#sicktember2021

[allthewhumpygoodness]

@sicktember prompts #2 and #27 (persistent cough/sniffling and blankets)

When B walked through the front door, the first thing that caught their eye was C curled up under what appeared to be a mountain of blankets on the couch. They sighed and hung up their coat, wanting to do nothing more than flop down next to them and bask in the warmth of central heating.

"Hey, you," they said. Bleary eyes met their gaze above a flushed face. "Finally managed to brave the stairs, huh?"

C shrugged, coughing a little. The hand clutching their blankets tightened. "I guess. Didn't want to go back up though. Too far away."

They sniffed pathetically, which quickly turned into another coughing fit. The poor thing had been feeling under the weather for a two days now, and while it had so far not quite come to a head, whatever they'd caught was wearing them down more and more.

B ran their fingers through C's hair, sneaking the back of their hand onto their cheek. Warm, but not worryingly so. Not yet.

"Don't you want to lie down?"

C shivered, pulling their blankets around them all the more. "My nose is too stuffy for that. It'll just make things worse." Yet another cough shook their bundled up frame, finishing with a tiny whimper that sent a stab of sympathy through B's heart.

B wrapped an arm around them, rubbing their shoulder gently. The too-warm bundle of a person flopped against them, curling up like a cat. I guess I'm a cushion too, then, B thought, half amused and half resigned knowing it might be a while before they could leave this couch, even to get some tea for C.

"How was your day?" C mumbled into their shoulder.

B gave them a little squeeze. "Not bad. I don't think I'll bother asking how yours was."

All they got in return was a sad little whimper. "My head hurts. I know you said to drink water but I did that and it didn't help, and now my throat hurts too and I just can't stop shaking..."

"Aw, honey." They gave C a quick kiss on the top of their head, hugging them closer. "I'm sorry I couldn't be here. Is there anything I could do now?"

C sniffed. "Just...don't go for a little bit. Please. I missed you."

They had tightened their hold on B's arm, effectively pinning them. "Of course I'll stay, C. I wouldn't want to leave you when you're this much of a mess." Not that they could leave even if they wanted.

C was slowly sliding down to the couch against them. "Wait a second, lets sort this out," they said, propping them back up. They grabbed another blanket on the other end of the couch, securing it around C's already bundled shoulders. Then they themselves shuffled back, tucking up their feet. Moving the pillows around to form a kind of nest at C's end, they guided their head back to rest on their shoulder. "That's better," they said. "Sure you don't want anything else?"

C nodded. B could feel their balled up form relaxing against them. "No," they said. "This is enough."

[warmblanketwhump]

just five minutes

a short, cute @sicktember prompt: stay

A’s home sick, wearing a sweatshirt of B’s that’s two sizes too big, blanket half off their shoulders. They’re restless, shuffling round the house aimlessly - they’re not better by any stretch, but that’s just how they get when they’re not well - fighting the sleep they desperately need until they crash.

B’s all but given up on pleading with them, so they just watch A pace, silently praying that they’ll wear themselves out soon. A walks over to the window, shuffles to the mantle, lets their fingers brush over the edge of the couch, only faltering for a moment to cough weakly into their elbow. They lean against the wall, and B seizes the moment.

“Will you please-“

“I can’t.” A turns big, tear-filled eyes to B. “Every time I try to sleep, my mind starts racing. And the dreams - it’s worse than being tired. I can’t sleep.” They’re hardly thinking straight anymore, they’re so exhausted. B walks over to them and takes A’s free hand in theirs. it’s ice cold, and B wraps their other hand around it and rubs their thumb over A’s knuckles.

“C’mon. Come to bed. Just five minutes. Please? You don’t have to sleep. But you’ve got to stop wasting your energy.”

“M’not wasting it,” A mumbles indignantly, swaying where they stand. “Just five minutes.”

They let B lead them back to their bed of warm, freshly changed sheets that smell faintly of lavender. A flops onto the bed without releasing their blanket, so B tucks the covers around their bundled form.

“See? Not that bad.” B’s fingers ghost over A’s forehead. Still too warm. They’ll have to keep an eye on that.

“Just five minutes. Time it.” A’s voice is muffled in the pillow, and they snake their hand out and tug at B’s sleeve. “You too? Stay?”

B smiles. “Just five minutes.” They grab a book from the bedside table and carefully scoot on to the comforter, flipping to their bookmarked page. “Mind if I read out loud?”

A lets their eyelids flutter shut. “Sure. If you want.” B’s soft voice is soothing, and it was better than their thoughts spinning in silence. B smiles and starts the chapter, fingers threading loosely into A’s hair. A makes it three minutes before their breathing settles into an easy rhythm.

Even after five minutes, B keeps going, voice getting softer and softer until it’s barely a whisper, the pads of their fingers tracing gentle circles on A’s scalp. They promised they’d stay. So they do.

[yes-i-am-happyaspie]

Skeeter_110 has an awesome @sicktember series, on AO3. I still need to catch up on some of the newest additions but so far, 'Where’s Squishy' is my favorite. I just love the way Skeeter_110 writes baby Peter! And I really wanted to draw a picture of him cuddling with his dad and, of course, his Squishy. 🥰

Peter was a surprisingly easy child to take care of considering he was only two years old. 

All he really required was food, water, diaper changes, snuggles from his Dad, and Squishy - his favorite stuffed octopus. 

So when the toddler came down with a horrible cold, the only thing he wanted was to cuddle with both his Dad and Squishy. Unfortunately for both him and Tony, Squishy was currently MIA. - where's Squishy by Skeeter_110

Fanfiction by Skeeter_110 ( @skeeter-110 )

Artwork by happyaspie

Click For Better Quality

[cuddlepilefics]

Ginger Ale and Crackers

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Felix

Caregiver: Chan & Changbin

Prompt; @sicktember

No one's POV.:

About halfway through their afternoon dance practice, Felix' stomach had started to give him hard time. All the jumps they had been practicing had left his stomach unsettled. He had felt hesitant to drink anything during their breaks, afraid the next jump or turn would send it right back up his throat. That hadn't happened but Felix had admittedly barely had any water during the afternoon, so it wasn't much of a surprise that by the end of their practice, his head felt swimmy while also pounding painfully. With how much he had been sweating, he clearly had to be dehydrated, yet he was still unsure whether he should have a drink. They were done with practice, so there wouldn't be any more jumps but the thought of swallowing alone almost made him gag. Felix himself had no idea why he was suddenly feeling so bad. He had been fine this morning and hadn't eaten anything weird since then. Maybe he had just overdone it with his dancing, going all out, but that was what he usually did, yet he never felt like this after dancing. Looking at his water bottle with an almost disgusted expression, the Aussie shoved it into his bag and waited for his members to pack up, so that they could head home. He was exhausted, almost too exhausted to take a shower but he knew he'd be uncomfortable all night if he didn't.

Not daring to eat dinner for the fear of upsetting his stomach more, Felix crawled into bed right after taking a shower. He had been plagued with cramps the entire time he was in the shower and had barely managed to stand up straight, wanting to curl up into a tiny ball right there. When Chan came into their shared room to get the younger for dinner, he found the boy deeply asleep, hugging his pillow to his middle. Not having the heart to wake his dongsaeng, the leader left and quietly closed the door behind him. He made sure to save Felix some food in case he woke up hungry before telling the rest of the members to keep it down a bit. The next one to check on Felix was his other roommate Changbin. After dinner he went to their shared room to collect his headphones, finding the Aussie tangled in his sheets, groaning quietly. It worried him a bit, knowing how hard the younger had been working lately. Seeing him this exhausted was just heartbreaking for the rapper. He too decided not to disturb his dongsaeng, hoping he would get as much rest as somehow possible. It felt wrong to see their energetic sunshine like this.

Felix had stayed asleep the entire time, no matter how loud the rest of the members in the living room were. He didn't even hear his roommates come and get ready for bed. All he knew was that by the time he woke up again, both of them were sleeping peacefully in their beds. Unlike Felix, who had woken up in cold sweat. His breath got caught in his throat when he was hit with another cramp, the pain unexpectedly intense. Whimpering quietly, he felt his stomach turn, now more than certain that he was going to be sick. Felix heart sped up, knowing he had to get to the bathroom fast but afraid he'd be sick immediately if he as much as moved a single muscle. With adrenaline rushing through his veins, he rolled out of bed, hand clamped tightly over his mouth as he stumbled to the door. Throwing it open, he staggered down the hallway, dizzily crashing into the wall next to him. As he fought to get his footing, his stomach cramped, sending a gush of his lunch up. Feeling the warm mush spill through his fingers, the Aussie's eyes stung with tears. He tried to avoid the puddle as he dragged himself to the bathroom, collapsing to his knees in front of the toilet, instantly throwing up more.

Chan awoke with a start to their door slamming against the wall. Shooting up in his bed, he found Changbin awake as well, looking at the older with a horrified expression. Only a few seconds later, they heard a muffled cough followed by a splattering noise. Cursing, Chan got out of bed and hurried down the hallway, only barely avoiding the puddle of sick. The bathroom door was slightly ajar, light streaming through the crack. Hearing faint cries behind the door, the leader rushed to find Felix draped over the toilet, head buried in the toilet bowl. The dancer startled when he felt his hyung's hand on his back. "Ssh, you're okay", Chan promised, rubbing his back. Felix wanted to laugh at him, telling him that he was very much not okay, but before he was able to get a single word out, his stomach lurched again, a large wave of his lunch splashing into the bowl. Changbin had followed them not long after, frowning when he saw the position his friends were in. Felix' chest was hitching with quiet sobs, which certainly didn't help his stomach settle. Retching again, the dancer reached behind him and took a hold of Chan's had. He clutched onto it tightly as he kept throwing up. When he finally got a chance to breathe, he rasped: "Can you turn off the light? It's too bright." Changbin was quick to comply while Chan continued to rub his dongsaeng's back. "Do you have a migraine?", he asked carefully, afraid his voice would hurt the other more. Felix shook his head, gagging weakly before he was able to reply: "My stomach's been bothering me since dance practice."

Sighing, Chan brushed his hand against Felix' neck. "You're running a fever too. Is that new or did it start along with your stomach", he hummed worriedly. Giving a strained cough, the dancer groaned: "I don't know? I just knew that my stomach felt bad, so I wanted to sleep it off. Oh god, please make it stop." Before Chan could say anything, Felix had ducked his head into the bowl again, retching painfully. While the leader tried his best to comfort the younger, Changbin went over to the sink and ran a washcloth under cool water before draping it across the dancer's neck. They could barely see anything as the only light source was the hallway light streaming through the cracked door but they didn't have to see much, the short glance they had gotten earlier had been enough to see how ghostly pale their dongsaeng was. Felix seemed to be done for now and tiredly rested his head on his arms. He just wanted to go back to sleep. That was when he remembered the mess he had made on his way. "Ugh, I -I got sick in the hallway too", he whimpered, raising his head to look at his hand. Looking at the bits of his lunch still stuck to his hand only triggered another gag. When Felix was done, the tears wouldn't stop falling, his fever messing with his emotions. Handing him a wad of toilet paper to clean his hand with, Changbin whispered: "I'll clean that up... don't move."

While the rapper fetched the cleaning supplies and took care of the mess in the hallway, Chan stayed with Felix, helping him up from the floor, so he could wash his hands properly and handing him some mouthwash to get rid of the vile taste. As they made their way back to their room, Felix shakily clung to the leader's arm, his head spinning. "You're okay, almost there", the older promised, when Felix' legs suddenly gave out. Catching him around the waist, Chan picked him up bridal style and carried him the last few meters to his bed. The sheets were a mess and it took the oldest a while to detangle them, so he could tuck his dongsaeng in. Placing a bottle of water on the nightstand and pulling the trashcan out from under the desk, Changbin hummed: "Here's the trashcan if you need it. Try having some water when you feel ready, we don't want you to get dehydrated." – "Thanks", the younger rasped quietly, eyes already fluttering shut. Falling asleep however wasn't as easy. His stomach was still in knots, rumbling loudly. "Was your stomach making all that noise?", Changbin frowned, sitting down on the edge of the mattress, sliding his hand under Felix' shirt. The dancer hummed in confirmation, relaxing as the older stroked his stomach in soothing circles.

By the time Chan had to get up for a meeting with their managers, Felix had been up retching over the trashcan twice. Neither times was he able to bring anything up though, which wasn't surprising, considering he had skipped dinner and had barely had anything to drink. Although he hated to wake his members when they were sleeping, Chan carefully woke Changbin up by shaking his arm. "Hey, could you stay back from the studio today?", he asked quietly, afraid to leave Felix at the dorm by himself, "I'll tell the others to just go to their schedules as usual and come check on you two as soon as the meeting's over." – "No problem, I couldn't focus anyway, knowing he'd be sick and alone. I got him, hyung, don't stress too much", Changbin whispered, waving the older goodbye before going back to sleep.

The rapper woke up again hours later to a weight on his chest. Yawning, he tried to sit up, only to find himself pinned down. "Sorry, I was cold", Felix mumbled lowly. He had woken up not too long ago, his stomach still hurting but not as nauseous as he had been before. Instead, he was shaking with chills. Bringing his hand up to the Aussie's forehead, Changbin hummed: "Your fever's up. Did you try to drink anything yet?" The dancer shook his head not even opening his eyes. He really didn't want to be sick again, so he wasn't willing to risk it. "You're getting dehydrated, Lixxie. Isn't your head hurting?", he frowned, running his hand through his dongsaeng's hair. "It is", Felix admitted quietly, "But so are my stomach and throat. I'm fine as long as we just stay like this." Sighing, Changbin decided that they could stay like that for a little while longer before he'd try to get the younger to drink something again.

It was already close to lunchtime when Changbin decided he wouldn't let Felix go without having at least some water. Luckily, the Aussie was awake, merely resting with his eyes closed, because the rapper didn't think he could wake the boy. "Come on, Lix", he whispered, "At least have a few sips and if you let me get up, I can go and see if we have any medicine. Just not consuming anything isn't going to help. It'll only make you worse." – "Hyung", the dancer whined, holding onto Changbin's shirt, "Please, no." Though Felix had his hyung wrapped around his little finger, the older knew better than to give in. He wouldn't let his dongsaeng get worse. If Felix wasn't getting up, he would have to get the Aussie off of himself. Carefully shifting to the side, Changbin managed to slip out underneath the younger and gently removed his hands from his shirt. "Sorry", the older cooed, pulling the blanket up to Felix' shoulders and leaving the room.

Rummaging through the bathroom cabinet, Changbin found some anti-emetics and made his way to the kitchen. He knew Felix didn't want anything but after skipping dinner and throwing up, the dancer needed something in his system. Guessing that plain rice would be the safest option, Changbin grabbed a small bowl and took it back to their room. Felix' water bottle was still untouched on the nightstand. Sitting down on the edge of his bed, he ran his hand up and down his dongsaeng's back. "Can you sit up for me, Lix?", he hummed, peeling the blanket back. The Aussie let out a discontent whine but propped himself up on one arm. "Can you try and have a few bites of rice and some water for me? I also found you medicine", the rapper tried. Shaking his head, Felix insisted: "No, medicine yes but the rest no." – "How are you going to get the medicine down without water?", Changbin quizzed, "Come on, sunshine, for me?" The dancer huffed but shuffled around till he sat up against the headboard. Accepting the bowl of rice from his hyung, Felix eyed the food with disgust before forcing himself to take a small bite into his mouth. Slowly chewing, he pulled a face and handed the bowl back. Changbin didn't take it back though, instead giving the younger a stern look. Pouting, Felix forced down two more bites before handing the bowl back to his hyung, who traded it for the water. He also handed the dancer a pill, which he swallowed dry before taking one tiny sip of water. "Lix, I'm pretty sure you're already dehydrated. You did so well, I'm sure you can take another sip", Changbin hummed, earning a glare from the younger. Though he didn't want to, Felix had some more water before handing the bottle back.

His food wasn't settling at all and mere minutes later, Felix sat hugging his churning tummy as his mouth watered. "H-Hyung?!", he choked out, hand clamped over his mouth as his stomach gurgled. Noticing the boy's slightly greenish complexion, Changbin rushed to place the trashcan into his lap. He knew he had been pushing it but he had hoped the medicine would keep him from throwing up again. Sitting down next to the dancer, Changbin gently massaged his shoulders as they waited. With his breathing coming in nauseous little huffs, Felix felt the room spin around him, desperately holding onto the trashcan to steady himself. He could feel his food right at the back of his throat but it wasn't coming. Hesitantly, he gave a little cough, which was all it took for his stomach to send everything up. Though he was pretty sure, everything he had just consumed had come up in one rush, Felix couldn't stop his throat from contracting with unproductive gags. Coughing, he choked out: "I hate you." – "I know you do", Changbin sighed, comfortingly rubbing the younger's back and brushing his sweaty bangs from his forehead. He felt sorry for making the Aussie sick again but if he kept going without keeping down any water, they'd have to take him to hospital.

When Felix finally deemed it safe to remove his head from the trashcan and lean back against the headboard, his forehead was glistening with sweat. His shirt clung to him making him feel even more disgusting than before. Changbin grabbed the trashcan and placed it down on the floor. "Let's take that off, hm?", he asked, gently pulling the dancer's shirt over his head, "Are you still cold? Do you want one of my hoodies as compensation?" Felix nodded tiredly, barely finding the energy to lift his arms, so the older could put it on him. "How about a change of scenery? The others are gone, so you could nap on the couch. We could put on some boring drama in the background", the rapper offered. Nodding, Felix rasped: "Sounds like fun but... Can you carry me? I don't think I can make it there." – "Sure thing", Changbin chuckled, picking the younger up. Placing him down on the couch, he told the dancer to wait there, so he could get a bucket and his water in case the Aussie would let himself be talked into drinking something. After getting everything settled, he lifted Felix' head and placed it on his lap, so he could play with the younger's hair. Exhausted from the whole ordeal, it didn't take long for Felix to drift off again.

While Felix was asleep, Changbin texted Chan about the dancer's condition, emphasizing that he really couldn't keep anything down at all. Now becoming more worried too, the leader stopped by a store to pick up some ginger ale and crackers for his dongsaeng. He hoped those things would settle better, at least he knew that that was what their families had always used in such situations. If it didn't help settle his stomach, it might at least give the younger a sense of home. While walking, Chan already started to shake the bottle of ginger ale, opening it repeatedly to get rid of the fizz. He quietly entered their dorm, not wanting to wake Felix up if he was resting. The sight looked truly pitiful. The dancer laying on the couch with his head in Changbin's lap, face white as a ghost except for a faint feverish blush on his cheekbones. He was wearing one of Changbin's sweaters, arms hugging his middle in his sleep. Chan wordlessly waved at Changbin, not wanting to disturb as he went to the kitchen to pour a glass of ginger ale. He also grabbed a small plate and put a few crackers on it. They looked really lonely but he'd already be happy if he could convince Felix of having a few of them.

Hearing a hushed conversation in the living room, the leader figured Felix had woken up and made his way over to them. "Hey, Binnie told me you're still not doing so well", he whispered with a sympathetic smile. The dancer shook his head and glanced at the things Chan was carrying. Realizing he was most likely supposed to eat that, he couldn't help but grimace already. Crouching next to the couch, Chan rubbed his arm through the hoodie and hushed: "I know you don't feel like eating that but we need to get you back on your feet somehow. You always used to eat those, right? Don't even have to be many crackers." Groaning, Felix sat up and rubbed his face. He knew Chan was only trying to help, Changbin too had meant well but his stomach was till so upset. He didn't think he could stomach anything. "I got all the fizz out of the ginger ale, so hopefully it will settle a better", the oldest mused, glancing at the box of medicine Changbin had left on the table, "Have a cracker and then just try having this medicine again, please?" Scrunching up his nose, Felix nodded and accepted one of the crackers. He took his time, nibbling on it. It didn't feel that bad on his stomach, so he nibbled down another one. The ginger ale really reminded him of home and he gladly took the medicine again. Sitting on the couch, he rested his head on Changbin's shoulder. Every once in a while, he took a small sip until the glass was empty and he laid back down to let the older lure him back to sleep.

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

@sicktember​ Prompt # 8: Contagious

Title: Unexpected Developments 

Fandom: Pride and Prejudice

Prompt inspired by @chezsnez ​. The prompt: “What if in P&P when Jane gets sick at Netherfield, the other guests catch her cold and Lizzie ends up having to take care of Darcy. Kinda like enemies to lovers but with enemies to caretaker.” Thank you as always for the wonderful ideas, my friend!

Jane Bennett’s cold has spread to all the guests at Netherfield, hitting some worse than others. How will Lizzie respond when she finds proud, arrogant Mr. Darcy sneezing miserably and running a fever?

Elizabeth stepped out into the hall, closing the door on Jane's sickroom behind her. Jane was lying down to rest, so Lizzie was left to her own devices for the next hour or two. With no obligation to visit with the rest of the guests today, she had decided to wander a bit to stretch her legs and familiarize herself with more of Netherfield. As she walked, she let her mind wander as idly as her feet.

"We're certain to never be asked back here again," Lizzie sighed to herself after a bit. While Lizzie herself didn't much care, Jane and her mother would be devastated.

The cold Jane had caught on her ill-fated horseback ride to Netherfield had proved to be very contagious. Charles and Caroline Bingley had succumbed to it quickly. At luncheon the day after Elizabeth arrived to care for her sister, the siblings were seen to have dark circles under their eyes, with nostrils tinged a raw-looking pink. Caroline was forced to press a handkerchief to her dripping nose more than once through the course of the meal, while Charles kept painfully coughing into his. Caroline retired immediately after the meal, complaining of a headache and did not return. Charles sent his apologies down just before supper, saying he too had taken ill and would be staying in his room. Walking past Caroline's door later while checking on Jane, Lizzie heard her sneezing so miserably that  Eliza felt a touch of sympathy for the unpleasant woman.

Mr. Darcy had been the one to carry the news of Bingley's illness to the rest of the party, but Elizabeth had hardly seen him since. She gathered he was either passing the time in his own room or else keeping Charles company. It seemed his immune system was hearty, for he hadn't seemed ill when she had last spoken to him. 

Several days had now elapsed since the onset of Jane's illness, and the eldest Bennett sister was doing much better, and in fact really had no need of a caregiver anymore, though she had said more than once that she was glad Elizabeth was there for the company. With any luck, the sisters would be able to go home in a few days, as long as the others had recovered as well. Elizabeth found this thought encouraging as she continued to explore. 

Eventually she came to a hallway at the far side of the house that she was sure would be a dead end and likely empty, but she preferred to look at it anyway, for perhaps it would have a nice view out the window. The hallway was in fact a dead end, but was far from empty.

Coming around the corner, she stopped short, for at the end of the hallway and facing the window was Mr. Darcy. With some amusement she realized he was about to sneeze, for he was hunched over with his handkerchief pressed to his face and his breath hitching desperately.

"Heh-ZZZIIIH'shieww! HIIHHK'choo!" He did his best to muffle the sound into his handkerchief, but was mostly unsuccessful. The sneezes were wet and miserable-sounding, and while Elizabeth couldn't see his face, she could imagine his equally miserable expression, for he sneezed like someone with a thick, burgeoning head cold.

She had a choice to make. She could very easily walk away and pretend she had seen nothing, leaving him and his cold to their own devices. After all, the fact that he had hidden away in this corner indicated that he didn't want to be discovered, and while he had been overall civil to her since she had come to stay here, his haughty pride and past treatment of her were not quickly forgotten. Or, she could offer him aid.

"Hih'GEHH'shuuh!" This 3rd sneeze, whether part of the trio or on its own (it was hard to be sure) was the most desperate and miserable sounding of them all. His shoulders slumped wearily as he tended to his nose in the aftermath, and she thought she heard him say something like "ick" as he did so as well.

"Bless you, sir," said Elizabeth boldly, coming fully into the hallway. He leapt around as if he'd been shot, his face reddening. She could see him frantically trying to think of a way to explain himself.

"My apologies," he muttered at last, gruffly. "That was most undignified."

"You have no need to apologize, for you didn't know I was here. It is I who should apologize for startling you. However, I wanted to ask after your health, for you sound most unwell."

"I am fine," he muttered, clearly uncomfortable. Looking closer at him, Lizzie saw the flush over his face might not be due entirely to embarrassment, but perhaps also to fever, for his eyes had the same unhealthy cast she had seen in Jane's eyes only a few days before. He was also swaying slightly where he stood, and had a dampness of sweat along his hairline.

"Might I offer to accompany you to your room, sir? You look as if you needed to lie down for a spell."

"That is… unnecessary. I can…." He cut himself off with a rough cough. She could tell he was desperately trying to think of an excuse as to why she shouldn't be the one assisting him. However, they both knew that Charles was sick (quite sick, if the murmurs she'd heard from the staff were to be believed), and that all the servants were overworked as it was with taking care of their master and his sister. 

"I'm sure you're quite busy with your sister. You need not concern yourself with me," he finally rasped. 

"On the contrary, she is resting peacefully, while you are positively trembling and look to be on the verge of collapse from fever. Take my arm and we shall see you to your quarters."

Mr. Darcy hesitated another moment, still casting around for some excuse. Knowing what needed to be done, Elizabeth moved to his side and gently linked her arm around his. She felt her heart flutter as their hands made brief contact. The fleeting thought crossed her mind that this was the first time they had touched. She had certainly imagined it occurring under different circumstances. Shaking away such thoughts, she started to walk, leading the much taller man toward his quarters. Mr. Darcy was enough of a gentleman to follow without further protest. 

As they walked, both of Mr. Darcy's arms were occupied, for the hand that wasn't linked with Elizabeth's was busy pressing his handkerchief to his face. Every few steps his shoulders would twitch, either from a stifled cough or a thick sniffle. She could sense he was desperately trying not to sneeze again. Between that and the fact that his large form was positively radiating heat, Elizabeth found herself quite distracted by him, and watched him intently out of the corner of her eye. The walk was a quiet one, for Elizabeth didn’t want to burden him with conversation when he was clearly otherwise engaged, not to mention ill.

They made it to his room without interruption, sneezing or otherwise. She allowed him to open the door, then she ushered them both in, with more than a little awkwardness on all sides. Mr. Darcy went immediately to sit on his bed, sinking down as if compelled by gravity, leaning his head into his hands as he continued to tremble.

"A headache troubles you as well, then?" she asked after observing his motionless form for a moment.

He nodded pathetically, not looking up. Out of nowhere, and startling them both, his breath hitched violently before a pair of sneezes erupted out of him. Thankfully they were directed at the floor. He pressed his damp handkerchief to his nose hastily, glancing at her and looking embarrassed.

"Forgive me," he muttered thickly, which was followed up with a cough.

"You need not waste your breath asking forgiveness every time you sneeze when you have a cold, for you have precious little breath to spare as it is. However, I must ask, why did you not alert someone of your illness? You are quite unwell, Mr. Darcy. Anyone can see it plainly."

"I did not want to be a bother, as everyone else was also ill. I thought it best to tend to myself."

"Whether or not you alerted someone, you shouldn't have gotten out of bed today. You've certainly made yourself worse by doing so."

He only groaned softly.

Elizabeth sighed to herself. "Please, if I may, let me help you feel more comfortable. You need to rest."

Hesitantly she approached him as he looked up to finally meet her eyes. With a gentle touch she guided him to sit up straighter, then deftly removed his cravat. She sensed more than heard his sigh of relief once it was off, and found herself letting her hand rest on his hot cheek under the pretense of checking his fever. He seemed to enjoy the touch immensely. Her eyes lingered on his face as he sat with his eyes closed, and many thoughts and feelings competed for space in her mind. She did her best to suppress them all.

 After a moment though, she broke the spell, and continued to help him remove his jacket, waistcoat, boots and stockings. He assisted as best he could with these attentions, but said nothing, merely following her every move with his guarded, intense gaze. Once the garments were set aside and he was looking much more loose and comfortable, if also embarrassed to be seen in such an undressed state, she pressed a glass of water into his hands and watched as he drank it down.

She took the glass from him, and setting it down, took up a cold, wet rag. She placed it against the back of his neck and was rewarded with a relieved sigh. From there she bathed the rest of his neck and the bit of chest that was visible, ensuring her gaze stayed far from his, but unable to help a bit of a blush creeping over her cheeks at such acts of intimacy with such a person. With continued gentleness, she pressed him back against the pillows. The movement of course made him cough pitifully. Soaking the cloth once more, she laid it on his forehead and left it there as she straightened the pillows around him.

That done, they simply surveyed each other for a moment. Mr. Darcy looked ill and altogether unimposing, lying in bed as he was, with tired circles under his eyes, a hacking cough, and a dripping nose.

"Are you feeling any better?" she asked hesitantly.

"Some," he grunted. "Now that I'm lying down."

"Excellent. Are you hungry at all? I think perhaps you should eat something."

His intense stare and large, warm presence were making her nervous all over again and causing her to seek escape from the small room.

"I suppose I could eat," he murmured.

"Yes, good. Then let me go fetch you some soup. I'll be back soon." She bustled out of the room immediately, a blush rising to her face, of uncertain cause. She did her best to quiet her racing thoughts as she sped toward the kitchen.

Mr. Darcy, for his part, was totally smitten with her. He was now convinced her fine eyes were the centerpiece of her completely wonderful countenance and figure. He watched the space where the corner of her skirt had disappeared intently, waiting for her return and recalling again and again the feel of her cool hand on his face.

(Part 1 of 2)

[doodlelupin]

[Image ID: Juno, a person with dark skin and an average build wearing a teal sweater and matching hair, sits beside Nureyev, a man with lighter skin who is only partially visible under many blankets, on a bed. Juno's hand rests on Nureyev's shoulder, looking concerned, mouth open as if in speech. Nureyev is looking back at him with a sleepy but also pleasant expression and his cheeks have a light fever flush on them. The background consists of blue walls that match Juno's shirt, white blankets surrounding Nureyev, and a small pile of clutter on the floor. End ID.]

Nureyev stirred faintly. "Juno?"

"Yeah, honey, it's me." Juno said softly. "How're you feeling?"

from Sicktember 2021 by @kaiserkorresponds! check it out on ao3 (link in reblog!)

Also based on his Sicktember:

Nebulizer | Bedrest | Blankets

[fergusandmarsali]

Desperate Medicine by @fergusandmarsali

"Alright," the woman leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms. "Tell me why you are in such desperate need of medicine that you thought to steal from the Couvent des Anges and I will... consider allowing you to keep it."

Fergus opened his mouth, his eyes darting to and fro as he quickly thought of what to say but snapped it shut when she spoke once again. 

"The truth, if you please."

- OR -

What if it was Claire, rather than Jamie, who met Fergus in 1744? 

A canon-divergent one-shot set during Dragonfly in Amber / Season 2 (Episode 3: Useful Occupations and Deceptions) where Fergus has a little sister, gets caught attempting to steal from the medicine cupboard at L'Hôpital des Anges and still ends up getting adopted anyway. 

Available now on AO3 

Written for @sicktember: Doctor's Visit/Check Up (Day 20)

[jenniboo311]

For Day 1 of @sicktember , "Fever".

Find it on AO3 here.

See the prompts here.

[alright-anakin]

Sicktember 2021 Day 27: Blankets

@sicktember

tw: vomiting

Day Twenty Seven: Blankets

“Where is he?” Fives muttered, turning around and leaving the office. “I thought…”

“What’s up?” Echo asked. Fives started, turning to him.

“Do you know where Rex is?” Echo shook his head.

“I haven’t seen him all day.” He looked like he’d just realized that. Fives frowned.

“I thought he had a meeting and then some paperwork. At least he mentioned that last night.”

read more here

[tsarisfanfiction]

Hi Tsari. Wow, you've been busy answering all those prompts. Here's another one, if it pleases you.

Sicktember 2021 Prompts

10. Medicine/Injection

Virgil is an obvious one for this prompt, but I was thinking maybe Scott & Gordon. Though Virgil could be added anyway 😁

Sting

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort Characters: Gordon, Scott, Virgil

There’s something in the water. @sicktember prompt 10: Medicine/Injection

Oh, this very much pleases me :D  Virgil is an obvious choice, that’s true, but I’m a Military Bros girl so I was more than happy to focus on those two and just give Virgil a moment to fret once he realises what’s going on.  I have to give thanks to @janetm74 for being my sounding board on this one!

Sicktember 2021 Prompts - Somehow we’re most of the way through the month and I still have ones in my inbox. I’ve added a list of what’s been done already and what’s sitting as a not-yet written request to the original prompt post if anyone wants to pick any of the remaining prompts, and yes, the alt. prompts are also fair game!

In Gordon’s opinion, they were under-equipped for this rescue.  That wasn’t a usual state of affairs – International Rescue prided itself on having the best rescue equipment in the world – but circumstances had conspired and they were here, on a beach, without so much as Thunderbird Four.

There was a valid reason for their lack of water-based equipment, though.  The three of them – him, Virgil and Scott – had originally been handling a rescue far inland in Spain with no water in sight.  That one had gone smoothly, but as they’d been packing up John had appeared with news of a collapsed rock arch sending tourists scattering into the water in the Canary Islands.  Going home to collect Thunderbird Four would have taken too long, and they did have Module Two, which could bundle together submarine pods if necessary, so the decision had been made to head straight there and work with what they had.

He couldn’t say he liked working on a water rescue without the security of his Thunderbird, but with Virgil hovering overhead in a dragonfly pod and stabilising the rest of the arch, things seemed to be relatively under control.

The water was teeming with panicked tourists, some splashing around in the shallows and others struggling further out.  With Virgil’s duty clear, it left Gordon and Scott to retrieve them all.  He wasted no time in taking charge – Commander or not, water rescues were his specialty, not Scott’s – and sent his big brother to the shallows while allocating himself to the deeper water.

Screaming and crying was, unfortunately, par for the course when it came to panicked rescuees, so to start with, Gordon didn’t think much of it as he gathered together groups of tourists and shepherded them back to shore, where the local authorities were waiting with ambulances.  Fully geared up in his water-appropriate uniform, complete with attached helmet and rebreather, he kept making trips between the deep water and the triage centre, vaguely aware of Scott wading through the shallows and hauling up traumatised rescuees of his own.

Then the begging started.

Usually, hysterics were based around you gotta save me, and help, and I’m gonna die! That was normal.  Understandable, even.  Being begged to just let me die, on the other hand, was rare.  Not entirely unheard of, sadly, but rare enough to catch Gordon’s attention.  Especially when it wasn’t a one-off.

Something niggled at him as he deposited one batch of seemingly suicidal rescuees at the triage, increasing in intensity when he caught sight of the first aider’s faces. Resignation, as though they’d been expecting it.  As though people begging to die happened here.

Gordon’s mind screeched to a halt halfway back to the water.  Ahead of him, up to his shoulders in water and talking to a young girl who was screaming loud enough to deafen anyone in her vicinity, Scott seemed to have once again neglected his helmet.  Fingers left exposed by the fingerless gloves Scott had opted for when gearing up for their original rescue curled around skinny limbs as he coaxed the girl up, and Gordon’s heart suddenly took a swan dive straight down to his stomach.

“Say,” he said, turning back to the nearest paramedic.  “How often do you guys see Irukandji in this region?”

He wanted to be wrong. He really wanted to be wrong. His squid sense told him he wasn’t wrong.

The paramedic in question turned to him with tired eyes, the resignation shining through them.  “Often enough,” he said.  “These people?  At least half of them have been stung.  Maybe more.”

“Great,” Gordon sighed, shoulders slumping.  “Thanks.”

Even as he headed back out to get the last few stragglers in the deep end, Scott caught his attention again. The screaming girl was now sat up on his shoulders as he pushed his way through the water towards the shoreline, one hand clutching another woman and hauling her along.  A quick visual scan showed that they were the last of his brother’s cohort.  Good.

“Wait for me on the shore,” he ordered as he passed him, hoping his brother heard him over the girl’s screaming.  There was no time to check the message had got through, though.  Not when he had people still in need of rescue – people who were probably being stung by a swarm of violent and near-impossible to spot jellyfish.

Once upon a time, Irukandji had been native only to a specific part of the South Pacific, along the northern coast of Australia.  However, during the first half of the century, they’d spread – or new species had been discovered – and now they were a near-enough worldwide threat.

Threat was an apt word, too.  The stings were no joke; Irukandji Syndrome was nasty, and if not caught in time, could be fatal.  Thankfully, a few years ago there had been a breakthrough on an antivenom for it, which had greatly reduced the number of long-term hospitalisations and mortalities, but from all accounts it was still an awful experience.

In his neoprene, deep-water-rated uniform, Gordon was perfectly safe from the tiny jellyfish. But Scott, on the other hand…

Gordon really hoped the swarm hadn’t spread to the shallows.

His final few rescuees were as agitated as the previous lot, confirming that they, too, hadn’t escaped, and he towed them back as fast as he dared, half an eye out for Scott.

He spotted him standing right at the water’s edge, talking to a hologram of Virgil.  There was no sign that he was in pain, but one of the biggest threats with the Irukandji was the potential delayed onset of symptoms. Gordon couldn’t relax just yet.

“Virgil’s almost done,” Scott told him when he approached.  “I’ll go and report to-”

“John can do that,” Gordon interrupted, stopping just out of arms’ reach.  “We need to get to Thunderbird Two and get out of these uniforms, now.”  He still couldn’t see any signs that Scott had been stung on any of the exposed parts of his body, but he was taking absolutely no chances.

Scott paused, clearly startled at the interruption, and Gordon found himself under scrutiny from concerned eyes that belonged somewhere between Big Brother and Commander.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, stepping forwards.  Gordon edged back out of reach again, conscious that his uniform could have all sorts of jettisoned stingers caught on the ridges of the neoprene.

“There’s a swarm of Irukandji in the water,” he said.  It was enough to widen blue eyes.  “We need to decontam.”

Scott, like all of his brothers, was familiar with the dangers presented by the oceans and their inhabitants.  Gordon had made sure of it personally; while their knowledge didn’t match his, they at least knew enough to know what was bad news.  The fact that Irukandji were also a concern off of Tracy Island had cemented his brothers’ knowledge on that one.

“F.A.B.”  Scott was immediately on the comms again, calling up John and Virgil and updating both of them of the change in plans as he headed back to Thunderbird Two and her decontam facilities.  Gordon followed, still scrutinising all the exposed skin that he could see.

Decontam was never fun. Gordon hated it, but it was a necessary evil so he suffered through the procedure until his old uniform was stripped away and he was released from the unit to claim and don a fresh one.  Scott was similarly spat out of the neighbouring unit, yanking on his own fresh uniform as though it’d run away if he took too long to get dressed and looking for all the world like he was about to hurtle back out of the Thunderbird and rejoin the danger zone.

Gordon caught him by the bicep, bare fingers on neoprene – so skin-tight wetsuits took longer to put on than flightsuits, whatever – and pulled him to a stop.  Once again, he found himself under the scrutiny of concerned blue eyes as Scott looked him up and down, clearly wondering why he was being stopped.

“You’re not going anywhere until I know you didn’t get stung.”  Outside of the water, it wasn’t often that Gordon pulled a commanding tone with Scott, but in this case it felt very, very, necessary.

“Our uniforms would have protected us,” Scott dismissed, waving a hand lightly in his direction pacifyingly.  His fresh uniform was one with full gloves, and Gordon felt a rush of frustration that none of them had thought to make Scott change into that variation before getting into the water.  “I’m fine.”

“You were helmetless and wearing fingerless gloves in the water with Irukandji around,” Gordon retorted, refusing to release his brother.  “I’m not letting go until you’re scanned.”  Scott looked like he had something else to say, so he kept talking. “You know Irukandji stings are barely noticeable and only show symptoms later.  With the rescue taking your attention, there’s no way you’d have noticed anything.”

Scott’s mouth shut with a clack, confirming that he was probably about to say I’m fine until Gordon had headed that off with logic.  If he was less worried, Gordon would’ve rolled his eyes.  As it was, he tugged Scott along to the medical bay, big brother following with extreme reluctance, judging by the way he was lagging behind at the end of Gordon’s arm, and grabbed a scanner all without releasing his grip.

The yellow light washed over Scott, his big brother stood stiffly as though he was about to bolt, and Gordon parsed through the results as they came in.

A scattering of pinpricks flashed up, predominantly across his fingers, but there were a couple of hotspots on the back of his neck, and a curse slipped from between Gordon’s teeth.

Scott went pale, bravado lost in the fact of scan results telling him that he had, in fact, been stung multiple times, although Gordon knew that it wasn’t just the jellyfish stings that were causing it.  The dread passed across Scott’s face, his adam’s apple bobbing in a subconscious swallow, and Gordon set down the scanner so he could yank down one of the docked hoverstretchers.

“Sit, Scott.”

His brother obeyed, sinking down automatically onto the hoverstretcher.  Gordon squeezed his arm reassuringly before slowly releasing his grip, ready to grab Scott again if he made a break for it.  He didn’t, although the temptation was clearly there.  Blue eyes flickered between him and the door at an alarming pace, but Scott knew that Irukandji Syndrome was no joke.  They’d caught the stings before the symptoms manifested, but it was still a race against time to administer the antivenom before they appeared.

“Uniform,” Gordon ordered, heading for the antivenom storage and rummaging through the locker to find the one he needed – one advantage of living in Irukandji territory was that it was an antivenom they made certain they never ran low on.  For a long moment there was silence, and he began to fear that Scott was already succumbing, before the sound of the zip carried through the air.

By the time he had the needle prepped and ready, Scott’s arm was hanging out of his uniform, all the fine hair standing on end in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature of the Thunderbird.  Blue eyes were closed, and his chest rose and fell in a carefully even pattern.

Needles were not Scott’s thing.

Gordon made sure not to take too long.  With practiced ease, he administered the antivenom, one hand rubbing Scott’s shoulder firmly, before withdrawing the needle and quickly tossing it into the relevant recycler.

“It’s over,” he promised once it was out of sight.  “How are you feeling?”

With a shaky breath, Scott opened his eyes and looked over at him.  “I’m fine, Gordon,” he tried, but his voice had gained a tightness that could only be associated with pain.

“Yeah, right,” Gordon sighed.  The antivenom would take a few minutes to kick in, and it seemed like they hadn’t caught it fast enough to prevent the start of the symptoms.  “Lie down and I’ll find you some painkillers.  You’re not going back out there like this.”

Scott’s compliance was apparently at an end, although Gordon suspected a large motivator for that was not wanting to be subjected to another needle – this one full of morphine – because he started pulling his arm back through his uniform’s sleeve even as he tried to find his way to his feet again.  He didn’t stumble, but Gordon grabbed his shoulders reflexively anyway.

“Scott.”

“I’ll be fine,” his brother insisted.  “The antivenom’ll kick in soon.”

Gordon sighed, but before he could say anything, a deeper voice sounded from behind him.

“You can lie down willingly, or I’ll make you,” Virgil rumbled.  Gordon obligingly moved to one side as his dark-haired brother hurried into the area.  “You’re going nowhere.”

“Virg-”

“The rescue’s all wrapped up,” Virgil continued.  “All that’s left to do now is to go home, which you will be doing on that hoverstretcher.  John’s got One.”

As if on cue, the familiar cry of the supersonic engines resonated as Scott’s ‘bird took to the sky.  Scott looked more than a little annoyed.  “Virgil-”

“Don’t even try,” Virgil interrupted, gripping Scott’s shoulders and slowly but steadily forcing him to lay flat.  “I’m going to hook you up as a precaution and we’ll reassess once we’re home.”

“Virgil…”  This time it was almost a plea, or as much of a plea as Scott was capable of while still partially in Commander mode.

“Gordon’s going to stay and keep an eye on you,” Virgil continued, bustling around with tubes and needles.  “I don’t want you moving until we’ve confirmed the antivenom’s working.”  Well-practiced as he was, it didn’t take long before the relevant measures were set up.  Gordon placed himself by the morphine pump, knowing from experience that Scott wouldn’t touch it if he had the final say, no matter how much things hurt.  That was also the only needle, and therefore the most likely thing to be torn out if Scott was left unsupervised.

“I got this, Virge,” he promised, resting a hand lightly on Scott’s shoulder.  “You get us home.”

Virgil hesitated for a split second, clearly internally warring about leaving him, but Thunderbird Two was his craft, and they all knew who would get the most out of her on the way home.

“Keep me updated,” he eventually said, giving Scott’s shoulder a light squeeze.  Gordon promised, and watched him reluctantly leave before turning his attention back to his eldest brother.

Scott’s face had pinched further, a sure sign that the pain was flooding through him in earnest now. Gordon fingered the morphine pump, considering for several moments before letting it drop away again.  He’d trigger it if Scott started broadcasting agony, but until that point he would – reluctantly – respect his brother’s wishes. He knew all too well what being doped up on painkillers without permission was like.

Beneath his feet, Thunderbird Two roared into life, Virgil’s ‘bird ready to take them home.  Gordon made sure that Scott was secure before finding a seat himself, moments before she peeled away from the ground to follow her sister home.

It would be a long journey for Scott, who was used to travelling at Mach ridiculous – and being the pilot.  Less so for Gordon, who was very familiar with Thunderbird Two’s slower speeds, but it still wasn’t easy seeing his brother’s skin turn more and more ashen as the toxin attempted to make itself at home, only to be challenged by the antivenom.

Gordon wrapped his fingers around one of Scott’s hands, feeling the callouses on his palm, and squeezed reassuringly, elated for a brief moment when the grip was returned. Home couldn’t come soon enough.

[allthewhumpygoodness]

My (kind of) entry for @sicktember prompts #1 and #11 sorta combined. Medieval fantasy-ish.

The wind bit through their layers of clothing, even where they sat huddled before the fire. The flames swayed enticingly, the hot coals below looking like a warm cave they longed to curl up in. Though at this point they figured not even that would warm their frozen bones.

"A?" They looked up and saw B watching them, concern in their eyes. "How long have you been out here?"

A shrugged, another shiver taking hold of them. "A few hours, I guess."

"Hours? A, you're clearly exhausted. Go back to your tent, I'll take watch for now."

They just shrugged again, turning back to the fire. There was an aching behind their eyes that had only worsened over the past while, as much as they longed to shut them they knew it would only be all the worse if they did. They longed to sleep, to flop over right where they sat and let their sore muscles rest for a while.

B sat down beside them with a huffing sigh. "So something's bothering you. Isn't that right?"

At this point, A was far too tired to deny it. "How can you tell?"

"You always stalk off on your own when something is wrong. You get all quiet. More quiet than usual, that is."

Normally A might have laughed. But now they were simply too exhausted for it. "I haven't been feeling my best, that's all. Nothing that important."

"How so?"

"It doesn't matter."

"A."

B was giving them a side eye. They knew it, even if they weren't looking at them. Another chill hit them, making them pull their cloak tighter around their shoulders. They coughed a little into their shoulder, not realizing until they did that there was a deep ache in their chest, spreading into their arms. "I've just been tired, chilled. I ache all over." They shot B a look. "Probably just from riding all day, I'm sure."

"Oh, to be sure." Even as A curled up tighter, resting their chin on their knees, they could feel their friend's eyes on them.

Exhaustion weighed down on their eyelids, forcing them shut. They buried their face in the folds of their cloak, allowing the darkness to soothe the aches in their head and eyes a little. Soon B would leave, they knew that. Everyone left eventually.

Sure enough, they heard the shuffle of boots, the sounds of somebody standing and walk away. Maybe it was their tiredness, but they felt tears closing up their throat. Stupid. They'd known B was going to leave. They'd known. They shouldn't have been surprised.

The wind blew harsher against them in their huddled bundle and they shivered worse than ever. Out of nowhere their face and neck felt uncomfortably hot in comparison to the icy block of the rest of their body. They pried it up from their knees and were hit with a wave of dizziness. Maybe B was right, and they should just go back to their tent.

Another repeated thud of footsteps came up behind them and they turned, wincing as the dizziness worsened.

"Here you go. How long has it been since you've eaten?" A blinked. It took them a moment to make sense of that they were seeing - B, standing over them with a bowl of steaming soup in their hands.

"You came back," they said blankly. They'd thought...

B shrugged. "Of course I did. What, did you expect me to leave you here by yourself?"

They didn't answer that. "I just didn't...thanks, B."

"Not a problem."

A's heart warmed a little just at the feeling of them sitting down beside them again. They hadn't been abandoned. Not yet.

The soup warmed them too. It was a good, strong broth with some herbs and bits of meat, but not much else. Which didn't bother them much - they hadn't been hungry in a while. But the warmth of it was nonetheless comforting. They sat and sipped, the soothing heat of the soup and the fire lulling them from the inside out. They almost could forget how sore their head and tired muscles were, and how the world spun when they turned their head too suddenly.

Halfway through the bowl they couldn't make themselves eat anymore. Their body felt weighted to the ground; if they didn't have to move for a hundred years they would have been happy. When the half empty bowl of soup almost slid from their grasp for a third time, they felt a firm but gentle hand on their arm. "Come on, you're dead on your feet. Let's get you back into your tent."

This time, A didn't bother to protest. They let B pull them to their feet, one arm around their still trembling shoulders. The ground swooped out from underneath them and they stumbled, swaying against their friend.

They heard B chuckle. "Watch yourself, A. You must really be exhausted."

Responding took too much effort. Instead they let their head flop against B's shoulder as another wave of dizziness tugged at them. The camp torches eventually faded from their sight as they approached the wooded area that held most of the tents. By the time they reached their own they were shivering worse than ever, their head pounding in time with their heart. If they didn't lie down soon they really would collapse.

The next few minutes were a bit of a blur, but they could hear B's cheerful voice talking away as they helped A into bed, even helping them pull off their boots and tossing every blanket they possessed on top of them. It was a little better in there, warmer yet darker, and lying flat made their head stop spinning, even if there was only a light mat separating them from the hard ground beneath.

"Get some sleep," said their friend's voice from somewhere above them. "I'll take your watch."

It wasn't long before they slipped into an uneasy sleep, disturbed by dreams that flitted around half formed until they could no longer tell if they were dreams or not. They opened their eyes a crack, still half asleep, and saw a dark thread on the wall of their tent...the thread became a spider creeping slowly towards them, they jerked back but instead of waking up the spiders only bored into their dreams, speaking to them with evil voices. Then they were struck by lightning and frozen in place, all their muscles taut and rigid, unable to move, unable to breathe, everything aching...a dark shape rose up above them until it was too big to see, stretching all around the tent, it reached down and grabbed them...

This time they sprang awake with a cry, scrambling backward away from the terrible shadow fingers that reached out for them. They couldn't breathe, their head was pounding, surely they were going to die...

"A," said a half familiar voice. "Hey, A, it's just me. Breathe."

They tried. In an instant they started coughing, their chest sore and ragged. A pair of strong hands held their shoulders, rubbing gently. "You're all right. Deep breaths now, I just need you to breathe."

A slumped against B's shoulder, worn down completely, their breath shuddering in their chest. Their limbs burned and froze and shook all at once, the ground beneath them tilting horribly. They felt themselves being laid down again, grasping out for their pillow. B's voice remained in their ears, gentle and comforting.

A second voice joined theirs. "Are they all right?"

A hand brushed their forehead. "They've got a fever, trouble breathing..."

"The poor thing..."

"Please don't go," A said hoarsely, suddenly terrified. Their eyes cracked open a sliver, B and now C too blurred in their vision. "I - I don't want to be alone."

"Of course not." B brushed the hair out of their face. "You're going to be just fine, we'll take good care of you."

Their eyes burned, head aching terribly. They could hear shuffling, the hushed voices of B and C and others from the camp in the background - probably talking about them, their overtired brain finally caught up enough to realize.

"Don't help me." It took them a second to tell they'd spoken out loud, but once they began they found it hard to stop. "Don't, I'm just a burden to you...please leave me be."

C's gentle voice was close to them now. "I thought you just said you didn't want to be alone?"

"They're mostly delirious, C." That was B. "Don't pay attention, just wait with them while I try and get my hands on some medicine."

A slid into a half sleep, imagining shadowy fingers creeping up their shoulder and voices whispering in their ear. Their eyes snapped open once, heart racing, but all they saw was the dim light of a candle and C's anxious face above them. Whimpering a little, they curled over on their other side, fighting to ignore the spinning in their head and the sickening ache in their joints. Everything was too much.

For a while it remained too much; no matter how much they tossed and turned they could not get comfortable, sore muscles and chills beating them down the worst. B returned with a spoonful of some bitter herbs that they managed to coax down A's throat despite their protests, which did nothing but leave a sour feeling in their stomach. They could not tell whether it was day or night anymore, all they knew was that they longed to sleep and couldn't seem to no matter what, and could not escape the pain that encircled them.

Their friends' faces merged with each other, and other faces they'd known long ago and thought to have forgotten, sometimes they thought they cried out for people no longer alive but in the small part of their mind that was still lucid hoped very much against it.

Once they woke up with a cry of fear from a nightmare that was already fading away, but the terror still clung to them. They shivered violently in the dark, limbs and head burning, until they felt another blanket go around them and C's voice shushing them and telling them to go back to sleep.

It continued on like that for a while. There were times when they were fully awake, but those times only meant they could feel the full effects of their illness, and they found themselves craving sleep when they came. B or C sat with them most times, but sometimes others would poke their heads into the tent to see how they're doing, sitting with them and making jokes in an effort to cheer them up, or just bringing them a bowl of soup when they hadn't eaten in a while. They never realized so many people cared about them.

Finally, one day they woke up to find their head was no longer pounding, their limbs still horribly stiff but not quite as sore as they had been. With weary eyes they looked automatically to the side of their cot and once again saw B sitting there, one hand laid gently on the top of their head. "You're awake, I see. Feeling any better?"

The hand in their hair was soothing. "A little," they answered croakily. "Did - did C come in too, or was that a dream?"

B chuckled. "Half the camp visited you at some point. They were all very concerned, did you expect them not to be?"

A lump rose unexpectedly in their throat. "I - I guess I did expect that."

B sighed. "A, we care about you. All of us care about you. How many times can we say it? Or show it?"

A was too tired to halt the tears that slipped from their eyes. "I'm sorry," they muttered, "I'm just...not used to people caring very much."

"Well, get used to it. You don't have to do this all by yourself, A."

It was too hard to stop the tears now, so they let them fall and curled up tighter under their blankets. They still weren't sure how much control they'd have over what words came out of their mouth, so they kept it shut for the time being, and tried to think of nothing but B's careful hand running through their hair. They had friends. They had a family.

It was almost too much.

But in a good way.

[warmblanketwhump]

sicktember day 4 - headache

@sicktember

A creeps into B’s darkened room. “B? How you feelin’, bud?” B lets out a low moan, arms curled round their head and over their eyes. A’s heart clenches with pity at the sight - B was used to their chronic headaches, but it didn’t make it any easier to see them in so much pain.

“I brought you a couple things.” A feels their way through the dark room, willing to endure a stubbed toe so A can stay in the dark. Once at their bedside, A slides the cool glass of water next to B’s forehead, and B leans their head into the comforting chill.

“Just a couple sips, alright?” A cradles their head gently to help B drink from the cup, then lays them back down and places a cold, damp cloth over their forehead. B lets out a soft noise of relief. Though their eyes are still closed, their hand fumbles in the sheets next to them until it finds A’s hand.

“What would I do without you?” B whispers, fingers curling around A’s palm.

A squeezes back, using their spare hand to push an errant lock of hair off B’s forehead. “Lucky for you, we don’t have to find out.”

[secretsickysideblog]

dumb lucky

"“you know my favorite color?” bucciarati slurs, brows furrowing. “anyway, it also came in purple, and black, and ivory, so I bought all of them, and uh…” “that’s cute,” bucciarati smiles, and abbacchio nearly dies at the way he looks while smiling unabashedly, weak as it may be right now. “you know my favorite color.”'

a mission takes bucciarati and abbacchio all the way to a town in piedmont where bucciarati finds himself fever-riddled in the midst of a snowstorm. abbacchio finds silver linings.

(sicktember day 1 - fever)

read under the cut!

It’s only tradition for things to go wrong for Passione. 

Well, perhaps that’s a lie--normally, they get dumb lucky. But this means that when things go wrong, they go incredibly wrong in multiple ways at once. It’s only fair for the amount of times the gang has narrowly escaped death by the skin of their teeth. And Abbacchio is grateful that neither he nor Bucciarati are running the risk of death right now; it could be much, much worse.

But this mission could certainly be going much better. After all, Abbacchio never thought he’d be buying fever reducers in a little town in Piedmont, Italy as a part of the job of Neapolitan Mafioso. He hadn’t expected to be led all the way to Piedmont in the first place. 

Easy mission my ass, Giovanna, he laments internally, rolling his eyes as he compares the prices between on and off-brand fever reducers. Abbacchio doesn’t usually bother to buy things like this, but Bucciarati’s fever--yes, a fever that had managed to swell up to a whopping 39 degrees overnight while on a mission--definitely needs to be treated. 

He settles on both bottles, and he grabs a pack of water bottles, too. Abbacchio peruses the shelves, considering what else Bucciarati might need. He’d rather not come trudging out through this snow again if he could help it; it started coming down last night and hasn’t shown any sign of stopping since. He grabs another thermometer, a can of soup, and he’s about to head to the register when he spots something else that catches his eye.

It’s a large blanket in blue--Bucciarati’s favorite shade of blue (not that Abbacchio bothers to remember things like his Capo’s favorite color), and god, does it look soft. His gaze wanders to the window. Snow falls in clumps, kicked up into a white mist by the wind, and Abbacchio could shiver just looking at it. He does shiver thinking about the short walk back to the motel through that storm. 

Abbacchio sighs, runs his fingertips over the inviting fleece. A blanket couldn’t hurt. 

He grabs it and tucks it under the arm without the basket only to spot that there’s another of the same in purple. And another, in ivory? Abbacchio isn’t someone tempted by luxuries, but blankets in the cold seem like a necessity. 

So he picks up both. Because Bucciarati has to sweat out the fever anyway, right? He’s too out of it to be angry, anyway. 

Abbacchio lugs the three heavy blankets and the basket of various other supplies to the register, fishing around in his pocket for his wallet. The cashier looks over his selection as she rings up and bags each object, smiling fondly. 

“Taking good care of someone, I see.”

Abbacchio huffs, lips quirking upward to a ghost of a smile. “Yeah, I guess I am. It’s about time he lets me.” 

“These blankets are on sale, you know. Buy one and the other is half-off,” and, in an expertly-crafted manner of egging him into it, the cashier finishes her sell with, “Everyone loves a good blanket. Perfect to cuddle up under.”

Abbacchio doesn’t anticipate growing the balls to ‘cuddle-up’ with Bucciarati, but something about the idea sways him into it. He stares at the blanket shelf in consideration for a long moment before giving in and grabbing a fourth, this one in black. 

The cashier is, clearly, proud of herself. Abbacchio can’t find it in himself to get as annoyed by this as usual. He did fall for her marketing scheme, after all. Can’t bitch about it if he gave in. 

Altogether, he walks out of the store with five bags slung on his arms, four of which are occupied by heavy fleece and tied off to avoid any of the snowfall. His boots feel like weights as he trudges through planes of muddy white, wrapping his scarf tighter around his neck. His hands are freezing--he wishes he’d bought gloves. 

When he finally returns to the motel room, Bucciarati is curled up on the bed. He looks just about the same as he did when Abbacchio left which is, admittedly, like shit. His hair, lacking its typical braid, fell in uneven layers wherever it wasn’t sticking to sweat-soaked skin. The only real color in his face is across his cheeks in bright, splotchy red, and though his eyes are closed now, they’ve been glazed over all morning. 

Abbacchio shakes his head in disapproval, wondering how Bucciarati managed to just ignore this, because he knows damn well it didn’t just spark overnight. He must’ve been feeling at least vaguely unwell before they’d embarked on this (unexpectedly) lengthy journey. Abbacchio tells himself, as he has every time he starts thinking about how his Capo sucks at self-care, that he’ll just bitch at him about it later; criticizing a sick person is mean, and besides, there’s not enough cognizance in his fever-addled head to comprehend annoyance right now anyway. 

He unties his scarf, shrugs off his coat, and unbags the items on the small coffee table in the room. Bucciarati stirs into half-lucidity, as told by the mix of a groan and a whine that slips from him after a bit of shifting around. Abbacchio looks over to him, seeing his hazy blues blink open, and he immediately grabs the bottle of fever reducers to force down his throat now while he’s just awake enough to swallow and not awake enough to protest.

“Here,” he holds out a bottle of water and two of the pills for Bucciarati to take, which he does after taking a second to process the command. He moves sluggishly, but he manages to get the pills down and put the water bottle on the nightstand. Abbacchio feels his forehead with the back of his hand, frowning at how much he’s burning still.

He goes to pull away. Bucciarati doesn’t let him, grabbing his wrist and holding his hand there.

“What are you doing?”

“Cold,” he mumbles, letting his eyes flutter closed again. “Feels nice.”

Abbacchio opens his mouth, closes it. Thanks the lord above that Bucciarati can’t see the way his cheeks heat up as though he’s contracted a fever. After a moment of hesitance, Abbacchio brings both of his hands up to cup Bucciarati’s cheeks, and the other man sighs contentedly. 

“Well, if it’s cold you want, maybe you should go take a nap in the snow,” Abbacchio jokes.

“Hm,” Bucciarati takes a breath. “Perhaps I should.” 

Abbacchio stares down at Bucciarati. At the way his eyelashes, dark and thick, fan out across his cheeks. At his lips, still pretty and pink and miraculously not very chapped. Even now, sick as a dog, Bucciarati is gorgeous. Abbacchio could watch him forever, he’s sure, but then he realizes how creepy he’s being and abruptly pulls away. Bucciarati’s eyes open with a dejected look to them, and Abbacchio reminds himself that it’s not because it’s his hands, it’s because his hands are cold and Bucciarati is delusional with fever.

“Uh, so, I got you two kinds of fever reducer, and you’re gonna take it whether you like it or not,” Abbacchio starts to say, clearing his throat. Bucciarati hums, half-listening. “I got water. A can of soup, if you get hungry, but since you just woke up I’m sure you’re not yet.”

Bucciarati doesn’t respond, so Abbacchio assumes he’s right. He’ll make him eat something later. 

“And,” Abbacchio unties the other four bags, “I know you’re not looking to get warmer, but fevers have to be sweat out, right? I got blankets. They were on sale.”

Bucciarati almost whines, though it’s quiet, subtle. Abbacchio opts to ignore it, because it does nothing good for his heart. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but look, it’s your favorite color,” Abbacchio holds up the blanket in proud display. Bucciarati looks at it, but it’s clear that he’s not fully seeing it. 

“You know my favorite color?” Bucciarati slurs, brows furrowing.

“Anyway, it also came in purple, and black, and ivory, so I bought all of them, and uh…”

“That’s cute,” Bucciarati smiles, and Abbacchio nearly dies at the way he looks while smiling unabashedly, weak as it may be right now. “You know my favorite color.” 

Abbacchio takes the tags off the plush fabric and chucks it at Bucciarati. Bucciarati, as expected, makes no move to catch it. It takes him a minute to slip the fleece off of his head and onto his lap. This process is repeated four more times as a mountain of plush fabric piles up on the bed--the singular bed, which Abbacchio would be incredibly nervous about if this was a year ago, but they’ve been stuck in the ‘unfortunate’ one-bed scenario too many times for him to care anymore. 

“This is...so many,” Bucciarati murmurs, staring down at the pile. He runs his thumb along the hem of the blue one. “They are soft, though.”

“I don’t know if you can feel how cold it is in here, much less out there,” Abbacchio gestures towards the storm just beyond the windows, “but we needed them. I don’t know how long we’re gonna be stuck here, between your fever and the bastard we’re after.”

Bucciarati nods, absently petting the blankets. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Falling ill,” Bucciarati says it like it’s the most obvious reason to apologize in the world. “We’re stuck here. It’s my fault.”

Abbacchio rolls his eyes. “Stop apologizing for things you can’t control.”

Bucciarati looks like he wants to protest, but then his expression turns confused as if his own thought process doesn’t make sense to him anymore. Abbacchio snorts at the sight and shakes his head before climbing into bed beside the other man and urging him to lay back down.

“I’m all sweaty.”

“I don’t care,” Abbacchio pulls one of the many blankets around them up to his shoulders, and another about halfway above that. He lets Bucciarati kick the others aside. “You’re warm, and I’m cold. I’m finding silver linings.”

Bucciarati chuckles a little. If he were any more coherent, he’d make a joke about Abbacchio’s usual pessimistic cynicism being an act; the latter is almost grateful, at that thought, for the fever. The wind howls outside as the storm picks up. It’s definitely not an ideal situation, but it could be much worse.

Bucciarati turns to nuzzle his face into the crook of Abbacchio’s neck. Tentatively, Abbacchio wraps an arm around him.

Maybe this was just dumb luck in disguise. 

[yes-i-am-happyaspie]

I absolutely love the fic Doctor DUM-E from TheDisneyOutsider's @sicktember series Sicktember 2021! So, of course, I had to draw a little chibi fluff to accompany it.

Peter sighed, raising his eyebrow to the bot one more time, then he relaxed his shoulders. “Fine, D, you win!” He admitted defeat, pushing himself down and crawling over to lay his head onto Tony’s stomach. Tony’s arm instantly curled around the boy. “I’ll rest if it means Tony will too.”

One more chipper noise sprang from the bot (and one more blanket for good measure) and the machine slowly rolled away. After five minutes, it was safe to say he wouldn’t be checking in on them for a while. - Doctor DUM-E by TheDisneyOutsider

Fanfiction by TheDisneyOutsider (@obsessionoftheday)

Artwork by happyaspie

Click for better quality

[cuddlepilefics]

Hug me again, I don't feel good

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Jeongin

Caregivers: Stray Kids

Prompt: Fever @sicktember

No one’s POV.:

Stray Kids members always tended to drown their maknae in affection and although he always pretended to hate it, Jeongin secretly liked it. As long as the didn’t undermine his independence that is. Him pretending to hate their hugs, led to the members toning it down a bit, only going full out when they were in a teasing mood and felt like going on their youngest’s nerves. Today they had had to get up early, having a packed schedule ahead of them and not having slept much, the mood ranged from sleepy to grumpy. Jeongin certainly fell into the latter category. He wasn’t usually moody when he was tired but when he was woken up this morning, he felt more exhausted than he had when going to bed the previous night. As soon as they were in the car, he leaned his head on Hyunjin’s shoulder, dozing off again. Considering it was a rather long drive, most of them were trying to get a few more moments of shut eye. Their day would start with a photo shoot, followed by an interview and an afternoon of dance practice. To say Jeongin wasn’t looking forward to it would have been an understatement. He didn’t mind the photo shoot, which was comparably the least tiring activity of the day. The interview wasn’t too bad either but he really dreaded their dance practice, feeling too tired to move. Maybe he’d just need to wake up properly and he’d feel more energized over the course of the day.

While they took turns getting their make-up done, the group slowly started to come to life more. Chan had had his second coffee of the day, making the mistake of getting Felix one too, who was now going through a variety of fortnite dances and hyping Jisung up. The rapper didn’t even need coffee to go crazy, merely someone else he was sharing a braincell with. Together the two tried their hardest to get a reaction from Changbin by annoying him but the older kept a straight face, simply ignoring the pair. At some point, even Chan joined them. Minho and Hyunjin had originally started planning their dance practice but had soon gone over to teasing each other, which escalated to Minho threatening his dongsaeng. Seungmin and Jeongin really seemed like the most normal ones in the group. On other days, Jeongin might have joined his hyungs, having fun and fooling around but today he just couldn’t seem to shake his sleepy haze. Maybe he should get himself a coffee too, since it seemed to have worked wonders on Chan and Felix. Unfortunately, the photo shoot started before Jeongin had the chance to get coffee but the boy pushed the thought away. Busying himself would certainly do the trick too.

The photo shoot didn’t go as well as Jeongin would have liked. Usually, he had no issues with the bright lights surrounding him but they sure made the temperature on set toasty. The maknae was sweating much more than he was used to during photo shoots, even having to get his make-up retouched multiple times. This wasn’t like him and it was humiliating. The staff already clicking their tongues at the boy constantly needing his make-up fixed. Aside from the humiliation, Jeongin felt plainly disgusting with his clothes sticking to him. As his mood was dwindling, his discomfort became more apparent to himself and to the photographer, who kept reminding him to smile authentically. How could he smile authentically right now? He was sore from exercising the previous day, he was burning in his skin, his clothes stuck to him and pretty much everyone on set was annoyed with him. No, smiling seemed like the least thing he wanted to do right now, yet Jeongin always smiled. Maybe not as convincingly as usual but he smiled.

The more time passed, the more the hectic surroundings were getting to him. He was pretty much melting in the thick clothes and was slowly developing a headache, with how bright everything was. The flashing lights were worse though, leaving him feeling disoriented as he tried to follow the instructions given to him as fast as possible in hopes of getting things over with. Sweat was beading his forehead but instead of sending him to get his make up retouched once again, the photographer decided to take a few last pictures, which he’d edit later on, before releasing the boy back to the waiting area. A few of the members still needed to get their individual shots taken, so it was rather quiet back there. Jeongin debated removing his make-up completely but he didn’t want to bother anyone to put another full make-up on him for their interview later. This wasn’t his first photo shoot, so why had he been struggling so badly? In a matter of minutes, the smile he had plastered on, faltered and a single tear trailed down his cheek. Then another. Pursing his lips, Jeongin tried his hardest to calm down and hold the tears back. He didn’t want to mess up his make-up even more. The harder he tried though, the harder it got to keep it together. Yet he only allowed himself tiny, quiet sniffles after already being a burden to so many people so early in the day. He just wanted to be professional.

His efforts were in vain though, when Chan entered the waiting area after finishing his shots. He knew his dongsaeng well enough and calmly went over hugging the younger. “What’s up?”, the leader hummed, taking a step back when Jeongin tensed in his arms. The maknae was already sweating and he didn’t want to be touched, feeling as disgusting as he felt at the moment. “Frustrated”, Jeongin muttered, avoiding eye contact with his hyung, “was holding everyone back with how often I needed to get my make-up fixed.” – “It’s alright. Don’t worry, everyone who’s stood under those floodlights will understand. It does get toasty there sometimes”, Chan assured. He knew he’d probably feel the same if he was in Jeongin’s position, so he made a mental note to make sure the boy wouldn’t get teased for it. The maknae had already accepted that crying had ruined his make-up beyond what could be fixed and accepted the make-up wipe his hyung handed him. Still sniffling quietly, he scrubbed at his face to get it all off. He already contemplated what to tell the staff, who’d need to reapply everything for their interview earlier. At some point, he had managed to pull himself together but still looked a bit gloomy, besides, his face had taken a flushed pink shade, probably from how roughly he had rubbed it. Handing him a bottle of water, Chan sighed: “You feeling better now?” Jeongin shrugged. Did he? He was still just as hot as he had been previously and his head still hurt, through he wasn’t as disoriented. It was nice and quiet now, there were less people and it was less bright, so he had probably just gotten overwhelmed earlier. “I think today’s just not really my day”, he pouted, “I feel like I still haven’t managed to wake myself up and my head hurts from all the chaos.” – “Should we go and get you some coffee? Might at least help for the interview”, Chan offered, “Come on, let’s get out of here for a bit.”

Chan took his dongsaeng to a coffee shop nearby. They could have gotten coffee somewhere closer but he wanted to give the younger some space from their work environment. Jeongin however shuddered the moment he stepped foot outside the building. It wasn’t cold outside but the temperature change messed with his body. The maknae didn’t even notice how he started to walk progressively closer to Chan till the older wrapped an arm around his shoulders, asking: “Are you cold?” Jeongin shook his head but was betrayed by another shiver running down his spine. ‘That’s odd’, Chan noted but decided not to point it out. Instead, he just let the younger stay as close as he wanted. That proved to be of great help when Jeongin stumbled, tripping himself and only being saved the fall by the leader’s arms around his middle. “S-Sorry”, he laughed shakily, already tearing up again. “No, it’s okay”, Chan assured, moving away when the younger regained his balance. That resulted in a whine from Jeongin, who moved along, leaning against the Aussie. “Innie, what’s going on?”, the leader frowned worriedly, confused by the maknae’s behavior. Realizing his actions, Jeongin straightened up and mumbled: “Dizzy.” Why couldn’t the other hug him again? It was exactly what he needed right now, with how upset and cold he felt.

From that moment on, Chan kept a very close eye on Jeongin. He really didn’t seem to be himself today. After they had gotten coffee and returned to the venue, the youngest had gotten comfortable against Felix’ side, who absentmindedly ran a hand up and down the younger’s back. Felix noticed how damp and sticky Jeongin’s shirt still was and offered him to get changed into a fresh one. “No, don’t want to take it off. I’m cold”, the maknae protested, catching most of the members’ attention. Shaking his head, Felix sighed: “Yeah, no wonder you are cold. Your shirt is wet. You’ll feel warmer in a dry one.” – “Hyung, can I have your hoodie?”, Jeongin pouted, giving Hyunjin puppy eyes, who was quick to give it to him. By now, all of them had caught on to their youngest acting weird but could they blame him? They had slept so little, none of them could possibly be in their right mind. At least Jeongin seemed satisfied, pulling the long sleeves of the dancer’s hoodie over his palms. Knowing they’d have the interview next, they all filed into the van.

As soon as they were settled, Jeongin cuddled into Minho’s side, the dancer sitting next to him taken a back. It wasn’t usually Jeongin initiating the skinship but that didn’t mean he minded it. Smiling softly, Minho played with the maknae’s hair and studied the younger’s face. His closed eyes seemed a bit puffy, brows furrowed while sweat beaded his forehead and a small droplet dripped down his temple. Not knowing whether the boy was awake, Minho didn’t dare ask Chan if anything had happened while they were gone. Instead he just decided to let the boy rest on him. Looking up, he met eyes with Jisung, who seemed to think the same. Something wasn’t right. When they arrived, Minho went ahead to talk to Chan, leaving a sleepy Jeongin in his seat. Jisung had stayed behind to wait for the younger, linking their arms but still lagging behind. “Is everything okay, Innie? You seem off”, the rapper asked quietly. At this point, the maknae didn’t feel like keeping up appearances anymore and hesitantly admitted: “I kinda feel off.” – “Are you sick? You know we could let you sit out if you’re sick”, Jisung frowned but his dongsaeng was quick to shake his head, muttering: “I don’t think I am. Probably just slept too little and don’t feel like myself.” The older nodded thoughtfully as he guided Jeongin to get his make-up done again.

Jeongin was the only one needing his make-up done, which gave the rest of the group some time to talk. “He isn’t usually that clingy and he just admitted to feeling off”, Jisung informed and Chan nodded, sighing: “He was really emotional earlier and after almost falling over, he said he was dizzy.” – “Don’t you think he might just be tired? He does tend to get more affectionate when he’s tired”, Hyunjin mused looking at Jisung who had talked to their youngest mere minutes before. Nodding, Jisung pointed out: “He doesn’t think he’s sick and told me he slept to little but I need, who hasn’t? Yet he is the only one that out of it.” – “He seemed to be in pain when we drove here”, Minho disagreed, looking at Chan worriedly. The leader shook his head and sighed: “Let’s just wait, I’m sure Innie would talk to us if something was badly wrong.” Not feeling satisfied with that, Seungmin slipped out of the room, to check on his only dongsaeng privately. He quietly stood in the doorway, watching the younger doze off in the chair. “Do you feel alright, Jeongin-ah? Your face feels really warm”, their make-up noona asked, carefully applying a thick layer of concealer under his eyes to cover the lack of sleep. Jeongin smiled a bit and hummed: “I think the bright lights at the photo shoot heated my skin up a bit. I’m okay.” Seungmin however was only more convinced that the younger was not. Especially now that somebody else was sensing something off as well.

When his make-up was done, the make-up noona glanced at Seungmin and smiled before leaving the two boys alone to talk. “Hey”, Seungmin hummed, sitting down next to Jeongin, “How do you really feel? Something’s not right.” That was enough to bring the younger to tears again and he chewed on his lip, desperately trying to not ruin his make-up again. “H-hyung, I -I don’t know”, he breathed. He cursed himself, why did he have to be so emotional today? When he didn’t elaborate further, Seungmin got up and pulled Jeongin into a hug. He too noticed the heat radiating off the maknae and gently brushed his hand against the boy’s forehead, calmly asking: “Can you describe what you feel? Maybe we can make sense of it.” Jeongin nodded and took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. “I-I just feel really out of it, like I still haven’t woken up since this morning although I’ve been up for hours and even had coffee with Channie-hyung. My head hurts since the photo shoot and I keep sweating although I’m not hot at all anymore. I’m pretty cold actually”, he admitted with shaky hands, “For some reason I don’t feel really steady on my feet and kinda dizzy and I’m really sore from exercising yesterday. Could – could you hug me again? I don’t feel good.” Seungmin complied instantly, hugging the younger tightly and whispering: “I think you’re sick, Innie. To me it feels like you’re sporting quite a fever, which would explain why you feel the way you feel.” – “I can’t – I can’t be sick. My stomach feels perfectly fine, so it couldn’t be a stomach bug but my nose and throat are perfectly fine too, so it couldn’t be a cold either. None of this makes sense, why does nothing make sense?”, Jeongin whimpered, getting worked up again. “Shh, some bugs come only with a fever but that doesn’t make you any less sick. Does that make sense?”, Seungmin soothed, running his hand up and down the younger’s back. Sniffling quietly, the maknae nodded. Unwrapping himself from his dongsaeng, Seungmin smiled: “Alright, let’s go to the others and see what we’ll do about it, yeah?”

He pulled Jeongin to his feet too but the boy stumbled as soon as he was upright, crashing into Seungmin’s chest. Luckily, the older was quick to react and tightened his arms around the maknae, holding him steady while they waited for the dizzy spell to pass. Then they walked back to the room where the rest of the group was waiting. “Hyung, Innie’s sick and running a fever”, Seungmin announced as they walked up to Chan. Pressing the backs of his fingers against Jeongin’s forehead, the leader frowned: “You’re burning. Why didn’t you say anything?” – “I-I …” – “Hyung, we pieced it all together just now. He wasn’t aware”, Seungmin explained, reassuringly holding the younger’s hand. Jeongin nodded, face crumpling as Chan pulled him into a hug. “Do you want to wait here for us to finish the interview?” – “N-no, I can do it. They don’t have many questions for me anyway”, the youngest insisted. Minho joined them, agreeing: “We can cover for him, he just has to sit and look pretty. It’d be more frustrating to be dragged here for nothing. Afterwards we’ll take you home, yeah Innie?” – “No, I want to go with you”, Jeongin whined, always hating to be alone when he was feeling poorly. “We’ll see about that, let’s just get this interview over with”, Chan settled, seeing that it was their time to go on stage.

It went quite well with Jeongin just sitting there in silence. When they walked off the stage though, the maknae broke down, the tears he had held back, now spilling over. Felix was quick to pull him to a quiet corner of the room, cooing: “What’s wrong?” – “Do-Don’t know”, the younger choked out, his voice cracking pitifully. “Just really emotional, huh?”, Jisung hummed, running his hand through Jeongin’s hair. He had followed them worriedly, only getting more worried when the maknae desperately tried to pull himself together but failed. Watching him struggle like this really broke their hearts. Holding his dongsaeng tight, Felix whispered lowly: “You can cry, Innie. Don’t suppress and bottle it up. If you feel like crying, that’s alright, we don’t judge.” The younger nodded, hiding his face against the dancer’s shoulder. Giving them some privacy, Jisung went to get changed. When he was done, Hyunjin had already taken a bunch of make-up wipes and traded places with Felix, so the Aussie could get changed too. “Come on, let’s get your make-up off, so you can sleep. I bet you’re tired”, Hyunjin hummed, gently removing his dongsaeng’s make-up. He did his best to make the younger boy comfortable and couldn’t help but coo at how adorable Jeongin looked in his hoodie.

They got back into the car, where Jeongin settled against Seungmin, shivering slightly. Chan carefully hung his jacket around his youngest dongsaeng’s shoulders and smiled when the boy’s eyes closed. With how exhausted Jeongin was, it came as a surprise to none when the calm movement of the car lulled him to sleep. Not having the heart to wake him, Chan ended up carrying the maknae up to their dorm and to his bed. Minho soon followed them with a bottle of water and fever-reducers, which he placed on Jeongin’s nightstand, along with a note to take them later, when he woke up. When the two oldest members were satisfied their dongaseng was settled, they left the room and got ready for dance practice. Jisung plugged the maknae’s phone in to charge before leaving his roommate to get some rest. While Minho and Hyunjin discussed their dance practice, Felix grabbed a few plushies and took them to Jeongin’s room, so he wouldn’t feel too lonely while they were gone. They were almost ready to leave, originally scheduled to head straight to the company building from the venue of their interview, so they were running a little late. Changbin decided to make one last trip to the bathroom, running a washcloth under cold water and taking it to the maknae’s room. When he gently brushed Jeongin’s hair out of his face, the boy’s eyes fluttered open, disorientedly blinking up at the rapper. “Shh, go back to sleep”, he shushed, carefully spreading the cold compress on his dongsaeng’s burning forehead. He didn’t want to mention the medicine because that would’ve probably woken the younger up completely and they had agreed to let him sleep at all costs. Jeongin would find the medicine when he woke up. Hoping he’d sleep through most of their dance practice, so he wouldn’t feel lonely, Changbin promised: “We’ll be back before you know it.” Then he snuck out of the room and joined the others, eager to get their practice over with and back to the dorm as soon as possible.

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

Prompt # 19: Addiction  

@sicktember Alternate prompt #4: Stay

Title: Unexpected Developments Part 2

Fandom: Pride and Prejudice

Find Part 1 under prompt # 8. Mr. Darcy is sick in bed and miserable. Elizabeth is trying to look after him, but his bad mood gets the better of him and tempers flare. Will sweetness or stubbornness win out in the end?

Elizabeth Bennett was the only guest at Netherfield who wasn't in bed with a cold. The virus Jane had caught riding to attend luncheon with Caroline had spread around the whole house, but it seemed Eliza was immune. Mr. Darcy had been the last to fall ill, and Lizzie had discovered him sneezing in a corner over a day ago while she remained perfectly healthy. It was fortunate she had discovered him though, for the servants were rushing hither and yon at the beck and call of their ill master and his sister, and poor Mr. Darcy would have been overlooked completely if Lizzie hadn't taken him under her care. 

Lizzie, for her part, was glad Jane's cold was much improved from the days prior. Since Jane needed little tending now, she had given Lizzie her blessing to give most of her attention to Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy, for his part, was very accustomed to having a houseful of servants to do his bidding, and was little accustomed to being ill, strong and virile as he was. Because of these things, he was not the easiest patient, though he truly tried to make an effort to curb his frustration and not take his misery out on Elizabeth. Her lack of symptoms clearly perturbed him, however.

"How is it you are still in perfect health while I and everyone else are laid up with this beastly chest cold?" he griped that afternoon while Lizzie fussed around, tidying up dishes and rags from his bedside. If Lizzie wasn't accustomed to his voice by now, she would have had trouble understanding him, for his nose was stopped tight with congestion, and his voice raw and weak from coughing, rendering him nigh unintelligible. 

She giggled to herself. "Well you see, I believe I've already had this cold, for in the week prior to Jane's arrival here, my father, some of my other sisters and myself caught cold. We were envious of Jane's good luck in not falling ill at the time, but it seems it caught up with her in the end."

"Indeed," Mr. Darcy muttered sourly with a slushy sniffle.

"Oh don't be cross. It isn't so terrible lounging in bed all day, being waited on hand and foot is it?" 

"Yet when I find myself miserable in body, I find my mood tends to follow," he groused.

"Hmm." Elizabeth moved to his side, caressing his flushed face gently with the pad of her thumb. "It's just as I thought. You're only irritable like this when your fever is up, and indeed you are overwarm again. Jane's fever wasn't nearly so persistent."

"How fortunate for me," he mumbled to himself. Elizabeth tried to ignore his bad temper as she fetched her basin and rag. She wasn't fond of sarcasm, and his attitude was irking her more than she cared to let on. Tenderly as ever though, she began bathing his face and neck to try to bring down his miserable fever.

The cold water on his face made him gasp slightly, which became a cough, and the coughing only seemed to agitate him more. He usually enjoyed his face being bathed, but today he drew away from the rag. 

“Perhaps we should try another method for treating fever, since this does not seem to be effective,” said the sick man. His speech was curt and tense with foul temper.

Elizabeth gave him a long look, trying to keep her own temper under control. “What would you suggest, sir? We have tried willow bark, which made you feel more ill, and you will not have any other poultices,” she said in a measured, warning way.

“There must be something we haven't done yet. I would do anything to rid myself of this beastly cold, that came from *your* sister, I might add! You just said you already had  this cold. Think of something else to try!”

Elizabeth flew to her feet, tossing down the rag. “Perhaps you should go plunge yourself into an ice bath! That will surely help the fever, and I’m sure it will do wonders for your coughing and sneezing as well! But you can draw it yourself, and you can see to your own meals and entertainment too. You clearly feel my efforts are inadequate, so you can tend to yourself from now on. I am through with smoothing your insufferable pride and being a target for your bad mood. Good day, sir!”

With a whirl of skirts, she was out the door without a glance behind her. Elizabeth went straight to her room and lay down in the cool and quiet, for she was exhausted and careworn from nursing for a week straight. She fell asleep immediately and didn’t wake for several hours. 

She felt much refreshed when she did finally emerge. She first went to look in on Jane, who was overall back to normal, but was getting bored sitting around and eager to go home. On questioning the staff, they learned that Caroline had mostly recovered as well. Mr. Bingley was recovering slower, but getting better all the time. The sisters wished him a speedy recovery by way of the servants, for as soon as he was recovered, they would be able to return home.

After visiting with Jane for some time, Elizabeth desired to find a quiet corner and read. To her chagrin, she realized she had left her book in Mr. Darcy’s room. She did not relish seeing him again so soon after they parted so badly, but she had no choice if she wanted her book back. With a sigh, she made her way to his room with hesitant steps. She knocked softly before entering, which felt odd since she had been coming and going freely for two days prior. His hoarse, weak voice bid her come in.

He was in quite a different state than he had been a few hours before. Where he had previously been fitful and agitated, now he seemed weak and lethargic. Even in the dim light she could see how sweat-matted his hair was, and the dark ring on his pillow. He lifted his head up to see who had entered, and his sleepy eyes flickered with confusion upon seeing her. 

“I only came to get my book. I apologize for disturbing you,” she said stiffly, hardly looking at him. She snatched up the volume from the table where it lay and turned to go back out, intending to say nothing else.

“Wait.” 

She paused, and turned slightly, her good breeding winning over. “Yes?”

He sat up a bit straighter, coughing weakly as he did so. “I am deeply sorry for how I behaved earlier. My treatment of you was inexcusable after all you’ve done for me these past days--” Here he had to pause to press his handkerchief to his dripping nose before he could continue. Elizabeth waited silently. “I was a beast and feel very much like a fool. Please forgive me,” he managed, mumbling through the damp fabric. His eyes shone earnestly above the hand holding the linen in place.

Her face softened. “I accept your apology, and thank you for it. No one acts quite themself when they’re ill, so I gladly forgive you. I’m sorry too for my part in all of it.”

They shared a tiny smile as he tended to his nose with a thick, gurgling blow, and she knew she was forgiven also. Immediately the tension between them was cleared.

Now that they had made up though, she was reluctant to leave him alone again, for he looked so weak and forlorn and in need of care. However, she was a woman of her word. She spoke as she moved to the door, putting her hand on the knob. “You must rest, Mr. Darcy, so I'll leave you be. I truly apologize for waking you.”

“Miss Elizabeth?” 

Once more she turned to meet his eyes.

He held out a shaking hand. “Please… stay.”

She slowly returned to his side. “For what purpose, sir?”

“I… I desire your company… and your aid. You are… a far better caregiver than I, and I was a fool to imply otherwise. It… it won't happen again,” he croaked thickly. 

Seeing the effort he was making to be overly polite softened Eliza's heart further. She let him take her hand in his warm grasp, a smile playing around her lips. “If you insist. I will stay.”

He smiled also as he drew her hand toward himself. "Here, let me show you something," he snuffled. He placed her wrist against his neck, just as she had done many times over the past few days. He sighed softly as their skin made contact.

“Your fever has broken,” she murmured happily. “You are cool at last.”

“Yes.”

“How did you do it?” she asked, withdrawing her hand. “Did you plunge yourself into an ice bath after all?”

He stifled a cough before he could speak. “I… tried willow bark again, as you recommended. I felt worse… at first, but I fell asleep to ease the symptoms. When I woke, the fever had left me, and I felt… much clearer in mind. The fever was causing my foul mood, as you insightfully noted.” Yet another long speech, and now his voice was barely audible as he sniffled furiously and trembled with fatigue. 

“Yet you seem somewhat worse for wear, for you’re completely exhausted, poor man.”

“This illness has left me weary to my bones, it is true. Yet I could not have slept soundly tonight knowing I had offended you. It would be an understatement to say I was very glad when you returned, though I did not expect or deserve a second chance.” His eyes were getting heavier by the moment, and he yawned almost before he finished speaking, reclining back against his pillows once more.

Elizabeth brushed the sweaty curls from his forehead as his eyes drifted closed, then let her hand rest on his cheek for a moment, reassuring herself that his fever was truly gone. He lazily covered her hand with his, a content smile flickering across his face. 

She couldn’t help but smile in response, though he couldn’t see it. “Take some rest, Mr. Darcy. All is forgiven, and I will be here when you wake.” She gently tried to pull her hand away from his face. He quickly interlaced his fingers with hers to prevent this.

“You’ll truly stay?” he murmured sleepily, sniffling.

Leaving her hand on his cheek, she perched on the edge of his bed, so close their hips were almost touching. She saw him smile again as she did so. 

“Of course I will,” she murmured back, her eyes never leaving his face as he peacefully drifted to sleep.