#i have a weakness for sickficks

[silverhyenaart]

Please forgive my personal indulgence, but I've got an excellent example of just such right here!!!

Bored af. Send me your absolute favourite sickfic tropes, like the ones that when you read them you have the urge to get up and pace through your entire dwelling several times before sitting back down

[hyunjinsbelovedamericano]

Vulnerable

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Sickfick :p, mention of fainting,sick Minho :(

Fluff, not proofread

Trying to post more frequently 🫡

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Minho always presented himself as tough and strong, whenever his soft side came out it would be treasured knowing the next time would be in ages. Minho hated being vulnerable, he didn't ever want to be seen as weak so whenever he was in pain he'd keep it to himself

What Minho also loved was being a hard worker, he would work as hard as he could, push himself as far as he can. He is not one to dissapoint. This only becomes an issue when he is in need of help but too stubborn to ask for it, he'd try and gaslight himself into thinking he's fine when in reality all he wants is to be cuddled and taken care of

Minho had fallen sick a few days ago, but he refused to slack off, he had many things on his to-do list and the group had to work hard for an upcoming album there's no way he could just take a break! Even though he felt light headed as he danced, he didn't stop. He wouldn't stop.

It began to worry you as you noticed Minho has been acting different, he'd always grab onto something every time he got up, staring off into space whenever he was doing something. You knew Minho was overworking himself, I mean this isn't the first time this has happened. But, this time it's different, he seems off.

You tried to talk to him about it but it only resulted in him saying 'I'm fine' or 'I'm just tired'. Minho only seemed to get worse only stressing you out even more, you told him many times to take care of himself and give himself a break but it was like talking to a wall ; he'd never listen.

One day, Minho stumbled into your shared apartment, he barley made it into the bedroom before he started feeling dizzy, stars corrupting his vision. Before he even knew it he collapsed on the hard cold floor a loud bang spreading throughout the house. This startled you and distracted you from whatever you could've been doing

You rushed to see what happened and your eyes found a tired Minho laying on the ground. Gasping, you lifted him up off the floor quickly laying him on the bed he was probably aiming for when he entered

"Oh, Minho what happened? Minho? Can you hear me?"

Minho eyes slowly fluttered open, he seemed to be a bit confused. What happened? Did he faint?

"What happened sweetheart? How are you feeling now? Are you hot? "

You put your hand on his forehead, frantically checking his temperature, you were worried sick about him and this just set you even more off edge

"What happened" Minho mumbled softly

"You collasped Minho! What's going on with you?"

Minho sighed as he recalled the past week, he stayed up late at night doing dance practice beside the fact he could barley breathe.

"I-i'm just a bit sick, I'll be fi-"

"Don't even try saying you'll be fine when you just fainted do you think I'm an idiot?You're obviously too sick to be overworking yourself, I'm taking care of you until you get better"

Minho was too weak to refuse and he let you transfer him onto the couch and cover him in fluffy blanket,turning on the TV for him and cooking him some chicken noodle soup.

You spoon-fed him the warm broth before feeding him some medicine,he kept on turning his head and whining about having to eat the medicine,saying it taste like feces and he'd rather lick the bottom of a shoe.

You both cuddled up together,with your eyes stuck on the television you failed to notice Minho dozing off on your chest. But once you did your eyes sparkled with awe, he looked so delicate, soft even. His pink lips were slightly parted exposing his cute bunny teeth.

He is oh so perfect

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Haven't posted in a while😞,but this month I swear I'll try my best

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[teine-mallaichte]

Happy Friday <3 I'd love to see a sickfick for Fenris and Anders if you feel inspired to write <3 Happy writing!

Thought it could be fun to expeiemt with the idea of Anders being sick and Fenris having no idea how to look after someone. So I am seeing this as being relatively early in an relationship, likely the first time they've needed to deal with one of them being ill and not simply injured.

learning to write comfort is hard 😂 @dadrunkwriting

Fenris had never expected Anders to be so insufferable when he was ill. He’d always assumed the mage would stubbornly refuse to let anything slow him down, especially something as trivisal as being sick. After all, he had seen Anders push himself to exhaustion before - working through days of barely eating or sleeping, determined to keep going no matter the cost. It was the kind of defiance he knew well, the kind he could handle. Getting Anders to take breaks, eat, and sleep had been an ongoing battle—one that, despite their frustrations, felt familiar.

But this? This was new. Unexpected. Disorientating.

At first, Anders had been predictably stubborn, the picture of denial. He refused to acknowledge his illness, pushing through each cough and shiver as though sheer willpower could banish the sickness. Fenris had expected that. He had thought this was the way it would remain.

But then the mage’s behavior shifted in a way he hadn’t prepared for.

The mage wasn’t just stubborn anymore - he was… clingy.

It was strange, almost unbearable to watch. Anders would barely acknowledge it, of course, but the signs were there. Every time Fenris tried to leave, Anders’ eyes would flicker toward him, a mix of desperation and fear pulling at his face. He’d insist he was fine, that Fenris could go, all while his hand—his trembling, weak hand—would reach out, grasping Fenris’.

It was maddening.

Fenris didn’t know how to deal with it. He wasn’t used to this version of Anders - It was unnerving, alien, and deeply confusing.

Fenris watched from the doorway to the clinics back room, the cramped area that serves as living space, as Anders curled up on his too small cot. The mage was flushed with fever, his face pale and his eyes dull, his usual quick wit and sharp tongue reduced to silence. He had been unnervingly quiet ever since Fenris had coaxed him into closing the clinic for the day and actually getting some rest—a battle that had taken most of the morning.

The mage shifted ever so slightly, just enough to make Fenris stiffen. He watched as Anders’ dull eyes flickered toward him. "Fenris?" His voice was hoarse and rough with the strain of illness. He tried to sit up, but his body betrayed him.

Fenris hesitated. He wasn’t sure what to do. He had never been good at this. Hoesntly had never been in the position to try, nor to learn, how to offer comfort to someone. And the last thing he wanted was to make this worse.

But Anders’ hand reached for him, and Fenris found himself moving, compelled by something he didn’t fully understand.

“I’ll be alright,” Anders croaked, his voice weak, breaking with exhaustion. "You don’t have to stay… I can tell you feel awkward."

Fenris’ stomach clenched. He didn’t know why Anders was apologizing for this, for being sick. He didn’t have a clue how to handle it, and the discomfort was threatening to drown him.

“I’m not leaving.” The words slipped from his mouth before he could think: a statement that felt more like a challenge to himself than to Anders.

Anders opened his mouth to protest, but another fit of coughing overtook him, cutting him off. The sound was so ragged, so painful, that Fenris was at his side before he could stop himself, unsure whether to pull Anders upright or try to soothe the fit somehow.

“Can’t you heal yourself?” Fenris asked, frustration edging his tone, though he didn’t know who he was frustrated with—Anders for not just healing himself, or himself for feeling helpless.

Anders tried to laugh, but the sound quickly turned into another painful cough. "Healing magic can’t cure everything,” he rasped, his eyes fluttering shut as he grimaced. "Magic has limits.”

Fenris’ teeth clenched. He knew magic could heal wounds that would have killed a normal person, so why not a damn fever? Why couldn’t he just make this better? He didn’t know how to fix Anders. He didn’t know how to comfort him. His frustration flared, mixing with something else, something tight in his chest that had nothing to do with irritation. “What will cure it then?”

Anders looked up at him, his expression softening just a little, his hand slipping back to the blanket as he exhaled in defeat. “Time. Rest. Maybe some soup.”

"Soup…" Fenris echoed, his eyes instinctively flicking toward the small 'kitchen' area.

"No," Anders cut off his thoughts, "I am not eating anything you cook It might just finish me off."

Fenris narrowed his eyes, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I see your wit has survived the fever,” he said dryly, folding his arms across his chest. "I can go get soup. From the market. Or ask Hawke to have Orana make you some.”

Anders chuckled weakly, but the sound quickly faded into a strained cough. "As much as I appreciate the sentiment, dragging anyone else into this feels excessive.”

Fenris didn’t know what else to say. He couldn’t argue with that, not when Anders was clearly exhausted and embarrassed. He turned, moving toward the door, his mind already on the market, on soup, on anything that would get him away from this moment. Away from Anders. From the awkward helplessness.

"Fenris..." The voice was barely more than a whisper, and it stopped him dead in his tracks. His heart skipped, a sudden pang of something strange tightening in his chest.

Anders’ eyes were half-closed, the faintest edge of desperation creeping into his expression. “Stay. Please. I… I don’t want to be alone.”

The words hit Fenris like a punch to the gut. He wasn’t prepared for the vulnerability Anders was offering, the unguarded need in his voice. The request sounded simple—almost too simple—but Fenris knew it was anything but.

He stood frozen. His chest was tight, his mind whirling with confusion and discomfort. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to stay; it was that he didn’t know how. He didn’t know how to do this. How to just be. Just stay.

But when he looked back at Anders, fragile and feverish, so uncharacteristically open, Fenris found himself moving again. Slowly. Reluctantly. He sat at the edge of the cot, his body stiff, unsure. What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to say?

He sat in silence, feeling every inch of the awkwardness between them, as Anders’ hand - entative and shaking - reached for him once more. Fenris studied it for a long moment, watching the faint tremors, before finally, awkwardly, reaching out to take it.

“I’m sorry,” Anders whispered, his voice cracking, “For being… like this.”

Fenris didn’t know how to respond to that, his throat tight. “You’re allowed to be sick,” he said finally, his voice low, though the words sounded strange coming from him. “The world isn’t going to end because you took a day off.”

Anders’ dry laugh was cut off by another violent cough, and Fenris immediately stiffened, his hand tightening around Anders’ weaker grip. His gaze was dark with worry, but he tried to hide it, tried to focus on the small things he could do—adjusting the blanket, offering more water, even just being there.

“Are you comfortable?” Fenris asked, his voice softer than he intended, the words spilling out without thinking. "Do you need water, or… something?”

Anders’ weak chuckle turned into another harsh fit of coughing. “Water... might be good.”

Fenris nodded, moving quickly, but his steps felt heavy, his thoughts just as uncertain. But somehow, when he returned to Anders’ side, when he held the glass of water to his lips, it felt like the right thing. He was trying. That had to be enough.

Anders murmured his thanks, sinking back against the cot. Fenris stayed, his hand still on the edge of the bed, unsure of what else he could possibly offer.

"Is there anything else?" Fenris asked, his voice distant, like he didn’t expect an answer. What could he possibly do now?

Anders’ eyelids fluttered, but his voice was soft, faint. “Just… stay.”

The request was simple, almost deceptively so. He didn’t know how to be here, how to give Anders what he needed.

Anders drifted in and out of sleep, his breathing shallow, his body too weak to remain fully conscious. Fenris stayed by his side, his mind restless, his discomfort eating away at him, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t. The stillness stretched on, filled only with the soft rustle of blankets and the occasional cough from Anders.

He didn’t know how long he stayed there, didn’t know how long he would be able to keep this up. But for now, it was enough to simply be present. Just… stay.

[somniadelapsis]

Izzy sickfic

 Just Izzy trying to hide being sick and then passing out in the common area

Izzy remembered the last time he was sick. It would be hard to not remember when it gave him the nickname. Izzy the spewer. He was sick again and this time he would make sure no one noticed. The problem was it was hard to hide anything when you were so feverish that you could barely think. It was weird to try to act normal. Did anyone notice him more playing with his food than eating at breakfast? How mean was he usually to the crew? Was it suspicious that some things around the bout took him longer?

He was either a better actor than he thought or the rest of the crew was plain stupid. Well, he thought they were plain stupid but also he looked like shit and no amount of acting could hide that. So he guessed that no one cared. Which was good because no one commented on his obvious illness all day. But it also made him want to curl up in a corner and cry. Damn fever making him emotional. Blackbeard should have at least asked if he was alright or... Or something. No he actually wouldn't. But Edward would. The same Edward who was so engrossed with Stede that he didn't notice his first mate barely keeping himself upright. Did the ship have to rock so much? Or was he just being dizzy?

Dizzy Izzy.

He needs to get inside. It's evening already. Everyone is sitting down to relax. No one will notice when he slips away. 

He ended up falling onto his bed face first and falling asleep as soon as he made himself comfortable. 

Then he woke up at some ungodly hour of the night shivering, drenched in sweat. His mouth was dry as a desert. He felt as if he hadn’t had anything to drink in days. He would have to go to the kitchen to get some water. The thought of getting up seemed so exhausting that he was ready to die of dehydration. The responsible side of his brain scolded him. 

He needed to get off the leathers first. That was an ordeal that left him panting for breath and fighting to keep his eyes open. Water. He needed water. He dressed in the first shirt he could find. Threw on some pants. He got up carefully. The word spun but it passed after a while. He noticed that his feet were bare. He must have took of his shoes before coming to bed. Why did his fevered brain think it was important to take off shoes but not the leathers was beyond him.

He started the journey to the kitchen. It took embarrassingly long. He had to support himself on the walls to get there. Which again his world rocked without the additional help of the sea. 

He finally got to the kitchen. He got water. Oh sweet water. He had never tasted something so good. The rational side of the brain quipped that he was just dehydrated but he was too happy about the water to listen. The ship rocked hard. Or it was just him being dizzy. He didn't care. He titled and caught himself on the counter. No need to add injury to sickness. He sat on the floor. That was a much safer position.

He sat on it drinking for a good while. He must have fallen asleep because he woke up when something jostled his leg. That something cursed. And someone just tripped over his leg. Not good. It was still dark so everyone should be asleep. Well, beside the person who just tripped over him.

"izzy?" They asked confused. And oh it had to be Blackbeard, hadn't it? But maybe it was good. He couldn't decide.

"Hey cap'tn." He hoped his slur came out as intentional.

"What are you doing on the floor?"

"Sitting." He wanted to hit himself. What kind of answer was that?

Then suddenly there was Edward's face very close to his. He squinted at him.

"Are you drunk?"

If he answered yes then captain would probably carry him to bed. Thrown over his shoulder. Which could end up very bad. He did not want to puke all over his captain.

"No." At that the Captain's frown deepened.

He sniffed the air a bit. To check for alcohol he supposed. Then he backed away a little. Looked him over. Noticed his light attire, lack of shoes, mused hair and whatever else was out of place with him. And he really didn't want to get noticed at the moment.

"Go'way." His mouth produced before he could run it by his brain.

Edward startled. Then there were hands on him. And he didn't like the hands and squirmed away. At least he tried to but the hands were strong and held him in place.

"You're burning up." The captain stated.

"Yeah." He admitted in defeat. Damn. He was so tired. He wanted to be back in bed. But it would took so long to get there. All the way down the hallway. He would have to get up first. He did not think- 

Edward was talking. And he did not get a world he said. That should be probably worrying but he was just annoyed.

"Izzy." The forceful way he said his name snapped him to attention. 

"Why didn't you tell anyone that you're sick?"

He really didn't want to talk about that.

"Wasn't that bad." He mumbled.

The captain sighed.

"Let's get you to bed " 

Edward pulled his arm over his broad shoulders. Then he was unceremoniously hauled to his feet and the world spun in earnest now and he was aware of slumping against Edward. And there was a string of curses. He was not sure if it was his or Edward's or maybe it came from both of them. Then the world slipped away from him for a moment.

The next thing he was aware of was that he was back on the floor and he was still slumped against Edward and the captain's knee was rammed uncomfortably in his lower back. And there was a hand on his cheek. And he looked into Edward's eyes.

"You with me?" 

And he grumbled which was enough of a confirmation for the captain. 

"You think you're ready to get up? Slowly this time."

"Dunno." And Edward hauled him up anyway. And this time he miraculously did not faint. Because that he what he did the last time. A wave of embarrassment washed over him. He quickly forgot about it when the world spun again. When it stilled he become aware that gripped Edward's shoulder like it was his lifeline and relaxed it a bit.

"You good?"

"Mhmm" His eyes closed out of their own accord.

Edward tensed.

"What's going on?" Stede fucking Bonnet. No. Nope. That was the last thing he needed. Everything but him. He wanted to groan. And he did.

“He’s sick.” Ugh. Did he have to tell him?

“Oh, dear.” Stede sounded worried. He definitely wasn’t worried about him.

Then there were hands at his face and neck. Soft hands of an aristocrat. Stede’s hands. He whipped his head from their grip. Succeeded in making himself dizzy again. Edward’s grip on him tightened.

“Izzy.” He had the gall to sound exasperated when Stede fucking Bonett had just touched him.  

“It’s fine.” Did he have to sound so soft? “He’s way too hot.” And again he sounded worried. Like he didn’t want him dead as much as he wanted to kill him.

“I know. I was just getting him back to bed.” Edward casually talked about him like he wasn’t there.

“I will help you with that.” Stede said reading to take hold of his other side. He paused. “Are you going to let me help, Izzy?”

“Of course he’s going-“ Edward started.

“No. It’s clear he didn’t like it the last time I touched him and struggling will do him no good at the moment.” He said sternly. “So, Izzy, will you not fight me if I try to help?”

He swallowed. It felt weird that someone cared about his comfort. He found himself nodding before he thought properly about it. And so he ended up being dragged to bed by his co-captains. This was not how he imagined his night to go.

“What were you doing out of bed?” Stede asked.

“Water.”

“Right. You’re feverish so you probably woke up thirsty. What are your other symptoms?”

“Um...” He was thoroughly confused now.

“Then let’s do it in yes or no questions, okay?”

“You’re a doctor now?”

“Just answer the questions so I know what to do.”

“Just let me sleep this off.”

“I don’t think this is something you just can sleep off.” Edward quipped. “Now answer his questions.” He commanded.

“Yes, cap’tn.”

“There’s obviously the fever.” Stede mused. “ Headache?”

“Yeah.”

“Nausea?”

“Yeah.”

“Sore throat?”

“Yeah.” He reflexively cleared his throat.

“Runny nose?”

“No.”

“Cough?”

“No.”

“Muscle pain?

“Yeah.”

“How long have you been feeling bad?”

“Uh, since yesterday?”

“Before you got to sleep yesterday or earlier?”

“Earlier?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” And again with the same question.

“He said it wasn’t this bad before.” Edward answered for him.

Stede looked ready to call his bullshit but decided against it. And he was angry at himself that he felt grateful for it.

And finally they arrived at his cabin. They sat him on the bed and helped him lie down. He didn’t need help with that, thank you very much. But he also didn’t have strength to fight them. The rest of the night got a little hazy. He was freezing and burning in turns. There were cold compresses at his forehead and also some other parts of his body. There were also nightmares and trashing and hands and struggling and fear and calm voices and not so calm voices and someone calling his name and...

And it was morning. Or rather midday he noticed. He still felt like shit. There was a now warm compress at his forehead. It fell of when he sat. He stared blankly at it for a indefinite amount of time. Then his door opened.

“Oh, you’re awake. Wonderful!” Stead exclaimed. And it did not do wonders for his headache. He whinced.

“Ah, sorry.” He did look apologetic. “You gave us quite a scare tonight. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” Is what he wanted to say but nothing came out. And damn his throat hurt.

“You lost your voice?” Stede asked sympathetically.

“He lost his voice?” Edward asked while walking in.

He nodded answering them both.

“Are you feeling better?”

He thought about it. He made a so-so motion.

“You think you can stomach some soup?”

He nodded but without enthusiasm.

“ Not hungry?”

He shook his head.

“Well you need to eat to feel better.” Stede walked out. Presumably to bring him soup himself.

Edward sat at a chair next to his bed. His arms were crossed. He stared at him. He was about to start to squirm when he spoke. “Tell me next time that you’re sick before you’re nearly dying.” There was an emotion there. One he couldn’t quite name. One that he did not expect.

He blinked. Then he shook his head. Balled his feast on the blanked. Tried to speak. Failed. Huffed in frustration. Edward sighed and walked out. His shoulders dropped in resignation. And he did not understand. He knew deep down he was the cause of it. But he did not understand.

[ivorydice]

Some angsty ideas... Noct being held hostage. He contracts a rare, deadly illness. Or maybe Noct accidentally kills someone à la Gwen Stacy. Depression leading to a suicide attempt. I would love anything that involves Noct being taken away from Regis (because seeing my favorites suffer makes me happy).

Oooh, very nice ideas! Illness fics are one of my weaknesses to be honest lol, I really need to write/read more of them. *banging hands on the desk* More sickficks, more sickfics, more sickfics, more sickfics XDNoct being taken away from Regis for angst??? Yessss please lol. Actually, upcoming fic for Ardynoct week will have a companion fic from Regis’s (and others) POV, and ohhhhh the angst, the pain >:D