-posts inc3st/noncon/lolisho (this includes any underage fictional characters)
-irl emeto accounts
althought i may sometimes reblog/talk about irl stuff, all of the fantasizes i post are fictional, I do not consent to you talking about yourself or your partner on my posts
if you know me outside of this account, please don't bring up this account on my other accounts, I have very bad anxiety about this, if you're interested tho, please feel free to ask for my sfw blog or my nsfe bsky
my one irl is kinda an ally to the point it makes me kinda uncomfortable like theyre supportive but they also bring up the fact im nb a lot and it makes me uncomfortable idk id rather it kept on the down low also im scared theyre gonna accidentally out me to my parents
i always make a point to tell my irls i prefer they/them but if were close enough and have known me long enough idm she/he but my one irl sticks to they anyway and it makes me happy
very vocal characters finally relieving themself after being desperate, either by accident or because they barely made it or because they gave up. and they just can’t shut up about it!!!
“i’m going” “i’m gonna piss myself” (while doing so) “i have to go so bad” (they are going) “fuck, fuck, okay, okay” “unhhh come on” “i’m still going” (if it wasn’t obvious enough by their moaning and shifting)
can’t decide if it’s better if the other character can already see them / the wet spot / hear them pissing, or if they can’t technically see them letting go (they’re behind something / using a towel / using protection) but it’s overly obvious anyway as they basically sound like they’re coming
“Oh, fuck, no, I really can’t hold it anymore,” he says, frantically undoing his belt. Piss is already pouring out of him, and you can see the dark stain on his light gray briefs clear as day as he pushes them out of the way to free his cock. “I need to piss, I need to piss,” he chants as he hurries, finally getting a hand on his dick and aiming himself. The weak stream turns into an absolute torrent, everything pouring out of him at last.
Grace and elevators,,,,,not a good combo especially when he already needed to pee (Stratt is now mapping out every stairwell in the facility and praying the puddle doesn't touch her shoes)
was gonna tell my catheter story but i remembered i was 17 when i got surgery so i lowk dont want people sexualizing it but i WILL say is peeing after you have a catheter in feels so weird it takes like, extra effort
“I f-feel s-so c-c-cold,” B whimpers through chattering teeth as A tucks their shaking form under the covers after helping them back from the bathroom.
“Shhh, I know, I know it sucks.” A lays a gentle hand on their shoulder, careful and gentle against B’s aching muscles, before pulling the covers up to their chin. “Just hang on.”
B shudders again - they’re freezing, despite the warm pajamas and the mound of blankets covering their feverish body. Goosebumps prickle on their damp skin, and they hug themselves tighter under the covers to try and regain the warmth they lost from leaving bed. “C-can I have one m-more b-blanket? P-please?”
A darts to the corner of the room and snatches a fluffy quilt off the chair, draping it over B’s curled up form and tucking it round their body. “Just one more, okay? I don’t want your fever too high.”
B swallows hard and nods their thanks, tugging the warm layer closer. A nods back, and their hands gently move up and down B’s blanketed back and shoulders, trying to ease their misery.
“Th-thank you.” B manages a shaky smile and leans into the soft touch. “You’re th-the best.”
A holds back tears as they smile back, leaning down to press a kiss to B’s feverish forehead. “I do try my best.”
It had all happened so fast. All week, B had been battling a cold and a chest cough that they just couldn’t seem to shake. One rainy night, B came home soaked to the skin, shivering, and unable to stop coughing. A took one look at their pale, peaked face and sent them off toward a hot shower, and then to bed.
Later that night, B stumbled into A’s room and crawled into bed with them.
“I can’t get warmed up,” they whimpered, curling in a ball as A hugged them. Even as they shook and clung to A, A couldn’t help but notice the unnatural heat that radiated from their body. By dawn, B was feverishly tossing and turning. A slid out from the covers to get a thermometer, and a short while later, the fever was confirmed.
B spent the next day huddled in bed, shuffling only to the bathroom and back like a ghostly, blanketed specter, with a gasping cough that sounded like rattling chains. They alternate between sweating through their layers and kicking off their covers, to clutching multiple blankets to their body as they shudder with chills.
The day after that, they start coughing up blood. That’s when A got so scared that they’d scooped B out of bed and carried them to straight to the car, so they could speed to urgent care.
Pneumonia had been the doctor’s official diagnosis, conveyed in a brusque manner as B curled up on the paper-covered examination table, wrapped in A’s coat and too weak to even lift their own head. While B had started on a round of antibiotics, it would be a couple days before they started feeling better. Until then, it would be constant cycles of feverish chills, achy muscles, and chest-rattling coughs. But they wouldn’t be alone through it - and they wouldn’t have to go to the hospital unless things took another bad turn.
A had done their best to make them comfortable after they’d gotten home that afternoon - dressed them in warm pajamas and an oversized sweatshirt, tucked them in tightly, plied them with doses of their medicine, eased cool sips of water through cracked lips. But B’s still huddled in a ball, coughing up a lung, shivering under the blankets, wincing at the slightest movement of their body. “It hurts,” is all they manage to whimper.
A knew how miserable this could be. They’d had pneumonia a couple years ago, and their was nothing worse than feeling chilled down to your aching bones, curling up under blankets that couldn’t warm you, teeth chattering so hard you were scared they’d break, wondering if you could freeze to death even as you burned with fever.
In the dim bedroom light, A sees a small tear leak from the corner of B’s eye. A reaches out to smooth the blankets again. “Try and sleep, sweetheart.”
“C-can’t. T-t-too c-cold.” They cough painfully into the crook of their elbow and wrap their arms around themselves. The shivers come in violent waves, rippling through them every few seconds, preventing them from relaxing into the rest they so desperately need.
It’s just too much to watch them shiver with no relief. So A climbs under the covers with them, wrapping warm arms around B’s trembling form like they did before, gently rubbing their hands up and down their shivering body. B tugs weakly at A’s shirt, trying to pull them as close as possible to absorb any body heat they can, small, sniffling sobs punctuating their weak coughs.
“Shhhh. I’ve got you.” Their hands gently smooth their rumpled sweatshirt, pulling B’s head onto their chest. For a couple hours, B slips into a tenuous sleep - but it doesn’t last. In the middle of the night they begin whimpering, their fist tightening into A’s sweatshirt. The fever’s got their mind now, trapping them in twisted, terrible dreams that have become their reality. A had dozed off and on, but it’s when B’s mumbles turn to sharp cries that they snap awake. They blearily stare at the clock - it’s 2 a.m. and B is thrashing wildly, twisted and trapped in the blankets that once were their comfort.
“B!” A gently shakes their shoulders and B’s eyes snap open as they gasp - which triggers another coughing fit. B’s coughing, and gasping, and fighting for breath, and all A can do is rub their back to try and help them relax so they can breathe, damn it. Their skin is burning, they’re too hot, it’s too much, oh god their fever’s spiking-
B starts mumbling incoherently, saying something about a dog holding a knife and plums in a grocery store, and it’d be funny if they weren’t burning up and out of their mind and scaring A half out of theirs.
A jumps out of bed and pulls all but one of the covers off B, who’s sobs get louder as they grasp wildly at their last blanket. A doesn’t have time to placate them - instead, they run to the bathroom and soak every towel and washcloth they have, tossing them in the bathtub. They run back to the room and scoop B out of bed, carrying them and laying them into the tub.
With cloths dripping wet, and begin wrapping them all over B’s body - their neck, their forehead, their chest, under their arms and legs.
The cool towels must feel like a shock to their system because B tries to wriggle away, but A gently holds them down, shushing them, brushing their hair off their forehead. “Hey. Hey there.” They lightly tap B’s cheek to get them to look at them. “You’re with me, okay? You’re alright. We just gotta get you cooled off. Stay with me, okay?”
B’s lips quiver. “Cold.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Just for a little bit, okay? Then we can get you dried off and back in bed. I promise.”
For the next hour, A feverishly works to keep B cool in the tub, tirelessly rewetting the towels, changing them out, pressing kisses to B’s forehead every so often. It’s exhausting, but eventually, B’s breathing evens, and a check of the thermometer shows that their fever is out of the danger zone.
B’s eyes aren’t really focused on anything as A hoists them out of the tub and changes them out of their damp clothes into dry pajamas, then tucks a single blanket around their body. B reflexively curls up in it, looking so small and sad that A can’t bear it.
“How can I make it better, love?” They seat themselves on the bed and gently trace their hair off their forehead.
“Hold me. Just hold me, please.” And so A slips back into their place, pulling a blanket around themselves and wrapping their arms around B’s shoulders as they slip back into an exhausted sleep.
A blinks awake in the soft blue light of early dawn to find B already awake, looking at them. Their face looks so tired, but there’s a light in their eyes that’s been missing for the past week.
“Hey,” B whispers softly, a small smile on their face.
A feels something like relief bubbling up in their chest, and they’re almost too choked up to get out more than a “hey” back. They lay a hand on B’s forehead - no fever, for the time being “Rough night, huh?”
B nods, eyes closing slowly, then opening again. The restlessness of the fever has been replaced with a bone-deep tiredness that’s evident in their every movement, and they move their forehead to rest on A’s shoulder. A rests their chin on B’s head.
There will be time later for medicine, temperature checks, changing the sheets, maybe some broth or plain toast for lunch. But for now, they both lay there, grateful to have made it through the worst of it together.
mm genuinely sorry if anyone is bothered by this because i know med omo is a touchy subject for some people but im thinking about catheters still
like a character who is so full and bursting but for whatever reason they CANT pee and theyre in tears because it hurts so bad and the only way they can get release is medical intervention and their satisfied sighs as all that pent up piss finally leaves them
getting into more whump territory but maybe the character is scared of the catheter, they dont want something to go in there! so their partner has to take their hand and gently soothe them as the nurse places the catheter into their urethra
i also heard some catheters feel uncomfortable/hurt to have in like a character whining for it to be taken out because its so uncomfortable but their partner cant do anything without the nurse there and they know that the character needs to have the catheter in cause they cant be trusted to make it to the toilet/use a urinal for whatever reason
