I was tagged by @cardboardpenholder in a music challenge thing. Where I shuffle my playlist and list the first ten songs that come up and also tag other people lol. Thank you for taggin me!

Rules: You can tell a lot about a person by the music they listen to. Place your music on shuffle and list the first 10 songs then tag 10 people. No Skipping!

1. Looking to Closely by Fink

2. Blue Moon by The Wednesday People

3. High Tops by Del Water Gap

4. Big Jet Plane by Angus & Julia Stone

5. Hatefuck by Cruel Youth

6. My Heart Goes Bum Bum Bum by Flatsound

7. Daddy Issues by The Neighborhood

8. Comatose by Skillet

9. Nightmare by Avenged Sevenfold

10. Sex with a Ghost by Teddy Hyde

I tag @secretobsessionstuff @sickficlover @ocsickficsideblog @emetoandotherthings @tomato-sickfics @ginger-and-mint and anyone else who wants to do it

Hello, I’m relatively new to tumblr and this community, so if you are a sickfic author for OC’s or any fandom then reblog this and I’ll follow.  I just need to get a wide option of authors to binge-read!

A little bit of super self-indulgent, almost completely plotless sickfic xox

“Five more minutes,” Jamie moaned, burrowing his head under the pillow as the shrill of the alarm pierced his sleep. He felt Ruairi shuffling beside him, heard the click as he turned off the alarm, let his boyfriend ease the duvet down a little and rub his back and press a kiss to his temple.

“I’ll take the first shower,” Ruairi whispered softly, “then you can shower while I make breakfast.”

“You’re perfect,” Jamie sighed, his voice husky and slurred under the weight of sleep that he could feel almost as a physical mass sitting on his chest. It had dragged him back under before he could register anything else.

He came round again to Ruairi shaking his arm, water from his hair dripping in icy droplets onto his face. He forced his eyes open and felt Ruairi lift his hand away, but the swaying didn’t seem to stop. He swallowed hard, rolling onto his back to try and ease the pitching sensation that had somehow crept from his shoulder to his stomach.

“Come on sleepyhead,” Ruairi encouraged. “Up and at ‘em.”

Groaning, Jamie threw an arm over his eyes. The more he woke up, the more he didn’t want to, and he was becoming increasingly aware of a gnawing pain swelling steadily in the base of his abdomen. “I don’t want to,” he muttered peevishly. “I don’t feel well.”

Ruairi pulled the covers back, tugging Jamie up until he was sat on the side of the bed. “You never do when it’s early,” he reminded him. “I’m sure a shower will make you feel better.”

Jamie dropped his head into his hands with a noise of disgust. He didn’t agree in the slightest, but he didn’t voice his disagreement.

“Go on,” Ruairi instisted. “I’ll have breakfast ready once you’re done.”

Jamie hauled himself upright, folding his arms around himself as he stumbled to the bathroom. Clumsily, he stripped off his shirt, feeling every muscle protest as he did so. Maybe Ruairi was right, he thought, and a shower would fix him up. They’d volunteered to help setting up the Glitter Ball for the LGBT Society, and it really wasn’t something he was keen to miss. So he’d shower, and eat something, and put on a brave face… He just needed to sit down first.

Clutching on to the radiator, he lowered himself onto the tiles, his head sagging towards his knees. He wasn’t sure when he’d got so light-headed. He swiped his wrist over his face, wiping away the sweat that beaded on his forehead. He dragged in a deep breath, holding it for a little before blowing it out. Heat flushed through him. In. Out. The pain in his gut pulled together into a cramp. In. Out. In. Out.

Slowly, painstakingly, his vision cleared until he felt he could stand. He was about to reach over to turn on the water when his stomach gurgled and he quickly changed direction.

Ruairi glanced at the clock as he stirred the porridge. They only had about half an hour until they had to leave, and Jamie still hadn’t shown his face. With a sigh, he switched the heat off and headed for the stairs.

“Jamie, breakfast’s ready,” he called hopefully as he got towards his bedroom. “Come on or we’ll be late.”

There was no response, which was odd, and he paused at the doorway wondering if he’d offended his boyfriend somehow. But the door was open, and although it was dark inside he could tell that Jamie wasn’t there, nor could he hear the shower running from the bathroom across the hall. That door was locked though, and Ruairi knocked uncertainly.

“Love? You in there?

There was a slight silence, and Ruairi ran his hands through his artfully tousled hair nervously.

“Yeah, I… I’ll be out in a minute,” Jamie’s voice wavered. Ruairi frowned at the weakness of it, the way it sounded slightly strangled. He stepped away from the door and waited. After what seemed like an age, he heard the toilet flush, and the tap run, and then finally the door clicked open. Jamie stepped out looking drained, his skin pale except for the flush of fever bruising his cheekbones. He was stooped over, one hand still cradling his aching abdomen. Ruairi stepped forward straight away, gathering Jamie into his arms.

“Oh, you really aren’t well,” he murmured sympathetically, feeling the heat radiate off Jamie’s skin before he’d even touched him. Jamie shook his head where it was pressed into Ruairi’s chest, sniffling a little. Ruairi rubbed one hand comfortingly over Jamie’s bare back and Jamie’s weight sank against him a little more.

“‘m sorry,” Jamie muttered hoarsely. He wanted to cry, could even feel the tightness in his throat and the stinging behind his eyes, even though he knew it was stupid to. “I really did want to go. I tried…” His voice cracked on the last word and he swallowed back a sob.

“Oh I know,” Ruari soothed, dropping a kiss onto his head. “It’s not your fault. Come on, let’s get you to bed.” He shifted so that his arm was around Jamie’s shoulders, guiding him back to the bedroom.

“You should still go,” Jamie insisted weakly as he sank down on the edge of the bed, letting Ruairi pull the duvet back and rearrange the pillows for him. “You can’t let them be down two volunteers!” He lay back, curling up immediately onto his side and letting his eyes drift shut.

“I might go and set up,” Ruairi admitted, “if you think you’ll be alright. But I’d rather be here looking after you than at some fancy party worrying whether you’re okay.”

Jamie nodded, shuddering as his belly cramped again. “I’ll be fine,” he breathed once it was over.

Ruairi bit his lip. “Look, if I get you some medicine do you think you could keep it down?”

Jamie flushed. “Nothing’s coming…up,” he admitted sheepishly. “It’s more, um, like…” He trailed off.

Ruairi nodded. “Don’t worry, it happens to everyone,” he reassured. “I’m going to get you some paracetamol then, you’ll be more comfortable once your fever’s down.”

Jamie nodded wearily. “But then you should go." 

Ruairi spent the drive to the venue coiled tight as a spring, checking his phone so often he was almost certain he’d get pulled over for it. He knew, in theory, that Jamie was going to be fine and that years of boarding school had taught him to look after himself, but that didn’t stop his stomach from twisting every time he thought of how vulnerable he’d looked curled up and shaking with fever. As soon as he reached the hall where the ball was being held, he pulled the head of the committee to one side, warning them that he might have to leave early. The last thing he wanted was to have to deal with that kind of hassle if it turned out that Jamie did need him. It didn’t help at all that the work he was doing was repetitive and manual and left far too much space for his thoughts to run riot. 

Jamie’s hand trembled, the glass clattering against the tap as he tried to fill it. He’d slept for a solid hour after Ruairi left, but then had woken feeling so urgently sick he could barely stand straight. The only way he could describe it was that it was as if someone had poured acid through his intestines, dissolving them into a bubbling, angry mess of liquid. He’d barely made it to the bathroom in time. Once he was done, and feeling so wrung out he struggled to believe he had anything more to expel, he’d staggered down to the kitchen and forced down a slice of toast in tiny little nibbles. He’d hoped that plain food would be safe enough, but even the smell had turned his stomach. He’d made his way slowly back to bed, and found himself unable to close his eyes without the room spinning around him until the twisting cramps hit a peak and sent him dashing back for the bathroom. 

The second round had been pure torture. He wasn’t even sat down before he was doubling over in pain, snatching the small bathroom bin into his lap to retch over raggedly, his body determined to purge itself thoroughly. Now here he was, barely able to hold a glass steady enough to take a drink. He squeezed his eyes shut, gripping tightly to the edge of the sink. He was of half a mind to call Ruairi to come home, or to go back to his own flat where Tristan would look after him, but he didn’t think he was really sick enough to drag Ruairi away and the idea of walking anywhere didn’t bear thinking about. Even wearing Ruairi’s loose tracksuit bottoms was vaguely uncomfortable around his tender midriff, so he didn’t like his chances with the skinny jeans he’d worn the night before. As he took a reluctant sip of water, his stomach rolled dizzyingly and he lowered himself down to the bathroom floor for the second time that day. Tipping his head back against the wall, he set the glass down and cradled his hands against his midriff. His head throbbed woozily and he swallowed back the saliva that pooled in his mouth. He felt so sick. He wished he could just throw up and feel better, but given that he was running practically on empty that seemed like an unlikely prospect.

He stayed there for a long while, sucking in stuttering breaths and waiting for his stomach to descend from his chest, then slowly, unsteadily, made his way back to the bedroom and all but collapsed. He could feel that heavy, sticky, all over ugh feeling that was partly fever and partly dehydration, but the water was still curdling in his stomach in an entirely unnatural way, the rest of the glass forgotten on the bathroom floor. 

He felt like he’d barely closed his eyes before he woke up again, shaking with cold and Ruairi’s sheets soaked through with sweat. He clambered unsteadily out of the bed.  Black dots blurred across his vision as he pulled himself upright, and he had to clutch on to the bedside table waiting for the room to still again. Barely registering what he was doing, he rifled through Ruairi’s drawers until he found a fleece jumper. He tugged it on haphazardly, his hands trembling so badly that he struggled with the oversized sleeves. The gnawing ache just above his pelvis was escalating again, exacerbated every time the chilling cold juddered through him, and he groaned miserably as he fell back into bed and tugged the duvet tight around his ears. He could hear Ruairi’s flatmates in the house - Lucas singing in the kitchen, Nate and Aoife talking in the room next door - and he thought briefly about going to talk to them, just for some human contact and a little bit of comfort, but he couldn’t quite find the motivation to move. So he just lay there, wound up and shivering and feverishly lonely.

He was still in that semi-wakeful haze of misery when he heard the front door bang. A moment went by before he heard the sound of Ruairi and Lucas conferring in the hallway, their voices low and worried, and somehow that was the impetus that dragged him out of bed, still huddled in the duvet. Ruairi looked up as he came down the stairs, brow furrowing and taking half a step towards him almost instinctively. He pulled Jamie in towards him and let him bury his head in his chest, petting his hair absent-mindedly as he finished his conversation with Lucas.

“No better?” He dipped his head towards Jamie’s ear as soon as Lucas had wandered back into the kitchen. Jamie shook his head, sniffing a little. He’d thought, somewhat optimistically, that just being held by Ruairi would make everything better. It usually did, but his stomach still hurt and his head still spun and he still felt on the precipice of tears. He leant heavily against Ruairi so that the other boy was basically holding him up, and closed his eyes. His stomach clenched warningly.

“I threw up,” he mumbled quietly, his face pressed into Ruairi’s chest.

Ruairi hummed sympathetically, rubbing Jamie’s back through the duvet. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’m here now.”

Jamie’s stomach clenched again, as if someone had stuck their fist in and twisted it. He pulled back with a whimper, pressing a hand against his belly. “I feel…,” he paused, swallowing. “I think I need to be sick.”

Almost as if by magic a basin was shoved into his hands. He grasped onto it, barely registering Ruairi’s mumbled words of thanks before the kitchen door swung shut. He hung his head over it, slack-jawed, but although his stomach lurched enough for him to gag, nothing came up.

“I think you’re empty,” Ruairi said gently. He stroked Jamie’s head back from his sweaty forehead. “Come on, you hold onto that but let’s get you said down.” He grabbed Jamie’s elbow, leading him through to the living room. Lucas walked in as they were nestling themselves together on the sofa, and Jamie gave him a wan smile.

“Sorry for the grossness,” he apologised sheepishly, taking great care as he took the water glass Lucas offered him.

Lucas shook his head a little, reaching over to ruffle Jamie’s hair. “I’d have kept an eye if I’d known you were feeling rough,” he said good-naturedly. “But I know now, so we’ll do our best to make amends. How do you feel about soup?”

Jamie shuddered, grimacing at the thought of putting anything into his body – even the water was still a struggle.

Lucas smiled sadly, shrugging one shoulder. “That’s okay. I’ll make some for when you’re feeling well enough.”

“Thank you.” Jamie nodded, snuggling down as Lucas left the room. Ruairi shifted them both until they were spooned together on the sofa then laid one palm against Jamie’s gurgling belly, rubbing it slowly. Gradually, Jamie felt the tension in his shoulders slip away.

He still felt awful and nauseous and gross, but for the first time since he’d woken up, things seemed to be getting better not worse.