#sickfic shit | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

musashi · 1 year

Note

Out of curiosity, how would one go about writing a fever? An escalating one that just gets warmer and warmer?

OK SO THIS ASK HAS TWO PARTS: A MORE CLINICAL PART AND A MU IS A SICKFIC WRITER WHO LIKES TO WRITE SICKFIC PART.

PART ONE: I ACTUALLY HAVE A GUIDE ON THIS FROM A NURSING MAJOR THAT GOES INTO DETAIL ABOUT PHASES OF A FEVER AND EVERYTHING, literally like, i don't find myself following this to a point when i write but i think about the broken down phases so much just subconsciously it has stuck with me for years and i think would be really helpful so here it is. i think this will be really helpful for the escalation aspect.

PART TWO: if you want something a little less clinical and more casual here are some fever tips i wrote for all my friends during sicktember last year copypasted onto this ask. NOTE i am not a medical professional i'm just an autistic who both 1. has a narrative fixation and 2. likes to study diseases and immune responses

SO fevers are cool cause they're kind of unpredictable which means you can tailor them to your sickie. some people run hot some people run cold. some people feel so exhausted they cant move others get hyper and cant calm their heartrate down. you can really just do whatever the fuck.

uhhhh a couple misconceptions about fevers:

theres this old saying thats like feed a cold starve a fever. this is wrong its an old wives tale. all sickies need food to strengthen their immune response, the stronger the immune response the quicker their fever will fuck off. UNFORTUNATELY even the lowest fever will suppress appetite. the first stage of a fever is usually a lack of appetite--not necessarily nausea just, like, a general distaste for food and outright lack of hunger. this is good for drama

some people will claim that, like, after a certain age you don't really get fevers when u have something like a common cold? this is untrue. your body will give you a fever over literally anything. you can get a fever from an infected wound, or a simple illness, or even just from working too hard. never let anyone bully you out of not making your character feverish.

what constitutes a fever really kinda is different person to person. 98.7 is the average body temperature and anything above that is a fever but like i usually run 96-97 so i consider 98 something to worry abt. some people will say its not a fever until you hit 100 but thats WACK to me i'll get 99s all the time when im sick.

ok so symptoms

lack of appetite, like i said this is the most basic of basics its almost a guarantee.

chills or hot flashes, again depends on what you find most interesting. you can do both! you can rapidly oscillate. sometimes sickie might feel freezing cold from the neck down but their head is on fire. sometimes they might be cold all over, put on a blanket, and immediately be too hot. just a general lack of temperature regulation but it straightup does not matter the key is just that they are uncomfortable in whichever direction.

body aches body aches oh my god the most underrated symptom. a low fever might make raising your arms above your head feel like an ordeal, a higher one can all but immobilize you. im talking like can barely move an inch. generally with a fever it feels like you just spent the day walking or exercising and are recovering, just wiped out.

kind of with the above but outright exhaustion. sickie might just start falling asleep wherever they are. on a desk. standing up. who knows. just being conscious is a Task

if their fever creeps into higher digits like 102+ they might get delirious. they might say and do stupid shit, or out of character shit at the very least. this is super fucking awesome cause u can make them act out of character and scare the caretaker a lil if you want. walled in characters might start getting emotional. serious characters might get silly. its basically an instant lack of inhibitions, you have an excuse to make them say what they are feeling in their heart without them worrying about saying it. or you can just make them shitpost if you want something more lighthearted.

you didn't ask about caretaking but if anyone reading this wants that here's caretaking:

feed them, but more importantly HYDRATE THEM fevers dehydrate you so bad. hydration is the key to every ailment but fevers ESPECIALLY need to be fought with lots of electrolytes. water the sickie,,, water them like plant.

meds if applicable

help them regulate their temperature! a cool towel on the forehead really does work, but wrap em in a blanket too if they're shivering. as a rule shivering is bad. i dont remember all the science behind it but shivering generally stimulates more heat which makes the fever worse, so keep cooling them down to a minimum w something like a cold pack or wash cloth.

keep them company. if delirious sickie is having a breakdown a thing their caretaker can do is talk them through it. sometimes a fever will make you overstimulated but if sickie is good with touch, hold their hand or stroke their hair perhaps. verbal affirmations that its gonna be ok. on the flipside if your sickie is talking absolute nonsense or acting like a fool you can make the caretaker fucking babysit them like sweet jesus ok im not leaving you alone.

related to the above but staying with them is good if theyre too sick to do much besides lay there. reading to them so they dont get bored. telling them a story. putting on a show for them and just kinda chilling. or just talking! boredom is the worst part of being sick i think.

massage underrated. give sickie shoulder massage. back massage. they are full of bone hurting juice help them get that shit out. every time i had a fever my bestie would give me a back massage and im gonna think abt it for the rest of my life perhaps.

HI I REALLY REALLY LIKE TALKING ABOUT SICKFIC ASK ME ABOUT SICKFIC ANY TIME

#wendy answers #pictureswithboxes #wendy rambles #wendys guide to sickfic #sickfic shit

10 notes · View notes

bethsvrse · 14 days

Note

Hey I loved the Timmy sickfic you wrote! I’d like another one if you can! you can choose what sickness/plot. x female reader plz :) 🥹

PAIRING Timothee Chalamet x fem!reader

A/N thank you so much for requesting it babe!!! Of course I can write another. This is kind of a continuation of the last one I wrote!

WARNINGS mentions of the flu

“You are sick! You can not go to work today, Timmy.”

20 minutes. You have been arguing with a sick man for 20 minutes because he is too addicted to his work.

“It’s okay, love, I’m not even that sick!” He tells you as he walks around the room. Your eyes drift over to the pile of tissues on his bedside table, his red nose and puffy eyes.

“You are not going to work, Timmy. Now sit back down. I am going to call in sick for you. They can film the scenes that you aren’t apart of.” You say, as you walk out of the room to grab your phone which you left on the coffee table in the living room. You heard footsteps behind you and saw Timothee walk towards you. You glare at him. “What are you doing? Your sick, baby. Please just go back to bed.”

“I’m not that sick. It’s just allergies, please don’t call my work.” Timothee pleads.

You grasp his face in your hands, rubbing your thumbs over his cheeks. “Timothee,” you watched as his face grimaced, knowing that you only called him that when you were serious. “You are not going into work today. You have been up and down all night sneezing and coughing and if you do go into work you just gonna get yourself more sick as well as pass your sickness onto other people.” You tell him, letting go of his face as you pick up your phone from the coffee table.

Timothee groaned, knowing (but hating) that you made an extremely good point. “Fine, but I’m going back into work tomorrow.” He said, pointing a finger at your before turning around and walking back to your bedroom.

“Not if you’re still sick!” You hummed, as you called his work. After the call, you went back walked over to the bedroom only to see Timmy sprawled across the bed, his breathing steady now in sleep. You couldn't help but smile at his peaceful expression.

You went over to the cabinet at the end of your bed and opened it up, grabbing out a fluffy blanket before putting it over him. You then went into your guy’s medicine cabinet in the bathroom and grabbed out some Advil, putting the packet on his bedside table. You would have grabbed him some water but since Timothee always slept with a water bottle on his bedside table, you figured there was no need so you then left the room and decided to do some quick cleaning around the house.

After tidying up the house and making some soup for Timmy since it was lunch time, you quietly moved back to the bedroom. Timmy stirred as you entered, his eyes fluttering open.

"Hey there, sleepyhead," you greeted him softly, setting the soup down on the bedside table. "I made you some soup. It'll help soothe your throat."

Timmy's gaze softened as he looked up at you, gratitude evident in his eyes. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice hoarse from coughing.

You sat beside him, offering him the soup and watching as he slowly ate, taking comfort in knowing he was finally resting. As he finished, he leaned against you, seeking warmth and solace in your embrace.

"You were right," he admitted quietly, his words muffled against your shoulder. "I shouldn't have pushed myself."

“I’m always right,” you smile at him. Timmy let’s out a small laugh before leaning into you. You pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, wrapping your arms around him. "Just promise me you'll take it easy tomorrow too," you whispered, holding him close.

“I promise.” He says, shutting his eyes once more. You slowly felt his body go limp after a few minutes and you kissed his forehead once again before snuggling down into the bed, falling asleep as well.

#bethsvrse #fanfic #sickfic #timothee chalamet x reader #timothée chalamet #finally did a request lmao 💪💪#fem reader #lowkey really shit tho #anon ask

60 notes · View notes

whiskey-tango-matcha · 4 months

Text

See Me, I See You (m, cold)

I present unto you all: a fic that has nothing to do with the fic I promised weeks ago!!! (sorry) I got some GREAT prompts from that prompt list in my inbox and I used a bunch of them in this fic (mostly anons, but @sniction-fiction and @sneezycold19 both of your prompts are featured in this).

Greyson gets a cold, Elijah catches it...that's pretty much it! No real plot just colds and vibes. Oh, and there's a little bit of ~angst~ thrown in because it's me. I hope you guys enjoy it <3

cw: male, colds, contagion, fevers. 3k-ish words under the cut. Let me know what y'all think!

See Me, I See You

Greyson shifted from foot to foot in the cold of the alleyway, willing Elijah to text him back. He read the text over again for the third time, hoping it sounded nonchalant enough to avoid his boss’s wrath.

heyyy, are you on your way in?

It was already ten in the morning; normally, Elijah was already at the restaurant by now. Normally, his boss wasn’t given the chance to be aware of Greyson’s chronic key-losing issue.

Three minutes passed. His fingers were starting to tingle. Did you leave your gloves wherever you left your fuckin’ keys, moron? Four minutes. Five. C’mon, Elijah, I’m getting desperate.

Finally, at the six minute mark, a text from his boss popped up. I was planning on taking today off. Why, do you need something?

“Fuck,” Greyson muttered, pulling a frozen hand down his face. Of all days, why was today the one Elijah decided to take off?

There was, Greyson decided after a few more freezing minutes pacing the alleyway, nothing to do but tell the truth. Bracing himself for the explosion, Greyson typed out a message. uhhh...kinda. I may or may not have misplaced my keys…

By some sort of stroke of either insanely terrible timing or the worst luck known to man, the minute Greyson pressed the arrow to send his message, a second text from Elijah came through. Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me, Greyson thought, his heart dropping into the pit of his stomach as he read the text from his boss.

I caught your fckn cold, so if you need something can it wait til tomorrow?

***

On Saturday, Greyson couldn’t stop sneezing.

“Hh-! HhIGSTHH-ue! HTSHH!” For the third time in an hour, Greyson wrenched into his elbow, away from the prep table. He groaned, annoyed – prepping this tasting menu for twenty was going to take ten times longer than normal if he couldn’t get this shit under control.

“Bless, bless,” Elijah said, distractedly leafing through the inventory papers on his clipboard. “Coming down with something?”

Greyson cleared his throat, pawed at his nose. Shrugged. “Does it matter? It’s Saturday. Not like I could leave if I wanted to.” The chef washed his hands in the sink near their office, sniffling. He trudged back to his prep, checked his watch – ten thirty AM. Matt was scheduled for noon, and Greyson could already taste the cigarette he was going to savor when his sous took over this prep.

“Mmm, snippy,” Elijah said, scribbling something on the inventory sheets. “Must be a pretty bad one.”

“The fuck are you on about?” Greyson asked, sinking his knife back into the yellowtail he was slicing. He sucked in through his nose, again, again, again to keep from contaminating the fish – on the third sniff, he ducked under the table to protect his product. “HGSTHHZUE! Fuck.”

“That cold,” Elijah said, finally looking up from his paperwork. “It must be pretty bad if you’re in such a shit mood.” Greyson’s face colored. He wiped his nose on his sleeve, flipped his boss the bird. Elijah just shrugged.

“Do you want a coffee? Or a tea, or something?” he asked, pushing himself out of his chair and approaching the chef. Greyson had gone back to thinly slicing the hamachi; he didn’t answer. “Hellooo, earth to Grey -”

“HTSHH! Huh-! HhITSZHH-ue!” Greyson turned toward Elijah, sneezing into his elbow once more to avoid the fish. Elijah jumped out of the way just in time.

“Christ, warn a guy, won’t you?” he said, checking his outfit for signs of spray. Greyson cleared his throat, put his knife back on the prep table, and slunk to the office in search of a tissue.

“Get outta the splash zone if you don’t want to get wet,” he muttered, blowing his nose and tossing the tissue. “Ndo, I don’t want any coffee or tea. I just want to get this shit done so I can have a cigarette.” The chef washed his hands again, and took his place at the prep table once more. At this point, this won’t be done until next fuckin’ week, he thought, exhausted.

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Elijah asked, leaning on the prep table. Greyson deadpanned his boss, hoping the knife in his hand made him look at least a little threatening.

“Do I think what is a good idea?”

“A cigarette.”

“I always think a cigarette is a good idea. Don’t you?”

Elijah shrugged again, eyes trained on the knife Greyson slid through the fish. “I mean, usually. When I’m not sick as hell, absolutely.” The two of them caught eyes then, a challenge. Their stares stayed locked until Greyson was forced to turn away to cough. Elijah made a noise in the back of his throat, a mix between a laugh and a coo of pity.

“Don’t fuckin’ patronize me,” Greyson growled, his voice sticky and rough already. The backs of his eyes burned, his throat felt swollen, and his joints were aching; he wasn’t ready to admit it, but Elijah’s perception was correct. He felt like shit.

“I’m not patronizing you, Chef,” Elijah promised, pulling something out of his back pocket. “C’mon. Take a break.” He waved the pack of cigarettes he’d produced in front of Greyson’s face, motioned toward the back door. “I’ll let you bum one.”

Greyson, too tired to continue the fight, just nodded. “Alright,” he said, untying his apron. “Thangks.”

Elijah took in a deep breath, ready to say something, but instead just sighed. “Don’t mention it.”

***

Fuck, fuck, fuck, Greyson thought as he re-read his boss’s text. If Greyson knew one thing about Elijah, it was this: he’d have to be down bad to take an unscheduled day off of work. And for him to admit to illness, unprompted? The man must have been on his death bed.

Quick as he could, Greyson began typing out a response.

ah, fuck, sorry boss. don’t worry about it, I’ll text matt. sorry to bother you, hope youre ok.

Greyson sent the text, only to be filled with dread all over again when Elijah answered back immediately.

I thought Matt and Mark were doing that off property event in rochester today?

Fucking shit, Greyson thought pressing his head to the freezing cold of the back kitchen door. His mind, mocking, flashed him back to last night; Matt and Mark packing up the company van with food for a Christmas dinner one of their regulars was hosting at his mansion in the country. Greyson had waved them goodbye, told Matt to call him if he had any questions on the dishes they’d decided he’d make. In his panic, Greyson must have blacked it out.

oh, he typed to his boss. yeah, I guess they are. no worries, im sure my keys are in my apartment ill just run back and grab them.

His apartment, both of them knew, was a forty minute train ride from the restaurant. Cooks would begin showing up in forty-five minutes. The pit in Greyson’s stomach grew larger still when the bubbles that signaled Elijah typing popped up and went away, popped up and went away.

Finally, the text they both knew was coming but ate Greyson alive even so: I can stop by and let you in. give me 20 minutes.

***

By Sunday, Greyson was fairly sure he was dying.

First, he was freezing; when he came in at the ass-crack of dawn that morning to prepare for Sunday brunch, Elijah had barely been able to stifle a laugh.

“Um,” his boss said, raising an eyebrow, “what are you, uh… wearing?”

Greyson flashed Elijah a watery glare before his eyes glazed over and he pitched forward into the scarf the was wrapped tightly around his neck. “Hh...hhIGTSZH-ue! ETSCHH-ue! Huh -! hh...hhNGSTHH-ue!” He sniffled and wiped his nose on the wool of the scarf before addressing his boss.

“A scarf,” he said, his voice a low monotone. “I’mb cold.”

Elijah nodded slowly, taking the chef in. His hood was pulled over his long, shaggy, unwashed blond waves; his eyes were red-rimmed, dark-circled, and wet with irritation; the bow under his nose was damp and scarlet from wiping, and none of this was to mention the scarf-turned-tissue that had clearly seen better days. “I think… I think you should go home, Chef,” he said, choosing his words carefully.

Greyson didn’t answer; instead, he turned away to cough into the germ-infested scarf. After a few moments of coughing, her turned back and shook his head. “Brunch,” he rasped, attempting to clear his throat.

“Let’s call Matt in,” Elijah said.

“He’s workigg dinner,” Greyson insisted. Elijah pressed his fingers into his eyes, let out a long sigh.

“I think one day of working double shifts isn’t going to kill him,” Elijah said, giving Greyson a pointed look.

“I’mb ndot making my employees work a double shift whend I’m ndot,” Greyson said. “That’s ndot how I operate.”

“Greyson,” Elijah said, his temper beginning to flare, “you sound absolutely fucking awful. And you can barely stand. How do you plan on prepping and executing brunch when you’re swaying on your feet, hmm?”

There was a silence that stood between them then. It ballooned, filling the kitchen, begging one of them to break it. Finally, Greyson’s body took over; he shuddered, dipped back into his scarf and turned away from Elijah.

“Hh-ETSCHH-ue! HUTSHH-ue! Huh...Hh! Hh...hnnn.” Greyson glanced blearily at the cold fluorescent lights in the kitchen, trying to coax the last sneeze out. “Huh-! hnn...hh, huhhh…”

“For God’s sake, Greyson,” Elijah said, allowing the frustration to seep into his voice. “Would you just fucking snee -”

“HRRRTSHHH-ue!” The last one tore out of the chef, left him dazed and panting, turned into a flurry of wet coughs. Elijah winced, but took a few steps forward and placed a hand on Greyson’s forehead. Greyson didn’t have it in him to stop his boss.

“Wow,” Elijah said, raising his eyebrows as he gently pulled his hand away from Greyson’s head. “That’s some fever you’re sporting, kid.”

Greyson felt his eyes begin to water; he bit the inside of his cheek, looked away, and took in as deep a breath as he could without making himself cough again.

“Mbaybe… maybe we could call Mbatt in for brunch just this once.”

***

The twenty minute wait was excruciating.

To keep warm, and to distract himself, Greyson paced from one side of the alleyway to the other, trying to remember whether he’d noticed signs of Elijah getting sick the evening before. His boss was fairly talented at keeping illnesses under wraps in the beginning stages, but was there really a way he’d gone from fine enough to keep it under wraps to so ill he needed the day off in twelve hours? Greyson thought back to the end of last week, when he’d been hit head-on with the cold from hell his boss was now gifted with; it had moved quickly, sure, but definitely not that quickly.

Elijah had certainly been quiet last night, but that tended to be par for the course when they were busy. It had been extra busy, especially for a Tuesday, so Greyson hadn’t really seen much of Elijah. Guilt coursed through his body, and he pulled out his phone once again to text Matt and Mark in a group chat.

hey, guys. hope you’re ready for your event tonight, can’t wait to hear about it. random question for both of u: did elijah seem alright to you both last night?

The wait for a text back wasn’t long; the two younger managers were clearly bored. With several hours to go until their dinner and everything pre-prepped, they were most likely just hanging out on their phones in the spare bedroom they were staying in.

are you serious? Matt’s text came through first. Then, a moment after, one from Mark.

I mean...if by ‘alright’ you mean pissed off and sick then ya I guess lmao.

Greyson’s heartbeat thumped in his ears. He typed back quickly, pointedly. he was sick last night?

chef, u really had the blinders on big time last night lol, Matt texted back.

Which makes sense, it was busy! Mark’s text said, an attempt to cushion the blow. But ya he was for sure coming down with something. Is he ok today?

Before he could type out a response, Elijah’s car turned into the alleyway. Greyson put his phone away and waved, guilty. Time to face the music.

***

Monday, thankfully, was like a salve to Sunday’s burn.

“Morning, Chef,” Elijah said, joining Greyson in their shared office. Greyson pulled out one of his headphones to return the greeting, smiled at his boss.

“Mborning,” he said, his voice still cracked and congested.

“How’re you feeling?” Elijah asked, cutting straight to the chase. Greyson rolled his eyes, shrugged. Smiled a bit.

“Better,” he said, sheepishly. “Much better. Thangks for holding down the fort yesterday, I really owe you one.”

Elijah laughed as he clicked his mouse to wake his computer. “Chef, it’s technically my fort. It’s my job to hold it down.”

“Still.”

The GM nudged his friend, playful. “Don’t mention it,” he said. “Glad you’re feeling better. I was worried you weren’t going to make it through the night.”

Greyson barked out a laugh that turned into a soupy-sounding cough. “You’re so fuckin’ dramatic,” he said. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Mmm,” Elijah murmured. “That’s what we’re classifying as ‘not that bad’ now? That’s wild. Don’t show me ‘bad’, okay? I don’t think my little heart can handle it.”

Greyson flipped Elijah off at that, and turned back to his computer. The two of them sat, working silently except for the occasional riff or cough from Greyson, until it was time to get ready for service.

All was well. At least, that’s what Greyson thought.

***

“HhhNGSTH-uh! HTSHH-uhn! Hh...hhRTTSHH-oo!”

Ah, fuck, Greyson thought as he watched Elijah slip out of his car. I’m an ass.

***

On Tuesday, there were a myriad of clues Greyson didn’t notice.

He didn’t notice the Elijah slunk into the kitchen an hour later than he normally did; unheard of for him. The chef had been busy prepping when his boss made his way to their office and sunk into his chair, fingers pressed into his aching eye sockets.

“Morning, boss,” Mark said, stopping into the office. Elijah looked up, bleary, and Mark’s face shifted into one of concern. “You alright?”

“Greyson’s fuckin’ cold,” he muttered, coughing hard into his elbow. “It’s a fuckin’ bear.”

Mark put an easy hand on his boss’s forehead, his face knotted with anxiety. “Take anything?” he asked. Elijah shook his head.

“Not yet,” he said. “But I will. Don’t worry.”

He didn’t notice when Elijah ducked out back to have a drawn-out fit of sneezing; Greyson was inside, lecturing Matt and Mark on exactly how to put together the dinner they were going to be doing in Rochester the next day when his boss pushed outside into the cold of the alley. Elijah had managed to collect himself just as Greyson followed him out the back kitchen doors.

“Christ,” Greyson said shaking his head and sitting down on a milk crate next to his boss. “Sometimes, man. This job is like running a fuckin’ daycare.”

Elijah nodded, unsure of how his voice would sound if he spoke. They sat in silence for a few moments, until Greyson produced a pack of cigarettes.

“Bum one?” he asked Elijah, shaking two from the pack. “I owe you.”

“Sure,” Elijah said, his voice cracking on the single syllable. Greyson lit them both up, didn’t mention his boss’s voice. He took a long drag while Elijah ducked into his elbow.

“NTSH! GTSH! HTSH!” Elijah stifled a volley of sneezes into his shirt, sat up near-gasping. He turned toward Greyson, stared at his friend, waiting – what for, he wasn’t entirely sure. Pity? Sympathy? Acknowledgment?

Whatever he was looking for, he didn’t get it. Greyson stubbed out his cigarette and stood without a word. “See you back in there, boss,” he said.

The un-smoked cigarette hung from Elijah’s fingers, burning bright in his hand. He sneezed once, uncovered, creating a cloud of condensation in front of his face. He stubbed the cigarette out, choked back a cough, and headed back inside.

Greyson didn’t even notice when, at nine PM, Elijah parked himself in their closed-off private dining room and laid his head down on the stripped table, cool marble on his overheated face.

“Lij? Boss?” Elijah heard the voice come in before he could sit himself upright. He turned blearily towards the door and saw Matt standing in the doorway, his face painted with concern.

“Shit, Lij, you look like fuckin’ hell,” Matt said, sitting next to Elijah. “I mean, Mark said you weren’t well but Jesus Christ.”

“’m okay,” Elijah shrugged, and turned away from Matt. “Huh! HhIGSTZH-oo! ITSHZH-uh!” He hitched in preparation of another sneeze, sighed when it escaped him.

“Bless you,” Matt said. “I came in to tell you that Greyson wanted your input on a dish he’s working on in the back, but I’ll tell him to fuck off. You need to go home.”

Wanted input on a dish. Elijah would have snorted if he was sure it wouldn’t have ended in a disaster of a mess; of course he wanted his input. The man was in the fucking clouds, apparently; too high to realize he’d left his best friend sunk in the muck that was this nightmare of a headcold.

“That would be great, Mbatt,” Elijah said, attempting a smile. “Thangk you.”

Greyson didn’t even notice, Elijah knew without knowing, that his boss had left without saying goodnight.

***

“Elijah, fuck, dude I’m so sorry for dragging you out here.”

The GM just shrugged, clearly too tired and ill to make a quip. He ran the sleeve of his NYU sweatshirt under his running nose and moved slowly towards the back door. The keys shook in his hand; it took what felt like an eon to open it.

Finally, the door swung open. “You’re in,” Elijah said, his voice barely a whisper. “Do you thingk you cand handle tondight on your own?”

“Yeah, of course, boss, but… shit. Lij, I’m so sorry dude. I can’t believe I didn’t notice you were sick, I mean -”

Elijah held up a hand to stop the chef’s babbling. “Grey,” he rasped, “it’s okay. We’ll call it you getti’g even at mbe for ndever ndoticing you were sick when you first started.”

“That was six years ago. You had an excuse, you didn’t even know me; I know you, I know when you’re sick, I feel like such an ass. I’ve been wracking my brain, pacing around back here trying to figure out how I didn’t realize -”

“HTSHH-oo! ETSCHHH-uh!” Elijah cut the chef off again, folded in half, his face in his sleeve. He sucked in through his nose, stood slowly.

“Bless,” Greyson said, guiltily.

“Thangks,” Elijah said. “And it’s okay. Ndo one is infallible.” He shivered, rubbed his arms with his hands. Greyson held the door open.

“Obviously if you don’t want to stay you don’t have to,” he said, “but… if you want to hang for a bit, I can make you some tea? Or soup? Make it up to you for coming out here because of my stupidity?”

Elijah attempted a scoff that ended in a cough. “Greyson. It’s really okay.”

“I feel badly,” Greyson admitted. They stood locked in that old game of chicken yet again. This time, it was Elijah that broke the spell.

“HRRRSHH-uhh! Goddamn,” he muttered, shaking his head. He looked up at Greyson, forgiveness written on his pallid face. “Mbe too,” he said, stepping into the kitchen. “This cold is a fuckin’ mbonster.”

Greyson laughed, an almost-hysterical sound that made palpable his relief at being forgiven. “Oh, Lij,” he said, closing the door behind them, “no one knows that better than me.”

#whiskeyswriting #snz #sickfic #snzfic #coldfic #snez #snzblr #male cold #male snz #this one was fun. idk. i like it #even though it's the definition of that post ghostlychill made that was like shit i love writing the same thing over and over lmaoooo

83 notes · View notes

puhpandas · 5 months

Note

What's an average conversation between Evan and Gregory like?

(also inspired by an instagram prompt about a flashlight duo sickfic)

Burrow-Nest-Fort

(2,922 words)

Gregory gets sick overnight, and Evan, who stayed over, gets sick as well. They hang out in their little quarantine together with no worries whatsoever.

Gregory groans, long and miserable as Evan takes the thermostat he found in the bathroom out of his mouth. "100.4." Evan says.

"Whyyyy..." Gregory asks aloud, bags under his eyes and completion pale as he sprawls out under his comforter. "I didn't even do anything."

"Nobody gets sick on purpose." Evan smiles a bit, putting the thermostat down.

"You slept right next to me like, all night." Gregory points out. "Do you feel sick at all?"

Now that Evan's thinking about it, he does feel that little prickle in the back of his throat that's the universal sign of an incoming sickness. "...Yeah."

He'd spent the night after coming home with Gregory after school on a Friday like he usually does. Throughout the night, he and Gregory had shared his bed, and Gregory had woken up this morning sick as a dog with no fanfare whatsoever.

Gregory groans again, the roughness in his throat accentuated by the dragged out line. "Great." He frowns, and the stuff clogging up his nose is evidently heard in his voice. "I get sick for no reason and now I make you have to deal with it too."

"Its okay." Evan says genuinely. "Its not like you wanted me to get sick. It's my fault for needing to get in bed with you when I'm too much of a baby anyway."

Gregory just narrows his eyes at Evan at that, his already sunkissed tan cheeks redder from the fever. He just sighs, letting his head fall back against his pillow. "I'm not even responding to that. You know what I'd say anyway."

Yeah. He does. The same thing Gregory's been telling him the past multiple months every time Evan feels sorry for himself. Evan himself sighs, feeling sorry for, well... feeling sorry for himself. "Yeah."

Theres a short spurt of silence after that, but its broken by Gregory. "Whatever." He sucks in through his nose, trying to breathe through the gunk. "Hey, since you're already gonna be a prisoner like me, come here."

Evan raises a brow. "Why?"

Gregory reaches at the foot of his bed to grab his laptop that has ten-thousand stickers on the back. He opens the lid, patting the empty space on the bed next to him. "Let's watch TV, or something. If I don't do something other than lieing here I'm gonna explode."

Evan giggles. "You look like it, too." He says, looking at Gregory's extremely red face from the undoubtedly harsh fever. "You better stop talking until you get a drink or your throat will feel awful later."

Gregory let's his head tilt back against the pillow as he shifts to get more comfortable. "Is my Dad home?"

He takes a look outside the window and sees the white van in the driveway. "Yeah?"

"Go tell him about our predicament." Gregory tells him. "I'd rather get the smothering over with before we get in the middle of an episode."

Evan smiles instinctively at that. "Okay." He replies. "But I'm about to be sick too, okay? It's almost my time to be bedridden too." He says on the way out of Gregory's room.

"Then hoard the snacks while you're down there!" Gregory calls at him, his voice sounding like death.

Evan only says the keywords 'Gregory' and 'sick' before Freddy is thundering up the stairs with Evan struggling to keep up with an armful of junk food.

He only gets to the door seconds after Freddy, but he's already doing said smothering. Somehow, three new throw blankets and a few pillows have appeared out of thin air, and are being tucked around Gregory like a nest of fluff and plush.

"What happened?" Freddy asks, ever worried. "Did something cause this?"

Evan watches Gregory shrug from his bed as he walks around the other side of Freddy, dumping the snacks onto his bedside table. "I dont know." He says, sniffling. "I just woke up sick. And he probably will be too."

Evan knows Gregory must have pointed at him because Freddy is smothering him the next time his brain catches up. "Do you feel alright, Evan?" Freddy asks him, crouching down and feeling his forehead and his temples. "Or should I quarantine the both of you."

Evan laughs slightly, and cringes at how the prickling is steadily getting worse. His head begins to feel a little warm. "Quarantine, I guess." He smiles. "I feel it coming."

"I am sorry." Freddy looks apologetic, despite him doing nothing. He pats Evan on the arm, and hes at the door in an instant. "Get comfortable, you two. I will make you both some soup and orange juice and get you some medicine later."

"Thank you!" Evan calls out half-hazardously as Freddy leaves the room. Gregory pats the little empty space in the next Freddy built for him and hoists his laptop on his knees. "We gotta pick something to watch."

When Evan finally sits down and gets settled with at least two blankets wrapped around his shoulders, he checks the laptop screen to see Gregory browsing an array of TV shows on some streaming service.

Gregory wrestles a hand out from underneath the blankets to point at one. "That one okay?"

Evan laughs at bit, making a miserable noise when his nose begins to clog up. "Yeah. Watching a baking show when your aunt isnt home and we cant get out of bed to make anything is a great idea."

Gregory huffs, and Evan cant see his face, but he imagines he's making one. "No I wont." He says. "My aunts cupcakes are better than any of these people could make."

Evan wiggles a bit, letting his body relax fully into the bed. Gregory's shoulder is pressed against his, and a bit of his hair is touching his forehead. "Stop." He laughs. "You're gonna make me want some."

Gregory laughs, pressing play and clicking on the first episode of a random season. When the episode starts playing and introducing contestants, he makes grabby hands at Evan. Evan just pulls his arm out of the blanket cocoon hes wrapped in and hands him a bag of chips, grabbing crackers for himself.

"This is a Halloween show." Evan points out. "Its January."

"This one is funny though." Gregory replies on the other side of the pillow, sniffling. "They have to carve stuff out of big pumpkins for like, a setting for their food."

Evan's brows raise. "Oh."

Theres this girl that says shes in the show because shes alone and wants to win the prize money for herself and to show everyone that she can do it. Shes one of the only people in the roster who doesnt have a partner or kids at home. Evan thinks hes rooting for her. Theres another guy who looks like hes fresh out of school and says he wants the prize money to start his career and open his own location.

"I'm rooting for him." Gregory says after munching on a handful of Lays. "I want to see how far he gets."

"You just pick the ones that look like theyll struggle so you can feel bad for them." Evan points out.

"I pick the ones who might struggle to watch how they fare against everyone else." Gregory corrects. "Its fun. The skill of watching reality TV is one you havent yet learned, Evan."

Evan scoffs a bit, laughing, and Gregory shifts next to him. "You'll learn as you watch." Gregory tells him. "Trust me."

So after that, Evan just stays quiet and watches. Gregory makes comments now and then, and then later complains about how his throat feels like sandpaper. Evan watches people rush around the kitchen and sketch elaborate sets for their food to be showcased in and carve faces and bodies and animals into pumpkins.

The judges are harsh and kind at the same time. A team's food gets burnt. Some come out perfect. A team gets pounded by the judges and the team the the guy Gregory is rooting for is on is the same the girl Evan's rooting for is. Their team wins the challenge and gets an advantage.

By the end of the first episode, Evan thinks he understands why Gregory watches so much. "Wow." He says just above a whisper, the prickling throat having finally set in all the way. Having nothing to focus on and away from how crap he feels makes him groan in misery, and Gregory isnt far behind him to follow.

"Anthony needs to step it up to impress the judges." Gregory manages in-between sipping at the bottle of water by his bed. "He almost screwed up the decoration."

Evan rolls his eyes, and thinks about how proud winning a challenge made the girl he's rooting for proud of herself. It makes him happy.

"I just want to see what happens next." Evan says, smiling. "I've never watched a lot of TV like this."

"You're missing out." Gregory replies. "Its fine. We can catch you up during our little quarantine."

Their little quarantine. Evan smiles outwardly. That sounds fun. Even if being sick sucks.

Its right before the second episode that Freddy returns to Gregory's room, a big piping bowl of chicken noodle soup in his hands with about two entire hand towels wrapped around the bottom and two spoons stuck in the bowl. He puts a tall glasse of orange juice on the bedside table next to Evan, and the other on the window sill next to Gregory.

Evan unwraps his sore limbs from the cocoon and sits up on the bed, pushing his head with a pillow as he and Gregory use their legs as a table. "Thank you..." Evan says to Freddy, grateful but not without the layer of guilt underneath. "I appreciate it."

"Its no problem, Evan." Freddy smiles in that kind, genuine way of his that's never ever made Evan feel on edge or nervous. Evan grins when Freddy pats him on the head, and Gregory smiles when he does the same to him. "Now I'm sorry, you two," Freddy trails off, pulling a bottle of cough syrup out of an invisible pocket. "But medicine before food, please."

He and Gregory both make ick noises at that, making faces. Freddy laughs at them while he pours the medicine into individual spoons for the two of them, and Evan watches with a twisted lip. "It will make you feel better."

"It better if it tastes like that." Gregory sticks his tongue out. "They're trying to kill us."

"Quite the opposite." Freddy shakes his head, holding out the spoon for Gregory to take first. "Its better to just get it over with, Superstar."

Evan watches as Gregory twists his face into the most dreadful expression hes ever seen, and he cant help but smile in amusement when he makes a show at swallowing it down and making disgusted noises.

Evan takes his with much less more fuss, but his eyes water at the awful fake quote unquote 'grape taste'. He cant help the way his face scrunches up, and both Gregory and Freddy laugh at him.

"Evan," Freddy begins suddenly after capping the medicine and taking the spoons back. His voice sounds more serious, and Evan "I'm going to have to tell your family something about why you aren't home."

Immediately, Evan's stomach drops to his feet.

He must have reacted outwardly, because Freddy frowns. "I know." He says. "But it will be alright. I'll tell them exactly why you're staying over, and--" He cuts himself off, and Evan dares to acknowledge the faint clench in Freddys jaw. "Surely if anything they would not care more than they would be upset."

And Evan finds that Freddys right. He's so used to Michael being in his face all the time that he forgets that his Father is at best neglectful and at worst barely present in his life. If his Father were to react in any way other than a quick 'alright' to the call, it would be a thanks that Evan is out of his hair for at least a few days.

The thought alone tends tears to his eyes. He ducks his head, squeezing his eyes shut when the tears make his nose that much more clogged and his face from the fever that much more unpleasantly hot. "Just tell them that I'm staying the night instead of being sick."

Better to not say he's sick in case his Father suddenly catches onto the maybe lie and thinks more than Evan wants him to. Besides, he could deal without the extra attention from Michael.

Freddy looks like he wants to say something about that, but he doesnt. When Evan peeks up through his home-cut accidental bangs, Freddy just nods, choosing not to linger.

"Alright, Evan." He smiles reassuringly. "Do not worry about it, okay? I'll tell them exactly what you told me to. Just let me handle it."

Just let me handle it. Something about that lingers to him, and it sticks to the walls of his mind.

He's never had anyone to handle it for him before. He's never had someone to take the reigns in regard to his dad and brother to the point where Evan isnt involved. Where he went have to worry about it.

He nods after a few moments, and Evan almost tears up again at the patience. "Okay." He says simply, his voice cracking and rough. He swallows, and ignores the gravelly feeling. "Yes, I would... I would appreciate that. A lot."

Nobody says anything after that, but the silence in comfortable. Freddy just grabs the back of Evan's head and holds it to his chest in a hug, and does the same to Gregory. Gregory snakes an arm around Evan's back and holds him close.

They stay that way for another minute until they break apart, and Freddy smiles that comforting smile at him that's like a weight taken off of his shoulders. "I will handle it." Freddy says again, jerking his head towards the soup. "Now finish your soup, boys. It'll be good for your throat."

Then he shuts the door, and the room is silent. The only sound is Gregorys table fan he always has running and the faint sound of cars outside. The heater kicks on in the house, and the sunlight spills through the open window and casts onto their little bed nest as the only source of light.

Gregory leans back into the bed and gets comfortable, dragging Evan back with him when all he's doing is picking at a roque thread in the hem of his shirt. When Evan looks up, Gregory is smiling with dry, cracked lips, and despite looking like death, its warm.

He doesnt mention anything that just happened. He doesnt try to guess what Evan's deal is and try to help him like he usually does, and Evan's thankful. Gregory seems to understand that now isnt one of the times to do that.

So Evan let's it go. And when Gregory gestures the the soup and nudges Evan's spoon closer to him, Evan just starts eating.

They're back to commentating the show in now time. The soup is only warm instead of hot now, but it still soothes their throat, and the steam clears up their sinuses some. Gregory keeps cracking jokes about the contestants and making fun of the corny host, and Evan laughs along with him, drinking orange juice when his throat prickles.

They marathon the season until the sun passes over the house and all that's left is the dim white sky of winter. The team with both of their favorites makes it to the finale.

The two teams fight over the biggest pumpkin. One of them is uncoordinated and theres a heated argument. Their pumpkin falls and breaks. The other splits up and finishes the pumpkin set in record time and completes their concept with no forks.

By the end, the team they both ended up rooting for wins, and Evan watches as the guy Gregory was rooting for gets his career started, and the girl he was rooting for talks about how she'll open her own bakery and she has friends for life now.

The soup is gone and the orange juice drained by the time the season is over. Gregory says theres eleven more available to watch.

Gregory puts on another season, and Evan burrows further into his little burrito and this time picks a contestant after the team's are decided to be against Gregory.

They watch a whole nother one, and halfway through, the sky outside darkens early like it does in winter, but despite the exhaustion from being sick, Evan wants to go another few hours.

Eventually, right near the finale, Evan and Gregory are forced to leave their blanket armor because Chica apparently came over at some point and baked them cupcakes as a suprise. She brings hot chocolate with her with peppermint sticks in them for their throats, and they eat through them like beavers with wood.

They dont move all day. They only get up to go to the bathroom at the end of the second season (Evan's team won, by the way) to brush their teeth, then they're back in their burrow-nest-fort without asking Freddy to get the air mattress.

Evan still feels like crap when he smushes his face into Gregory's pillow, but it's alright because they're in their little quarantine, and he's out like a light either way, looking forward to another season tomorrow.

ao3 link

#the show theyre watching is halloween wars btw.#i was inspired because my sister and i have been watching face off together (goated show) and reality tv has been on the mind.#ive always been a fan of baking shows and halloween wars has been a favorite since i was a kid because of the elaborate pumpkin sets lol #just wanted to write them hanging out. being bros.#nothing too crazy happens and evan doesnt let his family ruin having fun because for once #he has his real family to handle it for him sometimes. that means the world to him.#evan also was thinking william might think that hes somehow done that 'toughening up'#williams been pounding into his brain since he was little.#of course its toxic masculinity but by now evan knows its not right and he is the way he is and isnt changing.#its just not nice to hear. and michael would be teasing him for 'rebelling' and shit like that #also kudos to you if you noticed the girl evan was rooting for reflected him =)#pandas writes #my fics #flashlight duo oneshots #flashlight duo #gregory #evan #oneshot #sickfic #fnaf gregory #evan afton #basically just put prompts i thought could apply to this oneshot at the top lol

78 notes · View notes

quartzlightz · 6 months

Text

Sick brother

Legend, face down, groaning: Get the fuck of me

Sky, laying sprawled out on top of him: No, you are on strict bed rest until you’re better

Legend: fucking din’s tits, do you have to be crushing me though.

Sky: If it means you’ll stop trying to get up, then yes.

Legend: Ugh, I hate you.

Sky, pulling Legend’s ear: Awhh, Love you too, you sickly brother.

Legend: Agh, hey! Stop that!

Sky just laughs but also stops. He settles comfortably onto the veterans back and Legend gives up and melts into his bed roll; letting his tiredness take over and falls asleep.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #legend of zelda #lu legend #lu sky #fluff #lu fic #incorrect lu quotes #sickfic #legend is a stubborn piece of shit #I rarely see a legend and sky duo sooo

48 notes · View notes

mjbunnyluv · 4 months

Text

Recompense

Zhongli wakes among silk sheets, body shivering against the cool air that slips under while he turns on his side. He swallows thickly, throat feeling strained and sore.

“Hmm. Some tea perhaps.”

When he throws the sheets off and drops his feet off the side of the bed, a harsh shudder rolls through his body.

“That is new,” he says to himself.

It has been six months since he’d given up his gnosis to the Tsaritsa. Since stepping down as Archon of Liyue. Six whole months of living a mortal life. Zhongli supposes that he is finally adjusting, feeling what mortals feel with the changing of seasons.

He stands and quickly rests a hand against the side of his face as his head pounds fiercely. It is as if he’s been hit with a club, temple and cheek throbbing beneath the surface. He grunts and blinks away the pain before making his way to the kitchen.

“Tea,” he says again, shuffling a few containers on the counter to find the right blend.

A chime rings outside, bells singing at the top of a new hour. Zhongli pauses in his tea making and counts the chimes.

“No, that cannot be right.” Still, amber eyes shift to the noctilucous jade clock that decorates the wall. “Oh dear. It seems that I have slept in. That will not do.”

Pushing the containers of tea leaves back into their rightful place, Zhongli moves about the apartment to get ready for the day. When he bends down to retrieve a clean pair of trousers, that awful pounding in his head returns.

Bright spots dance around the edges of his vision. He reaches up to rub at his temple, trying to massage away the pain. Once it subsides, he concludes dressing and takes the elegant staircase down two levels to the main lobby of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor.

Director Hu Tao was generous enough to allow him lodging above the place. As such, Zhongli appeared in his office at exactly the time his daily shift was supposed to start.

“Zhongli, you’re late.”

“My apologies, Director,” he bows his head courteously to the short statured woman. “I foolishly slept in this morning.”

Hu Tao crosses her arms and regards him with curious eyes. A single brow raises as she taps her chin in thought. “You look quite pale today. Dark circles under your eyes too.”

“I am sure it will pass, but I have been experiencing a pain in the side of my face. It is quite unusual, but I assure it will not hinder my work, Director.”

“Oh?” Hu Tao perks up. “Shall I gather the proper documentation for your last testament?”

Zhongli fixes her with an unamused stare. “That will not be necessary.”

“Whatever you say,” she says in a sing-song voice, wandering to her office to begin her daily routine.

With a deep inhale that makes his chest feel heavy, Zhongli enters his own office and begins his tasks. A few requests to sort through, but nothing particularly pressing. It allows him time to do a bit of research, consulting books around the parlor. The information in them just makes his head spin.

“Surely, this cannot be correct,” he mutters to himself as he flips the page. “Mortals are burdened with such weakness.”

Zhongli tries not to think too much about his ailments, but by midday he has a few more symptoms to add to the list. A cough has developed. Nothing horrid like those who visit the infirmary in dire condition, but a nagging sort of thing. Each time he thinks he has cleared the sore itch in his throat, the urge to cough returns.

He sniffles, clearing his nose that has begun to drip incessantly. “Well, this is just…” Zhongli trails off with another cough.

“Sounds like I should get your measurements,” Hu Tao comments in passing.

“Not necessary.”

An hour before the end of his shift, when the light filtering through the window has turned the color of rust, Zhongli rests his head against the cool wood of his desk. His eyes flutter closed and his breathing evens out. Exhaustion is not a new concept. Though he is hardier than the common mortal, able to last three days before sleep became a necessity, it is strange to feel it take hold before the sun has fully set. Not to mention, he slept the evening prior.

“Just for a few moments,” Zhongli whispers to himself. “A short rest.”

Unsure of how much time has passed, Zhongli startles awake when a hand rests on his shoulder. Reflexes take over, his hand flashing upward to grip his attacker.

“Woah there, Zhongli,” a familiar voice warbles.

Blinking back the fog, amber eyes settle on the newcomer’s face, recognizing the particular shade of blue glinting in their eyes.

“Childe?”

“Uh huh,” the Fatui Harbinger nods.

“I was unaware you returned to Liyue. I thought you had been summoned to Snezhnaya,” Zhongli comments, releasing his hold on Childe’s wrist.

“New assignment,” the man shrugs. “Though I’m sure the people of Liyue will have something to say about it.”

“Hmm.” A deep breath makes the former archon cough again. His face contorts as something wet and bitter rises to the back of his tongue.

Childe is quiet beside him, observing with shocked curiosity. “Are you sick?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Zhongli dismisses him.

“Oh, am I?” An eyebrow raises in a bit of a teasing manner, making light of the situation. “I’m not the one on death’s door, Xiansheng.”

“So, preparations should commence,” Hu Tao chirps from the doorway. “I’ll grab the paperwork.”

“Honestly,” Zhongli huffs. “I am not sick, nor am I dying.”

That tickle in his throat is more annoying than before, causing him to let out a few wet coughs. His head pounds each time, and with a groan, the archon reaches up to massage his temples.

“Right,” Childe sighs. “Looks like we’re making a stop at Bubu Pharmacy. Come on.”

Zhongli doesn’t have a chance to argue before the harbinger’s hand grasps his bicep and practically drags him out of his office. The director is singing to herself - an old funerary song - while she gathers the usual forms needed to plan a final farewell.

“Don’t worry Director Tao,” Childe waves with a smile as they pass through the lobby. “Next time you see Zhongli, he’ll be right as rain.”

Once they’re outside, the temperature cool but not unpleasant, Childe finally lets go and falls into step beside him.

“I didn’t think archons could get sick.”

“Nor did I,” Zhongli sighs. It feels like cotton is stuffed inside his head. His usually exceptional hearing and sense of smell are hindered and the pounding behind his eyes is more than a little concerning.

“Aha, so you admit that you are sick!”

“Hmm, yes, I suppose that is the most plausible explanation for these terrible symptoms.”

“What are your symptoms?” Childe asks. “After living in Snezhnaya most of my life, I’ve come up with a lot of remedies for these kinds of things. I noticed you have a cough. Does your throat hurt, too?”

“It does indeed,” Zhongli nods. “Perhaps your expertise in these matters is necessary. Upon standing after I awoke this morning, I felt a throbbing pain against the side of my face. It seems to have become more insistent as the day has gone on. I have gotten much use from my handkerchief today as well.”

“Sounds like it’s just a cold.” The man shrugs.

This makes the archon slow, blinking as he takes in Childe’s words. “Just a cold?” He asks in a measured tone. “Do all mortals suffer these symptoms during their lifetime?”

“Yeah, I guess. I mean, a cold is pretty common.”

Zhongli ponders this on their walk. They pass through the gate that leads toward Yujing Terrance and approach the stairs leading to Bubu Pharmacy.

“Think you can make it to the top, Xiansheng?” Childe teases, taking two steps at a time in quick succession.

“Such insolence,” Zhongli mutters, beginning his ascension.

Halfway there, he feels out of breath. His cough is more insistent and he is starting to feel a bit lightheaded. He paused to regain his strength, raising his gaze to take in the remaining steps. Childe was at the top looking equal parts amused and bewildered.

“Okay down there?!” The Fatui Harbinger calls lightly.

Zhongli climbs the rest of the way and fixes his companion with the most disapproving look he can muster. “You joke, though I imagine you have been in worse states than I am at the moment, Childe.”

The ginger haired man coughs lightly into his fist, though it sounds suspiciously like a laugh. “I mean no offense, Xiansheng. Just trying to keep things light.”

Amber eyes squint, observing Childe. There is a tightness to his jaw and stiffness in his shoulders. Eyes the color of the sea that laps at Liyue’s shore are sharp and serious, betraying the nonchalant smile that is plastered on his lips.

Zhongli reaches out, his hand resting on Childe’s shoulder in a comforting manner. “No need to worry, my friend. If it is…just a cold, as you say, then I am sure Doctor Baizhu will have a remedy to offer.”

“R-Right,” Childe chokes out before stepping out from under the former archon’s touch and makes his way into the pharmacy.

Qiqi, just following orders, nearly makes the harbinger rip his hair out before Doctor Baizhu makes an appearance. He apologizes for her insistence that a prescription is needed. It is only when Childe explains that it’s not him who needs medicine but Zhongli that Baizhu turns and regards him with scrutiny.

Hands find their way to Zhongli’s face and neck, pressing lightly. He flinches at the doctor’s cool touch and the next thing he knows, a wrist is pressed to his forehead.

“Hmm. Fever, some swelling in the lymph nodes, and you’ve coughed quite a bit since arriving. Tell me Mr. Zhongli, how long have you had these symptoms.”

“Since this morning,” he answers with a level tone, trying to keep his annoyance at being touched under control.

“I see. Well, judging by the harbinger’s concern, I’ll give you a few things that will ease your discomfort,” Doctor Baizhu states, turning back toward Qiqi to rattle off names of medicines and herbs.

“I’m not concerned,” Childe bites out. The dusting of pink on his cheeks reveals his embarrassment at being caught in his emotions.

It warms Zhongli’s heart to know his friend cares so much about him. That he would go out of his way to care for him while in this predicament.

They leave with a bag of medicine and instructions hand written by Baizhu and a reminder to return should his symptoms become worse.

The walk back to Wangsheng Funeral Parlor is quiet, save for the light conversation that flutters down from the upper levels of Liuli Pavilion.

Zhongli turns to regard his companion as they ascend the steps leading to his apartment and finds that Childe’s blush has darkened, eyes looking without seeing.

“Something troubles you, my friend.”

His voice seems to jolt the harbinger from his thoughts, who clears his throat and looks down at his boots when they arrive at the door.

“It’s nothing.”

Well now, that’s certainly a lie. Zhongli may still be learning how to navigate the subtle intricacies of mortal life but Rex Lapis observed both adepti and mortals for over six millenia. He’s come to learn a thing or two about hiding one’s emotions.

“Childe?”

Those brilliant blue eyes snap to amber, a light smile turning up peach lips. All traces of worry are hidden behind Childe’s carefully constructed mask.

“Good night, Xiansheng. Hope you feel better in the morning.”

“Thank you,” Zhongli bows his head slightly.

Childe is already halfway down the steps when the former geo archon enters his apartment. Alone once more, and in desperate need of some warm tea, Zhongli begins heating the kettle to the perfect temperature. The medicine prescribed to him by Doctor Baizhu is carefully set on the counter and he reads the instructions while his tea is being prepared. There is some kind of syrupy concoction that smells of bitterness, making Zhongli’s nose scrunch in distaste. Also, a paste or ointment meant to be rubbed over his chest to aid in clearing the pressure he feels in his face while he sleeps.

With tea expertly prepared, he takes a seat at his small, but elegant table, body aching as he lowers himself into the seat.

The syrup tastes horrid, making Zhongli gag and hold a gloved hand to his lips.

“An awful way to ruin beautiful tea,” he says to himself, taking a sip to wash away the bitterness that clings to his tongue.

The tub of ointment is not much better. It makes Zhongli’s skin stick to his silk pajamas in a way that makes him feel dirty. After having slept the previous night, it is strange to slumber again. However, exhaustion still holds a firm grip on the former archon. It takes some time, but eventually he falls into a sleep riddled with strange dreams.

When he awakes, Zhongli feels worse than the previous morning. He cannot breathe out of his nose, nor inhale without coughing. He shivers under the sheets and tucks his knees in close to his body.

“The director will surely not take this as an excuse. I must get ready for the day,” he said so himself, voice raw. He wonders if he had been coughing in his sleep.

Upon standing, he falls straight back to the bed with a weak sigh. His body aches and his head throbs unpleasantly. Though he does not want to experience the taste of that bitter medicine, Zhongli knows Doctor Baizhu wouldn’t have prescribed it without the utmost care and knowledge.

He is sluggish in arriving downstairs and when Hu Tao gets a look at him, he is promptly dismissed with the director’s harsh threat to get well soon.

Tea does little to warm his shivering body, eyelids heavy as he sits at the table and sips the hot drink. Zhongli’s bed looks inviting and once he finishes the tea, he crawls under the sheets. Each time he thinks he’s about to drift off, consciousness suddenly sparks. The sound of someone working on the floor below, birds chirping just outside the window, the urgent feeling that he should be hiding in this weakened state. Though he tries to will himself to check the door, Zhongli falls asleep before he can finish that thought.

The next time he awakes, it’s to the feel of something damp pressed against his forehead and a heaviness that has been laid across his body.

Amber eyes blink open, just making out familiar messy ginger hair and a lithe frame flitting about the kitchen.

“Childe?” Zhongli croaks, throat dry and incredibly sore.

“Ah Xiansheng, you’re awake,” his friend answers, relief clear on his face as he approaches the bedside. “I know you’re an archon and all, but maybe you should think about locking your door when you plan to sleep.”

“I did not plan on it,” he responds.

“Yeah, I guess being sick will do that to you,” Childe chuckles softly and rubs the back of his neck. “When I came to check up on you, Hu Tao mentioned she sent you away to rest.”

“And you barged your way in?”

“I did not barge in.” He rolls his eyes. “The door was unlocked. Besides, you were shivering so I took the time to make you more comfortable.”

Zhongli finally sees the reason for the weight lying over his body. A thick quilt that he does not recognize is draped over the silk sheets.

“Hmmm, it’s warm.”

“Good,” Childe nods, intending to leave the room before abruptly turning back around to remove the damp cloth lying on Zhongli’s forehead. “Do you think you could eat? I picked up some black-back perch stew from Wamin Restaurant. Xiangling sends her regards, by the way.”

“That is very kind,” Zhongli says, mustering a smile. “I will have to thank her the next time I visit.”

“So, do you want some?” There is a nervousness in the harbinger’s crystal blue eyes.

“You’ve gone through much trouble for my sake. It would be a slight against you to refuse such kindness.”

“It’s just soup, Xiansheng.”

Childe disappears back into the kitchen and Zhongli hears the rustling of a paper bag. No doubt, he’s setting the table with the food he acquired from Wamin Restaurant.

With a groan, Zhongli leaves the bed, pausing to look back. His fingers slide across the quilt. Soft cotton squares depicting patterns foreign to Liyue are stitched together with shining thread. He doesn’t let himself linger on the many questions his mind drums up, instead wrapping the blanket over his shoulders and joining Childe at the table.

“It’s comfy, right?” his friend smiles, looking pointedly at the quilt.

“Indeed,” Zhongli answers, pulling it tighter around him. “I don’t recognize the pattern…or craftsmanship.”

“Snezhnayan,” Childe tells him. “I brought it from home. Don’t really use it much since it’s so much warmer here in Liyue, but it’s– it’s a comfort.”

The former archon can hear the love laced into those words. A prized item. “And you would allow me to use it in my weakened state?”

His friend shrugs with a nod like he hasn’t just given Zhongli a piece of himself.

“I will take great care of this.”

“I appreciate it,” Childe says softly. “Here, try this.” A bowl of black-back perch stew is placed in front of him.

Food is decidedly harder to consume, but the broth is warm and eases the ache in his throat.

“Would it be wise to visit Bubu Pharmacy again?”

“Nah,” Childe shakes his head before taking another spoonful of his own soup. “This is just the way with being sick. Sometimes you feel worse before you get better.”

“I see,” Zhongli hums. “Then I will proceed with the care instructions Doctor Baizhu gave last night.”

They resume their meal, quietly enjoying the stew together. Though Zhongli would prefer not to feel so awful, Childe’s presence fills him with pleasant warmth.

“I believe I will rest some more,” he announces once only a few spots of liquid remain in the bowl.

“Good idea.”

Childe collects their bowls and utensils. He begins cleaning up as Zhongli crawls into bed once more, pulling the quilt around him a bit tighter. His friend is right in his description that it is a comfort. The sound of dishes clinking and water running softly lulls him to sleep.

Silence meets Zhongli’s ears as he slowly comes to. For a moment he wonders if Childe has left, only to feel a gentle touch run through his hair. That wet cloth is plastered to his forehead once more and he feels a bit better than earlier.

“Keep resting, Xiansheng,” Childe whispers.

Amber eyes flutter open. The room is dark save for the single lantern casting a warm glow from the bedside table. It must have been hours since he shared stew with his friend.

“You’re still here,” Zhongli mumbles.

“It’s the least I can do…”

“Hmm.”

The former archon thinks about the strange emotion that tinges Childe’s tone. Though he is still learning about the many facets of mortal life, he is coming to understand regret. Of course he experienced the emotion as Rex Lapis, but it meant something different before he chose to step down as Liyue’s revered god.

“I hold no ill will towards you for releasing Osial,” Zhongli finally says, turning his head to regard the Snezhnayan warrior. “In fact, without you, I do not believe the Adepti and Qixing would have ever come together.”

Childe’s lips turn into a straight line, eyes hard to read in the low light.

“I have apologized for using you as a pawn in my contract with the Tsaritsa, and I will do so again if it is required of me.”

“No,” his friend sighs. “It’s not– I…”

Zhongli stays quiet, allowing Childe to sort his thoughts into the words he wants to speak aloud.

After a few moments of silence, the harbinger speaks.

“I released Osial in hopes that I would draw out Rex Lapis…but you never appeared. A good fight is worth everything to me and what better way to test my strength than against a literal god?”

“Ah,” Zhongli nods slightly. “I see. Perhaps I could make it up to you with a spar. Once I am back to full health, of course.”

Crystal blue eyes blink at him once, twice, before a sparkle of mischief and excitement returns to them. A smirk pulls at the corner of peach lips and Zhongli returns the sentiment.

“I would like that,” Childe answers.

“Then we have a contract. Once I have regained my strength, we will spar.”

Zhongli settles against the bed again and lets his eyes flutter closed. If he feels that gentle touch resume gliding through his hair, he does not comment on it. Instead, he sighs softly, leaning into the comfort so easily given by his friend.

#genshin impact #zhongchi #zhongli #childe #tartaglia #fluff #sickfic #cold #zhongli gets sick #childe takes care of zhongli #baizhu #cute #caretaker childe #soft tartaglia #sweet #soft zhongli #xiansheng as a term of endearment #hu tao genshin impact #hu tao being a little shit

36 notes · View notes