Idea for you: you know that moment when Viktor is in the hexcore and jayce is waiting for him to wake up? What if Jayce got sick then???
Think about it, he was only taking care of Viktor, not of himself, he sat there without a shirt for idk days?? And he had just gotten injured, he had his best friend bleed out in his arms and die, and didn't know if he was going to wake up (all in all some very traumatizing things happened + not taking care of himself)
so then Viktor wakes up and gets out of the hexcore and one of the first things he says is "you must be cold" and gets Viktor a blanket so what if HE was the one that was cold because he's sick but hadn't even really noticed because he was so focused on saving Viktor
THE POSSIBILITIES
Anyways thank you for reading all of this, if you or anyone else would write this I would DIE
We interrupt your Sicktember Jay/vik to bring you...Sicktember Jay/vik xD
ok as promised here's this AMAZING prompt for Sicktember day 16 Misery Loves Company. Small cameo by Mel kinda xD
~~~~
The lab was quiet. Too quiet. Sadly, that had been the state of things since the aftermath of the attack. The normal whirring of gears, bubbling of flasks, and the banter between partners was replaced by pacing, worry, and the unnerving quiet.
Jayce jerked awake thinking he'd heard a voice. Spinning around on the stool he looked but Viktor still remained motionless in whatever the Hexcore cocoon was doing to him.
Alive, it was keeping him alive.
Rubbing his face, Jayce winced as he stretched, the gash on his back still healing. At least the bleeding had finally stopped. His shirt and white coat still laid in a pile next to the Mercury Hammer.
Wiping away sweat near his hairline, Jayce exhaled out a cough. The blanket which had been covering him as he slept now laid on the floor.
Standing up, he walked over to Viktor, trying to get a better idea of how the "progress" was going. There is no movement at all from his partner. Jayce wants so badly to reach up and touch Viktor's face, but the fear he might "upset" the Hexcore keeps his trembling hand hovering inches away.
The past days since the attack blurred together for Jayce. He hadn't left the lab since fusing the core to Viktor, hoping, praying it would save him.
And it had.
Jayce should be relieved, but a growing sense of unease kept gnawing at him as Viktor remained in status.
The headache he'd hoped would have gone away pounded at his temples. His vision blurred momentarily, so Jayce sat down again on the stool. Viktor's stool.
Jayce took the crutch, which leaned on the table and pulled it close to his body. Its cold frame on his skin sends shivers through him.
He feels pressure growing in his chest. Turning, he coughs into his arm and then cleared his throat.
"When was the last time you slept?"
Jayce heard Mel's voice so clearly he believed she was visiting again, but a quick look around proved it was only his sleep deprived mind playing tricks.
Another harder cough escaped him. Reaching down, Jayce grabbed the blanket from the floor, careful not to let the crutch fall. Wrapping himself in it does little to shield himself from the chill of the lab.
The tiredness he can not shake begins once again to overtake his vigilant effort to watch Viktor. Heavy lidded eyes close, his head nods, then immediately he's awake again as he fights to stay awake just in case something happens.
However, it's a losing battle. Resting his aching head on the desk, Jayce drifts back to sleep.
****
The dryness in his throat had woken him up, but now that was the least of his problems. Huddled in the blanket, Jayce used it to cover another wet sneeze.
"Sorry." He muttered to Viktor. In his mind he hears Viktor scolding him for getting sick while they have deadlines to meet.
The coffee he'd brewed tasted funny with every sip and had not helped his throat.
The lab couch was far from comfortable, but right now, it was the only place Jayce could lay while still keeping an eye on Viktor. He'd used what little strength he had left to pull it from its normal corner. Viktor's crutch now leaned against the edge of it.
Jayce's breath hitched again hard, his face slacked before he buried it into the folds of the blanket. A rough, painful cough follows. Clearing his throat doea nothing while swallowing adds fuel to the fire.
Head aching, body shivering, Jayce's only thoughts are on how his partner is.
Closing his eyes again, Jayce hopes that he'll be better once Viktor wakes up.
CW - 3.1k words, sick j/ayce, descriptions of mess (not in depth, but they’re included throughout the fic), snz kink vik, trans vik (and language like “t-dick” & “clit”), brief mentions of chronic pain
~ also shoutout to the wonderful @stifledfreek for beta reading the fic :3 it got 10 times better after i swear, so thank you! ~
Part One here
Part Two below the cut
Jayce pauses for a moment, his fever-addled brain trying to process Viktor’s words before he asks, “You speagk Russian?”
He assumes it was Russian at least, given Viktor’s heavy accent and, well, his name. Viktor nods, watching as Jayce folds the sodden handkerchief over his nose, doing his best to hide its continuous running.
“I do,” Viktor answers simply, not offering any further details about himself. Jayce doesn’t entirely mind, though he’s itching to learn more about Viktor.
“Is it your firsd language?” Jayce asks. He’s almost certain that the answer will be yes. It might be a stupid question, or too personal to some, but Jayce doesn’t have the energy to think things through fully right now.
“It is. Although I learned English when I was very young,” Viktor answers, seemingly unoffended by Jayce’s question.
Jayce listens intently, the simple answer only spurring more questions, but he settles for, “I did the same. Budt I learned Spanish firsd.”
Viktor looks at Jayce curiously, bluntly saying, “Not many people speak Spanish in Piltover.”
“Nodt many people speagk Russian,” Jayce counters with a grin, feeling a silent sense of understanding between himself and Viktor. It’s not easy being multi-lingual in Piltover, where there’s a neatly pruned standard of what it means to be presentable (wealthy, fluent in English, able-bodied, blah blah blah).
“This is true,” Viktor concedes, folding his hands in his lap and shifting again as he sits. It’s obvious that he’s in some amount of pain or discomfort, but Jayce knows it’s not his place to mention it. Afterall, they’re still newly-acquainted strangers.
Jayce runs a hand through his hair, trying to ignore how hot he suddenly feels. He’d pulled on a hoodie despite it being relatively warm outside (a last ditch effort to hide how miserably sick he was), and now he’s paying the consequences. The elevator has become significantly warmer since stalling out – surely not because of his fever, that would be absurd – and Jayce can practically feel the heat radiating off of his skin.
Realistically, he’s having a heat flash as a result of the 101+ degree fever he’s had all day, but he’s reluctant to admit that to himself. He sits forward, slipping his arms out of the sweatshirt sleeves and tugging it off over his head. Even that small movement makes the room spin, leaving fuzzy dark blotches in his vision for a second.
Once the hoodie’s off, a shiver immediately racks his frame, though he continues to feel overheated. He adds it to the mental list of ‘things my body is doing to spite me’. Viktor glances over wordlessly as he notices the shiver, his eyes lingering on Jayce’s biceps beneath his tight black T-shirt (this goes unnoticed by the sick man).
Viktor diverts his attention to his wristwatch; Jayce mirrors the action, checking the time and groaning internally as he realizes they’ve been stuck for less than an hour and he’s already completely soiled the handkerchief that Viktor lent him. Not to mention he can feel his meds starting to wear off.
He’d planned on taking Nyquil right when he got home and passing out for the rest of the night (despite it barely being past 6PM), but clearly that wasn’t happening any time soon. Jayce shivers again, regretting the decision to take off the hoodie, but decides he can’t put it back on just yet. It’s barely been off for a minute, and he’d look like an idiot immediately putting it back on. Because Viktor is scrutinizing every miniscule action he makes, obviously. There’s no way it could be Jayce’s anxious fever riddled mind overthinking; that’s just not a possibility.
The two of them sit in silence for a couple of minutes before the elevator starts creaking again, a quiet mechanical whine sounding from somewhere above them. Jayce clears his throat before asking, “That’s… probably fide, righd?”
“Probably,” Viktor answers skeptically, not wanting to stress Jayce out any more than necessary. “It could be an emergency system resetting.” He bites his tongue to refrain from adding, “or the cords fraying.”
Jayce nods, swiping his wrist under his nose as it starts to run again, “Yeah… maybe id’s a good sign. Maybe we’ll – snNDFf – ged oud of here soon…”
The creaking continues, and Jayce starts fidgeting anxiously with his fingers, doing his best to occupy his mind. Noticing his rising anxiety, Viktor asks, “How long have you lived here?”
Jayce’s nervous rumination is temporarily sidebarred. “Aboud two years, and this–” he gestures to the elevator, “–has never hapbened.” He pauses to grab the handkerchief, rubbing his nose with an audible squelch.
“You’d think that with the expense of our rent, the building’s mechanics would function, would you not?” Viktor asks, trying to find some common ground through complaining. Jayce nods, though he’s rarely given the cost of rent second thought – the Kiramman family pays the majority of it. Clearly he and Viktor are different in that sense, but he still agrees, “Yeah, you’d thingk so.”
Jayce is about to continue the conversation when a sharp itch swells through his sinuses, burning up to the tip of his nose and forcing out a sudden, “hH’ISzZCHHshew!” He barely raises his arm in time to half cover, and without the protection of his sweater sleeve, he wets both the air and his wrist with a sheen of spray. Before he can even draw a breath, another, “Hhh’gGZSCHhhuehh!!” snaps him forwards.
The second sneeze causes significantly more damage than the first, and mess strings loosely from Jayce’s septum to his forearm. He fumbles to grab the handkerchief, turns away from Viktor as best he can and quickly tends to the clear string that’s now threatening to drip onto his lap. He can feel his face burning crimson up to his ears, and his heart pounds in his chest in utter embarrassment.
He’s never had a cold manifest in his nose like this. He always gets sneezier when he’s sick, but usually it’s manageable with a couple hankies and some tea. This, however, is far from manageable. Every time he has some semblance of control, his body snaps him forwards with a harsh, throat-grating, messy expulsion.
Once again, Viktor politely feigns interest in the loose thread on his sleeve, though he steals a few glances at Jayce.
Humiliated is the understatement of the year. Jayce wipes at the spray on his wrist with the handkerchief, but it’s too sodden to help, leaving his skin just as damp as before. He has to fold the cloth in two to hide the mess from the previous sneeze – not that there’s any point in doing that, since Viktor already saw it.
“Bless you,” Viktor offers. Jayce just nods, snuffling into the handkerchief in an attempt to hide himself away from Viktor.
—
Switch to Viktor’s POV
Viktor does his best not to stare at Jayce. It’s difficult, especially when there’s a light speckling of spray cast across his T-shirt – which, he notes, Jayce doesn’t seem to notice. He shifts, ignoring the pain that’s been ebbing and flowing through his hip since the elevator first malfunctioned. It lingers, slowing to a dull ache, like a wave receding gently along a shore, only to crash down in a sharp throb whenever he moves.
Surprisingly, Jayce notices this. As out of it as he is, he seems attentive to Viktor’s movements, to his pain. It’s almost as if he’s more attentive to Viktor’s body than he is to his own – the slick wetness beneath his nostrils is evidence to that. Viktor’s certain that Jayce would wipe it away if he knew it was there.
Luckily, Jayce’s observation doesn’t go as far as Viktor’s arousal. It hadn’t taken long for the reaction to grow from a stirring in his lower abdomen to the hard-on he’s now sporting – one of the many benefits of being a few years on T is that his bottom growth is significant enough for him to get boners. Another benefit is that there’s no physical evidence of his arousal. It’s imperceptible, and besides, Jayce has no reason to believe his sneezes would inspire that response in Viktor.
The elevator creaks, the quiet whine resuming. This time, it seems as if the sound is coming from above the two of them somewhere in the shaft. As little as Viktor knows about elevators, he can safely assume that the sound isn’t a good sign.
Jayce seems to make the same assumption, his nervous fidgeting beginning again. Viktor almost finds it endearing that the other man seems incapable of hiding these responses, although that could be attributed to his fever.
He’s practically strangers with Jayce, but he finds himself wanting to console his neighbor – the same neighbor he’d spent many nights despising. He can’t exactly place why. It could be pity, but Viktor finds that unlikely. It could be his appearance, that’s a much more likely explanation. It could be his sneezes, a voice suggests in the back of his mind, to which Viktor mentally agrees it certainly could be.
Or it could be something else entirely. Something that Viktor had neglected to let himself feel for a long time.
A congested ‘snDRGck!’ breaks Viktor from his dwellings, and he glances at Jayce again. He’s shivering now, both arms wrapped tightly around his frame. Whether Jayce has forgotten about his sweatshirt or he’s stubbornly resigned himself to further misery, Viktor isn’t entirely sure.
He considers how rude it would be to tell Jayce to put on the hoodie. Generally speaking, he’s very blunt when it comes to these sorts of things: the easiest solution to Jayce’s current discomfort is to put on the hoodie. Except his logic isn’t always appreciated, especially when it comes off as unsolicited criticism.
“hhHh,” Jayce brings the handkerchief to his nose as soon as the first hitch sounds. Viktor can’t help but watch. He can imagine Jayce’s nostrils flaring out against the fabric of his handkerchief, dampening it as the appendage twitches and writhes.
Based on Jayce’s expression, his nose must be doing exactly that.
“hnhUHh’h,” the hitch stutters to a halt midway, interrupted with a groan of displeasure. Viktor feels a pulsating heat travel from his dick and up his torso, pooling in his abdomen.
Jayce muffles another helpless half hitch, half groan into the folds of the kerchief, “hhU-’ghh.”
Damnit. As if his sneezing wasn’t enough, the build up just so happens to be one of the most arousing things Viktor has witnessed. No YouTube video or wav could compare to this, even though he’s surely going to catch whatever cold-from-hell Jayce has.
“hH’eh….hDSCHHZI’iSCXH’eiuw!”
The sneeze breaks free in three harsh, weird syllables, each of which is more breathless than the last. Viktor swallows, his fingers twisting and untwisting the thread on his sweater. Anything to keep himself from acknowledging the wetness of his clit and his too-tight pants.
“Bud’te zdorovy,” Viktor switches to Russian unintentionally, the blessing slipping out of its own volition.
“Th-” Jayce tries to speak, but he’s interrupted with a barking cough. It sounds nearly as bad as the cough that’s been festering in Viktor’s lungs for the past couple of months, and he cringes in sympathy. Once Jayce catches his breath, he tries again, “thangks… sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Viktor dismisses simply, watching as Jayce’s body is wracked with shivers again. “You might be more comfortable if you put on your sweatshirt.”
He decides that at the risk of coming off as rude, he should suggest the solution anyway. Jayce doesn’t seem like he’s in the mindset to think about anything aside from his troublesome nose.
Jayce blushes, and immediately fumbles to pull the hoodie back on. He lets out a little breath of relief once it’s tugged over his head. “Thangks. Agaid.”
“No problem,” Viktor responds with a little smile.
Jayce’s nostrils flare again, his expression melting into one of sheer desperation within seconds. Viktor watches intently, his fingers resuming the twist of the thread as Jayce’s eyelids flutter shut.
“h’hiighh-“ His hand comes up to cover his nose. “hHHH-“
His chest swells with a dramatic inhale, only to stutter to a halt as Jayce pinches his nose shut. A heavy, squashed sneeze grates against his throat before being stifled against his tight grip.
“hnNGD’GCKSZXHh!”
The stifle is followed by a whimper, Jayce’s brows creasing together in a pained grimace. Viktor fights the arousal stirring in his stomach, the reaction temporarily overridden by concern.
Jayce snuffles against his fingers, releasing his nose from its hold. The appendage is raw and sensitive, nostrils twitching with every inhale he takes.
To say he looks miserable wouldn’t capture his appearance in full. His disheveled, sweat slicked hair, reddened nostrils, evident fatigue, and inability to stop the shivers wracking his body all point to a rising fever. He waits wordlessly for another sneeze, but the sensation evades him after a few seconds. Viktor can’t help but feel a small pang of disappointment.
Jayce rubs at his face with both palms, forgoing his attempts to compose himself and letting out a quiet groan. When he lowers his hands, his face is blotchy. His nose is an angry shade of pink, only growing more and more irritated with each sneeze.
He slouches sideways into the corner of the cramped elevator, pulling one of his knees up to his chest and leaving his other leg extended outwards. He looks absolutely wrecked.
To anyone else, a cold-ridden, anxiety-ridden Jayce would be perceived as pathetic. Viktor, however, just finds his state… distracting, to say the least. It’s ridiculous, and he mentally scolds himself: the man is ill, and you are… what, aroused? Depraved. Utterly depraved.
Jayce’s shoulders quiver with the beginnings of an inhale only to be interrupted as he jolts forward with another sneeze, “hhHHh’GGDTSSHhhuehh!!” The sound ricochets off the elevator walls. The expulsion is merciless and wet, grating against his throat with a vocal growl and expelling as much mess as it can manage.
Luckily, he’d managed to bring the sodden handkerchief up to his nose in time to catch the sneeze. He wipes his nose, snorting back as much mess as he can. Once he cleans himself up, he collapses back, continuing to sniffle liquidly. His voice comes out raw as he mumbles, “I thingk mby meds wore off….”
Viktor tears his gaze away from Jayce’s twitching nose, forcing himself to focus instead on the elevator floor.“So I gathered,” he says curtly. He should say more, offer sympathy or comfort, but he can’t focus on anything but the pulsing rhythm in his clit.
Comforting people has never come naturally to him. It’s never been that big of an issue for him – sure, he’s been labelled as inconsiderate in the past, but he’s come to accept it as a flaw of his.
Still, as he sits there, almost shoulder-to-shoulder with Jayce, he wishes things were different. He wishes he were different. He wants to comfort Jayce, to know the perfect antidote that will ease his evident embarrassment at his sick state.
Silence, he tells himself, is safer than saying the wrong thing.
The silence carries on for a few minutes, broken only by Jayce’s sniffles and occasional shuffling as he tries to find a more comfortable position. His eyelids droop lower, fatigue evidently catching up with him the longer the two of them are trapped.
Viktor risks a glance at the sick man: Jayce’s head keeps dipping forward on the cusp of sleep, then jerking back up as his breath catches on another half-formed sneeze. He doesn’t even seem to register the lulling of his head, and Viktor figures he’s closer to sleep than he is consciousness. The handkerchief sits half-clenched in Jayce’s hand, the fabric damp and crumpled beyond recognition.
Viktor swallows hard, dragging his gaze back down to the floor. Something unnameable blooms in his chest – a feeling that’s equal parts concern and attraction. He wants to say something, to murmur, “Rest. You’ll feel worse if you fight it,” but the words knot in his throat.
Besides, it’s not his place to say anything. Not to Jayce, who he reminds himself is a stranger aside from brief pleasantries. He has no reason to care for the other man… so why is there an unbearable pull low in his belly? It’s no longer just arousal, though that sensation certainly lingers.
He wants to step in, to smooth the crease between Jayce’s brows and shoulder some of the weight pressing down on him. But he doesn’t. He continues to fix his gaze on the scuffed elevator floor.
Wanting doesn’t make it appropriate. Wanting doesn’t make it safe.
A soft, congested sigh pulls his attention back to reality. Jayce has slumped further down the wall, his hand gone slack around the damp handkerchief. His long lashes rest heavy against flushed cheeks, sleep taking him quickly. Viktor figures he must’ve been exhausted this whole time to have fallen asleep so fast.
With Jayce asleep, Viktor doesn’t have to limit his staring. He can take in every detail he pleases, even those that the other man would surely be embarrassed by. Peaceful and defenseless, worn raw by fever and sickness, Jayce stirs ever so slightly.
Viktor’s throat tightens as he watches Jayce snuffle in his sleep, his nose twitching as if to tease him: even asleep, I’ll still bother you. Viktor forces his eyes shut, willing the heat in his chest and abdomen to quiet. This is nothing, just a stranger, an unfortunate circumstance, and a passing moment that will dissolve once the elevator lurches back to life.
He and Jayce will go back to just being neighbors. Maybe they’ll cross paths every once and a while, but they’ll have no reason to interact aside from necessary pleasantries when they bump into each other in the hallway. That should be enough.
That’s all Viktor ever wants from people, isn’t it? Distance, civility, and a buffer against the mess of feelings that never seems to end well.
But then Jayce shifts, a sluggish roll of his broad shoulders accompanied with a sleepy sigh, and suddenly the weight of his head tips sideways. It settles against Viktor’s shoulder, and he freezes. His first instinct is to pull away, to reclaim the inch of space that’s been his shield.
He takes a measured breath, careful not to let his shoulder move or jostle Jayce. The warmth radiating off the sick man keeps him still. Viktor can feel Jayce’s hair tickle the edge of his jaw; his breath, warm and uneven, ghosts against Viktor’s neck. Fuck.
The ache in Viktor’s chest sharpens, expands. It’s not the ache he’s grown accustomed to or the pain that seeks refuge in his bones and threatens to immobilize him whenever it pleases.
He bites the inside of his cheek, and against every careful, protective instinct Viktor’s developed, he lets Jayce stay.
Smt smt... V/iktor pretending he's fine bcs its snowing out and J/ayce will brave his icy trauma to get him medicine regardless of the fear...smt smt J/ayce ptsd and V/iktor sickness...
*I'm sending you all my personal prompts bcs college is kicking my ass*
Hope college has gotten a bit better, anon. Thanks for this ask! loooooove it! Also sorry if at parts I switch tenses. I started in past and then for some reason switched to present. I think I fix all the places I did it but I dunno. When I post this to ao3 I might put the entire thing in present ^^;;
~~~~
Viktor frowned as he looked out the window again. What had begun as simple flurries earlier now progressed to heavy flakes blanketing the ground in a thick layer of snow. Ice was sure to follow with the temperature rapidly dropping. Anyone unlucky enough to find themself caught out in the weather immediately regretted it as they cover became covered in the falling snow.
Sighing, Viktor pinched the bridge of his nose, which tingled due to the cold he was fighting. Sniffling deeply didn't help but anything to keep the sneeze he felt building at bay would have to do. The draft from the window caused him to shiver even with a wool cardigan on, so he pulled away from it.
Today hadn't gone as planned from the start. A dry throat had woken him up before Jayce who'd been sleeping peacefully beside him. Given how late they'd been working over the past weeks, Viktor wasn't shocked when his crappy immune system finally began succumbing to an illness.
It started with a tickle in the back of his throat which no amount of swallowing or clearing seemed to elimate. Switching from coffee to strong tea helped a bit more, it grew from a tickle in his throat to his nose. A master of stifling, Viktor managed for now, to keep Jayce in the dark about his health. Both were distracted by other more important aspects surrounding their life.
However as his cold festered more, it was becoming to harder to hide. Stifles were happening more often and considerably more congested. His cough rougher, deeper, which in turn made his throat flare up.
What concerned Viktor more was Jayce's behavior. Winter never boded well for either. Viktor always coming down with at least one usually two colds or a bad chest infection which laid him up for days on end. But for Jayce, the cold dealt worse blow. Trauma.
He hid it as best he could. Always had. Behind the worried eyes and forced smile anytime they needed to go out in particular bad weather.
However.
Every so often Viktor would find Jayce huddled in corner, face buried in his knees, arms shaking as they held onto his legs. This usually happened on days when a blizzard would hit. Those days were the worse. Viktor would simply sit next to Jayce, shoulders touching, waiting for Jayce to uncurl so Viktor could pull him into an embrace. No words were ever exchanged. None needed. Viktor's back hated him the next day but usually they'd end up sleeping on the floor on those bad days.
After meticulously checking the weather, Viktor was certain this would not become blizzard conditions, but the weather sadly wasn't an exact science that annoyed Viktor more than he cared to admit.
His quiet thoughts broke as his raspy breath hitched. Bringing the cuff of his sleeve up, he managed a painful stifle, only the congested squeak alerting anyone near that he'd actually sneezed. It meant a sharp burning shot to his sinuses too which only mad his mood sour further.
To his credit, once he'd begun feeling off a few days ago, the normal workaholic scientist had attempted to calm his pace. Night that ended before midnight, no more sleeping at the lab, actually eating. Far too little too late.
A rough cough bubbled out of him. Viktor leaned on his cane, hacking into his fist. As he managed a breathy inhale, his hand dug into his pocket, retrieving a handkerchief. Quickly masking his mouth, the frail man bent forward as his weak lungs constricted with every painful exhale.
Finally, the fit passed. As Viktor cleared his throat and righted himself, he felt a hand rest on his shoulder.
Shit.
'V?"
Viktor did not even need to turn to see the look on his partners face, whose concerned eyes flashed in his mind as he felt his partners comforting presence next to him.
"Yes?" Viktor hated how bad his voice sounded, like fingers on a chalkboard.
No reply at first, Jayce's hand tightened on his shoulder before moving down around his waist. "Why didn't you tell me?"
For the single briefest of moments Viktor considered lying, playing dumb. Tell him what exactly? Jayce knows his issues. That coughing fit he could easily pass off as his chronic one. It sounds worse because of the weather. There's nothing to worry about.
This is a calculation he considered, but deep down, he knows it's wrong. Perhaps a few years ago, he would have. Not anymore though, Jayce knows him too well. Something that at times was deeply frustrating.
"I didn't want to worry you." He finally said, letting out a sigh with it. "Besides, it's nothing serious." His voice catches, a barking cough sounded as he pivoted away.
"Yet." Jayce said quietly. "Do we have cough medicine?"
Viktor tensed, to which he heard Jayce now sigh. His partner pulled away as he turned walking to the closet.
"Jayce, don't, please. It's fine. I'm....fiiii..." Viktor's hand came up fast to pinch a stifle, but he continued to follow Jayce who was shrugging on his coat. Viktor positioned himself in front of him. "Jayce...it's fine."
Jayce, who had kept his eyes averted from Viktor, snuck a quick glance out the window. One could barely see the street below due to swirling snow blowing around. Jayce suddenly saw nothing but white in his mind, his mother doing her best to shield him from it. Still in the security if their apartment he felt the bitter sting on his cheeks as if he's stepped outside.
Only the sound of a cough, raspy and painful brings him back as he watched Viktor's thin frame convulse. His thin shoulders shiver though Jayce can tell he's trying everything in his power to mask it.
"Stay here...I'll be back soon." He forced a smile at Viktor who's amber eyes plead as Jayce leans his forehead against his. "Stay warm, okay?"
" Jayce..." Viktor called after him, but the door shuts. Why must he be so stubborn.
Although Jayce was probably only gone for half an hour so far, time seemed to stop as Viktor tried his best not to watch out the window. You know what they say about a watched pot. Viktor had never been one for pacing, so he sat in the chair, fingers drumming his cane handle. He'd tried reading but couldn't keep his thoughts trained on the book.
Every sound that echoed he hoped was Jayce as he brought up his handkerchief to cough into it. The pressure thumping against his sinuses won't lessen no matter how hard he rubbed him. Dipping forward, he sneezed again, a grunt of pain escaped his thin lips.
Finally, he heard the outside door shut. Pushing himself up, straining a bit from sitting, he opened the door just as Jayce walked up to it.
Jayce was pale, paler than he looked in a long time, and Viktor knew had nothing to do with the actual temperature.
"Here." Jayce forced the worst smile. The panic behind those hazel eyes stung Viktor's chest. However he cannot even offer assistance as his breathed hitched. Stepping back, barely out his peripheral vision before his eyes sneeze shut as the sneeze sounds, he sees Jayce brush past him.
"I got the flavor you like, had to go to two shops to find it..." Jayce began.
"Jayce..." Viktor's voice sounded so weak he barely hears it.
"Then I couldn't remember if we had tea and yes I know you prefer sweetmilk but like a nice tea when..."
Finally able to right himself, Viktor limps to the kitchen, "Jayce..."
"You're not feeling well so I just wanted to make sure we had some, along with lozenges so I bought those too, then..." Jayve felt a thin hand grip his arm. Unable to face his partner, Jayce grabbed the counter in his hands.
"I'm okay, V...promise. I just need to..."
"I know, Jayce." Viktor's raspy voice still sounded like music to Jayce. "And I am here."
Jayce finally looked over, how those golden eyes eased his anxiety. "I know." He kissed Viktor's warm cheek. "I know."
The one in which R/anpo must save P/oe (for a change) and discovers the reason his dear accomplice was captured. And then, once they’re safe, R/anpo discovers something else, this time about himself.
Requested by the dear @onetrickponi. I hope I didn't make you wait tooooo long, and hopefully this can help give you a little distraction right now <333 (Not sure how well I did the 'language' part, but I hope you can enjoy it anyways~!)
The Request:
- R/anpo helping out P/oe, (role reversal from canon)
- R rescuing P, P has a raging head cold, R figures out quickly, (P can silent stifle, but the shuddering is hard to miss)
- P is sleeping, R admires him, and is fascinated with getting P to sneeze freely
Characters: P/oe, R/anpo (R/anpoe ship lightly implied) ft. T/anizaki
Word Count: 3.4k (a 'ficlet' she said, lying. Sorry hahaha~)
~~~ Windows ~~~
It should have been straightforward.
The intel was carefully collected, each step was crafted with precision. The script was perfect and the stage was set. Ranpo even deduced how it would all go down. It should have been straightforward, there was no room for errors.
“Instead, I’m stuck breaking into a building at three am all alone because no one else wants to wake up for a rescue mission.” Kneeling next to the basement window, Ranpo finds himself monologuing. Not an uncommon occurrence, simply a side effect of the incredible deduction ability!
Placing his jacket against the glass, Ranpo directs a firm blow, and- ouch, that was harder than expected. The following crash elicits a yelp from the detective tied to a chair in the middle of the moonlit room. Sliding through the frame with ease, Ranpo lands gracefully, flashing a smirk towards his colleague.
“Care to explain how you got caught using my brilliant plan, Poe-kun?”
The bleary gaze he gets in return answers all on its own. Still, Ranpo finds himself waiting for the vocalized response, bowing slightly in one of his favourite poses. Poe simply watches him, an unfamiliar look resting behind his eyes. Maybe drugged?
“That wasn’t a rhetorical question,” Ranpo demands, foot starting to tap against the glass splattered floor. Each crunch leaves Poe wincing, his lips parted in what Ranpo can only assume is a scowl, quite rude seeing as this is a rescue operation.
“How did you find me?” Poe replies, a quiet undertow of exhaustion to his words. Ranpo decides to ignore the way he dodged the question, instead taking a new stance, hands against his hips.
“You missed check in.”
This response seems to stick in the air, Poe tilting his head towards the window. “Has… has it really been that long?”
“We don’t have all night, the guards are on break for now but they’ll be back in four minutes. Probably assumed you wouldn’t be able to get out on your own,” Ranpo offers, clicking open his knife, and beginning to slice the rope. “I don’t blame them, how were they to know I was coming to your aid.” As the rope falls limp against the ground, Ranpo turns to the window, beginning to climb up.
He’s halted as a voice sounds out, timid yet clear. “I can’t climb through there.”
Without casting a glance back, Ranpo tosses his reply over his shoulder. “I put my jacket over the glass, it’s perfectly safe, you won’t get cut. Now, stop hesitating, we have to go. My rescue, like all my plans, is flawless if you follow my instructions.”
Based on the weighted sigh and crunching beginning to sound off from behind him, it seems the words got their point across.
Along with one more noise, he can’t quite place. “hh’kngt-! ngxt-! ngt’chh-!”
Once they’re both through the window, Ranpo leads the way, watching his breath swirl through the chilled night air. Maybe using your only coat to break a window isn’t the best plan.
“So, are you planning to tell me how exactly you got captured?” Ranpo begins, spinning on his heel to gaze at the detective-
-not following him? Still at the window, Poe’s back is towards him, body dipping in rapid succession. Even without his coat, the edge of cold in the air is dulled, certainly not sharp. It shouldn’t be leading to this level of shivering, he’d deduced early on it might be unpleasant, but not full shivering…?
“Poe-kun, are you alri-”
“nxgt’chiew-!”
At the noise, Poe whips around to face Ranpo, pink staining his pale cheekbones. “I’m so sorry, Ranpo-kun, that one escaped, it was just… I was distracted and…”
Ranpo begins to piece together the series of events that led them here. They didn’t speak in person, instead texted. Being careful with wording, it was easy to get away with his affliction. The deductions didn’t take into account Poe’s altered mental state from the fever, and… this leaves only one conclusion.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”
This seems to catch Poe off guard, further evidence towards the conclusion being correct. He raises a hand back to his face, this time not turning around as he crushes a few more bursts silently into his palm.
Once the attack dies down, Poe lifts his voice, head remaining bowed. “I’m not… I’m not sick. Just something in the air doesn’t agree with… it doesn’t agree with me! That’s all.” The statement is punctuated with a sharp cough that leaves his breath rising into the air, mimicking the eyebrow raise Ranpo points his way.
“You’re sick. I don’t even need to use deduction to figure that out,” Ranpo pauses, pulling out his glasses with a flick of the wrist. The panicked look he receives confirms his further suspicions as he continues. “But I could use it to figure out exactly what went wrong, if you refuse to tell me.”
The truth is, both of them already know what went down. Poe was supposed to infiltrate the cell with a carefully constructed ruse, and said ruse didn’t account for the fevered slurring. Since each exact line was crucial to the interaction, slipping up was a dead giveaway. Add the fits that left him breathless, and he was basically a rabbit walking into a wolf den.
Easy prey. And even easier to avoid, if all facts had been given from the start.
“There’s no need for that, Ranpo-kun. I’m… I’m well aware that if… if you… hh-!” Dipping back into his palm, Poe stifles the next few bursts.
“nchh-! en’chh-! nchhh-! nn’chh-!” Each sound is no louder than a gust of air. If he wasn’t in the middle of a sentence, maybe Ranpo wouldn’t have noticed at all.
Instead, he finds himself studying Poe. They seem to come in sets, rapid-fire bursts that build intensity as they’re suppressed. Poe’s knees buckle as he leans against the wall, the final one nearly scraping its way out again. As the fit subsides, it leaves only a breathless “gnxt’chh-!” to show it existed at all.
Without a word, Ranpo drapes Poe’s arm over his shoulders, bearing the majority of his weight. Lips part, a refusal starting to bloom on his tongue, but Ranpo shuts it down with a single look. Once he’s confident the remaining gap is only for breathing, they begin their journey back towards the car. Finally.
A few steps in, Poe begins to shudder against him. The fever shouldn’t be this bad, not this fast, is he sicker than previously thought? Maybe it’s chills, those can cause- Oh.
Catching a glimpse of the undeniably itchy look on Poe’s face, the answer is suddenly obvious. Almost ridiculous he didn’t catch on before, Poe was just doing it. Still, these are even quieter than before, each stifle perfectly silenced. Not even a brush of air escapes from his pinched nose.
“Blessings, Poe-kun.”
Given the horror that passes through Poe’s eyes, you’d have thought Ranpo stabbed him. And even so, the words seem to have that effect, his breath growing faint as he nearly knocks himself to the ground attempting to face Ranpo.
“Wha- what?” Poe stammers, eyes beginning to show through his hair as the wind brushes a few strands from his rose coloured cheeks. Ranpo can’t help but chuckle at the sight, he can be quite adorable at times…
“It’s a blessing,” even while teasing, Ranpo can’t help himself from providing the explanation, despite Poe clearly knowing already. “In western culture, people offer one when someone is suffering with sternutations.”
“Y- yeah I know-”
“Seeing as you’re fluent in English, and originally from America, I thought it appropriate to partake in the culture you’d be more familiar with,” Ranpo lowers his voice, eyes meeting Poe’s in a gaze that almost feels too personal. There’s a slight water beginning to run down Poe’s cheeks, and Ranpo decides not to think too much into that, problems for another day.
“Thank you, Ranpo-kun,” Poe begins, turning away for a minute with a hushed noise.
Well that won’t do. “Speak up, I can’t understand you when you’re muttering. It’s like trying to interpretare Karl’s noises.”
The flush deepens as the floor seems to grow in interest rapidly to Poe. “I- it just… sometimes… well uh so just… sometimes it gets hard to not be speaking in… my language. Especially when the words are already… a little fuzzy.”
“From the fever,” Ranpo finishes, ignoring the pleas of ‘no’ and ‘I’m fine’ that burst almost as rapidly as the previous fits. There’s a beat of silence, Poe leaning back against Ranpo as his knees begin to shake again, Ranpo trying to ignore the way… holding him up feels, almost protective.
“I guess we do speak in my language most of the time, don’t we?”
Poe doesn’t meet his eye, instead ducking into his wrist with another stifle, this time it slips through his defenses. “eh’gnxtieww-!”
Letting his voice blow warm air against Poe’s ear, Ranpo begins to speak again. His accent is flawed, and the words are rough around the edges, but the sentence is grammatically perfect English.
“Bless you, Edgar. Let’s get you home.”
There’s a sharp inhale in reply, though if it’s from the English or another sneeze is anyone's guess. Pulling him closer, Ranpo continues back to the car, without a coat he’s starting to freeze out here, both detectives being sick isn’t gonna help anyone.
A noise breaks the silence after a few minutes. It’s soft, Poe’s accent dulled by the familiar American tones. “Thank you, Ranpo.”
~~~ Walls ~~~
As the car door closes, both detectives breathe a sigh of relief. As always, Ranpo’s foresight was excellent, leaving the car running so the backseat was warmed. Poe still shivers violently, Ranpo sighing as the shuddering devolves back into another silent fit. Each jerking motion is followed by a wince, his sinuses clearly upset at the abuse.
Regardless, pressing the issue further is sure to lead to more denials, so Ranpo lets it go, however obvious the infliction may be. Almost insulting at this point to act like it’s not noticeable.
“I called Kunikida to pick us up, since I can’t drive us home, and…” Ranpo leaves ‘you’re in no state’ unsaid. “Though I suspect he’ll be sending Tanizaki in his place. His schedule doesn’t allow for such early morning adventures.”
“Genius as always, Ranpo-kun,” Poe replies, doubling over into his lap as the words bring another set of coughs along for the ride. Ranpo can’t help flinching at the noises, which… of course Poe noticed, and pulled away.
“Hey,” Ranpo says, softening his voice. “That doesn’t sound too good. Should I call Kunikida back and ask him to bring some Esutakku Eve Fine?”
Poe chuckles lightly in response, rewarded with another harshly stifled sneeze for his efforts. “eh’gznnxch-! Despide livig here for years dnow, I’b still dot caughdt up with medicadtions.”
The congestion barely hides the exhaustion starting to lace his words, and he continues to mumble something Ranpo only catches as ‘Quill’ and ‘brand names’.
It wasn’t an answer for ‘should I call Kunikida’, but Ranpo easily deduces that at nearly six am, he wouldn’t be picking up anyways. As these deductions start to fade away, Ranpo feels a weight hit his shoulder. Eyes turn down to find Poe slumped against him.
For a moment, a single moment, all his logic is void, and Ranpo finds himself panicking. Did Poe just faint? The fever was bad, but it shouldn’t have been passing out levels of bad- Maybe calling Kunikida is the right choice after all, or maybe Dazai, he’d actually answer, or mayb Atsu-
The panicked rantings are cut off by congested snores starting to fill the silent air. Logic takes its seat back at the forefront of his mind as Ranpo feels his breathing slow to normal. He’s just sleeping. Given how sick he is, and the events of last night, that makes complete sense.
Gently lifting his arm, Ranpo watches Poe curl closer to his chest, a slight hum breaking free from his chapped lips. In this moment, this quiet peace, Ranpo finds himself bathing in the beauty radiating from the heat-kissed detective in his arms.
As light peeks in through the glass, the warm colours wash over Poe’s delicate features, gliding across his fever-stained cheeks. A feeling starts to form in Ranpo’s mind, one that jumps down into his gut. All the deduction in the world wouldn’t be enough to pinpoint this feeling, and none was even tried.
Ranpo feels his breath catch as Poe stirs, reaches a hand up, and stifles into his wrist. A slight wisp of air escapes, “en’chh-!” not as silent as before, yet still nothing at all like a real sneeze. As he curls back in, the snoring beginning anew, Ranpo finds himself grappling with a new fact.
He wants to see Poe let them out.
Stifling even in his sleep, it’s just… it’s so controlled, and so careful, and so nervous, and- Ranpo just wants to see it set free. To watch Poe let it go, and completely open up.
Careful not to wake him, feeling his heartbeat in his throat, Ranpo angles himself so Poe’s head is resting in his lap, and sets to work. He gently traces the bridge of Poe’s nose with his finger, pressing at the tip. He can feel it pulse at the touch, a quiver running through his nostrils that spreads down Ranpo’s entire body in response.
Still, despite the irritation, it doesn’t seem to be enough. So, reaching into his pocket, Ranpo pulls out a tissue he’d left there days earlier. Unused, of course, though it wouldn’t stay that way for long. Despite knowing the procedure, he’d never performed the action before.
Ranpo felt his hands tremble as he twisted a corner into a point, running it along his hand to test. It’s soft, leaving sensations not unlike a tickle along his skin. This should be ideal. Glancing over towards Poe, Ranpo finds his heartbeat speeding up, his breaths coming shallow and fast.
His hand reaches down, sliding the tool into its intended target. He twirls it around a few times, dragging it up and down each inch of skin inside Poe’s nose. Ranpo watches how his face contorts with irritation. Noting what spots make his nostrils flare, and how if he drags it across certain areas Poe’s breath with catch.
Using this to guide the instrument, Ranpo swirls it deeper, delight filling his lungs as a twitch runs through Poe’s body, spreading from his nose down through his back into his hands. Finally he gives the tissue a sharp twist, and Poe’s entire nose quivers in response. There, finally found the spot.
Gently guiding it back and forth, eliciting breathy hums, Ranpo watches the sheen begin to form on the rims of Poe’s nostrils, the tip of his nose scrunching, lashes fluttering despite his eyes remaining closed. After what feels like a lifetime, there’s a final shaky inhale.
“hh’ekshhhiee-!” The sneeze breaks free, unrestrained but soft. There’s a tired edge to it, the breathless sound matching the way Ranpo feels his vision beginning to swim.
Conscious, but not quite awake, Poe manages to raise a hand to his face in time to catch the next batch. “hh’izzshhiew-! ah’kezzshhiee-! kzzehshhhiew-!” They’re a touch harsher, his voice starting to fill them out.
Poe’s eyes drag open, just to slam shut again as his fingers begin to tighten around his nose. A sudden panic that he can’t quite explain fills Ranpo’s throat, his words starting to fall out rough and scattered. He grabs Poe’s wrist, light yet firm, and meets the confused gaze with a gentle one of his own.
“Don’t stifle them.”
Gasping in response, Poe manages to nod, before ducking into his hands with the first real fit he’s had since Ranpo rescued him and this god-awful cold he’s brought with him.
“Bless you, Poe-kun,” Ranpo murmurs, captivated by the display.
“Tha… thagk- hH’ENZShhiew-!” Poe manages to pause long enough to let out a sniffle, rubbing his nose frantically as his eyes cloud over again. “Oh, sguse mbe- ah’TNZSHhiehh-! hh’INGZShh’iew-!”
Another blessing slips off Ranpo’s tongue, as naturally as breathing, despite the rarity of such customs in his world. Poe doesn’t seem to notice this one, too caught in the whirlwind of hitching and sneezing. His sinuses seem the type to ‘resent and remember’, not forgive and forget.
“ah’tzshhuuee-! Oh Christ- ahhh… heH- knZESHhiew-! hh’eNGZSH’diew-! hH- guhhh…” Finally seeming to get a break, Poe turns to Ranpo, the tips of his ears starting to adopt that beautiful pink sheen.
Wiping the tears from his eyes, he speaks up, voice still holding that breathless sound that follows a sneeze. “Was there a purpose to that, Ranpo-kun?”
For one of the first times that he can remember, in his entire life, Ranpo finds himself speechless. There’s no answer. There’s no logic to back this choice. It was just… a choice. And… there’s no regret, it felt like the right choice… feels like the right choice.
Before he can stop it, he finds himself starting to speak. “I just… wanted to see you let it go.”
Poe smiles, a gentle sort of look that brings Ranpo’s heartbeat right back into his throat. When Poe begins to speak again, that breathless sound is still there, this time matching the way his nose is shaking. “Well.. if- ihhh… if you wish it so, let it… lehhh… let it be.”
“Are you su-”
“hH’GNZSHhhiew-!” Through his hands, Poe manages to shoot Ranpo an awkward smile. “I dohh… hNZSHhh’diew-! I don’t think I cou… could…. ak’tnESHhziew-! Could stop even if… even…”
He trails off, staring at the roof of the car as his tongue starts to press through his lips. Shallow little breaths sound from his lungs, each one seeming to leave him itchy, but not quite over the edge. Ranpo reaches over and taps his nose, before realizing… why? That wasn’t thought through, there was no reason behind that, but…
Poe lets out a faint moan of relief, raising his hands back to his face. “Thankyou- eH’TIEZZSHH’iee-! ingzshhhiee-! ah’kntzsshuu-!”
“Bless you again. Are-” Ranpo’s cut off by a yelp, nearly jumping out of his skin as a knock on the window has Poe bashing his head on the roof. They both stare towards the source of the noise, jumping again as the front door of the car opens, and Tanizaki climbs into the driver's seat.
“Whoops, didn’t mean to scare you there. Sorry for the wait, Kunikida-san didn’t give me a lot of warning, and I didn’t want to wake Naomi so I had to be careful sneaking out,” Tanizaki offers, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck as matching glares are pointed his way. “I guess I could have given you a little heads up before just knocking on the window…!”
“Maybe a little, yeah,” Ranpo replies, an edge to his voice that he can’t quite place. Why is it there…? At least, until Poe sniffles against his wrist, the fit clearly not over. Oh… that’s why.
“Oh, are you feeling okay?” Tanizaki asks, beginning to start the car. Poe can’t reply, breath stolen by the overwhelming itch that’s not quite ready to let him go.
“hh’kNXGT-! ek’gZNT’chh-! hehh- hH’EZNCHH-!” The stifles are punctuated by harsh gasps, and light moans as each seems to only send the tickle deeper into his sinuses.
Tanizaki opens his mouth to respond, but is quickly cut off as Poe lets out a whine, and the sneezes begin to burst forth, too desperate to be suppressed. “ek’ZIESHHiee-! hh’ENGKZSHh’diuew-! ah’TIEZSHhuu-!”
Poe gasps in between, struggling to get a sentence out as the blush deepens against his pale skin. “I’b- eh’tkzshhiew-! I’b sorry- hH’ENZSHhhiew-!”
Feeling the burning sensation starting to bubble up again, Ranpo bites his tongue, instead pulling Poe into his chest, hiding him from Tanizaki’s line of sight. With a smirk, and barely contained irritation, he offers, “Please drive us home. Poe-kun needs to get to bed.”
“Got it,” Tanizaki replies, the sincerity in his voice starting to dull the simmering feeling in Ranpo’s gut. “Hope you feel better soon!”
Poe manages to stall the coughing long enough to get out a weak “Thangs, eh’ktzshhieu-!” ducking back into Ranpo’s chest.
At a calculated volume, one only Poe will hear, Ranpo speaks up with one last English phrase. “Bless you, Ed. I will care for you.”
With a slight hum, Poe lets his eyes shut once more, the whirr of the car and the soft touch of Ranpo’s embrace guiding him back into a much needed sleep.
Shy partners with the fetish. Easily flustered, blushing caretakers. Maybe their SO’s know about their interests and enjoying indulging them. Maybe they have to reassure them.💜
When a caretaker is sitting with a half asleep/delirious/out of it whumpee and says something like "we need to do something about that fever," and the whumpee mumbling "what fever?" in response... just does something to me. Are they genuinely so out of it they don't know how badly off they are? Have they been so hyped up on adrenaline that when they crash they can hardly tell? Are they just being sarcastic even in their miserable state????
i sat here and thought about reblogging this or not but then i realized how many people feel suicidal, and i have too its not dan and phil but i could honestly care less, bc i rather have someone not die then make sure i strictly stay to my ‘blog type’
Someone trying to sleep, already propped up on multiple pillows, but they're stuffed up so badly that they can't manage to fall asleep. A slightly damp cloth is on their hot forehead, back from when they were able to stand up and walk a little without passing out. Thick sniffles, that sound like someone's drowning, echo through the cold room. In fact, the poor thing feels like they're drowning too. The congestion hasn't let up in days and the gunk in their sinuses feels so thick that they can barely breathe. A gut-wrenching sneeze pulls them forward and shakes their whole body. They let out a whimper as their already sore stomach contracts and their mind sways dizzily. They crawl back under the blankets as fast as they can, but their sluggish limbs get stuck in the blankets. Tears start to run down their face and mix with the snot, as they can't hold back the sobs any longer. They're so, so cold and they feel so ill/unwell and they just want it to stop. The sobs bring harsh, wracking coughs with them, which they try to muffle clumsily in the blanket. They can't stop shivering and their teeth are chattering so hard that they're afraid it might make them fall out.
They think back to how they got here. A week ago this was just a case of the sniffles, some coughs and a small headache. They kept working through it until eventually it became too much to handle and they had collapsed. Managing to crawl into bed, all the while coughing harshly, the shaking started kicking in. Now, a few days later (everything has blurred together so they don't know how long exactly), they feel weak and like they can't breathe properly. They know their fever has risen too much to be healthy, but they just can't muster up the energy to do something about it. Everything hurts, and all they can do is lie there and hope for someone to save them. Their sobs get louder and louder, as the hours swirl by in their feverish haze.
But then, suddenly, there's a soothing voice and a cool hand on their burning forehead. Their wheezing breath catches in their throat. Warm arms are around them in a second, finally, finally making them feel a little bit warmer. They clutch the clothes of their savior, their love, and for the first time in a long time, they don't feel alone.
this weather. your fave is bleary-eyed, half awake, running on caffeine and fumes, as they trudge through unplowed piles of snow. it’s coming down heavy, wind whipping snowflakes into their face which turn sharp with the force of it, half their trek is spent with their eyes shut tight against it. man, this weather. three blocks down they can barely feel their face but are becoming dimly aware of the wetness seeping down their lips; it’s hard to tell what’s snow and what’s mess at this point. but they don’t have a scarf, so they sniffle with a waterlogged noise. they’re so drippy at this point the action burns, like they’ve got straight up water in their nose. the bus stop is only a few blocks away, now, but this weather… they’re shivery and drippy and congested by the time they arrive. the stop is suspiciously empty, and with a creeping feeling of dread they fumble with their phone, trying desperately to see the screen past the sun’s glare and the snowflakes piling atop it from the moment they take it out. they’re starting to think they should have checked that the buses are still running before they left the house. this weather…
yousharknotpass
jacobvanloon
kianamaiart
stormborns
pixelskylines
turnnoffyourmind
snowghoul
