#sicktember

[sicktember]

The Official Sicktember 2024 Prompts List

Event FAQ Text Post [Link to Post]

2024 Prompt-Based Resources [Link to Post]

Past Prompts Text Post [Link to Post]

How to Submit Content for promotion [Link to Post]

Sicktember 2024 AO3 Collection [Link]

Announcements [Link to #Event Notice]

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

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

Too Much of a Good Thing/Overindulgence

Campus/Con Crud

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

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

Dizziness/Vertigo

Borrowed Hoodie

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

Overdramatic Patient/Caretaker 

The Sniffles ™ 

Medieval Treatment

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

Mononucleosis

Clean Sheets/Fresh Pajamas

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

Toxin/Poison

Brain Fog/Spaced Out 

“My body is one big ache”

Hypochondriac Tendencies 

Medication Bribery

Anaphylactic Response

“You didn’t use my cup, did you?”

Under a Spell

 Tales From the Waiting Room

Summer Flu

Heart Condition/Cardiac Arrest

“This is non-negotiable"

Pulling a ‘Ferris Bueller’

Sick on a Road Trip

Past Prompt of Your Choice! 

Alts

Hospital Bed

“I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

First Aid Kit

Flushed Cheeks

Doctor's Note

[kikker-oma]

Does this look like Four? No. But alas, it is.

But what better way to celebrate the first day of Sicktember than to actually be sick and forcing Four to be sick with me?

[shion-yu]

Day 30: Contagion

We made it, folks! I really pushed myself to finish @sicktember and I’m so proud I did. For this last work I decided to just let go and do something different. TW for fictional contagion and some mess. Like, contagion is all it is. Which is not something I usually write, but I was inspired by @poetryandsniffles “Going Around” at 3am. It starts with unnamed characters and ends with you. Hope someone enjoys this. As you guys might know, snz isn't fully my thing but I know I have a lot of followers for whom it is, so this is for you. 1,933 words, TW fictional contagion.

It’s Saturday, and all the new freshmen students are moving into the dorms down the street. The bookseller is ready for them, knowing all the students are eager to exercise their first taste of freedom and want to window shop in their new college town. It's probably his busiest day of the year, which is why he absolutely cannot close the store despite the wretched cold he woke up with. He has a cough that won't let him finish a sentence without interrupting himself, and being surrounded by all the used books is making the sneezes that overtake him every minute even worse. He’s putting an old tome of Shakespeare away when he hears the bell ring, signaling a customer. He closes the book and accidentally inhales a noseful of dust. He tries to say, “Welcome,” but instead all he gets out is “Wehh - heee - ahh hatchoo!” 

“Bless you!” It's definitely a freshman, round glasses overtaking half her face and her little homemade clay earrings dangling on either side. 

“Tdangks,” the bookseller mumbles, snorting a huge noseful of congestion up into his face in an attempt to clear his voice. Apparently that's the wrong move, because it causes him to erupt into a harsh round of coughing that forces him to sit down behind his desk. 

The freshman doesn't seem to mind. She’s too interested in looking around the store, fascinated by the used books. The bookseller nurses his poor nose into the fiftieth tissue of the morning, blowing as hard as he can yet it doesn't seem to clear the congestion. He hasn't been this sick in ages. Why did it have to be today of all days?

“I’ll take this, please.”

The bookseller looks up to find the freshman standing in front of him, holding none other than the thick Shakespeare tome he just put away. The one that he knows he really should have wiped down before shelving. 

“Are you sure you want this one?” He asks hesitantly.

“Why?”

Explaining feels like too much work, and bad business. The bookseller shakes his head. “No reason,” he says, coughing into his elbow. “That’ll be $10.80.”

~.~.~.~

It’s well known that a cold isn't uncommon in the beginning of the semester, but the freshman can't believe it took less than a week for her to get hit with this plague. It’s only the end of the first day of classes when she feels a tickle in her throat that makes her cough. By evening she’s feeling the chill of an incoming fever, and by the next morning she feels like she’s been hit by a bus. This feels worse than just a cold, but it's literally the second day of classes in her first year of university. She can't afford to take a sick day so soon.

And so, the freshman drags herself to her English 101 lecture where she continues to cough and shiver, clutching the hoodie she's wearing around her ever tighter. Her bones ache and she feels like she desperately needs to be in bed, but this lecture is three hours long. Three torturous hours, and it's not a huge class. Everybody can hear her coughing away, she's sure of it. She's so embarrassed by her noisiness - the rustle as she plucks out tissue after tissue from the box she's helplessly taken to carrying around. The petite sniffle she's trying to hold back every few seconds, but if she doesn't her nose will be streaming. The stifled sneezes that more than often result in additional chesty coughs. By the end of the lecture she’s so cold and miserable that she's not sure she's going to make it to her next class, which is chemistry 100. 

Somehow she does, and before most of the other students too. She figures now is a good time to try and blow her nose as loudly as possible. Maybe if she can empty it out, she won't be so disruptive at this lecture. She blows into a tissue hard, and it makes her nose tickle. She can't hold it back, and she scrambles to grab another tissue - but it's too late. She ducks her head to the side and sneezes, uncovered, spraying the space next to her. Thankfully no one’s sat down yet. She hastily tries to clean the desk with the tissue, but she stupidly didn't bring any hand sanitizer and the desk is still gleaming with germs when a boy comes in and sits right next to her. 

He greets her and introduces himself as a football player who’s retaking the class. The freshman can't help but watch in horror as he puts his hands all over the desk, then proceeds to bite his nails. She can't just apologize, but she does so in her head, knowing he’s doomed. 

~.~.~.~

The football player is pretty pissed that he’s managed to catch something already. He doesn't have any time for a cold, especially not so early in the season. It doesn't matter that it’s cold for September, or that it's raining, or that he already had chills before practice started. He’s got to push through for the sake of the team, and also his reputation and scholarship. And he still has to finish that chemistry assignment. Who gives such a long homework in the first two weeks of classes? It should be illegal.

He’s drying off in the locker room, a now very wet cough echoing against the metal lockers. He changes into clean clothes, but he still feels sticky with sweat and rain water. He shivers and shleps off to his chemistry professor's office hours. He needs an extension.

The professor doesn't look happy to see him dripping and sniffling when he shows up at his door. “C’mon, professor, I just need a few days. It's the beginning of the season, I can't fall behind already, and I’m - koff koff koff - sick.”

“I can see that,” the professor says in mild disgust. “But I don't make exceptions. Not even for athletes,” she says before he can protest. 

“That's not fair,” the football player complains. “I really am s-siii-”

The professor tries to duck, but it's too late. The football player sneezes, only poorly half covering. “Sorry,” he says hoarsely.

“I think you'd better go home and lie down,” the professor says in a clipped tone. There's some spray on the corner of her glasses, much to both of their chagrin. “And skip practice tomorrow.”

“Yes ma'am,” the football player says. He’s too ashamed of himself now to keep begging. The professor sprays lysol all over her office and hopes it’ll be enough.

~.~.~.~

It’s not enough. By the end of the week the professor, too, is full of cold. She has to lecture through it, even though she barely has a voice and nearly spills chemical solutions on herself trying to contain her sneezes into her shoulder while holding glass beakers. The students keep blessing her, and that irritates her more than anything because it's their damn fault she’s sick. She's trying to make tenure though, and isn't about to call out, so she pushes through. Every sneeze hitches in the back of her throat as she tries to hold back, making a girlish noise that kills her inside a little. 

She’s already passed the cold along to her husband, your coworker, who has an immune system as good as a preschooler. She can't wait to get home where she can just relax. Her legs are cramping from standing for so long in heels, her makeup is running because of all the congestion, and she keeps making errors while lecturing that she never would otherwise. This cold is so embarrassing and comes with all the visible symptoms: cough, congestion, sneezing, fever. It's impossible to hide.

Her coworkers have even taken notice and mentioned she ought to take it easy, which the professor absolutely will not be doing. So what if she has to cough through her lectures? So what if the students in the front row may or may not be nursing colds of their own in a week? She has to work, that's just how it is. No exceptions, she tells her students. Not even for herself.

~.~.~.~

You can hear your coworker coughing from his cubicle opposite you. Yesterday he said his wife was sick, and today he seems to have brought her cold to share with everyone. How generous of him, you think dryly. You cringe as you hear him blow his nose again, a wet, harsh sound that is the audible equivalent of contagion. And now - oh no. Now he's coming to you.

“I've got the report done,” your coworker says as he approaches. His eyes are red rimmed and watery, nose raw red from blowing and his lips parted in an awkward fashion because he can't breathe properly. And now he's blowing germs all over your desk.

You take the report from him and hope to shoo him away quickly with a thank you, but no such luck. He bends over your desk and starts to explain part of the report that apparently, he finds is not self explanatory enough. You can hear the whistle of blocked sinuses and his voice crackles with congestion. “Does that make sense?” He asks, standing up and sniffling. He runs his temple, clearly also trying to work through a headache.

“Yes, perfect sense,” you tell your coworker. It doesn't matter if it made sense or not, you wish he'd just go away. “You don't look so good. Why don't you go home?” You ask.

“It's not so bad - snrrk!” He says before snorting loudly. “I can deal with it.”

“I see,” you say. And apparently everyone else has to deal with it, too. 

~.~.~.~

You hope you'll get lucky. That Emergen-C and hand sanitizer will save you - but it doesn't. Because a few days later you, too, wake up with an ache in your head and chest and a shiver that won't go away despite several fall layers of clothing. You have a cough that snaps and crackles against your sore throat and the sinus pressure behind your eyes throbs. You haven't even made it out of bed before you're overtaken by a round of three loud sneezes in succession. You’re definitely sick.

Unlike your coworker, you're not about to work through this cold. You feel too lousy, and the fever you're running is way too high to ignore. It's everywhere, this fever: deep in your bones, making everything ache from head to toe. You spend the day in bed, shivering and coughing away. The bed becomes a sea of used tissues, the small trashcan long since overflowing. The fever must be making you emotional, because you can't help but tear up a little when your partner finally comes home. 

“Aw, baby,” they say sympathetically. They press their cold hands against your hot cheeks and wet washcloths to cool you down. They climb into bed with you and cuddle you, your throbbing head and streaming nose in their lap, and don't complain about how you're getting snot all over their knee. “Poor love,” they say. “You’ll be better soon.”

You close your eyes and just listen to your partner’s soothing voice. In a few days, this will all be over, you tell yourself. Whatever this cold or flu from hell is, you’ll be back at it by next week. For right now though, you decide to just rely on your partner completely. Let them dote on you, take care of you, and hope you don’t get them - and didn't get too many others - sick, too.

[creative-caramel-coffee]

Pesky Period Pains

Prompt: Cramping Pain

Pairings: Wandanat x R

Word count: 2.3K

Summary: you had managed to stave off periods but you could only do that for so long. But its very hard to hide things in the compound especially from your girlfriends.

TW: pain medicine, blood, period, cramps, bleeding on the bed (idk if that a warning or not lol), non-sexual nudity, Reader has their clothes removed (not in a bad way though don’t worry … you’ll see), hiding injuries / sickness, slight angst,

A/n whats this? A fic without vomiting for once? Crazy.

Curled up in bed the day had been going well until you realised you took to long to get more of your birth control. Your doctor had put you on birth control in your early teens before you became and avenger, your cramps being too painful for you to function and resulting in you missing a-lot of school. But you ran out last week and your ADHD had been kicking your ass lately so you forgot about the much needed trip to the chemist. Thinking you could just go tomorrow as its not like your period would appear over night. wrong.

Nat and Wanda were training in the gym like they did every Tuesday while you slept in. But when you realised with the first pang of pain in your midsection that it was a little too late for the birth control to stave off the period pains, you groaned. stuffing your face back into your pillow, before swallowing the urge to scream in frustration. you got up and threw on a pad before getting dressed quickly. you were craving chocolate. you could survive the cramps until after breakfast, and you couldn’t take painkillers on an empty stomach.

you had just finished drowning your pancakes in chocolate syrup and were not throwing back the tablets and some water when your girlfriends arrived. Nat smiled widely and came over to kiss you and hug you. “Detka,” you groaned, “your all gross and sweaty.” nat squeezed you in the hug chuckling before planting a kiss on your forehead. Wanda didn’t seem as happy. she sensed your discomfort before she even made it into the door. to be honest she sensed it from the gym, feigning exhaustion in favour of ending training early to check on you.

“what were you doing before we got here?” Wanda asked, hands crossed over her chest.

“making pancakes.” you shrugged, hiding a grimace as it jostled your midsection.

“i saw you put something in your mouth, Y/n don’t lie to me.” she was more concerned than angry but it did come across that way to you.

“i. was. eating. my. pancakes. Wanda.” you grit out, glad it seemed more like annoyance than the fact another cramp had hir rather hard.

“whatever.” Wanda dismissed angrily walking to get herself some pancakes. Nat frowned, normally Wanda was really sweet with you, only ever stern if you were being stubborn. she shrugged at you and followed Wanda to get some breakfast, only having had her pre workout shake so far. you didn’t wait for them, quickly finishing your pancakes and going to take a shower.

the girls frowned at your empty place when they returned and Wanda sighed. “somethings up with her nat i can sense it.”

meanwhile you stepped under the warm water, watching the red circle the drain and letting the heat relax your muscles. when another cramp hit you rested your head on your arm which steadied you against the wall. you didn’t want to risk leaving blood in your shared bathroom knowing nat was see it with her spy training, she noticed everything. Wanda would just freakout if she knew you were bleeding but didn’t know where from. And most importantly you didn’t want to bother them with your problems, feeling you were being a bit too needy lately having been sick the week before last.

you had come back to your old room, the one you stayed in before moving it with your girls. it was still your space. your gaming computer was still here, your switch and all your drawing stuff and tablet. your posters of Percy Jackson and your girlfriends still adorned the walls and the rainbow lights still worked above your desk. the bed had black sheets and you even still had some of your clothes in here. your many sketchbooks sat on the floating shelf by the desk and your blue couch and fluffy red blanket were still in the corner. the 84inch tv, courtesy of tony was mounted on the wall opposite the bed and you had painted a mural of the city scape on the far wall. it was as much your home as the room across the hall. your girls often found you in here during the day either drawing or gaming.

but you hadnt showered in here since moving to sleep over the hall. nat heard the running water as she went past, assuming you had done it so she could shower after her training this morning, she shrugged it off. unusual but not insane.

once you turned the water off you carefully towel dried yourself trying to avoid getting blood on the fluffy towel. getting dressed in fluffy pants and your oversized red hoodie nat had bought you at Disneyland, the one with the big picture of Mickey mouse on the front, you went and laid on the bed. after mindlessly scrolling through Netflix and putting on a random movie you snuggled up. after a few minutes the exhaustion of your body rebuilding an organ wiped you out and you fell asleep.

Wanda carefully opened the door to your room. frowning at yhe sight of you curled up asleep in the middle of the day. this was unlike you. the tv had an action movie playing and the sound of gunfire should have woken you up, but you slept on. Wanda turned out the lights and muted the tv before going to talk to nat.

“I’m telling you nat something’s off, shes been acting weird all day.”

“I’m sure shes fine, shes a big girl wands.” nat sighed drying her hair with a towel.

“i don’t know, you know how it is when shes hurt, she wont tell us even if shes bleeding out on the floor.” Wanda huffed pacing and running her hands through her hair.

“why don’t we go cuddle up to her in bed and we’ll talk to her when shes up again?”

“ok” Wanda sighed in defeat.

after carefully lifting the sheets and sliding in either-side of you nat took the tv remote frowning at the cheesy action movie.

“you cant even shoot arrows like that in real life.” she grumbled putting on something that Wanda would like. a sit com.

still asleep you curled up around Wanda’s leg as she lent against the headboard and ran her hands through your hair.

“she looks so fragile when she sleeps natty.” Wanda cooed

“thats because its hard to be a cocky asshole when your sleeping.” nat teased. but it wasn’t fun without your sharp come backs to quip against her.

“naaattt leave her alone shes cute when she sleeps.” looking down at you she noticed a grimace on your face when you held onto her leg tighter. thinking you were having a nightmare she went to wake you. unbeknownst to her it was just the medicine having worn off and the painfully cramps coming back full force. before Wanda could gently wake you, you shot up, blinking rapidly before feeling the wetness of the bed and shooting off the bathroom to change clothes. Wanda and nat frowned at each-other, you hadn’t even noticed them. nat hopped up and knocked on the door.

“y/n/n? can i come in?” she asked. you froze. what were they doing here.

“Y/n/n?” nat asked again.

“natty… um you should come here.” Wanda quietly said from the bed. she had pulled back the sheets to find a wet bloodstain on the sheets. Nat’s eyes widened almost comically.

“y/n let us in right now.” she banged her fists on the door. just as she swung to knock the door down you opened it, her foot stopping mid air as she tried not to kick you or fall over. at the sight of your bloody clothes she jumped into action. extending your arms with her hands she searched your body before stopping and looking you dead in the eyes.

“strip.” she said. you balked.

“what?”

“you heard me. strip. or i’ll have Wanda use her wiggly woos to do it for me.”

“natty-“

“No.”

“wands-“

“I’m with nat on this one sweetheart. we need to know your ok.” Wanda cooed softly having walked in behind nat.

“I’m fi-“

“if you were going to say your fine we found your blood on the sheets. so we know your not.”

before you were able to reply you were hit with a rather painful cramp that made you double over in an attempt to stop the pain. you groaned loudly and both your girls sprung into action. they knew you didn’t get periods so that couldn’t be it. but the last mission was weeks ago and you hadn’t left the compound without them since. so how did you get hurt? Nat was at your side in an instance. “y/n/n baby where does it hurt?” she ran a hand down your back up and down your spine. you merely groaned in response still hunched over.

“wands I’m gonna need you to-“

“don’t worry it got it.” she replied. before you could think you felt the cold air hit as you were suddenly without clothes. Nat’s eyes grew wide as she saw the red between your legs. you felt tears slide down your cheeks as the girls understood. they had seen you naked before so it didn’t bother you plus you knew you were safe with your girlfriends.

“oh sweetheart.” Wanda cooed, picking you up. “did you get your period love?”

more tears fell as she carried you bridal style to the bath. with a wave of her wrist there was warm water in the tub and her clothes were also gone. gently she hopped in placing you curled up in her lap. nat removed her clothes to show toned muscle and slipped in beside her. it was a big tub, tony was not one to spare expenses much to peppers dismay when she first brought home Morgan to find a car already with custom plates with Morgan’s name on it in the garage.

“tony what the hell is this?” she had asked pointing to the car, Morgan’s carseat in her hand.

“well its called planning my dear wife.”

“planning is writing it out on paper not buying it 16 years early.”

Wanda chuckled at the memory before focusing back on your. she carded a hand though your hair and you whined softly.

“gonna made the water dirty.” you whined “and i ruined my hoodie.” you sniffled “the one you and natty bought me from disneyland.” you cried. nat rubbed a circle on your back knowing this was the work of pesky hormones but doing nothing to invalidate your feelings. Wanda smiled down at you.

“why are you smiling.” you sobbed.

“oh sweetheart do you forget i have magic sometimes.” Wanda cooed

“oh.” you hiccuped.

“its already clean and folded on the bed which has fresh sheets.” she started kissing you all over your face, tasting the salty tears. “and natty and I will buy you ten more if we need to. anything for our sweet girl.”

“even the goofy one?” you smiled looking up with teary eyes.

nat chuckled. they were so whipped for you. “anything you can ever dream of of my love.” nat cooed. “and whatever we can buy with the new black master-card i have from tony.”

“how-“ you were going to ask how but another cramp hit and tears flooded your eyes as blood swirled in the bathwater.

“oh sweetheart don’t cry.” Wanda cooed seeing the water was making you upset she waved her hand and the blood disappeared from the water.

“honey i wouldn’t care if the bath was 100% blood as long as your ok. i would do anything for you.”

“we.” nat corrected “we would do anything for you.” Wanda rubbed circles over your stomach and her fingers glowed a soft red hue in the bath water as she took away some of the pain for you. you sighed in relief at her magic touch.

“and to answer your question, all it took was a little blackmail.” you laughed at her smirk.

“come one love lets get you washed up.”

when Wanda had finished scrubbing your body clean for you, you were too tired to do it yourself. nat dried you with a towel and slipped you back into your comfy and now, thanks to Wanda, clean clothes.

curling up in bed with nat, Wanda returned with food for all of you and a mountain of all different kinds of chocolate and popcorn.

“I vote we have a movie day today.” Wanda proposed. nat smiled at you and brushed the hair from your face, “id love that” she agreed “ what about you Y/n/n?”

“only if i get lots of hugs.” you mumbled in an embarrassed way that made the redheads hearts skip a beat.

“alright then.” wand climbed in beside you and put down the tray of food. “you get first pick Y/n/n” Wanda grinned and nat passed you the remote.

“here you go” you took it and placed a chocolate in your mouth. going to reach for another Wanda lightly slapped your hand away.

“food first.” she chided softly. you pouted and picked a movie. after the first 20 minutes or so you hd finished lunch and were happily curled in the arms of your girls munching chocolate. maybe you should get your period more often you thought. then another cramp hit making you keen softly. never-mind you thought. Wanda ran her magic fingers over you lower back and the pain stopped. you knew then and there your girls would always be there. you were never going to be alone again.

MASTERLIST

[roguesnezblog]

Prompt 10: The Sniffles

[whumperwithwings]

Sicktember Day 12

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

Whumpee coughed and coughed, desperately pulling air into their lungs in between the hacking. The door opened with a bang, slamming into the opposing wall, as Caretaker rushed to Whumpee's side.

"Whumpee! Are you okay- that's a stupid question. What's going on?"

"I'm fine" Whumpee choked out in between coughs. "No big deal."

"I'd say it's a really big deal, Whumpee. Is there any thing I can do to help you?"

Whumpee's lungs burned as they drew a ragged breath. "Stay."

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Outbreak Pt 1 (LU in Healthcare)

(Content warning: This is likely to hit close to home for everyone as it's essentially a pandemic fic told from healthcare workers' POV. It's as mild as I can make it, with the boys dealing with their usually lives and stuff, since I don't want this to be a drawn out fic, but still. FYI.)

It started like a whisper.

One case. A new illness, a variant of a disease that had torn through Hyrule's military during the war, had popped up in the outskirts of the Gerudo Desert. Someone who had traveled there recently brought it to Castle Town. But it was just one case.

Everyone had been put on alert with emails from the health department, but no one had really thought much of it. Legend had seen plenty of scares in the past - just as recently as two years ago, there had been another stir like this over a far deadlier disease, and nothing had come of it.

But this new disease--officially named Respiratory Failure Influenza, colloquially called Arfy by healthcare workers, and unofficially called Yiga's Revenge by the public given its point of origin and how it was tearing cities in the desert apart--was starting to make an impact.

To the world at large, the media would not stop talking about Arfy and stirring up the public. Inside Hyrule General, though, the staff was pretty calm about it.

"Who names a disease Arfy, anyway?" one of Legend's coworkers chuckled.

Legend shrugged and stretched. "I've heard worse. At least it's not based after somebody's name - I hated memorizing all those names for diseases. Nowadays the naming scheme's much better - respiratory failure influenza makes it pretty straightforward to figure out what happens."

"Preach," a tech who was in nursing school grumbled.

Time walked by as they chatted, and Legend nodded in greeting, throwing out, "Whatever reason you're here for, it wasn't me, my patients are fine."

The trauma surgeon smirked. "I'm not here for your patients, no."

Legend bristled. "Look, this is my first night shift, I haven't been working insane hours."

Time outright cackled now. "I was consulted for someone else. Relax."

"Good," Legend huffed. "Anyway, did you hear there's a case of Arfy in town? I haven't seen them pop through here, though, think they got diagnosed at an urgent care clinic."

Time hummed thoughtfully, growing serious. "Hopefully it just stays one case."

"Eh," Legend shrugged again with a noncommittal sound. "The media stirs everyone up. This happened last time, and it was contained and never came here."

"Arfy's cousin nearly killed me during the war," Time noted gravely. "Don't underestimate it too much. The fact that it's a brand new strain, and the typical medications for its cousin don't work on it, isn't promising."

"Look, I'm not saying it isn't something to take seriously," Legend argued mildly. "But it's isolated to three cities in Gerudo Desert, and then the one guy who came here. The media makes it sound like the world's ending."

"They tend to do that," Time agreed, looking down the hallway. "But in either case... let's just hope it stays as one case."

Wild wandered over at that point with an empty stretcher, having just transported someone to the floor, and both men honed in on him. He looked pale and distracted, but he somehow still managed to notice their scrutiny.

Wild watched them silently, not seeming eager to speak. So Legend talked first. "You want to explain what happened earlier?"

Time glanced between the two, brow furrowing in confusion, and he silently observed the exchange. Wild seemed to grow colder, crossing his arms, but Legend wasn't going to back down.

When his friend remained silent, Wild pressed, "Rulie said it looked like you had another absence seizure when we were dealing with that heart attack patient. Tell me what's wrong. Now."

"I didn't have a seizure," Wild assured them as Time took a protective step towards him. "Look, I just..."

The young man sighed, shriveling into himself further.

"Link," Time said sternly. "I understand you have a lot of things in your past that you're trying to reconcile. But not telling us led to you going undiagnosed and getting into a wreck that almost killed you. What's wrong?"

"When I have absence seizures, sometimes I just zone out. But other times, I get hit with... I don't know, I feel like seizures don't give you memories, okay? I don't think it was a seizure. It was a trigger."

"Trigger?" Legend repeated. "You got PTSD?"

Wild blinked, thought about it, and shrugged while shaking his head. "Probably not. Sorry. Bad phrasing."

"You have said before that you don't remember much of the war and your past because you sustained serious injuries," Time supplied. "I know you did. I operated on you. Twice."

"Sorry," Wild mumbled sheepishly.

"Just tell us what's wrong," Legend insisted as gently as he could. "What set you off?"

Wild was silent for a long time, and Legend almost grew impatient. However, eventually, he finally said, "I... I know the guy. The one who you were taking to the cath lab. I knew him be-before. Please, I don't want to talk about it right now."

Time and Legend exchanged a look, and the surgeon shook his head. Legend sighed, backing off. "Okay. But you're okay? Like physically?"

"Yeah," Wild answered, voice growing raw. Legend watched him worriedly.

"You know, you can talk to us," the nurse tried to say, but Wild shook his head.

"I don't want to talk about it," he repeated.

Time nodded, putting a hand on the young man's shoulder. "When you're comfortable, we're all here for you, okay?"

Wild stared at Time for too long, eyes watering, and he cleared his throat, nodding and walking away.

Legend bit his lip, swallowed, and looked back at Time. The surgeon was still watching Wild go down the hall. A call bell light went off, as well as a cautionary alarm on the monitors, and the nurse had to return to work, brain filled with too many thoughts and worries.

Time found himself far more nostalgic than he needed to be. Wild's words about his past, about the war, and this new virus that was kin to the one that had almost killed the surgeon were mixing together. He sighed, shaking his head. This all just needed to resolve.

He would keep an eye on Wild. That was the bigger issue than anything else.

It started like a whisper. But the roar of their pasts was coming for them, haunting and rumbling and demanding everyone’s attention.

[nolesserhuman]

be nice to me.

sicktember prompt 7: borrowed hoodie. PM Dazai + reader ~2400 words warnings: none also on ao3.

“—I’m cold.”

“Yeah, ‘s what happens when there’s no meat on your bones.” Even though you scoff at Dazai’s complaint, you’re already on your feet and padding towards the linen closet in the hallway. There’s a few old blankets folded and stacked on the shelves. You don’t put too much thought into which one you grab; maybe you should have, because when you drape it over Dazai’s sprawled-out form, he whines again.

“Don’t you have anything warmer?” He pouts up at you even as he pulls the threadbare throw up to his chin. His unbandaged eye is glassy; he’s already gaunt, but now he seems breakable; even with his new blanket, Dazai is still visibly trembling.

If you think about it, you should probably be glad he showed up on your couch instead of hiding away in his damned shipping container. This is about as close as you’ll ever get to him admitting he needs some kind of help.

Dazai lets out a dry cough, rolling over on the couch so he can press his face into the plush cushions. That does nothing to hide his sniffles. You roll your eyes and reach over to pluck at his shirt, damp with sweat. “Stop contaminating my sofa, you bastard.”

“‘M gonna go contaminate your bed next.”

You just roll your eyes again.

Dazai doesn’t move when you prop yourself on the arm of the couch, just above his messy head. He knows what’s next— he feels your hand dip into his damp curls and, embarrassingly, he leans into the touch. Your palm is cool against his burning scalp. He could finally fall asleep like this.

Unfortunately— predictably— good luck doesn’t surface this time. Your concerned hum breaks through the fragile drowsiness that had begun to settle over him. “You’re warm,” you say quietly. Dazai would argue that— he is shivering, after all. Before he can snark back at you, though, his breath catches in his lungs, and he curls in on himself in another coughing fit. Misery hits all at once; he can’t breathe, he can taste sick in the back of his throat, and he’s both freezing and overheating as his protective layer of bandages irritates his skin.

You make a vague noise of sympathy and pat his heaving back until he can breathe again. “—I think some steam would help with that.” You tug on the brunet strands at the base of his neck until he groans.

“Too much effort,” he rasps. And then he sneezes hard enough that his head bounces off the back of your couch. “Shit.”

“C’mon now,” your voice gets firm. “If you can’t walk, I’ll carry you. Entire way there.”

That threat is enough to send an unfamiliar pulse up Dazai’s spine; he’s not sure if it’s pleasant or uncomfortable, but he doesn’t care enough to analyze his own feelings right now, not when it feels like his head is stuffed full of cotton. Instead, he lets out another long whine— like a puppy that doesn’t want to go for its walk— but hauls himself upright anyways.

It takes some struggling, some wrangling; despite his height advantage, Dazai is stick thin and incredibly easy to manhandle once you actually get your hands on him. Eventually you get him to fold his gangly legs underneath himself and sit on the bathroom floor. Even as you’re turning the shower on, he’s clearing his throat and trying to stifle another coughing fit.

As soon as the hot water is on, the entire bathroom begins to heat up, and Dazai visibly relaxes, the shivers finally vanishing. He lets out another weak cough as the gunk in his chest starts to loosen up.

“Now,” you fix him with a firm stare as he tries to get comfortable on the tile floor. “I’d better not turn around and find you digging through my bedroom or somethin’, okay?”

Dazai rolls his eyes and scoffs. “As if you own anything interesting to begin with.” Still, he’s not in the headspace to argue the way he would on a normal day; his head is fuzzy, and the gathering moisture in the bathroom is already dampening his gauze wraps. He’s the very picture of a wet kitten.

You close the bathroom door behind you and Dazai is left alone with his thoughts.

Not needing to keep up a facade once he’s out of eyesight, Dazai scrambles over to the shower, half-hanging over the edge of the tub as he hacks up a wave of gunk. He doesn't care that the shower water is soaking his hair and clothes as long as it washes away the slime leaving his lungs. It looks gross, it tastes gross, and Dazai is sure your neighbors in the next unit have a very low opinion of him right now— but, after a few long moments, airflow comes easier. He’s finally able to take a few deep, shuddering breaths that fill his aching lungs with more steam and warm him from the inside.

Now that he’s breathing again, Dazai’s self-awareness kicks back in. Wet hair he can deal with, but feeling the warm droplets roll down his neck and soak into his shirt, his damp bandages curling and itching against his sensitive skin? Too much too much.

You’re alone in here, Dazai reminds himself. One of his hands absently fidgets with the buttons on his wet dress shirt, delicate fingers tapping against the smooth plastic. It’s okay, it’s okay— you’re alone.

With one more deep breath, Dazai peels his wet clothes off all at once. He shudders, not because of the temperature change that hits his skin, but because all his shields are down. Vulnerability is worse than sickness.

The steam in the room has Dazai’s sinuses draining as he works; he swipes his bandaged wrist under his dripping nose only to immediately sniffle again. In the back of his mind, he can already hear you fussing about how outright gross that was. It’s always nice when his typical inner monologue is replaced by your voice.

His gauze seems almost like a moisture magnet, because even the strips that didn’t get caught in the shower stream are sopping wet and heavy. That makes it a bit harder to unravel his defenses, but eventually Dazai is standing alone and fully bared. Thank whatever god that the mirror is already fogged— he’s not sure he could handle the full image of his own body, gaunt and frail, coming apart at the seams. It’s too much.

There’s gauze in the towel closet. He’s seen it on the second shelf, next to your oft-used first aid kit he’s come to know so well. When he gets his hands on the packaging, Dazai is pleasantly surprised to see you’ve stocked up on his preferred brand, the only one that doesn’t irritate his raw skin. Probably just coincidence.

Dazai is well-practiced in the delicate art of wrapping himself back up; even with no suspiciously-fresh wounds, it often feels like the strips of cotton are the only thing holding his fragile body together. Once he’s nice and snug in his second skin— and boxers, for the modesty he pretends he doesn’t have— Dazai cracks the bathroom door open and peers out into the hallway.

After being stuck in such a warm room, the air conditioning feels nice against his flushed face. You’re nowhere in sight and, judging by the sounds of clattering metal down the hallway, it seems you’re probably engrossed in putting a meal together. Meaning you’re very distracted. Perfect.

Dazai leaves the shower water running so you don’t suspect anything as he darts across the hall and into your bedroom. He shivers again as he nudges the door closed behind him— the breeze of movement against his damp skin had only been nice for a moment before getting too cold again. As long as he’s in this body, he thinks he’ll be miserable.

There’s probably not too much time before you abandon your chore to come check on Dazai, meaning he’s limited on how much snooping he can accomplish before he’s caught. Still, your bedroom is so full of your presence, even when empty, and he can’t help but try and commit it to memory; the patterns on your bedsheets, the titles on your bookshelves, the pictures on the wall. It vaguely crosses his mind that he should add his own photo to the mix sometime and see how long it takes before you notice. 

No time for that now, though. Dazai makes a beeline for your closet and tosses the door open.

When he thinks about it, your choice in casual clothes amuses him— the Port Mafia does have a semblance of dress code, so most of the shirts hanging here are things he’s never seen you wear. His hand drags across the various fabrics, enjoying some textures, jolting away from others. Ah, if only there wasn’t such a size difference between you both— he’d love to slip into one of the frillier shirts, just to see your reaction.

And finally his delicate fingers brush against an item he recognizes. It’s that oversized hoodie you’ve worn to the office more than once— the only item in your closet that he’s sure will fit his frame as well.

Fitting his broad shoulders is the main reason he’d been hoping to find that particular hoodie, but Dazai is still mildly surprised at how easily he’s able to slip it on, immediately enveloped in a sense of comfort he’s not sure he’s ever experienced. While it’s huge on you, it’s only a bit big on him; the hemline falls just past his hips, the sleeves almost long enough to cover his hands, and the whole thing is practically drenched in that perfume you’re always wearing. Dazai brings the fleecy fabric up to his nose and inhales deeply— in this borrowed hoodie and with his head clear for the first time all day, Dazai finally feels some level of okay.

There’s no time to stand around, though. If he lets the shower water run too much longer, you’ll demand he pay this month’s bill.

Dazai sneaks back into the hallway, making sure neither door slams shut as to not alert you to his wandering. With the hot water having run for so long, the tiny bathroom is nearly stifling, and he can immediately feel sweat beading at his hairline as he shuts the shower off. His clothes are still sitting abandoned on the bath mat, and he’d only bothered to kick the bandage wrappings in the general direction of the trash— meh, he’s sure you’ll make him pick it all up later.

There’s no real reason to creep down the hallway this time— you’re well aware that Dazai is in your apartment, after all, so he has no real reason to sneak around. Still, he finds himself toe-walking to keep his footsteps light as he passes the kitchen where you’re still banging things around as you cook.

Your back is to the door, so you definitely don’t see him as he tries to sneak past, but you seem to have a sixth sense when it comes to Dazai. “Are you feeling any better? Haven’t heard any coughing.”

At that Dazai forces out a light cough, not even able to make it sound bad now that his airway has cleared. “I think it’s terminal.”

“Mmm, too bad,” you hum without looking away from the stovetop. “Go lay back down an’ try not to die on my couch, okay?”

You hear Daza scamper away, no longer trying to hide his footsteps, and something prickles at the base of your neck. It’s suspicious when Dazai doesn’t argue.

Knowing your boss, Dazai probably hasn’t eaten in at least a day, possibly longer if his illness has smothered his already-rare appetite. Getting him to eat is hard enough on a normal day. Lifting the frypan off the burner, you slide the sandwich onto a plate before fishing cookie cutters out of a drawer. Chop the sandwich into cute shapes, spoon some tomato soup into a patterned bowl— it’s like you’re trying to entertain a toddler into eating their veggies.

“You’d better take at least a few bites,” you order as you carry the food into the living room. “I went through all the effort of a gourmet grilled cheese—” your voice falls off as you peer over the back of the couch, only to be greeted by Dazai wearing something that definitely doesn’t belong to him. That’s one of your favorite hoodies; it’s a bit surprising it fits him. “—where did you get that?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dazai hums, stretching out so his long legs hang over the far end of the couch. He makes a show of pulling the hood up until it covers his eyes. “It suits me, no?”

You just sigh. When you nudge him, he grumbles, but wordlessly makes room for you to join him on the sofa. As soon as you’re settled, he drops his head in your lap to use your warm thighs as a pillow. “You coulda just asked, y’know. Instead of sneaking around. I would’ve let you wear it anyways.”

The tone of your voice is different now. Dazai tilts his head back to read your face. “—you don’t mind?” He can’t quite get a read on you when you’re toeing the line of being too nice.

“Just eat your damned food,” you blatantly avoid the question by shoving the plate of warm food into his hands.

Dazai wriggles with a dramatic “noooo!” only for his whining to stop when you shove one of the sandwich bites into his open mouth. He pouts but doesn’t spit it out.

Your hand comes down to tug the hood back off his head, just far enough for you to slip your fingers back into his hair, and Dazai once again leans into your touch as he reaches for another bite of food. Even when he’s difficult, you stay gentle with him.

Dazai is only able to eat a little bit before his sensitive stomach begins to complain and he turns his face away. For once, he’s nice and full; the borrowed hoodie is deliciously warm, the itch to cough has vanished, and your hand in his hair is hypnotic. For the first time in a long time, Osamu Dazai manages to drift off into a pleasant sleep.

aaaaaaa I've never done sicktember before on any account and I know I literally had a death in the family but I'm irked that I wasn't able to finish much during the actual month,, I know the whole point is just to have fun but I'm only just now beginning to try and get over my perfectionism and stuff fghjhgfd

idk if anyone will read these so ig I'll just talk a lil bit. but man I started writing really young, and after college I feel like my writing got super messed up in comparison to how it used to be, so I'm really doing my best to try and get back to something I'm happy with. I've never written anything besides reader inserts!! I've also never ever finished a piece that had more than one chapter, even though I've been doing this for over a decade dfghjnhgfd. I want to start practicing other stuff!! but reader inserts are fun bc I wanna kiss the anime boys lmao

anyways!! I think I'm gonna keep trying to finish all my planned prompts even though we will definitely be rolling into at least october, possibly longer. and if I may be so bold, likes/comments/reblogs are all appreciated dfghgfd. if you read all this, thank you!!

[calmlb]

skk | 4.5k | hurt/comfort

read on ao3!

[its-coffeetime]

Day 24 of Sicktember!

With the Prompt: Tales from the waiting room

[budzdorovanatasha]

29. Sick on a Road Trip

+

Alts 4. Flushed Cheeks

Please? (It’s wonderful to see you back online!)

Thank you for your request! I'm happy to be back :))

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Natasha wanted a road trip for your vacation week. When you'd asked her why, she said she wanted something mundane. You'd shrugged, not really caring what you did as long as you did it with her.

A day before the trip, you'd been exhausted. You weren't sure why but you'd spent half the day sleeping. Natasha thought it was odd, but mostly thought you were just tired from all the work you'd been doing.

"You okay?" she asked as you laid in bed, watching something on the TV. You nodded against her, your head on her chest. Your eyes were still fluttering shut.

"You've slept most of the day," Nat mused, her fingers trailing up and down your spine.

"Just tired," you mumbled, inhaling and drinking in her scent. She hummed but didn't say anything.

The next morning you woke at dawn, put your bags in the car, and set off, Natasha at the wheel. You rarely drove, preferring to sit comfortably in the passenger and be teased about being a 'passenger princess' by your girlfriend.

You thought it was the early hour that brought a certain level of haziness and congestion. But as the sun came up, so did the frequent sniffles and flushed cheeks.

After your third sneeze in ten minutes, Natasha looked over at you, blessing you softly. Her sharp eyes took in your skin and her brows furrowed.

"You're flushed." Her voice was just barely above a whisper.

"Just the sun," you responded, voice raspy.

"You're congested," she fired back quietly.

"Just normal morning-"

"Y/N," she interrupted softly, her right hand coming to rest on your thigh. "Please don't hide from me."

You sighed, looking out the passenger window.

"I don't really know what I'm feeling," you said quietly. All you knew was that you didn't feel right. And there was no way you were stopping your trip until you were certain.

"You'll tell me when you do?"

You nodded. She cleared her throat and you finally looked to her. She had an eyebrow raised.

"Yes, Natasha, I will tell you."

She seemed satisfied with that and focused on the road, her hand remaining on your thigh, thumb rubbing soothingly whenever you gave a stuffy sniffle or let out a soft sneeze.

An hour later, your head pounded every other second, the pressure behind your eyes hitting an all-time high, and you couldn't breathe through your nose to save your life. You pinched the bridge of your nose in hopes of it providing any semblance of relief; it did not.

"Nat-" you tried, your voice barely there. You caught her wince at the sound. "I think I'm sick."

"Oh, love, I think so too. Let's go home, yeah? You want to stop somewhere for the day and rest?"

You shook your head. "No, I'd rather be at home."

"Okay. Just try and rest. We'll be there in a little while."

[sicktember]

Friends and Followers,

After four incredible years of creativity and camaraderie, we have made the difficult decision to make 2024 our final Sicktember event. 

During that time, we have poured our hearts into organizing and running this event. We've been amazed by the talent and passion you all have displayed. However, our lives have grown busier with families and jobs. And the amount of day-to-day stress we’re being asked to handle has increased. These everyday factors add up, making it increasingly difficult to dedicate the time and energy required to make this event the best it can be.

We want to express our deepest gratitude to each of you for your participation, enthusiasm, and involvement over the years. Your creative contributions have been the core of this event, and we are so proud of what we've accomplished together. Sicktember would have never existed without you!

While this will end our journey as organizers, we encourage everyone to keep writing, drawing, sharing, and uplifting one another. 

Thank you for your understanding and ongoing support. This blog will remain active through October 7th to complete content promotion submissions. After that, we will offer you one last small parting gift, a short list of our favorite unused prompts, before stepping back from this blog.

We look forward to your hard work coming to fruition in September.  Let's make this final year our best one yet! 

Warmly,

@yes-i-am-happyaspie and @obsessionoftheday

[brookethecooke]

Personal Sicktember Bingo inspired by @sicktember which is run by @yes-i-am-happyaspie and @obsessionoftheday

[crimsonwolf715]

I'm Not Sick, I'm Hungover

Jason walks out of his room, his head pounding from the hangover. He walks down the stairs to find Tim sitting at the table in sweatpants and a hoodie. 

“Hey,” Jason says as he walks over to the fridge. 

“Hey,” Tim echoes, sounding congested. 

“Are you sick?” Jason asks, turning towards Tim. 

Tim turns towards him, his face flush and a little swollen. 

“Yeah, you are for sure sick,” Jason says. 

Tim rolls his eyes. Jason grabs a bottle of water, then closes the fridge. 

“Are you sick?” Tim asks. 

“No, why?” 

“Your eyes are bloodshot and you have your headache look on your face.” 

“I’m not sick, I’m hungover.” 

“Don’t tell Bruce.” 

“I had zero plans to. Where is the Dark Knight?” 

“Dealing with something downtown. He took Dick with him.” 

“Ah, that explains why I haven’t heard him yet.” 

Tim nods, then returns his attention to the book that he has on the table. Jason sits at the table and starts sipping water. Cass comes running down the stairs. 

She looks at them. “Why aren’t you guys getting ready?” “Getting ready for what?” Jason asks. 

“Bruce called all hands on deck,” Cass answers. “I’ll meet you guys there.” 

She runs towards the library and Jason sighs. Tim looks up from his book. 

“Bruce is gonna know you’re hungover if you go,” Tim says. 

“Yeah, I know. Maybe if I keep the helmet on I can fool him ‘cause he’ll be distracted. Will you be fine here with Alfred?” 

Tim nods. “Alfred already knows I’m sick. He ran to the store to get supplies for something because we’re out.” 

Jason nods, then gets up. He ruffles Tim’s hair, then heads down to the Batcave. 

When Jason gets to the scene, the loud noises start to give him a headache. 

“Ugh, this is gonna suck, isn’t it?” he mutters. 

He looks for any signs of his family amongst the dozens of people on the scene. What the scene is, Jason isn’t really sure. Some goon-looking people are being arrested, and some people are bringing out things like paintings and an ugly chair. 

“Nice of you to join us, Hood,” Nightwing’s voice says from behind him. 

He turns to see his older brother with a shit-eating grin. 

“What do you want?” Jason asks. 

“Just wondering if you actually listened to the call or you just took Orphan’s word for it.” 

“I didn’t listen to it. What am I supposed to be doing?” 

“There are still goons hiding out, so dealing with them is top priority.” 

“Then why aren’t you doing that?” “Because Batman is working on that, I’m making sure that the officers are doing their jobs. That and talking to Oracle.” 

Jason nods, then points at the building. “There?” 

Dick nods. Jason heads towards the building and is so glad that the building’s insulated because he can barely hear the hubbub outside. He starts wandering the lower levels, running into Cass and Damian on different floors. Once he finally comes across a floor with none of his siblings or Dad, he starts checking the floor for goons. 

“Die!” a goon screams, running towards Jason with a bat. 

Jason grabs a pipe off the floor and throws it at the guy. While the guy just dodges it, he stops yelling. Jason grabs the man’s wrist as he tries to hit him with the bat and snaps it. The guy cries out, so Jason punches him in the mouth. 

“I am in no mood for your loud noises,” Jason says. “So stay quiet and I won’t hurt you anymore. Is anyone else on this floor? Nod or shake your head.” 

The guy shakes his head. “Batman got the rest of them. I hid and managed to get out.” 

Jason dislocates one of the man’s fingers, so he shuts up. 

“Thank you,” Jason says. 

“There you are, Hood,” Batman’s voice says from behind him. 

He turns. “Hey, Batman. I found a straggler,” Jason replies. 

“Good work. We’ve cleared the rest of the building, so bring him up to the police.” 

“Yes, sir.” Jason gives him a little salute and Batman shakes his head before heading upstairs. 

“Alright,” Jason says, turning back towards the goon. “Who do you belong to?” 

“What?” 

“What villain were you assisting?” 

“Penguin,” he answers. 

Jason grabs him by his not broken wrist and starts dragging him up the stairs back towards the surface level. When they get up there, Jason throws the guy at the nearest officer. The officer and the guy go down and Jason starts quietly laughing. 

Dick jogs over there and helps the officer up. “Sorry about Hood, he seems to be off today.” 

The officer takes the goon towards the cars and Dick walks over to Jason. 

“Stop laughing,” he demands. 

Jason stops laughing. 

“What is wrong with you today? You look off.” 

“Nothing,” Jason answers, shrugging. 

“We need to get a move on!” Gordon shouts. 

“Yes, sir!” the officers shout back. 

Jason cringes. 

“Are you sick?” Dick asks. 

“No,” Jason answers. 

“Batman, Hood’s sick!” Dick shouts. 

Jason cringes again. “I’m not sick, I just said that.” 

“Yeah, but the rest of you disagrees with your words.” 

Bruce walks over. “What are you two bickering about?” 

“He thinks I’m sick when I’m not,” Jason answers. 

“That’s because everything about him says he’s sick.” 

Jason flips him off as Bruce folds his arms. 

“I’m not sick, I swear,” Jason says. 

“Okay, but you’re getting checked out when we get back,” Bruce replies, then heads back over towards Gordon. 

Once Batman’s done talking to Gordon, he wrangles his children and gets them back to the Batcave. 

Jason comes upstairs with Cass, since Bruce had to drop Damian off at Jon’s house. Cass gives him a look he can’t quite read, then heads upstairs. Alfred comes downstairs not long after. Jason sits down at the kitchen table and puts his head in his arms. After a minute, he feels a hand on his shoulder. He puts his hand on the hand on his shoulder. 

“What do you want, Bruce?” Jason asks. 

“You’re getting your temperature taken,” Bruce says. 

“Mmhmm.” 

Bruce gives Jason’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, so he picks his head up. Alfred takes his temperature. 

“Well he’s not running a fever, sir,” Alfred says. 

“Thank you, Alfred. I can take it from here,” Bruce replies. 

Alfred nods, then heads back upstairs to check on Tim. 

“Did you at least wait until you were off patrol to drink?” Bruce asks. 

Jason sighs. “Yeah, of course.” 

“At least you’re not too bad off,” Bruce says. 

“Yeah, I already threw everything up on the way to the crime scene so I’m good to go, Dad,” Jason replies, giving Bruce a thumbs up. 

Bruce facepalms and sighs. Jason laughs, which makes the corner of Bruce’s mouth turn up a little. 

“Go get some rest, Jason. You probably feel bad.” 

“That I do. I am gonna go check on Tim first though.” 

“M’kay. Just don’t stay in there too long chatting.” 

Jason nods, then heads upstairs. Tim’s door is open and he’s working on his laptop. He knocks on the door. Tim looks up from his computer. Jason walks in and takes Tim’s laptop. 

“Hey, that’s mine,” Tim complains, several seconds after Jason takes it. 

“You should be resting, not working,” Jason says, putting Tim’s computer on the desk by the window. 

“But I have work due.” 

“It can wait.” 

“What if it can’t?” 

“Then Bruce will deal with it.” 

“Are you feeling better?” Tim asks. 

“Mmhmm,” Jason hums. 

“Then can you stay with me until Alfred gets back? Damian’s got a playdate with Jon.” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

Jason pulls the chair away from Tim’s desk and over to the bed. The two chat for a while, Jason doing most of the talking, before Tim passes out. Jason covers Tim up, then sits back in the chair. Jason dozes off not long after Tim does. 

Bruce walks to the doorway of Tim’s room. He sees Jason and Tim, both asleep, and smiles. He hears footsteps and glances in the direction. 

“Jason alright?” Dick asks as he walks over. 

Bruce nods. “Hangover.” 

“Oops. I yelled. Never mind, he deserves that for going out.” 

“I think you should all take better care of yourselves.” 

“Coming from the king of not taking care of himself.” 

“Why would I need to do that when you all take such spectacular care of me?” Bruce asks. “And yes, this is more of a do as I say, not as I do situation.” 

Dick nods. 

“What’s wrong with Jason?” Cass asks, popping up next to Dick. 

Bruce watches Dick tense up for a moment. 

“He has a hangover,” Bruce answers. 

“Okay, good. I couldn’t really tell but I knew that something was off earlier.” 

“Very observant of you,” Bruce praises her. 

She smiles, then heads downstairs. 

“She’s paying more attention to them lately,” Bruce says. 

“Them?” Dick asks. 

“Jason and Tim.” 

“Ah. Then it’s because they’re less likely to take care of themselves and she’s become aware of that.” 

Bruce nods. “Let’s let them sleep.” 

“Yeah, we can discuss the patrol schedule.”

[darl-ingfics]

Sicktember Day 12: "You're not fine, you're throwing up."

Fandom: ATEEZ

Sickie: Yunho (stomach bug)

Caregiver(s): Jongho, with some Hongjoong

Word Count: 912

Jongho woke up to a sound he wasn't able to identify. He rolled over, hitting his phone screen. 7:30am. He sat up, frowning as his brain attempted to make sense to what he was hearing. That’s when it hit him: the distinct sound of gagging over the roar of the shower. 

Jongho was up and outside the bathroom door in seconds.

“Hyung?!” Jongho knocked. The only response was another gag. The youngest member pushed open the door, crossed the room in two steps, and ripped back the curtain. Yunho was on his knees, at the mercy of his body, throwing up in the shower. “Oh, hyung,” Jongho muttered. He reached over and turned off the water.

“Nooo.” Yunho reached a hand up towards the tap before he was cut off with a violent cough that turned into more retching. Jongho knelt on the floor outside the shower, rubbing at Yunho’s spine as he coughed up another wave of sick. 

“It’s okay,” the younger man soothed quietly. 

After a second, unproductive cough, Yunho sat back on his heels, scrubbing at his face. “Water was helping.”

“Helping with what, exactly?”

“Cleaning…” 

“That’s the last thing you should be worried about right now, hyung.” Jongho’s hand hadn’t left Yunho’s back, massaging up and down his spine. He felt the dancer’s body contract once, twice, before he was leaning over again, at the mercy of his stomach, but bringing up nothing. 

“This sucks,” Yunho whined.

“I know, I know. How long have you…?”

“I don’t know. What time is it?”

Jongho consulted his watch. “7:36.”

“Then I’ve probably been here for about fifteen minutes.”

“Fifteen minutes?!”

Yunho waved his hand. “Not… not the throwing up part. I came to take a shower fifteen minutes ago, got sick maybe… God, I don’t even know.”

“Well, at least it wasn’t fifteen minutes cause that would be a problem.” Yunho smirked at that. He closed his eyes, appreciating the feeling of Jongho’s hand on his back. The cold air hitting his wet skin, though, was less welcome, sending shivers through his body. “We should get you out of the shower.” 

“Okay.” Yunho didn’t move. Jongho squeezed his shoulder before standing up himself. He offered his hands out to the older man, carefully pulling Yunho to his feet. It was then that Jongho noticed that that dancer still had his boxers on. “Hyung, why were you wearing your underwear in the shower?” 

Yunho shrugged. “In case I passed out.”

Jongho blinked at him. “So you knew you weren’t feeling good, and you got into the shower? The most dangerous place to slip and fall?”

Yunho shrugged again. “I thought the water would feel good.”

“Did it?”

Yunho nodded. “Until I threw up, it was heavenly.”

Jongho nodded, restraining himself from sighing as he helped Yunho out of the shower. He wrapped a towel around the older man’s shoulders. “Think you can make it to your room to change, or do you want me to go grab you clothes?”

“I can make it,” Yunho replied, curling deeper into his towel. “I actually feel a lot better. Puke and rally, right?”

“Sure, hyung.” Jongho rolled his eyes as soon as Yunho moved past him and through the doorway. He would see to it that there would be no rallying for Yunho; Jongho could feel his fever plain as day while they sat in the shower. 

Still, there was work to be done. Jongho texted the group: no one use the upstairs shower for a bit. He then peeked under the sink to see what cleaning supplies were currently on hand. He didn’t find what he wanted, and resolved to simply turn the water back on and wash the shower out first, then go back with the disinfectant later. 

Hongjoong appeared a moment later. “What happened?” 

“Yunho threw up in the shower, so I want to clean it before anyone else uses it.” 

“Is he okay?” 

Jongho shrugged. “Definitely feverish. He should not be practicing today.”

Hongjoong nodded, pausing as Yunho rounded the corner from his room, dressed in his dance clothes.  

“What the…?” Hongjoong shook his head. “Yunho, what are you doing?” Jongho peeked his head into the doorway. 

Yunho shrugged. “We’re going to dance.”

“No. We’re going to dance. You’re going to bed,” Hongjoong relied. 

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, you’re throwing up,” Jongho insisted. 

“No, I threw up. Past tense. I’m good now.”

“That’s not how it works, and you know that,” the leader explained, moving forward to place his hand against Yunho’s forehead. “You have a fever, bud. That means no practice for you.” Yunho whined, shoulders slumping forward. “I know, I get it, but you know the rules.”

“But I wanna dance,” Yunho said in reply, attempting to hit Hongjoong with his most convincing puppy eyes. 

“And you’ll be able to dance a lot better sooner if you take today to rest your body,” the leader insisted, patting Yunho’s shoulder affectionately. “Besides, no one wants to see you puke in the middle of the practice room.”

Yunho gasped. “I would never!”

“Well let’s not tempt fate, shall we? Bed.” Hongjoong pointed towards the room, and Yunho shuffled off, all the fight leaving him. Hongjoong sighed. “In your professional opinion, Jongho, should he be left alone?”

“Probably not,” the youngest chuckled. “I don’t mind staying with him.” 

“You’re the hero we need.” Hongjoong cuffed Jongho’s shoulder before walking away to notify their manager of Yunho’s upcoming absence. 

[roguesnezblog]

Prompt 21: Anaphylactic response

Prompt 22: "You didn't use my cup did you?"

Prompt 23: Under a spell