#jjba sickfic

[scanboii]

rough day

giomis , sickfic

word count : 1496

summary : Mista feels like shit and tries to tough it out.

The moment Mista woke up, he knew today would not be a good day. He woke up late, falling out of bed with a groan. He was grateful no one had come barging into his room yet which meant he wasn’t missing much and had time to wallow. He took a quick shower but that proved to be difficult when the room started to spin. And when he went to get dressed, he couldn’t find his favorite hat.

“Number 3,” He mumbled, digging through his laundry. “Help me find my hat, please.” When he decided he had spent too long looking for it, he opted without. Whatever.

A meeting was happening in Giorno’s office, and he felt nervous going in, showing up late. With a nod to the guards at each side of the door, Mista made his way inside. Fugo and Narancia were seated across from Giorno, Bruno standing to the Don’s right. The turtle that Polnareff resided in was sat on the table with Abbacchio close by. It was a little comical.

Mista’s amusement didn’t last long when they all stopped speaking and turned to him. “Sorry I’m late.” He said, trying not to feel too awkward. Giorno was staring at him hard and he squirmed under the gaze.

“Take a seat Mista, we just started.”

The gunman plopped down next to Fugo and sighed. It felt good to sit down. He felt too heavy in his own body, fatigued and sluggish. Mista didn’t get sick very often, something he was a little proud of. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt like this. Terrible. He could barely concentrate on what everyone was saying. Fugo’s elbow had to nudge him from his trance. He glanced over to the strawberry blonde and hummed.

“You look like shit.” Fugo whispered to him.

“Thanks…” He rubbed at his head, glad he couldn’t find his hat now. Was it warm in here? God, he felt so hot.

“No, dude, seriously.” Fugo pressed, a look of concern on his face.

Mista waved him off, murmuring something about being too warm and too tired.

The meeting ended before he knew it and he took his time getting out of his seat. They had a mission to go on now and were leaving soon. The pistols awakened, hovering restlessly over him. Of course, they could tell something was wrong and tried to make it known to him. But Mista ignored them. He knew something was wrong, but he’d never taken a sick day. And now that Giorno was the Boss, he really didn’t want to. He liked Giorno, and he wanted to make him proud. And he wanted to work as hard as he could to impress him.

He could tough it out. He would.

—

The mission turned out to be more than recon when a stand user got involved. Which made Fugo frustrated and Mista down right upset. The high adrenaline of the fight, the constant running, the beating heat of mid summer Italy. It all added up to the worst feeling Mista has experienced in his delirious mind.

Number 5 fretted over him, resting on his shoulder, as he shakily shot a bullet that one of the other pistols maneuvered. Fugo was at his side, they were both crouched behind a dumpster, taking shot after shot. “Do you see anything?” Fugo asked, peering around. There were no movements, which made them both suspicious. “Let’s check it out.” He moved forward, towards the last place he saw the stand user, Mista following behind.

“Be careful, Meesta!” Number 5 prattled.

When they rounded the corner of the building the stand user was hiding behind, the two mafiosos were relieved to see him dead. But something in Mista’s stomach turned, roiling angrily. Spending a large portion of his life in the Mafia, he had gotten used to not reacting so harshly to dead bodies. It was something he saw so often. But with the adrenaline finally crashing and the sight of all the blood and brain matter, it all just felt like coming up.

He jerked harshly, stumbling away from the body and crouched, panting hard. He drooled, pre-vomit saliva flooding his mouth. Mista could hear his Pistols calling his name worriedly and he had half the mind to call them all back but before he could, his stomach cramped violently, and out came whatever he’d eaten last night. He gasped after the first wave, hands shakily gripping his knees. He could hear Fugo talking to him and felt embarrassed being sick in front of him. Mista tried to apologize, throat raw from stomach acid.

A hand came to his back to comfort him, which was a strange sensation coming from Fugo. He leaned back against it, feeling so tired. But his suffering wasn’t done, and he barely had time to prepare himself before another wave of sick hit. It hurt, fuck. The burn, the tension in his body, the cramping in his stomach. He whimpered pathetically, feeling like there was nothing left in his stomach to choke back up. He hoped he was finished.

After a short moment, gathering his bearings, he stood up shakily. When he turned to Fugo, he couldn’t look him in the eye.

“You alright?” Fugo asked awkwardly. When he got an answer, he lead them back to the car. “I’ll handle the debriefing."

—

When they got back to the manor, Mista b-lined for his bathroom. He got to rinse his mouth with some warm water back in the car but he felt in desperate need of a good brushing. After patting his mouth dry, he stumbled out of his room to meet with Fugo and Giorno. He ought to at least be present, right?

Mista was a little shocked that when he stepped foot into the office, Giorno wasn’t scolding him. Perhaps Fugo hadn’t told him anything, which he was grateful for, except well…

“Giooorno,” Number 5 whined. Mista panicked. “Meesta’s sick, Gioorno.”

The gunman groaned, scowling at his own stand. “Number 5.” He said sternly, making the pistol flit around nervously. But Giorno held a hand out for the stand to rest upon.

“Fugo, may I have a moment alone with Mista?” It wasn’t really a question, and Fugo left with a soft pat on Mista’s shoulder. When the door closed, Giorno turned to face him again. “You can sit.”

Feeling too terrible and too anxious to refuse, he sat down in the closest chair. “I’m not that si-” He stopped as the Boss raised his other hand.

“Number 5,” Giorno addressed. The pistol replied readily, not wanting to upset the Don more. Giorno could be scary when he wanted to be. “Please continue.”

The stand looked between the two nervously, saddened to see how defeated his master looked but also remembering how horrible it was to watch him throw up. “Meesta… he had an accident, he was very sick Giorno…” Number 5 rubbed where his tummy would be to show Giorno where it hurt.

The Boss frowned. “Thank you, Number 5, do you think I could speak to Guido?” He asked softly, giving the stand a reassuring smile. Number 5 nodded before disappearing. Giorno leaned heavily onto the front of the desk and regarded Mista carefully, who was restless in his seat. “Are you feeling okay, Mista?” His tone was kind and when Mista looked up at him, he could see worry in the furrow of his brows.

Mista felt like a failure. He could feel childish tears in the corners of his eyes but he would not cry. Not in front of Giorno of all people. “Yes, Boss.” He choked out. But he was feeling wearier by the second. And he was losing time, maybe, because now the Don was kneeling in front of him. A boss shouldn’t do that. He felt terrible.

“Guido, I’m gonna ask again. Please be honest with me.” And Mista could never say no to him. “Are you feeling okay?” After a moment's hesitation, he shook his head, looking down on himself. A soft, gentle hand lifted his chin and he was met with the most stunning eyes. “Please don’t do this again. If you’re not feeling well, you should say so. Something could go wrong if you’re not at your best, and Guido,” God he loved hearing his name come from Giorno’s lips. “I care about you.” Mista’s eyes went glassy again.

Giorno stood back up and grabbed a few papers. He still had a lot of work to do. “C’mon,” He said bossily, moving towards the door. Mista stood erratically and followed Giorno out the door. They were walking down the bedroom halls which confused Mista. And then they stopped at his door. When Giorno caught Mista’s questioning eyes, he smiled, almost mischievously, and shrugged. “I’ll be watching over you. Is that okay?”

And really, he couldn’t say no to Giorno. Though he did hope he wouldn’t throw up again because that would be mortifying.

[bugbytez13]

just going to introduce myself quickly, hi! i’m bug and i’m just lurking here for the moment!

i enjoy whump and sickfics!!

this is not an nsfw or kink blog! i don’t plan on writing anything that pertains to that just so we are all clear!

fandoms i’m into include!

- bungo stray dogs

- jujutsu kaisen

- one piece

- chainsaw man

- mob psycho

- pokemon

- honkai star rail

- jjba

- danganronpa. unfortunately

- probably more i don’t remember

i will write:

- whump (physical, illness, emotional)

- most ships

- platonic ( usually my preferred thing to write about!! )

i won’t write

- anything to do with nsfw (nsfw is allowed to interact but i would prefer no nsfw asks)

- scat ( i know it can be a part of illness and i guess i don’t mind it as. a symptom? but i’m probably not going to write it at all and if for some reason i do it will just be a quick non graphic mention )

- ships that include incest or adult x minor (makes me uncomfortable 😭)

feel free to interact or send me asks about ur favorites! ❤️

that’s all for now!

[adenthemage]

tell me about the works in progress you have

Oh shit thanks for indulging me anon!! I've been super busy with work lately, but has that stopped me from starting new projects? No because i am a foole. So I have a decent bunch of them stacked up atm

Seeing as I am in tmnt hell with no end in sight yet, a majority of it has been centered on fanworks for that! In the art department I have:

-draw the rottmnt gang in your outfits

-just. SO many screenshots I wanna redraw

-animating rottmnt boys as youtubers I think are funny (<- this one is VERY CLOSE to being done, I just have a few segments I'm dragging my feet on. I have the boards I just don't wanna liiiinnnne)

-animation sent to a Thriller remix focusing on the 03 villains. This one is heavily inspired by a PHENOMENAL Jojo animation of which I will be plastering all over the promo for when my version is finished. I don't even watch Jjba (yet) but I am obsessed with that video. Part of me is excited to finish just so I can show more people that video. I am stealing so many techniques from it

-I have a TH storage account full of characters I mean to draw as warmups, but I keep forgetting. They're either set to be sold (and adding art gives them more value) or I just don't have anything for them to do yet and they need a little detail (sometimes drawing helps me flesh out a character's personality and backstory, by way of it reflecting in their design)

-Another TOH six fanarts! The video of me speeddrawing the first one went viral on both Youtube and Tiktok, so I had plenty of character requests to fulfill. I've decided on the ones I want to do, but it's been hard getting motivated to work on it-- presumably because I've moved fixations and brain gets very mad when I think about anything else

On the writing side, I've found myself being a bit more engaged with a little community that's made up of a lot of talented fic writers! I've never had the skill or motivation to finish a fic, but recently I've been trying my hand at fixing that, largely because of their influence. I have a few I'm considering polishing and one I'm nearly ready to actually post!!

-Fire and Stones is, I guess a character study, and the one I'm hoping to post very soon. It examines Agent Bishop in phases of life that aren't really represented in the show, with an emphasis on his odd relationship with death and all the different ways he's experienced it (as in every conceivable way except actually dying, himself.) I'm a little iffy on the first chapter because it takes place so early on, there are no canon characters even alive to interact with. I worry it won't be as fun or engaging as the next two, of which I'm actually pretty happy with! (This is rare as I am a very opinionated mfer and my own work is not immune to my strong need to critique.) I guess I'm just overthinking it because I intend to post it publicly and I'm a little nervous about it. I've never shared any of my fanfiction before!

-a new piece that spawned from Fire and Stones is a "sickfic" that begins hitting the usual fluffy beats with a hint of strangeness, and then quickly devolves into angst and political drama as the sick character in question becomes sure they were actually poisoned and this is an attempted assassination. It will be fun, if I can manage to stick with such a long pace.

-There is also a fic set in the 2012 tmnt universe, heavily inspired by another fic out there where Donnie and Mikey run away and start their own life and begin to heal. I absolutely adored it, and after discussing it with a buddy we were like 'what if they hid out in EPF with Bishop lol' and then it spiraled into a found family drama hoorayyyyy. Most of what I have so far is just waxing poetic about utrom Bishop, though, because I like him and am apparently allergic to writing povs in anyone else's voice.

-ok so. Confession time. I like Rick and Morty. During one of the season finales a villain gives Morty the option to join him and escape Rick forever, and genuinely I feel it is ooc that Morty did not take them up on it, because they were RIGHT. Anyway I have the beginning of a canon divergence fic where he does accept the offer. I actually really like what I have so far! It's just one scene, but at the very least I might try finish the one setup chapter. I might never do more, but I really like what I do have and wouldn't mind showing it off.

-I have a little self-indulgent story about Naruto OCs learning the basics in genin training. I have one scene done but it kinda tapered off in the next rip

I love all my projects but I am always so tired from work I just end up not working on them. But I hope I can have some cool stuff to show sooner rather than later! May it bring someone joy

[secretsickysideblog]

putting it lightly

'“m’not drunk,” abbacchio groans, rolling over.

bucciarati laughs, a bitter sound, and shakes his head in pure exasperation. “yes. alright. i am so glad you did not decide to pursue a career in acting.”'

after a day spent searching for his awol teammate, bucciarati comes home to find that abbacchio had been peacefully asleep on his sofa all along.

(sicktember day 6, alternate prompt: asleep on the couch)

read under the cut!

Bucciarati is, put lightly, seething.

There’s this rage he hasn’t felt in a long time bubbling in the pit of his stomach, and although it’s the type that stems purely from concern, his blood is undeniably boiling. Because upon stepping into the front door of his apartment, Bucciarati is greeted with the sight of a familiar someone asleep on his couch--the same someone who has been AWOL all day, refusing to pick up the phone.

Bucciarati considers himself to be a rather patient man on the best of days and relatively tolerant even on those days that are not so great. And he is--he tries to be--as understanding as possible. So normally, if this were any other day, if he had gotten so much as a text confirming that Abbacchio was alive, Bucciarati would be fine with this. Mildly annoyed, but mostly in the sense of preferring to know when things were wrong with the people he holds dear before the problem rears its ugly head and less from the standpoint of work.

But Leone Abbacchio has been dead on air all day long. Bucciarati had gone through the other man’s apartment twice, and, accompanied by Fugo himself, they’d checked the youngest’s apartment all the same as if Abbacchio would have any reason at all to be there. Internally, Bucciarati slaps himself in the face for not considering that Abbacchio would have wandered here--but really, what reason would Abbacchio have to be here while vehemently ignoring any attempts to get into contact with him?

Bucciarati sucks a long inhale in through his teeth. It won’t do him any good to yell right now; for all he knows, the man passed out before him might be too far gone to comprehend a word he says, and Bucciarati would rather not strain his vocal chords for a reason so pointless as yelling to what may as well be a wall.

“Leone,” he calls, and the man doesn’t stir. He tries again with a little more fervor. No response.

A cold feeling manifests in Bucciarati’s veins as the consideration that, maybe, Abbacchio had trudged his way here to die pops up in his head. Maybe Abbacchio came all the way here because he knew it was the end, or because he had opted for the end, and maybe Bucciarati should be calling an ambulance right about now and he looks awfully similar to--

Bucciarati squeezes his eyes shut and shakes that train of thought away. The only way to know whether or not any of that was true would be to approach him, and if it were, Bucciarati would just have to deal with it. He’s come to be an expert at just dealing with things over the course of his eighteen years and change. With a tumultuous mix of rage and fear turning his stomach, Bucciarati approaches the couch, and he watches for a moment until he spots Abbacchio’s chest rise and fall once.

Good. He’s alive.

And with absolutely no sympathy, Bucciarati gives Abbacchio a firm shake by the shoulder to jostle him out of what Bucciarati assumes to be an alcohol-induced stupor--the flush across his defined cheekbones says all he needs to know. Except when Abbacchio blinks his eyes open with a groan, they’re glazed over and hazy in an unfamiliar way; when that golden gaze locks onto Bucciarati, it appears to lock onto something behind him. Within him, even. Through him.

“What in the hell are you doing here, Abbacchio?”

Abbacchio’s expression turns confused and quickly contorts into something that looks rather pained. Bucciarati keeps himself firm, even though something in him wants to ask ‘what hurts?’ Perhaps it’s a selfish act, to be angry, but Abbacchio has been sober for nearly a month now and Bucciarati sees no good reason to be ruining that. Abbacchio is guilty until proven innocent.

When he speaks, much to Bucciarati’s surprise, his breath smells like mint-- shockingly, mint and a hint of sleep and not at all alcohol. Not even coffee, which has served as Abbacchio’s replacement vice, in a sense. (It gives him something to refine taste in. Something to be picky about, a type of fill-in high.)

“Your door...it was unlocked,” is what Abbacchio says, and it’s slurred, but not in the way that he slurs when he’s wasted. It’s slurred in a manner that’s groggier than anything else.

“It’s always unlocked,” Bucciarati snaps. That was not the answer he was looking for, because that’s common sense. His door is always unlocked for the two subordinates he’s recruited that might need something at an ungodly hour, Abbacchio being a frequent visitor just after midnight.

Abbacchio hums, and his eyes close again as if he’s struggling to keep them open.

“Abbacchio,” Bucciarati gives him a quick pat on the cheek to get his attention back. “Don’t pass out on me again. I want an explanation.”

Dual-colored eyes reappear. Abbacchio says nothing more.

“Leone Abbacchio, why the hell did you decide to fuck up now? It’s been nearly a month and you haven’t come close to a relapse since three weeks ago! Not to mention, you have avoided me all day, only to end up here? What if you had been dying? I thought you had crawled your sorry ass over here to die on my couch,” Bucciarati growls, tone undoubtedly dripping with poison, and yet some aftertaste of it is sweet. Vaguely sweet. Because he isn’t really angry. He’s worried, as is often the case.

“M’not drunk,” Abbacchio groans, rolling over.

Bucciarati laughs, a bitter sound, and shakes his head in pure exasperation. “Yes. Alright. I am so glad you did not decide to pursue a career in acting.”

“I mean it,” Abbacchio’s voice comes out muffled by the navy throw pillow he has his face buried in, and yet there’s a distinctive whining quality to it. He doesn’t sound drunk--he sounds off. It’s disconcerting, because Bucciarati’s only assumption is that he’s more inebriated than he’s ever had the displeasure of seeing him before, and yet that wouldn’t make sense because the first night they met Abbacchio had a foot and a half well in the grave and a heel slipping downward.

Flushed cheeks, glazed-over eyes, and this slurring, whining tone. A clear dislike for the light in his eyes, as shown by the way he’s burying his face in a pillow, and he’d managed to get out of bed and brush his teeth but he’d opted against coffee. Bucciarati looks over his clues, looks over the sight before him, and tries to connect the pictures with a piece of logical twine. All at once, it comes together, and that burning rage within him is ignited by a cold wash of guilt.

He must be sick.

Bucciarati presses the back of his hand to Abbacchio’s cheek, and then to his forehead, and the heat radiating off of his pale face (paler than usual, somehow, and devoid of makeup) confirms it. For the second time in the past ten minutes, Bucciarati mentally slaps himself, and then again for good measure. As ample punishment, he decides to give himself an internal kick to the shin, too.

He exhales a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding, the high-strung tension in his body melting into a puddle at his feet. Sick, he can handle. He can handle sickness just fine, actually. He crouches down beside the sofa and nudges Abbacchio’s shoulder with more care this time, gently prodding for his attention for just a moment longer. Bucciarati knows from experience that sleeping on this couch is comfortable, but not nearly as pleasant as a bed, especially not on lead-limbs and fever pains.

“Come on,” all of the venom has drained away from his voice, and so has a good half of the volume, “let’s get you to bed, alright? This couch is cheap. It won’t do any good for your back.”

Abbacchio takes a long while to respond to the suggestion, but eventually, he sits himself upright and manages to force himself up onto his feet. He sways a bit, and Bucciarati prepares himself to catch him if he goes down even if he has more muscle in his left bicep than Bucciarati has in his entire body. Maybe it’s the sentiment--if he goes down, at least he wouldn’t go down alone.

It takes a couple of pauses for Abbacchio to lean against the wall and take a breather (and there’s a moment where even more color drains from his face, and Bucciarati just about unzips a hole in the floor to avoid having to clean vomit off of the hardwood). Ultimately, though, they make it to the bedroom. Bucciarati makes sure Abbacchio is settled. He slips off the other’s shoes, which must have been unpleasant to fall asleep in, and sets them by the bedroom door.

“Do you need anything?” Bucciarati asks, and Abbacchio shakes his head. “Another blanket? I’m getting you water, and that isn’t up for debate.”

His answer comes in the form of complete stillness. Quiet. And Abbacchio, for someone that must have a rather high fever, seems to be at peace. Bucciarati sighs, looks over his form. Now that he’s certain the other is sleeping and not dead, he wonders if he should address the fear he felt at the notion of losing Abbacchio with himself, because it was a different kind of fear. As though losing him would leave not only a gap in his life, in his heart, but in his being entirely.

He slips off to fill a glass of water, sets it on the bedside table. And he settles into bed on the other side of Abbacchio’s sleeping form, carding fingers through his silky hair as though it’s the most natural gesture in the world. He’s gotten far too used to Abbacchio’s presence in the handful of months they’ve known each other. And maybe it could be chalked up to the closeness they’ve been forced into, or up to the reliance Abbacchio has on him and the feeling of being relied on. Maybe it’s the way Abbacchio looks at him when he’s wasted. Maybe it’s the grateful way he looks at him when he starts sobering up later in the night.

Or perhaps, Bucciarati muses, he might be, lightly put, falling in love.

[yrpreciousmoon]

Just Between Us

Fandom: Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Pairing: Josuke x Okuyasu Rating: G Description: Okuyasu is not sick. Absolutely not. You think a few germs could take him down? Pfffft. AN: A little sickfic drabble requested by the always lovely chococostrawberry~ [x-posted to AO3]

The first sign that something was wrong was when Okuyasu waved goodbye at Josuke’s front steps. By now their after-school routine of collapsing in the Higashikata living room and decompressing by way of snacks, video games, and TV was something Josuke took for granted; he had to do a double-take when his friend turned to continue down the road.

“Hey! You’re not gonna come in?”

“Aah, I’m exhausted, dude. Just gonna go home and crash.”

Josuke pouted. “Ugh, you’re no fun. But fine, this gives me more time to practice on Super Smash Bros. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

Okuyasu’s laugh rang out down the street as he continued on his way. “Whatever. See you tomorrow, bro!”

.

When tomorrow arrived, Okuyasu certainly didn’t look like someone who had taken the night off. Dark circles hung below his eyes, which were devoid of their usual mischievous spark.

“Yeesh,” muttered Josuke, closing his front door behind him, “The hell happened to you?”

“I dunno man, I musta slept wrong or somethin’. My head is killin’ me.”

Josuke noted that his friend’s voice was even more rough than usual. “…Alright, c’mon, if we hurry we can get you a coffee before school.” He elbowed his friend and hustled down the sidewalk.

“Yeah, thanks, dude... that sounds amazing right now.”

.

The caffeine kept Okuyasu alive until their lunch break, at which time Koichi sat across the table from him, grimacing. “Wow, don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like death.”

“Feel like it,” grumbled the other, who let his forehead rest on the table.

Josuke glanced over as he sucked down a milk carton. After a long while, he finally took the gamble and said: “I think you’re sick, bro.”

“Impossible. I never get sick.”

Yep, that was the response Josuke expected.

“Whatever you say, man.” He shrugged. Knew it would be like talking to a brick wall if he suggested taking medicine or heading home early, so why bother? Koichi, on the other hand…

“Seriously, let’s get you to the nurse. Maybe she can–”

“I just gotta eat somethin’. Sneak a nap in during class. I’m fine.”

Koichi and Josuke exchanged glances.

.

At the end of the day, when Okuyasu wasn’t around to meet them in front of the school, they shared a knowing look once more.

Koichi sighed. “He went home early but he still won’t admit he’s sick, will he?”

“Nope. Never.”

“I’m worried about him. He looked really bad at lunch.”

Josuke simply looked out into the distance. “Don't. Okuyasu’s a tough guy. He’ll be alright. C’mon, you wanna come over and play video games?”

.

Koichi begrudgingly granted Josuke only a few rounds of Mario Kart before insisting that he had to go. Tomoko had even offered him supper, which he'd politely refused; but just as well, Josuke easily wolfed down enough for both of them. Afterwards, he'd casually tossed off an excuse about bringing schoolwork over to Okuyasu, then left home without grabbing his bag.

He knocked on the front door of the Nijimura household, got no response. Yeah, that checked out. So without a second thought, he let himself in to run reconnaissance.

It wasn’t long before he came upon Okuyasu sprawled out on the couch, stripped down to his skivvies, one arm hanging off the edge where Stray curled against him.

Josuke knocked softly on the doorframe of the living room. “Hey. You didn’t even make it up the stairs?”

Okuyasu cracked an eye open for just a second. God, he looked miserable. “ ‘m so tired, man...”

Josuke nodded. “Definitely not sick though.”

“Don' get sick,” slurred the other.

“Fair enough.” He looked over at his friend’s TV set. “Mind if I hang out for a bit?”

“Nnn… don’t need ya lookin’ after me, I–”

“Dude, I know, I’m just bored and mom’s watching one of her shows tonight. Let me watch cartoons here for a bit.”

A long pause. A cough, and definitely attempt at stifling it. “…yeh, okay. ‘S good.”

Grinning, Josuke made his way to the couch and sat cross-legged on the floor beside it, one hand reaching out to scratch Stray while the other nabbed the remote. “So, whatcha wanna watch, dude?”

But no reply came; Okuyasu was already back asleep.

.

When Okuyasu came to the next morning, several long, bleary moments passed before the scene around him began to take form and make sense. He knew it had been a fitful night of sweating out his fever, writhing and groaning and… shit, he was pretty sure at one point he had even been crying. But outside of this vague awareness of his own misery, the details of the previous night were beyond him.

What was strange, though, was that he had woken up in his own bed, despite being quite sure that he’d fallen asleep on the couch.

He sat up slowly, stretching all of his tired muscles. The cold pack that had apparently been resting on his forehead fell to the bed with a soft thud. Okuyasu studied the object — not having realized he even owned such a thing — and then turned to scan the room for any evidence of having crawled and thrashed his way to bed in a feverish stupor.

But there was none. The room appeared tidy as ever, perhaps even moreso than usual. In fact, as awareness slowly broke over the shores of his groggy mind, he realized that he had been tucked neatly into his sheets, which was very much not his usual way of sleeping.

 How…? Dad...?

Looking now at the floor beside his bed, Okuyasu’s eyes fell upon three items that he definitely could not have prepared for himself: a glass of water, a small takeout box from Trattoria Trussardi, and a handwritten note.

“Oku -

Your fever broke early this morning, but take the rest of the day off anyway. Don't worry, I'll tell people you're cutting class. The truth will stay between you, me, and Tonio.

Just hurry up and feel better so I can kick your ass at Smash Bros.”

[jojoficsnstuffv2]

fluff prompt 3, Giorno Giovanna

of course :)

Fluff Prompt 3. Love, you're sick. Stay there, I'll take care of you. Character: Giorno Giovanna Non-binary Reader

The don's attention was diverted away from his work at the sound of his partner breaking into a violent coughing fit, a look of slight concern flashing across his features. "Tesoro, are you ok?"

"I-I'm fine.." the enby replied in a croaky, strained voice, their face pale and sickly. Without hesitation Giorno pressed his hand to his partner's forehead, not needing anymore confirmation that they weren't feeling well. Gently he picked (Name) up off the seat they were sat on, carrying them up to their shared bedroom and gently setting them down on the bed.

"Amore, you're sick.." Giorno murmured, pulling the cover over their shaky form and pressing his lips to their burning hot forehead. "Stay there, I'll take care of you." They could only nod softly in response, watching as he left the room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him. It wasn't too long before the blonde man returned with a bowl of soup, some medicine and a cup of water. Setting down the tray on the nightstand he gently lay next to the enby, arms wrapping around them and holding them close, with little regard for whether he got sick.

"Here." Bringing the spoon up to their mouth he gently fed them, being far too weak to do it themself right now. Giorno smiled a bit as he watched them eat, his free hand gently stroking their hair. Usually he'd be more focused on his work but his sick partner was his main priority right now, he loved them too much to just leave them like this. The man was determined to nurse his lover back to health no matter how long it would take him.

"T-Thank you.." Their voice shook as they spoke but they smiled softly nonetheless before breaking out into another coughing fit, the taller mafioso gently rubbing their back as he brought the medicine up to their lips along with the cup of water. He gazed at them with a look of love and concern, he hated seeing them like this. He wasn't too concerned, it didn't seem to be anything serious, but he was still determined to take care of them.

"You're welcome." His soothing voice made them a feel a little better on it's own, his slender fingers gently running through their hair. "Why don't you take a nap? It'll help." They nodded softly in response, cuddling up to Giorno and slowly drifting off to sleep in his arms, murmuring a soft "I love you" before properly falling asleep, the don smiling warmly and gently kissing them on the temple.

"I love you too, caro.."

[sohin-ace]

Kakyoin - Visiting

This is cross-posted from Wattpad and available on AO3.

Enjoy~

Your friend Kakyoin Noriaki has been absent from school for 2 days now and you started to get worried.

You've taken it upon yourself to collect all the homework and write the lessons for him as you knew he was a top student, and decided you'd pay him a visit.

As you walked towards his house you made sure one last time that you had everything ready for him. You nervously knocked on his door, only to be greeted a few moments later by a very beautiful woman.

"Hello, who might you be?" The lady said, her red curls flowing gracefully along her shoulders.

Getting out of your daze, you stuttered, and bowed. "A-ah, yes! Hello, My name is L/N Y/N, I'm your son's classmate, I came to give him his homework and check up on him..."

You blushed a bit in embarassement and nervousness. It felt so weird to meet his parents like that.

"Oh my! What a nice young lady! Thank you for your kind gesture, please come inside." She opened the door wide for you and you thanked her.

"Sorry for intruding..." You muttered as you removed your shoes and a rather familiar deep voice suddenly replied.

"Not at all. You are more than welcomed here, miss. It's nice to see that Noriaki has made such nice friends."

You turned towards the voice and saw a tall charming man walking towards you. He had the same chiseled features and kind eyes as Kakyoin. You greeted him politely as well and his mother commented right after.

"And cute ones too~" She giggled and you blushed at the compliment. "You know, Noriaki... He has always been very shy. We were always scared that he wouldn't make friends." Your eyes softened on them and his father continued.

"Please, take good care of him. He may seem cold, but he just has solid values, he is a kind person."

"O-of course! I'll do everything I can for him! He's very important to me..." You trailed off shyly and the parents shared a knowing look before smiling and the father patted your back.

"Okay, come on now, go join him, he'll be very happy to see you. It's the second door to the right, upstairs."

"Thank you so much! See you later!" You bowed to them and ran up the stairs as the two adults watched you leave.

"I like her."

"How come he never spoke of her? They should get married already!"

"Shhh! Not so fast, honey. Let's tease him a little bit over dinner some times." They snickered to themselves like giddy children.

"...Kakyoin?" You called out as you arrived to his door and knocked softly.

No response. You insisted one more time, but were greeted by silence again. You carefully opened the door and looked around, only to find your friend asleep on his bed.

Your eyes widened a bit as you didn't know what to do. You didn't want to disturb him or wake him up. Should you give the homework to his parents and go? But at the same time you didn't want to bother his nice parents any further.

You decided to stay and closed the door behind you. You looked around his room with curiosity. It was fairly tidy, it was mostly what you would expect to see from the bedroom of a boy like him.

You put your bag down and dragged his desk chair next to his bed and sat down. You looked at him as he was snoring softly, probably struggling to breathe through his nose.

He looked so peaceful and relaxed, his face was flushed red and his hair was disheveled. You gripped his blanket and pulled it up to cover him as his chest was heaving and brimmed with cold sweat.

"Poor him..."

You leaned to rest your head over his stomach and patted him softly over his blanket. You thought you would wait a bit until he wakes up. After some time and before you could doze off, he stirred and huffed a bit, signaling he was waking up.

"Huh...? Who-..." He croaked out softly, his deep voice husky from his throat being sore and dry.

You got up, leaving your hand gently over him and smiled. "Hi, Kakyoin. It's just me!"

He finally recognized you and his expression shifted to tired surprise. "Y/N?"

He tried to sit up to greet you properly but you pushed him back down. "Stay put, Kakyoin. You don't look good at all."

"Y-yeah, I got a nasty case of the flu. Gosh I must look horrible, I wish you wouldn't have seen me in this state..." He looked away while running a hand over his face and hair. "And my hair too..."

"Hey, what are you saying? To be honest I'm surprised. You're still handsome as ever!" His breath hitched and he hid his face under his blanket as you grinned. "And if you saw me when I'm sick you'd be so scared. I look like a zombie!"

You laughed and he chuckled a bit at your joke before it turned into a coughing fit, to which you patted his arm in vain support.

"Aah... But really, thanks for visiting me... I didn't know you knew my address."

"Jotaro has been nice enough to tell me."

He was not surprised, Jotaro had been not so secretly acting like a wingman for a while. "Ah... Of course he did..."

You two stood there in confortable silence before you suddenly perked up, breaking the ice. "... Ah! I almost forgot!"

You started rummaging through your bag, taking out the books and papers you came to give him.

"I brought the homework and lessons that you missed. I'm sorry to talk about school when you're sick but... I didn't want you to fail so I... Ah... I actually took notes in history class instead of sleeping!" You sheepishly admitted with a chuckle and his eyes softened on you.

You were so adorable in his eyes and you always acted to selflessly. It was comforting to see that he could actually count on you at all times and that your friendship was not just an in-school thing.

"Thank you so much, Y/N." He tried, his voice still raucous and quiet. "You can just put everything on my desk, I'll give you a phone call if I have any questions."

"Sure! Okay!" You got up to put everything neatly on his desk. Now that this was dealt with you could either go home or spend more time with your lovely friend.

"Hey, I was thinking of something fun." You started and he hummed in response, rolling to his side on the bed to get a better look at you. "Your parents are sooo sweet! Now I see where you got your looks and kindness from! And you sound just like your father too! And your mom's hair, wow!"

Kakyoin's eyes widened. People have been telling him that he indeed looked a lot like his parents, but it still felt different to hear it from you.

"Really? I guess it's true then." He smiled tiredly and you excitedly continued, all giddy.

"You are like... The perfect mix of both your parents' qualities!"

He blushed even darker than he already was, his heart jumping in his chest as he closed his heavy lids. "You're too cute, Y/N..."

You smiled and suddenly slipped your hand under the blanket to grab his own and pull it out. You gently rubbed your fingers over his warm skin and he sighed delightfully. Your hands were cold but somehow it felt refreshing against his burning fever.

"Say..." You started a bit timidly. "Since I met your parents, can I call you by your first name? It'll be weird if I keep on calling you Kakyoin, just like I call them."

"Of course, Y/N, you didn't have to ask me." He engulfed your own hand with his free one and continued softly. "I have been waiting for a while for you to call me by my given name..."

"I should have known... Sorry." You brought his hand towards your face and laid gentle smootches on his knuckles.

He shuddered at the contact and his heart started hammering in his chest. Your lips were so soft and your kisses were so sugary and precious.

"Yo-...you'll be sick too if you do that, Y/N." He gulped and avoided your eyes, but you only reassured him gently in return.

"Don't worry, I never get sick."

It was bad, so bad that you were toying with his fragile little heart. He had to muster all his self-control to not have Hierophant Green wrap himself all around you and squeeze you like a snake.

You let go of him and proceeded to get up. "I should go and let you rest, now. I can see that your drifting off to sleep."

Oh no, so soon? Part of him really didn't want you to go, but he couldn't deny that he was about to pass out any second now. And your gentle voice and soothing ministrations sure didn't help him stay wide awake.

"Alright... Thank you again for visiting me, Y/N. You truly are special. I already feel better."

You leaned down and brushed some hairs out of his face and he could only gaze at your shiny diamonds of eyes with his half lidded purple ones.

"Noriaki... Sometimes you worry me..." You murmured and delicately ran your thumb over the scars that crossed his eyes, scared to hurt him even though they were long healed. "Please take care of yourself."

You leaned down and kissed his cheek lovingly, craddling his burning face in your hands as his heart fluttered in his chest. He could feel your soft hair cascading over his face and your gentle hands holding him like he was glass.

The proximity alone was sending him reeling and he thanked the heavens that his sinuses were clogged because he knew that if he smelled your delicious scent, he would most likely perish.

You lingered a bit after the kiss and he let himself finally pass out. Falling asleep in your hold was just the best way to fall asleep and, with a final caress from you, you let go and took your bag as quietly as you could before putting his chair back and leaving.

You descended the stairs and the two parents joined you as you were about to put on your shoes.

"Ooh you're leaving already? How was he?" His mother spoke.

"Yes. He's still very tired, I didn't want to dwell on too long and disturb him, or you two."

"It's fine." His father joined in. It still struck you how alike they looked. "Don't hesitate to come back anytime, we'd love to know more about our son's frequentations."

"Of course! Thank you again for letting me in. I'd love to come back if Kak- I mean... If Noriaki is fine with it."

They both looked at each other and smiled at the sudden mention of their son's first name from you. Oh how sweet young love was.

"Take care Y/N-chan."

"Be careful on the way home!" They greeted politely and you waved at them while walking out.

As they closed the door behind you, they tried their best to bite back their giggles.

"This is so adorable! Our son got himself a cute little pearl."

"I bet on 3 children."

"4. And a dog."

Bonus:

"Sooo Nori boy~"

Oh no, thought the teenager. He knew when his father hit him with the 'Nori boy', nothing good could follow from here.

The youngest Kakyoin put his fork down and stared at his father with worry. "...Yes?"

"About that girl, you know~" His father smirked as the young boy gulped. "That Y/N girl from last time. You never mentioned her before? Well I don't think you did, I definitely would have remembered such a cute girlfriend for my son."

The boy flinched at the word and his mother giggled before she followed along to her husband's teasing.

"Why not invite her for dinner? We have so much to say, and she seems to really, really like you~"

"Y-you're mistaken... It's really not like that..." The boy fretted, feeling the temperature rise consequently.

"Look darling, his cheeks are all red!"

"I see that, honey, I see that!"

"PLEASE!"

*Cardi B voice* cORONA VIRUS IT'S GETTING REAL SHIT'S GETTING REAL

[c-c-cherry]

The time has finally come...

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

Was thinking about that one scene in Castle in the Sky when that giant sad sky robot keeps reaching out to Sheeta to help her and protect her but she keeps screaming and telling him to go away because he looks so terrifying...you might want to keep that scene in mind when reading some parts of this chapter.

[rakpolaris]

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Rating: Mature (just for a couple of scenes tho) Relationships: Leone Abbacchio/Bruno Buccellati Characters: Leone Abbacchio, Bruno Buccellati, Narancia Ghirga, Pannacotta Fugo, Guido Mista, Giorno Giovanna, Trish Una Additional Tags: Canon Related, Team Bonding, giomis if you squint, Mutual Pining, Sickfic, bruabba, Masturbation in Shower, Inappropriate Use of Stands (JoJo), a bit of angst provided by Abbacchio, anime compliant, Fluff, mentions of La Squadra Esecuzioni, Sharing a Bed, Spoiler Free for all my anime-onlys, Light-Hearted, mentions of Polpo, Swearing Summary: Bruno is sick and Abbacchio decides to take care of him, hoping to spend some time alone with his Capo and maybe if he gathers enough courage, tell him how he feels.

It’s been decades since I wrote a fic and I don’t use Tumblr that much anymore but I thought I could advertise my fic here, so, yeah, if you like bruabba maybe take a look? ;)

[plagueofsquid]

Hey, so I’m interested in starting a JJBA hurt/comfort, sickfic, and general whump blog, but I know I won’t be able to keep up with requests consistently on my own. Anyone interested in starting one with me?

[agonizedfullmetal]

JOJO'S bizarre adventure fanfiction, Stardust crusaders, 600k, friends to enemies to lovers to enemies then back to square one with the relationship, coffee shop au, backery au, omegaverse au, MHA au, OH MY GOD ARE THOSE THE NINJA TURTLES, sickfic, no comfort only angst, 10 chapters.

Is it worth the read?

is ten chapters long enough? the mha and the jjba themes might not merge right,,,,i’d try tho

[honkytonkdyke]

i was tagged by @roseofbattles, thank you friend ❤️

here is the list of my current wips! there aren’t many at the moment but send me an ask about them if you are interested!

1) in need of a remedy aka riza hawkeye sickfic (fmab)

2) each time we say’s the last time (but we keep hanging on) (fmab)

3) i’m gonna cry writing this i just know it (jjba)

i’m tagging: @hanamuri, @firewoodfigs, and @supernaturallyginger! i hope y’all are having a wonderful weekend, and only play if you want :)

[itgetsbetterproject]

📚 QUEERBOOK 2024 is hereee! We made a book by and for LGBTQ+ youth! 🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈

Last year, we asked LGBTQ+ youth: what's your idea of a "queer utopia?"

Not gonna lie - with more than 150 bills introduced in 35 states in 2023 that aimed to restrict student access to inclusive and diverse books and other library materials, the theme felt pretty radical.

And you DELIVERED. With the help of our Youth Voices (amazing queer youth activists from across the country), we compiled your amazing submissions of poetry, short essays and letters, visual art, photography, and more into Queerbook 2024. Like a yearbook, it captures what queer youth are feeling, going through, and hoping for - right here, right now across the U.S.

It's also no accident that it's the perfect small-ish size to stash in your locker or backpack so you can crack it open any time you're looking for some queer connection. :3

Read some more about the book and grab your own limited-run copy of Queerbook 2024 now here.

[highwaytosickfics]

I have a laundry list of faves my fam. Wdym by part hop like not finish parts or? But anyway, my current fave is Mista from part 5, he is my angel himbo boy and I love him. From other parts I like Okuyasu and Kakyoin haha. What about you owo

I tend to watch parts until the episode before someone I care about dies, so I’ve seen the 1st season of Part 3, some of Part 4 (I’m gonna watch the rest soon but I got distracted), and some of Part 5 (I stopped around episode 19). Haven’t been able to watch Part 2 yet but I know it’s good, and my experience with Part 1 went something like this:

Me: nice show

Dio: *kicks dog*

Me: *turns it off* no

but anyways, I’d have to say that my fav is probably Okuyasu because he’s just...babey!!!! I also really love the found family dynamic of Passione and the bromances in this show are just killer. I should really make some prompts/fics for JJBA, so far I’ve got 1 fic that’s basically just JJBA but cutting out all the death bits, but I haven’t gotten to write any sickfics for it yet. What characters do you want to see scenarios for?

[sinkingwmyships]

JJBA fanfic masterlist

A compilation of all my JJBA stuff! Updated semi-regularly. Links will take you to AO3. Wattpad link (user profile).

Format:

Part/Season

Title (with link)

Rating | Word count | Chapter count

Main relationship(s)/character(s)

“Series this belongs to” | warnings, main tags

Ratings:

G: general audiences

T: teen and up

M: mature

E: explicit

Under the cut because this might get long as heck :’)

Phantom Blood

Cold hands, warm hearts

T | 1,698 | 1/1

Jonathan Joestar/Dio Brando

“multifandom oneshots” | graphic depictions of violence, child abuse, canonical minor character death(s), fluff, hurt/comfort, first meeting AU

Goodnight

T | 1,815 | 1/1

Jonathan Joestar/Dio Brando

domestic violence & child abuse, hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending

Battle Tendency

Nerves

T | 1,866 | 1/1

Caesar Zeppeli/Joseph Joestar

“multifandom oneshots” | fluff without plot

Sleep

G | 1,578 | 1/1

Straizo & Elizabeth Joestar (Lisa Lisa)

“multifandom oneshots” | family fluff, hurt/comfort

Afterparty

E | 2,319 | 1/1

Joseph Joestar/Caesar Zeppeli

nsfw, dom/sub undertones, light bdsm, spanking, begging, semi-public sex, aftercare

Stardust Crusaders

✩ message received ✩

T | 7,163 | 19/?

Kujo Jotaro/Kakyoin Noriaki, minor Muhammad Avdol/Jean Pierre Polnareff

pre-SCD evil!Kakyoin AU, humor, flirting, fluff, eventual angst, slow burn?

French toast

G | 1,616 | 1/1

Muhammad Avdol/Jean Pierre Polnareff

sickfic, (domestic) fluff, comfort no hurt

♥︎ fake-date ♥︎

T | 19,979 | 27/27

Kujo Jotaro/Kakyoin Noriaki

chose not to use warnings, no Stands/normal (highschool) life AU, fake-dating, teenage drama

Ready

E | 873 | 1/1

Kujo Jotaro/Kakyoin Noriaki

semi-nsfw, blowjob, implied/referenced sex

After-hours

E | 4,382 | 2/2

Kujo Jotaro/Kakyoin Noriaki

nsfw, skinny dipping, blowjob, non-penetrative sex, thigh-fucking, shower sex

Deal with the Devil

E | 4,413 | 2/2 + 1 extra chapter

Terence T. D’Arby/Vanilla Ice

dating sim, nsfw, supernatural elements, topping from the bottom, temperature play, nipple play, hand & blowjob, deepthroating

Diamond is Unbreakable

vow

G | 229 | 1/1

Kira Yoshikage (DiU)/Diavolo

angst, hurt barely any comfort

this is what you call a bad night

T | 1,574 | 1/1

Kira Yoshikage (DiU)/Diavolo

graphic depictions of violence, depression, PTSD, angst with happy ending, hurt/comfort

Patience

E | 5,259 | 1/1

Kira Yoshikage (DiU)/Diavolo

nsfw, Kira’s hand fetish, masturbation, orgasm delay/denial, begging, mirror sex, nipple play, aftercare

Remedy

T | 6,968 | 1/1 + 1 extra drabble

Higashikata Josuke (DiU)/Nijimura Okuyasu, Okuyasu & Keicho & their father

“dark side of the moon 🌒” | graphic depictions of violence, implied/referenced child abuse, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, eventual fluff, a bit of mutual pining, werewolf AU

Routine

T | 568 | 1/1

Kujo Jotaro

“mirror-front” | chose not to use warnings, mental health issues, suicide, vent fic

Beloved

T | 378 | 1/1

Kujo Jotaro

“mirror-front” | chose not to use warnings, mental health issues, suicide, vent fic, 2nd POV, positive ending!

Change of pace

E | 2,493 | 1/1

Kira Yoshikage (DiU)/Diavolo

nsfw, cuddlefucking, handjob, cum play, aftercare

Vento Aureo

A morning like any other

T | 962 | 1/1

Bruno Bucciarati/Leone Abbacchio

“multifandom oneshots” | depression, angst with happy ending, hurt/comfort

Ease

T | 1,072 | 1/1

Bruno Bucciarati/Leone Abbacchio

“multifandom oneshots” | fluff, light angst, hurt/comfort (lowkey comfort no hurt)

tastes like strawberries on a summer evening

G | 828 | 1/1

Pannacotta Fugo/Narancia Ghirga, Pannacotta Fugo & Narancia Ghirga

canonical character death, angst, hurt no comfort, grief/mourning

bathrooms, buzzcuts, braids

G | 1,279 | 1/1

Giorno Giovanna & Leone Abbacchio

“abba’s hair salon ✂️” | humor, extremely light angst, family fluff

i’m a bitch and a boss imma shine like gloss

T | 2,525 | 1/1

Trish Una & Leone Abbacchio

“abba’s hair salon ✂️” | humor, light angst, family fluff, hurt/comfort

haircut

T | 2,823 | 1/1

Pannacotta Fugo & Leone Abbacchio

“abba’s hair salon ✂️” | depression, suicidal ideation, (maybe) anxiety, graphic depictions of violence, gore/body horror, angst, hurt/comfort

5 AM

G | 1,143 | 1/1

Squalo/Tiziano

(domestic) fluff, comfort no hurt

blinding lights

M | 5,344 | 2/2

Bruno Bucciarati/Leone Abbacchio

civillian/no mafia AU, humor, fluff, hurt/comfort

presentable

T | 1,378 | 1/1

Narancia Ghirga & Leone Abbacchio

“abba’s hair salon ✂️” | child abuse, canonical minor character death, angst, family fluff, grief/mourning

Rebirth

T | 1,117 | 1/1

Pannacotta Fugo/Giorno Giovanna, Pannacotta Fugo & Giorno Giovanna

“dark side of the moon 🌒” | mild gore & violence, vampire AU, angst with happy ending

Eyes

G | 1,234 | 1/1

Giorno Giovanna/Guido Mista

insecurity, fluff, kinda hurt/comfort

Other

-ˋˏ⋆ low-effort jjba ⋆ˎˊ-

T | 9,286 | 12/?

too many ships so just check the AO3 tags if you wanna know :P

drabble, low-effort/crack, humor, anything from fluff to angst to more

[secretsickysideblog]

dumb lucky

"“you know my favorite color?” bucciarati slurs, brows furrowing. “anyway, it also came in purple, and black, and ivory, so I bought all of them, and uh…” “that’s cute,” bucciarati smiles, and abbacchio nearly dies at the way he looks while smiling unabashedly, weak as it may be right now. “you know my favorite color.”'

a mission takes bucciarati and abbacchio all the way to a town in piedmont where bucciarati finds himself fever-riddled in the midst of a snowstorm. abbacchio finds silver linings.

(sicktember day 1 - fever)

read under the cut!

It’s only tradition for things to go wrong for Passione. 

Well, perhaps that’s a lie--normally, they get dumb lucky. But this means that when things go wrong, they go incredibly wrong in multiple ways at once. It’s only fair for the amount of times the gang has narrowly escaped death by the skin of their teeth. And Abbacchio is grateful that neither he nor Bucciarati are running the risk of death right now; it could be much, much worse.

But this mission could certainly be going much better. After all, Abbacchio never thought he’d be buying fever reducers in a little town in Piedmont, Italy as a part of the job of Neapolitan Mafioso. He hadn’t expected to be led all the way to Piedmont in the first place. 

Easy mission my ass, Giovanna, he laments internally, rolling his eyes as he compares the prices between on and off-brand fever reducers. Abbacchio doesn’t usually bother to buy things like this, but Bucciarati’s fever--yes, a fever that had managed to swell up to a whopping 39 degrees overnight while on a mission--definitely needs to be treated. 

He settles on both bottles, and he grabs a pack of water bottles, too. Abbacchio peruses the shelves, considering what else Bucciarati might need. He’d rather not come trudging out through this snow again if he could help it; it started coming down last night and hasn’t shown any sign of stopping since. He grabs another thermometer, a can of soup, and he’s about to head to the register when he spots something else that catches his eye.

It’s a large blanket in blue--Bucciarati’s favorite shade of blue (not that Abbacchio bothers to remember things like his Capo’s favorite color), and god, does it look soft. His gaze wanders to the window. Snow falls in clumps, kicked up into a white mist by the wind, and Abbacchio could shiver just looking at it. He does shiver thinking about the short walk back to the motel through that storm. 

Abbacchio sighs, runs his fingertips over the inviting fleece. A blanket couldn’t hurt. 

He grabs it and tucks it under the arm without the basket only to spot that there’s another of the same in purple. And another, in ivory? Abbacchio isn’t someone tempted by luxuries, but blankets in the cold seem like a necessity. 

So he picks up both. Because Bucciarati has to sweat out the fever anyway, right? He’s too out of it to be angry, anyway. 

Abbacchio lugs the three heavy blankets and the basket of various other supplies to the register, fishing around in his pocket for his wallet. The cashier looks over his selection as she rings up and bags each object, smiling fondly. 

“Taking good care of someone, I see.”

Abbacchio huffs, lips quirking upward to a ghost of a smile. “Yeah, I guess I am. It’s about time he lets me.” 

“These blankets are on sale, you know. Buy one and the other is half-off,” and, in an expertly-crafted manner of egging him into it, the cashier finishes her sell with, “Everyone loves a good blanket. Perfect to cuddle up under.”

Abbacchio doesn’t anticipate growing the balls to ‘cuddle-up’ with Bucciarati, but something about the idea sways him into it. He stares at the blanket shelf in consideration for a long moment before giving in and grabbing a fourth, this one in black. 

The cashier is, clearly, proud of herself. Abbacchio can’t find it in himself to get as annoyed by this as usual. He did fall for her marketing scheme, after all. Can’t bitch about it if he gave in. 

Altogether, he walks out of the store with five bags slung on his arms, four of which are occupied by heavy fleece and tied off to avoid any of the snowfall. His boots feel like weights as he trudges through planes of muddy white, wrapping his scarf tighter around his neck. His hands are freezing--he wishes he’d bought gloves. 

When he finally returns to the motel room, Bucciarati is curled up on the bed. He looks just about the same as he did when Abbacchio left which is, admittedly, like shit. His hair, lacking its typical braid, fell in uneven layers wherever it wasn’t sticking to sweat-soaked skin. The only real color in his face is across his cheeks in bright, splotchy red, and though his eyes are closed now, they’ve been glazed over all morning. 

Abbacchio shakes his head in disapproval, wondering how Bucciarati managed to just ignore this, because he knows damn well it didn’t just spark overnight. He must’ve been feeling at least vaguely unwell before they’d embarked on this (unexpectedly) lengthy journey. Abbacchio tells himself, as he has every time he starts thinking about how his Capo sucks at self-care, that he’ll just bitch at him about it later; criticizing a sick person is mean, and besides, there’s not enough cognizance in his fever-addled head to comprehend annoyance right now anyway. 

He unties his scarf, shrugs off his coat, and unbags the items on the small coffee table in the room. Bucciarati stirs into half-lucidity, as told by the mix of a groan and a whine that slips from him after a bit of shifting around. Abbacchio looks over to him, seeing his hazy blues blink open, and he immediately grabs the bottle of fever reducers to force down his throat now while he’s just awake enough to swallow and not awake enough to protest.

“Here,” he holds out a bottle of water and two of the pills for Bucciarati to take, which he does after taking a second to process the command. He moves sluggishly, but he manages to get the pills down and put the water bottle on the nightstand. Abbacchio feels his forehead with the back of his hand, frowning at how much he’s burning still.

He goes to pull away. Bucciarati doesn’t let him, grabbing his wrist and holding his hand there.

“What are you doing?”

“Cold,” he mumbles, letting his eyes flutter closed again. “Feels nice.”

Abbacchio opens his mouth, closes it. Thanks the lord above that Bucciarati can’t see the way his cheeks heat up as though he’s contracted a fever. After a moment of hesitance, Abbacchio brings both of his hands up to cup Bucciarati’s cheeks, and the other man sighs contentedly. 

“Well, if it’s cold you want, maybe you should go take a nap in the snow,” Abbacchio jokes.

“Hm,” Bucciarati takes a breath. “Perhaps I should.” 

Abbacchio stares down at Bucciarati. At the way his eyelashes, dark and thick, fan out across his cheeks. At his lips, still pretty and pink and miraculously not very chapped. Even now, sick as a dog, Bucciarati is gorgeous. Abbacchio could watch him forever, he’s sure, but then he realizes how creepy he’s being and abruptly pulls away. Bucciarati’s eyes open with a dejected look to them, and Abbacchio reminds himself that it’s not because it’s his hands, it’s because his hands are cold and Bucciarati is delusional with fever.

“Uh, so, I got you two kinds of fever reducer, and you’re gonna take it whether you like it or not,” Abbacchio starts to say, clearing his throat. Bucciarati hums, half-listening. “I got water. A can of soup, if you get hungry, but since you just woke up I’m sure you’re not yet.”

Bucciarati doesn’t respond, so Abbacchio assumes he’s right. He’ll make him eat something later. 

“And,” Abbacchio unties the other four bags, “I know you’re not looking to get warmer, but fevers have to be sweat out, right? I got blankets. They were on sale.”

Bucciarati almost whines, though it’s quiet, subtle. Abbacchio opts to ignore it, because it does nothing good for his heart. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but look, it’s your favorite color,” Abbacchio holds up the blanket in proud display. Bucciarati looks at it, but it’s clear that he’s not fully seeing it. 

“You know my favorite color?” Bucciarati slurs, brows furrowing.

“Anyway, it also came in purple, and black, and ivory, so I bought all of them, and uh…”

“That’s cute,” Bucciarati smiles, and Abbacchio nearly dies at the way he looks while smiling unabashedly, weak as it may be right now. “You know my favorite color.” 

Abbacchio takes the tags off the plush fabric and chucks it at Bucciarati. Bucciarati, as expected, makes no move to catch it. It takes him a minute to slip the fleece off of his head and onto his lap. This process is repeated four more times as a mountain of plush fabric piles up on the bed--the singular bed, which Abbacchio would be incredibly nervous about if this was a year ago, but they’ve been stuck in the ‘unfortunate’ one-bed scenario too many times for him to care anymore. 

“This is...so many,” Bucciarati murmurs, staring down at the pile. He runs his thumb along the hem of the blue one. “They are soft, though.”

“I don’t know if you can feel how cold it is in here, much less out there,” Abbacchio gestures towards the storm just beyond the windows, “but we needed them. I don’t know how long we’re gonna be stuck here, between your fever and the bastard we’re after.”

Bucciarati nods, absently petting the blankets. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Falling ill,” Bucciarati says it like it’s the most obvious reason to apologize in the world. “We’re stuck here. It’s my fault.”

Abbacchio rolls his eyes. “Stop apologizing for things you can’t control.”

Bucciarati looks like he wants to protest, but then his expression turns confused as if his own thought process doesn’t make sense to him anymore. Abbacchio snorts at the sight and shakes his head before climbing into bed beside the other man and urging him to lay back down.

“I’m all sweaty.”

“I don’t care,” Abbacchio pulls one of the many blankets around them up to his shoulders, and another about halfway above that. He lets Bucciarati kick the others aside. “You’re warm, and I’m cold. I’m finding silver linings.”

Bucciarati chuckles a little. If he were any more coherent, he’d make a joke about Abbacchio’s usual pessimistic cynicism being an act; the latter is almost grateful, at that thought, for the fever. The wind howls outside as the storm picks up. It’s definitely not an ideal situation, but it could be much worse.

Bucciarati turns to nuzzle his face into the crook of Abbacchio’s neck. Tentatively, Abbacchio wraps an arm around him.

Maybe this was just dumb luck in disguise. 

[secretsickysideblog]

made with love

"giorno giovanna’s faced his more-than-fair share of hardships in life, and coming down with a particularly rough cold isn’t exactly one of the worst--far from it.

but these puppy dog eyes mista gives him whenever he asks if there’s anything he can do to help? giorno thinks they might just be the death of him."

mista decides that the best remedy for giorno’s stubborn cold is a bowl of homemade soup. (sicktember day 3, alternate prompt - warm soup)

Giorno Giovanna’s faced his more-than-fair share of hardships in life, and coming down with a particularly rough cold isn’t exactly one of the worst--far from it.

 But these puppy dog eyes Mista gives him whenever he asks if there’s anything he can do to help? Giorno thinks they might just be the death of him. 

 Mista has come into his room offering him assistance about six times today between Giorno’s frequent and fruitless naps in attempts to ease up the suffering.  (Well, maybe suffering is a bit of an exaggeration, but Giorno can’t breathe. Even if it’s not the worst thing he’s faced, it sure is annoying.) The thing is, it’s only about five o’clock in the evening, and Giorno’s spent most of the day asleep.

 Needless to say, Mista is being more than doting. 

 Giorno doesn’t at all blame him; Mista’s just a caring guy, and he probably hates to see Giorno confined to his bed and the few bathroom trips he’s worked up the energy to make just as much as Giorno hates to be in this state. But it’s saddening to see the distraught look in his eyes whenever his sick partner can’t think of any assistance for him to provide. Mista’s a bit too much like a lost puppy right now, and the only thing worse than the heaviness in Giorno’s limbs and persistent congestion is the dreary feeling in his heart at the sight. 

 There’s a sudden knock on the door, and yet somehow, Giorno had expected it fully. The blonde sighs softly, a fond smile tugging at his lips.

 “Yes, Mista?”

 There’s a moment of hesitance before Mista steps in. “How’d you know it would be me?” He jokes, leaning against the doorframe. His smirk turns downwards in a frown as he looks his boyfriend over. Though he, luckily, isn’t too feverish, his skin is ashen and he looks...dull. Disheveled. And while Mista feels privileged to see him at his worst, he hates to see him feeling any less than his best. 

 “Napping didn’t help much, did it?”

 Giorno shakes his head sadly, sniffles thickly. “I’m alright, Mista,” Giorno’s attempt at a reassuring smile is weak, as expected. “Thank you for checking in on me.”

 “Well, of course, I mean--” Mista comes in fully, closing the door behind him. He settles at the foot of the bed, resting a hand on Giorno’s ankle. “I love you, of course I’m gonna check on you. I just wish there was more I could do for you, y’know?”

  I know, Giorno wants to say, believe me, I know.  And beyond that, he wants to say, this is more care than I’ve ever received in my life. But he doesn’t want to sully the atmosphere any further, or make Mista think he’s annoyed by his doting, because he isn’t and he never could be. The man in question stares distantly at the wall for a long moment, seeming to be lost in thought. And then something lights up in his eyes as he faces Giorno again. 

 “I got it! You haven’t eaten yet, so you gotta eat something, and what do sick people like to eat more than soup?” Mista nods to himself, and it’s clear that even if Giorno wanted to protest, there would be no such option. “I’ll make you soup. What kinda soup did your mom make when you were a kid? There’s nothing better than a bowl of homemade soup.” 

 Giorno’s expression falls before he can really process it. He’s never had a bowl of homemade soup, especially not from his mother. How does he communicate that, though? This is the worst time for something like that, anyway. Mista seems so excited about the idea, and Giorno really doesn’t want to take that away from him.

 “--llo? Giorno? Gio, you in there?” 

 “Huh--oh, yes,” Giorno blinks, coming back to the realm of the living. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

 “I asked what kind of soup you usually have when you’re sick, and you went space cadet on me.” 

 “Ah, uhm…” Giorno clears his throat, shifting awkwardly, and suddenly he feels hot. “Well. When I was a child…” 

 Mista watches him expectantly, one eyebrow cocking upwards. 

 “I’ve never had soup when I was sick,” Giorno admits, and his voice is quiet. He reprimands himself internally for how it sounds like he’s gearing up to be punished for it. For feeling vaguely that maybe he will be, because this is Mista,  and Mista would never hurt him.

 Mista’s confusion melts into concern as gears turn in his mind. “You’ve never had soup when you were sick? Nobody made you soup?”

 Giorno shakes his head, looking down at his lap. “No. My mom wasn’t really... home when I was young.” 

 “Aw, Gio,” Mista runs his hand up and down his shin now, almost in an absent gesture. “Y’know what? That’s okay.”

 He stands, and for a moment, Giorno thinks he’s going to walk out with the slight droop to his shoulders that showed up yesterday and hasn’t left since. But then Mista comes around to approach the side of the bed Giorno’s laying on and bends down to slide one arm beneath his knees and the other behind his back, pulling him up into a princess carry. Giorno’s eyes widen as he yelps quietly in surprise, wrapping an arm around Mista’s neck. His other hand grips the fabric of his shirt in fear that he may fall, but he feels much more supported in Mista’s hold than he thought he would, so he ends up letting go. 

 “We’ll make our own recipe. Okay? ‘Cause you gotta eat, and I don’t wanna make something you don’t like.” 

 Before Giorno can say anything about it, Mista’s already out the door and starting down the stairs. He’s slow and careful in his movements, taking each step with both feet to make sure he doesn’t end up dropping Giorno and giving him a concussion on top of a cold--or worse, killing him on impact. Thankfully, they both make it to the bottom safe and sound.

 Mista sets him down in a stool by the kitchen island, disappearing for a moment into the living room and returning with a soft throw blanket from the couch. He drapes it over Giorno’s shoulders; the blonde gratefully wraps it around himself, pulling a knee to his chest. 

 “Alright, what kind of broth do you wanna use?”

 And after a series of questions and taste-tests, a bowl and spoon are set down in front of Giorno. The heat swirls up into steamy mist, and Giorno leans over it, letting the warm air alone bring him a momentary relief. He wraps the blanket around his shoulders tighter, picking up the spoon with his other hand. Mista sits across the island, watching him with this dreamy look in his eyes. They glimmer with excitement and anticipation and pure, utter adoration. Giorno thinks he might melt into soup himself. 

 With a shaky hand, Giorno brings a spoonful of soup to his lips and sips at it. And he’s pleasantly unsurprised, having been here for the entire concocting process, that it tastes amazing. Even beyond taste, oddly enough, he feels this soup is warmer than any dish he’s had before--perhaps, cliché as it is, it’s because it was made with love. 

 “So?”

 “It’s fantastic,” Giorno takes another spoonful, taking his time to savor the heat of it against the sore, rough feeling in his throat. “Thank you, Mista.”

 “Hell yeah, of course! I’m glad I finally did something helpful, doing nothing was frickin’ stressful.” 

 Whether the warmth blooming in his chest is from the soup or from the sparkling satisfaction in Mista’s eyes, Giorno isn’t sure. Quite frankly, he doesn’t care. 

 Because whatever it is, it’s love. And suddenly, Giorno’s certain that the saying of love being the best medicine is true.