#sicktember 2022 day four

[nurse-buckley]

Sicktember - Day Four

Fandom: 9-1-1  Pairing: Buddie x Reader (platonic)   Word Count: 1,293 words Prompt: @sicktember Alt. Prompt 5 “Can You Be Brave For Me?” Tagslist: @firemedicdiaz @fireladybuckley @winterreader-nowwriter @iamasimpingh0e @dayrin085 @hauntedmilkshakeghost @floralbuckleys @writingmysanity  If you want to be added or removed from my tagslist, please let me know!  Authors Note: CEO of getting these fics out 25 minutes before midnight! Once again, unbeta’d so I apologise for any mistakes! Requested by the amazing @firemedicdiaz I hope this helps cheer you up lovely <3

You let out a low groan as you feel someone shaking your shoulders in an attempt to rouse you, “Hey. Y/N? Can you hear me? Open your eyes for me sweetheart.” You can vaguely hear Eddie’s voice cutting through the haze, but your eyes are just too heavy. 

Eddie moves his fingers to the side of your neck, feeling for your pulse. He lets out a sigh of relief to feel the gentle thrumming beneath his finger tips, even if it is a little fast for his liking. He gently shakes your shoulders once more, releasing another sigh of relief as your eyes begin to flutter open. 

“Ed…?” you slurred, as consciousness returns to you. “What? Why am I on the floor?” Your mind still fuzzy, your head pounding, probably from the impact of your head hitting the floor considering the last thing you remember was helping Eddie in the kitchen before the world began to spin. 

Eddie can sense your rising anxiety as you come to your senses a little more and attempt to sit up, easing you back down with a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Easy cariña, you fainted. Just lay back for me, you’re alright. We’ve got you,” he reassures. 

We? Right…you were at Buck’s. You and Eddie had gone there after work to hang out. 

You startle as you hear a noise from your side, watching as Buck comes into view and sets the first aid kit you knew he kept in his closet beside you. The younger man kneels beside you, opposite Eddie, unzipping the kit to pull out a piece of gauze before passing the kit over to Eddie. 

Buck moves into your line of sight, taking your focus away from Eddie as he begins to pull out various pieces of equipment, sensing your anxiety growing more. “I’m just going to hold this to the side of your head, alright? You bumped your head pretty hard when you hit the floor.” He apologies as the contact causes you to flinch away, but he holds your head steady with his other hand on the other side of your face. 

You see Eddie placing a stethoscope around his neck, and feel your breathing start to come a little quicker, suddenly feeling self-conscious of all the attention on you. 

“You know, I’m actually feeling a lot better. It’s okay. I’m just really tired or it’s probably just low blood sugar. I’m fine…really. I don’t need the hospital or anything, really,” you stutter, trying to sit up once more. 

“Hey,” Eddie speaks up from your other side, taking your hand in his and squeezing it reassuringly, “No one said anything about the hospital, I can’t rule it out just yet, but I just need to check you over, that’s non-negotiable. Can you be brave for me? Just for a little while.” 

You nod defeatedly, allowing Buck to ease you back down this time. A stray tear rolls down your cheek at the thought of there being something wrong with you, but you know you’re in safe hands with the pair of them at your side. 

“That’s it. Just lay back, we’ve got you. You’re safe,” Buck reassures, wiping away the stray tear with the pad of his thumb. 

“Did you have any symptoms before you passed out? Any dizziness, blurred vision, palpitations?” 

You give a worried look to Buck, but an encouraging nod from him has you nodding your head, “i-is that bad?” 

“Try not to worry, it could be nothing,” Buck tries to reassure you. 

“B-but it could be something. I’ve never passed out before,” your panic begins to rise once more, the thought of something being wrong with you overwhelming you. 

“I need you to take a deep breath for me sweetheart,” Eddie says this time, “We need you calm okay, just let me worry about everything else.” 

You mimic Eddie as he takes a slow, deep breath, feeling a little calmer. “Good, now, keep taking deep breaths with Buck here, and let me check you over. I’ll explain everything before I do it and if it gets too much we’ll take a break.” 

Buck gently moves back into your line of vision, taking slow deep breaths for you to follow. 

“I’m just going to check your pulse,” Eddie announces, gently placing his fingers around your wrist and glancing at his watch. You focus on your breath, following Buck and trying not to focus on the feeling of your pulse tapping away against Eddie’s touch. 

He sets your arm down by your side, before picking up the blood pressure cuff from the kit next. “Is it alright if I just slip this on here?” You nod your consent, trying not to focus on the feeling of the cool fabric as Eddie wraps it tightly around your upper arm. You watch as he puts on the stethoscope and places it at the crook of your elbow, “Just a little squeeze here.” He inflates the cuff, just enough to be uncomfortable before releasing it, quickly and efficiently taking the reading. 

“Your vitals are a little concerning,” Eddie quickly continues, before you work yourself up again, “I’m just going to check one more thing, is it alright if I check your blood sugar?” 

The thought of the needle pricking your finger is enough to make bile rise at the back of your throat, but you knew Eddie wouldn’t be asking if he wasn’t certain. 

As if he were able to read your mind, Eddie speaks up once more, “I’ll be as gentle as I can and it’ll be over before you know it.” 

You nod once more, offering your middle finger to Eddie and holding out your free hand to Buck to hold as Eddie gets the necessary equipment together. “Do you want me to count down?” Eddie asks as he presses the tip of the lancet against your chosen finger. 

“Count down please,” you ask as you look away and focus on Buck, squeezing his hand tighter. 

“One…two…three.” 

Before you have a chance to even think, you feel the needle quickly pinch your skin before Eddie squeezes your finger and takes the reading. Buck is quick, grabbing another piece of gauze from the packet he’d opened earlier and wraps it around the tip of your finger. 

The machine beeps and Eddie lets out a small, “hmm” drawing both of your attention back to him. He turns the monitor around, showing you and Buck the reading. “I think we’ve found our culprit.” 

“Low blood sugar?” you ask. 

“Seems to be the issue, and it fits your other symptoms,” Eddie confirms. 

“Am I going to be okay?” you ask, worried at the thought of a trip to the hospital and more needles. 

“I think we can manage it here, we’ll settle you on the couch and get you some juice and a snack. Does that sound okay?” 

You sit up with the help of Buck and Eddie either side of you, leaning against them as you sway a little. They help you to the couch, settling you down with a glass of juice. 

“We’ll let you finish that and then we’ll just check your blood sugar once more, make sure everything's coming back to normal but I think you’re going to be just fine,” Eddie reassures as he takes the seat next to you. 

Buck takes a seat at your other side, nestling you safely between the pair of them, “you know, if you wanted to pick the take out and movie tonight, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.” 

The three of you fall into a fit of laughter, the anxiety from earlier long forgotten as you settle in for the evening with the two people you felt safest with.

[triforce-of-mischief]

The first of many Linked Universe Sicktember fills! Malon helps Four's Colors talk through Red's homesickness.

[hext00ns]

Psychic Who Cried Sick {@sicktember}

AO3 l!nk in comments

Ships: Carlton Lassiter/Shawn Spencer, Burton "Gus" Guster & Shawn Spencer, Carlton Lassiter & Shawn Spencer, Juliet O'Hara & Shawn Spencer 

Rating: T

Warnings: Poisoning, Attempted Murder

Description: Shawn takes a case that no one believes in. He has to wonder if they’ll believe him if he winds up dead.

{Sicktember 2022 Day 7: A Cry For Attention}

-- Santa Barbara, 1985 --

Young hands grabbed at the discarded mail as discreetly as he could. His eyes scanned over one of the letters taking in all the information he needed. He ran back to the kitchen, keeping an eye out for his father all the while. He reached for the scissors to use as a makeshift letter opener and started on the seal.

“Shawn!”

The voice startled him. He shoved the scissors back into their place and the letter behind his back. He spun on his heels to look up at his father. “Yeah dad?”

Henry fully came into the kitchen and looked down at the child with a disapproving eye. “What do you have behind your back?”

“Nothing,” Shawn tried to mumble, knowing full well he’d already been caught.

“Hand it over, now.” Henry opened his palm out to his son.

Shawn sighed and gave the envelope up.

“Why the hell were you trying to open this? This isn’t even addressed to you.”

“You were just gonna throw it away!” Shawn retorted.

“So? That doesn’t mean you can just open someone else’s mail. That’s illegal, Shawn. Not to mention potentially dangerous. You don't know what could be in one of these. Curiosity killed the cat, kid.”

“Yeah, but satisfaction brought him back.”

Henry frowned. “Don’t be a smart ass. That’s not how the real world works. Why do you want this junk mail anyways?”

“It’s a credit card offer,” Shawn stated. “I wanted to pull the glue off the cards.”

-- Santa Barbara, Present Day --

Trying to convince a building full of officers that your client was being targeted while having next to no evidence was kinda impossible. Shawn knew that. He knew this was not going to be an easy task. He also knew that ‘impossible’ was just a word and Shawn wasn’t interested in dictionaries. He, instead, was electing to ignore the perceived meaning of the word learned through 30 decades of language context clues.

That’s what led him to his new career as a bodyguard. Who cared about detectives anyways. Bodyguards were what the chicks digged these days. Not that anyone could know he was a bodyguard. That would defeat the whole point of trying to catch this unknown stalker in the act.

Instead, he made flirtatious comments to Juliet and Lassiter about his sexy new job and let Gus know that a ride home wasn’t needed. Once his bases were covered he was off.

Mitchel Collins’ apartment was pretty average. It was definitely cleaner than Shawn’s but nothing too interesting of note to make of it. A second of observation told Shawn all he needed to know about the guy. For one, he still wasn’t over his last girlfriend. Though, to be fair, that one didn’t look much like it was his fault. A return address on a letter reading ‘Shanghai’ was a pretty good indicator that the relationship ended on a mutual understanding.

He also could tell that Mitchel was preparing the house for a cat but that the animal hadn’t arrived yet. The new bag of unopened cat food and a half-set-up litter box told that story clear as day.

Mitchel was a normal, if kinda lonely, dude.

What wasn’t normal, however, was the way he had his eye glued to his peep hole the moment the door was shut.

“Expecting someone?”

“Hell no,” was the gruff response.

Shawn made sure to jot down ‘paranoid’ in his mental notes. Though, he couldn’t really blame the guy. After all, paranoia is a pretty understandable response to three attempted murders.

Well, seven if you counted the four individual attempted poisonings all from the same restaurant. (Which Shawn was but Gus was not. Seven sounded cooler.)

The unfortunate part of the attempts on his life were that none left any trace of evidence. Nothing that made it seem like more than a couple freak accidents. Not even the restaurant incidents. None of the workers that Mitchel had seen those days he recognized. Not to mention that the three poisonings were spread out by a week or two between them. As for Shawn’s own looking into things, he also couldn’t sniff out anything weird.

As far as the police were concerned, they were just mishaps in the kitchen. Shawn called them attempted poisonings because that’s what Mitchel had called them when he was crying in the middle of the Psych office. In reality, even that was a bit of a stretch. What it had actually been was someone had left nuts in his order. Albeit, Mitchel was deathly allergic to nuts and already one of those three occasions had caused him to need an epipen (which, thankfully he had on his person at the time). However, it all still was much too circumstantial for the big boys in blue.

That was why Mitchel had come to Shawn. And that was why, if Shawn was to get any headway on this case, he would need to see the next attempt personally.

“Stop glaring out your peephole like that. Some poor children are gonna think Mr. Wilson lives here.”

Mitchel pulled himself from his door and gave Shawn a weary look. With a sigh he finally walked away completely and fell onto his couch. “Are you sure this is gonna work? I mean, what if-“

“Mitchie, baby,” Shawn cut him off. He stood before the couch with his arms crossed. “It’ll be fine. Remember, you have a world class psychic with you now. I’ll know where the next attempt is coming from before even the murderer does.” Shawn put his hands on his hips and gave the room another look around. “Now uhh, you got anything to drink? The spirits are parched.”

---

Shawn followed Mitchel around all day. Nothing seemed to really happen. Not even an odd word from a coworker or a strange phone call with a Darth Vader impersonator. It was all quiet.

Gus had already given his opinion on the case when Mitchel had first walked in. Gus had agreed with the police. Decided the guy was a clinical paranoid and needed a therapist, not a psychic. Even chalked the incidents at the restaurant to being that the place just sucks. (Apparently, Gus also had bad run-ins at Uncle Yum’s Hot Spot. From Gus’ retelling, the place had a bad rep with messing up orders. However, Shawn would also point out a place called ‘Uncle Yum’s Hot Spot’ probably isn’t best known for its spectacular service. Also, Gus had only gone there once. Mitchel had gone there practically twice a week or more for months since he moved to Santa Barbara.)

Either way, it seemed both Gus and the police had all decided their opinions both on the case as a whole and on Mitchel himself. At this point it wasn’t even worth calling his father to try and get another perspective on the matter. He was sure Henry would just parrot the same.

But Shawn was sure there was something more here. From what he could tell, Mitchel didn’t have a history of paranoia and he definitely didn’t have a history of cartoonishly Donald Duck-like bad luck. It was all tied together. It had to be. A clinically paranoid person wouldn’t go to a bunch of strangers looking for help. A restaurant, no matter how bad, would be hard pressed to fuck up so bad so often and with the same guy. Shawn had even looked into the place’s history. Their service wasn’t the best, like he’d expected, but they’d never caused anyone to die.

As for the other two times: Mitchel’s apartment almost burning down during the night by his stove and a car attempting to run him off the road. Both could easily be seen as accidents as well. However, Shawn knew for a fact, both by word of mouth and by observation, that Mitchel couldn’t cook. His own words even confirmed that he was terribly bad at it. The ramen packs in his kitchen and take-out boxes in the trash only helped the case.

The car off the road really could have been an accident. Shawn couldn’t see any evidence on Mitchel’s car to suspect foul play at least on that end. And since he hadn’t been there to witness the event, he really couldn’t be sure what had happened that night. As far as Shawn knew, it really could have been an accident. However, with the other ‘accidents’ seeming to be anything but, Shawn was hard pressed to disbelieve Mitchel’s recount of the event.

But that was where the problem really was. All these events really did seem circumstantial. There was no hard evidence that Shawn could dig up to help the situation. It was as if he were going after a ghost. But Shawn didn’t believe in ghosts and every time he was sent out after one he always came back with a suspect instead of a spirit.

But this time there were no suspects. Not even the unenthused servers at Uncle Yum’s had anything to hide from what he could tell. Shawn could only really hope that his time with Mitchel would produce anything even somewhat close to a lead.

The mysterious perpetrator had to slip up eventually. Their patience had to be wearing thin with every botched attempt. Shawn was banking on that being the case. It was all he had to go on. It was either that or he could leave and wait for the day Mitchel’s body showed up in the coroner’s office.

When nothing happened the whole day, Shawn stayed the night. When nothing happened during the night, Shawn walked out to help Mitchel get the mail. A large package was there for him along with a couple of letters. Mitchel grabbed the box and Shawn the letters to walk it all back to his place.

While they walked back, Shawn looked through the mail out of nothing more than boredom. Four letters. Two were credit card offers, one a bill, and the last one was hand written. The last one caught Shawn’s attention the most.

The return address said ‘Shanghai’ but there was something off about it. The handwriting was wrong. It wasn’t the same as the other letters Mitchel had lovingly kept. However, it did look familiar.

When they got into the apartment Mitchel went to work opening the box. Some cat scratch thing he’d bought off Amazon. Meanwhile, Shawn placed the other three letters on the kitchen counter before stepping into the living room, away from Mitchel with the last one.

He examined it for a moment. The letter was sealed up perfectly. No holes or divots anywhere. The handwriting still looked oddly familiar, but Shawn couldn’t pin it at the moment. He also knew for a fact it wasn’t the ex in Shanghai. As close as the mailer wanted to get it, it wasn’t it. The letter felt off. There was definitely paper inside but something else too. Shawn fingered it a bit before deciding on some kind of powder.

Any reasonable person wouldn’t open this letter. Any reasonable person would probably take it to the cops first and let them handle it. However, Shawn was the most unreasonable person anyone who’d met him had ever met. And also, he had a point to prove to the SBPD and he was going to prove it.

When Shawn opened the letter a puff of powder practically exploded in his face. He coughed and tried to waft it away with his hand. Yeah, that was about what he expected. He maneuvered the letter so not to spill anymore of the powder but to get the paper out and unfold it.

“What the hell was that?” Mitchel asked as he walked towards Shawn.

“Old lady nose powder,” Shawn responded as he looked at the paper. It was blank. Completely empty save for some of the powder that had gotten stuck on it.

“Old lady- what?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Shawn folded the paper back up and sealed the letter. He folded it and shoved it into his pocket before spinning to look at Mitchel with a smile. He put his hand to his head and said, “What you should worry about is the intense psychic vibe that I just got.”

“About what?” Mitchel clambered to grab at Shawn’s arm. Desperation laced his voice along with fear. “Is it about my murderer? Is he gonna strike again?”

Shawn closed his eyes to up the dramatics and hummed out. “Mmmm, yes. Yes it is! The spirits, they’re speaking to me through the old lady nose powder.”

Mitchel gave Shawn’s arm a hard shake. “What are they saying?”

Shawn opened his left eye to look at Mitchel. “For one they’re saying to get off my arm.”

Mitchel looked from Shawn to his own hands before snapping back and letting go. He mumbled out a “sorry.”

Shawn closed his eye again and continued to have his ‘vision’. “They’re saying… they’re saying… please spirits! Speak to me! You must speak louder! Ah-ha!”

“What? What is it?”

Shawn snapped open his eyes and looked at Mitchel. “The spirits are calling me to the police station. You need to drive me there immediately. All the evidence we need will be revealed to us then.”

That was all it took to have Mitchel scramble for his keys and practically drag Shawn to the car.

---

Shawn was pretty close on the mark. Whatever had really been in that letter was starting to take effect right as they were turning the corner to the police station’s parking lot. His muscles began to tighten and stiffen in unnatural ways. It was slow and unnoticeable for now. But the pain was what was really getting to him. His body felt like wet pop rocks were being thrown at him. Left to sizzle and snap against his skin.

By the time they parked, the sizzling was morphing into burning, with each intense clutch of muscle. Shawn and Mitchel quickly got out of the car and started towards the building when the muscle in Shawn’s calf clenched hard and made him drop to the asphalt.

“Shawn!” Mitchel cried and grabbed his arm to try and pull him back up. “What the hell was that?”

“The spirits,” Shawn croaked out through the pain. “They’re pretty pissed off.”

“Seems like it. Can you walk?”

“Theoretically,” Shawn responded before pulling away from Mitchel and continuing on.

Getting up the steps was way harder than it should have been. Shawn was pretty sure he was on a time limit. It was now or never.

He slammed open the doors to the precinct and gave a howl of anguish. It was only half fake as the muscle in his neck cinched up painfully and made his head throw back.

Those in the building looked at him for a moment before realizing who he was and going back to their normal work. It was kinda disheartening actually. Honestly, a guy takes the time out of his day not only to do their job but make it entertaining and all they can do is shrug it off. Shawn would feel insulted if he wasn’t probably dying. He made the mental note to be mad about it later.

He locked eyes with Juliet and Lassiter before quickly making a beeline for them. Mitchel followed close behind.

“Jules! Lassie!” Shawn called right as another spasm blasted through his side, causing him to falter in his stride as well as make a call of pain.

Juliet reached out a hand to grab Shawn’s arm and keep him upright. “Shawn are you okay?”

“He’s fine,” Lassiter grumbled with an eye roll. “Unless you count idiocy as a clinical issue.”

“I’ll have you know that my chronic dumbassery is none of your business, Detective.”

Lassiter only gave another hard roll of his eyes and turned back to his work. “Go away Spencer. We don’t have time for your antics.”

“But the spirits! They- Arugh!” Shawn was cut off by another call of pain as his arm muscle clinched hard.

“Shawn, are you hurt?” Juliet asked, clearly worried about her friend.

“He’s just looking for attention,” Lassiter hissed out, accusatorily. “And he can look for it elsewhere. We got a missing persons on our desk and an upset mother in our ear. Now is not the time for-“

“This!” Shawn called out as he pulled out the letter.

Juliet went to grab it but Shawn pulled back. “No! The spirits! They tell me it’s too dangerous! You need-“ he was cut off by another bout of pain and a grunt of anguish. His muscles felt like they were on fire. His face was burning as well. He was sure he looked just about as bad as he felt. “It’s poisoned!”

“What? Like the accidental peanuts in Collins’ take out?” Lassiter scoffed. “Please, Spencer. Stop trying to bring empty evidence to us.”

“Would you shut up and listen to me!” Shawn yelled back.

His yell surprised everyone in the room, including himself. They were now looking at him with full attention.

Shawn was about to take that to his advantage but was quickly cut off when the muscles in his legs tightened and caused them to give out under him. He fell to the ground, hard. Practically taking Juliet with him.

“It’s poisoned,” Shawn finally forced out. “The letter is poisoned. Some kinda powder.” He needed more than that. He wasn’t sure how much speaking ability was left in him. He also felt his consciousness was limited just the same. He had to think.

Shawn flipped through everything he had for this case. Everything he’d seen, everyone he’d talked to. He landed on the handwriting. It was different. It wasn’t the Shanghai ex. She wouldn’t do this to Mitchel anyways. He knew they were both still in love with each other. That was obvious by the letters themselves.

But this letter wasn’t sent by her. So then who sent it. Who was trying to kill Mitchel.

Then he got it. It flashed into his memory and it compared the two. There was a chance he was wrong but it was still better than nothing.

“Uncle Yum’s!” Shawn grunted out. It was getting harder to think through the pain. “The menu! The handwriting on this letter is the same. Check the, the menu,” that was all he could get out before finally dropping the rest of the way to the ground.

He heard the deaf calls of his name. But that was it. Then everything was gone.

---

When Shawn woke up his body felt stiff. It sucked a lot, actually. He started to shift around to try and ease the feeling. He wanted to go back to sleep. Honestly, he didn’t sleep much at Mitchel’s place and he was hoping to get some of that back.

He was pulled away from his nap even more when he heard his name being called. He opened his eyes and looked up to the person keeping him from his beauty sleep.

Gus was looking down at him, eyes full of worry and relief all at once.

Shawn looked at him for a moment as the events came back to him. “Oh my god,” he mumbled. “It’s Morgan Freeman. I really am in heaven.”

Gus frowned at that. “Really, Shawn? Jokes on your deathbed?”

“Not a deathbed if I’m not dead.”

“You damn well could’a been,” Gus hissed back. “Also I’m taking the Morgan Freeman comment as a compliment.”

“As you should,” Shawn responded as he pulled himself into a sitting position. “Any man would. I just compared you to one of the smoothest voices in all the English language.”

“You know that’s right,” Gus agreed with a sharp nod. He sat back down in the chair beside Shawn’s bed. The joke had the desired effect of both proving Shawn was okay and calming Gus down out of whatever panic he’d probably been in since he arrived.

Shawn finally took a moment to examine its surroundings. He obviously was in a hospital. Which sucked. Shawn hated hospitals. He had one of those big breathing assistant masks on. Lame. He also noted the IV stabbed into his wrist. He decided everything chalked up to a good ‘fuck this’.

Shawn made quick work of pulling off the breathing assistant and wiping a hand down his face.

“Shawn,” Gus started, clearly not having any of it. “What are you doing?”

“Getting the hell outta here,” Shawn explained as he made a move for the IV.

Gus quickly reacted by grabbing his arm and holding it back. “Shawn, don’t you dare pull that out.”

The detective let out a loud groan. “Gus! I’m fine. Besides, I have a case to finish solving.”

“You are not ‘fine’, Shawn!” Gus hissed out. “You nearly died! You’ve been out for almost two days! Do you even know what you inhaled?”

“Poison. Duh.”

Gus frowned harder at that.

“Gus, please, you’re going to get wrinkles worse than my father if you keep looking at me like that.”

“You’re probably the reason he has those wrinkles.”

“You wound me.” He looked up at his partner with faux hurt, putting his free hand on his chest. “Besides, I’m pretty sure my father was born a crotchety old man.”

“This is serious, Shawn. You had strychnine poisoning.”

“What is that, like the pain medicine?”

“That’s anodyne,” Gus hissed out. “Strychnine is a poison that causes muscle spasms and paranoia. And in severe cases like yours, can be fatal.”

“Ah, but it wasn’t,” Shawn smiled up at him. “And isn’t that what we should be focused on here?”

“No, it’s not. Do you even realize you-“ Gus was cut off when he noticed Shawn’s eyes dart directly to the door. Gus turned his head to follow the line of vision and saw Lassiter standing in the doorway.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked with a raised brow.

“Yes,” Gus started.

“No,” Shawn responded immediately after, cutting him off.

Gus sent Shawn a glare.

Lassiter looked between the two of them before signing out, “Right.” He let himself step more into the room. “Listen, Spencer, I wanted to-“

“Gus!” Shawn called out, interrupting the detective. “Go down to the kitchen and see if they have any pineapple.”

“Oh hell no,” Gus began to argue. “The second I leave you’re gonna make a break for it.”

“Lassie is right here,” Shawn said, gesturing to the other. “I doubt he’d let me scamper off any.”

Gus matched Shawn’s gaze for a moment. Almost as if a silent battle of wills was going off between them. Finally, Gus frowned and said, “Fine. But if you get out that bed before I get back or a doctor tells you to, I will kill you myself, Shawn.”

“Love you too, buddy!” Shawn called out after him as he left. Shawn watched him leave out the door and waited a moment before immediately pulling out the IV from his arm.

“Spencer!” Lassiter hissed out.

“Oh calm down, Lassie,” Shawn sighed as he got up from the bed and started to look around.

“Guster just threatened you with death and you’re still going against both him and the doctors?” Lassiter crossed his arms and gave the other an unimpressed look.

“I don’t do hospitals,” Shawn said as he finally found his clothes. “Gus should know better than to leave me alone in them. If anything, it’s his fault for believing me.”

Shawn started to strip off the hospital gown to throw his actual clothes back on.

Lassiter made a sound of surprise before looking away.

“I don’t mind if you look.”

“Yeah, well, I do. Couldn’t you have gone into the bathroom to do that?”

“Absolutely not. This way if a nurse walks in she’ll either be scared off from embarrassment or will be so enraptured by my masculine wiles that she’ll be mesmerized giving us time for our escape.”

“And if it’s a man?”

“Same 50-50,” Shawn finished buttoning his pants and looked to the other. “I’m decent, mother.”

Lassiter turned back to face him but not without a scowl on his face. “You really should stay.”

“Don’t start that. I’m trying to get out of here before Henry gets here. Now come on,” he said, starting for the door. But not before a hand grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Shawn looked back at Lassiter. An unreadable expression on the detective's face.

“Spencer, we need to talk.”

Shawn gave a groan. He pulled his arm back and crossed them. “Fine, fine. But make it quick. I really am trying to bolt before my father or Gus find me.”

“The tip you gave us at the police station.”

Shawn’s posture became less defensive at that, now fully listening.

“You were right. We went to that dinner and got a warrant to search the worker who does the menu art on the boards.”

Shawn sat back against the bed as he listened.

“Turns out it was a man named James Cox. His fiancé apparently was an old ex of Collins’ who’d been trying to get back in touch with him recently.”

Shawn nodded in understanding. “Not wanting some guy to be an issue with his relationship he goes in to kill him and try and make it look like an accident.”

“Doesn’t stop there,” Lassiter informed. “Collins had apparently scammed the woman out of about three hundred dollars after they split ways.”

“Well. Didn’t see that one coming. Guessing Cox still isn’t very happy with Mitch.”

“Pretty much.”

There was a small pause as Shawn flicked through the information just given to him and the information he already had. Making sure each piece was accounted for. “Just in case, you might wanna keep an eye on Mitchel. Still can’t be sure if the fiancé was in on it or not.”

“I’ve got a guy on that already. Cox admitted to it all, but we’re still on the cautious side of things. O’Hara is looking into the fiancé.”

Shawn nodded. “Well!” He slapped his leg and stood back up. “Since all that's done. Guess I’ll see you-“

“Stop.”

Shawn looked at him.

“We aren’t done talking. Sit.”

Shawn sat back down with a frown.

“You could have died.”

“But I didn’t.”

“But you could have,” Lassiter hissed out. “What part of that do you not understand? Why did you open that letter? Why didn’t you just bring it to us? If you knew what was in it and who sent it-“

“I didn’t know at the time. At least not for sure.”

“Oh, I see, so you wanted to test to make sure it was actually poisoned?”

“Duh.”

“Spencer!” Lassiter shouted in surprise.

“What! You wouldn’t have believed me if I’d brought it in!”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes I do!” Shawn leapt back to his feet, giving Lassiter an accusatory glare. “You didn’t believe Mitchel when he came to you begging for help cause someone was trying to kill him.”

“That’s because he didn’t have any kind of real evidence.”

“And what about me, huh? Why didn’t you believe me? Why don’t you ever believe me?”

“How can I? All you ever do is lie!”

Shawn wanted to argue that. But he knew even that would be a lie in itself. Instead, he said, “Every lie is built off a kernel of truth. Didn’t you learn anything from Ryan?”

“This isn’t about Ryan. This is about you. You’re not Ryan.”

“Funny that you’d say the same thing my dad did during that case,” Shawn signed out with an almost humored voice. “Especially since you’re the two people who seem to trust me the least.” He shook his head before looking back up to meet Lassiter’s eyes. “Fine. I lie. But there’s always a kernel. I’m not against you, Lassie. You don’t believe I’m psychic. But at least believe that I know what I’m doing and that I’m right.” Shawn looked around the room for a moment before realizing all his things were already in his pocket. “I always am,” he added on before making his way to the door.

Lassiter followed after him. “You’re not ‘always right’. You screw up just as much as the rest of us,” he argued. Clearly not done with this conversation like Shawn wanted him to be.

“I get there eventually. I was right about this case wasn’t I?”

“That doesn’t change the fact of what you did. And you can’t just leave, Spencer, stop!” He hissed and grabbed Shawn’s arm, stilling him right before the elevators.

Shawn gave an annoyed groan. He really wasn’t feeling up to the whole ‘cat and mouse’ shtick. “I’ll drink some charcoal when I get home, will that make you feel better?”

“Hardly.”

Shawn pulled his arm back and turned on his heel to look at the detective. “Carlton Lassiter, if I didn’t know any better I’d almost say you sound worried about me.”

Lassiter frowned at that, but didn’t give a response.

“Look, I was right. I got the guy and I survived. I’d like to call that a usual win for me and go home to get some Doritos.”

“You survived this time,” Lassiter pointed out harshly. “You keep running head first into stuff like this and there’s no telling what will happen to you. And I’ll tell you this right now, Spencer.” The detective stepped as close as he could to the other without touching. He made sure their eyes met before continuing. “I refuse to be the one who makes that call to Henry.”

Shawn’s mouth opened as if he was to respond, but he had nothing. He only looked between Lassiter’s eyes for the second they were there before the detective turned and walked off. Shawn watched him leave down the hall. Any arguments or rebuttals having completely died on his tongue.

Shawn didn’t linger for long. He really did hate hospitals and wanted to get out of there as soon as he could. When he walked out the elevator and onto the first floor, Gus was right there turning the corner.

“Shawn!” he called out, running up to him. A bowl of, most likely canned, peaches in his hand. “What the hell did I say about getting out of that bed.”

Shawn looked to him and plastered back on a faux pout. “And what about my pineapple, Gus? Those are peaches. And not even fresh ones.”

“Stop whining, Shawn. This was all they had. Are you still sick? Do you still have a fever?” Gus reached a hand up to Shawn’s forehead, only for the other to swat it away.

“How many times do I have to say ‘I’m fine’ before someone actually believes me?”

“Until you stop trying to get yourself killed,” Gus responded pointedly. He finally shoved the peaches off to Shawn who took them and, despite his complaints, did begin to eat them. “What did Lassiter want?”

“He wanted me to tell my dad about a sale at the Bass Shop going on right now,” he said as he popped a peach in his mouth and started towards the exit. “Oh and also so I could rub a healthy serving of ‘I told you so’ in his face over the Collins case. Which, I’ll spare you from if you give me a lift to my apartment.”

Gus only rolled his eyes but didn’t complain when Shawn crawled into his passenger seat.

Shawn pulled out his phone to messages from Juliet.

‘Heard you’re okay’

‘Come see me when you get a chance’

‘Lassiter too if you can’

‘He’s been really worried about you’

Shawn frowned and closed his phone. “Actually, Gus. Swing by the station for a second first.”

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

Psychogenic Fever/Stress Induced Illness

@sicktember 2022 Prompt #12

Fandom/OCs: CottageVersity AU / Sick!JB (student years)

Title: I Would Have Stayed Up With You All Night

Words: 1228

Inspiration: Read Thad and JB’s other fic here.

Author’s comments: For whatever reason it took me forever to decide what to do with this prompt until I realized I’d already created a character that canonically has stress induced fevers lol. I didn’t expect to go back to Thad and JB’s university days again, but it is the CottageVersity AU afterall. This is set a few years after their other standalone fic when JB is still in grad school and Thad has just finished.

"JB? Are you here?" Thad called, shutting the door to their shared apartment behind him. "I brought you food."

"Where else would I be?" came the irritable reply from the back bedroom. 

Thad rolled his eyes as he kicked off his shoes. "Is that a rhetorical question or do you want me to answer? Guess what, I will anyway. School library, city library, cafeteria, bagel shop, one of your group mates' dorms, or one of the four coffee shops within walking distance come to mind. And those are just places that I know you've studied in the past month. I can add half a dozen more if you want to look at the whole semester. So I think it was a pretty fair question."

"I'm really not in the mood for the smart assery tonight, Thad, so save it," JB snapped. 

Thad sighed quietly but didn't push it. He made his way to JB's room with the takeout he'd brought for him, pushing the door open with a little knock. 

JB was sitting on the floor with half a dozen books spread around him and looking very frazzled. His hair was a mess, as if he'd run a hand through it many times and the color was high on his cheeks, but his eyes looked tired and red. Thad sat down on the floor across from him and set the styrofoam container down beside him pointedly. JB glanced at at with muttered thanks before returning to what he was writing. Thad didn't move, and sat quietly watching JB study for a bit. JB was agitated, muttering to himself, scratching at his skin, fidgeting with his pencil, writing and erasing over and over. He seemed hardly aware that Thad was there. Suddenly JB spoke, making Thad jump:

"Not nearly enough. I'm so far behind on citing my sources, and I can't get this section to flow properly, and I should have already started on the next bit."

"...huh? What are you talking about?" Thad asked, confused. 

JB glared at him. "What do you mean what am I talking about? My thesis. You asked me a question and I answered it."

"I didn't ask you anything about your thesis," Thad said quietly. “I didn’t say anything at all.”

A strange look flitted across JB's face, but he decided not to reply, ducking his head to return to his notebook instead. 

"How long did you sleep last night?" Thad asked casually, after letting the quiet linger for a bit. 

JB reddened even more. "Three and a half hours," he mumbled. 

"That's a nap, JB. That's not sleeping."

JB shrugged, not meeting Thad's eyes. Thad slid around so that he was sitting beside his partner. Reaching up a hand, he gently began to rub JB's sweaty back. JB flinched at the initial touch, but didn't pull away, and in fact moved almost imperceptibly closer. 

"You're shivering," Thad said.

JB nodded. Thad fetched him a sweatshirt, then sat down beside him again, returning his hand to JB's back once he had donned the extra layer. 

"When did the fever start?" Thad asked softly after another few moments had passed. 

"Three or four hours ago is my best guess," came the even softer reply. 

"Have you checked it?"

JB shook his head. Without another word, Thad fetched the thermometer from the bathroom. JB knew the drill well, and knew it was futile to argue, so he opened his mouth absently when Thad returned, and held the device in his mouth as he continued to study. Thad grabbed it as soon as it beeped. 

"One oh one point eight. Too high for you to be studying. You and I both know you're basically useless with a temp above one oh one."

"This isn't just another exam week, Thad. This is my thesis we're talking about. And I'm so far behind."

"By whose timeline?"

"Mine, of course. The only one that matters." 

"I don't want to argue with you. Obviously this is important. But you can't keep working and stressing like this. You'll never survive until the due date. You need to eat and sleep."

JB only shrugged again, and Thad resisted the urge to shove him. He hated shrugging. Gritting his teeth, Thad tried another tack.

"What do I have to do to convince you to go to bed and sleep off that fever? Or at least take a break to eat? Preferably both."

"I dunno, Thad. I want to eat. And rest. But there's too much that needs to be done."

"What's stressing you out the most?"

JB didn't reply and seemed to be casting around for an answer, but Thad noticed his gaze kept hopping to the stack of books piled up on his desk.

"You said you're behind on citing your sources… how many need to be added?"

"Couple dozen," JB mumbled, yawning. 

"Then I'll do that. I'll update it for you. As long as you promise to go to sleep, I'll stay up and work on it."

JB was about to protest but Thad cut him off, guessing his arguments perfectly. "It's not cheating. You did all the studying. It's just writing them down in APA format. Tedious busy work. But it needs to be done, and you need to rest. So I'll take care of it. And I'm off tomorrow anyway. You would have done the same for me when I was doing my thesis."

JB visibly relaxed, as if a weight had fallen off his shoulders and a tired smile wobbled its way onto his face. "You are a lifesaver. That is… exactly what I need."

"Good." Thad stood and stretched. "I'll give you five minutes to get to a good stopping point. Then you're going to eat, and then you're going to bed. Shower optional."

"Shower required," JB mumbled. "I feel disgusting."

"You are very sweaty," Thad agreed. "Okay, then food, shower, and sleep in that order."

JB knew when it was useless to argue. This was also the exact sequence of events he desperately wanted and needed, so he went along with the plan gladly. The best part of the evening, though, was after his shower, when he came out to find Thad curled up in his bed, arms open invitingly. 

"I'll do the sources tonight, I promise. But not before I make sure you hold up your end of the deal and sleep."

JB crawled into Thad’s arms eagerly. Bone-tired, sick and cold, all he wanted was to be held. Thad hugged him against himself tightly, covering him in tender kisses. 

"I'm glad you finally saw reason," Thad murmured. "I was prepared to stay up all night with you if that's what it took to convince you."

"Convince me how?" JB was already nearly asleep, his words slow and slurred, yet Thad could hear a smile in his voice.

"Oh, the usual tactics. Manipulation. Reverse psychology. I probably would've hidden your textbooks at some point." Thad made his voice as soothing as possible, like a lullaby. "But if all else failed, I know your greatest weakness. When you were least expecting it, I would've wrapped you up in my arms just like this and hugged you into submission. There was no way you were going to argue with that."

If JB had heard any of this, he gave no sign, for he was already fast asleep.

[vonpharma]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 逆転裁判 | Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Karuma Mei | Franziska von Karma & Naruhodou Ryuuichi | Phoenix Wright Characters: Karuma Mei | Franziska von Karma, Naruhodou Ryuuichi | Phoenix Wright Additional Tags: Sickfic, Hurt/Comfort, Sicktember, Sicktember 2022, Worsties in Law, background franmaya - Freeform, background wrightworth - Freeform, Sick Franziska von Karma, takes place sometime after the OG trilogy, perhaps after the 7yg but i literally have not played the sequels so. no spoilers, No Beta - Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth Chooses Death Summary:

Was it not enough that Franziska was doing the work of four people while sick with the flu? Was it not enough that the seasonal plague had circumvented vaccination, dared to try her otherwise bulletproof immune system? Now Phoenix Wright had to be meddling around her office, too?

Written for @sicktember 2022 Day 22: Cold/Flu

[L!NK !N REBL0GS!]

[yes-i-am-happyaspie]

Taking a Sick Day - happyaspie

No Archive Warnings Apply || Rated G || Word Count 4932 || May Parker & Peter Parker & Tony stark, Sick Peter Parker, College Student Peter Parker, fluff and hurt/comfort

Part 15 of Sicktember 2021-2022 series

Summary: It's Peter's first year in college and his first solo experience in taking care of himself, fully and completely, while sick. He's not sure what to do or how to properly handle the situation. Especially since he'd enhanced. So, he consults his two favorite adults.

Sicktember 2022 Prompts:

-Common Cold/Flu -Care Package -Taking a Sick Day -Vapor Rub

[Except Below the Cut]

Peter’s day had started out in a normal enough manner. He woke up to his alarm and hit the snooze button no less than three times before rolling out of bed. Then he grabbed a pair of pants out the pile on the floor and gave them a hesitant sniff. Once he’d deemed them fresh enough, he threw them on and ran across the campus towards the dining hall for breakfast. There were all of the ordinary choices; barely toasted bread, overcooked eggs and undercooked bacon. He grabbed a plate and sat down at his usual table to scarf it down, realizing partway through that he wasn’t all that hungry. Internally, he shrugged and disposed of his trash. He had a lecture starting soon and he really wanted to go over some of his notes before it started.

From there, Peter’s day started to go downhill. The lecture hall seemed cooler than usual and he found himself spending more time rubbing his hands up and down his arms than taking notes. But he figured that was fine. He understood what was being explained and was already planning to attend a study group later in the day. There was bound to be someone there who could help him get caught up.

After class he wandered into the courtyard and lay in the grass under one of the numerous trees. The sun was warm and white noise created by the passing students was nice. Peter sighed tiredly as he propped a book up against one of the larger roots and began to read. He only got through about four pages before his eyes began to droop. He wanted to say that was expected, but the truth was he’d gotten much better about going to bed at a reasonable hour. He tried to think back to what time he’d gone to sleep the night before and came up blank. Idly, he rolled onto his back and cleared his throat when it began to itch. When the sensation lingered, he cleared his throat again, followed by a few experimental coughs. Eventually, he sat up and buried his head knees. It was then he realized that he just felt off in general.

The remainder of the day passed slowly. He ate a mediocre cafeteria lunch, then went back to his dorm to plug in his phone and take a quick power nap. Next on the agenda was the study group, and he managed to get there right one time. Though, outside of filling in his notes, he didn’t actually get anything done. He debated going back to his dorm afterward but wasn’t sure he’d want to reemerge for dinner if he did. So, he made himself comfortable in a corner of the library and got to work on a powerpoint that, technically, he should have already started. It was due at the end of the week. Although he quickly realized he didn’t actually possess the focus or the motivation required to generate any sort of progress. Frustrated, he slammed his laptop closed and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. He could feel a headache brewing and decided that he may as well grab an early dinner and head back to his dorm.

The plan had been to go to bed early. The problem was that there was an itch at the back of his throat and no matter how many blankets he threw onto his bed, he couldn’t seem to get warm. Even after he’d gotten up to turn off his fan. Although it wasn’t until his joints started to ache that he started to wonder if perhaps he was coming down with something. He considered checking his temperature but was ninety-nine point nine percent sure he didn’t have a thermometer. And he didn’t particularly want to go out to attempt and purchase one. It occurred to him that he could call May. She was a nurse and could presumably give him a good idea of how to tell without having to go out. However, as he picked up his phone he abruptly realized how late it was.

Frettingly, he chewed at his lip and tried to decide what to do. May tended to work early shifts and was likely already in bed. He really didn’t want to wake her up for something that felt so trivial. It wasn’t like he was dying. He was just a little uncomfortable and knowing whether or not he had a fever would help him decide how to proceed. With a small defeated sigh, he clicked on Tony’s contact instead.

“Hey, Kid. It’s after eleven. What’s up?” Tony cheerily greeted.

[Continue Reading on AO3]

[ethereousdelirious]

Sicktember 2022: Day 9

Prompt: Home remedy

Fandom: P.okémon

Wordcount: 2,491

Summary: Elite Four members don't always have the luxury of taking sick days

Comments: If I convert even onenperson to Sn.azzyShi.pping after this is all over, I'll consider that a win

CW: None

The bitter wind of Snowpoint cut straight through Lucian's clothing, aggravating all the aches he'd been peacefully sleeping off not 10 minutes before. The shrill emergency alarm still rung in his ears: 'Report to the Snowpoint Pokémon Center immediately.' Not enough time to dress properly, let alone take something to combat the awful pounding in his sinuses. He sniffled and stepped into the Pokémon Center. The warm cut through him like a knife, blocked ears ringing with the noise of the automatic doors.

"Over here, Lucian." Cynthia's voice. Probably saw him floundering by the door in his hoodie and fogged-up glasses and took pity on him. He hurried over and flopped down in an armchair. His head throbbed at the change in elevation, the whole room shimmering and rocking like a mirage.

Cynthia and Candice sat next to each other on a loveseat of thick, easy-to-clean vinyl that squeaked with every little motion. Hopefully they didn't fidget overmuch. One more stressor and he was at serious risk of falling apart.

Foolishly, Lucian barked out a sneeze and caught in the crook of his arm. Stupid. His coat, clumsily zipped up over his hoodie, was waterproof. He should have gone for the tissues in his pocket. But it was too late now. He dabbed at the wet spot on his sleeve with stiff, cautious motions, not looking up to see if anyone was watching.

"We're just waiting on Flint," Cynthia said calmly, as though no time had passed since Lucian had sat down. Maybe it hadn't. But Guardians, it felt like it had been hours. His nose felt wet. He flopped back in the chair, angling his face upward in hopes of slowing the drip. Cynthia was pale and calm in the harsh light, dressed down in athletic tights and a long black peacoat that stopped just short of her ankles. Her hair clung to the rough wool with no barrettes to hold it back and obvious tangles stuck out in loops around her neck. Lucian's hair must have looked the same under his beanie, if not worse.

Candice, Aaron, and Bertha all wore a similar mess of loungewear and winter gear and all wore the same look of bleary grimness. It had to have been around four in the morning now.

The doors hummed. Flint came in with blithe greetings, too boisterous for the early hour and too cheerful for the circumstances.

Cynthia wasted no time; she always was ruthlessly efficient. "There was an avalanche near Mount Coronet's summit. Ordinarily, this wouldn't be a problem, but Candice received a report from some Rangers stationed nearby that it disturbed a herd of Piloswine and Mamoswine. They're heading this way. It's too late to head them off completely, but if we can make it to the Temple, we should be able to steer them away from the town proper."

Lucian sneezed again. His throat stung.

"Man," said Flint, stretching out his arms, "if I'd known this League stuff involved taking on Ranger duties, I might have re-thought my career choice."

"Please, we all know you don't think," Aaron said.

"Just for that, I'm partnering with Bertha on this little expedition." Flint got to his feet and looked expectantly at Cynthia. "Where do you want us?"

Cynthia stood as well and made for the door, motioning for everyone to follow. "We'll fan out by the Temple."

The cold air pinched Lucian's earlobes and nose and the powder snow crunched under his boots, centimeters giving way beneath his weight. He sniffled and his sinuses throbbed, protesting the increased pressure.

"I'll partner with Candice," Cynthia continued, leading them with long strides. Her breath came out in plumes of fog. "That leaves Aaron and Lucian."

"Nice." Aaron reached out to fist bump Lucian, his easy grin shining under the light of the moon. At least it was a clear night. The thought of herding a bunch of rampaging Piloswine through a snowstorm was unbearable.

Lucian's nose continued to run as they walked until he had to sniffle with every inhale, which in turn brought him dangerously close to a sneezing fit. It was no good. He'd have to wipe his nose.

The tissues he'd stuffed into his jacket pockets were in a sorry state, but that was alright. Better crumpled-up tissues than a night of rubbing his nose along the collar of his hoodie. Still a disgusting thought, but significantly less humiliating than sniveling like a child in front of his coworkers. He shuddered at the thought of it, although that might have been the cold wind working its way across his neck, since he'd forgotten his scarf.

"You okay?" Aaron asked in a low voice.

Lucian was obliged to wipe his nose again before he could answer, nonchalantly tucking the sullied tissue away in his other pocket as he did so: "Fine," he said. Ouch. In the dry air, the word stung his throat.

"Okay," said Cynthia. Probably her polite way of telling them to focus. Lucian coughed and rolling fog spilled from his lips, sparkling in the moonlight just like the snow underfoot. "We don't have a lot of information from the Rangers, but it seems—" A cry ripped through the still air, a quiet rumbling rattling Lucian's teeth. Mamoswine. They were rare in the wild but not unheard of. "Fan out. Direct them toward Lake Acuity."

They split up. Lucian found himself walking ahead of Aaron. Probably not the best course of action, not when his head felt so foggy and congested that all he wanted was to face-plant in the snow. At least numbness would be better than this all-consuming pressure in his forehead. Though the cold would really only make him feel worse in the end, hard as it was to imagine a reality where that was even possible. Ugh. He wiped his nose again, unable to bring himself to blow it properly when Aaron was so near.

"What's the plan?" Aaron asked. Oh, right.

"Um," said Lucian. Synapses fired somewhere deep within the brain fog, gummed up and stuttering. "Uh." Bertha's Piloswine had recently evolved, hadn't it? They really should have asked her what to do.

Too late now.

The rumbling beneath their feet had picked up. It intensified slowly, then. Dangerous. If they didn't pay attention, they could end up in serious trouble.

In the distance, Flint's Rapidash made bright patterns with its flames. That was something. "I think it would be best not to attack them," Lucian said, hating the miserable scrape of his voice across his throat. Congestion deadened his vowel sounds to a thick slur. "Maybe if we used bright lights— We'll have to do a bit of experimenting on the fly. If they're scared of the lights, we point them one way. If they follow them, we aim."

"Sounds good," Aaron said. He released Vespiquen as the rumbling picked up to a roar, the wall of pine trees shuddering. Frantic Piloswine and Swinub cries blurred into the sound until it was nothing but a tidal wave of overstimulation.

"Here we go!" Lucian shouted, releasing Alakazam. Then he sneezed.

"Power Gem!" Aaron called. Perfect timing— The first Piloswine emerged from the trees and screeched, banking away from the sudden light.

"Nice one," Lucian rasped. His throat really didn't appreciate it, ripping his voice to shreds when he tried to call to Alakazam. It used Energy Ball regardless and Lucian sighed. Thank the Guardians for Psychic types.

The plan worked better than it should have, considering they'd worked in three little groups with no communication between them. Chalk it up to that elusive Elite Four synergy.

Every swallow was agony, Lucian's abused throat having not appreciated all the shouting he'd done in the cold, dry air. "Good work," he said, hissing and rasping like an angry Arbok.

"Ooh, Lucian." Aaron made a face. A breeze washed over them both, stinging at Lucian's exposed skin. The numb ache hinted at potential frostbite, as did the urgent pink of Aaron's cheeks. "You sound rough."

Lucian sneezed in triplet time and palmed his forehead. Pressure behind his temples, beating like a particularly aggressive Belly Drum. The thick knit of his hat kept his squeezing from doing much good and his fingers ached inside his gloves. "-t's just… inside." He cleared his throat. "Get inside."

"Yeah."

They trudged back to where the others were waiting. At this angle, he could just make out the first rays of dawn peering over Mount Coronet, just a slight blue tinge to the otherwise indigo sky.

"Good work, team," Cynthia said, sounding just as wrung-out as Lucian felt. Her cheeks had gone ruddy with the cold, golden hair snarled from the wind.

"I hope those poor Piloswine are alright," Bertha said. "I'm sure they didn't mean any harm."

The conversation faded away on the walk back, existing only as murmurs at the periphery of Lucian's brain. It was like his ears had had enough— of the cold, of the congestion, of the cacophony produced by two dozen stampeding Pokémon.

The cozy warmth of the Pokémon Center seared against his skin. Bypassing the coffee station the nurse had set up while they were gone, he went straight back to his armchair and collapsed into it. His face hurt. No, everything hurt. His face just hurt the worst. And his nose was still running. Ah, to Hell with it. Clumsily, Lucian pulled off his gloves and yanked a few tissues from his pocket. He blew his nose as quietly as he could and Guardians, nothing so disgusting should ever feel so good. The perpetual irritated itch vanished, the constant dripping sensation at the tip of his nose. He got up to throw the tissues away, his whole body protesting the movement.

"Hey, Lucian." Aaron caught his eye. "You want some coffee? They have decaf."

"...you." Small cough. "No, thank you." Tea might be nice. Later. When he could move without feeling as creaky as the Old Chateau.

The sound of his mangled voice elicited a collective wince from all assembled. The intake of breath made his face burn.

"Oh, Lucian." He couldn't help the sweet frisson that ran through him at Cynthia's concerned gaze. Even her pity made his heart sing. "You're sick?"

Why did it feel like confessing to a crime? He hadn't been trying to hide it. But the simple act of nodding his head was equal parts shameful and liberating. Yes, he was sick and a little bit disgusting; he wasn't this sniffly and disheveled all the time, in secret. "A head cold," he rasped. He burned from the weight of all those eyes on him, and shivered because he really was quite cold at his core.

"Sit down," said Cynthia. "I know something that will help your throat."

They were murmuring about his health now, but his congested head was refusing to cooperate again, blocking his ears and sending waves of pressure-pain all through his nose and temples. He closed his itching eyes for some relief from the fluorescent lights and felt his posture slip.

"Are you awake?"

Stinging in the back of his throat, awful, thick saliva gumming up his mouth. Post-nasal drip, said some unhelpful bookish part of himself. A pain in the ass. He pulled his hoodie up over his mouth and coughed until the itch abated.

All the while, Cynthia watched from her vantagepoint. Curiously, at eye level. Oh, Guardians. The floor. She was kneeling on the floor beside him with a look of such ardent concern in her eyes it nearly made him sick.

"I'll take that as a no," she said, smiling a little. "Don't try to talk."

He nodded, blinking away tears. Somebody had draped a Pokémon Center blanket over him at some point. The pastel yellow covered his lap and, loath as he was to admit it, was quite cozy.

Cynthia handed him a ceramic coffee mug. 'I survived The Snowpoint Polar Plunge!' it proclaimed in faded cursive. "Try this. It should help your throat."

He raised an eyebrow at the milky liquid. Hopefully that looked politely quizzical and not rude, like he doubted her.

Cythia's smile took a turn for the mischievous. "Call it a home remedy." Oh, she was beautiful. "Oh, but before you try it, I want to take your temperature."

"...have one last… checked," Lucian said. Hard, painful swallow. His nose was starting to run again. "I didn't have a temperature earlier."

"I know, but…"

"You look like shit," Flint chimed in from somewhere. No point wasting energy lifting his head to look.

"You don't look very well," Cynthia agreed diplomatically.

Arceus on high, what did he look like? He cleared his throat. "Is it the hat? I knew I wasn't a beanie person, but that s… seems harsh."

"Actually, can you pull that up a little?" Cynthia brandished the thermometer she'd been holding low by her side. Conical tip. Tympanic thermometer. Lucian sniffled and coerced his stiff fingers into moving so he could push up his beanie. The sensation of hard plastic against his ear made him shudder and the beep of the thermometer made him flinch. Hm, maybe he did have a temperature. He wasn't usually this sensitive. "38.3," Cynthia said, touching her ice-cold fingers to his neck. He flinched again, so violently a few drops of Cynthia's questionably milk-based concoction sloshed onto his snow pants. "Oh, I'm sorry! Did I scare you?"

Lucian shook his head, wary of the coughing fit lurking in the back of his throat. It dislodged itself with his next breath anyway, just to spite him, and he ducked his head. The smooth handle of the mug slipped out of his hand, probably Cynthia taking it away so he didn't make a mess. "-haps I sh… home," he rasped before anyone else could say anything. "Think…" He coughed roughly into his fist and his warmth breath cascaded over the back of his. Oh, that's right, he'd already taken his gloves off. Awful. Coughing only sent a metallic spike down his throat and with a sigh, he sank back in the armchair and gave up on talking, instead lifting his hands to Cynthia.

She passed the mug back to him with a cautious smile and raised eyebrows. What did that mean? Few people had ever looked at him so tenderly, fewer still when he felt this grimy and embarrassed. He took a sip of whatever concoction Cynthia had whipped up. The taste was muted thanks to his congested nose, but what notes came through were sweet and rich. Milk and honey. It stung a little, too, and made his nose run. There was more in it, but he was far too tired to figure out exactly what.

"Just sit quietly and drink that," Cynthia said, rubbing his shoulder. Her fingers made an awful scritching sound against the nylon of his jacket.

Lucian nodded, relaxing by degrees as the warmth of Cynthia's kindness washed over him.

[nurse-buckley]

911 Masterlist

Reader Inserts

An Awful Lot of Coffee - Eddie x Reader

Baby Bumps and Bruises - Eddie x Reader

Bad News - Bobby/ Buck x reader (platonic)

Breathe Slow - Eddie x Reader

Caveat Donor - Eddie x Reader

Caveat Donor - Part 2 - Eddie x Reader

Fainting Spells - Eddie x Reader

Laundry Day - Buck x Reader

Love Lines - Buck x Reader

May Contain Nuts - Buck/ Eddie/ Bobby x Reader

Muchas Manos En La Olla Echan El Guiso A Perder - Buck/ Eddie x Reader

To Keep Me From Freezing - Buck x Reader

Tomorrow Holds Such Better Days - Buddie x Reader (TW) 

Vaccination Day - Eddie x Reader

When the Nightmares Come - Buck x Reader

Buddie

Anniversary Surprise

Burns, Bandaids and...BLT's? - Hospital AU

I’m Coming - Part 1 - Buckley/ Diaz family

I’ll Always Come When You Call - Part 2 (I’m Coming) - Buckley/ Diaz family

Panic Attack

Safe Haven

Together

911 Reader Insert Week 

Day One - Fluff 

Day Two - Hurt/ Comfort 

Day Three - Smut

9-1-1 Lone Star

Here For You

Sicktember 2022

Day One - “Do you know how to look after a sick person?” Eddie x Reader

Day Three - Painkillers - Buddie

Day Four - "Can you be brave for me?" Buck and Eddie x Reader

Day Nine - Home Remedy - Buck x Reader

Day Eleven - Emergency Room/ Ambulance - Buck x Reader

[hext00ns]

I’ve Been So Good Where The Hell Is The Karma {@sicktember​}

AO3 l!nk in comments

Ships: Franziska & Phoenix

Rating: G

Warnings: Past Character Death

Description: Franziska witnesses the argument between Phoenix and Godot. She, of course, has something she wants to say on the matter. {Sicktember 2022 Day 5: "Great. Now I Have Your Germs All Over Me.”}

“Listen up, Trite. There's only one thing I want to say to you before I go. I'll never accept you. Never.”

“You should choose your friends more carefully, Phoenix Wright.”

“That's what everyone says.”

Franziska watched as the other walked past her and towards the exit. She looked at Godot for a moment. The taller prosecutor had quickly earned her scorn. Not only the way he spoke to her- which was wholly unacceptable and caused an explosion of anger to bristle under her skin like pop rocks in soda- but, surprisingly, the way he spoke to Phoenix Wright, as well.

Franziska had spent so long planning Phoenix Wright’s downfall by her own hands. She believed her namesake would give her the power to enact such karmic justice against the man who had caused such pain to her family and their name. (Of course in these thoughts, she reminded herself, it was only Miles now. Her father was a different story and where his fate was decided and deserved her emotions on the fact were still hers and hers alone to whisper into the quiet of her, now empty, home.)

She had spent so long focused on his downfall that when Phoenix Wright actually fell she was not prepared for the emotions that wracked her. He did not fall to her awesome power in the courtroom. He did not fall to the karma of his actions against her brother. He did not fall by his own ineptitude in his career. No. Phoenix Wright fell off a burning bridge into raging waters while blindly running forward to protect someone he loved.

Now he was here, in freezing weather, sicker than a damn dog, all for that same person and the case they were all currently wrapped up in.

She also noted the words she heard thrown at the man. Laced with chilling venom that caught even her off guard to some extent. The older prosecutor had accused Phoenix Wright of being a murderer. He threw down the accusations with such certainty and strength that even Franziska was unsure of the defence attorney’s innocence. But she’d read the case files herself.

State v. Fey 2016. She knew the case and she knew the facts. But she also knew that wasn’t what Godot had meant. He hadn’t accused Phoenix Wright of bludgeoning Ms. Mia Fey with the clock himself. No, Godot proposed that Phoenix Wright's guilt stemmed from his incapability to act as a savior.

He’d been the second person to arrive on the scene of the murder. She remembered that detail as well. If he’d been even a half hour earlier then maybe it wouldn’t have happened at all. However, Franziska had the feeling that Phoenix Wright had that exact thought plaguing his nightmares for the past three years. It wouldn’t surprise her in the least. The kind of man he’d turned out to be.

To be there for someone. To save them. To fail. It reminded her of her own heart at a young age. Cursing the heavens that she had not been there to protect when evil struck. Despite that the evil she sought vengeance against had enacted its will when she was hardly even four years old.

Even at such a young age, the nightmare filled screams that woke her near nightly had been the deciding factor. If she could not be his savior she would become a ruthless prosecutor. She would follow her father’s path and smite the wicked. If she could not stop horrible things from happening then she would make it her mission in life to chase after and bring down those who committed such deeds. Criminals would know no mercy if they were to be foolish enough to cross her path.

But the evil that helped spark such fire was the same man who gave her the liquid lava she called blood in her veins. The man who caused the screams in the night was the man she followed through the courthouse like a duckling. And the man who currently stood next to her was no prosecutor.

The foolish fool that she’d been stuck investigating with had played hero and had almost died for it. He’d tried to be the savior that no human could ever really be. Wasn’t that how life worked? Bad things happen to good people and all you can do is make sure bad things happen to bad people as well. Heroes and saviors were nothing but fairytales. The true heroes were the ones who brought forth justice against villainy.

That’s why she’d left Germany in the first place. That was why she forced her way into every case with that ridiculous name attached. That was why she bought the damn whip. She’d ran towards vengeance. To enact justice in the name of her brother. She was going to bring the man who ruined his life down to hell and shackle them to their crimes with the flames of her ire.

But she hadn’t done that.

The man who’d ruined Miles Edgeworth’s life had already been taken into custody. He was already gone. A fifteen year old unfinished tale finally closed shut and bound. So she ran after what was left. Some fool who’d caused the world to turn upside down. A man so unsatisfied with Atlas’ work that he fired him and took the job up himself without even realizing it.

A man who’s name she found signed on the letters Miles’ had kept for all these years like a special secret even from her. A man she’s sure was somehow connected to that little samurai trinket that Miles’ protected as if it were his own heart fallen from his chest. A man who, after meeting him and knowing him, she was sure would not only traverse the nine layers of hell but even the infinite light years of the galaxies for the people in his life.

It made her skin itch uncomfortably when she realized how similar their flames danced. Like the other side of her coin she could not see as mirrors only show so much.

The sound of a small explosion brought her from her thoughts. The sound, she realized, was just Phoenix’s disgustingly loud sneeze. She watched him rub his face into his elbow and gave a grimace.

Only after she snapped out of her own mind did she finally register the searing pain in her shoulder. She quickly pulled her hand away and instead placed it to her hip without missing a beat.

“He’s wrong you know,” she finally said as she walked to catch up with him.

Phoenix looked back at her. His face pale and wet like a pathetic animal. “Huh?”

“That fool, Godot,” she explained. “There will always be people you cannot save. What is it you Americans say? ‘Shit happens and someone dies’?”

Phoenix raised a brow at that. “It’s ‘shit happens and then you die’,” he corrected.

Franziska gave a scoff. “I will never die, Phoenix Wright. I am eternal. I like mine better.”

He rolled his eyes and mumbled out, “Right. Anyways.”

She shrugged it off and continued forward. “You do not need me defending your honor, or whatever is left of it at least. Men who tell lies will always be blind to the truth,” she called to him as he started after her. Once he caught up and they were walking in time, she turned to him and added, “You will be best to remember that.”

Phoenix didn’t respond at first, only letting the words sink in. He looked down to his feet instead.

She could tell he was internalizing anything but her wonderfully wise words of wisdom. The fool.

Franziska stopped, pulled her whip out and snapped it at his feet.

He gave a leap and a sound of surprise before spinning back to her and yelling out, “What the hell was that for?!”

“Your foolish brain is thinking foolish thoughts! I can practically smell them from here,” she hissed out, plugging her nose and giving his feet another lash for emphasis.

He gave another yipe at the whip.

“Now you listen here, Phoenix Wright.” She forced their eyes to meet, stepping closer so that he had no choice but to hear her words; feel her fire. “Maya Fey is alive. She is a strong force to be reckoned with and the universe and all in it would be foolish to think of her otherwise. Are you really going to allow yourself to be added to that particular list of foolishness?”

Phoenix’s frown tightened to something more determined. More steadfast and familiar. It was a breath of fresh air to see.

“We are going to get her out of that cave before it becomes a tomb. Then we are going to make sure the villainous scoundrel who caused all of this will be brought down by Lady Justice herself! Do I make myself clear, Phoenix Wright.” She gave three more lashes at his feet to punctuate her words.

Phoenix jumped his feet up to try and escape her whip before looking up at her and meeting her eyes again. He nodded. “Yeah. I hear you loud and clear.”

Franziska gave the other a triumphant smile. Pride filling her from her success.

The moment was quickly ruined by another explosion of snot coming from the foolish defence attorney.

Franziska’s smile slammed back into an angry and disgusted grimace. “Great,” she hissed out venomously. “Now I have your foolish germs all over me.”

[hext00ns]

Boy It’s Good To Know I Got A Bud Like You {@sicktember}

AO3 l!nk in comments

Ships: Phoenix & Gumshoe & Larry & Miles | Wrightworth

Rating: T

Warnings: Alcohol

Description: After a night hanging out, Phoenix and Gumshoe wake up to a hungover Larry and Miles. Good thing there’s bacon. {Sicktember 2022 Day 4: Hangover}

The night before was fun.

Phoenix, Miles, Larry, and Gumshoe had all met up at a local pub to hang out. It had become a semi-regular occurrence for the four of them. They enjoyed each other’s company and did their best to get together when they could.

It was rare that any of them would drink much, however. Mostly because they always had something to do the next day. But that night was a once in a blue moon experience. All of them were pretty much free for the weekend. Leaving them all open to go as wild as they wanted.

Not that Phoenix really expected any of them to go wild. After all, he was sure someone like Miles would keep a hard cap on the night's events. He was quite surprised when the other had started his second drink of the night with hardly any sign of stopping or reeling in either Larry or Gumshoe.

Phoenix only made a single comment of warning for the lot with only Gumshoe taking it in any light. After that he resigned in letting them do as they please. They were all having fun and he reassured himself that they were all adults and could properly handle their own alcohol intake.

When the night came to a close, however, he realized the mistake in his assumptions.

Gumshoe and himself had to all but carry both Miles and Larry back to the car (which was thankfully Gumshoe’s as they were both sure Miles would harm either of them if they tried to drive his.)

It was the morning after that had really set in the consequences of the duo’s actions.

Phoenix and Gumshoe had both decided it was best to house the four of them in Miles’ apartment for the night. Their decision was as correct as their assumption that the two would be wracked with a hangover in the morning.

Phoenix himself was admittedly more tired that morning than normal. He nursed a cup of English Breakfast silently at Miles’ kitchen bar as he watched Gumshoe mess with the stove.

“When do you think they’ll actually be up?” Phoenix asked, his cup resting against his lip before taking a sip.

Gumshoe spared a glance back at the other, not wanting to keep his eyes off the bacon for too long. “‘M not sure, pal. Mista’ Edgeworth’s a hard guy to wake up even on a good day.”

Phoenix let a chuckle at that fall from him and into his mug as he moved to put it down. That definitely sounded like Miles. He wasn't sure he could honestly say that Larry would fare any better.

As if hearing his thoughts, a loud groan made both men turn towards the kitchen entry. Larry looked like he was ready to fall over. However, he somehow was able to make his way to the chair beside Phoenix without tripping over himself too much. He put his head in his hands with a groan.

“Never let me do that again, dude,” he hissed out to Phoenix, a pointer finger shoved at the attorney’s face.

Phoenix gently batted the finger away with a knowing look. “I tried to say something last night. Not my fault you guys didn’t listen to me.”

Larry just gave another groan and put his hand back on his head.

“Don’t you worry, pal!” Gumshoe called out with a grin. “I’m cookin’ the greasiest, fattiest, and best bacon I can for you ‘n’ Mista’ Edgeworth!”

“I can’t tell if that sounds awesome or sickening,” Larry mumbled out.

Phoenix only smiled into his tea as he gave Larry an exasperatedly fond look.

As if being summoned by the cartoonish waft of Gumshoe’s bacon finishing up; Miles was soon to follow Larry. The prosecutor, still dressed in his clothes from the night before (much like Larry) did not look awake in the slightest.

Almost immediately after Miles sat down beside his friend two plates of bacon and eggs were placed before them both by the grinning detective.

“Good mornin’ Mista’ Edgeworth!” Gumshoe greeted, clearly attempting to tone down his naturally booming voice as best he could.

Miles was either too out of it to say anything or was too used to his companion to really care to complain. Instead, he looked down at the food before putting a hand over his eyes with what sounded like a pained sigh.

Phoenix got up and grabbed a second mug to pour more of the hot water over the tea bag resting in. He’d left the kettle on a lower heat to try and keep it as hot as he could for when Miles woke up, not wanting to make the tea early and let it get cold.

Once it’d finished steeping, Phoenix brought the mug over to Miles about the same time that Gumshoe had brought a second cup of coffee to Larry.

“You okay?” he asked Miles in as soft a voice he could manage.

There was a pause before a response. “I feel awful.”

Phoenix bit at his bottom lip to keep himself from laughing at his friend’s pain. He sympathized, he really did. But he did warn them both. Instead, he ran a hand through the prosecutor’s hair. Gently attempting to soothe in some way.

“Do you have any kind of ibuprofen or something around here?”

Miles only gave a moaned out groan in response. If he’d actually heard the question, he didn’t make his reply easily understandable. Instead, opting to let himself lean into the touch.

Both Larry and Gumshoe watched the scene play out for a moment before giving each other a knowing look.

There was a silent understanding amongst their peers when it came to the development of Phoenix and Miles’ relationship. ‘Silent’ referring much more to the fact no one mentioned it much to the two in question and less to the fact that everyone else did constantly bring it up in exasperated conversation with one another. Especially when it came to those who had to deal with it first hand like Larry, Maya, and even Franziska.

Instead, Larry let out a whine of, “Aww, Nickey! I want a soothing head rub too!”

Phoenix shot him a look that only gained a shit-eating grin in response.

Gumshoe, not fully picking up on the targeted joke, happily offered, “I’ll rub your head for ya, pal!”

Larry moved as if about to explain to the other what he had meant before pausing then shrugging. “Fuck it, sure.”

The response and then sight earned a chuckle from Phoenix and, surprisingly, a snort from Miles.

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

‘I Need You to Pull Over!’

@sicktember 2022 Prompt #24

Fandom/OCs: Shane & Molly OCs

Title: It’s Not Over

Words: 2330

Inspiration: Shane’s bout with the stomach flu is alluded to in the first fic I wrote for Shmolly. 

Author’s comments: What can I say? It’s stomach flu fic. Nothing against you, Shane. There’s only certain people I can bring myself to whump with emeto, and you happen to be one of them. Your fate was sealed when Molly mentioned this stomach bug last year. I’d say sorry but– I’m just the messenger.

CW: multiple mentions of vomiting and diarrhea. This is a stomach flu fic. You have been warned. 

There's nothing quite like a bout of the stomach flu to test a relationship, and for Shane and Molly, the test came relatively early in their courtship. They had been together a little less than a year when gastrointestinal disaster struck. 

Molly first became aware of the impending storm at lunch one day. She and Shane were sitting together in the hospital cafeteria as usual. Shane was generally ravenous by lunchtime and inhaled his food more than ate it. On this particular day though, he barely picked at it and took at most three or four bites the entire time they sat there. Of course, Molly asked him about this strange behavior, unable to miss how clammy he was looking. In response, Shane made a face.

"I'm not feeling so good. My stomach is really messed up today." He belched softly to prove his point, his hand going reflexively to his stomach. "Ugh, and I'm so bloated, look." He shifted away from the table to show her, and sure enough, the middle buttons on his tight, usually well-fitting shirt were straining over his rounded abdomen. 

She made a small sound of concern. 

He shifted uncomfortably, still rubbing his stomach. "I thought eating might help, but it definitely did not. Just made me feel even more gross."

Molly took a deep breath, reaching across the table to press her hand to his forehead. "Poor guy. You do feel a little warm. And you're all sweaty. You gonna make it through work?"

Shane shrugged. "I think I'll be okay. I'll call you if I need to go, though." He stifled another quiet belch just then, and Molly's stomach twisted in response. She could only nod, unspoken understanding hanging between them. They both knew well that a nasty stomach bug was going around the city right now. All the patients were talking about it, and the ER was overrun with it. It wasn't looking good for Dr. Mitchell. Molly's anxiety was suddenly through the roof; historically, she didn't do well with close-proximity puking. 

The two parted ways when the hour ended. Shane looked very down, and Molly wished there was something she could do. She made sure to give him a good hug before they left (around the ribs, steering clear of his stomach) and wished him well. Even with space between them, she could hear his stomach gurgling ominously, and he continued to rub it as he walked away. 

Around four o'clock, not long before their workday was due to end, Molly received a text from Shane:

"S.O.S. Definitely sick 🤢 please come get me ASAP."

Molly's heart fluttered, but she tried to stay calm. She let her boss know she needed to duck out a bit early, and was excused without an issue. She drove across the hospital campus to his building as quickly as she could. Shane was sitting on a bench around the side of the building, out of sight of most passerby. His head was laid back while both hands were clutching his stomach. He hopped up as soon as he saw her car, though, and quickly got in. He immediately leaned over to put his face between his knees, arms wrapped around his middle with a sickly groan. Though Molly was beyond anxious, she was glad for his sake that they had ridden together today of all days. She wasn't sure how he could've driven home on his own in his current state. 

"How bad is it?" she asked cautiously, putting the car in drive as she tried to maneuver as smoothly as possible. "You look terrible."

"I feel terrible," he moaned. "It’s so bad. I've already thrown up twice. Once around three, and again just before I texted you. I actually felt better for a while after the first time, which is why I tried to stay. But I'm just feeling worse every minute now. I'm beyond nauseous. My stomach will not calm down."

Molly bit her lip and focused on the road, unsure what to say. She drove as smoothly as possible, but there was always quite a bit of stopping and starting involved when trying to leave the hospital campus, and they managed to hit the first few lights on the way to Shane's condo, too. The sick doctor kept his head down, but it was a losing battle. Shortly after the second light he sat bolt upright in a panic, looking green and clammy.

"I need you to pull over!" he moaned, arms crushing around his middle as he swallowed convulsively.

Molly had been expecting this and had been driving in the right lane. Before the words had totally left his mouth, she was yanking the car to the side and immediately squealed to a stop. Shane leapt out before the wheels were still and barely had time to fall to his knees before he began heaving, his stomach trying to purge every last bite he'd eaten over the past day or two. 

Molly didn't watch, covering her ears and controlling her breathing. ("In through the nose, out through the mouth.") Shane needed her, so she needed to stay calm, and sympathy puking wasn't going to help anyone. 

Many endless minutes later, he dejectedly climbed back into the car, looking no better and still holding his stomach. Molly wordlessly handed him a water bottle. He rinsed out his mouth and spit several times before taking a few tiny swallows. 

"Good to go?" Molly asked quietly. 

"Yeah," he sighed, letting his head fall back against the seat and closing his eyes, more pale and clammy than ever. "I just wanna get home." The sound of his thick swallowing and his grumbling stomach were loud in the quiet car. 

"We'll get you there," Molly reassured him, putting the car into drive. 

Shane had very little respite. Not five minutes had passed before he put his head between his knees again with a sick whimper. Thankfully the condo was only a few more miles away. However, Molly had no more put the car in park outside his door when he shot up with a strangled noise of alarm.

"I'm gonna hurl," he moaned, dashing to unlock the front door and sprinting to the bathroom to pray to the porcelain gods once more. 

Shane spent the rest of that day on the bathroom floor, vomiting at least every hour. Molly, for her part, felt very useless. Now that the worst had happened, her anxiety had all but disappeared. Her boyfriend was very sick, and all she wanted was to help him somehow, but there wasn't much to be done. She made a quick run to the store for stomach flu supplies, primarily Pedialyte and Gatorade, but after that she simply hung around and tried to keep him company. She wasn't about to leave him alone in this state, after all. 

She did make one miscalculation, though, in trying to care for him. There was a soup and sandwich place just down the road that Shane frequented. He adored their chicken and rice soup, and believed it to be the best cure-all for everything from headaches to the sniffles. As soon as it was clear Shane was down for the count, Molly fetched him a quart of soup to go from the deli. She brought it to the bathroom eagerly. 

"Shane, I got you something I think you'll like!" she said, opening the container.

Shane lifted his head from the rim of the toilet, leaving a little trail of drool behind, and sluggishly turned to look at her, sweat-soaked and pale, an arm held loosely over his abdomen. "Soup?" he said warily.

"Yeah, your chicken and rice!"

Shane leaned forward to get a closer look, but the steam reached his face about then. Molly saw his lips go pale and the arm over his stomach tightened immediately as he broke out into a fresh sweat. He spun around and began to dry heave over the toilet yet again. 

Molly quickly closed the carton, going pale herself at such a violent reaction to a benign smell. She quickly took the food far away, putting it in the fridge for him to find when he was ready and cursing her foolishness. 

And so, the day passed. Molly settled in to stay the night, still unwilling to leave Shane, though he didn't seem to want her hanging around the bathroom much. Shane was usually very tactile when he wasn't feeling well, but apparently that changed when he was puking, which was understandable. She was thankful the next day was her day off as she didn't expect to get the best sleep, nor would it have been wise to go in after being surrounded by stomach flu germs for hours. However, she was determined to be here if and when he needed her. She took over the bedroom and master bath while poor Shane had the bigger main bathroom to himself. She stayed up late, hoping he would start to feel better, but she waited for naught. 

Around midnight she was ready to sleep, so she went to check on him once more and bring him some Gatorade. When she walked in, he was lying on the floor cradling his aching stomach. He turned his head to meet her eyes with his own sickly gaze. She clucked sympathetically, kneeling beside him to press a kiss to his forehead. He moved away from her weakly.

"How are you holding up?" she asked. "Any better?"

"No," he croaked. "It's not over yet. I still feel like I could hurl any second."

"You poor thing. Anything I can do? Do you need a pillow or a blanket?"

"Still no. Just want you to stay away from here for now. I don't want to puke on you or pass this on. Either option is terrible. It's better if you keep your distance."

Molly sighed. "Don't be a martyr. If you need something, I want you to tell me, okay?"

"I will. But I'm okay for now. Go get some sleep."

She sighed again, but he had already turned away, ending the conversation, so she reluctantly went back to the bedroom. She fell asleep not long after that. Her last thought was a desperate hope that Shane would be able to get some rest as well that night.  

The late morning light woke her the next morning, and she lay in bed for a while, deciding what to do. However, the decision was made for her when Shane crept into the room not long after she'd awakened. He had showered and changed and looked marginally better than when she'd seen him last, though no one could ever look well lying in front of the toilet with their head on a towel. 

She sat up quickly, smiling in greeting. He attempted a half-hearted smile in return, though he was clearly exhausted, and still shockingly pale. He staggered into bed, curling up beside her with a pathetic groan. 

"How're you doing, baby?" she murmured, beginning to stroke his hair while subtly checking for a fever. He was warmer than usual, but not alarmingly so.

He shrugged. "I'm alive, I guess. I haven't thrown up for about three hours, so that's good. Just got the shits now. I called into work already, obviously. Drank some Pedialyte. The nausea won't go away though, and my stomach is in knots. I'm still so goddamn bloated, too." He carefully rolled to his back and moved his tee shirt to show her, palming his stomach with a grimace. Indeed the roundness was clearly visible, and without thinking Molly too reached out to rub the bloating, wanting to fix whatever was hurting him. He made a little sound as she began to rub, and her hand froze in hesitation.

"No, please rub it," he mumbled. "Maybe if you do it, it'll help. It doesn't really work when I do it."

"That's what she said," Molly whispered, unable to keep a smirk from her face as she did what he asked. Shane gently smacked her leg and rolled his eyes, but smiled nonetheless. 

"You're terrible," he said.

"Hey, it made you smile. That's all I was going for. Is this okay?" she asked, gently rocking her hand back and forth over his abused abdomen.

"Mhm," he sighed. "That's perfect. Feels so good." He yawned hugely.

"Did you get any sleep last night?" she asked, continuing the motion.

"Not really. I napped, I guess. Sleeping is the only thing I plan to do today, though. I’m hoping I can sleep this off." 

As he finished speaking, she both heard and felt a cramp ripple through his stomach, making him hunch up in pain with a whimper. He quickly slid out of bed with a mumbled, "Be right back," running to his bathroom. 

Molly flopped back down with a sigh. However, Shane returned surprisingly quickly, still holding his stomach and looking tired as ever, but otherwise no worse, and snuggled in beside her once more.

"Did you throw up again?" she asked.

"No. Just the other end now," he sighed. "I can't believe this still isn't over. The cramps are unreal. It's been the longest day of my life." He grabbed her hand and returned it to his upset stomach, and she felt it churning beneath her palm. She resumed rubbing and he made a sound of pleasure. 

"I also can't believe you're still here," he said, almost too quiet to hear. "Thought you would've run for the hills by now. I wouldn't blame you."

"As long is this isn't over–" she gestured vaguely to his stomach, "–then this isn't over." She gestured to herself in his bed. He smiled again as she resumed stroking his middle.

"I don't deserve you," he mumbled, his eyes growing heavier. 

"Just hush and go to sleep."

"Yes ma'am," he said with a smile. "You'll be here when I wake up?" 

"Absolutely."

"Okay then," he sighed, slipping easily into slumber.

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

‘Blow Your Nose’

@sicktember 2022 Prompt #10

Fandom/OCs: Sorcerer ‘Verse

Title: Unwell

Words: 894

Inspiration: Read Elm and Mina’s first story here

Author’s comments: This one was a lot of fun for me to write, because it was very different from most of my stuff. Absolutely no plot. Descriptions only. Focused on showing not telling emotion. It was a unique exercise, and I’m happy with the result. I want to flesh out Elm’s character more, and this is part of that. Order up, one very ragey sorcerer who is unable to even and pushes himself to the brink of collapse. 

Elmrador was ANGRY. The utter rage at the unfairness of all that had transpired that day was boiling out of him like hot oil, so much so that he was shaking. The air crackled with mana in a twenty foot radius around him. The valley in which he stood was full of shattered, still smoking rocks, the product of his fury. Yet again and again he called blasts of energy to his hands, throwing them as hard and as far as he possibly could, anything to quell the burning emotions inside him. 

It was snowing. The delicate particles drifted down peacefully, a sharp contrast to his mood, disappearing as soon as they made contact with his skin, or being blown away by the scorching magic. Between the snow and the sweat, his tunic was soaked and he wasn't wearing a cloak–  he had apparated here too quickly to think of the weather. His panting breaths blew billows of steam into the cold air, and his sweat instantly chilled, his skin becoming icy. He tasted blood. Yet he would not, could not stop. 

His nose began to run at some point. After ensuring it wasn't blood, he simply let it run. With no one around to see, it was the last of his worries. It streamed down his face and into his collar freely. His eyes were streaming also from the wind, and he could hardly see. Soon every inch of him was soaked, and he reveled in the freezing wetness, a welcome counterpoint to the burning rage. 

He wasn't sure exactly when he began to cry. Had an hour passed, or four? He lost track. However, in the silence between the shattering blasts, he caught the sound of his gasping sobs, and became aware of the ache in his chest as his breath hitched again and again. His hands were shaking violently as he threw his last, most powerful volley at the innocent rocks, and the sound of several of them disintegrating was deafening. All at once, his capacity to conjure even a puff of smoke was gone. He collapsed onto the nearest fragment of stone, sobbing freely. 

Loud silence hung in the valley, and in this silence his sister Elliamina appeared at his side, having apparated to him once the coast was clear. She tried to wrap him in a hug, but he pulled away. She was persistent though, and when she tried again, he allowed it. She crushed her arms around him with all her strength as he wept. Soon his nose was dripping all over them both, so she conjured up a handkerchief, pressing it to his face.

"Blow your nose," she gently commanded, and he obeyed, taking several breaths to clear it before collapsing limply against her once more, albeit somewhat calmer as he tried to steady his shuddering breathing. 

They sat that way for some time longer as Elmrador settled. She rubbed his back and murmured to him soothingly. 

"Breathe. Just breathe, Elm," she said again and again.

When he was mostly quiet, Mina stood, pulling her brother up with her. "We should get home. It's very cold," she said. 

He nodded. "Can you transport us? I… can't." His voice was only a husk of a whisper.

She nodded. "Hold on tight," she said, grasping both of his hands in hers.

They apparated to appear outside his cottage without incident. During the short walk to the door though, Elmrador erupted into a hollow coughing fit in the dry, wintery air. Mina winced at the sound, quickly pulling him inside. He was shaking violently now. She stoked up the fire in the hearth to a roaring blaze, then handed him a stack of warm clothes to change into, turning around as he did so. He was coughing regularly now, and hadn't stopped sniffling. She had known as soon as she'd appeared at his side in the valley that he had definitely made himself ill. Yet it would be no good to voice such thoughts aloud and make him feel worse, so she was mostly silent as she worked. 

In no time she had him bundled into bed with a hot water bottle. He was exhausted in every sense of the word and clearly wanted to sleep. However, the troublesome cough was already keeping him awake, and she winced at the sound as he tried to get comfortable, tossing and turning. She hovered at his side, waiting for him to settle. 

"I'm feeling very unwell," he mumbled at one point, almost to himself as she re-tucked the blankets around him yet again.

 She pressed a palm to his face wordlessly; of course he was running a fever. Of course he felt unwell. She didn't voice this thought either, but merely sighed. 

"I know you are," she murmured. "Please try to rest, though. It's what you need right now." 

He nodded against the pillow, taking a deep breath as he relaxed his muscles. This was exactly what his body desired; he had no more exhaled a second time than the breath became a soft snore. Mina pulled a chair up to the side of the bed as soon as he was quiet, taking up her sewing and humming to herself. She would stay here and watch over him to ensure he got the rest he needed. After all, Elmrador was clearly tired.

[ethereousdelirious]

Sicktember 2022: Day 4

Prompt: Hangover

Fandom: Dr.eam D.addy

Wordcount: 1,395

Summary: D.amien wakes up after night of drinking, down one shoe and nearly all his memories of the previous night. His walk of shame leads him directly into R.obert's arms.

Comments: Happy birthday to me! I'm officially 27 today! Sorry, D.amien 💕🥳

CW: Non-graphic depictions of vomiting/nausea. Not to spoil anything, but let me assure you, R.obert's boots are waterproof. Also, very brief, vague allusions to drugging and alcoholism

Damien's heart was going to explode. Probably. If the pounding in his head didn't turn out to be a deadly stroke.

In a pinprick moment of clarity, he sat up, looking around at the blurry walls (outdated wallpaper, framed school photos) and panted. The reek of alcohol on his breath drowned out the warm scent of coffee in the air— Coffee! That was what had woken him up.

His heart settled into a slower (but not slow) pulsing rhythm. He stood up and Hugo's tacky wallpaper whirled around him. Shit. Hugo? Damien brushed his hair out of his face, but Lucien and Ernest were nowhere to be found. Thank Baphomet. Although, judging by the light peeking through the curtains, it was very early in the morning.

Damien limped toward the kitchen and oh god, was he only wearing one shoe? Had someone tied his hair back? Hugo, maybe? Must have been Hugo.

Damien flopped down at the kitchen table and buried his head in his arms, too exhausted to care about propriety. Hugo had been busy at the coffee maker, but there was no way he missed Damien flopping around like an overgrown bat, cape twisted around one shoulder and catching on the chair and table legs.

Sure enough, Hugo's voice sounded like an explosion in Damien's head. "Morning!"

"Uunngghhhh," said Damien eloquently.

"Coffee?"

Damien peeked up over his forearm, considering it. His stomach twisted and he shook his head, which only made it worse. "Oh, god. No thank you." Hugo brought him some water instead. Damien sipped it quietly, his heart still hammering away. "Um…" he said. Eloquence danced just out of his grasp, words he could conceptualize but not string together. "I hope I didn't." Heat flooded his cheeks but he persisted, running the tip of one fingernail down the edge of his glass. "Last night, I mean, I hope— I, uh— Thanks for letting me crash on your couch."

Hugo's smile was evident in his voice, even though all Damien could see of him was a blur of yellow and brown in his peripheral vision. "Of course. I figured, since Lucien was already here, I might as well complete the set."

"Oh, shit." Damien sat up. "I can't let him see me like this. I gotta go."

"Are you sure? I was just about to make pancakes for the boys."

Damien swallowed hard as his stomach gave a lurch. "No, I should— I'm gonna—" He got up and had to hold the table for balance as the kitchen rocked in front of him. "Th-thanks, Hugo." Damien's face burned like he'd spent four hours face-up on the beach. He staggered toward the door, still limping on his bare foot. He didn't bother to stop and take his shoe off. He had to get out get out get out before the shame swallowed him alive.

If Hugo had seen him blackout drunk, who else had? And how exactly had it happened? He had hazy memories of Mary coming to pick him up, but they were only supposed to get a few drinks. Shit, where was Mary? Damien fumbled for his phone. It was dead, of course. Oh, well. Mary was better at handling herself, knew her own limits. She was probably at home, sleeping peacefully in her bed. Unlike Damien, who'd probably shown up at Hugo's house at 3:00 am raving about cravat knots and the collected works of Edgar Allen Poe. Ugh. He was going to throw up.

Maple Bay was far too bright at this early hour, the June sun casting its rays on every damn thing, including Damien in his black clothes and heavy cape. Sweat was already soaking into his dress shirt and the heat in his face became more urgent and irritated. At this rate, he was going to end up with a heat rash. Where the hell was the ocean breeze when you needed it?

For that matter, where was his house? Any attempt to look around earned him dazzling light in his eyes, which stung like hell— Ah, god, he was still wearing his contacts. And his binder. He paused, balancing badly on his feet, and forced a few deep, chesty coughs up his dry throat. His liver was probably in bad enough shape, he didn't need to mess up his ribs and lungs, too. Whoever had tied his hair back had at least done a good job of it; it didn't get in his face at all despite the paroxysms of his aching body. God, he felt like shit. Really and truly. He was never drinking again.

Okay, well. Maybe just red wine. For the aesthetics. But no hard liquor.

Coughing had agitated his upset stomach, sending it into overdrive. The teasing little flutters of nausea became a dangerous pressure, his head swimming. Damien wrapped his cloak around himself despite the heat and trudged onward, his eyes downcast. One step at a time.

"Shit, Damien!" Robert's voice came out of nowhere. Damien looked up, blinking. Curse his commitment to all things vampiric, his vision had gone red and fuzzy from the off-kilter contact lenses. "Did you get jumped?"

His face came in and out of focus with every blink until Damien could see him clearly. He smelled like grass and— Was he holding a shovel? "Are you burying a body?" Damien asked. Then he pitched forward and threw up all over Robert's grass-stained work boots. He fell into Robert's chest with a pathetic whine and oh god, this was it, he was actually going to die of embarrassment. And Robert smelled really good, a weirdly fresh combination of deodorant and grass. "I'm so glad you quit smoking," Damien muttered, and swooned.

Actually swooned, like the heroine of some trashy-yet-delightful bodice ripper.

"Oh, buddy." Robert chuckled, Damien could just barely hear it over the roaring in his head. Robert moved but never broke contact. "Hop up on my back, okay?"

That required opening his eyes. And a level of coordination he certainly wasn't capable of. So he clambered up instead, nearly knocking them both over when his boot got caught in his cape. "Think m'dying," Damien slurred.

"Yeah, I get that." Oh, shit, Robert sounded angry. When did Robert ever get angry? Oh. Was Damien triggering him? "Listen, did you leave your drink alone at any point last night?"

"Mary was with me," Damien muttered into Robert's neck. "You smell good."

"Focus, buddy." Robert turned, bypassing his front door, and went sound the side of the house. He twisted the faucet for the hose with a jerky, violent motion and bent awkwardly to pick up the hose, bringing Damien's head down in a way his stomach really didn't appreciate. "Where did you wake up?"

Damien swallowed hard. Throwing up on Robert's work boots was one thing, throwing up over his shoulder and down the front of his shirt would be quite another. "Hugo's house."

Robert's muscles relaxed, his whole body seeming to sag. "Good," he said shortly. Then he laughed, spraying hose water over his soiled boots. "You sure made a mess of yourself, huh, Dames?"

"Were you gardening?" Damien asked.

"Landscaping, yeah." Robert brought Damien inside and turned his back to the couch. "Alright, down you go." Damien forced himself to let go. Robert was warm and sturdy and he smelled good and had left enough drunken voicemails in Damien's inbox that he probably owed Damien this, anyway. He vocalized that thought and Robert laughed. Heavens, he was so handsome when he smiled. "Yeah," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "The math checks out."

Damien flopped over on the couch, folding one arm over his stomach. "You never threw up on me, though. So I think I'm in the red now."

Robert ruffled his hair, his calloused thumb brushing Damien's temple. "Hey, babe, you can throw up on me any day."

"Horrible," Damien muttered, burying his face in the couch cushions despite the smell of old cigarette smoke. In a moment, he'd have to get up and take off his binder and figure out what to do with his contacts and probably throw up again. But he could have this moment, this split second of peace, with Robert's comforting presence and the ghost of his touch still tingling on Damien's skin. It was nice. In fact it almost made up for the hangover.

[nurse-buckley]

I posted 2,570 times in 2022

That's 55 more posts than 2021!

232 posts created (9%)

2,338 posts reblogged (91%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@firemedicdiaz

@princessfbi

@kitkatpancakestack

@ellelans

@fireladybuckley

I tagged 1,025 of my posts in 2022

#0 - 253 posts

#9-1-1 - 235 posts

#eddie diaz - 158 posts

#i got queue - 139 posts

#evan buckley - 138 posts

#queue - 138 posts

#9-1-1 spoilers - 135 posts

#911 spoilers - 131 posts

#buddie - 103 posts

#eurovision - 69 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#a unknown breed some terrier mix of chaos adopted and rescued from a killing station in hungary originally called fifi but he's milo now

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Sicktember - Day Four

Fandom: 9-1-1  Pairing: Buddie x Reader (platonic)   Word Count: 1,293 words Prompt: @sicktember Alt. Prompt 5 “Can You Be Brave For Me?” Tagslist: @firemedicdiaz @fireladybuckley @winterreader-nowwriter @iamasimpingh0e @dayrin085 @hauntedmilkshakeghost @floralbuckleys @writingmysanity  If you want to be added or removed from my tagslist, please let me know!  Authors Note: CEO of getting these fics out 25 minutes before midnight! Once again, unbeta’d so I apologise for any mistakes! Requested by the amazing @firemedicdiaz I hope this helps cheer you up lovely <3

You let out a low groan as you feel someone shaking your shoulders in an attempt to rouse you, “Hey. Y/N? Can you hear me? Open your eyes for me sweetheart.” You can vaguely hear Eddie’s voice cutting through the haze, but your eyes are just too heavy. 

Eddie moves his fingers to the side of your neck, feeling for your pulse .He lets out a sigh of relief to feel the gentle thrumming beneath his finger tips, even if it is a little fast for his liking. He gently shakes your shoulders once more, releasing another sigh of relief as your eyes begin to flutter open. 

“Ed…?” you slurred, as consciousness returns to you. “What? Why am I on the floor?” Your mind still fuzzy, your head pounding, probably from the impact of your head hitting the floor considering the last thing you remember was helping Eddie in the kitchen before the world began to spin. 

Eddie can sense your rising anxiety as you come to your senses a little more and attempt to sit up, easing you back down with a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Easy cariña, you fainted. Just lay back for me, you’re alright. We’ve got you,” he reassures. 

‘We? Right…you were at Buck’s. You and Eddie had gone there after work to hang out. 

You startle as you hear a noise from your side, watching as Buck comes into view and sets the first aid kit you knew he kept in his closet beside you. The younger man kneels beside you, opposite Eddie, unzipping the kit to pull out a piece of gauze before passing the kit over to Eddie. 

Buck moves into your line of sight, taking your focus away from Eddie as he begins to pull out various pieces of equipment, sensing your anxiety growing more. “I’m just going to hold this to the side of your head, alright? You bumped your head pretty hard when you hit the floor.” He apologies as the contact causes you to flinch away, but he holds your head steady with his other hand on the other side of your face. 

You see Eddie placing a stethoscope around his neck, and feel your breathing start to come a little quicker, suddenly feeling self-conscious of all the attention on you. 

“You know, I’m actually feeling a lot better. It’s okay. I’m just really tired or it’s probably just low blood sugar. I’m fine…really. I don’t need the hospital or anything, really,” you stutter, trying to sit up once more. 

“Hey,” Eddie speaks up from your other side, taking your hand in his and squeezing it reassuringly, “No one said anything about the hospital, I can’t rule it out just yet, but I just need to check you over, that’s non-negotiable. Can you be brave for me? Just for a little while.” 

You nod defeatedly, allowing Buck to ease you back down this time. A stray tear rolls down your cheek at the thought of there being something wrong with you, but you know you’re in safe hands with the pair of them at your side. 

“That’s it. Just lay back, we’ve got you. You’re safe,” Buck reassures, wiping away the stray tear with the pad of his thumb. 

“Did you have any symptoms before you passed out? Any dizziness, blurred vision, palpitations?” 

You give a worried look to Buck, but an encouraging nod from him has you nodding your head, “i-is that bad?” 

“Try not to worry, it could be nothing,” Buck tries to reassure you. 

“B-but it could be something. I’ve never passed out before,” your panic begins to rise once more, the thought of something being wrong with you overwhelming you. 

“I need you to take a deep breath for me sweetheart,” Eddie says this time, “We need you calm okay, just let me worry about everything else.” 

You mimic Eddie as he takes a slow, deep breath, feeling a little calmer. “Good, now, keep taking deep breaths with Buck here, and let me check you over. I’ll explain everything before I do it and if it gets too much we’ll take a break.” 

Buck gently moves back into your line of vision, taking slow deep breaths for you to follow. 

“I’m just going to check your pulse,” Eddie announces, gently placing his fingers around your wrist and glancing at his watch. You focus on your breath, following Buck and trying not to focus on the feeling of your pulse tapping away against Eddie’s touch. 

He sets your arm down by your side, before picking up the blood pressure cuff from the kit next. “Is it alright if I just slip this on here?” You nod your consent, trying not to focus on the feeling of the cool fabric as Eddie wraps it tightly around your upper arm. You watch as he puts on the stethoscope and places it at the crook of your elbow, “Just a little squeeze here.” He inflates the cuff, just enough to be uncomfortable before releasing it, quickly and efficiently taking the reading. 

“Your vitals are a little concerning,” Eddie quickly continues, before you work yourself up again, “I’m just going to check one more thing, is it alright if I check your blood sugar?” 

The thought of the needle pricking your finger is enough to make bile rise at the back of your throat, but you knew Eddie wouldn’t be asking if he wasn’t certain. 

As if he were able to read your mind, Eddie speaks up once more, “I’ll be as gentle as I can and it’ll be over before you know it.” 

You nod once more, offering your middle finger to Eddie and holding out your free hand to Buck to hold as Eddie gets the necessary equipment together. “Do you want me to count down?” Eddie asks as he presses the tip of the lancet against your chosen finger. 

“Count down please,” you ask as you look away and focus on Buck, squeezing his hand tighter. 

“One…two…three.” 

Before you have a chance to even think, you feel the needle quickly pinch your skin before Eddie squeezes your finger and takes the reading. Buck is quick, grabbing another piece of gauze from the packet he’d opened earlier and wraps it around the tip of your finger. 

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99 notes - Posted September 4, 2022

#4

Sicktember Day 9 - Home Remedy

Fandom: 9-1-1  Pairing: Buck x Reader Word Count: 789 words  Prompt: @sicktember Day 9 - Home Remedy  Tagslist: @firemedicdiaz @fireladybuckley @winterreader-nowwriter @iamasimpingh0e @dayrin085 @hauntedmilkshakeghost @floralbuckleys @writingmysanity  If you want to be added or removed from my tagslist, please let me know!  Authors Note: Is this me early posting (for me at least) for once? I have now officially finished my presentation so hopefully more regular posting - I am also going to be clearing my ask box and getting through my prompts missed during the big depression! Thank you @firemedicdiaz for having a quick glance at this, I hope you feel better soon love <3

You hate the feeling of migraines, but at the same time, when one hits, you can't remember a time before them. The pain is agonising, overtaking every one of your senses. Everything is too bright. Noises too loud. Movements causing the already dizzying nausea to worsen tenfold. 

“Babe?” Buck calls out softly as he enters his apartment, squinting in the dim light to spot any sign of you. He knew you were no stranger to migraines and judging by the darkness and eerie silence that fell upon the loft, he guessed that is what was happening. 

With no sign of you, he makes his way quietly up the stairs towards the bedroom, seeing you bundled under the duvet and your head buried into the pillows. 

You feel the bed dip as Buck perches on the bed next to you, even that gentle movement was nauseating. He places a gentle hand on top of where he guesses your hip is under the covers, before softly uttering the word, “migraine?” 

“Yeah,” you reply, just loud enough for him to hear you from beneath the cocoon you’d wrapped yourself in, whining as even the slightest movement causes the pain radiating from deep within your head to throb even more. 

“Have you taken anything for it?” Buck asks again, being mindful to keep his voice low. 

You chance coming out of the safety of blankets, thankful that Buck has kept the light off, “no…I feel too nauseous. Plus, nothing touches it, just gotta ride it out…” you whisper your reply. 

“I think I might have something that could help,” you feel him shift from the bed and move into the bathroom. 

You can see he’s carrying something, but you’re not sure of what in the dim light of the loft. He comes to kneel by your bedside, “do you trust me?” 

There was no doubt in your mind anything Buck did would make the pain any worse, so with nothing to lose you slowly nod your head. 

“Alright, I need you to shift around for me.” He guides you with a hand at the small of your back, helping to ease you down onto a pillow he’d laid out in front of him, so he has better access to your head. 

“I did a little research after your last migraine and read that lavender oil and a head massage can work wonders,” he explains as he pops the cap from the small amber bottle and warms a few drops between his palms. 

You wrinkle your nose, preparing for the overwhelming floral smell you’d encountered with some essential oils before, but are pleased to find the scent isn’t strong at all. 

“Alright, just relax and if it gets too much, just let me know.” 

You take a deep breath and close your eyes, feeling safe in Buck’s capable hands. Buck had given you massages before, but nothing prepared you for the pure bliss you felt as his touch gave you some relief, easing away the tension that had built up around your head, neck and shoulders. 

He places his middle and index fingers on your temples and begins to massage the area in a circular motion with just enough pressure to counter the pressure you were feeling from the migraine, causing you to let out a low groan. The feeling of relief only grows as he moves down to your chin, gently stroking his fingers up from your jaw towards your temples again. 

You hiss slightly as he moves his hands again, adding slight pressure with his thumbs along your eyebrows, right above where the pain is radiating from. 

“I’m sorry,” Buck apologises, moving his hands away. 

You make a move to grab his hands, placing them back over your head, “Nooo,” you whine, “don’t stop…feels good.” 

He continues on, moving towards you neck and back, turning your head gently to the side cupping your neck with his hands and using his thumb to work out the knots deep within the tissue. You feel him working into the area at the base of your skull, rubbing small circular motions, before moving back to the rest of your head, slow circular motions, gently scratching your scalp. 

Between Buck’s skilled hands and the relaxing scent of lavender you begin to relax more and more, the tension leaving your body along with the majority of the migraine pain. He finishes the massage, rubbing his hands together, warming a little more oil, before he places both his hands covering your forehead and eyes. 

The gentle pressure he’s applying feels wonderful, “Buck…”  

“Yeah?” he whispers his reply. 

“I am going to need you to do this again and again when I’m feeling better…because this was amazing. Thank you.” 

“Anytime.”

106 notes - Posted September 9, 2022

#3

Eurovision 2022 opening.

173 notes - Posted May 14, 2022

#2

Sicktember Day Nine - Emergency Room/ Ambulance

Fandom: 9-1-1  Pairing: Buck x Reader  Word Count: 1,095 words  Prompt: @sicktember Day 9 - Emergency Room/ Ambulance, written for the amazing @floralbuckleys  Tagslist: @firemedicdiaz @fireladybuckley @winterreader-nowwriter @iamasimpingh0e @dayrin085 @hauntedmilkshakeghost @floralbuckleys @writingmysanity  If you want to be added or removed from my tagslist, please let me know!  

Buck had warned you on more than one occasion to be careful carrying stuff down the steep stairs of his loft, even more so now you had both welcomed the latest edition to your family. The shelter a block from your shared apartment had had a special event for the cats and kittens in their care with their kennels recently overwhelmed. With a lot of pleading from you and the endless cute cat photos you'd sent to Buck, he had eventually caved and you’d adopted Sammie, a beautiful little white and ginger cat who had definitely made the place her home. 

“Come on girl,” you gently nudged her with your foot to try and get her to walk ahead of you, your hands full with a basket of laundry that had built up. You giggled as she didn't listen, flopping over dramatically in front of you before moving to weave in and out between your legs as you continued to ignore her. 

You’d had a few near misses, Sammie wanting to be right by your side, rubbing her face against your legs as you attempted to move past her. “Sammie, come on sweetheart, you’re going to trip…” you didn’t have time to finish your sentence as you came tumbling down the stairs, Sammie running off to hide with her tail fluffed as the flying laundry startled her. 

You tumbled down the stairs, each one seeming to find a new spot to hit, sending jolts of pain through your body until you flew forward, your head landing on the floor with a sickening thud. 

With the wind knocked out of you it took a little while for the initial shock to wear off. You took a shaky breath before you began to move each of your legs, testing for injury, moving higher and higher as you checked your body over. When it came to checking your wrist, you let out a yelp as a jolt of pain shot up your arm.  The jerk sent another pain through your head and you could already feel the large lump forming near your temple where you’d made impact with the ground. You lifted your hand to inspect the side of your head, gasping when it came away with a smear of blood from a cut on your forehead. 

With the danger over, you glanced around as you heard a meow, the sound followed by Sammie who had come out from her hiding spot to investigate what had happened. She made her way over coming to nuzzle against your side; if you knew better you would think she was apologising for causing the accident. 

“And this is why we’re careful on the stairs,” you groaned as you cautiously sat up. Sammie seemed to take this as an invitation and she climbed onto your lap, her paws coming to rest on your chest as she nuzzled against your face. “Alright, get off me. I guess I’ve got to go and get checked out at the hospital.  What’s your dad going to say about this? You think we can get away without calling him from the ER?” 

Being gentle, you shoved her off before you slowly got to your feet, glad you were the only injured party between you. Once you were sure you were okay to stand, you made your way to the bathroom, grabbed some gauze for your head, and left your apartment for the short walk to the hospital. 

By the time you arrived in the ER and were triaged, the pain in your head and wrist had doubled and you were beginning to think maybe it would be a good time to call Buck. 

“Y/N?” 

Your thoughts were interrupted as you heard your name in an all too familiar voice. You turned just in time to see Buck and Eddie wheeling a patient into the ER, cursing whatever power had led them to bringing someone in at that exact moment. 

“Heeeeeey babe. It’s not as bad as it looks,” you replied. 

Buck wasted no time, checking that Eddie was okay being left with the patient before he made his way over to where you were sitting. 

“Let me be the judge of that,” he said as his hands came to hover over you, afraid to hurt you as he checked over your injuries. He put a gentle hand over the one holding the bloodied gauze to your head, pulling it away with a hiss as he got a glimpse at the wound. 

“Y/N what the hell happened? Why didn’t you call me?” 

“I swear, I was going to as soon as the nurse saw me. I wasn’t looking where I was going with the laundry and Sammie got under my feet and I ended up falling down the last few steps.” 

Buck sighed as he glanced over the various bruises that had begun to form over your body and the swelling in your wrist, “that looks like a lot more than a few,” he admonished.   “I’m going to go catch up with Bobby and let him know I’m staying with you, you’ll need someone to take you home with that head injury…,” Buck paused, “wait…how did you get here anyway? Did you drive with a head injury?  Y/n, do you even know how dangerous…” 

“Buck,” you interrupted him. “I’m not that stupid, I didn’t drive here…I walked.” You realised as soon as you said it and by the look on Buck’s face that it probably wasn’t the wisest decision you had made either, but you decided to chalk that up to the head injury.  

“Why didn’t you call 911, or me? You could have had a spinal injury, you could have a serious head injury and be unconscious on the side of the road right now,” he continued rambling off each and every worst case scenario he could think of. 

“I know and I’m sorry, I was embarrassed, you’ve told me time and time again to watch out for Sammie and I didn’t listen.” 

Buck silenced you with a chaste kiss to your forehead, “it doesn’t matter now, as long as you’re both okay. I’m going to take the rest of the shift off, take you home, and we’re going to get your favourite takeout and chill on the couch tonight.” 

You stopped him as he began to turn and walk away to find his captain. 

“What’s wrong baby?” 

“Can we stop by the store and get Sammie a treat? She’s had a trauma today too!” 

“Anything for you two,” he chuckled, shaking his head. 

262 notes - Posted September 11, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

To Keep Me From Freezing

Fandom: 9-1-1 Word Count: 3,383 Pairing: Buck x Reader Warnings: Being locked in a walk in (honestly my biggest fear when I worked in a grocery store!) Minor medical exams/ mentions.  Tagslist: @firemedicdiaz , @fireladybuckley @winterreader-nowwriter @iamasimpingh0e @dayrin085 @floralbuckleys If you want to be added or taken off my tagslist please let me know!  Thank you @floralbuckleys and @firemedicdiaz for helping revamp and reading over this fic for me and @floralbuckleys for the amazing graphic. <3 

‘Have a good shift.’

You smile as your phone lights up with a notification from Buck, you pocket the device with a sigh knowing it was time to start getting yourself ready to leave for work. You’d been taking on more shifts in the store trying to keep yourself busy while Buck was away for his long shifts. The added bonus of overtime was also a very good incentive. 

Throwing on your store branded jacket and name tag, you grab your keys and make your way out of the door, walking the familiar route. 

The shift went by as usual, stocking the shelves in your assigned aisle, helping the off customer here and there looking for various products or advice. You enjoyed the quiet of the night shifts, unlike the majority of your colleagues, fewer customers meant you could work mostly uninterrupted. Having the shelves fully stocked, neat and tidy at the end also gave you satisfaction, Buck teased you for it endlessly as you’d found yourself doing the same at home, constantly reminding him to rotate the food in the cupboards in date order. 

You glanced at your watch, finding relief that you didn’t have long left of your shift. The display you’d been working on just needed a few finishing touches and then you could go home, shower and spend the day with your boyfriend. You spot your manager walking past, looking beyond stressed as she paces up and down the aisles looking for someone. 

You sigh when her eyes land on you and she begins to make her way over to you. “Y/N, I hate to ask…” she begins. 

“It’s fine, Elise. What’s up?” you reassure her, kicking yourself for the offer, hoping the task won’t take too long. You guessed you weren’t her first choice but you were happy to help if it meant a little more overtime.

You watch the relief wash over her face, happy you weren’t going to be another in what was probably a long line of colleagues who chose to blow her off. “Everyone’s gone home, and you know I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate but that shelf in the walk-in freezer is broken again, someone’s just left stock all over the floor. I’ve gotta go to an appointment so I can’t stay until open,” she says all at once. 

“Elise, it’s fine. I’ve got it. I’ll just finish up here and then I’ll see what I can do.” 

She flashes you a smile, giving you a clap on the shoulder before turning to leave. “You’re a lifesaver!” Elise tosses you the keys to the store, going over the instructions on how to lock up when you finish, assuring you’d be paid for the overtime. She continues her thank yous as she walks away, leaving you by yourself in the store. 

You pull out your phone, sending a quick text to Buck, ‘might be home a little later, gotta fix something in the walk-in and then lock up. Going to need a hot shower when I get in…maybe someone to join me too?’ You sent with a few emojis. 

Your phone lights up as the three dots appear, then disappear as Buck decides on how to respond. You let out a laugh as your phone buzzes with a new notification, Buck having replied with a few suggestive emojis. 

Pocketing your phone once more, you zip up your jacket as far as it can go and pull on the gloves before heading to the back of the store to the walk-in freezer. You should feel slightly ridiculous at the attire, considering the climate you live in, but they were needed in the biting 0 degrees of the freezer. 

The cool air hits you as soon as the doors open, causing you to suck in a deep breath. Your boss hadn’t been lying when she’d said the stock was everywhere. In fact, she probably hadn’t been entirely truthful with you. Realizing you would probably be in there longer than you thought, you decide to close the door behind you, not wanting to let in the warm air or hear the robotic voice reminding you ‘door open, please close the door,’ on an endless loop. 

Unsure of where to start, you begin by shifting the stock around to give you a bit more room to work. It probably wasn’t the wisest decision to go in with only your jacket, but you knew the sooner you got in, the sooner you would be out of there and you could be on your way home. You shake off the cold, focussing on the task at hand, hoping you will be done soon. 

Your fingers are numb and you’re barely able to grasp at the last few items by the time you are done, the gloves just about doing their jobs none they were damp from the melting ice from the frozen produce. With the shelf finally fixed, you make quick work of restacking the boxes of frozen vegetables and oven fries before turning to leave. 

You give another pull on the handle, surprised as the motion jerks you. You were stuck. Not quite believing it, you give the door handle another hard yank, trying to keep the panic from rising further, but once again the door doesn't budge.  

You try to swallow the anxiety that has risen in your chest as your biggest fear has come true. ‘The safety release, it’s there for a reason. Try that before you panic,’ you thought to yourself as you pulled on the emergency release next. Dread washes over you, the uncomfortable sensation of your stomach dropping with the realization that the door is still jammed tightly shut. 

With all the strength you could muster, you try one more time, hoping it is just a small build up of ice that is preventing your escape. Your strength, however, is of no use. The lever hardly budges. You slam your hands against the freezer food in frustration as you let out a choked sob as you finally admit to yourself that you’re stuck. Turning your back against the freezer door, you allow yourself to slide down, your emotions finally taking over as you let the tears you’ve been holding back escape. 

The tears only made you colder as the moisture hits the cold air. You try, in vain, to stop, hiccupping as you try to choke back the tears; but the fear and anxiety were too much. 

You pull out your phone from your pocket, glancing at the top right hand corner of the screen to see what you had expected; no signal. Elise had likely already left, so you knew there was no point in ringing the safety buzzer either. With no one to call and the store empty, you choked out another sob at the realization that the morning team wouldn’t be in for another hour. 

With the knowledge you wouldn't be able to get out, your mind turns to survival mode. You vaguely remember something from one of the survival shows Buck loved to watch; you needed to keep calm. Panic would only burn energy and your body needs that to keep warm and to survive. 

You glance around, noting the broken down cardboard boxes you’d cleared, sitting by the door to the freezer. You place a few on the floor, hoping it would be enough of a barrier to insulate you from the cold ground. You also spot the roll of saran wrap you know is kept in the freezer to wrap the full cages and begin to frantically unravel the rolls, folding it as you went to make a makeshift blanket. 

You sit down on the insulated floor, wrapping the improvised blanket over your head and around your shoulders. With the remaining cardboard, you cover the rest of your body, hoping it will stave off the chill from the cool freezer air. 

Despite the makeshift shelter, you can’t help the involuntary shivering causing your whole body to convulse as it tries to keep you warm. 

You can gradually feel yourself growing more tired, not sure if it's from the cold air or the effect of the long shift you’d completed, not that you cared either way. 

For once, you’re thankful for the thermal socks and heavy uncomfortable steel toe cap boots, at least your feet are warmer than your hands. You know it’s not looking good for you when you begin to lose the feeling in your fingers, despite having your arms wrapped around you and your hands tucked beneath your armpits. Rubbing your hands up and down your arms helps to warm you some, the action helps to keep your blood circulating, praying to any god who would listen that you’ll make it out of this alive. 

You clumsily fumble your phone from your pocket, with the hope that by some miracle you might have at least one bar of signal, but as suspected, nothing. Checking the time, you sigh, sliding the phone back into your pocket, fumbling it slightly as your fingers are no longer cooperating. 

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359 notes - Posted August 29, 2022

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