sighed. She’d met Zack, Finn and Alex at her second job—a fancy new restaurant in the heart of town where she’d been waitressing part-time for the past two months. They’d hit it off on opening day, when Zack had accidentally broken a whole stack of plates. No one had seen what had happened but the four of them. Zack had gotten his dishwasher’s apron stuck on the door handle, and his hands had slipped at the sudden pull.

The crash had been deafening.

Right before the owner had rushed in to ask what had happened, Zack’s best friend, Finn, had kicked the wheel of the cart where the plates had been sitting a few moments ago, giving Alexander and Annabel a knowing look.

They’d all told the owner that the cart was broken and had tipped over without anyone touching it. Somehow, the owner had bought the lie. That night, Zack insisted on paying them a round of shots at the bar, and a tradition was born: The four of them. Every Friday. With lots of alcohol.

It was the only time Annabel let loose. With her two jobs and college, she was struggling to find free time, but Friday nights had become sacred. There was nothing like downing drinks and letting the buzz take over, following her three new friends wherever they wanted to go. It was always an adventure. Especially with Zack at the helm.

But tonight, there was no way she could make it.

Annabel: Actually, I can’t come tonight. Sorry.

She walked past a group of friends laughing and hollering, wishing she’d felt as good as they did. But the headache growing behind her eyes wasn’t going to let up, and adding alcohol to the mix would only make it worse. Not only that, but her nose had started running in the past two hours. She’d had to go blow it in the restroom every half hour, getting herself banished from the front of the store by the manager. She’d washed her hands so often that her skin was almost raw.

Just like her nose.

Finn: Nah, you’re coming. Nobody cancels Friday night. Come on.

Annabel couldn’t hold a smile. She typed back, sniffling. Her sinuses were prickling like crazy, as if she’d accidentally inhaled a cloud of tiny fireworks. She stifled a sneeze in the crook of her elbow, mid-word. “Ehh—Ehh’KSHHeeww!” Her eyes watered from the force of it. She wiped the tears away and resumed typing.

Annabel: I’ll make it up to you guys next weekend. Drinks on me.

She grabbed a crumpled tissue from her jacket pocket and dabbed at her nose. Her apartment was only a few blocks away, beckoning her. As she crossed the last stretch of sidewalk to the entrance, she kept checking her phone.

No reply.

Shrugging, she unlocked the front door and took the stairs.

***

Back in her apartment, she made a beeline for the bathroom to the right and used toilet paper to blow her nose, finally free to make as much noise as she wanted. She winced from the roughness of it on her chapped nostrils, but it was all she had. She wasn’t exactly the planning type. Her idea of a grocery list was memorizing the first three items and hoping the rest would come to her as she walked through the aisles. Most often than not, she’d have to make a quick run at the convenience store down the street to get what she’d forgotten.

She gathered her thick curly hair into a bun and looked at herself in the mirror. It was enough to confirm that she’d made the right decision. Her eyes were glazed over, her skin was so pale that her freckles popped like they did in the summer. Except for that slight flush high on her cheeks, of course. She popped a thermometer under her tongue and removed her work clothes, leaving them in a pile in front of the bathtub.

Shivering from the sudden change in temperature, she covered her arms with her hands and ran to her dresser. Her warmest, softest sweater was the first thing she grabbed and put on, before throwing on a pair of comfy leggings and wool socks. The thermometer beeped.

100.8 °F. Figured.

She rolled her eyes and shuffled over to the “kitchen” of her studio apartment, which was the size of a matchbox and only contained a mini fridge, a microwave and an old sink. She poured herself some water and walked over to the bed, placing her glass and the thermometer on her nightstand. She would have brought over medicine as well, but she’d run out last semester after catching the flu going around campus, and had forgotten to replenish her stash. No matter. She could sleep this off. It was just a cold.

She suddenly sneezed twice in a row, as if her body wanted to protest her minimizing her illness, then got under the cover. Just as she was getting a little warmer, propping up her laptop to watch a movie, there was a knock at the door.

Annabel sat up, startled.

“Anna, open up!” a voice said behind the door.

Zack.

Annabel chuckled. Of course they wouldn’t give up that easily. She groaned, getting out of the warmth of her bed. She considered rushing to the dresser and putting on cuter clothes—they were her friends, but they were still boys, and she didn’t want to look like shit in front of them—but the thought of it was enough to drain her energy. Screw it. She walked over to the door and opened it.

“Finn told us you don’t want to come,” said Zack as he walked in. It was her friends’ first time coming up to her apartment. They’d usually wait for her downstairs. “So we’re here to change your mind.” He didn’t look at her, too busy checking out her place. He was dressed for the night—a buttoned-up shirt, navy blazer, jeans and dress shoes. His casual chic style always stood out in the local bars filled with broke college students, but he liked it that way.

Finn walked in after him, a crooked grin on his lips. “See, I told you you can’t cancel Friday night.” His shaggy blond hair half-covered his eyes, as always. Finn and Zack had been best friends since high school, and couldn’t have been more different from each other. At least physically. Finn was tall and lanky, Zack was smaller and worked out a lot. But they were both party guys, always ready for a crazy night—even though Finn was a bit more mellow than Zack.

Finally, Alex came in, and Annabel closed the door behind him. He had a sheepish look on his face, as if apologizing for the other two. He was a lot more like Annabel. Quiet, chill, along for the ride—whatever it may be. His deep brown eyes held her gaze for a second too long, and Annabel noticed one of his eyebrow raise ever so slightly. She bit her lip, feeling self-conscious about her appearance. They’d never seen her in such a state before. Thank god she hadn’t had the energy to remove her makeup yet.

“So this is where you live, uh?” Zack said, sitting on her desk chair and spinning it around and around. “I like it. Dorms suck.”

Before she could reply, Finn tsked. “Wow. So no love for your roommate, uh?”

“Dude, I love you,” Zack said, “but between you and an apartment all to myself, the choice is obvious.” He stopped spinning and turned to Annabel, crossing his arms over his chest. “So what’s so important that you can’t come with us? Do you have a date?”

All three boys turned to her. Annabel almost laughed. Could they not see the condition she was in? She cleared her throat. “No, I’m just not feeling well.”

Finn sat on the edge of her bed and examined her from afar. “Like what? Stomach thing? Flu?”

“Probably a cold, I guess.” Annabel could feel Alex’s gaze on her at her side. She glanced at him, then looked down, feeling silly. Now that she was saying it out loud, it sounded like a poor excuse. But she did have a fever, after all. She just didn’t want to start listing her symptoms.

Zack clasped his hands together. “You know what will make you feel better? Alcohol!” He grinned, as if proud of his solution. “Didn’t they used to give brandy to people when they were sick? We’ll make a special mix for your throat. Something with lemon and orange juice. You’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know, I already have a headache…” Annabel said.

“Just take a couple of Tylenol. It’s like a hangover in advance,” Finn said with an encouraging smile. “One time, I went out clubbing with an ear infection and everything was fine. Actually felt better the next day, weirdly enough.”

“I don’t know guys, I won’t be much fun if—” Annabel was interrupted by a fierce tickle deep in her nose, spreading like wildfire. She ducked to her side, away from Alex. “Ehh’KSSHeeew! ‘KSSSHeeew!”

“Bless you,” the three boys said almost in unison.

“See?” Annabel said, pointing at her nose and sniffling. “You want me to sneeze all over you guys all night?”

Finn shrugged. “We’ll bring tissues. Whatever.”

Alex walked over to the bathroom and grabbed the toilet paper roll from the counter, then handed it to her. “Here.”

Annabel ripped a piece off and wiped her nose. “Thanks,” she said, sheepish.

Alex’s gaze paused on her for a few seconds before he turned to the other two. “Guys, she’s obviously sick. Let’s just go and let her sleep.”

“It’s just a cold,” Zack said. “She’s young and healthy. It’s nothing.” He got up and put his arm around her shoulders. “Come on. Give it an hour, and if you’re not feeling better after a few shots, we’ll walk you home.”

Annabel considered it for a second, trying to fight the shivers. Maybe if she wore something warm and took a few shots, she wouldfeel better. Numb the pain a little, at least. While she pondered it, Finn laid down on top of her bed spread and locked eyes with the thermometer on her nightstand. He frowned and sat up, picking it up.

He looked at her, thermometer in hand. His voice softened. “It’s that bad, uh?”

Annabel blushed. Why did admitting that she had a fever feel so vulnerable? She looked down and nodded. “Kinda.”

Zack looked at the thermometer, then back at Annabel. He narrowed his eyes and put a hand on her forehead. “Ooof,” he said, a hint of concern slipping in his tone.

Finn got up. “Let me see,” he said, walking up to her and placing his own hand on her forehead. His eyebrows shot up. “Yikes.”

“Yeah, you need to be in bed,” Zack finally said, guiding her back to bed. “Why didn’t you say you had a fever? Jesus, Anna.”

She shrugged, sitting on her mattress. “I don’t know. I just get fevers with colds. I guess it’s normal for me.”

“Fevers suck,” Finn said. “Last time I had one, I stayed in bed for two days and everything hurt.” He walked over to the front door. “We’ll miss you tonight, though.”

Zack followed. “Hope you feel better. We’ll text you all the crazy shit that’s going to happen so you don’t miss anything.” He followed Finn out of the apartment, leaving the door open for Alex.

Alex watched them walk by, then grabbed the roll of toilet paper on the counter where Annabel had left it. He brought it over to her nightstand and gave her a sad smile. “Do you need anything?”

Annabel shook her head, relieved that she was going to be able to stay in bed. “I’ll be okay.”

He seemed to hesitate for a second, then nodded. “Let us know if you want us to get you food later. I know I can never sleep when I have a fever.”

“Thank you.” She smiled. Her nose scrunched up, overtaken by another annoying prickle. “Ehh… Iihh’KSSSHHeeww!”

“Bless you.”

Zack’s voice sounded from the hallway. “Alex, you coming?”

Alex snickered. “I guess I should go.” He walked to the door, then turned back. “Feel better, okay?”

“I will. Thanks.”

***

Annabel tried to sleep, but her fever and runny nose kept waking her up, leaving her floating halfway between dreams and reality. It was clear that she wasn’t going to get any rest in her state. She needed cold medicine.

It took her a long time to finally convince herself to get out of bed and go to the convenience store, but she managed to push the covers away and get up. She shivered, causing another tickle in her sensitive nose—it had only gotten worse in the hour since the boys had left. She ducked at the waist in an exhausting triple. “Ehh… Hehh’KSSSHeeeew! ‘KSSHHeeew! Hiihh’KSSHeeew!”

Just then, another knock sounded at the door. Annabel frowned and made her way to the door, cracking it open.

It was Alex. Alone.

“Bless you,” he said with a shy grin.

Annabel let him in. “Aren’t you supposed to be out with the guys?”

He shrugged, closing the door behind him. “I thought you might need this.” He showed her a plastic bag filled with tea, tissue boxes, ramen, cough drops and—she gasped—cold medicine.

Alex chuckled. “So I was right. You don’t have any medicine, do you?”

Annabel laughed. “How did you know?”

“Your nightstand. You only had a thermometer on there. When I’m sick, I take Nyquil everywhere I go.” He handed her the bag. “And I wanted to make sure you had tissues instead of toilet paper. Your nose will thank me.”

Annabel touched her chapped nose, smiling. “That’s so sweet of you. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.” He stood there for a second, as if not knowing what to say. “I’ll uh—I’ll let you rest.”

Before he could go, Annabel put her hand on his elbow. “Wait. Do you want to—” She stopped halfway through her sentence, her nose scrunching up yet again, her eyes fluttering. She spun around and sneezed, covering her nose with the sleeve of her sweater. “Hehh’KSSHH! Ht’Ksshht!” She turned back around, blinking away the tears and laughing. “Sorry!”

Alex laughed, too. “Bless you.” He held her gaze, then looked down. “What were you going to say?”

“Oh—I was just wondering if—maybe if you’d like to watch a movie with me. I don’t think I can sleep until the medicine kicks in.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted saying them. Of course he didn’t want to watch a movie with her. This was Friday night. What kind of college guy wanted to hang out with a sick, sneezy, nose-drippy girl on a Friday night instead of getting drunk with his friends. “Sorry,” she added quickly, “I forgot that the guys are probably waiting for you. I guess I’m kind of loopy from the fever.”

Alex took a step forward and placed his hand on her forehead. The gesture was so gentle, so soft, that Annabel closed her eyes, appreciating the coldness of his palm on her hot skin.

“You are definitely burning up,” he half-whispered, frowning. “I was wondering if the guys were exaggerating. Guess not.”

Annabel bit her lip. “I’ll be okay after I take the medicine. You don’t have to stay.”

Alex removed his hand. “I do,” he blurted. “I mean, I do want to watch a movie with you. And stay.”

“Are you sure?” Annabel asked through her blossoming smile. “Aren’t you worried you’ll catch my cold?”

“Actually, I have a confession to make.” Alex led her to the bed and placed the content of his bag on her nightstand. “Last Friday, I kind of had a cold. It wasn’t as bad as yours, pretty minor, but… Zack convinced me to come out anyway and I—I think I might have given it to you. You drank out of my glass and I didn’t have time to stop you.” He looked at her, his eyes wide with guilt. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Annabel laughed. “I can’t believe Zack didn’t rat you out earlier. It would have been the perfect example of someone going clubbing with a cold and ‘being fine’ anyway.”

“He probably knew it was partly his fault that you’re sick and didn’t want to admit it.”

Annabel shook her head. “Well, you owe me a Friday night.” She got into bed and patted the spot next to her. “That means I get to pick the movies.”

Alex grabbed the throw blanket at her feet and draped it over her. “That sounds fair.” He walked over to the other side of the bed and settled next to her. “But when you fall asleep, I can’t guarantee I won’t change it.”

“Deal.”

After taking a dose of Nyquil, Annabel started the movie, snuggling under the blanket. She wondered what kind of crazy adventures Zack and Finn were getting themselves into. She expected to feel FOMO, but instead, she shot a glance at Alex next to her, and realized she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Maybe it was the fever, or maybe it was Alex’s shoulder touching hers, but it felt like this was the start of a different kind of adventure. Maybe not alcohol-fueled, but Nyquil was pretty close.

All because they’d shared a not-so-secret cold.

And Annabel had a feeling it would be worth the fever. And the countless sneezes to come.

THE END

#caretaking fic #care-taking fic #sneeze fic #sneeze kink #care-taking king #sickfic

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cannibal-witchh · 3 years

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🖤Brahms Heelshire🖤

Written by cannibal_witchh

Contains: Sexual Elements, Sub/dom behavior

Notes: I've struggled to write and this was a quick piece I did tonight. It might have errors or not be as polished as desired but I wanted to get another fanfic out. This is portraying a slightly submissive Brahms with a dominant female reader. It's not accurate at all to the movie so just be open minded to what happens! Thanks again for reading.

The walls and floor boards creaked loudly throughout the stretched corridor. It was another rainy night, rain persisted over England for days. Drenching the garden that surrounded the Heelshire home, glistening the stone walls, trailing down the windows, and rattling the home each time it thundered. You didn't have an opposition towards it, the rain wasn't a disturbance to you. In fact, it was more of a sound that relaxed your racing mind, the drumming of the rain along the large home made the silence vanish. It made the home feel less large and empty.

You laid in your bed, resting on your side and watching the rain fall down your windows. Trees in the distance swaying, and flowers glistening with gems of precipitation. You felt restless tonight, perhaps it was how cold the house had been since the weather decided to be wet and gray. You shivered under your thin comforter, hugging yourself and pulling the sheets as close to you as possible.

Abruptly, the floor boards creaked again and you drew you head to the sound near the door. "Brahms?", you sleepily muttered watching him sheepishly shuffle under the doorframe. " Has the thunder got you startled?", you tossed over to your opposite side to face him. He shyly shoved his hands in the pockets of his cardigan and nodded at you. His loose dark curls bouncing infront of his big eyes. A flash and crackle boomed throughout the house, Brahms jumped and his eyes widened with worry. He quickly scurried towards you, his eyes now locked on the floor, and his hands still hidden in his cardigan. From his little gestures you could read he was embarrassed from being this anxious. " Brahms, come here.", you beckoned lifting the sheets to welcome him under. "It's cold anyways, I'd appreciate the warmth." You flashed a gentle smile to him, and he quietly got under the sheets with you. You pulled the sheets over him, his eyes fixed on you, your little movements causing him to flinch. " Relax, everything is ok. I won't let anything harm you. Just like you won't let anything hurt me, right Brahms?", you pulled the covers over him and brought your arm to drape over his chest. His heart was racing and beating against your arm. He was absolutely worked up. He continued to stare at you but managed to motion a nod. His shakey arm stretching out to wrap around you to allow you closer to him. You were so close to him, inhaling his musky aroma. He didn't smell foul, just a little sweaty from all his built up anxiety. You moved your leg over his waist, and as you brought it over you felt a growing erection. It twitched against the side of your calf as you brushed over it. "Brahms?", his eyes moved away from your's, you were certain he felt relief being hidden under a mask. You felt a presence of humiliation linger from him. " Brahms, are you excited? We just started cuddling too, silly boy.", you groaned tiredly. Brahms nodded and continued looking away at the decorated walls. " Are you wanting to play Brahms?", you nuzzled your face against his sweaty neck. " Mhmm...", he nodded quickly.

Moments had past, the next minute Brahms was standing beside the bed undressing himself infront of you. You laid on your back in your panties and an oversized shirt. You heard the jingle of his belt as he unfastened it, his pants and boxer briefs dropping to his ankles. He then removed his cardigan and lifted his shirt above his shoulders off. " My, you are a naughty boy, Brahms. Such a little pervert just from some quick cuddling.", you glanced at his cock. It was generous in size and slightly curved. Brahms quickly shot his hands to cover himself, and looked away from you again. " Brahms, don't hide yourself from me. You're such a good boy, come to me and show it to me. Let's play.", you playfully flirted, signaling him to return to the bed. He slowly dropped his hands away from his fully erect member, he brought himself back to the bed, and began to slowly crawl to you until he was between your legs. Your foot stopped under his chin, gently lifting his face up to look at you. His nervous wide eyes staring at you, his messy curls falling down his mask. " Sweet boy, look at me. There's no reason to hide your pretty eyes from me.", you giggled bringing another little smile on your face to assure him to relax. " Do you still want to play, Brahms?", he quickly nodded and brought his hands to your panties. His long fingers hooking under your panties and prying them off you. " Eager, I like it. ", you praised him, his hands clenching the panties and bringing them to his nose. He inhaled loudly through his mask, smelling your scent, his cock twitching from the excitement. Brahms had a problem with your panties, it become a habit for him to constantly carry your's in his pockets to smell when he was away from you. Although, even when he was near you, he felt drawn to still smell them. It intoxicated him, and delivered him immense excitement.

" Silly boy, if you keep taking them, I won't have anymore to wear."

He hid the panties under the pillow he would rest on, not breaking eye contact, he pulled your shirt over your arms and off you. Your breasts exposed to him, nipples hardening and growing sensitive from the cold and the arousal. " Touch me, Brahms." You desperately demanded, as you watched him cock his head to the side, examining your body, his intense eyes bubbling with dark desires. His large hands slid slowly along the shape your body, raising goosebumps on your skin. He traced along your breasts as his hands cupped tightly around them. Squeezing and squishing them between his fingers. A quiet moan escaped your lips, his eyes immediately flashed and his head perked up. Brahms enjoyed when you moaned, he lived for the sounds of your approving pleasure. His hands loosened its grip on your sensitive chest, his fingers tracing along your shape until they met your nipples. His fingers gently tugging against them as you let out low moans. For a few seconds he focused on your nipples, pinching and pulling at them, hungrily trying to make you squirm and moan. Heavy panting crawled from under his mask, and arousal made his chest to rise and fall. " Brahms, don't make me wait any longer. I need you inside me, I want you.", your hands lightly swatted his hands off your chest as you stared into his needy eyes. For a brief moment, you caught a glimpse of his eyes before looking away. His eyes looks like they were starving, like he was predator stalking his prey and finally making his move to devour.

Brahms nodded to your demanded, his massive hands gripping your hips and dragging you towards him. He guided himself, gently tracing the edge of his cock against your wet slit. He brushed lightly against it for a few seconds before he pushed himself inside you. His cock slowly filling you, a moan escaped him, as he buried himself completely inside your warmth. You let out a heavy breath as you felt your body grow incredibly flush. "Oh, Brahms...", you sighed. He began to move his hips, a slow pace at first, and then it began to gradually get faster. His hand gripped tightly into your hip, the other quickly drew to your neck, gently gripping it, and holding your head against the bed. His hips thrusting hard into you, and his cock sliding in and out of you rapidly. You couldn't control yourself, you arched your back feeling pleasure well up inside you, constant moaning leaving you, your hands searching for loose sheets to grip. Brahms was sweating heavily, his body glistened, his neck beaded with sweat as it spread out to his chest. His hand tightening around your neck as he took away your breath. He leaned towards you, pulling your face towards him, he choked you for a few moments before releasing your neck. His eyes locked onto you, you pressed your face against his mask, kissing his nose and bring your mouth on his porcelain lips. You licked them and dragged your tongue down to his jaw and down his neck. His salty sweaty gracing the tip of your tongue.

He positioned you differently, he put you on your side, and pulled your leg around his waist and the other over his shoulder. He liked this position for some reason, and it ended alot with the two of you like this. He continued fucking you, pounding inside you without stopping his rhythm. The bed creaking loudly, his breathing getting sloppy, and your moaning growing louder. He towered over you, although, he was above you, he still submitted to you. " You're my good boy, mmm! You are making me feel so good. Am I making you feel good?", you tried to say it as clear as you could, but it was challenging with how fast he was penetrating you. He noded, as his pumping grew messy. He was close. " Sweet boy, go ahead and make yourself feel even better.", you winked as you reached over to spread your pussy infront of him. Rubbing your clit as you stared at him. "Y/N...", he groaned as he dug his hips into your body over and over. His cock fevered and twitching as it filled you. He watched as you touched yourself infront of him, his loud breathing filling the room, and his sweat dripping onto you.

You felt your climax finally build, as you continued rubbing yourself, Brahms quickly grabbed your wrist. " Brahms?", you moaned watching him lean over and pull your hands towards his face. His nose brushing against your finger tips, he inhaled your scent off your fingers. A sound of satisfaction grumbled in his throat, and he released your hand. He fucked you as deep as he could, drilling into you for a few more moments. His pace never slowing itself down.

Your body tensed up as you felt your body finally meet its along waited climax. Your arched your back, threw your head back, and moaned loudly. The pleasure scattering like dust throughout your body. Brahms came as well, he grunted loudly as his body tightened, and his hot cum filled your insides. The heat invading you and dripping out onto your thighs and sheets. He collapsed on his side beside you, gathering for several moments his breaths. "My good boy,", you smiled as you rolled onto your side to stroke his hair and pull him in your arms. " Let's rest now, my darling Brahms.", you yawned sleepily as the storm interrupted the sounds of both of your loud panting. This time, he didn't jump, instead he just nuzzled his face into your chest.

#brahms heelshire #the boy #brahms heelsire x reader #slasher x reader #fanfic #brahms heelshire fanfic

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karasuno-volley · 3 years

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HAIKYUU BOYS + TAKING CARE OF YOU WHEN YOU’RE SICK ( ft. tsukki, oikawa, atsumu )

pairing: haikyuu boys + gn!reader

tw: sickness. nothing serious, just some cold symptoms. timeskip spoilers maybe?

a/n: i've been sick for the past few days and just can’t seem to shake it, so i’ve written something a bit more in-the-moment. shout-out to the “always sick during cold months” gang. reblogs / likes welcome, no reposting !! love, volley.

You don’t cry in front of Tsukishima. Or, if you do, it’s exceedingly rare. You two worked so well together because of your personalities. Cut and dry humor and soft teasing is more of your couple style. However, when Kei finally stops by your house after school, knowing you’ve been sick, he’s not quite sure what he’s doing there. Standing outside of your door, he mumbles how much of an idiot he is. You told him specifically not to show up, but now, outside with some soup and other feel-good snacks, Kei wasn’t sure whether to knock or text you. In the end, he decides to call you. That in itself was also rare-- you didn’t enjoy talking on your phone, so many of your conversations, if not happening in person, were played out through texts. Also rarely, you answer it on the first ring. You don’t say anything, because Tsukki already hung up after the first disheartening sniffle. Opening the door to your house, he knows that neither your parents or siblings will be home this early. He makes his way up to your room, barely knocking before pushing the door slightly ajar. Tsukki is greeted by the sight of you, head in hands, tears of frustration running down your face.

“Are you okay?” He asks, already reaching for the nearby tissues. You wave him off, sniffling once before choking up a response. “I’m fine.” When Tsukki approaches with the box of tissues, you try to steal a few to clean yourself up, but he pulls away, instead drying your tears himself. He settles himself next to you, quiet and reflective as you slowly stop crying. “Did something happen?” He asks. You haven’t really seen this side to him. He must think someone made you cry, because his eyes are dark and angered. “No, I just… My head, it hurts, and…” Oh, God, how could you ever explain to him that you were crying because of a headache? But to your surprise, Kei only nods, adjusting so that he’s sitting against your pillows. You watch, confusion muddling your features. “Well?” He mumbles, reaching for your hand. “Come on. Get some rest.” When you finally give in and lay against his chest, he carefully places some of your blankets on top of the pair of you. Before you knew it, you were comfortably asleep, breathy sighs escaping your lips. Tsukki runs his hand through your hair a few times, but soon enough, he also succumbs to sleep.

It felt like each time you flew to Argentina to visit him, you always caught some sort of cold. Tooru would joke for the first week of your visit that the only reason you flew out to visit him was so that he could baby you. But now, two weeks into your visit, this damn head cold had yet to disappear. Tooru quickly becomes more concerned as each day passes and you’re still coughing and complaining of aches and chills. When he sees you out of bed in the morning, dragging your feet along the floor, he immediately turns to you. “And what do you think you’re doing out of bed?” He smirks, one hand on his hip. You’ve known that stance since high school-- the one where he isn’t going to let you just slide right past him. You raise your eyes to his, sighing. When you do speak, it’s rough and dry, a product of coughing for most of the night. “Tooru, don’t you have practice? What are you doing here still?” You sniffle, and then come to your surroundings a bit better. Some soup was simmering on the stove, a tea kettle steaming close by. “I took the day off.” He says, as if that’s an obvious thing.

You’ve never known him to miss anything when it came to volleyball, so you raise your eyebrows, doubtful. “Did you?” “Yes.” He looks to you, a stupid, goofy grin on his face. Then, his tone a bit more serious: “Now go back to bed. Or at least lay down on the couch. I’m making you some stuff to help you feel better.” He shuffles you away with a hand on your lower back, comforting and protective. You settle yourself in on the couch, whiny but not strong enough to do anything about it. You cross your arms until Tooru once again appears in front of you, cradling a cup of tea. He hands it to you gently, and you take a few sips. Then, there’s a spoon coming to your mouth, airplane-style. “Oikawa--,” you start, but before you can reprimand him for treating you like a child, he takes the opportunity to put the spoonful of soup into your mouth. You choke it down, half laughing. “What the hell, Oikawa? I’m not a child, I can feed myself.” He only laughs, handing you the bowl. “See? You’re feeling better already! And I told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I?” You take in a few more sips of liquid, nearly tipping the bowl over when a coughing fit attacks. He immediately steals the soup away, and with an agility only learned through the sport he loves, carefully places it on the coffee table without spilling a single drop. Tooru turns back to you, a hand brushing your hair away from your forehead. “Maybe I need to take care of you better.” He hums, a kiss placed to your heated skin. A fever? A blush? You’re unsure, but Oikawa smiles all the same. Soon enough, you’re wrapped around him in a blanket, easily curled into his arms. He rests his chin on your head, and the day drags on, slowly, sweetly.

He feels horribly about getting you sick. Really, he does. He tries to shower you in affection to make up for it, a kiss here, a hug there, but you’re having none of it, squirreling out of his grasp as best you can. “‘Tsumu! Stop! I don’t want you to get sick again.” You huff, retrieving a tissue to blow your nose. Your boyfriend frowns, watching you dejectedly. “But I wanna make up for it. I know it was me that got you like this.” He whines, and you lean back against the kitchen counter. “If you wanna make up for it, maybe you can take care of dinner tonight? I don’t care what it is-- it’s not like I can taste anything anyways.” You watch Atsumu think it over. He’s not much of a cook, but then his eyes light up. “I’ll call Osamu!” He runs off like a child, excited for the opportunity to take care of you for once, when it was often the other way around. It’s not like Atsumu would forget to shower or anything, but often you would greet him with breakfast, dinner. Remind him to eat during the day, replenish the energy he’d spent while playing volleyball.

An hour later, there’s a knock on the door, and it’s Osamu, holding out a to-go bag. “It’s special, not on the menu stuff.” He nods, and Atsumu grins, thanking his brother ten times over. He offers him money, but Osamu simply waves him off, glancing behind him to view your coughing figure on the couch. “Maybe save it, ‘Tsumu? Buy her some cough medicine?” When Atsumu finally joins you on the couch, you’re greeted by some onigiri, a few different teas and soups, and a few desserts. “I told Osamu whatever he felt like you could need, and I guess he doesn’t know what you like.” He says, offering you up a small plate of food. You eat some, but you honestly didn’t have much of an appetite. Atsumu tries to force at least some liquids into you, but by the end of half an hour, you’re pushing him away slightly each time he tries to put another bowl or cup to your lips. Finally, it’s a spoon that catches your attention. You open your eyes, not realizing you had been half asleep. “C’mon, Y/N. Don’t push this one away, it’s medicine.” Atsumu offers it to you once more, and you take the spoonful of the pink liquid, choking it down with some water. When you lean back against the couch cushion, Atsumu is already there, as if anticipating your next action. Sometimes, your boyfriend is wildly perceptive. Your head lolls to his shoulder, too tired to really care about going to bed at all. You don’t wake as Atsumu carefully picks you up, head to his shoulder, before placing you lovingly in your shared bed, pulling the covers over you. Now, it’s his turn to take care of you.

#I know I've posted a lot today but listen #I need to finish this post before the nyquil kicks in #hq #haikyuu #hq imagines #haikyuu imagines #tsukki x reader #tsukki imagines #Oikawa x reader #oikawa imagines #atsumu x reader #atsumu imagines #karasuno-volley #writing #haikyuu timeskip #tw sick #tw sickness

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allegra-writes · 4 years

Text

Adore you

Peter Parker x Reader

NSFW

Warnings: Smut, of course

The request:

More dom reader and subby pete pls!!! maybe something like a badass shield agent reader? and peter having a crush on her and there goes the smut? hope u like this idea, take ur time!!

I've been holding onto this for a couple of days now. I'm quite proud of how it turned out, I had to stop for air quite a few times as I wrote it so beware. This is my Christmas gift to you, consider me your Naughty Pagan Santa🔥

Series masterlist

"P-please" Peter's desperate plea broke the silence. His voice was hoarse, wrecked, no louder than a whisper and at first you weren't even sure he had spoken, but then he begged again, "Please, please!"

You were torturing him, breaking him, shattering him to dust and then putting him back together again, building him anew to your liking, and he wasn't sure how much more he would be able to take without losing his mind. He felt your smile against his hip bone and dared looking down, teary red rimmed eyes meeting yours, ablazed and alluring, every bit as beautiful as the first time he had seen them. He had lost himself in those eyes more times than he could count, and yet he could map them to micrometric precision, dozens of pictures on his phone dedicated solely to them, to their idiosyncrasies and nuances under different lighting.

He never thought he could have this, never thought he could have you: Y/n from biology. Agent 16, S.H.I.E.L.D. level 7. "I guess it's something we have in common," You had said, "we are both liars." Peter had wanted to argue that it wasn't the same thing, but it was hard to complain as you drove away from the angry mob of Mysterio stans you had saved him from. You had been fast, efficient, one quick drive to Manhattan, to the helipad of the ex-Avenger's tower (now property of S.H.I.E.L.D.) and before the day was over, you both were out of the city, out of the country, on that desert island just the two of you.

The feeling of your tongue, hot and wet on the v of his hips pulled him back into the present. You sucked a little pineapple cube, cold against his fevered skin, into your mouth, before chasing down the drop of juice the fruit had left behind with your tongue. Peter dug his fingers on the white, soft sand, searching in vain for purchase. He squirmed, a steady stream of 'pleasepleaseplease' falling from his lips, as you ate a piece of cantaloupe off his abs.

You were using his body as a plate, eating fresh fruit off it, a new torment to add to the long list of wicked, delicious ways you had been playing with him all afternoon. You had been pleasuring him for a couple of hours now, and he was delirious with it, overstimulated. He felt immaterial, disembodied, undone. He was soft clay under your hands, under your mouth, under your tongue. Your touch was the only thing shaping his reality, shaping him. So what if the whole world knew Peter Parker was Spider-Man? He wasn't either of them anymore. Here on this island, laying under you, he wasn't the next Tony Stark or the last Avenger; he was just 'baby boy', and 'tiger' and whatever else you choose to call him.

He was free.

He didn't have to save any body, because you had saved him, didn't have to decide anything cause you gave the orders. You could take care of him, all he had to do was surrender to you.

You crawled up his body, tiny slice of watermelon between your lips, and Peter immediately parted his, to let you glide it into his mouth. It tasted faintly of your strawberry lip balm, making his head dizzy with longing.

"Please" he croaked again, after swallowing the sweet, juicy fruit.

"What do you need baby boy?" You breathed, hot against his ear.

"To kiss you" he panted, "please, let me kiss you"

You complied, and he finally got to taste your soft, warm mouth. Strawberry lipstick and cherries and himself and he loved it, loved that sharp bitter tang on your palate. His fingers buried themselves in your hair, pulling you closer to taste it better. Only when you pulled away, giggling a little maliciously, did he realize his mistake.

"Bad, bad boy" You leaned back, disentangling from his fingers, sitting up and away from him.

He paled,

"No, please, I'll do anything" He moved to get up too, but caught himself at the last second, your disapproving glare all that was needed to halt his movements. You smiled to yourself, he truly was insatiable. After coming so many times that afternoon, he still looked heartbroken at the prospect of this little game of yours ending. With his big brown eyes full of tears and bottom lip wobbling slightly, he was just too God damn adorable, and you… well, unlike him you were only human.

But he still needed to be punished.

"You like what we do, baby boy?" You inquired, sitting back down, straddling him, pressing yourself against him, only the thin fabric of your bikini bottoms separating your core from his gorgeous, naked cock. "You like the way we play?"

He nodded frantically as you started to rock on top of him, tearing a moan from his lips.

"Do you like the things I do to you?"

"Yes, ma'am" he groaned. You ranked your fingernails down his chest, down his stomach.

"Do you like it when I touch you?"

"Yes! Oh god…"

You reached back, untying the scarf you had turned into a bandeau. Peters hands twitched, but he kept them by his sides.

"Do you like looking at me?"

"God, yes!" He cried, as you rubbed yourself down on him harder, faster, "I love it, love watching you! I - I love.."

You stopped moving, making Peter whine loudly, fists hitting the sand like a little boy throwing a tantrum.

"Do you want to touch me?"

"Yes! Please, please ma'am, please let me touch you…"

How could you ever say no to that? You nodded your permission and chucked as Peter's hands went straight to your breasts.

"Can I…" Peter hesitated, not wanting to push his luck. But judging by the way your head lolled back, you seemed to be enjoying his touch, and that gave him courage. "Can I put my mouth on you, ma'am?"

You smirked, looking down at him through half shut eyes,

"Such a greedy boy…" You scolded, but tugged him up to a sitting position anyway, capturing his lips again. The feeling of your nipples against the naked skin of his chest had him moaning into your mouth, and you swallowed it, devoured it, dominating the kiss as you were dominating him. Your hips started to move again, by their own volition, and his followed in kind, until you both were breathing hard. You broke the kiss, pulling at his soft curls, guiding his mouth to where you wanted it. He wasted no time at nibbling and sucking, rolling your nipples with the tip of his tongue, first one and then the other. He had a naturally talented tongue, and you couldn't wait to see what else he could do with it.

"I'm going to ride your face until I come" you were proud of how steady and commanding your voice was, "and then, I'm going to ride your cock until you come…"

His answering broken sob let you know he was ok with that idea.

"And then… then I'm going to keep on ridding you… gonna go on… and on… I'm not going to stop until you give me all your come…"

"Yes, oh my god yes!"

"Until it's gushing out of me…"

"Yesyesyes…" Peter was close, so so close. Between the rocking of your hips and your words, he was seconds away from bursting, and you knew it.

That's exactly why you stopped, and pushed him away from you, watching him fall back onto the sand. It was just for show, of course. He was way stronger than you and, if he wanted to, he could easily flip you, overpower you and have his way with you. That only made the adrenaline rush greater, knowing how powerful he really was, knowing he was giving up all that power willingly and placing it on your hands to do with it, with him, as you pleased.

To use him as you pleased.

...You had always loved big guns.

"I'm going to give you a choice now, tiger" You spoke over the cute little whimpers escaping his throat. He was so precious, so innocent, you almost felt bad for corrupting him like this. Almost. "I am going to do all the things I just promised, I won't stop you from coming again. And you can keep on touching me while I do those things to you… or you can keep on watching me, but not both"

He met your eyes and you could see the conflict behind his. He looked about ready to cry, fingers trembling where they rested on your thighs, brown orbs never leaving yours, imploring. You straddling his waist almost naked, free and unashamed under the clear summer sky, were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, he didn't want to give that up. But the thought of taking his hands away from your soft skin, from your lovely body, was almost physically painful.

"I-I can't" He stammered, a little pathetically but he was long past pride, "please, don't make me choose"

"Then I guess I'll have to choose for you"

You tried to pry his hands away, but he held on tighter.

"No! No, please, I wanna touch!"

You leaned over, taking your abandoned silk scarf from the sand, tying it around his head and over his eyes.

"But I wanna see you!" He complained petulantly. Such a brat… you were going to love breaking him.

"But you misbehaved, baby boy" You reminded him, "You touched me without permission, and now this is your punishment. I can't just let you off the hook now, can I? Can't let you think you can get away with anything…"

"But-"

"One more word" he felt your hand squeeze his balls softly, warningly, "and you'll regret it"

He snapped his mouth shut.

"Atta boy" You approved, rewarding him with a filthy open mouthed kiss before standing up. Peter didn't have time to protest before something, a piece of cloth hit him square in the face. He fisted it in his left hand, the wet patch letting him now right away it was your bikini bottoms. Peter pressed it to his nose, inhaling deeply.

"Dirty boy" you tsked from somewhere near his pelvis, startling him. He felt your warm breath against his cock right before he felt your searing tongue, placing one long lick from base to red, angry tip.

"F-FUCK!"

You laughed and then you were gone again, only to flick at his nipple a moment later, making him cry out. You kept on toying with him for a few minutes, a kiss here, a suck there, until finally, finally, he heard your knees hitting the sand at either side of his head as you slowly lowered yourself, hovering right above his mouth.

He ventured a lick, but you backed away. He gave chase, straining his neck, but you always raised yourself just enough for him to be unable to make contact, until he frustratedly grabbed a hold of your thighs, using his superior strength to force you down onto his face.

"Holy fuck!" This time, it was your turn to curse as his tongue made it straight into your soft, velvety insides, delving deep, crashing unexpectedly with something cool and sweet. He twirled his tongue around until he was able to take it into his mouth, moaning as he bit down onto it. You had buried a strawberry inside your pussy for him to find.

And you called him dirty.

He swallowed and thrusted his tongue inside you again. You were sweeter than the strawberry and he wondered idly if his Spider half had anything to do with it, if he could somehow taste your pheromones or something. Or if it was simply you, delicious and addictive all of your own.

You were making the most beautiful sounds, bucking your hips erratically, wave after wave of sugary nectar falling to his lips as his nose bumped against your clit with every one of your movements. And he was mad about it, mad about you, growling and moaning into your cunt. He couldn't possibly want you more than he did right then, cock so hard it hurt, pelvis grinding pitifully against nothing. But he wasn't important, this was all about you, about pleasing you, worshiping every inch of you. His amazon, his pagan goddess in a tropical paradise. Even back in Europe, hell, even way back in New York, all he had ever wanted was this: For you to let him adore you.

Peter had never understood the need to submit, what was about being tossed and ordered around that appealed so much to those men on the internet. Not until he met you.

Because from the moment he met you, he wanted to belong to you, to be your slave and follow your every command, fulfil your every need.

And now you were screaming, falling apart above him and he had done that, he was the one you were coming for. It made his head swim with pride and something else, something unnamed and powerful. He kept on lapping at your cunt, leisurely, slow like honey, until your legs stopped trembling.

You pushed his curls, slick with sweat, away from his forehead tenderly.

"Good boy," You cooed, "I'm so proud of you, you did so good"

A warm feeling spread out in Peter's chest at your words.

"Thank you, ma'am. Good enough for my punishment to be over?"

You laughed breathlessly as you pushed his hands away and stood up on slightly unstable legs.

"No, but nice try"

His pout was so cute you had to bend down and kiss it off his face.

"Pretty please?" He insisted, once he felt you straddling his thighs.

"Don't be difficult, baby. Don't you want to be good for me?"

"I d- OH" your hot hand around his shaft made him cry out, cutting his answer short. Had you known before a hand job was all it took to shut Peter Parker up… You would probably have done everything exactly the same, actually.

Peter's head was already trashing from side to side as your hand moved, deliberately slow. Up and down, up and down, up and down…

Up… up, up, guiding him into your tight, exquisite heat. He heard you moan as you buried his cock inside you to the hilt, pelvis kissing yours.

"You are… the best thing I've ever felt inside me"

He groaned his agreement, hands flying to your waist, as you started to move, started sliding up and down his cock steadily, imitating the same unhurried rhythm you used with your hand.

But your cunt felt so much better than your palm, all that wet, silky pressure over every lavish inch of him… up and down, up and down…

He felt you brace yourself on his abdomen, nails digging into firm flesh.

Up and down… up and down… Faster.

Faster…

"Peter… oh, god, you feel so good… So good between my legs"

And you felt like heaven, he wanted to tell you, but he was reduced to cries and sobs, to clutching and grabbing at your skin, fingertips eagerly searching any part of your body they could reach. You took one of his hands and lowered it until his thumb was right above your clit, your own fingers showing him how to rub just right to make pleasure explode inside your loins.

His eyes fluttered open underneath the blindfold. He didn't mean to, he truly didn't, he wanted to be good, he wanted to obey, but this? You riding him hard, coming from his cock and his fingers? It was a vision way too tempting to resist. He could see you clearly through the rainbow of silk threads, head thrown back in ecstasy, mouth open in a silent scream, little beads of sweat glimmering on your skin under the sun, sparkling almost as bright as the jewel colored water on the horizon behind you. And your cunt, juicy and red as the strawberries you favoured, stretched around his cock, taking it in over and over and over again, little contractions milking him, hungry for his come.

So he gave it to you, surging deep inside you, hips thrusting up to meet yours. You almost fell back, but he caught you in his arms just in time. Raising to a sitting position still buried inside you, he gathered you to his chest, the makeshift blindfold falling from his face.

"Hey…"

You smiled, a little drunkenly,

"Hey, stranger"

Closing your arms around his shoulders, you tucked your face into his neck. You were boneless, completely spent and sated, about to fall asleep, lulled by his soft caresses on your back, when you felt him start moving inside you again.

Definitely insatiable.

Tired and overstimulated, you tried to get up, get away but his arms, strong as steel around you held you to him, as he rocked beneath you, pubic bone smashing into your oversensitized clit with every drag. Pushing against his shoulder also proved completely useless, his hold on you only tightening, as he started fucking up into you harder.

You bit into his shoulder, making him groan.

"I think… think I like that punishment better…" He declared, grabbing your chin, holding you in place to kiss you, deep and dirty, only releasing your lips once your head was spinning, your lungs burning. You gasped for air.

"Naughty" You admonished, still struggling against him, albeit a little halfheartedly. He splayed one of his hands against your lower back, pressing you to him. The new pressure was delicious, the heat starting to build again, even if you didn't want it "You're so naughty"

He scraped his teeth softly on the hollow of your throat, only to sooth it with his tongue seconds later, his cock moving so deep you could feel it hit your cervix. You screamed, he was going to tear another orgasm out of you soon.

"Only holding you to your word" He whispered against your skin, making goosebumps erupt down your spine, "You promised not to stop… until I give you all my come"

To be continued...

PS: Let me know if you are reading this under the table during a horrible family reunion, I' love to bring you a little joy during these very difficult rimes... Love ya!!

#peter parker #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker x reader fanfic #tom holland x reader smut #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland #peter parker imagine #adore you

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yellowdistress · 5 years

Note

AAAAH HI! I just wanted to let you know that I loved the short Irondad The Last of Us AU fic you recently posted a lot!! If you ever decide to expand it and/or share any other ideas around that AU please do so! :O I've been looking for any good Zombie/Apocalyptic Irondad fics and your one-shot was just so good! I love all your fics so much! It gives me so much happiness when you post a new story or chapter!

Hey! Thanks so much! I also had this one in my drafts, it was originally what I had planned to write, but I didn’t like it so much. But I guess if you’re willing to read it, have at it! Hope you enjoy 😁

It was month three of their journey.

It was December, he knew it had to be. Somewhere around there, the world was iced over, and cold, and it seemed to snow constantly. The sun hadn’t come out, not really. It only peaked out around clouds, and storm after storm had ravaged them. Had taken a lot of food too, and there had been a few times in there that Tony had thought he was going to lose some toes. But he assumed that every year and every year he managed to save them, every single one. So. That was a feat.

The months had seemingly drug on and on, and Tony had dreaded winter. He knew it would take time, traveling out west, they had begun the journey in the summer. It hadn’t been good considering how long it was going to be, but people used to do it back before everything, back when there was a future, and so they could do it then. But the cold had come, and so had disease, and not the kind that created Corpses, Runners, whatever the hell people wanted to call them. It was the kind that made people take a few days off work, maybe go to a walk-in clinic. If it was bad an ER, but those didn’t exist. Semblances did behind the walls, but not out where he and the kid were.

The kid was sick.

It was almost…funny. Because the kid had been bitten and hadn’t turned. Had been immune to the thing that had taken nearly everyone Tony loved and knew and even hated. But then Peter got a cold, or the fucking flu, or something and he was dying. Tony was convinced, and the situation they were in didn’t help. Tony could get him to help without going inside the walls, and going inside the walls meant smuggling and smuggling meant…Well, anyway…

They were in the bed of a truck and would be for the next two and half hours. It was frigid, and miserable, and cramped. Almost too small to fit them, and Peter’s chest was struggling to rise and fall. Tony could barely see him, where the bed cover above had holes allowing a harsh wind to squeeze through. Peter’s eyes were open, staring blearily, and he hadn’t looked coherent in a few days. Not since the fever had started.

Tony kept a hand on his chest. It told him Peter was breathing, despite how ragged and strained it was from the fluid in his lungs. Tony grabbed the hem of Peter’s shirt, pulling it up. The skin between Peter’s ribs was pulling inward with each breath, and even though Tony wasn’t a doctor, he knew it wasn’t good. Peter squirmed in response to the cold air hitting his skin and he pushed Tony’s hand away. Tony complied, pulling the clothing downward before he ordered, “Focus on breathing.”

It seemed stupid. Focus on breathing, but Tony didn’t know what else to say. The kid was obviously in some kind of respiratory distress and it was fucking stupid because Peter couldn’t die from some stupid chest cold. He pressed a hand to Peter’s forehead, finding it was still warm. The truck jostled a bit as they went over a bump and the kid let out a pained sound, followed by a fit of coughing. Tony wasn’t exactly sure where they were, but they weren’t going fast enough to be silenced, and so Tony quickly, regrettably, put a hand over the kid’s mouth. He knew Peter couldn’t help it, but the last thing they needed was to get caught being smuggled behind the walls and someone testing Peter and finding the virus, finding the Immune Boy.

“Shhh, shhh, stop - stop,” Tony said, maybe too harshly, the kid again, couldn’t help it, and Peter looked up at him with teary, pleading eyes as the hand continued to clamp over his mouth and his chest heaved. He let out some panicked sounds, pushing at Tony’s wrist, but he couldn’t relent.

Tony could practically see the silent, “Please, please, please.”

“I know,” Tony whispered, “But if they find us, we’re dead.”

Paying off the driver had been the easy part.

Peter was radiating fever, and his chest continued to spasm, Peter coughed under a suppressing hand. When it finally subsided, Tony slowly removed his palm, a silent apology in his fingers as they hesitantly brushed the side of the kid’s face, very briefly, before pulling away. The tears were heavier now, Peter couldn’t really speak. Not past the strain of breathing. Despite the small space, Tony numbly gathered what he could of the kid close. Peter was shivering, he didn’t know if it was chills or what, but he tried to share as much warmth as he possibly could in the freezing truck bed. The ridges below their backs were uncomfortable, Tony had put most of the blankets under Peter back when they had started their journey.

Peter let out a shaky sound and Tony shushed, trying to remember what it was like to be surrounded by people, not monsters or criminals, real people, like Pepper had been, the ones with emotions, the ones that needed to be held. It had been so long since anyone had needed that from him. So long since he had offered it, but Peter was smothering inside his own chest. The kid looked tired and yet terrified all at the same time.

“You’re alright,” Tony murmured, pulling Peter close and rubbing the kid’s forearm to produce heat, “You’re alright.”

#last of us au #irondad #irondad fic

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maxheadley · 6 years

Text

A Little Confession.

Timothy's Imaginations: Chapter 10

Tad bobbed his leg up and down unyieldingly. He sat in the waiting room of a lonely clinic, where the walls were painted an unsatisfying shade of orange and the chairs were damningly uncomfortable. The clinic needed some serious TLC. The cracks in the leather of the chairs bothered him more than the disgusting orange walls. He shifted his numb bum about twenty times to find a comfortable position, though the position eventually became apparent it wasn't comfortable at all. Only briefly. He listened to the tick tock of the large antique grandfather clock next to him to focus on anything else other than his increasing worry about his best friend and erratic typing of the desk nurse.

He'd most likely freak out if the clock hadn't been ticking in his ear. The one thing he liked, something consistent, something unchanging. A clock never changed from it's ticking pattern to irregularities. He sighed, glancing at the clock reading where the hand rested. He'd been stuck in the waiting for about an hour. How long did it take for a doctor to examine their patients? Surely not this long, Tad thought disdainfully.

Suddenly, the door that lead towards the rooms where patients were examined swung open revealing a young doctor dressed in some tan slacks, a ugly blue sweater, normal shoes, and a oversized lab coat. He carried a clipboard and his overly large round eyeglasses were slipping down to the bridge of his nose. Behind him, Winnie walked, rubbing her paling tan arm awkwardly. Her nerves were frayed. He suspected. "Thaddeus.." Winnie pushed past the unaware doctor and hugged him tightly. Something felt wrong, but he didn't ask. He would probably hear it from the Doctor.

He kissed her temple as the man approached. "I am unsure what Winnie's infected with but we've drawn blood and had her do a urine test and we'll receive the results a couple days. But in the meantime, I've prescribed her some antibiotics to flush out the cold and help stabilize her breathing." The Doctor said so quickly, Tad had troubling putting the words into sentences.

"Okay, thank you. Is that all?" Tad was itching to get out of there. His paranoia began to bother him and he had a feeling a panic attack was on the rise. Something about this place seemed off. Surreal. Unethical.

"No.." The Doctor shot him a startled expression. "There's one other thing.. I have to ask why does she have a small incision on her throat?"

Tad wrinkled his nose, remembering how Winnie described Harley's attack and how the wire scraped across her throat drawing a few beads of unnecessary bloodshed. "Alarming as this may sound, she scratches her neck when she's extremely nervous and sometimes uses sharp objects and it causes scrapes or small cuts. It's no big deal." He lied, not wanting to divulge the truth to a complete and under stranger.

The man raised his unattractive, bushy eyebrows almost to his brown hairline. "Probably would be wise if you um made sure she doesn't use any sharp objects to inherently self harm."

"Yeah, I'll do my best." Tad awkwardly muttered.

Winnie settled on the comfortable seat of Tad's truck. She buckled up as he jogged around the vehicle to get himself in. He seemed tense. Something was off. She suspected the problem was the awkward, sterile setting of the clinic. He had always avoided being around doctors or hospitals, and rarely did her ever step foot inside a place that reminded him of a hospital. She observed him buckling his seatbelt and insert the key in the ignition.

Finally, after several minutes of observing his fast movements and frantic biting of his lower lip, she placed a small, clammy hand on his thin thigh and squeezed to gather his attention. She knew her voice was hoarse and didn't want to startle him using her froggy voice.

He placed one of his hands over hers and sighed, leaning the back of head onto the glass, smushing the long uncut pale hair against his skull. He closed his dark green eyes briefly. "I have to tell you something." He hadn't ignited the engine though the keys remained in the ignition, so he turned his entire body to face hers and lifted one shaky hand to caress her pale, sickly cheek. "And it may be awkward for us afterward. But promise me we'll be friends still?" He squeezed his eyes closed as if expecting her to reject him or something.

Winnie would never.

"I promise. Now, what is it?" She asked, trying to clear the saliva that gathered at the back of her throat away. Her voice never sounded more terrible than right then.

He opened her eyes and leaned forward about as much as he could do the seatbelt, and smashed his lips straight into hers. To her surprise, she allowed him. She could feel something in her core blooming as he kissed her consistently for those brief few seconds. She frowned, when he stopped and leaned back slightly. "I am in love with you. Have been for the past couple of years but seeing you be abused and hurt by others has made me realized I needed to tell and show you that I'd do anything to make you feel loved the way you deserved." He said breathless.

Beads of sweat sparkled on his tan forehead. His eyes were alight with passion and a film of undisguised love. How could she extinguish such a beautiful thing like him? He was perfection disguised under glasses and a giant sweater with either his nose in a book or his eyes trained on a laptop screen. He was a fire shrouded by a cloak of shadows. He needed to shine. Who was she to let the flames burn out? She couldn't.

"And I wish for you to be mine. In the ways that count." Tad said, breaking Winnie out of her small reverie. The innocent, vulnerable expression on his damningly handsome face pleased with her.

She pressed her index finger against the swollen bottom lip of his. She met his eyes. She saw the possibilities swirling in them, the countless opportunities and adventures they could have, the ideas they could attempt to create, side by side, together.

She knew what she had to do.

"Are you sure it is me you want?"

"I am positive you are what I need and want."

"Okay." Winnie licked her bottom lip drawing his eyes to her lips. "I'll be yours."

With that she sealed their new relationship with a simple, sweet kiss. One, which, warmed the inner broken parts of her heart.

After picking up Winnie's prescribed medication, Tad drove them back to the cabin to ignite the plan they devised and decided on the drive back. Winnie had her fever-ridden forehead pressed against the cool glass of the window. Her bright blue eyes suddenly brighter than they had been in many days. She watched the trees race past, listening to the tires of Tad's truck crunch over the pebbles and dirt, and the roar of the engine.

She couldn't shake the fear gathering in her belly as they neared their destination. What if their plan went wrong? What if the others tried to poke holes in their plan and mess everything up? Or what if Harley and Timothy retaliated and someone got hurt? She couldn't bare seeing another person hurt. Everyone was hurt enough already.

"Tad.. Did you call Wren like I asked?" Winnie asked, lifting her head up and adjusting her sitting position.

"Yes. He's meeting us there. I gave him the directions and told him to lay low and not attract any attention. If he did, we're screwed." He squinted at the rain stained windshield, the glare of the sun obviously bothering him.

"Wren's pretty intelligent. He's cunning and manipulative, " She paused, having to cough. "And he's resourceful. He'd weave his way out of any situation." She added, after about a minute.

Tad parked in the driveway of the cabin and glanced at her. "God. I hope this works." He muttered, unbuckling his seat.

Winnie scooted across the worn seat and cupped his cheeks. She kissed his lips lightly. "I promise you it'll work." She gave him a small, confident smile.

Tad opened his door and helped her out, not responding other than a measly nod. She suspected her had doubts nothing would go right. She grabbed the bag of medicine from the seat and started for the cabin, when a loud strange whistle caught her attention. She depicted where the whistling came from and saw Wren perched in a tree several yards away looking weirdly like Tarzan except wearing regular clothes and his hair was not long.

She made a quick, subtle gesture to Tad and detoured into the woods. She stopped at the foot of the large oak tree Wren sat in. "What in the world are you doing up there?" She shouted, but quietly. If she attracted her mother's attention, it was all over. Everything would go downhill from there.

Wren hopped down from the sturdy branch and landed neatly on his feet. He brushed a couple discolored leaves off his head and adjusted the misplaced strands before answering. "I was scouting out the location, figuring out the best place to strike." He said, like he did not just impressively leap from a tree and not break a leg.

"And did you?" Tad popped up beside Winnie casting subtle glances over his shoulder. Probably hoping Terra wasn't staring out the window.

"There's a backdoor and a large window that is weirdly open I could sneak through as long as you two provide a good enough diversion to help me get through without being captured." Wren said, flatly.

Winnie sighed, running a shaky hand through her black curls. "I'm sure we're in enough trouble to distract the hell out of my Ma and Davie."

"I don't disagree." Muttered Tad.

"Okay. So what do you want me to do once I'm in?"

"Well.." Winnie began.

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edourado · 7 years

Note

Karedevil prompt: OK, this just came to me this morning, with winter descending upon us and me trying to fight off a cold; I've read several "Karen takes care of Matt while he's sick" fics, but I'd love to see a "Matt takes care of (or at least attempts to) Karen".

Hello, Anon. Yes, I’m aware that winter has come and gone for you (I’m assuming). But here I am, and here it is, your prompt, finally.

It took an angsty turn. I’m sorry, I know you were hoping for fluff, and I fully intended to write it, but there, out of nowhere, I had ten pages of angsty stuff. Hope you like it, anyway.

Enjoy, and thanks for your prompt ♥

No Love Left to Waste

Matt knew that he deserved what he got from Karen and Foggy these days.

Everything that had happened that year was complicated. The presence of Elektra made him do some pretty stupid shit, like lying to his business partner and secretary, legal assistant, girlfriend. His friends. Yes, there was a ton of shit within himself he had to sort out. Yes, Elektra did help him realise that he could not keep what he had going on up for much longer. Yes, everything was a mess.

Yes, he fucked up. And no, it was not Foggy’s fault. Nor was it Karen’s.

He understood she needed time. She was not as mad as she had been, initially, once he explained, once he told her, once he came clean. She was hurt - didn’t tell him, but he could feel it. He felt it every time she moved or spoke or blinked or swallowed or tried to hide it.

She was not mad, but she was not too happy, either. They talked, she helped him, he helped her, she even smiled here and there. But it was still so strange, there was this huge gap that wasn’t there before.

That’s why he understood when he had to find out through Foggy that she was sick as a dog, caught too many times under the harsh winter weather.

“Why do you smell like chicken?” he had asked Foggy when they met in his fancy office on Wednesday, after hours.

“Oh”, he said, typing on his office computer. “I took some soup to Karen at lunch. She’s super sick, poor thing. Oh, shit, I’m in. I’m hacking my office. No big deal.”

They went to work after that, collecting important information Matt needed (well, Jessica needed), counting the minutes until the cameras started working again.

Almost two hours later, they walked out, Matt waving his cane around and holding Foggy’s arm, for the security guard’s benefit. No way the new goofy, technologically challenged and harmless looking guy and his blind friend had anything to do with the cameras powering down, right?

“So Karen’s sick?” he asked once they reached the sidewalk.

“Yeah”, Foggy confirmed. “I told her to take care of herself, but you know that one. Once she sets her mind on something…”

Matt tried not to be obvious about the fact that he didn’t know about that.

“How you guys doing?” Foggy asked and Matt raised his brows, sighing.

“Ok, I guess.”

”Yeah, sure, that totally sounds true.”

“I don’t know, man”, he said. “I told her everything, she had a bunch of questions, I did my best to answer them, she understood. It’s just…”

“Not the same.”

“Yeah. And she’s not, like, lying to me or pushing me away or anything, but she’s… Closed off.”

They walked a few steps further.

“I think she needs some time, man. It’s a lot to process, what with Elektra and what happened between you guys and everything…”

“Yeah”, he said, feeling the wind pick up and sting his face. “Yeah, I know.”

Foggy got in a cab and Matt got in another. After giving his address to the driver, he sat back and thought about his current situation with Karen.

He knew, of course he knew, that seeing Elektra in his bed stung. And, after he told her and explained why she was there, it didn’t make it any better. Karen is an intelligent woman. She did not ask him further about their involvement, just took what he offered and that was enough for her to reach her own - the right - conclusions.

“We were not…” he had told her. “We were not involved, Karen, not anymore. She had been poisoned, Stick had just saved her life.”

She had stood there, hip against the empty office window, arms crossed, looking at him, thinking about it, not mad, not angry, listening, but closed off, reserved, hurt, she was still very hurt.

“I believe you”, she said when he started promising her he was telling the truth.

And, his senses always so sharp, he heard what she didn’t say.

“I actually don’t.”

And maybe his senses were super humanly sharp, but, in that moment, he wondered if Karen‘s were, too, since, even as he did not tell her of all the intimate moments he had shared with Elektra these past few months (the decoy kiss, the innuendos, the jokes, the mapping of each other’s scars, plans of running away together), she seemed to see them, to watch those moments as he remembered them.

Since then, that tension remained. For the rest of their talk, all throughout their next ones, even when she tried to act like it was OK, when he tried to tell himself he was imagining it.

Almost a year later and it was still there. And now she was sick,enough to miss work and enough to make Foggy use his lunch break to get her soup.

The cab left him in front of his building, and he climbed the stairs and walked through his own door in a haze.

A year ago, he would not have to find out by someone else. A year ago, he would have heard it in her voice, felt the extra heat of her skin, he would have known just by being in her presence.

Now, he didn’t know because she kept their contact to a minimum. And he couldn’t blame her, but accepting it was proving to be a challenge, too.

He changed into casual clothes and walked out again, hoodie over his head, hiding his face.

When Matt got to the corner of her street, he walked towards the alley that gave him access to her fire escape.

It didn’t take long for him to locate her. Her apartment was quiet, there was no movement, aside from her laboured breathing. She was in bed, surrounded by an armour made of blankets and pillows, almost fully asleep.

Matt thought about taking the main entrance, climbing the stairs and knocking, giving her the chance to refuse him. But she was warm in her bed, all tucked in, he didn’t want to make her move.

After that conclusion, the obvious, sound, right call would be for him to leave, call her tomorrow. But he was here and he could hear her and, he realized, his chest ached with her absence.

When he got to her window, he almost smiled. It was cracked open, a thin gap letting frigid air inside. She had been taken so many times, so many people have come for her, and here she was, leaving her window open while she lied there in her bed, ready for plucking.

Or, he noticed while opening it and swinging a leg inside, maybe not so ready. There was a gun inside her bedside table drawer, fully loaded.

Even if Matt couldn’t smell traces of gunpowder and strong coffee, he could smell Frank Castle’s influence.

Walking in and closing the window, he stood in place for a few seconds, debating if he should leave, if he should stay, if he should let her know he was there.

When she let out a series of sneezes and a moan-like little cry, he swallowed and walked to her, until he was sitting on the edge of her bed, with her facing him, lying on her side, wrapped in her blankets like a fat burrito.

Matt took his hand to her hair and almost sighed when the strands moved against his fingers and his palm. He missed that feeling so much.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, groggy, half asleep, softly, after opening her eyes slowly.

“I heard you were sick”, he said, something in his chest tightening, he missed her so much. “Wanted to see if you were ok.”

Sniffing, Karen didn’t move or protest when his hand went to her face, thumb tracing her features.

“You shouldn’t leave your window open”, he said, something like warm water running inside him, relief, maybe, that she wasn’t kicking him out.

Her eyes closed, Karen chuckled.

“Frank said the same thing.”

He knew Frank had been there. By the feel of it, he was a regular visitor. But hearing her talk about him so casually, confirming what he already knew, it almost physically hurt him.

He was jealous, Matt realized.

“Was he the one that gave you the gun?” he asked, trying not to betray his feelings, his thumb still caressing her face.

“No, that’s mine”, she said, taking a hand from inside her blanket cocoon and wiping her nose with a crumpled tissue. “He just brought me a new box of bullets.”

He had a thousand things he wanted to say to that. Most of them, he knew very well, were just out of jealousy.

He knew Frank well, by now. Knew what he had done for her, how he had saved her, knew he was not dangerous to her. But the urge to go off and tell her to stay away from Frank at all times was there, on the tip of his tongue, because he’s dangerous, he’s unpredictable, unstable, his enemies are dangerous and powerful, she could become a target, he could-

“He made me a shitload of soup”, she said, hiding her face inside her blankets right after, a fit of cough overtaking her. “Shit, I hate this”, she said, and Matt couldn’t think about the extent of her relationship with Frank right now - he had no right to think about it.

“Have you been to a doctor, Karen?”

“It’s just a cold”, she said, rubbing her nose. “I don’t need a doctor.”

Sighing, Matt reached inside his pocket for his phone. He would much rather call Claire, but he took up so much for her free time as it was, and he knew she was busy with Luke tonight, one of Rand’s hires would have to do.

Karen complained when the doctor answered the phone and Matt asked if she could do a house call. She insisted that she didn’t need to see anyone, reaching out for more tissues, coughing and sneezing, freezing.

“You have a fever, Karen”, he said, hand on her forehead, so glad she didn’t bat it away. “It’ll be quick.”

He stood there while the older doctor examined her, stethoscope to her chest and back, measuring her temperature, asking questions.

“She needs a lot of rest, regular intake of fluids and healthy food”, she told Matt. “This is a prescription for some pills, the ones she’s taking won’t do much good”, she handed him the piece of paper. “Make sure she’s warm, but you should let some air in.”

“Thank you, doctor”, he said, walking the woman to the door.

Matt closed the door and turned around to walk back to Karen’s bedroom. He found her sitting in bed, the covers away from her, the window open again.

“This is not helping, you know?” he said, walking to it and closing it, leaving the bare minimum for some air to come and ventilate the place.

“I don’t- she said, moving to get her hair out of her face. “I don’t feel comfortable. My body hurts.”

“I know”, he said, walking to her bed, not really knowing what to do.

What he wanted to do was sit by her and wrap her in his arms, touch her head to his chest and not let go of her until she felt better. But, given her aforementioned lack of comfort, cuddling him would be the very last thing she wanted to do.

“Are you hungry?” he asked instead and she sighed, annoyed.

“No. But I have to eat, I guess.”

“You do”, he said, moving to help her up, and it was such a small thing, but he wanted to smile when she accepted his hand. “We’ll warm up some of Foggy’s chicken soup”, he tried joking, lifting her from her bed slowly.

“Frank ate that”, she said, and he could swear he heard a hint of a smile in her voice. “Said he knew Foggy meant well, but ‘store bought shit it’s only gonna make you sicker’.”

“And then he made you soup?” Matt asked, trying not to betray annoyance.

“Yes. Like a ton of it.”

It was, indeed, in a huge pot over her stove, and it actually smelled pretty nice. It was, Matt assessed, lukewarm.

He actually opened his mouth to ask if Frank did this a lot. Came in and made himself at home at her apartment, or if he cooked for her a lot. Ask what else he did. He doubted she would dignify his questions with answers, so he just closed it again.

“If you want to eat in bed, I can take it for you”, he offered after she groaned to sit on one of the kitchen chairs.

“Yeah, ok.”

Turning around, she walked out of the kitchen, sneezing twice on her way back to bed.

He took a bowl full of - surprisingly rich - soup for her, sitting at the foot of the bed while she ate. When he came back from the kitchen a second time, with a glass of water for her, he found her asleep, her breathing heavy and her skin still too warm.

MInutes later and he was closing the door after himself, running downstairs to the first drug store he could find to get her pills, along with some chocolate things he knew she liked. When he came back, she was still sleeping.

“Karen”, he called softly, a hand on her forehead, moving some hair away from her face. “You have to take your pills.”

“Hmm”, was all she said, before sniffing and going right back to sleep.

Sighing, Matt opened the boxes and had all the four pills she needed to take in his hand when he tried again.

“Karen. Come on, just take your pills and then you can go back to sleep.”

She took a deep breath and moved her arm from inside her blankets, asking for the pills, blinking. He gave her one by one, and she took sips of water to swallow them, and then turned around to go back to sleep when she was done.

“Can you dim the lights?” she asked. “It’s too bright.”

There was only one lamp on, on the bedside table near her window. Matt walked to it and switched it off, leaving the room in complete darkness - not that it mattered to him.

Walking outside to refresh her glass of water, he rested his hands on the counter and took a deep breath.

She doesn’t seem to mind having him in her space. Yes, being sick is taking up most of her attention, but given Karen’s history, he would think she’d put up some sort of fight. Maybe things are finally starting to go back to normal, they can go back to their normal, maybe they can-

Maybe…

Maybe him being there is of no consequence to her. Maybe the way things ended between them didn’t bother her anymore because she was over it. Maybe she didn’t have time to think about it, with Frank Castle stopping by and making her soup and going with her to meet a source for one of her stories or lingering around her long enough Matt could smell traces of her perfume on him when they met, sometimes, on random rooftops.

Maybe.

Even while he told himself not to do it, he focused on the inner walls of her apartment, on the traces left in the carpet, looking for signs that another pair of shoes walked around, looking for bigger clothes in her coat closet, looking for something that didn’t belong, looking for something.

He found plenty, but not enough.

There was a box of bullets, sealed, but she had told him Frank brought it for her. There was a first aid kit stocked with enough medicine and equipment to put a few nurses to shame. There was a dog leash inside a bag, and Matt does not remember Karen owning a dog.

Still. That proved nothing. And, even if it did, why was it any of his business.

With his attention back inside her bedroom, Matt listened and moved to make her a warm cup of tea. She was about to wake up.

Just in time, she started coughing when he was halfway to her bedroom again.

After taking a few sips, Karen placed the cup on the bedside table and lied on her side, facing him, who sat on the floor by her bed.

She looked at him for a while and he felt her eyes wandering his face.

“Why are you here, Matt?” she asked, voice so small.

There were many answers to that. “Because you’re sick”, “Because I was worried”, “Because I miss you”. None of those, however, were the whole truth.

“Because I lost you”, was what he said, sitting there on her floor, his back against the cold wall, glad the apartment was dark, so she couldn’t really see him that well. “And it’s killing me

The “I don’t care” he said to Elektra when she expressed being sorry he lost everything rang loud in his ears, and he wondered again if Karen couldn’t read his mind.

She stayed silent for another few seconds and he could swear her eyes were drilling holes in his skin.

“I lost you first.”

Matt felt his breathing changing, that something inside his chest tightening again.

“And it killed me, too. Because I didn’t know why it was happening.”

He didn’t need evidence of all that had gone wrong with them, he knew it all. Hearing her say it was not any easier because of it, though.

“That’s because you didn’t have me, then”, he admitted. “Not all of me.”

He wanted to move, to get up from the floor and climb in bed with her, hold her tight to him, make up for all the time they lost, all that time he could have had her, they could have had each other.

“Frank said I loved you”, she whispered and it was like a small, tiny electric shock inside him. “And maybe I thought I did. I don’t know.”

His hands closed in fists around nothing, but when she moved to get another sip of her tea, it unlocked him from his immobile state against the wall.

“There’s too much we don’t know about each other”, she continued. “Even if I did love you, it wasn’t the real you. Maybe it was the idea of you.”

When she placed the mug back down, he was sitting with his arm supported on her mattress, his chin on top of his own hand, and her face was close to his when she lied back down.

“I loved the idea of you, too”, he said, running the tip of his fingers on her hair, like he always wanted to do, always, always, since day one. “I didn’t take the time to know you for real. Only what you made me feel.”

She sighed and went on looking at his face in the dark.

“It wasn’t just you”, she said, so small, almost afraid. “I didn’t tell you a lot of things.”

He wanted to ask why not, but he felt as if his voice would shatter the spell.

“I don’t know if you would be able to love the real me”, she said, almost as if it was a secret, her voice small and tight.

His whole body ached to hold her, to wrap his arms around her and not let go anymore, for anything.

Instead, he just sat there on her floor, his fingers on her hair, trying to fix his life.

“The parts of you I know, I already love”, he said and it felt more like a confession than anything he had ever said in church.

“Is that why you’re here?” Karen asked again, taking his hand from her hair, wrapping her fingers around his palm.

Matt nodded, closing his eyes, resting his face against her mattress, silently asking for everything.

“And because I want to love all of you.”

After a moment, she moved and he raised his head.

“Come here.”

Slowly, he got up from the floor and slipped in bed with her. She kept a small distance, a gap between them, to be closed later, if they so decided.

“Remember when I told you about my brother?” she started, and Matt nodded, listening, his whole focus right there, everything beyond the limits of her bed, forgotten and ignored.

.:.

When he woke up, it was morning, the day was happening outside, loud and fast and cold. Karen had her face tucked in his chest, wrapped around her blankets, his arms tight around her, his chin resting at the top of her head.

She had told him a lot about her. About who she was, what had happened to her, what she had done, cried (even when she tried not to) and he had finally surrendered to that urge to press her to him, to hold and protect her from everything, that urge that she always rejected, she didn’t need his protection, but it was there, inside him, nonetheless.

Checking his wristwatch, there was still half an hour to go before she had to take her pills again. He should get up to get her some food, heat up the stupid soup Frank had made, make her eat.

Settling on the decision of five more minutes, he ran a hand on her hair one more time, that certainty inside of him intensifying with every passing second.

He loved all of her.

#Karedevil #Karedevil ff #Karedevil fic #Hell's Kitchen Cronicles #matt and karen #promp

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sneezehq · 7 years

Note

(Pt. 1) So I've been thinking. In Episode 1, Yuuri performs Viktor's free skate in Hasetsu. And once the video is touched on, we see a few characters watching it. And I noticed, Yurio, Mila, Geogi, and Yakov were at the rink. And Viktor was at home on the couch. And he looked like he was in comfortable clothes. Which got me thinking... That was prior to Viktor announcing his retirement. And Viktor doesn't seem like the person to skip out on practice for no reason at all.

(Part 2) don’t get me wrong, the clips we see could be at different times. But it looked like Victor’s apartment was a bit dark, but there was still outside light. what if Victor was home sick. And not just a simple headache or head cold. No i’m talking about incredibly sick. Fever, aches, tiredness, dizziness, nausea, and possibly spending a better part of the previous night throwing up, maybe the rest of the day except for what we see. Could you make this a fic if it’s not too troubling?

Wow, my first two-part ask (I hope that I formatted this right)! And of course it’s not too much trouble! I’m happy to write it for you. Also, I’m aware that I’m all out of order with my requests, but Megan from @feelingalittlesick wanted some sick Victor, and I love her so here it is!

Victor’s dim, empty apartment looks like heaven after traveling for so long. He lets his bags drop with a heavy sigh, thoroughly exhausted from traveling. Makkachin, upon hearing her master’s arrival, comes bounding over to the front door. “Hey, girl,” Victor says cheerfully, scratching behind her ears and bending over to rub her belly when she rolls over. “You’ve been holding down the fort while I’ve been gone, huh?”

Georgi has been looking after her; Victor should probably thank him. And he needs to start planning for next season. But first… He drags himself to the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets and the refrigerator. Of course. They’re all empty. Well, he has been away for awhile. He needs go grocery shopping. Maybe he can do that tomorrow. He could always order takeout, except that he’s not really hungry right now.

Heading towards the bathroom, Victor settles on just showering and going to bed. He can always go to the store in the morning. Casting a glance at his discarded luggage, he decides that that can wait as well.

He feels a bit strange, but it must just be the jet lag. The sore muscles, too, can be blamed on traveling; even first class seats will make you sore if you’re sitting in them for too long. He just needs to get some sleep, and readjust to being at home.

The shower is nice and soothing, and Victor finds himself almost falling asleep on his feet. Fortunately, his nose bumping the wet glass wakes him up, and shaking his head at his own foolishness, Victor finishes washing up. He’s reluctant to leave the cozy warmth of the steam-filled paradise, but as soon as he’s in bed he has no complaints. It’s a wonder to be back in his own bed, in his own home instead of a hotel room. Victor is asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

Unfortunately, his blissful rest isn’t the cure-all that he was hoping for. His muscles still ache, and his joints are stiffer than before. He’s also still exhausted, despite getting twice as much sleep as usual, and he’s strangely dizzy. He blames that on low blood sugar, and after another fruitless search through the kitchen, he drags himself out the door, Makkachin in tow.

The market is within easy walking distance, and Victor figures that it’s a good way to get some food for the apartment and let Makkachin get some exercise at the same time. Makkachin is ecstatic to be outside, and sniffs inquisitively at every rock and bush they pass. He smiles at the dog’s antics; the worst part of traveling, in his expert opinion, is not being able to take her with him. The morning is crisp and clear, not too cold or too warm. Perfect walking weather.

It’s not a very long trip to the market and back, but Victor is completely drained by the time he arrives home. He’s still a bit woozy, but strangely enough, he still doesn’t really have an appetite at all. He forces himself to nibble on some of the fruit he brought anyway. The dizziness abates a little, but doesn’t completely disappear.

Groceries put away, Victor wanders aimlessly around the apartment, looking for something to do. Makkachin follows closely on his heels as he unpacks his suitcase and reorients himself to his flat. Normally he wouldn’t bother to try to find something to do, and would just head to the skating rink, but Yakov had made it very clear that he didn’t want to see Victor until tomorrow (there might have been some threats involved). He settles on watching his past routines in an attempt to find some inspiration for his new routines. At some point during the afternoon, Victor dozes off mid-video, Makkachin curled up beside him.

A jolt of nausea forces him back to wakefulness. Victor sits bolt upright, one hand clapped to his mouth. Outside the windows, the sky is still pitch black. It must be the middle of the night. A bitter taste in the back of his mouth disrupts his train of thought and has him bolting for the bathroom.

He doesn’t quite make it to the toilet in time, and instead he’s forced to pause in front of the sink as the little bit of fruit he managed to choke down earlier forces its way back up his throat. Victor heaves violently into the sink, bringing up a wave of vomit that burns his esophagus and makes his eyes water.

There’s a small reprieve after he pukes which he seizes to situate himself in front of the toilet. What Victor had originally thought was jet lag had actually been the stomach flu, and he’s not about to be caught off guard again. The rest of the night passes painfully slowly, with Victor curled over the toilet, holding on for dear life and cursing his own existence. He didn’t think that he had anything left in his stomach to throw up, but he’s apparently wrong.

When he the vomiting finally stops, Victor is left curled up and shaking on the tile. Eventually, he pushes himself shakily to his feet and stumbles back over to the sink. He turns on the water to rinse the mess out, and rinses his mouth out. After a few cautious sips of water, he debates the merits of making the long trek back over to the couch.

The idea of relaxing into the comfortable cushions wins him over, and Victor painstakingly makes the journey back to the living room. He snags the trash can from the bathroom, in case of emergency.

The couch is beckoning to him, and he collapses onto it with a contented sigh. He closes his eyes for a moment, before a problem suddenly occurs to him: he’s freezing. And there aren’t any blankets within reach. Victor lets out a frustrated whine, and almost jumps when there’s a nudge at his hand. He opens his eyes to see Makkachin next to the sofa, looking at him imploringly. He pats the cushion next to him and she jumps up eagerly, settling next to him.

Warmth seeps into his frozen legs from the dog lying next to them, and Victor moans in relief. He pulls Makkachin so that she’s lying alongside him; her warmth is better than any blanket. Finally warm and relatively comfortable, he dozes off as the sun begins to peek over the horizon.

His restless sleep lasts for most of the morning, and Victor only wakes up when he hears his phone buzzing. He’d forgotten that he’d left it out here.

He enters his passcode and goes to his texts, expecting a “Where the hell are you?” from Yakov. Instead, there’s a link to a video from Yuri.

That’s unexpected. Frowning, he shoots a message to Yakov explaining the situation before opening the text from Yuri. “You’ve got to see this,” is the only text accompanying the mysterious link. “Cryptic,” Victor murmurs to himself, before hitting the play button.

As soon as he sees just who is starring in the video, Victor lets out a shocked gasp, his blue eyes going wide with astonishment. He’s transfixed, unable to take his eyes off the screen the entire time. Watching Yuuri skate is entrancing, and when the video ends, Victor immediately presses the replay button, determined to burn this into his memory forever. His mind is already swirling with ideas, plans to fly to Japan. Because this means that…

“My Yuuri,” Victor whispers. “I knew that you hadn’t forgotten me.”

#victuuri #viktuuri #yuuri on ice #yuri on ice #victor nikiforov #viktor nikiforov #emeto #emetophilia #sickfic #emetephobia tw #stomach flu #fanfic #my writing

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