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writing-whump · 3 months

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Sol, from the sickfic prompts, can I have Isaiah + "Can you please come home? I feel really bad…" where he's the one saying this? I wonder how bad things would have to be for him to admit needing others?

Feverish and stubborn

"Are you sure you don't want to come with me?" Matthew asked for the umpteenth time that morning.

Isaiah smiled at his insistence, internally cringing. He wanted Matthew safely gone so he could collapse in peace.

He had been feeling off since morning. Some kind of exhaustion, making him feel heavy to the bones and tired. Truly, he just needed sleep. He slept only a few hours every day, too busy and fascinated by some kind of assignment or homework or getting calls about lost pups, angry pack representative doing this or that. If he didn't get a job, that part of his life would swallow him whole.

Matthew eyed him suspiciously. "The pack is super friendly and they specialize in that human fighting thing without shadows, that you approve so much. They wouldn't mind me bringing you over."

Seline was at her parents during the weekend and Matthew had a guilty look on for leaving Isaiah alone as well, for a boxing meet between wolves. Isaiah was happy for him. Matt was finding his niche, friends through his interests. His confidence would grow from it, Isaiah was sure.

"I'm sure. I have homework to catch up to and I do not mind being alone. I have been living that way for the last 6 years, in fact."

Matthew bit his lip, scanning him one last time. "I'll text you the address in case you change your mind."

Isaiah rolled his eyes. "Shoo. Go already."

Matthew grinned sheepishly, threw his bag over his shoulder and left.

Finally.

Isaiah dropped the happy mask at once, sitting down on the couch. He just felt so tired. Huddling into the blanket where he sat, not pressed to go hide in his room or pretend to function at 8 am, he lied down right there, quickly asleep.

***

Isaiah woke up 3 hours later to violent shivers through his body. He was freaking freezing. His hands and legs were frozen solid, he was trembling under the blanket. Even his nose was stinging from the cold. Did he leave the windows open or something?

He wiggled his head towards the clock and the windows and the balcony but everything was shut. Maybe he should get under the covers, they were thicker, but the idea of leaving the little warmth he had under the blanket made him curl up into it.

He would need to make a run for it, but he needed to gather his strength first.

It was only after that ridiculous thought that it struck him he must be feverish. The only logical explanation.

He shivered some more, mentally playing the short walk to his bed for five times, before finally standing up. Blanket still around his shoulders, he wanted to dash to the bedroom, except his bones felt like someone filled them with broken glass. He felt fragile, unsteady, like he was about to bend over and collapse on his feet. Ow.

Finding his slippers, he made his way to the bathroom instead, taking the big bathrobe against the cold. He leaned against the sink, daring a peek at himself.

Yeah. He was pasty white, giant circles under his eyes like he didn't sleep for weeks instead of the last few hours, and he sweated through his shirt, although he was still shivering.

He was also feeling vaguely nauseous. Not sure if it was from not eating or from the fever or because this flu came with a stomach bonus.

How annoying.

Isaiah felt a little better in the bathrobe, so he devised a plan of not having to get up again for the next two days.

He gathered a jar filled with water, a glass, biscuits, thermometer, some pills and a basin for good measure. He didn't eat much for dinner and nothing for breakfast, he was empty, but his stomach felt tense and sore. Better not risk it.

With his supplies steady on his nightstand, he hunted down thick woolen socks and new PJs. Closing the curtains on the window to not be bothered by the sun, he changed and climbed into his bed with the bathrobe on. No harm done, he would sleep this off.

He took his temperature. 38.4. Yeah, maybe the ibuprofen wouldn't be a bad idea. He took half a biscuit, grimacing at the taste before he took the ibuprofen against the fever and dived under the blankets in relief.

He was shaking until he warmed up the air underneath the covers, but he felt proud of himself for being responsible and sweating this out like an adult.

***

Three more hours later, Isaiah was ready to be better already.

The thermometer showed 39.5 as if the ibuprofen didn't help at all and he was constantly shivering like he was exposed to the Antarctic air.

Not to mention he was starting to feel really nauseous from the fever. His stomach didn't hurt or protest another medication, so he could tell the fever was doing it. The nausea was a slimy presence at the back of his throat, around his teeth and jaw. He took deep breaths against it, shutting his eyes, trying to relax and will himself to sleep.

When he closed them though, all he could see were images of his work as the Executioner or his Father's voice admonishing other pups that wolves didn't get sick. Yeah, getting sick was a luxury. Taking a day off, being able to stay in bed, being able to be so open about it. Isaiah had all the luxury now, so he should be fine. Nothing to complain about.

Other times, his feverish brain made a list of people he would have liked to be here if he dared to call them. Sonny saw him sick from time to time and always knew what to do. Very matter of fact mature presence.

Arnie would probably come if Isaiah asked. Would bring him medicine and worry for him, talk his ear off into sleep so Isaiah wouldn't have to hear his own buzzing thoughts.

Matthew and Seline would come. Matt wouldn't know what to do, but he would be adorable in his efforts. He would probably sit beside him in bed, turn on some Netflix show on their TV in the room and wake him up with exclamations when something funny or angering happened in them.

He dreamed about Seline saying he was okay, keeping track of his temperature and calling him something nice, like darling or sweetheart. The idea made Isaiah sniffle, curling into himself under the covers. How pathetic was he, to imagine something like that?

The fever must be making him delusional. To imagine it would demand his roomates to be here, when he was a completely normal functioning adult who could handle a little fever.

It was a very rude one at that, not wanting to climb under 39.3, even after the second dose of medication.

Isaiah made himself drink some of the water, which made him reach for the basin and gag over it for a cruelly long time, but nothing came up. He curled up around it, breathing harshly as he drifted back to sleep.

***

Next time he woke up to the feeling of liquid in his throat.

Isaiah shot to towards the basin immediately, gagging over it, before a few drop of blood fell on the surface instead.

His nose was bleeding, that's what he could taste at the back of his throat.

Ah damn, he had no paper towels on the night stands. What a stupid thing to forget.

His heart was also beating really fast. Isaiah turned to lie on his back, pinching the bridge of his nose. The nausea was drowning him, his heart thumped painfully against his ribs, the only force left in his body and he was going to make a mess on his sheets with the nosebleed.

For some reason the last part made him want to cry.

He was so glad he was sick with something else but his heart episodes for a change and now the fever might initiate one for him. Or was the nosebleed from the fever?

The more he lied there, the stronger the blood was running, flowing freely down his face and throat. He felt like he was choking on it.

He heaved over the bucket at the taste again, strained over it with no relief for several minutes, face all wet and slimy from the red liquid.

Isaiah slid down from the bed, the basin and covers in his lap. The shivers doubled immediately. He hugged himself, rocking back and forth. He couldn't remember when was the last time he felt so rotten. And if he didn't calm down, he would cause himself a heart episode no less.

Feeling utterly pathetic and ashamed, he reached for his phone, dialing the number he had been craving for the whole day.

Seline picked up on the second ring. "Isaiah, hey!"

Isaiah cringed, the joy in her voice when she said his name squeezing his chest in longing. "H-hey...."

"I was just telling my mom about the theater show we were going to? If we like it, I could get them tickets and next time we could- Isaiah? Is something wrong?"

He could hear voices in the backround, a female and a male and Seline answering something back in Slovak.

"I just..." Isaiah sniffled against the blood clogging his nose, cupping his hand over it to catch some of the mess. "I'm sorry, I..."

"Wait, hold up a sec." The noise of a chair being pushed back as Seline got up and left the kitchen. "Isaiah, talk to me. What's going on? Is everything okay?"

"I'm sorry. C-can you please come home? I feel really bad..." He hated what he was asking. She was an hour away by train, enjoying her weekend with her parents and he was calling for her like a child.

"Oh sweetheart," Seline voice dropped to lowest, sweetest, softest coo. "I'm on my way, okay? Dad will take me to the station, it's 4.30 right now...that means the train at 5.15 should be doable by car...I'll be there at 6.15...Anything I can bring you? What's wrong exactly?"

Isaiah sniffed pitifully. "I don't...I- it's just the fever won't go down and I feel sick and now there is blood everywhere-"

"Blood? What do you mean blood?" She said in alarm.

"'s nothing, just my nose is bleeding for some reason."

"Okay, okay, okay. Everything is going to be fine, you hear? I'll be there as fast as I can."

***

Isaiah woke up on the floor, throat and nose clogged up with dried blood, covers and bathrobe covered in it, shivering and sweaty.

None of that mattered, because he was greeted by the nicest sight he could wish for.

Seline was crouching next to him, jacket half open, frowning in concern.

Isaiah looked at the watch. 5.30 pm. "You made it early," he croaked.

"Dad drove me all the way here. Better than the trains." Seline cupped his cheek with her hand, lifting his face towards her to study him.

"Is he still here? I should-"

"You should nothing," she interrupted sternly. "The nosebleed stopped? Can you get up on the bed?"

"No...I'll make a mess like this." He pointed at his face.

"Is that why you are on the floor? Honey, the sheets can be washed, that's not a reason for you to sleep on the carpet."

Isaiah focused in her voice. She still changed the pet names frequently, like she couldn't settle on her favourite one. He loved it.

Seline's hands on his face felt divine, even though they were way too cold. He shivered under her touch, breath hitching.

"Okay, arm up. We will take your temperature, while I get something to clean you up with, alright?" She put the thermometer under his arm, kissing him on the forehead before leaving.

Isaiah closed his eyes, shivering under the sudden heaviness of her absence.

"Okay, come on, sweetie. Back in the bed." She was really insistent on that, huh?

Seline grabbed his arm and pulled and he followed, standing up and then falling back on the bed with a moan.

"What is it?" Seline sat down next to him with a wet towel and a bunch of those soft paper towels for colds.

"Ugghh. My skin hurts."

"Your skin?"

"Yeah. It's like broken glass all over," he whined.

Seline shook her head. "Your fever is super high, I can tell all the way from here. It's okay. It will pass." She took the towel and started to clean the dried blood on his face.

Isaiah winced at the coldness, but she was so gentle, he couldn't protest.

"I got you all the good stuff. Best rehydration drink ever," she said with a small smile, taking his thermometer, scowling at it without comment, and putting it away.

"I feel nauseous. Not sure I can drink," he said tiredly, closing his eyes. It wasn't his concern anymore. She could decide what he could and couldn't do.

"Just a few spoons, okay? It will really help with the fever. There. Face all clean. It really bled a lot, huh?" Isaiah didn't dare to glance at the ruined towel, but the wet skin left in its wake was stinging with cold. The feeling of cleanness comforted him.

Seline put another, bigger towel soaked in cold water around his forehead and neck. He hissed at the touch, but she took his hand in hers. "I know, I know. But this will help, darling. Please, trust me."

He squeezed her hand back, propped up on the pillows and closed his eyes.

"Open your mouth, sweetie."

Isaiah squinted at her. She really sat there with a mug of transparent liquid in her lap and was offering him a spoon of that salty smelling water.

He sighed but obeyed, letting her spoon feed him four times, before he pressed his lips together as he waited for his stomach's reaction. It sloshed angrily inside him, a cramp making him double over.

Seline's hand was cupping him his face immediately, her lips on his forehead murmuring something into his ear.

He breathed harshly, melting against the contact, then curled up at his side. "No more."

"Okay. That's enough for now. Such a good job. You will be up and about in no time."

Seline put the mug away, patting his face, readjusting the cold towel on his forehead, before standing up.

"Sel?" He whined, afraid she would leave. "Stay? Please?"

"I'm not going anywhere."

She cluttered with some of the things on his bedside table, before switching off the lamp and climbing into the bed beside him.

He shifted closer on his side, and she pressed herself against his back, arm around his chest. He took the hand in his, curling it against his heart like a talisman.

"It's beating really fast," she said softly.

"Hmmm. I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologising?" She said in disbelief, voice going higher with emotion.

Isaiah's throat closed up. "I'm sorry I called, I-"

She lifted herself up to loom over him. "You can always call me. I'm glad you called me." Her voice suddenly grew more heated. "No, in fact, you have to call me, when you feel bad like this. How long has this been going on? Why were you alone and not telling me sooner?"

Isaiah blinked in the dark, taken aback.

"When you get better, I'm gonna kill you, you hear? You feel off or like you are coming down with something, you are supposed to tell me before you black out from a fever with a nosebleed. You tell me immediately. I don't care if I'm on the other side of Europe, I'll come."

Isaiah swallowed, eyes burning, heart somewhere in his throat. "I didn't want to be a both-"

"I forbid you from having such thoughts," she said indignantly. "You are never a bother. You matter to me, Isaiah, do you understand that? When you are hurting in secret, alone, away from me, you are hurting me. You want to let me bleed out by not telling me of the wound?"

Isaiah didn't know what to say to that, eyes wide in the dark.

"You don't have to toughen it out," she said more gently, palm on his cheek, caressing it with one finger. "Let me take care of you. It's the least you can do, when part of me is hurting there with you."

Isaiah took in a shaky breath, chest hurting from her words. It hurt, it hurt to face such proclamations, such absolute belief they were true. "You are so bossy," he said, voice wavering on a sob.

Seline pressed herself closer to him still, spooning him, tangling their legs together. "Shhhhh. Yeah. You better get used to it."

#sickfic #whump writing #feverish #fever #fever whump #my writing #werewolf wip #thank you so much for the idea :D #Isaiah

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faux-ecrivain · 5 months

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Yan Emperor

(Twelfth Official Post)

(Duke’s name is Isaiah Hartfeld)

(This one might be a bit muddled, but I tried my best.)

(Emperor’s name is Adonis Margold)

(this one focuses on the Emperor, part two should focus on the Duke)

The Duke, Isaiah Hartfeld, was well known for being a promiscuous womanizer and he often caused an uproar in society. Which is what prompted the Emperor to marry Isaiah off to someone that would whip him into shape, you. You were a well known person throughout all social circles, you were the head of you family and you didn’t let anyone push you around. Of course, when the emperor first proposed such an idea you immediately shut it down. You didn’t explain why, but you did say that nothing in this world would ever make you change your mind. So, he decides to offer you something out of this world, something only he can give you.

The Emperor greets you as you enter the throne room, a sly smile on his tanned face. “Ah, Good Morrow, my dear friend, how are you this lovely evening?” He descends from his throne, his boots click against the marble floor. He holds a gloves hand out and waits for you the greet him, you reluctantly grab hold of his hand with one of your own gloved hands. (Gloves are very popular around here) You place a respectful kiss on his knuckles (which, of course, causes the Emperor to smile) and then let go of his hand (which causes the emperor’s smile to fall).

“I am doing no better than any other day, why did you call me here, Your majesty?” You respond with an air of formality and familiarity. The Emperor frowns, finding your formality unnecessary. “Come now, my dear subject, formality is not necessary. We’re practically family!” He says with a grin on his face and wink of his eyes, you, however, are confused. But you just nod your head and let him say what he wants. He waits for your response, but his joy diminishes with each second of silence.

He clears his throat and pats your shoulders. “I see you’re in no mood for small talk, so I suppose I should just get to the point.” He forces a smile on his face and places his hands on your shoulders, he chooses to ignore the way you lean away from him. “I’ve decided that you shall marry Duke Hartfeld.” Your eyes widen and you’re about to disagree when the Emperor interrupts you. “Ah, Ah, Ah, I already know what you’re about to say, but trust me, you do not want to reject this deal.” He leads you to a nearby chair, which seems to have been placed just for you, and sits you down. He kneels, on one knee, in front of you. “Your majesty! What are you doing?!” You exclaim, finding his behavior strange. He brushes off your worries and continues speaking.

“Listen, [Y/N], I know you aren’t from this country and I know you want to go home. So, if you marry the Duke and straighten him up, then I’ll take you home.” Your expression shifts from disbelief to doubt, how would the Emperor send you home, and how does he know you aren’t from here? Unless, by home, he means returning you to your country. Which would make more sense, because you were a prisoner of war when you first came to this country. Now, you’re a high ranking general and commanding an army, you can’t help but be proud of yourself. “What on Ilasatra do you mean?” (Ilasatra is the equivalent of earth in this world.) You ask him, a frown developing on your face.

The Emperor smirks and brushes your hair back, then he stands up and begins to circle your chair. He stands behind you and leans his head down to whisper into your ears. “You know exactly what I mean.” He purrs, placing his hand on your shoulder and caressing it, which causes you to lean away from him. He touches you far too much, it makes you very uncomfortable. Your breath catches in your throat and you can’t help the hope that claws its way to your heart. “You can send me home?” You mutter, turning to face him and your gaze catch his. There’s such a hopeful look in your eyes, he smirks, it amuses him and then his eyes are caught by your lips. Oh, how he wishes to love you, but you would be of better use whipping the Duke into shape.

He clears his throat and drags his gaze away from yours, he resumes his previous action of circling your chair. His hand trails down your arm and causes goose bumps on your skin (because you’re uncomfortable). “Yes, I could get you home, but only if you do something for me first.” His tone is quite mysterious, he seems to know something you don’t. “It will be worth it, I promise.” His hand entangles itself with yours, you pull away and he reluctantly lets you go.

You contemplate his words, your brows furrowed and you wipe your hand on your coat (which, of course, causes him to chuckle). You hesitantly agree, knowing that making a deal with the emperor is a bad idea. “Very well then, Your Majesty, I trust you.” His heart flutters when you admit to trusting him, he didn’t know those words could have such a pleasant affect on him. He smiles and yanks you out of your chair, he then places both his hands on your shoulders. “That’s wonderful, [Y/N], I knew you wouldn’t let me down.” He traps you in a tight hug, despite how uncomfortable it makes you (and it makes you very uncomfortable).

You struggle somewhat to escape his grip, eventually giving up and letting him hold you as long as he wished. He sighs, his mind awash with loving images of you and him together. He knows it will never happen, but he surely can dream about it. You’re pretty sure he was sniffing your hair and that was your sign to escape the hug, so you stepped on his foot and then backed away from him. His pained groans are muffled by his hand and he tries not to scream, he forgot how sharp your boots were. “Ah, my dear, that was quite rude of you, but I’ll forgive you, just don’t do it again.” He warns you with a rather playful tone, even waggles his finger at you, but the threat is real. You frown and shuffle away from him.

He tsks and drags you back to him, although he does have to fight as you dig your heels into the marble flooring. “Come now, dear, I won’t hurt you. Don’t you want to know what I need from you?” His smile tightens as he struggles, he didn’t expect you to be so strong. He chuckles nervously, he even sweats a bit (which irritates him because he absolutely despises sweating). He lets go of you, causing you to stumble back yet you retain your balance. “Okay, you just stay there and I’ll explain the deal to you, alright?” You nod your head and he claps his hands together. His smile grows and his tone shifts from agitated to cheery. “Wonderful! My dear, do you know who Duke Hartfeld is?” You nod again, then verbally respond. “Yes, I’ve heard rumors about him.”

Actually, you’ve heard many rumors, all of them attest to his hedonistic lifestyle. You don’t like him very much, you absolutely despise him. The Emperor smiles again, he smiles a lot, and walks towards you. “Great, I want you to marry him-“ You gasp in shock and then interrupt him, because there is no way in Natiscle (Natiscle is the equivalent of hell in this world.) that you’re going to marry that worthless wrench of a man. “Oh, like Natiscle I will marry that man! I wouldn’t marry him if he were the last man on Ilasatra!” You exclaim loudly, the servants in the room startled by your behavior. The Emperor is amused by your response, he chuckles and feels himself growing fonder of you with each word that escapes your mouth.

“Oh, Baiyases, (Baiyas is the equivalent of heaven in this world, so Baiyases is the equivalent of heavens.) now dear, you shouldn’t overreact. He really isn’t all that bad, if you ignore his faults and he won’t be any trouble if you smack him around a bit.” The Emperor does not like the Duke, at all, and neither do you. But you could never smack Duke Hartfeld around, he’s so weak and it’s not like he’s a criminal. “Oh, no, I couldn’t do that. It wouldn’t be right.” She responds causing him to rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Oh, please [Y/N], you’ve dealt with far more reputable enemies than that old Duke.” You cringe when he mentions your past, as a general you’ve had to take down many people and you hate being reminded of that. Also, the Duke Isn’t that old, he’s actually younger than you. Which might explain his promiscuity, they say, that is the noble women say, that young man are very adventurous, and often have trouble committing to a relationship.

You sigh, a frown etching its way onto your face. You look away from the Emperor, which causes you to miss his frown, and then think about his offer. You don’t want to marry that wretched Duke, but the Emperor says he can send you home and you really do want to go home. You sigh again and massage your temple. “Okay, I’ll do it, but you have to promise you’ll send me home right after. I don’t want to stay with him any longer than necessary.” You fold your hands together and tug at your gloves. The Emperor smiles once he hears you accept his request and he can’t help but hug you again. “Oh, thank you so much, my dear! All I need you to do is whip him into shape and then you can leave, okay?”

You nod, then wriggle your way out of his hold. This time the Emperor doesn’t frown, he seems happy to have heard you agree to his favor. “How long do I have to be married to him?” You ask, causing him to tilt his head and pretend to think. “Oh, perhaps two or three years. That’s not too long, is it?” You groan, just a week around that Duke is too much. You couldn’t fathom spending two years with him, let alone three. The Emperor chuckles upon seeing your disgusted face, he takes joy in knowing that you despise the Duke just as much as he does. “Is that alright, dear? Surely you could handle two, or three, years with the Duke? After all, you’re a very strong person, the Duke couldn’t be much worse than those on the battlefield, right?”

You frown again once the Emperor brings up your past, he sure likes to do that. You sigh, roll your eyes and cross your arms. “I can’t do two years, but I’ll do one year.” The Emperor tilts his head, amused and intrigued by your behavior. Not many nobles would have the gall to negotiate with the Emperor, that’s why your his favorite subject. “Hm, a year and half.” He says, which causes you to glare at him, then speak again. “No, one year and three months.” The Emperor exhales and his eyes narrow, he’s becoming irritated with your boldness. “A year and two weeks.” He responds, you consider his offer, then nod your head. “Fine, a year and two weeks, but no more.” He smiles, quite happy now that you’ve agreed with him. “Wonderful, oh, I can’t wait for the ceremony!” (Although, he would rather you marry him, but oh well, such is life) He claps his hands together and kisses your cheek, as a way to share his congratulations, but it just made you uncomfortable.

———————————————————————

Bonus Scenes:

You: “Do you really think me strong?” Not many nobles admire your strength, they believe you should fit into a certain mold, and it’s rather frustrating.

The Emperor: He places his hand son your shoulders, a flirtatious smirk on his face. “Why of course, darling! You are so very strong, the strongest person I’ve ever met..” He purrs, his hands trailing down your arms.

You: You puff out your chest upon hearing the Emperor compliment your strength. “Hmph, that’s right, I’m the strongest person around.”

The Emperor: He chuckles, amused by your behavior. He thinks you’re absolutely adorable, he’ll do anything if it means having you next to him.

——————————————

(Hope you enjoyed this fan fiction, this one was a bit longer than most of my other written works. Regardless, I hope you enjoy it and please leave a comment if you want more.)

(This is just part one, it focuses more on the Emperor than the Duke, but don’t worry the Duke will have his turn soon enough!)

(this took hours and days to make, mostly because I procrastinated, but at least it’s done. This is part one, part two will, hopefully, focus on the Duke.)

#yandere oc #my writing #yandere x reader #Twelfth Official Post #yandere emperor x reader #Yandere Emperor x Reader #Enjoys this because it was a struggle #The whole thing messed up the first time I did I this #so for now it’s unedited and it’ll be a bit before I edit it again #If you see any grammatical errors I apologize #that’s all #my oc The Emperor #my oc The Duke #My oc Isaiah Hartfeld #My oc Adonis Margold #I have no idea how to begin part two #Yandere Emperor x General Reader

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