A sickfic because I’m weak

This is a series, masterlist here!

Joey has a nasty fever and Aaron doesn’t know what to do. His last resort poses a new problem for him. 

This isn’t particularly good but my writing juices are running short. As usual, I’m not a medical professional so just roll with the flow on this one

CW/TW: Fever, fever aches, slight hallucination but like in passing not in detail, talk/description of scars, bruises, and broken bones, pet whumpee/conditioned whumpee. Tell me if I missed any! 

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Joey knew what pain was. He wasn’t trained for it, but over the months he’d learned to expect it, to handle it, to get over it. But this… this was nothing like anything he’d ever felt before. 

Every single part of his body was aching, right into his bones. Moving hurt. Breathing hurt. Opening his eyes and looking around the room hurt. Thinking hurt.

As a result he lay still as stone, trying to will his muscles to relax. 

He was hot too, so hot that his face and back was wet with sweat, but even still he was shivering. The friction the bed sheets created against his skin stung. Was he sick? He couldn’t be, not with how Sir always made sure the heat was on, always fed him, always checked his injuries and gave him the pain pills. 

He’d woken up early that morning and since then he had floated between a state of semi-consciousness and total black outs brought on by the extreme fatigue he felt. There were hazy memories of full-body pain in the back of his mind. The stinging end of a leather belt. The inconceivable full body spasm from a shock collar set too high. The white-hot headache brought on by a strap around his neck being pulled. Barrages of hitting and kicking hands and feet. And yet none of it was like this. He wanted to cry, and tears ran silently from his eyes, but there was nothing cathartic about it. He was too weak to even cry properly. 

Keep reading

First night, first sleep

Masterlist for this series here

This turned out much longer than I plannet and a lot of it is exposition and worldbuilding, but bear with it because there’s some whump at the end I promise. Also I’m not a lawyer so maybe take the law-talk in this with a bunch of salt

CW/TW: heavy conditioning and dehumanization/animalization, whumpee thinking dubcon/noncon is about to happen but nothing really happens, mention of scars and broken ribs, accidental whump, let me know if i missed any!

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Aaron’s mother always keeps the guest bedroom made up in case the household ever receives short-notice guests. It’s a habit Aaron brought when he got his own place. Granted, he doesn’t change the unused bed sheets every three weeks like she does to avoid them getting dusty, but still. He’s grateful that he can open the door to the guest room and the bed is already made up. 

His house guest watches him carefully, clearly still not trusting him. But when he smiles and gestures slightly, the boy obediently limps past him, stopping in the middle of the room and turning around. His naked toes curl into the thick rug. His hair is still wet, but clean, at least. The waft of citrus that comes off it as he passes reminds Aaron that he should get on calling Marla right away, before she finds out about this whole arrangement on her own. He should hit up Mike too, to get some more info on the boy’s injuries. 

“Bathroom’s in there,” he says and points to the ensuite door. 

The boy nods, but still looks like he wants to say something judging by the way his knuckles whiten around the hem of his sweater. He notices Aaron looking and disguises it by talking a half step to the side, slightly turning and cocking his head in the process. 

He has these little mannerisms, ways of displaying behaviour that should be natural, but it all looks rehearsed. Well rehearsed so, practically flawless, but Aaron sometimes notices anyway. It’s as if he thinks about every single motion he does, as if he’s hyper-aware of his appearance. The way his fingers slightly twitch, how he sometimes pauses for a millisecond, his gaze never lingering in the same place for long. 

Aaron wants to chalk it up being nervous and injured and in a whole new environment, but something in him tells him it’s more than that. He’s just not sure exactly what it is yet. 

“It’s okay, you can speak if you want to,” he eventually says when the boy doesn’t start off on his own. 

He breathes, blinks, and meets his gaze again. His green eyes are suddenly wide open and trained directly at his own, filled with something Aaron doesn’t quite recognize. 

“How do you… want me, sir?”