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acasualcrossfade · 7 months

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Angel, Baby, Sweetheart, Sunshine

Sicktember Day 22: Terms of Endearment/Nicknames

Stranger Things: Steve Harrington/ Eddie Munson

Words: 500 | Rating: M | CW: mentions of drug use, sex, and edge play

Summary: Steve loves all the pet names Eddie has for him.

Find me on Ao3!

Steve loved the way Eddie used pet names and was surprised at how many there were.

Big boy was first, and it had caught Steve off-guard. He’d never been called something that left him equally confused and amused.

Eddie only proved to have more pet names in his arsenal.

Angel came soon after.

They’d both been insomniacs the night before, sharing joints on the patio as they watched the stars shift to sunrise. The sun’s soft golden light stretched across their bedroom and Steve rolled over closer to nudge Eddie awake.

The pet name mumble-rolled from Eddie’s mouth.

A few more minutes, angel

Steve paused at the pet name, relishing in it. Angel.

Eddie had uttered it with breathy ease, as if the name was meant solely for him.

And when Eddie woke, he murmured it again, voice still thick with sleep.

Good morning, angel

Warmth bloomed in Steve’s heart and spread through his chest and he cuddled Eddie closer.

Baby was next.

Baby, Steve learned, was reserved for the bedroom.

Baby was whispered in Steve’s ear while Steve moaned through Eddie’s rhythmic thrusts from behind.

Baby was hushed between soft praises and softer commands as Eddie edged him.

A little longer, baby, so good for me

Steve was a spool of thread, woven with want and need, and Eddie wound him tighter and tighter before finally allowing Steve to unravel and come undone in his arms. And then, Eddie stitched Steve back together with the same pet name and praise.

I got you baby, you did so good

And Steve was left delightfully buzzing as the world crackled back to clarity.

Sweetheart was the Sour Patch Kid pet name, either sweet or snarky.

When Steve came home from his day of teaching, Eddie was immediately on alert as Steve coughed into his elbow. Steve was sick; there was no denying it.

You sound terrible, sweetheart , Eddie tutted, and filled the kettle to make tea.

When the pet name came snarky, it was complete with Eddie’s best cocky smile and his brown eyes glinting.

Sweetheart, you haven’t seen anything yet , Eddie would challenge, one hand caressing the neck of his guitar while the other fingered his guitar pick.

Sunshine was Steve’s favorite.

It was always uttered with intention, and always served with a thick layer of love between its letters.

Steve loved hearing sunshine woven into songs that Eddie sang to millions. He loved knowing it was him Eddie was referring to when he sang about sunshine warm on his skin.

You’re mine, sunshine

I bathe in your beams, struck silent, self-aware and sun-kissed

It wasn’t just Eddie’s songs, either.

Sunshine was everywhere.

Eddie breathed sunshine between sunset kisses on the patio, and sunshine on firefly summer evenings at the lake. Eddie enthusiastically declared how much he loved sunshine both onstage and again backstage.

I love you, sunshine

Each name was endearing and left Steve enveloped in comfort.

And Steve knew he’d always be Eddie’s.

Eddie’s angel, baby, sweetheart, sunshine.

#sicktember 2023 #sicktember #sicktember day 22 #Terms of Endearment/Nicknames #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #angel baby sweetheart sunshine #really love the way this one came out <3

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goldenempyrean · 7 months

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Migraine Meowments

〚 Day 19 - Curled Up With a Pet 〛

〚 Pairing - Natasha Romanoff x Reader 〛

〚 Summary - Natasha has a migraine but at least she has two of her favourite people nearby 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙〘 Sicktember 2023 Masterlist 〙

Natasha groaned in misery and pain as she shifted positions in bed. She had been battling a relentless migraine all day, one of those skull-splitting headaches that felt like a vice squeezing her temples. It was awful and had kept her in bed for most of the day. The world around her seemed to have fizzled away, reduced to a painful haze of throbbing pain, and even the softest sounds seemed to reverberate through her head like thunderclaps. It was the kind of day where every ray of light was an assault, and every movement sent waves of nausea coursing through her body.

With the curtains drawn tightly shut, she lay cocooned in the comforting darkness of her bedroom. She had always been prone to migraines, but this one was particularly stubborn, resisting all her usual remedies. Her only solace was the presence of Liho, her fluffy black cat, who had taken up residence on the bed beside her. Liho's warm, furry body provided a soothing counterpoint to the relentless pain in her head.

As Natasha lay there, clutching her pillow and willing the pain to subside, she heard the front door of their apartment open and close. Footsteps approached the bedroom, and then the door swung open slowly. A shaft of light pierced the darkness, and Natasha winced, burying her face deeper into her pillow.

"Natasha?" a soft voice called out, tinged with concern.

It was her girlfriend, whose voice was a soothing melody on Natasha's tormented senses. You somehow always had a way of making things better, and she longed to be held in your arms right now. Blinking against the painful intrusion of the light, she turned her head to see you standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the soft glow of the hallway light.

Liho stirred, sensing the newcomer, and gracefully padded over to greet you with a low, contented purr. Natasha watched as you cooed and crouched down to stroke Liho's fur, her fingers gentle and soothing.

"Hey there, Liho," You whispered softly, your voice a comforting lullaby for both cat and woman. "Where's your momma hiding, hm kitty?"

Liho, content with the attention, continued to purr and nuzzled her your hand. Natasha managed a weak smile at the sound of her happily purring cat.

"I'm in here," Nat replied, her voice a strained whisper.

Hearing her voice, your head turned in its direction, your eyes adjusting to the dimness of the room. You took a step closer, your features twisting in subtl concern as your made out Natasha's pallor and the lines of pain etched into her face.

"Oh, sweetheart," You said softly, crossing the room and sitting on the edge of the bed. "You've had that migraine all day, haven't you? I told you to call me if it wasn’t getting any better, didn’t I?”

Natasha could only nod in response, tears of pain and frustration pooling in her eyes. You sighed pitifully and reached out to brush a strand of hair away from Natasha's forehead, her touch gentle and cool against her skin. You were in no mood to scold her about her stubbornness, not when she was clearly being punished enough by her own body.

"I'm so sorry love," You murmured, her voice dripping with sympathy as your hand slipped into hers, your thumb rubbing gently on hers, "Let me help you?”

She nodded again and you leaned down to press a tender kiss to her forehead while the black cat jumped back up onto the bed, twirling in a circle before settling into the small divot in Natasha’s pillow. Even in the midst of the storm inside her head, she knew she was home, and in the comforting presence of the person (and kitty) who made everything better.

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#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff fanfic #sickfic #fluff #whump #comfort #marvel #mcu #natasha romanoff sickfic #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff comfort #sicktember 2023

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somber-sapphic · 7 months

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Love and Kisses

〘Prompt 20 Alt- Forehead Kisses〙

〘Notes- Hello my dears! Despite my best efforts (and believe me, they were borderline extreme) I've managed to get myself sick and man am I pissed about it. However, it does give me an excuse to write sickfics in self pity!〙

〘Summary- Apparently forehead kisses replace thermometers.〙

〘Word Count- 1k〙

〘Pairing- WandaNat x Sick Reader〙

〚Main Masterlist〛⌶〚Sicktember Masterlist〛

“Morning Y/n/n!” Wanda chirped, setting a plate loaded with eggs, bacon, and blueberry pancakes down in front of you. Natasha sat in the chair beside you, stuffing her face with the salty, sugary, sticky breakfast. Blueberry pancakes were a favorite of hers and she would eat as many as she could physically hold each time Wanda made them.

Normally, you’d be just as excited about the extravagant meal, but today your cheesy scrambled eggs and syrup coated bacon didn’t look at all appetizing. Maybe it was the aches that had settled in your bones, the soreness in your throat or the congestion settling in your sinuses. Whichever symptom it was, you hated it.

Wanda was singing quietly to herself as she flipped a few more pancakes, tossing three onto her own plate. Her meal was void of eggs, she hated them with a burning passion, and the bacon was carefully separated so no syrup would touch the meat.

She took her seat across from you at the table, nudging you with an elbow before beginning to pick at her own meal. She’d seen the look on your face when you came into the kitchen, the little scowl that always appeared when you weren’t feeling well. It was accompanied by bleary eyes, a red raw nose, and slightly parted lips. She could tell that you couldn’t breathe properly though you were trying to pretend that you were fine.

The three of you sat in relative silence as Wanda and Natasha ate, while you simply stirred your eggs around on your plate. You wanted to be hungry, to eat the probably delicious food in front of you, but the pain in your throat was demanding that you didn’t swallow anything.

Despite that, you reached for the glass of orange juice and chugged it, relying on the lovely powers of vitamin c to get the job done. You sensed a lot of orange juice in your near future. Orange juice and cough drops.

Natasha, who had been eying your uneaten pancakes, raised an eyebrow and looked over at Wanda who was staring at you, mouth agape. The redhead hummed quietly and took your hand, prompting you to set the fork down. It wasn’t like you were eating anyway and they didn’t seem to be falling for your “mix it around the plate” technique.

You cleared your throat quietly and glanced at the assassin, half expecting to be belittled. She tended to scold you when you did something that wasn’t good for your health, and this probably qualified as one of those things.

A sudden wave of cold crashed over you and you shivered violently, pulling your hand away to wrap your arms around your chest. There was that fever you had been expecting, arriving in full force as it typically did. You always got terrible fevers when you were sick.

“Y/n, c’mere babe.” Natasha ordered, beckoning you to her with a little wave. You rolled your eyes (ow, headache) and leaned towards her, not entirely sure what her plan was.

You certainly weren’t expecting her to kiss your forehead and grab your face to hold you there as she tried to gauge your temperature. The young woman pulled back after a few seconds and frowned, looking to Wanda with a worried expression as she did.

She cupped your cheeks in her calloused hands, her face not changing.

“She’s on fire. Y/n, when did you start to feel sick?” she demanded, stroking your cheekbone with a thumb. You rather enjoyed the affection, her touch light and comforting. The look your witch was giving you was not one that you enjoyed however, she was glaring.

“I dunno. Few hours.” You croaked in response, the first words you’d said all morning. The brunette’s eyebrows quirked up at the sound of your voice, alarmed by how strange you sounded.

“Well, I for one find that hard to believe, you look pretty bad for only being sick a few hours. Try again.” she ordered, pushing her chair out to come to your side. She took your face out of Natasha’s hands and repeated the gesture, kissing your forehead with soft lips.

“I’ve felt off all week, but this is the worst it’s been.” You leaned into her touch; her cool hands felt nice against your hot skin. The brunette hummed her worry and pulled your head against her chest, combing her fingers though your hair. Her nails danced across your scalp; it was as if she was intentionally trying to lull you to sleep.

Natasha stood too and put a hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently.

“Alright sicky, let’s go back up to bed. You’re already in your pjs so we won’t even need to change.” She sighed, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. You were pretty sure that the second you left your food alone she’d be finishing your pancakes, but you didn’t want them anyway.

“You have to make me soup. ‘nd I want cuddles.” You grumbled, yelping as Natasha picked you up as if you were a princess in one of those Disney movies. You nestled your head under her chin and let out a kittenish sneeze, whining into her clavicle.

“I’ll make your favorite, while Natasha gives you cuddles.” Wanda placated, taking one of your hands. You allowed yourself a little smile as you coughed into the redhead’s shirt, feeling a bit guilty for spreading your germs. She didn’t seem to mind however, in fact she held you closer as she carried you up the stairs, smiling to herself.

In that moment, carrying you in her arms, she found your vulnerability adorable. Natasha looked back at Wanda, pleased to see that the witch was wearing a similar grin. She leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to the Sokovian woman’s temple before carrying you into the bedroom, preparing for a day of sniffles and complaints.

Wanda walked back to the kitchen and pulled out a pot, leaving the kitchen dirty as she prepared to make your favorite soup. These woman would truly do anything for you.

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warmblanketwhump · 8 months

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By any chance can you do prompts on a neglected sickie?

@sicktember 2023 day 1 - hopelessly bad at self care

A's hand fumbles with the amber bottle as they try to read the medicine's handwritten instructions—does that say to take every 3 hours? or every 8?

Their vision swims, and they feel themselves sway and tilt against the pantry wall. They've been standing for too long again, the weightless feeling in their body signaling that they need to lay down immediately. But they also can't bear another minute without some measure of relief, even if they know the home remedy will only make a slight dent in their symptoms.

A coughs and pulls the blanket tighter around their shoulders with a shiver. They're not sure what hit them. Last night, they were feeling a bit off, unable to get warm by the fire and battling a scratchy throat that wouldn't go away no matter how much tea they drank. This morning, they'd awoken burning with fever, body wracked with aches and chills, and an agonizingly sore throat.

It's awful timing, since B was away on their annual trip and wouldn't be home for three weeks. Meaning that A was now solely responsible for both keeping their homestead afloat and themselves alive.

A usually relishes in the fact that they live several miles from the nearest village or neighbor—no extra noise, no nosy neighbors or intruders, sweeping vistas and tall pine trees to hide amongst. But now, the lonely days stretch out ahead of them, with no help in sight, and A can't help but whimper a little at the thought.

Come on, A thinks to themselves. You can do this. Just take things slow.

Glacial would be a better word to describe their movements. After slipping two capsules under their tongue, they move along the wall, stumbling forward until they fall back onto their bed and scramble to pull the blankets close around their body. They just needed a few minutes to try and warm up while they made a mental list of what they needed to do.

Feed the animals.

Change their straw.

Repair the barn door.

Bring in extra wood.

Sweep the floors.

Make some sort of excuse for dinner.

The thought of doing all that made A's body ache. But they had no choice. It was what they had to do.

They just needed a minute to rest...

The minutes in bed flash by, and suddenly A realizes that they've been in bed for far longer than they anticipated. A glance at their pocket watch reveals that it's mid-afternoon, and they silently curse themselves for letting the day get away from them. It would already take them ages to get everything done, and they'd lost so much precious daylight during their accidental nap.

Ignoring the pounding in their head, they stumble towards the coat rack and wrap themselves in their winter jacket and a thick scarf. It's only a mild fall day outside, the breeze crisp under a cloudy sky, but the cool air sinks through all the layers prickles goosebumps on their feverish skin and makes their teeth rattle.

A blinks and realizes they're somehow in the barn, with no memory of walking there. Before them lie the bags of feed, too heavy to lift like usual, so A's reduced to transporting feed in half-full buckets to the waiting animals, over, and over, and over, because that's all they can carry. In their feverish delirium, they swear that even the pigs are looking at them sideways, wondering what they're doing out in the barn in their state.

The outdoor chores are done in a haze, edges of A's vision blurred by their pain and fever, body shaking from head to toe. By the time they get to the last animal, the only thing A wants to do is go back inside, sit by the fire, and sleep—forget changing the hay or making repairs There's more to do, of course, always more to do, but they just can't. It's not even a matter of desire—A's calculating how much energy they've spent out here and how much they need to get back inside, and the numbers just won't add up to one that keeps them upright for longer than 10 minutes.

The last animal to feed is their beloved horse. A's feet drag as they pull the bucket toward the trough, leaning on the side of the stall as they haphazardly dump the contents in. As they attempt to stand back up, another wave of dizziness hits them, and they stumble and fall against their horse's shoulder.

The horse, to their credit, doesn't startle. In fact, they turn toward A, nuzzling their soft nose into A's shoulder. A lets their feverish forehead rest against their horse's shiny coat, trying to steady their breathing and hold themselves together, willing themselves not to cry. And the horse lets them, breath ruffling their hair, as if to say I know. I'm here. Take your time. After a few moments, A's reoriented enough to stand up. The barn door would have to wait, and so would the fresh hay—they just don't have it in them today. So they stumble out of the barn and back out into the yard.

The sky is already darkening as A makes their way back to their cabin, through the door. After shedding their coat and wrapping themselves in a flannel blanket, they collapse in the chair, the soft colors of the firelit room blurring in their vision. The chores had been too much, far too much, and now they're trembling with cold, thoroughly chilled and somehow achier than they were this morning. They hug their arms close to their body and rub at them weakly, praying that the warmth of the fire will even slightly revive them.

A craves soup, or even just a hot broth to ease their throat pain and warm them up, but the entire idea of standing up to get ingredients is an impossible task. There's half a loaf of bread left in the breadbox on the table, and A settles for tearing off a corner. The cold, coarse bread is painful against their throat, and they swallow and wince. They know they need food, they know, but it just hurts. Everything hurts.

What would B do, if they were here to care for A? A pushes away the ache at the thought of how much they miss B, trying to sort through to find the essentials. Medicine, A had managed. Rest? Well, who could rest when there was work to be done? Tea? Ah, there was something they could manage. Boiling water was as passive a task as you could get. They just needed to build up the dying fire—

The fire. A's eyes flit to the empty wood box, and their heart sinks as they recall one of their chores for the day. Fill the wood box.

For the first time that day, a tear slips down A's cheek. It wasn't enough that they were aching, exhausted, wrung out. Now, unless they gathered wood, any notion of heat to help them fight through a night of feverish chills evaporated before their eyes.

No. I can't be cold all night. I can't. The thought of a sleepless night shivering in bed awakes something in A, and they stand back up almost reflexively, swaying like a great tree in a storm, stumbling towards the door, not even grabbing their coat as the fever addles their mind.

Just a few logs. Even a few will help you be warmer tonight.

But as they step out into the dark, cold night, the woodpile stretches and warps in their vision—first it's 10 paces away, then 100, then right in front of them, then 10 paces back. A blinks once, twice, and before they can even cry out, they collapse to the ground in a boneless heap, swept away into unconsciousness.

______________________________________

When A wakes, they don't realize where they are at first. They're aware of a strange heat across their midsection, and an unfamiliar ceiling above their head. As the room comes into focus, there's a stranger tending an enormous fire in a great stone fireplace, their back turned to A.

Where....where am I? Blinking twice, they stare down at the pile of quilts they're buried under. The top one is the patchwork one from their old bed, but everything else is so strange—none of this makes sense—

"Ah, good. You're awake." The shadowed figure rises from their place by the fire, a soft smile on their face as they sit on the edge of A's bed, placing a cool hand against A's forehead. Despite the cold that still clung to their bones, A relished the feeling against their burning skin. "Had me worried for a spell." The puzzle pieces click into place—this is C, their neighbor from down the road. But how...how did C know?

"Wh-what....how'd I...." A can't get the words out.

"Your horse ran up my road, nearly scared me half to death. I figured he must've jumped a pen or slipped past the gate."

The gate. In A's feverish delirium, they must've forgotten to close the gate, and the horse had gotten out.

C rises from A's bedside, walking over to a stove where a small pot bubbled. "When I came to bring him back, there wasn't any smoke coming out of your chimney. Came around back, and there you were, sprawled out in your yard like a rag doll." C shakes their head, stirring the pot with a wooden spoon. "Burning up something awful, and shaking like a leaf, too."

Heat floods A's cheeks at the thought of being found in such a state. Yet they can't push away the sheer relief of being found, of no longer being paralyzed on the cold, hard dirt. But even now, they feel the deep cold in their bones, and they shudder and reflexively curl toward the heat source—a hot water bottle, they realize.

"I'd've kept you at your own house in your own bed, but I didn't know where you kept any of your goods—and I didn't want to have to leave you there all by your lonesome anyways. So I wrapped you up and brought you back here. I'll take care of your animals, of course, but you can stay here until you're better, which will be a few days out, I'm afraid."

C stops stirring and pours something into a clay mug, and brings it back over to A's bedside. "It's my mother's old broth remedy. Not sure how much it really cures, but it helps to warm the bones and ease the aches a bit."

A feels the lump in their throat rise—it was too much, needing C to take care of them. And yet they were so, so tired, and so, so grateful that they were. Despite being surrounded by comfort, they could tell their illness was worse, the chills rippling through their body like icy water was being poured over their limbs. No doubt accelerated by my multiple excursions outdoors. A eyes the mug, and feels their eyes well up again—can I even manage to hold the weight of it—

As if C can hear their feverish thoughts, they curl an arm behind A's shoulders and ease them up on the fluffy down pillows, then cradle A's head as they tilt the mug towards their lips. "Easy now. Just a couple sips to start."

The broth is just short of heaven—simple, yet with hints of lemon and herbs and some other spice they can't identify. And so, so warm.

A manages to drink nearly the entire mug's worth, but the effort saps all their remaining strength, and they slump back into the pillows, eyes too heavy to stay open.

They should say thank you. They should say anything to communicate their gratitude to what C's done for them, how scared they were. They force their eyes open to try and express everything that's swirling around in their head, but all that comes out is a whimper—and hot tears that suddenly pour down their cheeks, unchecked.

"Hey, hey now. You're alright. Just rest now, you're in good hands."

A feels a hand course through their damp curls, and it's as if all the tension melted out of their body, and they sink down, deep into the sleep of someone who knows in their soul, that they're safe.

#sicktember 2023 #sickfic #cold whump #sickfic whump #hurt comfort #caretaking #hey hey hey look who's writing again!!!#resisting the urge to edit this #otherwise it will take four months for anyone to see this lol #so ignore the typos

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szlez · 8 months

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Stay - destiel fanfic by ani_ona and me with my fanart Feverish

Written for https://sicktember.tumblr.com prompt. Dean & Cas

Stay

It was Sam, who noticed first. Knowing every muscle of his brother's face and years of studying every one of his tiniest expressions helped, but at the end of the day it was due to that unexplainable connection between the two of them. The strange force that made his time at Stanford less enjoyable and more sleepless. So now he just knows that something is wrong with his brother. And when Dean orders his beloved chili fries and doesn't suck in every last bit in a matter of minutes, Sam and Cas exchange worried looks.

Their case is solved, dinner finished, and they are in for a 9-hour drive home. Another cue that something is not just as it should be is when Dean decides to let Sam drive after an hour and doesn't take a shotgun seat but joins Castiel in the back instead. When Sam glances in the rear mirror, he sees his brother's head resting on the angel's shoulder and the intense stare of the blue eyes.

Dean doesn't wake up the whole ride home. Cas somehow manages to arrange him into a more lying position, with his head on the angel's lap. Sam would have smiled at the sight if he wasn't focused on keeping his eyes open and on the road.

They reach the bunker at dawn, and Dean lets Castiel maneuver him out of the car and down the stairs.

“Get him to his room,” Sam says, his voice hoarse from not using and tiredness. “And I’ll bring some supplies.” Cas just nods and adjusts his grip around Dean's waist. He is taking off the hunter's shoes, when Sam comes in with water and some pills.

“Looks like he is going down with something…” Cas murmurs, letting the back of his palm touch Dean's cheek. He frowns and crouches beside the bed to lightly press his lips to Dean's forehead. “Definitely. His fever is high.” He whispers, now real concern lacing his voice.

The gesture looks a lot like a kiss. Dean would undoubtedly freak out if he was awake. But now Sam is too tired to analyze it further.

“Make sure he drinks a lot. And takes these once he is conscious enough.” he points to the meds. “Want me to stay with you?”

“No, Sam, I got this, you drove the whole night, go get some sleep.”

Sam nods and leaves, though he feels strange. He's never left his brother's side during an illness. Even as a child, he used to cling to his brother when any of them was unwell. Perhaps it had something to do with losing the only source of safety and care. Now Dean has his angel, Sam tells himself, lowering his pounding head onto the pillow. He is out in a few minutes.

In the meantime, Castiel frees Dean of most of his clothing, careful with every movement, expecting the hunter to shove him away and yell. But he doesn't react more than with a quiet sigh, and feeling his skin radiating unnatural heat makes Castiel worry even more. He tries to wake Dean up, but only succeeds in making him swallow some pills without choking. When the fever is still high, regardless of the meds, Castiel's anxiety reaches a dangerous level bordering panic. What if he is doing something wrong? Or not doing enough? He stares at the pale face of his friend, thinking. Dean would know what to do. He always does. Dean dealt with countless of Sam's childhood illnesses, even more wounds requiring various types of stitches, his father's drunken fits and hangovers. But now it's Dean who needs help, and Cas feels uncertain and incompetent. Afraid that he could make things worse. What is he supposed to do? Should he go get Sam?

Dean stirs in his sleep, and Castiel's train of thoughts is interrupted. He focuses on his friend, whose brow frowns, and his whole body tenses under the covers. Hands grip the sheets tightly and suddenly he opens his eyes wide, staring terrified and unseeing through the ceiling, breathing shallow, quick breaths. What is he seeing, Cas can only guess, but he is afraid he can guess correctly.

“Hey… Easy…” Cas reaches for Dean's hand and feels fingers clutching his wrist like a lifeline. “Whatever you see, it's not real. You are safe here, with me. It's just a dream. It's not real.” Cas whispers over and over again until Dean rests his head on the pillow and falls asleep, not letting go of his angel’s hand.

So until he loosens his grip, Castiel has no other option but to sit down on the floor by the bed and try to make himself comfortable. He feels Dean’s quick pulse under his fingertips and watches an unhealthy blush coloring hunter's cheeks. After what feels like hours the idea pops into Cas’ mind, and he makes a quick run to the sink with a handful of handkerchiefs. As soon as the wet cloth touches hot skin, Dean shudders violently and makes a little sound close to whimper. Cas's heart tightens. He puts his hand on Dean's cheek to calm him down, and the hunter leans into the touch as if trying to find some relief. The angel sits on the bed and cradles Dean's head, wanting to absorb the heat, illness, and pain.

“You are going to be ok, I'll take care of you.” He whispers to the unconscious man and feels Dean's chaotic fear and suffering flooding him, leaving him breathless. He has to do something, anything, to help, and fast. The echo of Dean's headache pounding in his own skull.

Dean is drifting in and out of consciousness, never lucid enough to hold a real conversation, just searching the space with glassy eyes that close with relief once he makes sure Castiel is with him.

“You are not alone,” Castiel tells him, knowing very well that Dean won't remember anything. “You won't be anymore.”

Hours go by and Castiel fills his time with wiping Dean's face, trying to get some water into him, changing cold compresses, and constantly checking the temperature. With zero improvement so far. Why is nothing working?

Finally, Cas knows he can't delay it anymore and a decision has to be made now. It's been hours and they haven't made any progress. Dean is exhausted and completely out of it from pain and fever, and Cas can't look at his dry lips and glistering, unseeing eyes any longer. It's time to take serious steps.

Dean is heavy. The dead weight of his nearly unconscious body is hard to carry. But not for the angel, who lifts him with ease, just like all these years before when they were leaving Hell. Castiel carefully lowers his trembling burden into the tube, and Dean immediately curls into a tight ball, shivering uncontrollably. Cas starts the lukewarm water and strokes Dean’s chest and back,

“Easy… try to relax” he murmurs, enfolding the hunter's arms. “This is going to help, you will feel better soon, just relax.” And finally, Dean does. Once the tube is filled, he straightens his legs and seems to be drifting off again. He slides a little and would go under if it weren't for Castiel’s grip.

“I’ve got you,” the angel sighs softly. “Don't worry, just relax and rest” he whispers, gently rubbing his chest and stomach in a slow circular motion.

This could be so much fun in different circumstances, Castiel thinks to himself, taking in his lover’s slim, muscular figure under the clear surface… What is he thinking about?!, he scolds himself immediately. It's definitely not a good time for such things. He has to admit to himself that he appreciates the sight before his eyes, though.

Returning to the bedroom is surprisingly difficult because Dean, now somewhat conscious and wrapped tightly in the biggest towel the bunker can offer, insists on going on his own. This proves to be not the best idea when after a few steps his legs fail to support him, and he is forced to accept Castiel's outstretched arm reluctantly.

The angel doesn't speak much now when Dean is able to comprehend what is being said to him. Helping Dean change into fresh clothes, and passing him pills and a glass of water, Cas carefully observes his patient, not daring to think that the worst is over now. Once Dean dozes off again, his fever rises a few degrees but only to break after a few hours, leaving the hunter drenched in sweat, weak and tired but finally fully awake and aware of his surroundings.

Seeing Dean putting on his T-shirt without help convinces Cas that his job is finished. He stands up slowly, mutters some “I’d be going” and turns to leave. That's when his hand is gripped one more time this night.

Cas catches Dean’s gaze lucid at last and though the man doesn’t utter a sound, the angel can hear one word, clear as a bell: Stay.

#destiel #spn #sicktember 2023 #sickfic #spn fanart #my art #supernatural fanart #deancas #destiel fanart #sickness #dean winchester fanart #supernatural fic #spn fanfic #castiel fanart #dean and cas #writing prompt #prompt event #hurt/comfort #supernatural fanfic

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skyloftian-nutcase · 8 months

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Anyone want a mild TP sickfic? :)

I'll admit, I cheated on this a little - some of this was written before, but I just wanted to add more comfort and fluff to it. <3 Because Ordon Fam Fluff is wonderful.

Sicktember Prompt 4 - Hiding an illness

It had started subtly. A little choked back cough. Slower reaction timing.

By the first evening it had progressed to a headache. Link had written it off as just being tired.

But when Fado commented that Link had left the ranch abruptly, Rusl knew better than to wait it out. He'd gone to Link's home around dusk, and after a quick search of the abode, had come to the conclusion that Link was nowhere to be found.

Grabbing a torch as the daylight faded, he headed for the woods.

The trail was unorthodox, but present. Now that Rusl knew what to look for, it made tracking his son much easier. The grass was tousled just a hair, a few branches pushed aside, and one muddy spot bore half a paw print on it. A clump of black fur caught in a nearby bush pieced together the rest of the puzzle well enough.

Walking ahead carefully, Rusl's ears heard the sound of panting, and he turned towards the spring. When he reached the gate, he had to stop for a moment, his blood chilling.

A wolf was lying on its side at the edge of the spring, panting slowly. The sight of the animal in this spring, with a sword on Rusl's back and a torch in his hand, made him freeze up uncontrollably. He bit his tongue and swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry as images of the worst night of his life came unbidden in his mind, images of a wolf whining and bleeding, images of dark shadows morphing into a Hylian, images of his boy crying and bleeding to death.

Without thinking, Rusl immediately discarded his sword, trembling from head to foot. He took a step forward, trying to regain his focus. Then he took another step. The wolf whimpered, and Rusl backtracked three paces.

Come on, he berated himself. Get it together. Something's wrong with him.

Clenching the torch tightly, he stepped forward again, thought better of it, and pitched the torch into the spring to extinguish it. The splash caught the wolf's attention, and he watched his canine boy twitch, but do nothing beyond that.

"Link," Rusl said hoarsely, his throat dry, his heart racing. He blinked the images away again. For his own sake, he pleaded, "Please, turn back, son, I don't know what's wrong."

Link obeyed, shifting easily, still laying on his side, looking miserably and pale and sweaty. Rusl's chest released, allowing him to breathe normally again, and he hastened forward, kneeling beside his boy. The flush to Link's ashen cheeks clued him in, and he placed the back of his hand against the teenager's forehead.

He had a fever.

"S-sorry," Link slurred. "'m really tired. Thought... being a w-wolf would... make it feel better..."

Rusl sighed. "All you had to do was say you weren't feeling well, Link."

"'m ok, P-Pa..."

The resistance member's heart hurt listening to the boy try to reassure him, and he pulled him into his arms. "You will be, Link. Don't worry."

Link tried to argue, shifting weakly in Rusl’s arms as the pair walked through the village. He wasn’t going to be able to climb the ladder while carrying his ward, and he certainly wasn’t going to leave Link unattended, so they were going back to his house.

Uli seemed fairly resigned to the sight that greeted her at the doorway – she likely had seen the signs as well over the last twenty-four hours. She smiled and sighed. “I put blankets and pillows on the couch for him.”

Link immediately shriveled as Rusl gently laid him on the sofa. “S-sorry…”

“Don’t be sorry, sweetheart,” Uli soothed, slicking back sweaty hair from his forehead. “I’m making some soup for you. Rusl will help you get into something more comfortable.”

Rusl nodded with a smile, letting Uli run the house. She was far better of a caretaker when it came to illnesses to be honest, and he was happy to have her call the shots. He was still shaking jitters from the spring, anyway.

Spirits above. He thought he’d gotten passed that. But he supposed he’d just… not addressed it. Not with himself, at least.

Grabbing a spare nightshirt, Rusl wandered back into the den to find Link shivering under the blanket Uli had supplied. Sweat drenched his tunic, and he actively avoided eye contact when Rusl approached him.

“Link,” Rusl said as he crouched down, ignoring the mild strain in his knees. “Don’t feel guilty, son. It’s okay.”

“It’s stupid,” Link sniffled, wiping sweat off his brow with a shaky hand. “I c-can—can take care of—I’m s-sorry—”

Rusl interrupted him when he took a cloth and wiped Link’s face, stopping the boy’s fretting movements. “Link. You do so much for everyone. For the village, for the Resistance, for Hyrule. You saved the world. I think it’s fair for you to let others take care of you sometimes.”

His boy watched him a moment, eyes glassy and conflicted, and he sighed tiredly. “But you and Ma have Hana and Colin and that’s a lot, and you’re in the Resistance too. I…”

“It’s always our pleasure to take care of our boy,” Rusl whispered gently with a smile. “Always.”

Link bit his lip, eyes closing for a moment as he suddenly fought desperately for composure. Rusl let the boy have his privacy on the matter, instead shifting focus to helping him sit up and get into the nightshirt he’d brought.

Once Link was settled and tucked back in, Rusl wiped his face of both sweat and tears and pulled the chair over as Uli arrived with a steaming bowl of soup. Colin was next, stumbling in with half lidded eyes as he’d just gone to bed but had heard the commotion. Once he saw that Link was ill he couldn’t be convinced to go back to bed quite yet, and Hana awakening for some milk further roused him.

It was well into the night when Rusl was gently rocking Hana back and forth, patting her back after her mother had provided her with nourishment. Colin was sitting on the floor by the sofa while Link relaxed, having eaten the soup provided to him, and Uli sat in the chair, regaling her boys with yet another story. Link, despite being quite ill, kept his eyes half open to listen, enjoying listening to his mother’s words, and Colin’s head was slowly tipping to the side and bobbing as he tried to follow along as well. The fire had died down a fair amount, still filling the home with warmth while barely making a sound save for the occasional pop.

“Each little raindrop sparkles like jewels in the light of sacred springs,” Uli continued. She was currently telling one of Colin’s favorites, that being the origins of fairies. “When enough collect on the leaves of the spring, the colors shimmer and swirl, creating a rainbow. The spirits collect the rainbow water together. You can practically taste the magic in the air, like the cool sweet crispness of snow cream in your mouth, and it makes your heart flutter and makes you feel alive. The spirits hold the water in their hands, closed to the world, and when they open them, there lies a fairy. They take a piece of light with them wherever they go, guiding and healing anyone who crosses their path.”

“How many fairies are there?” Colin asked sleepily.

“More than I could ever count,” Uli answered. “But they hide. Their magic is special. Only good children can see them. A while ago, they made a special trip.”

“That’s how Hana is here!” Colin surmised. “Sera says fairies bring babies.”

Uli giggled. “Well. Your Pa certainly helped. You’ll learn more about that when you’re a little older.”

Rusl bit back a snort of laughter.

“But,” she carried on. “They did bring someone years ago. A little one of the forest, with twigs in his hair and little bits of bramble stuck to his clothes. They guided him to Ordon Village and blessed us more than any fairy could ever bless anyone.”

Link’s gentle breaths filled the air as he finally fell asleep, and both parents watched him a moment, their hearts full. Uli spoke of fairies and magic for a while longer, but it didn’t take long for Colin to follow his older brother’s lead. Rusl handed Hana to his wife and then gently carried Colin back to his bed, tucking him in and giving him a kiss good night. When he returned to the den, Uli was doing similar to Link. The couple headed to their room together, settling Hana in her crib.

“We truly are blessed, aren’t we?” Uli sighed happily as the pair settled into bed.

Rusl took her hand, kissing it, and smiled back at her. “Yes, we are.”

#writing #secrets of the shadows #twilight princess #twilight princess link #tp link #rusl #uli #colin #legend of zelda #me: Link needs a change of clothes - what does Rusl wear for nightwear #me: what do medieval europeans wear for nightwear #internet: medieval europeans slept naked #me: OK WELL MAYBE NOT. MORE MODERN. MORE MODERN PLS #anyway I love them your honor #I love making Uli do storytelling #it helps me practice descriptive writing too #and it's cute #sicktember #sicktember 2023

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maybeitsalivescribbles · 8 months

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Sicktember 23, 07 - “You’re a Jerk When You’re Sick” (TTD)

“I’m fine,” whined Hero with an exasperated sigh.

No less fed up, Former Villain crossed their arms.

“You are not fine. Your health is compromised.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. It’s just a cold.”

“If you keep overdoing it and keep working all day, it won’t become just a cold. Human bodies are not made like that. Whether you like or not, you are human.”

Hero rolled their eyes and stood up:

“ I find this condescending and uninformative. Don’t you know that if I wish hard enough I’m going to be fi-oouch.”

They fell gracelessly in the bed when Former Villain pushed them away with their hand.

“Hey ! You can’t attack me anymore, you’re reformed !”

“Reformed, not tamed. You will submit and lay down while I take control of your lair.”

Hero looked unimpressed. Even with a hoarse voice, they could still out-retort their former enemy with no problem.

“It’s not because I sneeze a little that I can’t kick your ass anymore, you know.”

“Then I’d stop cooking and doing the dishes.”

“You wouldn’t, you traitor !”

“My heart is black as coal and I know no pity. Try me.”

“But I have to work !”

“I’ve called three other Heroes so they can take your place today. Besides, the greatest, most amazing and alluring threat is on your side now, so it should be fine.”

Hero raised an eyebrow:

“ It’s all relative, you know. It’s not as if you actually killed someone – I’d say you were more of an absolute nuisance, a pain in my -”

“A monster of the highest order, a monument of refinement and class who would not lower themself to steal the life away from simple peons – I know, I know.”

Hero rubbed their face against their pillow to muffle a groan of frustration.

“ When I’ve accepted to let you be my roommate”, they said in a very tired voice, “I did not expect it to be that way.”

“In that you were greatly mistaken.”

The Villain had a low laugh and raised their arms for emphasis, their gigantic shadow mimicking their moves on the wall behind:

“Now that you’re weakened, you’re at my mercy! I shall dispose of all your earthly possessions and rearrange them in order ! I shall question you until you’ll be forced to reveal what your favorite meal is and I will not hesitate to serve it to you ! I’ll let you consume in anticipation while I’ll call a doctor !”

“Don’t you dare ! I don’t need one, I don’t want to bother them when other people really need them.”

“It’s been three weeks.”

“And I’m still alive.”

Villain’s arms fell flat on their sides. They let themself fall on a chair, rubbed their face with their hands and did not move. After a while, Hero, intrigued by their silence, awkwardly raised a little.

“...Villain ?”

There was no answer. That was weird. Normally, their bickering lasted longer.

“ You’re okay ?”

Villain raised their head, gave them a death stare, then sneezed.

Oh. Oh, right. A cold was viral and they now had a roommate. They...they hadn’t thought of that. They were not used to have anyone around. Scratch that, they were not used to have anyone caring around.

“You’re a jerk when you’re sick, you know,” said the villain in a very tired voice.

“Fine,” Hero finally conceded. “I’ll call the damn doctor.”

(You can find these two dorks again here and here)

Back to These Two Dorks masterlist. Or the Villain X Hero Masterlist.

#sicktember #sicktember 2023 #I don't like this one but whatev #villain and hero #hero villain community #writeblr #writers on tumblr #original fiction #my writing #writing snippet #writing drabble #writing dialogue #these two dorks #hero and villain #heroes and villains

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yes-i-am-happyaspie · 9 months

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WIP Wednesday Tuesday*

* Because I messed up my queue

“How is ‘pick Peter Parker up from school and bring him over to the tower on Friday’ part of my job?” Happy had asked. “I’m an assets manager not a babysitter.”

“Yeah, but part of your job is to acquire, maintain and protect my assets, right?” Tony had questioned without missing a beat.

“Peter’s a kid, not an asset,” Happy had flatly argued.

“An asset is a useful or valuable thing, person, or quality. What could possibly be of more value to me than Peter?” Tony had asked with a flippant wave of his hand.

Happy had raised his eyebrows, then narrowed his eyes. “Did you just put a price tag on your kid?”

#wip wednesday #sicktember 2023 #happy to stay #pov happy hogan #peter parker #tony stark #irondad and spiderson #spider-man #iron man #marvel #mcu

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beth--b · 7 months

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I should have stayed home

Six months post Vecna’s defeat things were going pretty well for Steve.

He and Robin had both managed to get jobs at a bakery that had opened in town, Robin was taking a gap year after all the insanity that had been their lives before heading to college.

Eddie and Max had both recovered well from their injuries, Max would need glasses and Eddie had some pretty gnarly scars (as did Steve) but they were both doing well.

Steve had discovered that thinking of other boys as ‘pretty’ was not something that everyone did, and after a few long conversations with Robin, he had come to the conclusion that he was into both girls and guys.

The fact that he found Eddie very attractive certainly helped move things along for him.

The party had stayed close having regular catch ups by way of dinners or movie nights. The Byers and El had moved back to Hawkins with Hopper, Hopper had wasted no time in popping the question to Joyce and they had tied the knot a few months ago. They both said they’d waited long enough and who knew what the future would bring so why wait.

This brought Steve to the present day.

Read it here on ao3

He had been planning on asking Eddie out for weeks now and was planning on meeting him at the bakery when his shift ended.

The problem was Steve had woken up with a headache that was quickly becoming a migraine.

To try and make things easier on himself he decided to forego his contacts (who knew that so much head trauma could cause permanent damage?) and wore his glasses instead.

Not the way he’d wanted to look when he officially asked Eddie out. They’d been dancing around each other for weeks, months really, flirting and getting far too close for friendship but neither of them had actually asked the other out.

Nothing he could do about it though, so with glasses in place he popped a few painkillers and left for work.

—---------------

The day was dragging.

Robin wasn’t working with him today, he had needed to deal with multiple rude customers and his headache was only getting worse.

The painkillers had hardly touched the sides of the headache when it had first begun and now that it was a full blown migraine, he was a hair's breadth from laying down on the floor and calling it a day.

He only had another hour before Eddie would be there and they could go somewhere and Steve could ask him out. Officially. He was not going to let a headache stop him. It had taken him so long to get to this point and now he didn’t want to wait anymore.

So that meant he would grin and bear it.

Turning on his best customer service smile, that may or may not have looked more like a grimace at this point, he greeted the next customer that came into the store.

He bent down to get the cake out of the cabinet that the lady had chosen only to be hit with a wave of dizziness as he straightened back up. He managed not to drop the cake, blindly placing it on the counter, only to stumble back himself. Next thing he knew he was looking at the ceiling.

The customer, a middle aged woman who Steve vaguely recognised as working at Hawkins Middle hurried around to him and checked him over.

“Are you alright dear?” she asked, supporting him as he slowly sat up. The world was still spinning and he closed his eyes as he helped guide his head between his knees. “Easy does it. Is there someone else here I can call?”

Steve just shook his head, taking a few deep breaths until he felt he could sit up.

“Sorry ma’am just stood up too fast and got a bit dizzy. I’m so sorry about that! Is your cake alright?”

The woman helped him up and shushed him, telling him everything was fine and to take care of himself. She paid for her cake and once she was sure he was steady on her feet she left the store, but only after Steve reassured her he was fine and someone would be there soon to take over for him.

Thankfully it was quiet the rest of his shift, only half an hour left.

He wanted nothing more than to see Eddie, but his head was killing him and now on top of the migraine he had an egg on the back of his head from where he had hit the floor.

He was determined not to give in though.

Moments later the metal head himself came through the door.

“Stevie! Fancy finding you here?”

Steve couldn’t help but wince at the volume of Eddie’s voice, ducking his head to try and hide it as he came around the counter to greet the older man.

“Hey Eds! Just waiting on my replacement and we can get out of here,” Steve said, giving Eddie a quick hug. If he leaned in a little longer that he meant to, well nobody else was there to see.

Steve went back behind the counter, bagging up a couple of pastries for Eddie and himself to have later and gave them to Eddie.

“Mind taking those out to your van?” Steve asked, passing the bags over.

“Of course! What’s the plan? Are we taking our own cars and meeting somewhere or what?”

Not feeling fit to drive, but not wanting to tell Eddie either, Steve just shrugged and tried to act like he was deciding on the spot. “Maybe we take your van and come back for my car later?”

Not seeming too worried Eddie just smiled and nodded, turning to walk back outside to wait for Steve. “Alright, I’ll be waiting.”

With Eddie out of sight Steve lay his head on the counter and tried to breathe through the pain.

He didn’t even hear his replacement come in until they tapped him on the shoulder.

“You good Steve? You look kinda pale,” the kid asked. Tom, or Tim…Steve couldn’t remember just then.

“Mm fine. Here you go,” Steve took his apron off and almost threw it at the kid before making his way back around the counter and outside.

He made it to Eddie’s van just as another wave of dizziness took hold. Grabbing the door handle to keep himself upright he leaned heavily into the van door as he almost tipped over.

Just as he was about to give in and slide down onto the pavement Eddie was there, holding him up and guiding him into the car.

“Holy fuck Steve what’s wrong? You gonna pass out?”

Shaking and feeling sick Steve just shook his head as much as he could without making the pain in his head worse.

“No-no don’t think so. Sorry. Migraine. This isn’t how things were meant to go today. Maybe I should have stayed home. Just wanted things to be perfect for you,” Steve muttered as Eddie rubbed his back.

“Why didn’t you? If you’re not feeling well you could have just told me.”

Steve was almost in tears at this point. Everything was going so wrong.

“Wanted it t’be spec’al. Wan’ed to ask you out. Fucked it up now,” Steve slurred, too far gone from the pain to filter what he was even saying.

Eddie just wrapped his arms around Steve as much as their position in the van allowed and gently massaged Steve’s neck and head. The younger boys closed his eyes and felt some of the tension he was carrying begin to release.

“Oh sweetheart, you didn’t fuck anything up. Life happens. We can have a do-over another day. For now how about I take you home and we can go lay down and get you feeling better?”

“Ok,” Steve whispered, pressing into Eddie’s side.

“Good, let’s get you home and then when you’re feeling up to it, we can go on a proper date, sound good?”

“So good Eds. So good.”

“That’s settled then, let’s get you home.” Eddie pulled away and buckled Steve’s seatbelt for him. Before he started the engine though he pressed a quick kiss to Steve’s forehead.

“Wha’ was tha’ for?” Steve asked, opening his eyes

“Kissing it better for you,” Eddie replied, face turning bright red as he did.

“Oh! Thank you,” Steve felt his own face heat up in response but smiled nonetheless.

Maybe things hadn’t gone quite as he had planned but somehow it seemed they had worked out anyway.

#stranger things #my fics #steve harrington #eddie munson #sicktember #prompt 28 #steddie #getting together #steve x eddie #fanfiction #fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #sicktember 2023

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cuddlepilefics · 8 months

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Sick and injured

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Minho

Caregivers: Hyunjin and Felix

Prompt @sicktember

No one’s POV.:

Minho groaned as he pushed himself off the floor. “Gosh, you okay?”, Hyunjin gasped as he knelt next to the older. Though Minho nodded, his eyes seemed a little out of focus and the motion sent his head spinning. Seeing his hyung try to get up, Felix denied: “Take it easy for a moment.” To keep Minho from getting up, the Aussie rested his hand on the other’s shoulder, making him flinch. Felix’ brows furrowed with worry as his touch had been light. “It’s okay”, Minho panted, squeezing his eyes shut, “It’s okay, probably bruised my shoulder or something.” – “What about your head”, Hyunjin inquired, brushing a few sweaty strands of hair out of his hyung’s face, “Woah, you’re burning, hyung.” Sighing, Minho laid back on the floor and drew a shaky breath.

He had barely gotten any sleep the previous night. Coming down with a cold, Minho had had a hard time breathing through his nose, which made it incredibly difficult for him to fall asleep. He had probably already been running a fever, thinking back to how restless he had felt all night. The congestion in his sinuses had been messing with his balance all day and combined with the fever, he had been tripping himself frequently. Minho was honestly surprised that his fellow dance-liners had only noticed it now. He hadn’t been himself at all today and since they were the only ones there, he would’ve expected to be called out for his clumsiness immediately.

“I’m kinda sick but no, I didn’t hit my head”, Minho breathed, keeping his eyes closed to avoid the ceiling light aggravating his headache, “Only fell on my shoulder and it feels pretty sore but I’m not sure there’s much damage aside from a bruise.” – Kinda sick means?”, Hyunjin pressed, studying his hyung more closely while Felix got to his feet to collect the other’s water bottle. Lifting his left hand to rub at his nose, Minho sniffled: “Wasn’t much more than a runny nose and headache. I’m pretty stuffed up and it’s messing with my balance a bit.” – “Well, dancing most certainly didn’t help”, Felix sighed as he uncapped his hyung’s water bottle, “Your fever seems to be pretty high now. Do you think you can sit up to have some water?” Minho nodded and sat up with a grimace. His shoulder really did hurt now.

Accepting the bottle from his dongsaeng, Minho downed a few sips and shuddered as goosebumps spread down his arms. Felix took the bottle and screwed on the lid before holding it to the other’s forehead. It eased Minho’s headache some but he was already starting to shiver. “How’s your shoulder? I think we should get you back to the dorm to rest if your shoulder isn’t too bad”, Hyunjin asked softly, afraid they’d have to take the older to the hospital to get his injury looked at.

Considering his entire body ached already and his shoulder wasn’t significantly worse, Minho didn’t think his shoulder was seriously hurt, so they agreed to head back to their dorms. He had intended to take a hot shower to soothe the chills but was growing increasingly stiff and the task just sounded way too exhausting. Most movements of his right arm sent a sharp pain through his shoulder, so Minho slipped his right hand into the pocket of his hoodie to try and keep it as still as possible. Felix had linked his arm with Minho’s left afraid the older would fall again with how badly his balance was lacking. He felt Minho stiffen next to him as his breath hitched. “You okay, hyung?”, the Aussie asked worriedly, letting go of the other’s arm. The older gave a quick nod before bringing his hand up to his face, catching two itchy sneezes. His eyes welled up with tears as his face contorted in pain. Running his wrist under his nose, Minho sniffled: “M-my shoulder really didn’t like that.”

Minho had gone straight to his room to rest, foregoing the shower he had so been looking forward to earlier that day. Most of the members still had schedule but Hyunjin and Felix had decided to stay with him. After checking Minho’s shoulder for bruises, Felix helped the older try to get comfortable. There was no bruise to be seen yet but with how stiff he seemed, it had to hurt a lot. “Do you want me to get you an icepack?”, Felix asked once they had sorted his hyung’s pillows in a way that would support his shoulder just right. Tiredly relaxing into the soft material beneath him, Minho breathed: “I dunno. Feel cold enough already. Ugh, huh- ndo… I-I n-need to- need to s-snee-“ Panicking, the dancer scrubbed at his nose. Minho tried to keep his breath from hitching, fearing the pain that would inevitably come with sneezing. He was stressing so bad, he barely felt the two small hands on his arm and shoulder. “It’s okay, hyung. I got you”, Felix hummed, bracing his friend’s arm. The Aussie felt the muscles tense under his fingers as Minho stifled two forceful sneezes. Shakily releasing a breath, the older admitted: “That didn’t hurt as bad as I thought it would. Thanks, Lix.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to get that looked at?”, Hyunjin asked from the doorway, “How are you going to get any rest like this?” Defeatedly dropping his head onto his pillow, Minho sighed: “I know. I just- I feel like I pulled a muscle with the way I fell on it and there’s nothing a doctor can really do about it but tell me to give it time to heal. A trip to the hospital just sounds way to exhausting just to get advice that I already know.” – “True”, the younger agreed, chewing his lip, “Uhm, I could make you some soup. You know, so you can take painkillers after eating a bit.” They were dancers and each of them had pulled muscles on numerous occasions, so if Minho said that was what was going on with his shoulder, chances were high that he was right about it. Hyunjin just wished there was more they could do to help their hyung. “That sounds really nice actually”, Minho mumbled, “I don’t really have an appetite and my throat’s scratchy but it’d be awesome to take something for the pain. Might bring the fever down too.” The younger nodded before making his way to the kitchen to prepare his hyung some food.

Felix promised Minho he’d be right back for cuddles but quickly rushed to the bathroom to get a cold washcloth. “Let me put that on your forehead”, the Aussie muttered, brushing the hair out of Minho’s face, “That should help with the fever and headache till you’re able to take some medicine.” With Felix running his fingers though his hair and the cold cloth on his forehead soothing the headache, Minho soon found himself growing drowsy. His body wrecked by the sleepless night and hours of dancing before. Whenever Minho’s breathing would waver, Felix hands wandered to his shoulder, ready to brace it so it wouldn’t get jerked if the older had to sneeze.

By the time Hyunjin joined them with a steaming bowl of soup, Minho was close to drifting off. Everything felt fuzzy and he struggled to wake himself back up to eat something. Only when he had to sneeze and his shoulder tensed despite Felix’ support, did the pain bring him back to focus. It was frustrating having to sit back up after taking so long to find a comfortable position but the promise of medicine and a nap afterwards made it bearable. Minho realized just how lucky he had been to have fallen onto his right arm. Sure, he had learned to eat with his right hand too but with the fever making him clumsy, it sure would’ve been difficult to feed himself. “Thanks”, Minho whispered as he accepted the spoon. Hyunjin held the bowl for him while Felix went to trade the washcloth for medicine and also retrieved a small tub of ointment.

“Here’s your medicine and if you stay like this for a moment, I’ll rub some ointment on your shoulder”, Felix hummed as he handed his hyung the pills. Minho quickly rinsed them down with a few sips of water and leant into Hyunjin’s side for support while Felix dabbed the ointment onto his shoulder. Lightly grazing the other’s skin with his fingers, Felix commented: “There’s still no bruise, which is good but if my touch hurts anywhere, please let me know.” The older gave a soft hum and closed his eyes. Trusting his dongsaeng fully, Minho was able to relax and it was easy to see how the tension melted away. Well, anywhere but in his shoulder, which remained still at his side. Felix’ hands were gentle and it didn’t necessarily but there were a few spots that felt overly sore and sensitive. Seeing the older wince, Felix reduced the pressure and lightly brushed his fingertips over the spot in hopes of easing the discomfort.

Confused when Hyunjin nodded at him, Felix looked at Minho’s face and had to suppress a giggle. The older had fallen asleep against Hyunjin’s side, his face peaceful. Wanting their hyung to get as much rest as possible, the two decided to lay him down. Felix carefully guided Minho’s arm, so it wouldn’t get twisted again while Hyunjin eased him down on the pillows. “I’ll fetch an icepack for his head”, the Aussie announced, leaving it to Hyunjin to tuck Minho in. The dorm was quiet aside from the occasional stuffy snore and Felix quickly shot their maknaes a text to be quiet when they got home, so they wouldn’t wake Minho, who obviously needed that rest dearly.

Minho had woken up for a moment when Hyunjin tucked the blanket around his shoulder, glancing up at his dongsaeng with a feverish gloss in his eyes. “You can go back to sleep, hyung”, the younger whispered, “We’ll either be in Felix’ or the living room if you need anything.” Accepting the icepack from Felix, Hyunjin carefully draped it across Minho’s forehead before drawing the blinds.

Not wanting to disturb their hyung, Hyunjin and Felix settled on the Aussie’s bed and watched a drama together. Their phones buzzed with messages from their group chat. The members were telling Minho to feel better while Chan announced 3racha would be bringing home takeout for dinner, so they could eat together at the dorm Minho shared with the maknae-line. Everything would be taken care of and there’d be more than enough people to help Minho out shoulder he need anything or change his mind about seeing a doctor.

Luckily, he did manage to sleep for the entire three hours before their groupmates returned from their schedules. It was only after dinner that Minho shyly approached Felix. He had been holding back his sneezes all evening, afraid of hurting himself but the tickle was slowly growing unbearable. “L-Lix?”, Minho mumbled quietly, “I k-kinda- I kinda need your… your help.” The younger looked at him, head tilted curiously as his hyung blushed. Motioning to his face, Minho scrunched up his nose and whispered: “’s so itchy.” Felix finally got the hint and took Minho’s left hand, guiding him to the bathroom. “Here, sit”, the Aussie directed, pulling a few tissues from the box. Pressing the tissues into Minho’s hand, he gently felt around the other’s shoulder before tightening his grip to hold it securely. Minho doubted he could feel anymore embarrassed than he did, drawing a shaking breath through his nose. Sniffling, he tried to trigger the sneeze he had been fighting all evening but by now it was stuck.

Minho lightly traced the edge of a tissue against his septum, making his breath hitch. A soft whimper escaped his lips before he was thrown into an itchy sneezing fit. “Bless”, Felix smiled sympathetically, “You done?” Urgently shaking his head, Minho caught two more sneezes. “Ndow I’b done”, he rasped behind his tissues, ready to blow his nose as soon as Felix let go of him. Tossing the tissues into the trash, Minho went to wash his hands and sighed in relief: “Thanks Lix, those were really bothering me.”

#skz #stray kids #sickfic #fanfiction #sick #fanfic #fluff #comfort #snz #sicktember2023 #sicktember 2023 #minlix #hyunlix #hyunho

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sicktember · 8 months

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It's Not Too Late To Join In The Fun!

Sicktember is a month-long whump/hurt/comfort prompt event that takes place in September. This event focuses on sick characters and their caregivers.

There are still about two weeks until the official start of the event- but hey! Being fashionably late never hurt anyone.

Link to the original post with a [text version of prompts]

Link to [Faqs] Post

Link to [#event faqs] blog search

Link to [How to Submit Content] Post

Link to [#2023 prompt clarification] blog search

Link to [#resources and advice] blog search

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acasualcrossfade · 7 months

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Pillows on the Floor

Sicktember Day 25: Confused/Disoriented

Stranger Things: Steve Harrington/ Eddie Munson

Words: 500 | Rating: M | CW: mild cursing, mentions of violent nightmares, effects of violent nightmares, mentions of blood and physical harm

@sicktember

Summary: Steve is wary of sleeping next to Eddie again after Steve’s nightmare hurts the both of them.

Find me on Ao3!

Eddie was already in bed when Steve exited the bathroom. In the soft lamp light of the bedroom, Steve could make out the healing scratches criss-crossed over Eddie’s arms.

“You comin’ to bed?” Eddie asked. His brown eyes were filled with concern.

“Not tonight.”

Eddie’s shoulders sagged. “Can you at least talk to me?”

Steve paused. He’d given Eddie the silent treatment for the past few days; all he could see when he looked at Eddie was how he’d hurt him. It’d been three nights of Steve sleeping downstairs.

Steve remembered the entire ordeal. He remembered the dream and how he’d been tied down, the buzzing of a bone saw in his ears. He remembered snapping awake screaming hoarsely, then arms around him, holding him. Steve was confined again, trapped again, and he thrashed to get away, to escape. Steve clawed at what held him, fighting against Eddie’s arms.

It wasn’t until Steve fell against the cold hardwood gasping in deep breaths that he heard Eddie’s pained moans from the bed.

It wasn’t until Eddie clicked on the bedside lamp that Steve saw what he’d done.

“Steve?”

Eddie’s voice pulled Steve from the memory.

“It’s okay, they’re healing,” Eddie’s voice said gently.

“S’not that.” Steve’s voice was low, but he carefully sat on the edge of the bed next to Eddie.

“Then what is it?”

Steve kept his gaze on the floor. “I freaked out, Eddie. I freaked and I hurt you.”

“I was the one that grabbed you,” Eddie admitted. “Stupid move, but I didn’t want you to fall head first off the bed. Wasn’t thinking.”

“You were trying to help, and I hurt you instead.”

Eddie reached his hand across the blanket, but paused halfway to Steve’s.

Steve glanced at Eddie’s hand and then slowly closed the distance between them as he poked Eddie’s hand with his own.

They clasped their hands together, fingers intertwining and winding together. For a moment, Steve relished in Eddie’s presence.

Then, Steve spoke the words that kept fear cemented in his heart.

“It could be worse next time.”

Eddie’s hand squeezed his hand in response and traced Steve’s knuckles gently. “We saw some dark shit over there. You more than me,” Eddie said. “And next time, maybe there’ll be pillows on the floor instead.”

Steve looked up suddenly in surprised confusion. “Pillows on the floor?” “Yeah, if you’re going to be falling out of bed, you’ll at least land on something soft.”

Steve blinked. He’d never thought of that. “Like the couch cushions?”

“Actually, that would work. Want to try it?”

Steve nodded and so it was set up. As Steve carried a cushion and set it by the bed, he felt a weight shift and lift from him.

He’d have something to catch him.

The thought brought comfort, and it was easier to crawl into bed next to Eddie. It was easier to nudge into Eddie’s embrace.

In Eddie’s arms, Steve found sleep easier than he had in a long time.

#sicktember 2023 #sicktember day 25 #confused/disoriented #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #hurt/comfort #steve harrington #eddie munson #hurt steve harrington #hurt eddie munson #acasualcrossfade writes #thuderously halo writes

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goldenempyrean · 7 months

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Should've Worn A Coat

〚 Day 18 - “Wear your coat, you’ll catch a cold” 〛

〚 Pairing - Lena Luthor x Reader 〛

〚 Summary - Your girlfriend had told you to wear a coat - you didn't. 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙〘 Sicktember 2023 Masterlist 〙

“What am I going to do with you sweetheart? Eh?” Lena sighed, lathering up the shampoo as she softly ran her hands through your hair, carefully washing it.

“You could kiss me and make me soup?” You giggled feverishly, as you looked over your shoulder to see Lena raise an eyebrow and shoot you an ‘are you kidding me’ sort of look.

In her defence she had warned you this would happen. Her exact words had been “Remember to wear a coat, you’ll catch a cold otherwise.” But did you wear a coat? Nope. Instead, you had gotten thoroughly soaked and chilled to the bone, leading you to where you were now. 3 days later, sniffling and miserable as both you and Lena sat on the floor of your steam filled shower in an attempt to clear up your sinuses.

With a playful smirk, Lena leaned closer, her lips hovering near your forehead. "Well, since you asked so nicely," she said, planting a gentle kiss on your feverish forehead. You couldn't help but grin happily, “Next time you’ll listen to me though, won’t you?”

You nodded weakly, a contented sigh escaping your lips as Lena continued to wash your hair with tender care. The steam from the shower seemed to be finally doing wonders for your stuffy nose, and you could finally breathe a little easier.

Lena's fingers continued to massage your scalp, her touch soothing and loving. "I will, I promise." you whispered, your voice still a bit hoarse round the edges.

She chuckled softly, the sound like music to your ears. "That's what I like to hear." Lena leaned in, her lips brushing against your earlobe. "And as for the soup, it's already simmering on the stove. You'll have a nice, hot bowl waiting for you when we're done here."

〖 Join My Taglist! 〗 @natashamaximoff69 @lovelyy-moonlight @santana1437 @kljhsong @inluvwithfictionalwomen @shamelessbearunknown @kathleenmikaelson @bloomingflowersthings @observeowl @scrambled-brain-eggs @natashamyl0ve @somber-sapphic@lexasaurs634 @nayarianna1302 @itsarandomblog @scarlettssub @villaneve4life @demonicbaby666 @wandanats-goodgirl

#lena luthor x reader #lena luthor x you #lena luthor x y/n #lena luthor x fem!reader #lena luthor fanfic #lena luthor #lena luthor sickfic #sickfic #fluff #supergirl sickfic #supergirl fluff #sicktember 2023 #whump #hurt/comfort #caretaking #comfort #soft

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somber-sapphic · 8 months

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Fevered Bonds

〘Day 1 "Hopelessly Bad at Self-Care"〙

〘Notes Hello everyone! Today we start Sicktember! Most of my fics for this month will probably be on the shorter side, but hey, at least they exist, right? Oh, there may come a point where I give up on making titles and the titles will become the actual prompt.〙

〘Summary When Natasha gets sick and refuses to rest, she ends up getting you sick too. Wanda Maximoff to the rescue.〙

〘Word Count 550〙

〘Pairing WandaNat x Reader (sick Nat+ r)〙

〚Main Masterlist〛⌶〚Sicktember Masterlist〛

Three days ago Natasha had fallen to the same illness that had been attacking the Avengers tower for a week. But of course, she wouldn’t dare admit it.

Being the “invincible warrior” that she was, the woman had absolutely denied anything being wrong and had gone about her daily activities spreading her germs around for everyone to come into contact with.

Wanda had stayed away for the most part, electing to wait until Nat wore herself out before coming into too much contact with her. That wasn’t to say that she had abandoned the redhead, more that she had elected to sleep on the couch and refrain from sharing drinks with the woman.

You had not been quite so smart. At first you had been determined to prove to her that she was sick, following her around with incessant nagging until she finally turned around and yelled at you to leave her alone. Mid yell she had sneezed on you, condemning you to the same fate.

It had taken you barely twelve hours to develop a runny nose, which was quickly followed by a grating cough and raging fever. Natasha had been forced into bed the day before your illness had gotten any worse than a scratchy throat and had sense been demanding that Wanda go away, still claiming that she was fine.

To her credit, the brunette was being incredibly patient. Each time the assassin insisted that she didn’t need another dose of cough medicine Wanda would engage in a calm conversation with her, explaining why she was being stupid without calling her stupid. Her tactic never failed.

When you realized you were getting sick, you didn’t want to burden Wanda any further. You instead decided to take to google and read up on different ways to get rid of germs without taking any medicine. You didn’t like the way it tasted or the way it made you feel so you tended to avoid it at all costs.

The first thing you’d tried ended up also being the last. You’d read something about sweating out illness and decided that being an Avenger with access to a very large gym it seemed that the exercise plan was a good one.

After a bit of struggling into workout clothes -you’d gotten to the point in your illness where your movements had become jerky and unpredictable- you made your way down to the gym. In hindsight, it wasn’t a great plan but in your feverish mind it was the only plan. Afterall, Wanda had her hands full with Natasha.

It had only taken a half hour on the treadmill to realize that you had made a grievous mistake. After realizing that there was no chance of you completing your five-mile goal you slunk out of the gym with a runny nose and a scowl.

After a shower and change you crawled into bed beside Natasha, giving in to the illness. The sleepy redhead sort of just grabbed you, holding you against her like a stuffed animal. You didn’t mind, but it wasn’t long before Wanda was shoving cold medicine and fever reducers in your face.

After she walked away, presumably back to the kitchen where she had been preparing soup, you heard her mutter, “The two of you would be dead without me.”

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sickficideas · 7 months

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endearing bastard || suegiku sickfic

ao3! 2.9k - please refer to the tags in the link for content + warnings! sicktember 2023, day 10: “The only place we’re going is to the pharmacy”

“Tecchou,” Jouno starts with a heavy sigh.

Every sign he’s observed in the first five minutes of meeting Tecchou this morning has pointed to proof that his fellow Hunting Dog has come to work with some kind of illness. Unsteady breaths, gurgling from his stomach, groans quiet enough for only Jouno to hear.

“Yes?” Tecchou starts. They’re both an hour early. Completely unnecessarily, really. Jouno started showing up five minutes early to their meetings, and out of pettiness, Tecchou being showing up ten minutes before him. And now, they’ve done it so many times that they’ve reached an hour.

“Go home. You’re sick,” Jouno grumbles. He really doesn’t want to argue with him. Tecchou is stubborn and difficult to reason with. It’s hard to get a lot of things through that thick skull of his.

"But we have to report to the captain today," Tecchou murmurs. So he’s not denying that he’s sick. That’s good, he thinks, but it might be bad that he’s sick enough to know he can’t hide it from Jouno.

"I'll report to him. The only place you're going to is the pharmacy."

Jouno lands a hand on Tecchou’s arm and snakes it down to his wrist before he starts pulling him in the direction of the exit from where they stand in one of the halls on the first floor of the building. Tecchou’s arm is warm. The heat is already radiating through the sleeve.

Tecchou only makes it a few steps before he stubbornly plants his feet on the floor. Stubbornness aside, he’s physically much stronger than Jouno. Jouno couldn’t deadweight carry someone like Tecchou even if his life depended on it.

"Do you really think you're in any condition to work today? Be serious," Jouno huffs. He'd really like to get that through Tecchou's thick skull, but he doesn't seem to understand it at all. He uses his teeth to pull off his glove, and brings his hand back up to Tecchou's forehead, gently pressing his palm against his skin. He's much warmer there as opposed to his arm. If he had to guess, that's at least a hundred-and-one fever, and the way his stomach is gurgling isn't a good sign either.

"But you've come to work sick before, Jouno," Tecchou eventually says, his voice a little softer than normal.

Jouno groans. He should have known that argument was coming. He slides his glove back on. "So you think that because I do it, that it's okay for you to? If I jumped off a cliff, would you?"

"Depending on the circumstance -"

"Oh my god, shut up. We're taking you to the pharmacy. End of story," Jouno huffs, his hand snaking back down to find Tecchou's. This time, he interlocks their fingers, and starts to pull him back down the hall. "And then you're going to stay at home and rest."

“What about the captain?” Tecchou mumbles, not sounding very on board with this plan, but at least he’s following Jouno.

“I’ll call Teruko and fill her in. You call a cab.”

And so, they do just that. Tecchou stands outside as he calls a cab, and Jouno asks his phone to call Teruko, who responds just as annoyed as he would expect her to. He assures her that no, it’s no disrespect to captain Fukuchi, that Tecchou is truly ill and Jouno is simply escorting him home.

“Are you taking him home to his place? Or yours?” Teruko asks, just as Jouno was planning on hanging up.

He pauses. He feels his ear start to get hot, wondering if maybe she’s onto something. “Why does that matter?”

“Just curious,” she says rather mischievously. “Bye-bye, Jouno.”

“Bye, Teruko,” he grumbles with uncertainty as he steps out of the building, hearing the taxi cab approach from the distance.

“Why do you need to come with me?” Tecchou asks as Jouno steps in line beside him.

“Because I don’t trust you to take care of yourself,” Jouno says, and for some reason, that stops any additional questions from Tecchou. The two of them climb in the taxi cab, and Jouno requests they be taken near the shopping district near where their apartments are, to the nearest pharmacy. The driver apparently nods, quietly pointed out to Jouno by Tecchou.

Tecchou is quiet for most of that ride, but the gurgling sounds of his stomach don’t seem to be getting any better. They coincide with the irregular nature of his breathing, and that makes it clear enough that Tecchou is nauseous. Jouno wonders if he’s had anything to eat, or if this is a symptom of his illness. Probably the latter.

“Flu?” Jouno asks.

“Not sure,” Tecchou says quietly, almost embarrassed, but he seems to recognize that Jouno will not take silence for an answer. “Maybe.”

“How long have you been sick for?” Jouno asks him.

“Two…two or three days, maybe,” Tecchou says.

“And it’s worse today?” Jouno asks. He hasn't seen him the last few days. Tecchou had a few days off while Jouno was working with Tachihara on a Port Mafia related matter.

“Yes,” Tecchou admits.

Jouno doesn’t understand him. Maybe it’s because of how being ill messes with his senses, but he would never want to endure multiple says of being ill without seeing a doctor, or taking some kind of medication. Tecchou is really far too stubborn for his own good.

“If it’s a flu, we’ll get you some flu medication and see how it goes. If you feel worse tomorrow I’m taking you to the doctor,” Jouno says sternly, making sure that Tecchou knows his intentions from the beginning.

“Okay,” Tecchou answers dejectedly.

It’s quiet for the rest of that ride, until they reach the pharmacy in the city.

Jouno and Tecchou enter inside, and Jouno realizes too late they’ve forgotten to change out of their outfits judging by the whispers of police, military and other such things from the staff and patrons. Jouno doesn’t mind too much, it often gains him more respect on account of his disability, but Tecchou doesn’t like using his status to his advantage.

They walk a few steps forward, and before Jouno can ask Tecchou to lead him to where he needs to be, he stops behind him.

"Do you think there's a restroom here?" Tecchou asks quietly.

"Probably in the back,” Jouno says before Tecchou’s footsteps trail away, and he realizes he’s on his own. He doesn’t like doing things like this. There are certain things that his hearing is incredibly helpful for, and this is not one of them. He’s certainly more suited for combat and investigative work, not navigating a pharmacy.

He doesn’t like asking for help, but he’ll do it for Tecchou.

He follows the sounds of the register - the drawers opening and closing, beeps from scanning items, and heavy foot traffic, and he stands himself at the front as the last patron exits the store.

“Excuse me,” he says sternly. “I’m looking for a good flu medication.”

A woman starts to speak. “Oh, yes, sir. There’s a few options down in the isle behind - “

“I’m blind,” he tells her before she can give any further directions.

“Oh! I’m so sorry. I’ll go find one for you, sir,” she says, stepping out from behind the register.

“That’s fine. I’ll wait here,” he says as she scurries off to one of the many isles behind him. He starts to hear whispers from some others behind the counter, comments about a blind soldier, and things he would rather tune out. Jouno can usually count on Tecchou to argue back, even when it's not his place to. He can hear him in his head. You have no right to say things like that. Please mind your own business.

He smiles to himself. He’s ridiculous, really.

He hears Tecchou’s footsteps get closer. His stride is very distinct. He carries himself well, but even today, Jouno can tell he's getting sluggish. He tries to listen for other signs, but the scurried footsteps of the cashier return, and she steps behind the cashier.

“Here you are, sir. Is this for you? Or - ”

“Thank you. It’s not for me. I can have him read the instructions himself,” Jouno says, gesturing with his head toward Tecchou as the woman scans the medication.

They're out of the pharmacy before long and Tecchou leans against the outside of the building after he finishes his call for a cab.

“Did you ask someone for help?” Tecchou asks. He sounds surprised.

“Don’t act like I can’t do it myself. It would have just taken me longer," Jouno insists. He'd like to not admit that it would have been virtually impossible to pick out a medication without already being familiar with how each and every container is shaped, and how the pills sound in the bottles. He only recognizes what's in his own collection at home.

Tecchou almost responds, but he's interrupted by a quiet groan, and stifles a near silent burp into his fist.

"Did you throw up?" Jouno asks him, realizing he missed something. "In the bathroom?"

"Mhm," he mumbles.

Jouno sighs. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Tecchou is quiet for a few moments, like he's confused. "I just told you."

"I know that. Just…" Jouno sighs again. He finds himself doing that incredibly often around Tecchou. Jouno, personally, hates throwing up. He doesn't understand how Tecchou shrugs it off to easily. "Tecchou, you can't come to work when you're feeling this bad. It's not good for you or anyone else."

"Okay."

"Okay?" Jouno raises a brow.

"I won't do it again," Tecchou elaborates. "I just didn't want to disappoint you."

"Tecchou, you're not…" Jouno groans. He wonders if there's any point convincing him otherwise. "Let's go home. You should rest."

Tecchou confuses him. He’s so weirdly competitive, but then in moments like these, he shows that weakness. That he’s only trying to compete with Jouno to prove himself, for some odd reason.

“I can go home by myself. It doesn’t make sense to trouble you," Tecchou insists.

“Don’t be stupid. I'm telling the driver to take you to my place and I’ll take care of you,” Jouno says as if it’s the only viable option.

“Why?” Tecchou asks.

“What do you mean, why?” Jouno thinks he's more confused than Tecchou is.

“Why do you want to? What difference does it make?” Tecchou asks. It sounds like a genuine question. Like he’s confused about it.

“You’ve done it for me,” Jouno says. "And, I…you know."

He can practically hear Tecchou tilt his head.

"Ugh, don't make me say it," Jouno grumbles.

"I can't read your mind, Jouno," Tecchou reminds him. He almost sounds like he’s teasing. He’s getting harder and harder to read, these days.

"I care about you, idiot," Jouno huffs, feeling his ears heat up before he turns his head away, making sure Tecchou won’t be able to see his reddening face. "Where's that damn cab?"

Tecchou is quiet after that, and the short taxi ride back, too.

They make it to Jouno's apartment without incident.

He holds his key card up to the door handle and he lets the two of them inside. Jouno won’t mind a little day off, and he’s sure Tecchou could use it, too, especially while he’s unwell.

“You can change. I’m sure I have something that fits you in my closet. Just hang up your uniform on the coat rack, and don’t forget it like you did last time,” Jouno says as he wanders off to his bedroom. He’s pretty certain that he has some of Tecchou’s clothes in his closet. He remembers finding unfamiliar clothing in his laundry the other week.

He finds one of his old shirts and a pair of sweatpants just as Tecchou shuffles into the bedroom, and Jouno tosses them over to him as he sits down on the bed. Jouno’s still deciding on what he wants to wear, but he doesn’t hear Tecchou making any effort to get changed.

"Jouno," Tecchou starts.

"What is it?" Jouno sighs. He hopes he doesn’t have a complaint about the outfit choice. It’s not like they’re going somewhere.

"I'm sorry," Tecchou says quietly.

Jouno lowers his arms and turns around. “If any of this were actually a problem for me, I would have ignored you at headquarters and made you deal with it yourself, Tecchou.”

Tecchou doesn’t have anything to say to that. He’s concerned about his behavior. Maybe his fever is just throwing him off kilter or something, or maybe Jouno just hasn’t seen how he acts when he’s not feeling well. He busies himself with hanging up his own uniform, not caring much that he’s changing right in front of Tecchou. He’s seen him do it before.

“Are you changed?” Jouno asks as he slips a shirt on. He hears Tecchou hum something sounding like a yes. “Read the instructions on the medication. You should go ahead and take a dose.”

“Can I wait a minute?” Tecchou asks.

“Why?” Jouno huffs. He pauses for a second, before he realizes the sounds coming from Tecchou’s stomach are a bit too wild for his liking. “Are you about to throw up?”

“I think so,” he murmurs.

“Well then get to the bathroom, you idiot,” Jouno sighs, not bothering with his sweatpants in that moment, taking Tecchou’s wrist and leading him to the bathroom.

Tecchou gets ahead of him with a pained groan as he drops onto his knees in front of the toilet, and before Jouno can even kneel down beside him, he hears him gag and choke before he brings up a mouthful or two of vomit, splashing into the toiler water below. Jouno hates that sound, and normally he wouldn’t stay with anyone through something like this - it’s far too much auditory stimulation for someone like him, but he feels guilty leaving Tecchou alone when he’s feeling so unwell.

He has a pretty strong stomach most of the time. He can drink without suffering hangovers, he can eat those ridiculous food combinations without having to deal with so much as a tummyache, and he never seems to deal with headaches or migraines like Jouno does. He’s not used to feeling miserable like this. He doesn’t show it easily, but Jouno can hear the little whines and whimpers from the back of his throat, moans of discomfort as he lets the drool pooling in his mouth drip into the toilet.

“Maybe this is what you get for eating crap all of the time,” Jouno teases as he rubs his back, a little unnerved by how warm his skin is feeling.

Jouno thinks that he really doesn’t feel good. He doubts it has anything to do with Tecchou’s strange diet habits, because he’s running a fever and he doesn’t even have the energy to put up with Jouno’s teasing. He tries to hide a burp by closing his mouth but it’s accompanied by a gag that he can’t hold back, and he throws up again. He sighs to himself and Jouno feels him lean forward and lay his head down on the toilet seat.

“Hey,” he starts, sneaking a hand under his shirt as he leans against him to rub circles into his slightly bloated tummy. “You shouldn’t lay there. Let’s go to bed.”

“I don’t want to get up,” Tecchou murmurs quietly, spitting out a wad of saliva.

“I’ll help you,” Jouno insists. He can’t carry Tecchou, he’s sure of that, but the least he can do is provide him some support. “Do you think you’re done for now?”

“Mhm,” Tecchou murmurs. “Can you…can you keep a trash bin by your bed?”

“I can do that,” Jouno agrees. That tells him Tecchou must not feel much better after that. Maybe he’ll really have to take him to the doctor sooner rather than later. He hates that he feels like this.

Tecchou groans as he forces himself up off the floor, evidently much more fatigued and weak than he was initially letting on. Jouno’s glad he managed to convince him to come here, he doesn’t want to think about what would have happened if he stayed at work.

Jouno takes his arm and leads him back to his bedroom, and the latter crawls into bed and under the covers without needing to be told, thankfully. Maybe he’ll give him some time for his stomach to settle before he makes him take any medication. It doesn’t make sense to do that while he’s feeling so nauseous.

Jouno sets the trash bin on the nightstand beside where Tecchou has claimed a spot, and climbs into bed beside him with a deep sigh. His hand snakes around until he finds the hem of Tecchou’s shirt, and he lays it over his tummy, continuing to rub gentle circles into his warm skin.

"I can still hear your stomach gurgling," Jouno tells him quietly. "Do you still feel nauseous?"

Tecchou hums something, but that's all Jouno hears. That’s impressive, Jouno can usually tell what he’s saying no matter what.

"What was that?" Jouno asks.

Tecchou's quiet, now. Jouno almost says it again, before he hears a quiet snore. Tecchou has always been quick to fall asleep, and especially now.

“I’ll take you to the doctor if you don’t feel any better after your nap,” Jouno says, sinking his head into his pillow, scooting a little closer to Tecchou, keeping his hand where it is. He hopes he can soothe him a little, even while he’s falling asleep. “Sleep well, Tecchou.”

Tecchou snores in response, and Jouno’s annoyed by the way the corners of his own lips start to turn upward.

Stupid endearing bastard.

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