Maybe because they’re horribly congested and keep moving around their pillows because elevating their head just the right way is the only thing that can relieve their sinuses. Anytime they sneeze, their sinus pressure shifts and they have to reposition.

Maybe because their nose is incessantly running and tilting their head back at a specific angle is the only way to lie down without a wet spot forming on their pillow.

Maybe because they’re freezing cold or burning up (or both, intermittently) and they keep layering on or kicking off blankets (or clothes…) until they finally pass out.

Maybe because they’re horribly achey and can’t get comfortable because of it, but keep making futile attempts to shift their body around in hopes of finding temporary relief just long enough to fall asleep.

Imagine character A walking in on character B, who has been coming down with something, passed out in bed or on the couch, their head positioned awkwardly on an arrangement of pillows, their arm bent in an uncomfortable-looking angle, another arm or leg dangling off and touching the floor. Tissues are scattered among crumpled layers of blankets, sheets, and discarded of half-worn articles of clothing. In an instant A realizes, oh, they’re like sick sick.

[Do NOT reblog to non snz blogs!!!]

Another list of seasonal prompts! Send these with the name of an OC and I’ll either drabble or sketch about them!

For longer fics, send me a prompt along with some ideas you wanna see :3

🌴 - Vacation

⛈️ - Thunderstorm

🔥 - Fever

🩹 - Small Injury

🌱 - Hayfever

🌼 - Succumbing

🧋 - Date/Outing

⚓️ - Ocean/Seasick

🎬 - Movie

🏕️ - Camping

🌹 - Close/Intimate

🐈 - Pet/Animal

🍳 - Cooking

🚑 - Hospital

🧨 - Can’t sneeze

🗳️ - Custom (send a one-word prompt of your own!)

someone waking up with their partner’s hand on their forehead/cheek/neck

“hey, sleepyhead… you taken anything for that fever?”

they sneeze while shuffling the cards, a fine mist spreading over the deck

they blow their nose into a tissue before distributing chips, a little damp when they reach your hands

It starts with one loud, wet hack, which is quickly followed up by a few weaker coughs, the whole thing topped off with a gasping, rattling breath. Then, it repeats. Some fits are worse than others, some muffled into a sleeve or fist. But they've been a constant echo in the apartment for the last three days.

Theo has very very bad bronchitis. Bad enough he's lost his voice. Completely and totally. It started off as a cold, but being so accustomed to working through any illness he has, he inadvertently worsened it into a sinus infection. Then a chest cold. Then, of course, bronchitis.

At first, Seamus was annoyed he wouldn't just stay in bed. Even though he can't leave the house, he spends all day playing piano in the living room or typing away on his laptop. Seamus can't imagine he's getting much accomplished, but he figured out sometime yesterday that lying in bed only 1, worsens his cough, and 2, is useless, because he's coughing way too much to get any sleep.

As a result, he walks around the house like a ghost - pale and trembling, eyes rimmed in purple.

Seamus has been working from home ever since Theo spiked a fever that wouldn't drop, and in the scheme of things, he hasn't really needed him that much. But Seamus has come home to him on the bathroom floor curled in the fetal position one too many times.

He's taking a zoom meeting on the third floor at the desk that runs their home studio, and even though Theo is two floors below him in the kitchen, he can still hear the echo of his coughing. He's pretty sure the only way he's getting absolute quiet is if he's actually in the recording booth, but he can't be bothered.

One of the women on the call asks if he has a dog.

When the meeting is over he walks downstairs to see Theo struggling to make tea. He's in his same sweats and t shirt from yesterday, both Seamus's. He's the same height as Seamus, but much thinner, so the clothes hang off of him. His hair has already halfway fallen out of the bun Seamus tied up for him, stringy with feverish sweat. He found out this morning that Theo can't lift his arms above his shoulders. His ribs are too sore from coughing. That broke Seamus's heart a little bit.

Seeing his hands shake trying to open a new box of tea breaks it a little more. He keeps having to stop and hack into his elbow.

Seamus walks up behind him and rests his hand on his shoulder, some of his tenseness easing immediately. Theo sighs, breath still rattling, and hands Seamus the box. He opens his mouth to say something, but only manages to get out a few weak coughs.

The violent coughing fits that ensue when congestion gets trapped in someone's chest, irritating their chest as it works its way through their lungs into their throat.

The fit starts with a few dry, irritated-sounding coughs that begin to crackle and dampen, the congestion settled unreachably deep in their chest and inching its way out.

They pause briefly to take a long, shuddering inhale before the fit continues, the coughs getting wetter and wetter, their cheeks flushing dark with breathlessness as the congestion loosens further but hasn't quite dislodged, still irritating their chest and triggering their cough reflex.

Another pause, this time a desperate gasp as they anxiously grip a sturdy surface nearby, eyes crossing and filling with tears as they thump their chest fruitlessly with a splayed hand to try and help loosen the congestion so they can breathe.

The fit continues, the coughs growing louder, and deeper, and wetter, the vocalizations being drowned out by the violent crackling of mucus as the congestion gets so close to their throat, they're almost home free, they can almost breathe- just in time, spots are beginning to appear in their vision and their oxygen starved face is slick with sweat.

One final- now panicked- gasp, accompanied by the rattling crackle of congestion, before the last leg of the fit interrupts it, coughs coming in short rapid bursts due to the lack of available oxygen. They sway, becoming weak in the knees as the spots cover more of their field of vision, their throat raw and their chest still ticklish and irritated.

One last cough, more violent and aggressive than the last thirty or so- they lost count after the first twenty, to be frank- brought up something.

Spitting into a tissue and gasping for air, relief floods their body as they practically collapse, leaning against their sturdy surface of choice for support as air floods their slightly-less-congested lungs and the oxygen-starved redness drains out of their face.

They blink, finally able to see without the threat of losing consciousness lingering in the corners of their eyes, and see their partner staring at them, shock and horror painted onto their face, and a shattered mug surrounded by spilled tea at their feet.

"What? It's just a bad cough, I'll be fine"

Someone's huddled up on their sofa in their pajamas, wrapped in a blanket and quietly nursing a cup of tea while someone else stands behind the back of the sofa, silently inquiring "What the hell happened to you?".

"I don't feel well..."

"My throat hurts..."

"I feel hot/cold/dizzy..."

even just the simplest "I'm sick..."

Very matter-of-fact, straight to the point, but said in a way that yanks violently on the heartstrings.

Needy without being whiny, the slight inflection that spills all of the pathetic-sounding details they left out: