#sickfic

[boysbellyrubs]

hi! I love your work, if you don't mind could you make a sickfic where a male character of your liking mistake a stomach flu as motion sickness, because he's in a car/airplane/boat. Thank you.

Sorry for making you wait so long for this. I'm finally free of exams so I had time to write this, it's kinda short and rushed but I hope you enjoy :)

--

The drive to Queenstown had always been known to cause motion sickness. The twisty roads stuck high up against the hills were a recipe for disaster. Caine felt himself sliding around in the passenger seat, trying desperately to stare at one spot outside the car. 

“Feeling okay?” Quinn asked. The car's radio turned down as Quinn took notice of Caine’s silence. Monitoring each other on the drive was something they had agreed on before they left, knowing how treacherous the trip was going to be. Caine didn’t want to think about when he would have to drive back, the thought of plummeting face first down the cliff made his insides curdle. 

His inside curdled on their own though. The roads curved and wrapped around his stomach, sending ominous gurgles and neon warning signs lit up in his head. Caine cringed inwards, hating the queasy feeling nestled deep in his belly, it made his head spin and his eyes water. 

Quinn tried again, “Caine? I asked if you were okay.” 

“Feeling a little queasy.” He mumbled, arms squeezing across his middle. His boyfriend groaned a little. 

“I’m sorry, hon, but we’ve got a ways to go before we get to some flat. Can you hold out until then?” 

Caine really wanted to say no. But, Quinn was right. It was impossible for them to pull over. He nodded but a small whimper left his lips. It felt like his brain was sliding around inside his skull, bouncing against bone and spinning up his eyeballs. He looked directly forward, breathing heavily through his nose. Quinn silently turned up the air con, an icy blast of air hit Caine square in the face. 

As they drove on, Caine found a good spot on the horizon for his eyes to rest. He ignored the speeding images of other cars and green hills beside him. A cramp tore up his middle, gurgling angrily at him. Every breath he took caused another fresh wave of nausea to rise up. 

“Do you need a bag or something?” Quinn said, eyes focused on the road. Even though Caine was clearly suffering, driving them off into the depths of the mountains was a lot worse. “There’s one in the glove box.” 

Caine shakily reached for it. He knew it was coming, he just didn’t know when. He closed his eyes at the uncomfortable feeling, hating the suspense and the build up of bubbly nausea brewing inside him. With some more shaky breaths he lowered his legs from their curled up position and let himself sit in misery, plastic bag crumpled up in his grasp. 

The sun was beaming into the car, the noon brightness causing his eyebrows to crease. The air conditioner was suddenly useless. Caine felt himself sweating under his layers but shivering like a leaf. He opened up the bag a bit, letting out a breath through his mouth. 

He could barely talk. “Quinn, I really don’t feel good.” It was a struggle to even open his mouth. Caine was terrified any indication of an escape would send his stomach hurtling into the bag. 

“I know, honey. Maybe ten more minutes.” Caine didn’t think he’d be able to last that long. No matter how hard he tried, the car’s movement was something he couldn’t just ignore. He felt his jaw clench, aching with the beginning of the end. His stomach chose that moment to cramp. 

“Oh, fuck me.” This was one of the worst experiences of his life. Trapped inside with only a plastic bag to calm his fears. His stomach lurched. Caine’s back arched and he dropped his head into the bag, hovering over his knees like he was elderly. The sudden movement made his vision swim. He was the picture of miserable. 

His shaky hands wrapped tightly around the handles as his stomach let go. A throaty heave brought up a mouthful, cutting off his air supply with little warning. He gagged again as the ache inside his stomach tripled. The entire atmosphere of the car changed, it felt like he was floating through space as another heave assaulted him. 

Caine’s mouth was wide open, desperate for a breath of air, but vomit won the battle. The sweat on his brow dripped into the bag. He felt disgusting. He could vaguely hear Quinn’s voice. Caine desperately needed to hold his belly, hating the way it contracted and heaved. The car took a sharp turn. Caine’s stomach took its own turn and pivoted up to his throat, another rolling gag made him spit up hot acidic vomit. He groaned at the feeling, his throat scratchy. 

The sharp turn however was Quinn finally being able to pull over. The car's engine rumbled quiet and Caine lifted his head just a bit to see the rolling countryside of the vineyards in his view. Well, if there was any place to get violently sick, it was Queenstown. 

His door opened and Quinn’s voice finally was loud enough to be heard over the blood in his ears. He guided Caine outside, clinging to his arms. “Take some deep breaths baby.” 

Caine’s legs were shaking. “Can I sit down?” 

“Oh, yeah, yeah. There you go, just relax.” He still had the bag in his hands. Caine imagined the sloshing to be what his stomach was doing. Despite being outside and stationary, his belly still tossed and turned. He moaned, wrapping one of his arms around it. There was a light breeze around them, drying his sweat and making him shiver. Quinn’s arms never let go. 

A few moment of rest was all he was allowed. Right outside a beautiful winery, Caine felt his stomach cramp again and he belched thickly into the bag. Saliva gathered quickly inside his mouth. His cheeks filled up with vomit and he coughed it up. With no time to breath, another gag made his shoulders roll forward and he burped up more, shaking at the force. 

Quinn’s steady hand rested on his back, and the other pushed up the hair that was beginning to stick to his forehead. That hand however, stilled when he touched skin. Quinn hummed as he held his hand there. “Are you sure this is motion sickness, Caine?” 

His answer was anything but coherent. Caine’s mind was burning and his grip on reality was faltering. 

“I think you have a fever, my love,” His hand moved to his neck, knuckles gently grazing under his jaw. “You’re very warm.”

Caine didn’t want to believe it. A nice trip ruined because of him. “I don’t even know where I picked this up though.” His voice was shot. Desperately tired and violently cold, Caine leaned into Quinn’s body, tucking his head down. The other just wrapped his arms around him. Cars whizzed past, probably wondering what the hell they were doing, but Caine needed the support. He was dizzy as fuck, feeling like the ground underneath was swaying like the ocean. 

“How are you feeling now?” Quinn tried after a few minutes of silence. Caine shrugged his shoulders, exhaustion outweighing everything else he was feeling. He put his hands onto his belly. 

“I think we can go. I’m freezing out here.” 

“Okay, hold on to me, okay,” Quinn got him standing. They slowly walked back to the car and Quinn handed him a new sick bag. “Found this in the backseat. If you want me to pull over just say so.” He brushed back Caine’s hair again, subtly checking the fever. Caine was so weak his head fell back against the seat as a result. He closed his eyes at the feather light touches along his cheeks and around the delicate skin of his eyes. 

A soft kiss was placed at the tip of his nose. 

“Not too far to go. Then you can sleep away this nasty bug.” Quinn’s hand patted his stomach and then buckled him in. 

The drive from then on was quite smooth, no longer winding and dangerous. Caine dozed for most of it, waking up only to cramps or to burp up vomit into the bag. The lethargy that usually came with stomach bugs was too strong though, making his bones ache and his muscles weak. Getting out of the car again stirred up his nausea once again and an embarrassing few gags filled the silence in the elevator. 

However, once they finally made it to the room, Caine collapsed onto the bed and let Quinn fuss over him. Belly rubs and kisses made his body shut down, falling into sleep as he let his body battle the sickness.  --

Some New Zealand scenery for ya'll. Thankfully I don't get sick when I go on this road lmao.

[fernandopiastri28]

quand c'est? - part 1 ~ ln4 x op81

With whatever energy he manages to have still left in him, he slings himself over the toilet bowl and retches, his back scooped like a cat. The noise of him sputtering out the taste of bile from his mouth clearly wakes the Australian up, who knocks on the bathroom door. “Lando?” The door creaks open, revealing Oscar in a pair of burnt orange plaid pyjama pants and a white shirt, his logo printed over the breast. 

warnings: major illness, cancer, sickness, major angst wc: 1655

Lando feels like he might be dying.

He reaches a hand out, patting around for the pale expanse of his boyfriend’s back, nothing, nothing, nothing. Oscar’s not there. He’s not there because Oscar’s is laying in bed, sleeping like he’s under fucking general anesthetic while Lando is on the bathroom floor, a clammy mess. 

His curls stick to his forehead and there's a bead of sweat trickling down his throat. He needs Oscar in here, but his voice isn’t complying and he can’t stand, he can’t get Oscar in here. His phone is still plugged in next to Oscar, mainly to stop Lando from going on his phone late at night instead of sleeping. 

Fuck Oscar for always being so caring, he needs that phone right now.

He wishes like hell that he had it with him so he could call Oscar to wake him up. Instead, he focuses his energy to his right leg that’s slightly bent. He pushes it out, flexing and straightening so his heel hits the door with a dull thud. 

It hardly makes a noise, so he tries again, this time harder. It’s enough to send a shot of pain up through his foot and a high ringing in his brain, but there’s no response from Oscar. Lando stops, letting his leg fall back into its bent position and covering his face with his forearm. 

He shouldn’t be trying to wake up his boyfriend, his teammate , the night before a race. Oscar’s starting in P3, and if the car continues to perform as it has been all weekend, the Aussie will get another podium to his name. Lando hadn’t been as successful in quali. He hadn't realised it then, but he was already coming down with whatever this was at the tail end of last week's race. He’d blamed it on jetlag and stress from a double header, but maybe he was genuinely sick.

Sleep isn’t coming to him, so he stares up at the ceiling of the hotel bathroom and focuses on something positive. He thinks about winning in Miami, he thinks about laughing his ass off with Carlos, he thinks about kissing Oscar for the first time. They’re nice memories, but he feels a tight pinching in his stomach that distracts him from momentarily being happy. 

With whatever energy he manages to have still left in him, he slings himself over the toilet bowl and retches, his back scooped like a cat. The noise of him sputtering out the taste of bile from his mouth clearly wakes the Australian up, who knocks on the bathroom door. “Lando?” The door creaks open, revealing Oscar in a pair of burnt orange plaid pyjama pants and a white shirt, his logo printed over the breast. 

“Oscar,” He groans, falling back to the floor and letting his hands drop to his stomach, cradling it. There’s hardly any light seeping in from the main bedroom, yet Lando can see Oscar’s face just enough to see his features twisted in panic.

“Lando,” Oscar kneels down next to him, his strong arms scoop[ing him up so Lando is halfway to sitting. “What’s wrong, babe?” Lando doesn’t feel any words trying to come out of his mouth, and he can’t muster the strength to procure any, so he just stares at a patch of the tile wall, his eyes hazy and tired.

The back of one of Oscar’s hands presses Lando's sweaty forehead and he winces, “Lan, you’re burning up,” It’s nothing Lando doesn’t know. Right now, he just wants to crawl back into bed with Oscar on his back like a Koala until he falls asleep. He wants normality, he can’t break his routine before a race.

“Bed,”

“No Lando, you need medicine,” Oscar tuts, fussing over him by wiping his head with a wet towel. Lando must’ve blacked out for a moment because he wasn’t sure when Oscar had gotten that. He also has his sweat drenched shirt off so Oscar can wipe down his chest, and he wasn’t sure when that had gone either.

If Lando was feeling better, he’d make some joke about the moment, about Oscar being a dirty dog getting him undressed on the bathroom floor. Unfortunately, his mind is buzzing in the wrong way and his throat hurts too much to say anything.

So he stays silent, allows his eyes to just stare at Oscar as he wipes him down.

“Do you reckon you can stand up?” Lando feels nauseous at the thought, “I’ll help you, Lan, don’t worry,”

“I think so,” He leans forward, his whole body lurching with the motion. He purses his lips tight, holding back what he feels like might be another vomit. “Yeah,” Oscar’s arms are holding him tight, a hand around his waist and one on his back 

“That’s good, that’s good, really good,” He praises with each step Lando makes out of the bathroom and towards the bed. God, it looks so comfortable, so warm. He wants to sleep so badly, yet it seems miles away. “When you lay down, I need you to stay awake for me just for a bit, okay?”

Lando’s mind is so foggy, “Why?”

“I need to get some medicine,” He pauses, still helping Lando to the bed, “Can you tell me where the pain is the worst? Is it just your stomach?” 

Lando shakes his head, and the sudden movement hurts worse than before, “No,” He croaks. He thought it was his stomach, and that’s probably what Oscar assumed too, because of the vomiting. In actuality, his stomach is fine, it’s his head, “My.. my,” He can’t get the word out, so he brings a weak hand to his forehead. 

“Your head?”

He can’t nod, and he can’t speak, so he makes a noise from the back of his throat, ‘ hmhm,’

“Alright,” His movements when lying Lando down on the bed are slow and calculated, his rounded back and ass first, then his shoulders, his legs, and his head is by Lando’s own decision. “Stay up, just a few more minutes,” Oscar reminds him, moving over to his half unpacked suitcase and rummaging through a small white cosmetics bag. Obviously, it’s not used for makeup though- medication instead. 

Kim and Jon would never know about the self medication, but it was just a small few ‘harmless’ pills on nights where they didn’t want to venture out to the rooms of their trainers, begging for pain killers.

“I know, I know,” His head buries into a plush hotel pillow, the ache in his head calming down for just a moment, “I won’t fall asleep on you,”

Oscar laughs, a deep throaty laugh that Lando wants to bottle up and keep forever, “You sure look like you will,” He turns around, a bottle of pills in one hand and a half drunk water bottle in the other. “Sit up for me,”

Lando tries, he really does, but it hurts too bad. “Can’t” He whispers, and his voice doesn’t reach Oscar. A tinge of panic spreads through his body- why can’t he sit up? What is keeping him from moving? Oscar peers over him, licking his lips and biting on his bottom lip. It’s not in a sexy way, more Oscar’s ‘poker face’ of worry. 

“Baku,” His nose nudges against the pillow. Oscar frowns, his hand snaking into Lando’s drying curls to stroke his face. His brain can’t process the word Azerbaijan to allow him to say it, so he settles for the track name.

Oscar presses a kiss to Lando’s forehead, “Why didn’t you tell me?” His expression is pinched- betrayed.

“It’s just a cold, Osc,” He mumbles, rolling over to where his face is at height with his boyfriend’s hips. “Drugs- please,”

Oscar smirks, rolling his eyes, “Sit up,” 

“I can’t,” His head thrums harder. Oscar might feel in the mood for joking around and laughing, but Lando still feels on the brink of death. “It hurts,”

Like a light switch, he snaps back into overprotective and intense caring mode. “Let me prop your head up a bit and… yeah, okay, I’ll just pour some of the water into your mouth and put the pills in, alright?” He’s fussing again, and for once, Lando appreciates being babied. 

He also appreciates Oscar’s willingness to put up with him. Some stupid head cold and now he can’t even move his head. You’d think as an F1 driver he’d be able to handle himself better, but he’s just as weak and pathetic as the next guy when he’s unwell.

Oscar sits down cross legged right next to Lando, the Brit's head right next to the Aussie’s knee. He doesn’t do anything, just lets Oscar take care of him. Usually, he’s insistent on taking care of himself, but he can’t quite manage it today. 

His head rests on Oscar’s lap, the fabric of his pants rubbing comfortingly against Lando’s warm cheeks. Oscar’s thumb presses against the seam of Lando’s lips, helping him to keep his mouth open. A tiny bit of water lands in his mouth, and he’s having trouble processing anything. “Swallow,” Oscar reminds him, and it’s not under the circumstances he’d usually like to be hearing his boyfriend say that.

His throat works to do just that, all of his focus and energy going towards such a natural and practised movement. He gets them down, and his body feels drained from doing absolutely nothing. Maybe it’s just the Singapore air- so humid and hot, he’s probably suffering some form of heatstroke. It’s a lot like Qatar last year, but just worse.

“You can sleep now,” Oscar strokes his hair intensely gently. Lando still feels sticky and hot despite having had the blanket removed from on top of him, likely something Oscar had done without him realising, and he’s only in his boxers. It’s not going to be a pleasant sleep, he knows that much, but it’s better than being awake like this.

[whumpusgumpus]

Although he’s as strong as an ox, his immune system is that of a feeble old man. Ig some of the the strongest of warriors have a pattern of getting up at 6am every day to have seemingly endless sneezing fits. He leaves the room to not wake Blathnat, but she hears him anyways, and, as an elf with immunity to illness, wonders how the hell he deals with it every day

[cuddlepilefics]

“I’m fine” - juneofdoom day 18

Fandom: Seventeen

Sickie: Jihoon

Caregivers: Seungcheol

Prompt: headache @juneofdoom

Tw: emeto

No one’s POV.:

Late nights at the studio were Jihoon’s thing. At least, that was what the producer tried to convince himself of as he punched in the code to unlock his studio. They had just finished a group dance practice session and while the members headed to their respective dorms, Jihoon had a couple more hours of work before him. His sweaty practice clothes still clung to his skin and he shivered when the air-conditioning blew a cold gust of wind down on him. Yeah, he should change into some clean clothes first even if his shower would have to wait till he’d get home. This was neither the first, nor would it be the last time, so Jihoon had prepared a sports bag filled with clean clothes and snacks, which he always kept at the studio for nights like this.

Feeling a little less disgusting now that he was wearing something clean, Jihoon plopped down in his seat and winced. The impact had sent waves of pain through his skull, reminding him of the headache he had been nursing since shortly after lunch. With a heavy sigh, he leant against the backrest and waited for his computer to load the last track he had been working on. The shrill ringing of his phone cut through his tired haze and he sluggishly picked the device up, already rolling his eyes when he realized it was Seungcheol calling. The leader would probably scold him for working late, despite knowing full well that their groups success depended on it.

“I just realized, I didn’t see you leave with the others”, Seungcheol stated neutrally. Massaging the spot between his brows, Jihoon muttered: “Nice observation, hyung.” – “Are you working late again?”, the older frowned. Jihoon furrowed his brows. If he didn’t leave the company building yet, what else would he be doing there? “Nah, not today, hyung”, the producer hummed, “Some of the decorative plants in the hallway on the studio floor looked a little wilted yesterday, so I thought I’d stop by today to check on them. Maybe they need some more water or just somebody talking to them.”

Jihoon wasn’t sure whether the call had disconnected or if he had just stunned Seungcheol into silence. That question was answered when the leader cleared his throat and muttered: “Those are plastic plants, please don’t water them.” Jihoon dropped his pounding head into his hands and waited for his hyung to say anything else. He knew it was disrespectful to be this sarcastic when Seungcheol only wanted to check on him but he was tired, his head hurt and he had no patience for people stating the obvious. “Are you okay?”, the leader finally asked, “Either you’re upset with me or you’re so out of it that you’re hallucinating and actually want to talk to those fake plants.” – “I’m fine”, Jihoon sighed, “No, I am not upset with you, just frustrated and no, I do not want to talk to those plants. Hyung, I don’t enjoy staying late either, so if you don’t mind, let me please get to work because the sooner I start, the sooner I’ll be done.” – “Sorry”, Seungcheol hummed, “I just didn’t think you’d go tonight. You looked really exhausted earlier and if I didn’t know any better, I would’ve guessed you have a headache.”

Realizing how genuinely concerned the older way, Jihoon couldn’t help but feel guilty. He bit his lip and admitted: “Yeah, I have a headache and I am pretty tired but I’m fine, I just need some caffeine. There’s still some coke in the mini fridge, which should get me through the next couple of hours and then I’ll take the shower I’m craving right now.” Seungcheol knew there was no point in arguing and felt a little guilty himself because he knew that their group had only made it this far thanks to Jihoon’s hard work. His dongsaeng was struggling, that much was obvious and it shouldn’t be all on his shoulders. As the leader, Seungcheol felt that it should be his burden to carry but what could he do? He might check on Jihoon in and hour or two to see whether he was heading back though it might get on the producer’s nerves, Seungcheol wanted to make sure that by “the next couple hours” Jihoon wasn’t talking about five hours. It wasn’t like he hadn’t pulled that on previous occasions.

When the call ended, Jihoon muted his phone. He couldn’t afford anymore disturbances because he really wanted to get home soon. The headache was bothering him more than he wanted to admit and finally got himself a bottle of coke, hoping the caffeine fix would take the edge off and make him a little more functional. At least, he wouldn’t have to fight for his turn to shower because everyone else would be asleep by the time he’d get home.

A shudder ran down his back as he took the first sip, the drink so cold that the bottle was immediately covered in little droplets of condensation. Even if the caffeine wouldn’t kick in fast enough to wake him up, the cold surely did, so hr immediately got to work, trying to ignore how badly the screen made his eyes burn. Eager to ease his headache, Jihoon drank his coke quickly and retrieved a second bottle, despite the goosebumps covering his arms. The liquid sloshed uncomfortably in his stomach but he was too tired to care, stifling a breathy burp behind his fist. Ugh, fizzy drinks…. Unable to get his tired mind to focus, the producer quickly lost track of time, frustrated because his work was slow-going.

By the time he had finished up his second bottle of coke, Jihoon’s stomach was more than just a little upset gurgling audibly when he shifted in his seat trying to find a somewhat comfortable position. Not wanting to take any chances, the producer had even pulled the waste bin from under his desk, keeping it right next to his chair for quick access. He tried to burp in hopes of alleviating some of the pressure in his stomach but it only left a sour taste on his tongue, making him feel queasier by the minutes. Unable to stand the pain any longer, Jihoon saved his work and shut off the screen, which immediately dimmed the room a bit, allowing him to rest his eyes. He crossed his arms on the desk and laid his head on them. Taking slow deep breaths, Jihoon tried to quell the rising nausea. He was too tired to deal with being sick right now.

Jihoon didn’t get much of say in that though, soon finding himself burping over the waste bin. A sharp gag sent flashes of pain through his skull and he broke into a sweat despite feeling chilled to the bone. Choking up two large waves of coke, Jihoon could only cradle his head and try to ride out the pain as time seemed to stretch on endlessly. His stomach kept churning and he teared up a little when he lifted his head to glance at the clock. It had already gotten so freaking late without him actually having achieved much, so this misery hadn’t even really been worth it. The heaves just wouldn’t seem to stop, though Jihoon barely managed to bring anything up anymore. He allowed himself a few quiet tears as he leant back in his seat, trying to recover.

His phone cut through the silence like a knife and Jihoon had to suppress the urge to cover his ears and reject the call. Hadn’t he made it clear that he didn’t want to be bothered? Gritting his teeth, the producer picked up the call, his shoulders slumping when he heard Seungcheol’s soft voice on the other end of the line. Suddenly, Jihoon couldn’t be upset over the disturbance anymore, his resolve crumbling when the leader asked him if he was still okay and if he was planning to head home soon.

Seungcheol had fully expected another snappy “I’m fine!”, so when the younger weakly muttered: “I-I, I dunno, hyung”, he immediately knew that something was seriously wrong. He was already putting on his shoes when he promised Jihoon: “I’ll come pick you up. Already heading out. Just wait for me, yeah?” The producer hummed hoarsely voice strained from throwing up. At least, he wouldn’t have to figure out hos to get his sorry ass home.

Jihoon drifted in and out of sleep as he rested his head on his arms, so he had no idea how long it had been since their call and couldn’t even be certain if the call had happened or if his hazy mind had made it up. A gentle hand on his back woke him and he almost teared up again when he found his hyung standing over him. “Why didn’t you mention being sick?”, Seungcheol asked quietly, pulling the other’s long hair out of his face to get a proper look at him. Sitting up with a groan, Jihoon rasped: “Don’t think I’m sick sick. Probably just pushed myself too hard and drank too much coke to make me function. My stomach wasn’t happy about it at all and my head’s still killing me.” – “I mean, you don’t have a fever”, the leader hummed, palm resting flat against Jihoon’s forehead, “You certainly do look awful though. How does your stomach feel now?” – “Still meh but I don’t think I’m seconds away from puking anymore”, the producer breathed.

Seungcheol had gotten him some water to sip on, while the leader took out the trash and packed up his things. “My brother’s out of town this week, so I could take you home with me”, Seungcheol offered, already slinging his dongsaeng’s bag over his shoulder, “I could also drive you back to your dorm but I figured you might want to be miserable in peace.” – “God, yes please”, Jihoon muttered, making the older laugh. “Just hyung is fine”, the leader joked, offering the other his arm, “Come on, up you go. I bet you’re still craving that shower you were talking about earlier. You can go and wash up as soon as we get there and I’ll fetch you some medicine and a set of comfortable clothes to borrow.”

A pained sound slipped from Jihoon’s lips as he struggled to his feet, vision growing fuzzy for a few seconds. He clung to Seungcheol’s shoulder, the leader ready to pick up the bin in case he needed to be sick again. “You good?”, the older asked worriedly, holding onto Jihoon’s arms. Giving a weak nod, the other forced out: “I’m fine. Let’s get going because I really am craving that shower. Gosh, I feel disgusting.” Seungcheol rolled his eyes at his dongsaeng’s persistence to claim he was fine when they both knew the truth but he saw no point in arguing. Linking their arms, the leader guided Jihoon to the car and settled him in the passenger seat with a plastic shopping bag in his lap though he prayed it wouldn’t be needed.

Luckily, it wasn’t. They did manage to reach their destination but no sooner than the car came to a halt, Jihoon threw open the door and immediately coughed up a few mouthful of bile. Switching off the engine, Seungcheol leant over and patted the younger’s back. It was hard to believe that Jihoon was only overworked and not really sick but he always pushed his body beyond its limits, so maybe overworking could leave someone this miserable. “Let’s get you upstairs. Can you walk or do you want to get on my back?”, the leader offered. He doubted that Jihoon would be comfortable with being carried but he also didn’t look like he had the energy to walk.

After a tense moment of silence Jihoon rasped: “Never mention this to anyone ever.” Seungcheol had to suppress a chuckle because the younger looked like a baby kitten attempting to seem intimidating. “I won’t”, the leader promised as he rounded the car, “Here, try to step around it and climb onto my back.” Almost tripping over his own feet, Jihoon stumbled and crashed into his hyung’s chest. The older didn’t comment on it though and carefully pulled him onto his back.

Gently pushing Jihoon towards the bathroom, Seungcheol hummed: “Go wash up. I’ll bring you a fresh set of clothes.” He had already talked to hi brother on the phone and got permission to sleep on his room, so he could give his own bed to Jihoon. After placing sweatpants and an oversized hoodie onto the sink, Seungcheol set his room up with fresh sheets and a lined trashcan, leaving a bottle of water on the nightstand. He really wanted to offer Jihoon some painkillers for his headache but they weren’t supposed to be taken on an empty stomach and he couldn’t imagine the younger being able to stomach anything right now. An icepack for his forehead would have to do.

Seungcheol was already waiting with an icepack and a cup of ginger tea when Jihoon sleepily shuffled from the bathroom. “Hey, I made tea to settle your stomach. Didn’t think painkillers would do your stomach any favor right now, so I thought we could try the icepack first”, the older explained, handing Jihoon the cup, “I moved my stuff to my brother’s room, so you’ll be staying in my room to night. Let’s go to bed now, yeah? You look wiped.” – “You shouldn’t have to stay in your brother’s room, hyung. I could just take the couch”, the younger mumbled but was shushed softly. “He’s fine with it and I don’t mind either”, Seungcheol smiled, “Our couch might look fancy but it’s not really comfortable. You’d be really sore tomorrow, which I can imagine you already are, so we shouldn’t make it worse.”

That wasn’t really what Jihoon jad wanted to hear, so he whispered: “Hyung, I- I don’t want to be alone tonight.” – “Oh”, Seungcheol stammered, having expected anything but that. He wrapped his arm around the younger’s waist, knowing that whatever he might say would only make it awkward, so he just led his dongsaeng to his room and waited for him to crawl under the covers. “You should try to have a few sips of tea. You’ve been throwing up a lot and I don’t want you to get dehydrated. There’s also water if you’d rather have something flavorless”, Seungcheol hummed, relieved when Jihoon accepted a few small sips of tea, “Let’s go to sleep now, yeah? There’s a bucket next to the bed and I’ll be right here. You van wake me for anything.” He carefully climbed into bed next to his friend and smiled when the younger curled up against him, finally getting some rest. Jihoon would be fine.

[ratsfrogsanimeandatticdweller]

[bestwhumptropes]

it sucks that the "chickenpox episode" is limited almost exclusively to kid's shows (with a few exceptions, usually played for comedy and has no effects other than itchy spots). i used to love those as a kid and now that i've grown up I obviously have no interest in them anymore, but i still want the episodes, just in my adult tv. i have a tooth that's discolored in the middle bc i had such a high fever with chickenpox and it's so much worse for adults!! let them suffer!!

[whump-kia]

I MADE A WHUMP EVENT: get ready for July folks

welcome to the Whumperless Whump Event of July! for your sickfic, situational, and completely apersonal whump needs--comfort included, of course.

Image transcripts, tagging rules, and guidelines under the cut!

RULES

Any and all art types allowed (GIFs, drawings, music, writing, etc.)

No AI generated content allowed

OCs and Fandom works alike are welcome :)

Trigger and content tags required, even if the prompt explicitly requires the content (eg. Vomiting still needs the emetophobia tag)

NSFT and NSFW are allowed, if tagged appropriately. This blog will not reblog them, as minors do follow it. However, you're still free to write as you please :)

If enough interest is shown, I will make an Ao3 collection

Side note: please let me know if there's anything I can do to make this post or event more accessible. Should I put the image transcripts on the ID too? Is the formatting causing issues? What can I do?

This is not a contest, just an event. The only awards will be announcements for people who completed the whole darn thing. My entries will not receive any announcements or awards, because I'm hosting

TAGGING

Tag with, per example: #whumperless whump event day 1; #whumperless whump event; and (optional) #whumperless whump event day 1: alcohol as a sanitizer

Tag me (@whump-kia) please! If not, I may not see it or be able to reblog it!

If desired, tag the medium you used

IMPORTANT:

Trigger tag and content warn (including nsfw/nsft)

If posting early, tag with #wwe early entry. If posting late, tag with #wwe late entry. If posting just for fun, no need to tag these!

There are NO OTHER RULES. Do one prompt! Do seven! Do 'em all! Repeat the same prompt six days in a row! Switch them around and do them all out of order! Post them eight months after the event is over! Finish the prompt list early! Write one long-ass story that deals with every prompt or do a one-sentence drabble for each one! Recommend your favorite scenes regarding the prompt! Write, draw, sing, play music, make playlists, do fic recs or show recs or episode recs or book recs, fucking crochet or something! FOLLOW THE VIBE. DO WHAT'S FUN.

Prompts (text):

Emergency First Aid: Self-done stitches / Alcohol as sanitizer / “It's just a scratch, I've had worse.”

Does your insurance cover this?: Car accident / Bystander caretaker / “Eyes open, ambulance is almost here.”

Like a record, baby: Vertigo / Struggling to stand / “Is the room spinning, or is it just me?”

It's every day bro: Chronic pain / Massage / “I'm used to it.”

Stealing my breath (give it back): Wheezing / Light-headed / “I'll count, you just breathe.”

Summer is a curse: Heat Stroke / Panting / “Why don't we… find some shade, quick?”

Accidental Cryotherapy: Falling through a frozen lake / Hypothermia / “Hey, c'mon, you gotta stay awake.”

Put your head on my shoulder: Migraine / Light & Sound Sensitivity / “I can close the curtains…”

White and red handkerchief: Coughing up blood / Can't speak / “You just can't shake that cough, can you?”

Your work is never finished: Forced to work while ill / Workplace emergency / “...sit down, I'm calling HR.”

A minor annoyance: Stuffy nose / Hate to be sick / “I'm fine, I can work.”

It's going down (I'm yelling timber): Building collapse / Trapped under rubble / “I can't move my legs.”

It's just a pebble: Avalanche / Stuck in the mountains / “Well, this wasn't how I thought the hiking trip would go.”

Lay down your sword: Fighting back a cold / Cuddling / “Just let yourself be sick so you can get better.”

I'm going down (you're yelling timber): Passing out / Exhaustion / “I've got you, let's sit down, I've got you.”

Say goodbye to filters: Half-conscious / Delirious / “You would never say that in your right mind…”

In hot water: Dangerously high fever / Cool baths / “We have to get that number down somehow.”

I don't see it: Hallucinations / Fever dreams / “It's just a nightmare. You're safe.”

The whump morning after: Tending to injuries / Domestic hurt comfort / “Let's check the bandages, okay?”

It's not fun if you're panicking: Stuck in an elevator / Claustrophobia / “Get me out.”

Where's the exit: Lost / Stuck in the wilderness / “Surely someone will notice we're gone.”

Better out than in: Nervous Stomach / Vomiting / “I got your hair, it's fine.”

Well, that doesn't taste right: Accidentally poisoned / Allergic reaction / “My tongue feels like bees, is that normal?”

Be one with the fish: Drowning / Rescue Breaths / “Why did you think that was a good idea?!”

We didn't start the fire: Severe burns / Running into flames / “I know it hurts. Breathe.”

That's no barn spider: Venomous bite / Arachnophobia / “You'll be okay, we can help.”

What's your name again?: Concussion / Temporary Amnesia / “I don't remember what happened to me.”

Nothing behind the eyes: Fully unconscious / Force feeding / “It's just me, go back to sleep.”

Wrong place, wrong time: Robbery / One of many hostages / “Stay behind me, I can take a hit.”

I don't mean to get emotional: Fear / Breaking point / “I can't stop crying, I'm sorry--”

Only way out is through: Tunnel collapse / Accidental Journey / “We can't just sit here and wait.”

ALTERNATES:

Seizure

Choking

Withdrawal

Mugged

Wild animal attack

Hangover

Strain/sprain

Broken bone

Bloody nose

Panic attack

[spinzolliii]

There’s something about a whumpee just sitting down. Not fainting, necessarily. Maybe they’re just about to faint, and they quietly just kneel on the ground at a time and place that doesn’t make sense. They don’t even have the capacity or willingness to articulate why they need to abruptly stop and sit. Maybe they’re catatonic while the others look at them.

Maybe a caretaker can see the dull, vacant look in their eyes and immediately senses that something is seriously wrong. Maybe the fainting comes just a few moments later.

[whumpetywhumpwhump]

Give me more shaking whumpees.

Give me whumpees who are shivering so much from their high fever that they can't even hold a bottle of water up to their lips, leaving caretaker to hold it for them like they're bottle feeding a baby animal.

Give me whumpees who've lost so much blood that they're pale and trembling violently, their skin cool to the touch. Their body is desperately trying to keep them warm, but with each new shudder they're just bleeding more and more.

Give me whumpees in shock- whumpees who find out something so emotionally distressing that they can do nothing but shake, eyes fixed on a single point, jolting away from any touch.

Give me more shaking whumpees.

[lots-of-pockets]

Five times you find an excuse to carry Natasha and the one time she asks

Paring: Natasha x you

Words: 4756

Warnings: some swearing i think

1.

You tenderly grip the side of Natasha's thigh to keep it still as you graze the disinfectant wipe over the shallow cut placed just above her knee, your thumb absentmindedly grazing soft circles across the warm skin.

She was sat on the closed toilet seat clad in nothing but her sports bra and underwear, her hand clinging to both your index and middle finger as her eyes watch your every move.

Scrapes and bruises littered seemingly every inch of her pale skin, marring the already scarred, yet still beautiful canvas that sat before you. Some were sunken in and white, old from years of healing. Some were newer, still pink and raised. Each and every one told a different story. Some of which you knew, but most of which you didn't and probably never would.

You didn't necessarily mind honestly. Because all that you cared about right now was the fact she was letting you take care of her. That she'd allowed you to tenderly undress her without a single word of complaint. You had her trust, and if that's was all she was ever willing to give, it would forever be enough.

Not a single word had been spoken between you since she'd gotten home from her latest mission with Steve just twenty short minutes ago, and you weren't in a hurry to break whatever comfortable silence had settled upon you and you knew Natasha wasn't either.

You give the flesh of her thigh a comforting squeeze when a small, pained hitch of breath emits from the back of her throat at the sting the wipe against her skin, giving the damp skin a soft kiss before covering it with a large bandaid.

You then look up at her from your spot knelt between her legs, content to find her green irises already staring right back at you. They looked exhausted. She looked exhausted, and all you wanted to do was scoop her up into your arms and take her to bed.

The sudden shine of her eyes is what halts you in your tracks.

It was oh so rare to see Natasha cry. To witness her completely drop her walls and allow you to see the true pain she always seems to mask without an issue. It was a sight that has your own throat constricting and without a word, you place your hands underneath her armpits and coax her off of the closed toilet seat and onto your lap.

She straddles you, legs tight around your hips as arms rise to settle around your neck. Your own arms settle around her shaking frame, one hand cupping the back of her head as the other traces soothing circles over the bare expanse of skin.

"I've got you, baby." You finally speak, nuzzling your nose into her neck and taking in soothing scent of slight sweat and vanilla. Your lips press a soft kiss to the skin as you pull away just slightly, tightening your hold around Natasha to reassure her you wouldn't be letting go until she requested it.

She was trembling in your arms, tears hot against your neck, yet her sobs of grief don't make a single sound. Natasha had always been a silent cryer. No matter the circumstance; no matter the situation, it was quiet. All of the time. And you absolutely hated it.

She deserved to feel her grief just as loud and freely as everyone else, yet she fails to agree. She'd never outrightly told you so, but the look in her face as you'd spoken those words had been enough. And so you simply hold her. Love her. Cherish her, hoping that one day she'd realise she deserves the entire world.

Natasha soon stills in your embrace, those once barely audible hitching breaths easing into just quiet sniffles. With a soft kiss to her shoulder to let her know you had her, you place a hand beneath of each of her thighs and haul yourself to your feet.

It was an easy feet considering her slight frame, but that doesn't stop the quiet squeak of surprise that escapes her lips as you bounce her up in your arms slightly to get a better grip, forearms slipping beneath her behind as opposed to her thighs as you carry her through to your shared bedroom.

"I've got you, baby."

2.

"Babe, can you help?!"

At the sound of your girlfriends voice, your eyes instinctively flicker away from the tv and towards the kitchen doorway. You don't wait for her to ask again as you pause the show you were both currently binging before rising to your feet, shuffling through to the kitchen where you were greeted with the sight of Natasha trying, yet failing to reach something on the top shelf of the cupboard.

She was clad in nothing but one of your oversized shirts and underwear, her typical attire after a long day at work.

She jumps, and you couldn't help but snort in amusement when she doesn't even come close to reaching the desired item. She glances back at the sound of your stifled laugh, an unamused look appearing on her face in the form of a pout. Without a word, you walk towards her and cup her cheeks before pressing your lips against the warm skin of her forehead. She all but melts into your touch, and you allow your lips to linger just a few seconds longer than normal because of that.

As you pull away and Natasha falls against your chest, you look up to see the item she'd been attempting to grab was a bag of popcorn. You knew you could easily reach up and grab it for her. After all, you weren't exactly small. But a part of you wanted Natasha to be able to grab it herself. She was miss independent. Always had been and you knew she'd appreciate it if you didn't treat her like she was incapable.

With that in mind, you give her body one last squeeze before bending down and wrapping your arms underneath her backside.

Natasha glances down at you with an adorably confused expression on her face, and you press an affectionate kiss to her clothed chest before standing up straight and bringing her with you. She lets out a undignified yelp at the unexpected action, her arms all but clinging to your head as it settles in between her breasts.

Keeping your arms hooked tightly beneath her butt, you bounce her up slightly wanting her to be able to reach her popcorn without fearing she'd fall.

"What are you doing?" She laughs as she looks down at you. You were greeted with an adorably tiny double chin, and you couldn't help but nuzzle your nose against the soft flesh before gesturing with your head towards the popcorn.

"Grab your popcorn baby." You coax, and Natasha rolls her eyes fondly as she releases you with one arm and successfully grabs her snack. Once it was in her grasp, you don't put her down. You simply allow her to slide down your body so her legs were hooked around your waist. Your arms remain beneath her ass, and you give it a playful squeeze earning yourself a quiet squeak of surprise.

"Snuggle time?" You ask, and Natasha sends you a playful glare before nodding her head and allowing you to carry her back through to the living room.

3.

"Nat? Are you coming to bed baby? It's late and-" the remainder of your words get stuck in your throat when you fully take in the sight that greets you. There your girlfriend was, sprawled out on the gym floor, still clad in her workout gear, fast asleep. She was curled up on her side, hands tucked beneath her chin with legs curled up against her chest.

Slipping into the large room through the small gap you'd created, you kneel down next to her and rest a gentle hand on her bare side. She doesn't make a peep at the touch, telling you that she must be exhausted because Natasha was notoriously known for being one of the lightest sleepers ever.

"Oh baby..." you trial off, unsure as to why she'd allowed herself to fall asleep here when there was a perfectly good bed available just upstairs. It was past eleven at night now, way too late for her to still be working out but getting that into her head was proving to be exceedingly difficult.

You contemplate your next actions for a few silent moments as you stare down at your sleeping girlfriend, not wanting to wake her but unsure if you were able to carry her such a far distance to your shared room. It wasn't that she heavy. In fact, when she was awake you could carry her miles because at least then she was holding up some of her own weight. But she was asleep now, and you knew she'd be a complete dead weight.

Knowing you had no other choice, you carefully manoeuvre her onto her back and situate yourself between her legs before leaning down and placing your chest against her own. Her arms seem to instinctively rise to cling to your shirt, and you couldn't help but smile at the action as you hook one arm beneath her back, placing the hand of the other against the back of her head before easing her into a sitting position.

She was now straddling your lap, head heavy against your shoulder as her hands dangle limply over your shoulders. You take a few moments to prepare yourself before hooking an arm beneath her backside and rising to your knees. Two arms would probably be easier, but you needed that to keep her chest flush against your own so she didn't fall backwards.

With a quiet grunt, you lift one leg so your foot was planted firmly on the padded floor before using all the strength in you to rise fully to your feet. You manage the task with no more than  a small wobble, and you silently congratulate yourself as you gently bounce Natasha up into your arms so she'd be more supported.

"What?" You hear her grunt in confusion as her legs instinctively tighten around your waist, and you shush her quietly as you rest a tender hand on the back of her head.

"It's just me, pumpkin. Go back to sleep." You murmur into her ear as you muzzle your nose into her neck, and Natasha let's out a heavy sigh before once again falling limp against you.

Once you were sure she wouldn't wake again, you bring both arms back beneath her behind and begin making your way out of the gym and towards the elevator. You silently curse Tony for making the compound so freaking big as the sliding doors open, arms already aching as you step inside and use your elbow to press the button to the floor your shared room was on.

Natasha, just like you'd suspected, was now a dead weight in your arms, legs limp around your waist and head heavy against your shoulder. You could feel the soft breaths of her quiet exhales against your neck as she sleeps peacefully against you, and you allow yourself to take comfort in the feeling as the doors slide open allowing you to stop out.

The journey to your room was thankfully quick, and you gently bounce Natasha up again so she was at less of a risk of falling when you release her momentarily with one of your arms to type in the code. Soon, you were inside your room, and you let out a quiet sigh of relief as you place one of your knees against the mattress before cupping the back of her head and easing her down onto the bed.

Knowing your next task -stripping her of her tight work out gear and into some comfy pyjamas- would be exceedingly more difficult than the last, you decide to take a few moments and climb into bed next next to her. She seems to instinctively sense your presence, curling up against your chest and throwing one of her legs over your waist, her hand slipping underneath your shirt to rest against the bare skin of your back.

You immediately return the embrace, the hand of the arm acting as her pillow grazing gentle patters against her back whilst your other hand trials affectionately just beneath the waistband of her yoga pants.

With the knowledge that you wouldn't be moving for the remainder of the night, you place a tender kiss to her forehead and murmur a quiet I love you against her hairline before allowing your own eyes to flicker closed too.

4.

When you hear Natasha sigh for the third time in just a few minutes, you force yourself to look away from your book and stare at her with a single eyebrow raised. You were both lounged on the couch, Natasha at one end with her blanket and laptop, and you on the other with your book. You'd both just eaten dinner -Mac and cheese courtesy of Yelena, and you had both taken it upon yourselves to have a few minutes of personal time before you inevitably ended up snuggled together.

When you receive no response to your silent question, you bookmark your place in your book before setting it down onto the coffee table.

"What's wrong miss pouty pants?" You tease affectionately as you poke her with your foot, and the red head sends you an unimpressed glare before seemingly reluctantly bringing her attention back to her laptop. Her hands were frozen on the keyboard, and you could see by the reflection in her glasses that was was working on what appears to be yet another mission report.

Understand her frustration, -because this was the fifth document today, you rise to your knees and shuffle over to her, wedging yourself in between her body and the back of the couch.

Your cheek settles on her shoulder, and though she hesitates, you do eventually feel her cheek come to rest atop of your head. You smile at the action as your arm settles around her waist, fingers creeping beneath her shirt to rest against bare skin. 

"When do these need to be in?" You question quietly, and you feel her stomach rise and fall as she takes a deep breath.

"Tuesday." She responds, and you hum in acknowledgement as you reach forward to save the document before closing the laptop.

"What? No! What are you-" she attempts to grab the computer as you reach over to set it on the coffee table next to your book.

"Baby, it's only Friday. You have time." You attempt to assure her as you grab her hand, but Natasha simply shoves you away from her and attempts to make a grab for her computer. Her fingers skim it before you decide enough was enough. Without a word, you rise from the couch, grab Natasha by the underarms and haul her up with you.

She lets out an undignified yelp her chest collides with your own, "What the heck are-"

"No more computers for Natasha today," you interrupt her as you bounce her up in your arms, your arms beneath her backside to keep her supported as you carry her out of the room and up the stairs. She squirms relentlessly throughout the entire journey making it much harder and longer than it needed to be, but you eventually make it upstairs without dropping her on her ass.

"I will kick your ass," she warns in an almost silent growl as you kick your bedroom door open. "Put me down, right no-ahhh!" you toss her onto your shared bed. She glares at you as you climb in next to her, placing a hand on either side of her head.

"What in the actual fu-mhhhfff."

You smirk against her lips when you feel her kiss back without hesitation, knowing you had her right where you wanted her.

5.

Though the sight in front of you was becoming rather amusing, you knew for a fact that if you didn't put a stop to it now, Natasha would hand Tony's ass to him served on a silver platter.

You see, she was sick. And not just a little sick, but a full on fever and flu that had left her so congested she sounded like a duck when she talks. She needed to be in bed. You knew that also, but convincing her was a quiet the fucking task.

You'd attempted to get her into bed, but she'd simply pushed you into it instead, muttering -if you like the bed so damn much, you get in it- underneath her breath before storming out of the room.

Ten minutes later, you were in the meeting room, and the first five minutes had been fine. Natasha had seemingly been able to get herself under control and not a single peep was made. That had changed rather abruptly when Yelena had teasingly poked her sisters red nose, and Natasha, with a sharp glare towards the blonde, had sneezed four times in a row earning herself a look of disgust from Tony.

"Listen red, you're gross and contagious. You're going to make everyone else gross and contagious if you don't get out of here." Tony attempts to be nice about it as he shields himself with a piece of paper, but the damage had already been done if the look of pure anger on Natasha's face was anything to go by.

"You're a man. That automatically makes you gross and contagious. No one likes you and your stupid tin suit so shut your fucking mouth before I shut it for you." She growls, and Tony winces as he sends you a helpless look.

You shrug a little helplessly yourself, not knowing what to do without angering the red head further. As they continue to bicker, you feel a poke to your arm. You look over and see Yelena staring at you with a smirk. It was clear to see she was amused also, but there was a hint of concern in her eyes that wasn't hard for you to miss.

"How much do you like your face?" She asks, and you frown in confusion as you glance between the red head and her sister.

"Quite a lot." You admit, and Yelena clicks her tongue in thought for a second before turning back to you.

"I won't be able to carry her myself, but we have more of a chance if it's two against one." She murmurs, and you hum in thought as you watch Natasha take yet another step towards a terrified Tony.

You knew this may be your only option to get her out of here. After all, it was becoming increasingly obvious that she wouldn't willingly leave herself and there was no way you could talk her out of whatever this was when the threat -Tony- was still within close proximity. You couldn't exactly ask him to leave either, because this was his building.

"Okay. I got her arms. You get her legs." You tell her as you shrug off your jacket, and Yelena nods as she rises to feet and shakes out her arms as it preparing for battle. You snort slightly at the sight, but do the same knowing that by the time you're done, you may no longer be alive.

Yes, Natasha was small, but she was still a former assassin, probably stronger than you and Yelena put together. This was not going to be fun for any of you.

With Yelena close behind, you make your way over to Natasha, stopping just a few feet away. Tony see's you and his eyes light up, proving as a temporary distraction for Natasha who looks confused at the abrupt change of emotion.

Without warning, you lurch forward and grab the red head by the waist, trapping her arms beneath your own as you lift her from her feet. An undignified yelp was your response, and Yelena was quick to step in and grab her flailing legs, wrapping her arms around her calves and effectively pinning them against her own chest.

When it becomes clear she was trapped, Natasha squirming ups a tenfold and you grunt slightly as you begin carrying her out of the room. "What the fuck? Let me go! Stop fucking manhandling me you fucking assholes!"

"Thank you Y/n and mini Romanoff. Bye red!" You hear Tony call, any both you and Yelena share a smirk as you successfully manage to carry the unhappy Russian into the hallway.

"No sex for a week! A month! Yelena I'm stealing your vest and setting it on fire! This is not fair! Let me go!"

Yelena looks mildly disgusted at Natasha's words towards you, but when she hears the threat towards her vest, she looks as though she may cry. When she meets your eyes, you shake your head, silently letting her know Natasha didn't mean it, and whilst she seems doubtful, she does nod her own head in understanding.

Soon, you were in the elevator, a much needed break for your arms and legs because this was way worse than any workout you'd ever done.

"Nat, you're sick," you start as you tighten grip around her. By now, she was becoming increasingly close to getting herself out of your grip, and that would not be good for either of you. "You know what Tony's like with germs. And you need to be in bed. Preferably with some medicine and soup. Doesn't she lena?"

Before Yelena could get a word in edgeways, Natasha throws her head back, and it collides painfully with your nose. You immediately see stars at the action, your eyes burning with the familiar sensation of tears that immediately escape and fall down your cheeks.

Fucking hell that hurt. What was her head made of? Cement?!

Natasha, thankfully, seems unaware of what she'd done, but Yelena see's it and cackles. The elevator doors open, and without a word, you yank Natasha's legs out of her grip, set her down onto the floor, press a kiss to her head to let her know it wasn't her you were mad at before storming off.

"Y/n, no! I'm sorry." You hear Yelena cry. "Don't leave me here with her!!!"

It was your turn to laugh. Serves her fucking right.

A week later, you still had two black eyes.

6.

When the clock strikes one AM and there was still no sign of Natasha, you let out a quiet sigh and kick off the blankets before climbing out of bed. You shiver slightly at the coldness that greets you, pulling on the closest hoodie you could find. It just so happened to be one of the many oversized ones that Natasha's owns.

It falls to your mid thigh and just about covers your ass. You smile in amusement the sight, knowing that this very hoodie all but buries Natasha and falls to her knees.

With a fond eye roll at your tiny girlfriend, you leave the room with the intention of figuring out just where she'd disappeared off too. Instinct tells you she was in the very place you'd left her after heading to bed yourself about four hours ago, and when you reach her office, you figure yourself to be correct.

There Natasha was, still sat at her desk, glasses perched on her nose as her tired eyes flicker over her computer screen. Next to her sat at least three empty cups of coffee, and you sigh at the sight, knowing she'd done everything in her power to keep herself awake despite being exhausted.

Pushing the door open further, you step inside and lightly clear your throat to let your presence be known. Natasha looks up at the sound, her lips quirking up into a small smile at the sight of you in her clothes. It didn't happen often due to your size difference, but either way she absolutely adored it.

"Hi baby." she greets tiredly, and you hum as you step closer and perch yourself at the end of her desk. Her hand immediately settles on your thigh, and you set your own on top of it, trailing the pad of your thumb over the soft skin.

"Hi you. How are you getting on?" You decide not to bombard her with the why aren't you in bed question just yet, knowing it wouldn't do either of you any good.

Natasha sighs as she uses her free hand to pull off her glasses, setting them down next to her still open laptop, "Good. Nearly done actually." She tells you somewhat proudly, and you couldn't help but smile as you gently reach forward to cup her cheek before pressing your lips in a tender kiss against the spot between her eyebrows. Her eyes flutter closed at the gentle affection, allowing you to linger for a little while longer than normal.

"It's late pumpkin." Is all you say as you reluctantly pull away, gentle fingers tucking her hair behind her ear, and Natasha sighs quietly as she nods her head. Her eyes flicker between you and her computer, and you sense that maybe there was something she wants to say but can't quite bring herself to do so. Not wanting to push her, or able to read her mind much to your dismay, you simply perch yourself on her lap and wrap an arm around her shoulder.

Knowing this wasn't something you did frequently nor often, Natasha was quick to wrap her arms around your waist and tuck her head just beneath your chin. In response, you cup the back of her head with your free hand, nuzzling your nose against her hair and taking in the comforting smell of vanilla.

About fifteen minutes pass before you feel her breathing deepen signalling she was growing dangerously close to falling asleep, and knowing her bed would be much more comfortable than her chair, you kiss her head before pulling yourself away from her and rising to your feet.

Natasha looks up at you with an unhappy frown as she grabs the material of your hoodie and tugs in a futile attempt at pulling you back down to her lap.

"No baby," you shake your head as you pry her hands off of you, "let's go to bed, okay?" You attempt to coax, and Natasha let's out a rather quiet, unhappy whine as she attempts to reach for you again.

"Nat, baby, bed. Your chair won't be comfortable." You strive to persuade, bending down and cupping her face in your hands. Tired eyes blink back up at you for just a moment before she pouts and holds out her arms, and you go to take her hands, assuming she wanted your help standing up.

Natasha, however, frowns and shakes her head, only furthering your confusion.

"What is it, my love?"

You watch as hesitation peeks in through the sleepiness lingering in her eyes for just a moment before she swallows heavily and once again holds out her arms. Her lips part, a barely audible question slipping through.

"Carry me?"

It was said so quietly, so nervously it was obvious she was scared that you'd say no. Of course you'd never. Not once has she ever asked you to carry her before. Each and every time you'd done so, you'd been the one to initiate it and not a single complaint had ever slipped from her lips.

It leaves you to believe that maybe, just maybe, there had been many times she'd wanted to ask, but was simply just too scared. Heart melting, you place your hands underneath her armpits and tug her to feet.

"Of course I'll carry you baby. You never have to ask." You murmur, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips before bending down slightly and wrapping your arms beneath her behind. You stand, bringing her with you, and almost immediately her legs hook tightly around her waist, arms loose around your neck as her small hands tangle through the baby hair at the nape of your neck.

Keeping one of your arms beneath her for support, you rest the other across her back and begin to carry her out of the room.

"I love you." You hear her murmur, and you smile softly as you give her body a squeeze.

"I love you more than you could ever imagine."

[i-love-all-whumpees-equally]

don't you ever see a blorbo and wanna just-

[sicktember]

The Official Sicktember 2024 Prompts List

Event FAQ Text Post [Link to Post]

Past Prompts Text Post [Link to Post]

How to Submit Content Post [Link to Post]

Sicktember 2024 AO3 Collection [Link] *Collection closed until Sept. 1

** Text Version of the 2024 Prompts Can be Found Below.

“I’m not hungover, I’m just sick” (Or vise versa)

Too Much of a Good Thing/Overindulgence

Campus/Con Crud

“Great. I Got a Cold for My Birthday.”

Rogue Organ (tonsils, spleen, appendix, gall bladder ect…)

Dizziness/Vertigo

Borrowed Hoodie

“The closest doctor is probably hours away from here!”

Overdramatic Patient/Caretaker 

The Sniffles ™ 

Medieval Treatment

“You’re not fine, you’re throwing up/coughing up a lung”

Mononucleosis

Clean Sheets/Fresh Pajamas

"Who decided __ is ‘sick people food?’"

Toxin/Poison

Brain Fog/Spaced Out 

“My body is one big ache”

Hypochondriac Tendencies 

Medication Bribery

Anaphylactic Response

“You didn’t use my cup, did you?”

Under a Spell

 Tales From the Waiting Room

Summer Flu

Heart Condition/Cardiac Arrest

“This is non-negotiable"

Pulling a ‘Ferris Bueller’

Sick on a Road Trip

Past Prompt of Your Choice! 

Alts

Hospital Bed

“I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

First Aid Kit

Flushed Cheeks

Doctor's Note

[fernandopiastri28]

quand c'est? - part 2~ ln4 x op81

Lando tucks his knees up to his chest, resting his head on them. Breathe Lando, he repeats, trying to calm himself down. It’s difficult to hear himself breathing right now- not because it’s faint, but because it hurts to. Every single sound seems to be amplified a hundred times and accompanied with a faint ringing.  A metallic taste fills his mouth as his head is tipped down, similar to the iron taste of blood. He spits into his hand, cringing at the impulsiveness, then checks the colour. It’s clear, so he isn’t bleeding, but the taste doesn’t go away.

warnings: major illness, cancer, sickness, major angst wc: 2025

Lando wakes up with a worse headache than when he’d gone to sleep. It had been an awful night, moving in and out of consciousness, only comforted by the buzz of Oscar’s snores and breaths during his peaceful sleep.

His heart is pounding in his chest because he’s so fucking stressed, he shouldn’t feel this bad, he never has before. It’s especially bad on the day of an infamously physically taxing race. Singapore is notably difficult on the body, it had definitely been so yesterday. The weather app says it's only going to get worse, and Lando is sure he’ll be praying for rain by the end of it.

Instead of getting up and beginning to get ready for the day, Lando curls up next to his personal pillow of Oscar and tries to shut up his mind. It usually works, shoving his head between the space where Oscar’s elbow presses into his own narrow waist. He tucks his head there, likes the slight squeeze that his unconscious boyfriend gives him, it’s a numbing pressure, and it’s so good.

Normally. It's normally so good.

Yet now, it’s still not enough- he just wants to vomit. 

“Lan,” Oscar voice is low and gravelly from sleep, “Stop wiggling, I want to sleep,”

Lando shifts away, deciding to just be away from Oscar instead of staying still. His head feels like it weighs triple its usual weight, imagines that this is what their usual G-Force in the car feels like for someone with an ordinary sized neck.

He lugs himself to the bathroom, sliding down against the shut door. He stares at the toilet bowl, then out at the small window. It’s not even bright enough to be calling it morning yet, it looks to be about 5am- and that’s generous. 

It takes everything in him to not try and vomit again. At this point, he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t have anything in his system anyways. He’d barely eaten at dinner and lunch consisted of two pieces of chicken before he’d given up and just drank water and electrolytes for the rest of the time.

Lando tucks his knees up to his chest, resting his head on them. Breathe Lando, he repeats, trying to calm himself down. It’s difficult to hear himself breathing right now- not because it’s faint, but because it hurts to. Every single sound seems to be amplified a hundred times and accompanied with a faint ringing. 

A metallic taste fills his mouth as his head is tipped down, similar to the iron taste of blood. He spits into his hand, cringing at the impulsiveness, then checks the colour. It’s clear, so he isn’t bleeding, but the taste doesn’t go away.

He does miss it though when the taste is replaced with that of bile, bubbling from his throat up to across his tongue. He lurches forward, searching for the toilet in the dark bathroom. He heaves and heaves, trying to empty out the last bit of whatever is in his stomach.

On the bright side, the weight reduction was gonna help him out a lot during the race.

His fingers splay out across the toilet bowl, gripping onto it like his life depends on it. He’s had a fair few nights feeling similar to this- a few too many shots mixed with a lack of food in his system has resulted in some gnarly hangovers. This however, is worse than anything he’s ever felt.

It’s like his soul is being sucked out of him, like every single one of his bones is turning to mush and his muscles are snapping. Oscar’s name comes out of his mouth in wailing sobs, begging him to be in here, begging for him to tell him he’ll be okay. He sees bits of yesterday's breakfast splatter across the toilet bowl and he cries harder. 

“Oscar,” He sobs as he leans his head back, hoping his voice isn’t as cracked as he feels it in. His throat feels like it’s been ripped to shreds and the idea of being able to say a word doesn’t feel possible. “Oscar!” 

A pair of feet pad closer to the door, quicker and more panicked than the night before. Lando recognises Oscar’s exact walking pattern- it’s just something you pick up on when you spend so much time admiring someone like he had.

Oscar doesn’t say a word, just sinks to his knees and wraps an arm around Lando’s waist, his chest to the brit’s back. “Breathe,” He reminds, watching Lando’s face turn red from the dim illumination of a lamp in the bedroom. Lando has his lips in a tight line, trying to not let anything out, “And just let it out, babe, I’m right here,”

Lando’s head falls forward, somehow letting more out of him. He’s sure he must be empty by this point. The pressure in his head seems to decrease a bit, and his stomach doesn’t hurt as bad. “I’m here,” Oscar’s lips feel like ice on his cheek, a few peppered kisses around the area. “I’ll take care of you, Lans,”

Oscar reaches up to flush the toilet and Lando’s eyes fixate as the contents of his stomach swirl around in front of him. He’s empty, he’s done. His head falls back onto Oscar’s shoulder, his mouth hanging open slightly. He has half a mind to close it when he realises just how close Oscar’s face is to his own, and he can most definitely smell the vomit- that’s just cruel.

“Let’s get you into the shower,” Lando doesn’t resist it, just allows for his lax body to be carried into the glass box. Oscar keeps him somewhat upright with his right arm, his left arm getting himself naked. He stops once he has successfully one handedly pushed down his boxers before sucking his cheeks in. “Can I just- can you lean against the counter while I take my shirt off?” He asks after much consideration.

He’s thinking that hard because he doesn’t think Lando can take it. 

“Yeah,” He shakes his head weakly, letting his eyes shut for a moment as his palms hold himself up on the sink. It’s only for a few seconds, but it’s enough that he thinks his knees might give out and his legs will snap if he has to stay up any longer.

Oscar’s shirtless in a flash, his arms going back around Lando to hold him up. It’s good that it’s Lando and not Oscar who can barely stand up because despite being younger- Oscar is bigger, taller, and definitely stronger. He doesn’t struggle holding Lando’s weight with just one arm. 

The water is intentionally colder than usual. Usually, they spend the mornings showered in boiling hot showers, a choice from Oscar who despises any body of water colder than 26 degrees. He knows that the hot water isn’t going to help Lando today, who’s essentially drowning in his own sweat and feels hot to the touch everywhere. 

He pumps some luxury hotel body soap into his hand and tries his best to lather it before giving up and cleaning Lando off with the not yet bubbled liquid. “How are you feeling about the race today? D’you think you should just sit it out today?” As much as sitting in the car in the boiling night heat of Singapore sounds like absolute hell to Lando right now, missing out on the race seems even worse.

“No,” His voice is definite, he’s not going to be convinced not to drive today. He’s good at Singapore, so maybe if it was a track he was infamously bad at (Vegas, for example), but he’d gotten a podium there a year before- a Carlando one at that. He’s still chasing that high, maybe getting another Carlando 1-2, but with him on the top step.

“Are you sure?” Oscar’s hands ghost over Lando’s crotch, like he’s unsure what to do with it. For a guy who’s spent a fair amount of time with his hand around it, he’s so cautious. He’s been cautious with each bit of him though- careful like he’s scared to hurt Lando with a single wrong move. It’s like he’s made of glass, just waiting to be broken. 

Maybe there is a slight shadow of doubt in Lando’s mind. He’s not even starting from a good position. At best, he’s gonna score in the low points and watch Oscar get a podium. Then he’ll be forced into celebrations and be out partying for hours longer than he thinks his body can endure tonight. He’d love to celebrate Oscar, it’s one of his favourite activities in the world- but he just can’t do that tonight.

 “I’m sure,” He lies, “I’ll be fine,” Lie number 2, “Y’dun need to worry ‘bout me,” 3rd and final lie. His words are lazy and half slurred, but Oscar knows what he’s saying regardless. It’s hard not to worry- Lando’s always been someone who pushes himself too far and get hurt, even long before they’d become friends he knew that. Yet, he’s also a quick recoverer, and he’ll probably be over whatever this is in a couple of days.

Even with his weight on Oscar, his legs are struggling to stay planted on the floor, or more so, remain straight so he can stand, “I need to sit,” He mumbles, his eyes closing as he says it. His energy is crashing, quick and hard. 

“Alright, okay, no worries,” It sounds like it does worry Oscar, who scrambles to lower Lando to the floor. He squats down in front of Lando and Lando gets an eyeful of Oscar’s.. Package. Usually, he’d be all over that, but he’s not- and that’s a telltale sign that something is seriously wrong. “Can you just keep your eyes open for me, Lans?” He asks, his hands softly separating Lando’s wet curls.

He nods, doing the exact opposite. His eyelids go heavy and it feels like a chore to even attempt to reopen them. “Yeah,” He mumbles, his fingers draped over Oscar’s shoulder, “Yeah, yeah, I’m looking at you,” He can feel his eyelids are still covering over his eyes and he shouldn’t be able to see, but his mind is clearly creating and providing some pretty realistic images because he can see Oscar.

But Oscar doesn’t say anything, so he must actually have his eyes open, he just can’t tell.

Oscar sighs, not an annoyed one, but more one that means he’s been holding in a whole lot of tension and panic over this whole ordeal. Maybe in his mind, Lando is being an overdramatic baby about all of this just to get some attention. It doesn’t sound like something Oscar would think, but Lando prays it isn’t. He does feel like hell. 

“Did you tell Jon yesterday that you weren’t feeling well?” Oscar’s fingers scrunch some of Lando’s hair up, the damp curls falling over his forehead when he pulls away. Lando shakes his head, letting out a wheezing cough. “Why not?”

“I couldn't”

“Or you didn’t want to? You knew you wouldn’t be allowed to race if you felt this awful,” Oscar is disappointed, there’s no sugar coating that. 

“No, Oscar, I- I- I just,” His chest is heaving. He hates when Oscar is mad or disappointed in him. It’s worse than when it’s from Zack or Andrea after a bad fuck up in a race, it’s worse than from Jon when he fucks up his diet, it’s worse than his own mind when he keeps fucking everything up.  

“Lando, calm down,” Oscar’s tone has returned to soft again, “I’m sorry, please just calm down. It’s okay, you’ve told me now,” 

“I’m fine,” He insists, “I didn’t think it was worth telling Jon- I’m literally fine,”

Oscar scoffs, “Fucking hardly,” 

“I’ll be fine,” He corrects, blinking some soap out of his eyes and looking up at Oscar only slightly. His eyes looking up any higher genuinely hurts him. His brain throbs when he looks too high or too low.

“You will be,” Oscar turns off the shower and helps him up, wrapping him up in a thick towel. “You will,”

[jurassicsickfics]

Body Aches Sickfic Prompts🤒😫:

1: Constantly clinging to caretaker because everything hurts, they're miserable, and they don't know what to do with themselves.

2: Crying any time something cold touches their sensitive body.

3: Being extra sensitive to bumping into things, or to rough touch.

4: Just straight up inconsolable crying because they feel bad all over and they're just fed up.

5: Cuddling with caretaker in a warm shower/bath.

6: Being fed pain meds by caretaker.

7: Whining while getting a massage from caretaker, because even the lightest touch hurts.

8: Curled up in bed, not wanting to move and swaddled in blankets.

9: Being super uncomfortable on a car ride because every bump is painful.

10: Making a bed for themselves in whatever the warmest room in the house happens to be.

[delusionisaplace]

idk if you still take requests buuuut…. could you do prompts for characters taking care of each other while sick / depressed? thank youu (also I love your writing)

ofc and thank you for the compliment i really appreciate it :)))

"𝙞'𝙢 𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚…" 𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙧 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙩𝙨

have fun with these :) | tag me if you use any | if yall want more prompts like this, jus drop an ask

“You’re burning up…”

“I’m right here if you need anything, okay?”

“I’m fine.” “You’re not ‘fine’.”

“Is there anything I can get you?”

“Stop, let me do it.”

“Let me help you.”

“How do you feel?”

“Should I get you some water?”

“Try to eat something. Anything.”

“I don’t care if I get sick too.”

“Are you dizzy?”

“It’s fine; I can handle a few germs.”

“I’ll make you something to eat, alright?”

“I’m not going to leave you here like this.”

“I’ll go draw you a bath.”

“I’ll get you some medicine.”

“Do you want food, water or some ice?”

“Call me if you need anything.”

“I got you, okay?”

“Just sleep. I’m here for you.”

“Why are you acting like everything is fine?”

“Hey, are you still with me?”

“I’ll hold your hair if you need me to.”

“Do you want me to help you eat?”

“I’ll carry you to bathroom, okay?”

“I called out sick for you.”

"Remember to take your medicine on time, alright?"

"I can run to the pharmacy if you need anything."

"Tell me if the room is too bright or too cold."

“I’ll stay with you until you feel better.”

"I won't leave your side until you're better, promise."

"Don't tough it out; let me take care of you."

[natalievoncatte]

It began with a sneeze.

Lena’s entire body tensed, pain wracking her sinuses, and she tried to tamp it down and swallow it. There was a room full of investors, and she paused mid-presentation. She held up a protesting hand, signaling that she needed no help, and waved off her assistants. Finally the feeling subsided and she soldiered on, accidentally repeating part of the presentation. It didn’t matter, it was just a formality.

After, she was sitting alone in her office and she did sneeze this time, hard, into a silk handkerchief. A dull ache had settled into her bones and she felt droopy, tired. Still, she had work to do. Not the work she wanted to do. Not running the company, not strategizing. Not inventing or innovating. It was menial. It was assigned. She worked for her brother.

It was his pretty revenge, because Lena shot him two times in the chest. Then a bunch of very strange shit happened and Lena suddenly found herself in an entirely different world where Lex had never died, even though they both remembered it. A hellish nightmare world where Lillian was a philanthropist and Kara and all her friends worked more or less for Lex, keeping aliens in check.

Lena couldn’t go to her best friend for help, because her best friend had betrayed her. Lena almost wished she’d been erased when the multiverse collapsed, replaced by a copy of herself who’d never felt this agony.

There was a truth she would never admit, even to herself.

She’d feel better if Kara was here.

The days dragged on and so did her cold. Except, it wasn’t a cold. On the third day she woke to a high fever, feeling a little wobbly when she forced herself out of bed. Her sinuses burned and she had to breathe through her mouth. When she took her temperature, it was elevated, close to being dangerous. Every muscle and joint on her body ached and the sight of food made her retch involuntarily.

Lena had the goddamn flu.

She did something she’d never done: by a curt email, she informed her staff that she was ill and would not be in the office today. Instead, she rummaged through her closet, her breath catching on a familiar sweatshirt.

It was a Midvale High School Mathletes sweater. It was Kara’s, but Lena knew with a certainty that Kara had not been in Lena’s penthouse since It Happened. There was no way for this to get here but…

She stifled a sob. This world had its own Lena, one whose life she’d appropriated or merged with or God knows what, and that Lena Kara’s clothes in her home. Lena kept stumbling across them and it hurt more every time.

Had they been happy, before? Kara must have spent the night. They must have been close. Lena had been close with her Kara; they hung out and Kara had slept over a few times but they weren’t really on your-clothes-in-my-closet terms. Had that been what happened here? Did they share the bed? Were they…

Did they…

Lena put it on, felt it shelter her body. She put in two pairs of leggings and hoped her laptop would warm her. She curled with it on the couch, and got exactly nothing done. After three hours she closed the computer and flipped channels until she found the old friend of the seriously ill and the chronically unemployed: reruns.

Curling on one end of the couch, she laid her head to rest on the arm and her eyes slid closed.

It seemed that as soon as she did, she opened them again. Her head was throbbing. She tried to push herself up, but it was too great an effort and she flopped down again. Her throat was dry and sticky, and unable to breathe through her nose, air came in reedy wheezes. Swallowing only made it worse, and she felt a rising panic.

Something beyond sleep, thick and heavy, was dragging her down, even as she struggled.

A chill night breeze rolled over her, and she shivered explosively.

"Easy now. I've got you."

Powerful arms lifted her limp body and carried her. Gently, Lena was laid on her bed and a blanket thrown over her.

She opened her eyes. Kara sat her up, cradling her in one arm as she held a glass in another, so Lena could drink. She let the cool water wet her throat and did her best to breathe again. Gently, Kara lowered her back down to rest and folded a cool, damp cloth on her forehead. Lena sighed in relief.

“Get out. Don’t want you here.”

“I’m sorry,” Kara whispered. “I can’t leave you alone like this. I’ll be right back.”

She was indeed right back, Supergirl walking into Lena’s budoir carrying a drug store bag full of medicine. She sat Lena up again and administered the foul tasting stuff over Lena’s protests, then shut off the lights.

Lena tried to roll on her side. It didn’t go well.

Kara knelt and slipped out of her boots. Then, she undid one side, then the other, and unclasped her cape from her shoulders. She then swept it over Lena and tucked it around her gently.

“Kara,” Lena muttered.

“Hush. It’s a blanket. It’ll keep you warm.”

Lena wasn’t sure what happened next, if she dreamed it or if it was real, but she felt the bed shift as Kara climbed aboard and laid down beside her.

Eventually, she woke up again. Kara was tucked against her back, one arm thrown protectively over Lena’s side, resting on her blanket cocoon. Kara snored lightly, lying on the bed so that her chin rested on the crown of Lena’s head.

Kara noticed she’d stirred and silently stood, offering Lena her next dose of syrupy, nasty medicine. She accepted it just as silently and laid back down to sleep.

The cycle continued. Day came. Kara didn’t leave her. She drew the curtains and laid on the bed beside Lena, never speaking, never making any demands.

Finally Lena was well enough to roll over and face her.

“Why are you here?”

“I heard Gillian’s Island coming from your living room and thought you must be in danger.”

Lena snorted in spite of herself.

Kara softened. Her big blue eyes, eyes that could launch a thousand ships, carried such a weight of sorrow that Lena felt a surge of pain and regret in her heart, wondering why in the hell they were feuding. No. She couldn’t do that. She couldn’t just…

“I’m sorry.”

Lena tucked herself into the blankets. She wanted to roll over, to turn away, to stop this before she did something she would regret later.

“I keep finding your things in my place,” Kara murmured. “It makes me wonder if it was different here. If we were different. What if I’d made other choices. If I’d been honest with you. Bolder.”

“You weren’t,” said Lena. “You aren’t. That’s the way it is. That door was closed.”

“When I landed on your balcony, it was open.”

“A mistake I won’t repeat. Careless. Thank you for helping me, but I didn’t need it. I don’t need you.”

Kara closed her eyes and sighed.

“I hate doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“You’re lying.”

Lena jerked back, as much as her aching body would allow, anyway.

“How do you know?”

It didn’t hit Lena that she hadn’t offered a denial, at least not until later.

“Easy,” Kara smiled. “I cheat. Skin conductivity and moisture levels. Heat bloom on your skin. Pulse. Pupil dilation. Breathing patterns.”

“I have the flu. That’s why.”

Kara frowned.

“You’re wearing my sweater.”

“It’s not yours. It’s hers. The lives we stole.”

Kara shook her head. “That’s not what he did. Your brother created this world to live out his fantasies and make me suffer. That’s why your things are at my place and mine at yours. It’s showing us the life we should have had,” a tear shone on Kara’s cheek, “had I not been a fuckup and a coward. If I’d trusted you.”

Lena choked back a small sob, and started to cough violently.

Without a word, Kara gathered her up and rested Lena’s head on her shoulder, walling her up in those beefy, protective arms of hers. Lena allowed it, curling her fingers against the twitching muscles of Kara’s back.

Lena wanted to pull away…

No. That was a lie, a miserable fucking lie. She didn’t want to pull back. She didn’t want to fight. She thought she had to, that she needed to.

“Don’t cry,” Kara said, tenderly brushing a tear from Lena’s cheek. “I know you’re furious with me. I know things are bad. I know your brother has power over us. It’ll get better. I won’t let him hurt you. I won’t let anyone hurt you. I promise.”

“You already hurt me.”

“I know,” Kara whimpered, her voice wobbling. “I’m sorry, Lena. I’ve never been more sorry about anything in my entire life. I wake up every day praying I can find some way to take it back."

"You can't."

Kara tensed.

"Maybe you don't have to," said Lena.

Kara's breath caught. She lowered Lena to the bed, and this time wrapped them in the blankets together. She was so warm.

"I've got you."

Blessedly, Lena slept.

Each time she woke, she felt better. Eventually, she was well enough for Kara to leave the bed. A few minutes later, Kara came back, and she brought breakfast. Her appetite back, Lena dug in, enjoying the tea Kara brought.

Kara took the tray and plates when she was done.

"You look a lot better."

Lena nodded. "Ah, yes, thank you."

Silence. There was a heavy pause, and then Kara sat down beside her on the bed.

"I wish I'd been brave before."

Lena looked at her, really looked at her, this enchanting vision looking at Lena like she hung all the stars in the sky, her eyes so full of longing that Lena felt she might fall into them forever.

"What would you do if you were brave?"

"This."

Warm fingers curled around Lena's chin. Kara leaned in, and Lena felt it happen even before their lips touched. When they did, it was electric. Lena felt the world spinning. Kara caught her and lowered her to the bed.

"I don't care about multiverses and cosmic entities and your evil brother. No matter what they throw at me, I will always find my way back to you. If you want me."

Lena pulled her down into another kiss, and that was her answer.